children_stories.txt
"not if you say so, loidy."
"and your friends? you won't let them do anything?"
"nope."
betty breathed freely again. her knowledge of the east side was small, and that there might be those there who acted independently of mr.
jarvis, disdainful of his influence, did not occur to her. she returned to her own affairs, satisfied that danger no longer threatened.
"mr. jarvis, i wonder if you can help me. i want to find some work to do," she said.
"woik?"
"i have to earn my living, you see, and i'm afraid i don't know how to begin."
mr. jarvis pondered. "what sort of woik?"
"any sort," said betty valiantly. "i don't care what it is."
mr. jarvis knitted his brows in thought. he was not used to being an employment agency. but betty was betty, and even at the cost of a headache he must think of something.
at the end of five minutes inspiration came to him.
"say," he said, "what do youse call de guy dat sits an' takes de money at an eatin'-joint? cashier? well, say, could youse be dat?"
"it would be just the thing. do you know a place?"
"sure. just around de corner. i'll take you dere."
betty waited while he put on his coat, and they started out. betty chatted as they walked, but mr. jarvis, who appeared a little self-conscious beneath the unconcealed interest of the neighbors, was silent. at intervals he would turn and glare ferociously at the heads that popped out of windows or protruded from doorways. fame has its penalties, and most of the population of that portion of the bowery had turned out to see their most prominent citizen so romantically employed as a squire of dames.
after a short walk bat halted the expedition before a dingy restaurant.
the glass window bore in battered letters the name, fontelli.
"dis is de joint," he said.
inside the restaurant a dreamy-eyed italian sat gazing at vacancy and twirling a pointed mustache. in a far corner a solitary customer was finishing a late breakfast.
signor fontelli, for the sad-eyed exile was he, sprang to his feet at the sight of mr. jarvis' well-known figure. an ingratiating, but nervous, smile came into view behind the pointed mustache.
"hey, tony," said mr. jarvis, coming at once to the point, "i want you to know dis loidy. she's going to be cashier at dis joint."
signor fontelli looked at betty and shook his head. he smiled deprecatingly. his manner seemed to indicate that, while she met with the approval of fontelli, the slave of her sex, to fontelli, the employer, she appealed in vain. he gave his mustache a sorrowful twirl.
"ah, no," he sighed. "not da cashier do i need. i take-a myself da money."
mr. jarvis looked at him coldly. he continued to look at him coldly.
his lower jaw began slowly to protrude, and his forehead retreated further behind its zareba of forelock.
there was a pause. the signor was plainly embarrassed.
"dis loidy," repeated mr. jarvis, "is cashier at dis joint at six per " he paused. "does dat go?" he added smoothly.
certainly there was magnetism about mr. jarvis. with a minimum of words he produced remarkable results. something seemed to happen suddenly to signor fontelli's spine. he wilted like a tired flower. a gesture, in which were blended resignation, humility, and a desire to be at peace with all men, particularly mr. jarvis, completed his capitulation.
mr. jarvis waited while betty was instructed in her simple duties, then drew her aside.
"say," he remarked confidentially, "youse'll be all right here. six per ain't all de dough dere is in de woild, but, bein' cashier, see, you can swipe a whole heap more whenever you feel like it. and if tony registers a kick, i'll come around and talk to him see? dat's right.
good-morning, loidy."
and, having delivered these admirable hints to young cashiers in a hurry to get rich, mr. jarvis ducked his head in a species of bow, declined to be thanked, and shuffled out into the street, leaving betty to open her new career by taking thirty-seven cents from the late breakfaster.
chapter xxi
changes in the staff
three days had elapsed since the battle which had opened the campaign, and there had been no further movement on the part of the enemy. smith was puzzled. a strange quiet seemed to be brooding over the other camp.
he could not believe that a single defeat had crushed the foe, but it was hard to think of any other explanation.
it was pugsy maloney who, on the fourth morning, brought to the office the inner history of the truce. his version was brief and unadorned, as was the way with his narratives. such things as first causes and piquant details he avoided, as tending to prolong the telling excessively, thus keeping him from the perusal of his cowboy stories.
he gave the thing out merely as an item of general interest, a bubble on the surface of the life of a great city. he did not know how nearly interested were his employers in any matter touching that gang which is known as the three points.
pugsy said: "dere's been fuss'n going on down where i live. dude dawson's mad at spider reilly, and now de table hills is layin' for de t'ree points, to soak it to 'em. dat's right."
he then retired to his outer fastness, yielding further details jerkily and with the distrait air of one whose mind is elsewhere.
skilfully extracted and pieced together, these details formed themselves into the following typical narrative of east side life.
there were four really important gangs in new york at this time. there were other less important institutions besides, but these were little more than mere friendly gatherings of old boyhood chums for purposes of mutual companionship. they might grow into formidable organizations in time, but for the moment the amount of ice which good judges declared them to cut was but small. they would "stick up" an occasional wayfarer for his "cush," and they carried "canisters" and sometimes fired them off, but these things do not signify the cutting of ice. in matters political there were only four gangs which counted, the east side, the groome street, the three points and the table hill. greatest of these, by virtue of their numbers, were the east side and the groome street, the latter presided over at the time of this story by mr. bat jarvis.
these two were colossal, and, though they might fight each other, were immune from attack at the hands of the rest.
but between the other gangs, and especially between the table hill and the three points, which were much of a size, warfare raged as frequently as among the republics of south america. there had always been bad blood between the table hill and the three points. little events, trifling in themselves, had always occurred to shatter friendly relations just when there seemed a chance of their being formed. thus, just as the table hillites were beginning to forgive the three points for shooting the redoubtable paul horgan down at coney island, a three pointer injudiciously wiped out a table hillite near canal street. he pleaded self-defense, and in any case it was probably mere thoughtlessness, but nevertheless the table hillites were ruffled.
that had been a month or so back. during that month things had been simmering down, and peace was just preparing to brood when there occurred the incident alluded to by pugsy, the regrettable falling out between dude dawson and spider reilly.
to be as brief as possible, dude dawson had gone to spend a happy evening at a dancing saloon named shamrock hall, near groome street.
now, shamrock hall belonged to a mr. maginnis, a friend of bat jarvis, and was under the direct protection of that celebrity. it was, therefore, sacred ground, and mr. dawson visited it in a purely private and peaceful capacity. the last thing he intended was to spoil the harmony of the evening.
alas for the best intentions! two-stepping clumsily round the room for he was a poor, though enthusiastic, dancer dude dawson collided with and upset a certain reddy davis and his partner. reddy davis was a member of the three points, and his temper was the temper of a red-headed man. he "slugged" mr. dawson. mr. dawson, more skilful at the fray than at the dance, joined battle willingly, and they were absorbed in a stirring combat, when an interruption occurred. in the far corner of the room, surrounded by admiring friends, sat spider reilly, monarch of the three points. he had noticed that there was a slight disturbance at the other side of the hall, but had given it little attention till the dancing ceasing suddenly and the floor emptying itself of its crowd, he had a plain view of mr. dawson and mr.
davis squaring up at each other for the second round.
we must assume that mr. reilly was not thinking of what he did, for his action was contrary to all rules of gang etiquette. in the street it would have been perfectly legitimate, even praiseworthy, but in a dance-hall under the protection of a neutral power it was unpardonable.
what he did was to produce his revolver, and shoot the unsuspecting mr.
dawson in the leg. having done which, he left hurriedly, fearing the wrath of bat jarvis.
mr. dawson, meanwhile, was attended to and helped home. willing informants gave him the name of his aggressor, and before morning the table hill camp was in a ferment. shooting broke out in three places, though there were no casualties.
when the day dawned there existed between the two gangs a state of war more bitter than any in their record, for this time it was chieftain who had assaulted chieftain, royal blood had been spilt.
such was the explanation of the lull in the campaign against peaceful moments. the new war had taken the mind of spider reilly and his warriors off the paper and its affairs for the moment, much as the unexpected appearance of a mad bull would make a man forget that he had come out snipe-shooting.
at present there had been no pitched battle. as was usual between the gangs, war had broken out in a somewhat tentative fashion at first.
there had been skirmishes by the wayside, but nothing more. the two armies were sparring for an opening.
smith was distinctly relieved at the respite, for necessitating careful thought. this was the defection of kid brady.
the kid's easy defeat of cyclone dick fisher had naturally created a sensation in sporting circles. he had become famous in a night. it was not with surprise, therefore, that smith received from his fighting editor the information that he had been matched against one eddie wood, whose fame outshone even that of the late cyclone.
the kid, a white man to the core, exhibited quite a feudal loyalty to the paper which had raised him from the ruck and placed him on the road to eminence.
"say the word," he said, "and i'll call it off. if you feel you need me around here, mr. smith, say so, and i'll side-step eddie."
"comrade brady," said smith with enthusiasm, "i have had occasion before to call you sport. i do so again. but i'm not going to stand in your way. if you eliminate this comrade wood, they will have to give you a chance against jimmy garvin, won't they?"
"i guess that's right," said the kid. "eddie stayed nineteen rounds against jimmy, and, if i can put him away, it gets me clear into line with jim, and he'll have to meet me."
"then go in and win, comrade brady. we shall miss you. it will be as if a ray of sunshine had been removed from the office. but you mustn't throw a chance away."
"i'll train at white plains," said the kid, "so i'll be pretty near in case i'm wanted."
"oh, we shall be all right," said smith, "and if you win, we'll bring out a special number. good luck, comrade brady, and many thanks for your help."
john, when he arrived at the office and learned the news, was for relying on their own unaided efforts.
"and, anyway," he said, "i don't see who else there is to help us. you could tell the police, i suppose," he went on doubtfully.
smith shook his head.
"the new york policeman, comrade john, is, like all great men, somewhat peculiar. if you go to a new york policeman and exhibit a black eye, he is more likely to express admiration for the handiwork of the citizen responsible for the same than sympathy. no; since coming to this city i have developed a habit of taking care of myself, or employing private help. i do not want allies who will merely shake their heads at comrade reilly and his merry men, however sternly. i want someone who, if necessary, will soak it to them good."
"sure," said john. "but who is there now the kid's gone?"
"who else but comrade jarvis?" said smith.
"jarvis? bat jarvis?"
"the same. i fancy that we shall find, on enquiry, that we are ace high with him. at any rate, there is no harm in sounding him. it is true that he may have forgotten, or it may be that it is to comrade brown alone that he is "
"who's brown?" asked john.
"our late stenographer," explained smith. "a miss brown. she entertained comrade jarvis' cat, if you remember. i wonder what has become of her. she has sent in three more corking efforts on the subject of broster street, but she gives no address. i wish i knew where she was. i'd have liked for you to meet her."
chapter xxii
a gathering of cat specialists
"it will probably be necessary," said smith, as they set out for groome street, "to allude to you, comrade john, in the course of this interview, as one of our most eminent living cat-fanciers. you have never met comrade jarvis, i believe? well, he is a gentleman with just about enough forehead to prevent his front hair getting inextricably blended with his eyebrows, and he owns twenty-three cats, each with a leather collar round its neck. it is, i fancy, the cat note which we shall have to strike to-day. if only comrade brown were with us, we could appeal to his finer feelings. but he has seen me only once and you never, and i should not care to bet that he will feel the least particle of dismay at the idea of our occiputs getting all mussed up with a black-jack. but when i inform him that you are an english cat-fancier, and that in your island home you have seventy-four fine cats, mostly angoras, that will be a different matter. i shall be surprised if he does not fall on your neck."
they found mr. jarvis in his fancier's shop, engaged in the intellectual occupation of greasing a cat's paws with butter. he looked up as they entered, and then resumed his task.
"comrade jarvis," said smith, "we meet again. you remember me?"
"nope," said mr. jarvis promptly.
smith was not discouraged.
"ah!" he said tolerantly, "the fierce rush of new york life! how it wipes from the retina to-day the image impressed on it but yesterday.
is it not so, comrade jarvis?"
the cat-expert concentrated himself on his patient's paws without replying.
"a fine animal," said smith, adjusting his monocle. "to what particular family of the felis domestica does that belong? in color it resembles a neapolitan ice more than anything."
mr. jarvis' manner became unfriendly.
"say, what do youse want? that's straight, ain't it? if youse want to buy a boid or a snake, why don't youse say so?"
"i stand corrected," said smith; "i should have remembered that time is money. i called in here partly in the hope that, though you only met me once on the stairs of my office, you might retain pleasant recollections of me, but principally in order that i might make two very eminent cat-fanciers acquainted. this," he said, with a wave of his hand in the direction of john, "is comrade maude, possibly the best known of english cat-fanciers. comrade maude's stud of angoras is celebrated wherever the english language is spoken."
mr. jarvis's expression changed. he rose, and, having inspected john with silent admiration for a while, extended a well-buttered hand towards him. smith looked on benevolently.
"what comrade maude does not know about cats," he said, "is not knowledge. his information on angoras alone would fill a volume."
"say" mr. jarvis was evidently touching on a point which had weighed deeply upon him "why's catnip called catnip?"
john looked at smith helplessly. it sounded like a riddle, but it was obvious that mr. jarvis's motive in putting the question was not frivolous. he really wished to know.
"the word, as comrade maude was just about to observe," said smith, "is a corruption of catmint. why it should be so corrupted i do not know.
but what of that? the subject is too deep to be gone fully into at the moment. i should recommend you to read mr. maude's little brochure on the matter. passing lightly on from that "
"did youse ever have a cat dat ate bettles?" enquired mr. jarvis.
"there was a time when many of comrade maude's felidae supported life almost entirely on beetles."
"did they git thin?"
john felt it was time, if he were to preserve his reputation, to assert himself.
"no," he replied firmly.
mr. jarvis looked astonished.
"english beetles," said smith, "don't make cats thin. passing lightly "
"i had a cat oncst," said mr. jarvis, ignoring the remark and sticking to his point, "dat ate beetles and got thin and used to tie itself inter knots."
"a versatile animal," agreed smith.
"say," mr. jarvis went on, now plainly on a subject near to his heart, "dem beetles is fierce. sure! can't keep de cats off of eatin' dem, i can't. first t'ing you know dey've swallowed dem, and den dey gits thin and ties theirselves into knots."
"you should put them into strait-waistcoats," said smith. "passing, however, lightly "
"say, ever have a cross-eyed cat?"
"comrade maude's cats," said smith, "have happily been almost entirely free from strabismus."
"dey's lucky, cross-eyed cats is. you has a cross-eyed cat, and not'in'
don't never go wrong. but, say, was dere ever a cat wit' one blue and one yaller one in your bunch? gee! it's fierce when it's like dat. it's a skidoo, is a cat wit' one blue eye and one yaller one. puts you in bad, surest t'ing you know. oncst a guy give me a cat like dat, and first t'ing you know i'm in bad all round. it wasn't till i give him away to de cop on de corner and gets me one dat's cross-eyed dat i lifts de skidoo off of me."
"and what happened to the cop?" enquired smith, interested.
"oh, he got in bad, sure enough," said mr. jarvis without emotion. "one of de boys what he'd pinched and had sent up the road once lays for him and puts one over on him wit a black-jack. sure. dat's what comes of havin' a cat wit' one blue and one yaller one."
mr. jarvis relapsed into silence. he seemed to be meditating on the inscrutable workings of fate. smith took advantage of the pause to leave the cat topic and touch on matters of more vital import.
"tense and exhilarating as is this discussion of the optical peculiarities of cats," he said, "there is another matter on which, if you will permit me, i should like to touch. i would hesitate to bore you with my own private troubles, but this is a matter which concerns comrade maude as well as myself, and i can see that your regard for comrade maude is almost an obsession."
"how's that?"
"i can see," said smith, "that comrade maude is a man to whom you give the glad hand."
mr. jarvis regarded john with respectful affection.
"sure! he's to the good, mr. maude is."
"exactly," said smith. "to resume, then. the fact is, comrade jarvis, we are much persecuted by scoundrels. how sad it is in this world! we look to every side. we look to north, east, south, and west, and what do we see? mainly scoundrels. i fancy you have heard a little about our troubles before this. in fact, i gather that the same scoundrels actually approached you with a view to engaging your services to do us up, but that you very handsomely refused the contract. we are the staff of peaceful moments."
"peaceful moments," said mr. jarvis. "sure, dat's right. a guy comes to me and says he wants you put through it, but i gives him de trundown."
"so i was informed," said smith. "well, failing you, they went to a gentleman of the name of reilly "
"spider reilly?"
"exactly. spider reilly, the lessee and manager of the three points gang."
mr. jarvis frowned.
"dose t'ree points, dey're to de bad. dey're fresh."
"it is too true, comrade jarvis."
"say," went on mr. jarvis, waxing wrathful at the recollection, "what do youse t'ink dem fresh stiffs done de odder night? started some rough woik in me own dance-joint."
"shamrock hall?" said smith. "i heard about it."
"dat's right, shamrock hall. got gay, dey did, wit' some of the table hillers. say, i got it in for dem gazebos, sure i have. surest t'ing you know."
smith beamed approval.
"that," he said, "is the right spirit. nothing could be more admirable.
we are bound together by our common desire to check the ever-growing spirit of freshness among the members of the three points. add to that the fact that we are united by a sympathetic knowledge of the manners and customs of cats, and especially that comrade maude, england's greatest fancier, is our mutual friend, and what more do we want?
nothing."
"mr. maude's to de good," assented mr. jarvis, eying john once more in friendly fashion.
"we are all to the good," said smith. "now, the thing i wished to ask you is this. the office of the paper was, until this morning, securely guarded by comrade brady, whose name will be familiar to you."
"de kid?"
"on the bull's-eye, as usual. kid brady, the coming light-weight champion of the world. well, he has unfortunately been compelled to leave us, and the way into the office is consequently clear to any sand-bag specialist who cares to wander in. so what i came to ask was, will you take comrade brady's place for a few days?"
"how's that?"
"will you come in and sit in the office for the next day or so and help hold the fort? i may mention that there is money attached to the job.
we will pay for your services."
mr. jarvis reflected but a brief moment.
"why, sure," he said. "me fer dat."
"excellent, comrade jarvis. nothing could be better. we will see you to-morrow, then. i rather fancy that the gay band of three pointers who will undoubtedly visit the offices of peaceful moments in the next few days is scheduled to run up against the surprise of their lives."
"sure t'ing. i'll bring me canister."
"do," said smith. "in certain circumstances one canister is worth a flood of rhetoric. till to-morrow, then, comrade jarvis. i am very much obliged to you."
"not at all a bad hour's work," he said complacently, as they turned out of groome street. "a vote of thanks to you, john, for your invaluable assistance."
"i didn't do much," said john, with a grin.
"apparently, no. in reality, yes. your manner was exactly right.
reserved, yet not haughty. just what an eminent cat-fancier's manner should be. i could see that you made a pronounced hit with comrade jarvis. by the way, as he is going to show up at the office to-morrow, perhaps it would be as well if you were to look up a few facts bearing on the feline world. there is no knowing what thirst for information a night's rest may not give comrade jarvis. i do not presume to dictate, but if you were to make yourself a thorough master of the subject of catnip, for instance, it might quite possibly come in useful."
chapter xxiii
the retirement of smith
the first member of the staff of peaceful moments to arrive at the office on the following morning was master maloney. this sounds like the beginning of a "plod and punctuality," or "how great fortunes have been made" story, but, as a matter of fact, master maloney, like mr. bat jarvis, was no early bird. larks who rose in his neighborhood, rose alone. he did not get up with them. he was supposed to be at the office at nine o'clock. it was a point of honor with him, a sort of daily declaration of independence, never to put in an appearance before nine-thirty. on this particular morning he was punctual to the minute, or half an hour late, whichever way you choose to look at it.
he had only whistled a few bars of "my little irish rose," and had barely got into the first page of his story of life on the prairie, when kid brady appeared. the kid had come to pay a farewell visit. he had not yet begun training, and he was making the best of the short time before such comforts should be forbidden by smoking a big black cigar. master maloney eyed him admiringly. the kid, unknown to that gentleman himself, was pugsy's ideal. he came from the plains, and had, indeed, once actually been a cowboy; he was a coming champion; and he could smoke big black cigars. there was no trace of his official well-what-is-it-now? air about pugsy as he laid down his book and prepared to converse.
"say, mr. smith around anywhere, pugsy?" asked the kid.
"naw, mr. brady. he ain't came yet," replied master maloney respectfully.
"late, ain't he?"
"sure! he generally blows in before i do."
"wonder what's keepin' him?"
as he spoke, john appeared. "hello, kid," he said. "come to say good-by?"
"yep," said the kid. "seen mr. smith around anywhere, mr. maude?"
"hasn't he come yet? i guess he'll be here soon. hello, who's this?"
a small boy was standing at the door, holding a note.
"mr. maude?" he said. "cop at jefferson market give me dis fer you."
"what!" he took the letter, and gave the boy a dime. "why, it's from smith. great scott!"
it was apparent that the kid was politely endeavoring to veil his curiosity. master maloney had no such delicacy.
"what's in de letter, boss?" he enquired.
"the letter," said john slowly, "is from mr. smith. and it says that he was sentenced this morning to thirty days on the island for resisting the police."
"he's de guy!" admitted master maloney approvingly.
"what's that?" said the kid. "mr. smith been slugging cops! what's he been doin' that for?"
"i must go and find out at once. it beats me."
it did not take john long to reach jefferson market, and by the judicious expenditure of a few dollars he was enabled to obtain an interview with smith in a back room.
the editor of peaceful moments was seated on a bench, looking remarkably disheveled. there was a bruise on his forehead, just where the hair began. he was, however, cheerful.
"ah, john," he said. "you got my note all right, then?" john looked at him, concerned.
"what on earth does it all mean?"
smith heaved a regretful sigh.
"i fear," he said, "i have made precisely the blamed fool of myself that comrade parker hoped i would."
"parker!"
smith nodded.
"i may be misjudging him, but i seem to see the hand of comrade parker in this. we had a raid at my house last night, john. we were pulled."
"what on earth ?"
"somebody if it was not comrade parker it was some other citizen dripping with public spirit tipped the police off that certain sports were running a pool-room in the house where i live."
on his departure from the news, smith, from motives of economy, had moved from his hotel in washington square and taken a furnished room on fourteenth street.
"there actually was a pool-room there," he went on, "so possibly i am wronging comrade parker in thinking that this was a scheme of his for getting me out of the way. at any rate, somebody gave the tip, and at about three o'clock this morning i was aroused from a dreamless slumber by quite a considerable hammering at my door. there, standing on the mat, were two policemen. very cordially the honest fellows invited me to go with them. a conveyance, it seemed, waited in the street without.
i disclaimed all connection with the bad gambling persons below, but they replied that they were cleaning up the house, and, if i wished to make any remarks, i had better make them to the magistrate. this seemed reasonable. i said i would put on some clothes and come along. they demurred. they said they couldn't wait about while i put on clothes. i pointed out that sky-blue pajamas with old-rose frogs were not the costume in which the editor of a great new york weekly paper should be seen abroad in one of the world's greatest cities, but they assured me more by their manner than their words that my misgivings were groundless, so i yielded. these men, i told myself, have lived longer in new york than i. they know what is done, and what is not done. i will bow to their views. so i was starting to go with them like a lamb, when one of them gave me a shove in the ribs with his night stick. and it was here that i fancy i may have committed a slight error of policy."
he smiled dreamily for a moment, then went on.
"i admit that the old berserk blood of the smiths boiled at that juncture. i picked up a sleep-producer from the floor, as comrade brady would say, and handed it to the big-stick merchant. he went down like a sack of coal over the bookcase, and at that moment i rather fancy the other gentleman must have got busy with his club. at any rate, somebody suddenly loosed off some fifty thousand dollars' worth of fireworks, and the next thing i knew was that the curtain had risen for the next act on me, discovered sitting in a prison cell, with an out-size in lumps on my forehead."
he sighed again.
"what peaceful moments really needs," he said, "is a sitz-redacteur. a sitz-redacteur, john, is a gentleman employed by german newspapers with a taste for lese-majeste to go to prison whenever required in place of the real editor. the real editor hints in his bright and snappy editorial, for instance, that the kaiser's mustache gives him bad dreams. the police force swoops down in a body on the office of the journal, and are met by the sitz-redacteur, who goes with them cheerfully, allowing the editor to remain and sketch out plans for his next week's article on the crown prince. we need a sitz-redacteur on peaceful moments almost as much as a fighting editor. not now, of course.
this has finished the thing. you'll have to close down the paper now."
"close it down!" cried john. "you bet i won't."
"my dear old son," said smith seriously, "what earthly reason have you for going on with it? you only came in to help me, and i am no more. i am gone like some beautiful flower that withers in the night. where's the sense of getting yourself beaten up then? quit!"
john shook his head.
"i wouldn't quit now if you paid me."
"but "
a policeman appeared at the door.
"say, pal," he remarked to john, "you'll have to be fading away soon, i guess. give you three minutes more. say it quick."
he retired. smith looked at john.
"you won't quit?" he said.
"no."
smith smiled.
"you're an all-wool sport, john," he said. "i don't suppose you know how to spell quit. well, then, if you are determined to stand by the ship like comrade casabianca, i'll tell you an idea that came to me in the watches of the night. if ever you want to get ideas, john, you spend a night in one of these cells. they flock to you. i suppose i did more profound thinking last night than i've ever done in my life. well, here's the idea. act on it or not, as you please. i was thinking over the whole business from soup to nuts, and it struck me that the queerest part of it all is that whoever owns these broster street tenements should care a canadian dime whether we find out who he is or not."
"well, there's the publicity," began john.
"tush!" said smith. "and possibly bah! do you suppose that the sort of man who runs broster street is likely to care a darn about publicity?
what does it matter to him if the papers soak it to him for about two days? he knows they'll drop him and go on to something else on the third, and he knows he's broken no law. no, there's something more in this business than that. don't think that this bright boy wants to hush us up simply because he is a sensitive plant who can't bear to think that people should be cross with him. he has got some private reason for wanting to lie low."
"well, but what difference ?"
"comrade, i'll tell you. it makes this difference: that the rents are almost certainly collected by some confidential person belonging to his own crowd, not by an ordinary collector. in other words, the collector knows the name of the man he's collecting for. but for this little misfortune of mine, i was going to suggest that we waylay that collector, administer the third degree, and ask him who his boss is."
john uttered an exclamation.
"you're right! i'll do it."
"you think you can? alone?"
"sure! don't you worry. i'll "
the door opened and the policeman reappeared.
"time's up. slide, sonny."
john said good-by to smith, and went out. he had a last glimpse of his late editor, a sad smile on his face, telling the policeman what was apparently a humorous story. complete good will seemed to exist between them. john consoled himself as he went away with the reflection that smith's was a temperament that would probably find a bright side even to a thirty-days' visit to blackwell's island.
he walked thoughtfully back to the office. there was something lonely, and yet wonderfully exhilarating, in the realization that he was now alone and in sole charge of the campaign. it braced him. for the first time in several weeks he felt positively light-hearted.
chapter xxiv
the campaign quickens
mr. jarvis was as good as his word. early in the afternoon he made his appearance at the office of peaceful moments, his forelock more than usually well oiled in honor of the occasion, and his right coat-pocket bulging in a manner that betrayed to the initiated eye the presence of his trusty "canister." with him, in addition, he brought a long, thin young man who wore under his brown tweed coat a blue-and-red striped sweater. whether he brought him as an ally in case of need or merely as a kindred soul with whom he might commune during his vigil, did not appear.
pugsy, startled out of his wonted calm by the arrival of this distinguished company, gazed after the pair, as they passed into the inner office, with protruding eyes.
john greeted the allies warmly, and explained smith's absence. mr.
jarvis listened to the story with interest, and introduced his colleague.
"t'ought i'd let him chase along. long otto's his monaker."
"sure!" said john. "the more the merrier. take a seat. you'll find cigars over there. you won't mind my not talking for the moment?
there's a wad of work to clear up."
this was an overstatement. he was comparatively free of work, press day having only just gone by; but he was keenly anxious to avoid conversation on the subject of cats, of his ignorance of which mr.
jarvis's appearance had suddenly reminded him. he took up an old proof sheet and began to glance through it, frowning thoughtfully.
mr. jarvis regarded the paraphernalia of literature on the table with interest. so did long otto, who, however, being a man of silent habit, made no comment. throughout the seance and the events which followed it he confined himself to an occasional grunt. he seemed to lack other modes of expression.
"is dis where youse writes up pieces fer de poiper?" enquired mr.
jarvis.
"this is the spot," said john. "on busy mornings you could hear our brains buzzing in madison square garden. oh, one moment."
he rose and went into the outer office.
"pugsy," he said, "do you know broster street?"
"sure."
"could you find out for me exactly when the man comes round collecting the rents?"
"surest t'ing you know. i knows a kid what knows anodder kid what lives dere."
"then go and do it now. and, after you've found out, you can take the rest of the day off."
"me fer dat," said master maloney with enthusiasm. "i'll take me goil to de bronx zoo."
"your girl? i didn't know you'd got a girl, pugsy. i always imagined you as one of those strong, stern, blood-and-iron men who despised girls. who is she?"
"aw, she's a kid," said pugsy. "her pa runs a delicatessen shop down our street. she ain't a bad mutt," added the ardent swain. "i'm her steady."
"well, mind you send me a card for the wedding. and if two dollars would be a help "
"sure t'ing. t'anks, boss. you're all right."
it had occurred to john that the less time pugsy spent in the outer office during the next few days, the better. the lull in the warfare could not last much longer, and at any moment a visit from spider reilly and his adherents might be expected. their probable first move in such an event would be to knock master maloney on the head to prevent his giving warning of their approach.
events proved that he had not been mistaken. he had not been back in the inner office for more than a quarter of an hour when there came from without the sound of stealthy movements. the handle of the door began to revolve slowly and quietly. the next moment three figures tumbled into the room.
it was evident that they had not expected to find the door unlocked, and the absence of resistance when they applied their weight had surprising effects. two of the three did not pause in their career till they cannoned against the table. the third checked himself by holding the handle.
john got up coolly.
"come right in," he said. "what can we do for you?" it had been too dark on the other occasion of his meeting with the three pointers to take note of their faces, though he fancied that he had seen the man holding the door-handle before. the others were strangers. they were all exceedingly unprepossessing in appearance.
there was a pause. the three marauders had become aware of the presence of mr. jarvis and his colleague, and the meeting was causing them embarrassment, which may have been due in part to the fact that both had produced and were toying meditatively with ugly-looking pistols.
mr. jarvis spoke.
"well," he said, "what's doin'?"
the man to whom the question was directly addressed appeared to have some difficulty in finding a reply. he shuffled his feet, and looked at the floor. his two companions seemed equally at a loss.
"goin' to start anything?" enquired mr. jarvis, casually.
the humor of the situation suddenly tickled john. the embarrassment of the uninvited guests was ludicrous.
"you've just dropped in for a quiet chat, is that it?" he said. "well, we're all delighted to see you. the cigars are on the table. draw up your chairs."
mr. jarvis opposed the motion. he drew slow circles in the air with his revolver.
"say! youse had best beat it. see?"
long otto grunted sympathy with the advice.
"and youse had best go back to spider reilly," continued mr. jarvis, "and tell him there ain't nothin' doing in the way of rough-house wit'
dis gent here. and you can tell de spider," went on bat with growing ferocity, "dat next time he gits fresh and starts in to shootin' up my dance-joint, i'll bite de head off'n him. see? dat goes. if he t'inks his little two-by-four crowd can git way wit' de groome street, he's got anodder guess comin'. an' don't fergit dis gent here and me is friends, and anyone dat starts anyt'ing wit' dis gent is going to find trouble. does dat go? beat it."
he jerked his shoulder in the direction of the door.
the delegation then withdrew.
"thanks," said john. "i'm much obliged to you both. you're certainly there with the goods as fighting editors. i don't know what i should have done without you."
"aw, chee!" said mr. jarvis, handsomely dismissing the matter. long otto kicked the leg of a table, and grunted.
pugsy maloney's report on the following morning was entirely satisfactory. rents were collected in broster street on thursdays.
nothing could have been more convenient, for that very day happened to be thursday.
"i rubbered around," said pugsy, "an' done de sleut' act, an' it's this way. dere's a feller blows in every t'ursday 'bout six o'clock, an' den it's up to de folks to dig down inter deir jeans for de stuff, or out dey goes before supper. i got dat from my kid frien' what knows a kid what lives dere. an' say, he has it pretty fierce, dat kid. de kid what lives dere. he's a wop kid, an italian, an' he's in bad 'cos his pa comes over from italy to woik on de subway."
"i don't see why that puts him in bad," said john wonderingly. "you don't construct your stories well, pugsy. you start at the end, then go back to any part which happens to appeal to you at the moment, and eventually wind up at the beginning. why is this kid in bad because his father has come to work on the subway?"
"why, sure, because his pa got fired an' swatted de foreman one on de coco, an' dey gives him t'oity days. so de kid's all alone, an' no one to pay de rent."
"i see," said john. "well, come along with me and introduce me, and i'll look after that."
at half-past five john closed the office for the day, and, armed with a big stick and conducted by master maloney, made his way to broster street. to reach it, it was necessary to pass through a section of the enemy's country, but the perilous passage was safely negotiated. the expedition reached its unsavory goal intact.
the wop kid inhabited a small room at the very top of a building half-way down the street. he was out when john and pugsy arrived.
it was not an abode of luxury, the tenement; they had to feel their way up the stairs in almost pitch darkness. most of the doors were shut, but one on the second floor was ajar. through the opening john had a glimpse of a number of women sitting on up-turned boxes. the floor was covered with little heaps of linen. all the women were sewing.
stumbling in the darkness, john almost fell against the door. none of the women looked up at the noise. in broster street time was evidently money.
on the top floor pugsy halted before the open door of an empty room.
the architect in this case had apparently given rein to a passion for originality, for he had constructed the apartment without a window of any sort whatsoever. the entire stock of air used by the occupants came through a small opening over the door.
it was a warm day, and john recoiled hastily.
"is this the kid's room?" he said. "i guess the corridor's good enough for me to wait in. what the owner of this place wants," he went on reflectively, "is scalping. well, we'll do it in the paper if we can't in any other way. is this your kid?"
a small boy had appeared. he seemed surprised to see visitors. pugsy undertook to do the honors. pugsy, as interpreter, was energetic, but not wholly successful. he appeared to have a fixed idea that the italian language was one easily mastered by the simple method of saying "da" instead of "the," and adding a final "a" to any word that seemed to him to need one.
"say, kid," he began, "has da rent-a-man come yet-a?"
the black eyes of the wop kid clouded. he gesticulated, and said something in his native language.
"he hasn't got next," reported master maloney. "he can't git on to me curves. dese wop kids is all bone-heads. say, kid, look-a here." he walked to the door, rapped on it smartly, and, assuming a look of extreme ferocity, stretched out his hand and thundered: "unbelt-a!
slip-a me da stuff!"
the wop kid's puzzlement in the face of this address became pathetic.
"this," said john, deeply interested, "is getting exciting. don't give in, pugsy. i guess the trouble is that your too perfect italian accent is making the kid homesick."
master maloney made a gesture of disgust.
"i'm t'roo. dese dagoes makes me tired. dey don't know enough to go upstairs to take de elevated. beat it, you mutt," he observed with moody displeasure, accompanying the words with a gesture which conveyed its own meaning. the wop kid, plainly glad to get away, slipped down the stairs like a shadow.
pugsy shrugged his shoulders.
"boss," he said resignedly, "it's up to youse."
john reflected.
"it's all right," he said. "of course, if the collector had been here, the kid wouldn't be. all i've got to do is to wait."
he peered over the banisters into the darkness below.
"not that it's not enough," he said; "for of all the poisonous places i ever met this is the worst. i wish whoever built it had thought to put in a few windows. his idea of ventilation was apparently to leave a hole about the size of a lima bean and let the thing go at that."
"i guess there's a door on to de roof somewhere," suggested pugsy. "at de joint where i lives dere is."
his surmise proved correct. at the end of the passage a ladder, nailed against the wall, ended in a large square opening, through which was visible, if not "that narrow strip of blue which prisoners call the sky," at any rate a tall brick chimney and a clothesline covered with garments that waved lazily in the breeze.
john stood beneath it, looking up.
"well," he said, "this isn't much, but it's better than nothing. i suppose the architect of this place was one of those fellows who don't begin to appreciate air till it's thick enough to scoop chunks out with a spoon. it's an acquired taste, i guess, like limburger cheese. and now, pugsy, old scout, you had better beat it. there may be a rough-house here any minute now."
pugsy looked up, indignant.
"beat it?"
"while your shoe-leather's good," said john firmly. "this is no place for a minister's son. take it from me."
"i want to stop and pipe de fun," objected master maloney.
"what fun?"
"i guess you ain't here to play ball," surmised pugsy shrewdly, eying the big stick.
"never mind why i'm here," said john. "beat it. i'll tell you all about it to-morrow."
master maloney prepared reluctantly to depart. as he did so there was a sound of well-shod feet on the stairs, and a man in a snuff-colored suit, wearing a brown homburg hat and carrying a small notebook in one hand, walked briskly up the stairs. his whole appearance proclaimed him to be the long-expected collector of rents.
chapter xxv
cornered
he did not see john for a moment, and had reached the door of the room when he became aware of a presence. he turned in surprise. he was a smallish, pale-faced man with protruding eyes and teeth which gave him a certain resemblance to a rabbit.
"hello!" he said.
"welcome to our city," said john, stepping unostentatiously between him and the stairs.
master maloney, who had taken advantage of the interruption to edge back into the center of things, now appeared to consider the question of his departure permanently shelved. he sidled to a corner of the landing, and sat down on an empty soap box with the air of a dramatic critic at the opening night of a new play. the scene looked good to him. it promised interesting developments. he was an earnest student of the drama, as exhibited in the theaters of the east side, and few had ever applauded the hero of "escaped from sing sing," or hissed the villain of "nellie, the beautiful cloak-model" with more fervor. he liked his drama to have plenty of action, and to his practised eye this one promised well. there was a set expression on john's face which suggested great things.
his pleasure was abruptly quenched. john, placing a firm hand on his collar, led him to the top of the stairs and pushed him down.
"beat it," he said.
the rent-collector watched these things with a puzzled eye. he now turned to john.
"say, seen anything of the wops that live here?" he enquired. "my name's gooch. i've come to take the rent."
john nodded.
"i don't think there's much chance of your seeing them to-night," he said. "the father, i hear, is in prison. you won't get any rent out of him."
"then it's outside for theirs," said mr. gooch definitely.
"what about the kid?" said john. "where's he to go?"
"that's up to him. nothing to do with me. i'm only acting under orders from up top."
"whose orders?" enquired john.
"the gent who owns this joint."
"who is he?"
suspicion crept into the protruding eyes of the rent-collector.
"say!" he demanded. "who are you anyway, and what do you think you're doing here? that's what i'd like to know. what do you want with the name of the owner of this place? what business is it of yours?"
"i'm a newspaper man."
"i guessed you were," said mr. gooch with triumph. "you can't bluff me.
well, it's no good, sonny. i've nothing for you. you'd better chase off and try something else."
he became more friendly.
"say, though," he said, "i just guessed you were from some paper. i wish i could give you a story, but i can't. i guess it's this peaceful moments business that's been and put your editor on to this joint, ain't it? say, though, that's a queer thing, that paper. why, only a few weeks ago it used to be a sort of take-home-and-read-to-the-kids affair.
a friend of mine used to buy it regular. and then suddenly it comes out with a regular whoop, and starts knocking these tenements and boosting kid brady, and all that. it gets past me. all i know is that it's begun to get this place talked about. why, you see for yourself how it is.
here is your editor sending you down to get a story about it. but, say, those peaceful moments guys are taking big risks. i tell you straight they are, and i know. i happen to be wise to a thing or two about what's going on on the other side, and i tell you there's going to be something doing if they don't cut it out quick. mr. qem, the fellow who owns this place isn't the man to sit still and smile. he's going to get busy. say, what paper do you come from?"
"peaceful moments," said john.
for a moment the inwardness of the information did not seem to come home to mr. gooch. then it hit him. he spun round. john was standing squarely between him and the stairs.
"hey, what's all this?" demanded mr. gooch nervously. the light was dim in the passage, but it was sufficiently light to enable him to see john's face, and it did not reassure him.
"i'll soon tell you," said john. "first, however, let's get this business of the kid's rent settled. take it out of this and give me the receipt."
he pulled out a bill.
"curse his rent," said mr. gooch. "let me pass."
"soon," said john. "business before pleasure. how much does the kid have to pay for the privilege of suffocating in this infernal place? as much as that? well, give me a receipt, and then we can get on to more important things."
"let me pass."
"receipt," said john laconically.
mr. gooch looked at the big stick, then scribbled a few words in his notebook and tore out the page. john thanked him.
"i will see that it reaches him," he said. "and now will you kindly tell me the name of the man for whom you collected that money?"
"let me pass," bellowed mr. gooch. "i'll bring an action against you for assault and battery. playing a fool game like this! get away from those stairs."
"there has been no assault and battery yet," said john. "well, are you going to tell me?"
mr. gooch shuffled restlessly. john leaned against the banisters.
"as you said a moment ago," he observed, "the staff of peaceful moments is taking big risks. i knew it before you told me. i have had practical demonstration of the fact. and that is why this broster street thing has got to be finished quick. we can't afford to wait. so i am going to have you tell me this man's name right now."
"help!" yelled mr. gooch.
the noise died away, echoing against the walls. no answering cry came from below. custom had staled the piquancy of such cries in broster street. if anybody heard it, nobody thought the matter worth investigation.
"if you do that again," said john, "i'll break you in half. now then! i can't wait much longer. get busy!"
he looked huge and sinister to mr. gooch, standing there in the uncertain light; it was very lonely on that top floor and the rest of the world seemed infinitely far away. mr. gooch wavered. he was loyal to his employer, but he was still more loyal to mr. gooch.
"well?" said john.
there was a clatter on the stairs of one running swiftly, and pugsy maloney burst into view. for the first time since john had known him, pugsy was openly excited.
"say, boss," he cried, "dey's coming!"
"what? who?"
"why, dem. i seen dem t'ree pointers spider reilly an' "
he broke off with a yelp of surprise. mr. gooch had seized his opportunity, and had made his dash for safety. with a rush he dived past john, nearly upsetting pugsy, who stood in his path, and sprang down the stairs. once he tripped, but recovered himself, and in another instant only the faint sound of his hurrying footsteps reached them.
john had made a movement as if to follow, but the full meaning of pugsy's words came upon him and he stopped.
"spider reilly?" he said.
"i guess it was spider reilly," said pugsy, excitedly. "dey called him spider. i guess dey piped youse comin' in here. gee! it's pretty fierce, boss, dis! what youse goin' to do?"
"where did you see them, pugsy?"
"on the street just outside. dere was a bunch of dem spielin' togedder, and i hears dem say you was in here. dere ain't no ways out but de front, so dey ain't hurryin'. dey just reckon to pike along upstairs, peekin' inter each room till dey find you. an' dere's a bunch of dem goin' to wait on de street in case youse beat it past down de stairs while de odder guys is rubberin' for youse. gee, ain't dis de limit!"
john stood thinking. his mind was working rapidly. suddenly he smiled.
"it's all right, pugsy," he said. "it looks bad, but i see a way out.
i'm going up that ladder there and through the trapdoor on to the roof.
i shall be all right there. if they find me, they can only get at me one at a time. and, while i'm there, here's what i want you to do."
"shall i go for de cops, boss?"
"no, not the cops. do you know where dude dawson lives?"
the light of intelligence began to shine in master maloney's face. his eye glistened with approval. this was strategy of the right sort.
"i can ask around," he said. "i'll soon find him all right."
"do, and as quick as you can. and when you've found him tell him that his old chum, spider reilly, is here, with the rest of his crowd. and now i'd better be getting up on to my perch. off you go, pugsy, my son, and don't take a week about it. good-by."
pugsy vanished, and john, going to the ladder, climbed out on to the roof with his big stick. he looked about him. the examination was satisfactory. the trapdoor appeared to be the only means of access to the roof, and between this roof and that of the next building there was a broad gulf. the position was practically impregnable. only one thing could undo him, and that was, if the enemy should mount to the next roof and shoot from there. and even then he would have cover in the shape of the chimney. it was a pity that the trap opened downward, for he had no means of securing it and was obliged to allow it to hang open. but, except for that, his position could hardly have been stronger.
as yet there was no sound of the enemy's approach. evidently, as pugsy had said, they were conducting the search, room by room, in a thorough and leisurely way. he listened with his ear close to the open trapdoor, but could hear nothing.
a startled exclamation directly behind him brought him to his feet in a flash, every muscle tense. he whirled his stick above his head as he turned, ready to strike, then let it fall with a clatter. for there, a bare yard away, stood betty.
chapter xxvi
journey's end
the capacity of the human brain for surprise, like that of the human body for pain, is limited. for a single instant a sense of utter unreality struck john like a physical blow. the world flickered before his eyes and the air seemed full of strange noises. then, quite suddenly, these things passed, and he found himself looking at her with a total absence of astonishment, mildly amused in some remote corner of his brain at his own calm. it was absurd, he told himself, that he should be feeling as if he had known of her presence there all the time. yet it was so. if this were a dream, he could not be taking the miracle more as a matter of course. joy at the sight of her he felt, keen and almost painful, but no surprise. the shock had stunned his sense of wonder.
she was wearing a calico apron over her dress, an apron that had evidently been designed for a large woman. swathed in its folds, she suggested a child playing at being grown up. her sleeves were rolled back to the elbow, and her slim arms dripped with water. strands of brown hair were blowing loose in the evening breeze. to john she had never seemed so bewitchingly pretty. he stared at her till the pallor of her face gave way to a warm red glow.
as they stood there, speechless, there came from the other side of the chimney, softly at first, then swelling, the sound of a child's voice, raised in a tentative wail. betty started violently. the next moment she was gone, and from the unseen parts beyond the chimney came the noise of splashing water.
and at the same instant, through the trap, came a trampling of feet and the sound of whispering. the enemy had reached the top floor.
john was conscious of a remarkable exhilaration. he felt insanely light-hearted. he laughed aloud at the thought that until then he had completely forgotten the very existence of these earnest seekers after his downfall. he threw back his head and shouted. there was something so ridiculous in their assumption that they mattered to a man who had found betty again.
he thrust his head down through the trap, to see what was going on. the dark passage was full of indistinct forms, gathered together in puzzled groups. the mystery of the vanished object of their pursuit was being discussed in hoarse whispers.
suddenly there was an excited shout, then a rush of feet. john drew back his head, and waited, gripping his stick.
voices called to each other in the passage below.
"de roof!"
"on top de roof!"
"he's beaten it for de roof!"
feet shuffled on the stone floor. the voices ceased abruptly. and then, like a jack-in-the-box, there popped through the trap a head and shoulders.
the new arrival was a young man with a shock of red hair, a broken nose, and a mouth from which force or the passage of time had removed three front teeth. he held on to the edge of the trap, and stared up at john.
john beamed down at him, and shifted his grip on the stick.
"who's here?" he cried. "historic picture. 'old dr. cook discovers the north pole.'"
the red-headed young man blinked. the strong light of the open air was trying to his eyes.
"youse had best come down," he observed coldly. "we've got youse."
"and," continued john, unmoved, "is instantly handed a gum-drop by his faithful eskimo."
as he spoke, he brought the stick down on the knuckles which disfigured the edges of the trap. the intruder uttered a howl and dropped out of sight. in the passage below there were whisperings and mutterings, growing gradually louder till something resembling coherent conversation came to john's ears, as he knelt by the trap making meditative billiard shots with the stick at a small pebble.
"aw g'wan! don't be a quitter."
"who's a quitter?"
"youse a quitter. get on top de roof. he can't hoit youse."
"de guy's gotten a big stick."
john nodded appreciatively.
"i and theodore," he murmured.
a somewhat baffled silence on the part of the attacking force was followed by further conversation.
"gee! some guy's got to go up."
murmur of assent from the audience.
a voice, in inspired tones: "let sam do it."
the suggestion made a hit. there was no doubt about that. it was a success from the start. quite a little chorus of voices expressed sincere approval of the very happy solution to what had seemed an insoluble problem. john, listening from above, failed to detect in the choir of glad voices one that might belong to sam himself. probably gratification had rendered the chosen one dumb.
"yes, let sam do it," cried the unseen chorus. the first speaker, unnecessarily, perhaps for the motion had been carried almost unanimously but possibly with the idea of convincing the one member of the party in whose bosom doubts might conceivably be harbored, went on to adduce reasons.
"sam bein' a coon," he argued, "ain't goin' to git hoit by no stick.
youse can't hoit a coon by soakin' him on de coco, can you, sam?"
john waited with some interest for the reply, but it did not come.
possibly sam did not wish to generalize on insufficient experience.
"we can but try," said john softly, turning the stick round in his fingers.
a report like a cannon sounded in the passage below. it was merely a revolver shot, but in the confined space it was deafening. the bullet sang up into the sky.
"never hit me," said john cheerfully.
the noise was succeeded by a shuffling of feet. john grasped his stick more firmly. this was evidently the real attack. the revolver shot had been a mere demonstration of artillery to cover the infantry's advance.
sure enough, the next moment a woolly head popped through the opening, and a pair of rolling eyes gleamed up at him.
"why, sam!" he said cordially, "this is great. now for our interesting experiment. my idea is that you can hurt a coon's head with a stick if you hit it hard enough. keep quite still. now. what, are you coming up? sam, i hate to do it, but "
a yell rang out. john's theory had been tested and proved correct.
by this time the affair had begun to attract spectators. the noise of the revolver had proved a fine advertisement. the roof of the house next door began to fill up. only a few of the occupants could get a clear view of the proceedings, for the chimney intervened. there was considerable speculation as to what was passing in the three points camp. john was the popular favorite. the early comers had seen his interview with sam, and were relating it with gusto to their friends.
their attitude toward john was that of a group of men watching a dog at a rat hole. they looked to him to provide entertainment for them, but they realized that the first move must be with the attackers. they were fair-minded men, and they did not expect john to make any aggressive move.
their indignation, when the proceedings began to grow slow, was directed entirely at the dilatory three pointers. they hooted the three pointers. they urged them to go home and tuck themselves up in bed. the spectators were mostly irishmen, and it offended them to see what should have been a spirited fight so grossly bungled.
"g'wan away home, ye quitters!" roared one.
a second member of the audience alluded to them as "stiffs."
it was evident that the besieging army was beginning to grow a little unpopular. more action was needed if they were to retain the esteem of broster street.
suddenly there came another and a longer explosion from below, and more bullets wasted themselves on air. john sighed.
"you make me tired," he said.
the irish neighbors expressed the same sentiment in different and more forcible words. there was no doubt about it as warriors, the three pointers were failing to give satisfaction.
a voice from the passage called to john.
"say!"
"well?" said john.
"are youse comin' down off out of dat roof?"
"would you mind repeating that remark?"
"are youse goin' to quit off out of dat roof?"
"go away and learn some grammar," said john severely.
"hey!"
"well?"
"are youse ?"
"no, my son," said john, "since you ask it, i am not. i like being up here. how is sam?"
there was silence below. the time began to pass slowly. the irishmen on the other roof, now definitely abandoning hope of further entertainment, proceeded with hoots of derision to climb down one by one into the recesses of their own house.
and then from the street far below there came a fusillade of shots and a babel of shouts and counter-shouts. the roof of the house next door filled again with a magical swiftness, and the low wall facing the street became black with the backs of those craning over. there appeared to be great doings in the street.
john smiled comfortably.
in the army of the corridor confusion had arisen. a scout, clattering upstairs, had brought the news of the table hillites' advent, and there was doubt as to the proper course to pursue. certain voices urged going down to help the main body. others pointed out that this would mean abandoning the siege of the roof. the scout who had brought the news was eloquent in favor of the first course.
"gee!" he cried, "don't i keep tellin' youse dat de table hills is here? sure, dere's a whole bunch of dem, and unless youse come on down dey'll bite de hull head off of us lot. leave dat stiff on de roof. let sam wait here wit' his canister, and den he can't get down, 'cos sam'll pump him full of lead while he's beatin' it t'roo de trapdoor. sure!"
john nodded reflectively.
"there is certainly something in that," he murmured. "i guess the grand rescue scene in the third act has sprung a leak. this will want thinking over."
in the street the disturbance had now become terrible. both sides were hard at it, and the irishmen on the roof, rewarded at last for their long vigil, were yelling encouragement promiscuously and whooping with the unfettered ecstasy of men who are getting the treat of their lives without having paid a penny for it.
the behavior of the new york policeman in affairs of this kind is based on principles of the soundest practical wisdom. the unthinking man would rush in and attempt to crush the combat in its earliest and fiercest stages. the new york policeman, knowing the importance of his safety, and the insignificance of the gangsman's, permits the opposing forces to hammer each other into a certain distaste for battle, and then, when both sides have begun to have enough of it, rushes in himself and clubs everything in sight. it is an admirable process in its results, but it is sure rather than swift.
proceedings in the affair below had not yet reached the police-interference stage. the noise, what with the shots and yells from the street and the ear-piercing approval of the roof audience, was just working up to a climax.
john rose. he was tired of kneeling by the trap, and there was no likelihood of sam making another attempt to climb through. he got up and stretched himself.
and then he saw that betty was standing beside him, holding with each hand a small and by broster street standards uncannily clean child.
the children were scared and whimpering, and she stooped to soothe them. then she turned to john, her eyes wide with anxiety.
"are you hurt?" she cried. "what has been happening? are you hurt?"
john's heart leaped at the anxious break in her voice.
"it's all right," he said soothingly. "it's absolutely all right.
everything's over."
as if to give him the lie, the noise in the street swelled to a crescendo of yells and shots.
"what's that?" cried betty, starting.
"i fancy," said john, "the police must be taking a hand. it's all right. there's a little trouble down below there between two of the gangs. it won't last long now."
"who were those men?"
"my friends in the passage?" he said lightly. "those were some of the three points gang. we were holding the concluding exercise of a rather lively campaign that's been "
betty leaned weakly against the chimney. there was silence now in the street. only the distant rumble of an elevated train broke the stillness. she drew her hands from the children's grasp, and covered her face. as she lowered them again, john saw that the blood had left her cheeks. she was white and shaking. he moved forward impulsively.
"betty!"
she tottered, reaching blindly for the chimney for support, and without further words he gathered her into his arms as if she had been the child she looked, and held her there, clutching her to him fiercely, kissing the brown hair that brushed against his face, and soothing her with vague murmurings.
her breath came in broken gasps. she laughed hysterically.
"i thought they were killing you killing you and i couldn't leave my babies they were so frightened, poor little mites i thought they were killing you."
"betty!"
her arms about his neck tightened their grip convulsively, forcing his head down until his face rested against hers. and so they stood, rigid, while the two children stared with round eyes and whimpered unheeded.
her grip relaxed. her hands dropped slowly to her side. she leaned back against the circle of his arms, and looked up at him a strange look, full of a sweet humility.
"i thought i was strong," she said quietly. "i'm weak but i don't care."
he looked at her with glowing eyes, not understanding, but content that the journey was ended, that she was there, in his arms, speaking to him.
"i always loved you, dear," she went on. "you knew that, didn't you?
but i thought i was strong enough to give you up for for a principle but i was wrong. i can't do without you i knew it just now when i saw " she stopped, and shuddered. "i can't do without you," she repented.
she felt the muscles of his arms quiver, and pressed more closely against them. they were strong arms, protecting arms, restful to lean against at the journey's end.
chapter xxvii
a lemon
that bulwark of peaceful moments, pugsy maloney, was rather the man of action than the man of tact. otherwise, when, a moment later, he thrust his head up through the trap, he would have withdrawn delicately, and not split the silence with a raucous "hey!" which acted on john and betty like an electric shock.
john glowered at him. betty was pink, but composed. pugsy climbed leisurely on to the roof, and surveyed the group.
"why, hello!" he said, as he saw betty more closely.
"well, pugsy," said betty. "how are you?"
john turned in surprise.
"do you know pugsy?"
betty looked at him, puzzled.
"why, of course i do."
"sure," said pugsy. "miss brown was stenographer on de poiper till she beat it."
"miss brown!"
there was utter bewilderment in john's face.
"i changed my name when i went to peaceful moments."
"then are you did you ?"
"yes, i wrote those articles. that's how i happen to be here now. i come down every day and help look after the babies. poor little souls, there seems to be nobody else here who has time to do it. it's dreadful. some of them you wouldn't believe i don't think they could ever have had a real bath in their lives."
"baths is foolishness," commented master maloney austerely, eying the scoured infants with a touch of disfavor.
john was reminded of a second mystery that needed solution.
"how on earth did you get up here, pugsy?" he asked. "how did you get past sam?"
"sam? i didn't see no sam. who's sam?"
"one of those fellows. a coon. they left him on guard with a gun, so that i shouldn't get down."
"ah, i met a coon beating it down de stairs. i guess dat was him. i guess he got cold feet."
"then there's nothing to stop us from getting down."
"nope. dat's right. dere ain't a t'ree pointer wit'in a mile. de cops have been loadin' dem into de patrol-wagon by de dozen."
john turned to betty.
"we'll go and have dinner somewhere. you haven't begun to explain things yet."
betty shook her head with a smile.
"i haven't got time to go out to dinners," she said. "i'm a working-girl. i'm cashier at fontelli's italian restaurant. i shall be on duty in another half-hour."
john was aghast.
"you!"
"it's a very good situation," said betty demurely. "six dollars a week and what i steal. i haven't stolen anything yet, and i think mr. jarvis is a little disappointed in me. but of course i haven't settled down properly."
"jarvis? bat jarvis?"
"yes. he has been very good to me. he got me this place, and has looked after me all the time."
"i'll buy him a thousand cats," said john fervently. "but, betty, you mustn't go there any more. you must quit. you "
"if peaceful moments would reengage me?" said betty.
she spoke lightly, but her face was serious.
"dear," she said quickly, "i can't be away from you now, while there's danger. i couldn't bear it. will you let me come?"
he hesitated.
"you will. you must." her manner changed again. "that's settled, then.
pugsy, i'm coming back to the paper. are you glad?"
"sure t'ing," said pugsy. "you're to de good."
"and now," she went on, "i must give these babies back to their mothers, and then i'll come with you."
she lowered herself through the trap, and john handed the children down to her. pugsy looked on, smoking a thoughtful cigarette.
john drew a deep breath. pugsy, removing the cigarette from his mouth, delivered himself of a stately word of praise.
"she's a boid," he said.
"pugsy," said john, feeling in his pocket, and producing a roll of bills, "a dollar a word is our rate for contributions like that."
john pushed back his chair slightly, stretched out his legs, and lighted a cigarette, watching betty fondly through the smoke. the resources of the knickerbocker hotel had proved equal to supplying the staff of peaceful moments with an excellent dinner, and john had stoutly declined to give or listen to any explanations until the coffee arrived.
"thousands of promising careers," he said, "have been ruined by the fatal practise of talking seriously at dinner. but now we might begin."
betty looked at him across the table with shining eyes. it was good to be together again.
"my explanations won't take long," she said. "i ran away from you. and, when you found me, i ran away again."
"but i didn't find you," objected john. "that was my trouble."
"but my aunt told you i was at peaceful moments!"
"on the contrary, i didn't even know you had an aunt."
"well, she's not exactly that. she's my stepfather's aunt mrs. oakley.
i was certain you had gone straight to her, and that she had told you where i was."
"the mrs. oakley? the er philanthropist?"
"don't laugh at her," said betty quickly. "she was so good to me!"
"she passes," said john decidedly.
"and now," said betty, "it's your turn."
john lighted another cigarette.
"my story," he said, "is rather longer. when they threw me out of mervo "
"what!"
"i'm afraid you don't keep abreast of european history," he said.
"haven't you heard of the great revolution in mervo and the overthrow of the dynasty? bloodless, but invigorating. the populace rose against me as one man except good old general poineau. he was for me, and crump was neutral, but apart from them my subjects were unanimous.
there's a republic again in mervo now."
"but why? what had you done?"
"well, i abolished the gaming-tables. but, more probably," he went on quickly, "they saw what a perfect dub i was in every "
she interrupted him.
"do you mean to say that, just because of me ?"
"well," he said awkwardly, "as a matter of fact what you said did make me think over my position, and, of course, directly i thought over it oh, well, anyway, i closed down gambling in mervo, and then "
"john!"
he was aware of a small hand creeping round the table under cover of the cloth. he pressed it swiftly, and, looking round, caught the eye of a hovering waiter, who swooped like a respectful hawk.
"did you want anything, sir?"
"i've got it, thanks," said john.
the waiter moved away.
"well, directly they had fired me, i came over here. i don't know what i expected to do. i suppose i thought i might find you by chance. i pretty soon saw how hopeless it was, and it struck me that, if i didn't get some work to do mighty quick, i shouldn't be much good to anyone except the alienists."
"dear!"
the waiter stared, but john's eyes stopped him in mid-swoop.
"then i found smith "
"where is mr. smith?"
"in prison," said john with a chuckle.
"in prison!"
"he resisted and assaulted the police. i'll tell you about it later.
well, smith told me of the alterations in peaceful moments, and i saw that it was just the thing for me. and it has occupied my mind quite some. to think of you being the writer of those broster street articles! you certainly have started something, betty! goodness knows where it will end. i hoped to have brought off a coup this afternoon, but the arrival of sam and his friends just spoiled it."
"this afternoon? yes, why were you there? what were you doing?"
"i was interviewing the collector of rents and trying to dig his employer's name out of him. it was smith's idea. smith's theory was that the owner of the tenements must have some special private reason for lying low, and that he would employ some special fellow, whom he could trust, as a rent-collector. and i'm pretty certain he was right.
i cornered the collector, a little, rabbit-faced man named gooch, and i believe he was on the point of what's the matter?"
betty's forehead was wrinkled. her eyes wore a far-away expression.
"i'm trying to remember something. i seem to know the name, gooch. and i seem to associate it with a little, rabbit-faced man. and quick, tell me some more about him. he's just hovering about on the edge of my memory. quick! push him in!"
john threw his mind back to the interview in the dark passage, trying to reconstruct it.
"he's small," he said slowly. "his eyes protrude so do his teeth he he yes, i remember now he has a curious red mark "
"on his right cheek," said betty triumphantly.
"by jove!" cried john. "you've got him?"
"i remember him perfectly. he was " she stopped with a little gasp.
"yes?"
"john, he was one of my stepfather's secretaries," she said.
they looked at each other in silence.
"it can't be," said john at length.
"it can. it is. he must be. he has scores of interests everywhere. he prides himself on it. it's the most natural thing."
john shook his head doubtfully.
"but why all the fuss? your stepfather isn't the man to mind public opinion "
"but don't you see? it's as mr. smith said. the private reason. it's as clear as daylight. naturally he would do anything rather than be found out. don't you see? because of mrs. oakley."
"because of mrs. oakley?"
"you don't know her as i do. she is a curious mixture. she's double-natured. you called her the philanthropist just now. well, she would be one, if if she could bear to part with money. yes, i know it sounds ridiculous. but it's so. she is mean about money, but she honestly hates to hear of anybody treating poor people badly. if my stepfather were really the owner of those tenements, and she should find it out, she would have nothing more to do with him. it's true. i know her."
the smile passed away from john's face.
"by george!" he said. "it certainly begins to hang together."
"i know i'm right."
"i think you are."
he sat meditating for a moment.
"well?" he said at last.
"what do you mean?"
"i mean, what are we to do? do we go on with this?"
"go on with it? i don't understand."
"i mean well, it has become rather a family matter, you see. do you feel as warlike against mr. scobell as you did against an unknown lessee?"
betty's eyes sparkled.
"i don't think i should feel any different if if it was you," she said. "i've been spending days and days in those houses, john dear, and i've seen such utter squalor and misery, where there needn't be any at all if only the owner would do his duty, and and "
she stopped. her eyes were misty.
"thumbs down, in fact," said john, nodding. "i'm with you."
as he spoke, two men came down the broad staircase into the grill-room.
betty's back was towards them, but john saw them, and stared.
"what are you looking at?" asked betty.
"will you count ten before looking round?"
"what is it?"
"your stepfather has just come in."
"what!"
"he's sitting at the other side of the room, directly behind you. count ten!"
but betty had twisted round in her chair.
"where? where?"
"just where you're looking. don't let him see you."
"i don't oh!"
"got him?"
he leaned back in his chair.
"the plot thickens, eh?" he said. "what is mr. scobell doing in new york, i wonder, if he has not come to keep an eye on his interests?"
betty had whipped round again. her face was white with excitement.
"it's true," she whispered. "i was right. do you see who that is with him? the man?"
"do you know him? he's a stranger to me."
"it's mr. parker," said betty.
john drew in his breath sharply.
"are you sure?"
"positive."
john laughed quietly. he thought for a moment, then beckoned to the hovering waiter.
"what are you going to do?" asked betty.
"bring me a small lemon," said john.
"lemon squash, sir?"
"not a lemon squash. a plain lemon. the fruit of that name. the common or garden citron, which is sharp to the taste and not pleasant to have handed to one. also a piece of note paper, a little tissue paper, and an envelope.
"what are you going to do?" asked betty again.
john beamed.
"did you ever read the sherlock holmes story entitled 'the five orange pips'? well, when a man in that story received a mysterious envelope containing five orange pips, it was a sign that he was due to get his.
it was all over, as far as he was concerned, except 'phoning for the undertaker. i propose to treat mr. scobell better than that. he shall have a whole lemon."
the waiter returned. john wrapped up the lemon carefully, wrote on the note paper the words, "to b. scobell, esq., property owner, broster street, from prince john of peaceful moments, this gift," and enclosed it in the envelope.
"do you see that gentleman at the table by the pillar?" he said. "give him these. just say a gentleman sent them."
the waiter smiled doubtfully. john added a two-dollar bill to the collection in his hand.
"you needn't give him that," he said.
the waiter smiled again, but this time not doubtfully.
"and now," said john as the messenger ambled off, "perhaps it would be just as well if we retired."
chapter xxviii
the final attempt
proof that his shot had not missed its mark was supplied to john immediately upon his arrival at the office on the following morning, when he was met by pugsy maloney with the information that a gentleman had called to see him.
"with or without a black-jack?" enquired john. "did he give any name?"
"sure. parker's his name. he blew in oncst before when mr. smith was here. i loosed him into de odder room."
john walked through. the man he had seen with mr. scobell at the knickerbocker was standing at the window.
"mr. parker?"
the other turned, as the door opened, and looked at him keenly.
"are you mr. maude?"
"i am," said john.
"i guess you don't need to be told what i've come about?"
"no."
"see here," said mr. parker. "i don't know how you've found things out, but you've done it, and we're through. we quit."
"i'm glad of that," said john. "would you mind informing spider reilly of that fact? it will make life pleasanter for all of us."
"mr. scobell sent me along here to ask you to come and talk over this thing with him. he's at the knickerbocker. i've a cab waiting outside.
can you come along?"
"i'd rather he came here."
"and i bet he'd rather come here than be where he is. that little surprise packet of yours last night put him down and out. gave him a stroke of some sort. he's in bed now, with half-a-dozen doctors working on him."
john thought for a moment.
"oh," he said slowly, "if it's that very well."
he could not help feeling a touch of remorse. he had no reason to be fond of mr. scobell, but he was sorry that this should have happened.
they went out on the street. a taximeter cab was standing by the sidewalk. they got in. neither spoke. john was thoughtful and preoccupied. mr. parker, too, appeared to be absorbed in his own thoughts. he sat with folded arms and lowered head.
the cab buzzed up fifth avenue. suddenly something, half-seen through the window, brought john to himself with a jerk. it was the great white mass of the plaza hotel. the next moment he saw that they were abreast of the park, and for the first time an icy wave of suspicion swept over him.
"here, what's this?" he cried. "where are you taking me?"
mr. parker's right hand came swiftly out of ambush, and something gleamed in the sun.
"don't move," said mr. parker. the hard nozzle of a pistol pressed against john's chest. "keep that hand still."
john dropped his hand. mr. parker leaned back, with the pistol resting easily on his knee. the cab began to move more quickly.
john's mind was in a whirl. his chief emotion was not fear, but disgust that he should have allowed himself to be trapped, with such absurd ease. he blushed for himself. mr. parker's face was expressionless, but who could say what tumults of silent laughter were not going on inside him? john bit his lip.
"well?" he said at last.
mr. parker did not reply.
"well?" said john again. "what's the next move?"
it flashed across his mind that, unless driven to it by an attack, his captor would do nothing for the moment without running grave risks himself. to shoot now would be to attract attention. the cab would be overtaken at once by bicycle police, and stopped. there would be no escape. no, nothing could happen till they reached open country. at least he would have time to think this matter over in all its bearings.
mr. parker ignored the question. he was sitting in the same attitude of watchfulness, the revolver resting on his knee. he seemed mistrustful of john's right hand, which was hanging limply at his side. it was from this quarter that he appeared to expect attack. the cab was bowling easily up the broad street, past rows and rows of high houses each looking exactly the same as the last. occasionally, to the right, through a break in the line of buildings, a glimpse of the river could be seen.
a faint hope occurred to john that, by talking, he might put the other off his guard for just that instant which was all he asked. he exerted himself to find material for conversation.
"tell me," he said, "what you said about mr. scobell, was that true?
about his being ill in bed?"
mr. parker did not answer, but a wintry smile flittered across his face.
"it was not?" said john. "well, i'm glad of that. i don't wish mr.
scobell any harm."
mr. parker looked at him doubtfully.
"say, why are you in this game at all?" he said. "what made you butt in?"
"one must do something," said john. "it's interesting work."
"if you'll quit "
john shook his head.
"i own it's a tempting proposition, things being as they are, but i won't give up yet. you never know what may happen."
"well, you can make a mighty near guess this trip."
"you can't do a thing yet, that's sure," said john confidently. "if you shot me now, the cab would be stopped, and you would be lynched by the populace. i seem to see them tearing you limb from limb. 'she loves me!' off comes an arm. 'she loves me not!' a leg joins the little heap on the ground. that is what would happen, mr. parker."
the other shrugged his shoulders, and relapsed into silence once more.
"what are you going to do with me, mr. parker?" asked john.
mr. parker did not reply.
the cab moved swiftly on. now they had reached the open country. an occasional wooden shack was passed, but that was all. at any moment, john felt, the climax of the drama might be reached, and he got ready.
his muscles stiffened for a spring. there was little chance of its being effective, but at least it would be good to put up some kind of a fight. and he had a faint hope that the suddenness of his movement might upset the other's aim. he was bound to be hit somewhere. that was certain. but quickness might save him to some extent. he braced his leg against the back of the cab. and, as he did so, its smooth speed changed to a series of jarring jumps, each more emphatic than the last.
it slowed down, then came to a halt. there was a thud, as the chauffeur jumped down. john heard him fumbling in the tool box. presently the body of the machine was raised slightly as he got to work with the jack. john's muscles relaxed. he leaned back. surely something could be made of this new development. but the hand that held the revolver never wavered. he paused, irresolute. and at the moment somebody spoke in the road outside.
"had a breakdown?" enquired the voice.
john recognized it. it was the voice of kid brady.
the kid, as he had stated that he intended to do, had begun his training for his match with eddie wood at white plains. it was his practise to open a course of training with a little gentle road-work, and it was while jogging along the highway a couple of miles from his training camp, in company with the two thick-necked gentlemen who acted as his sparring partners, that he had come upon the broken-down taxicab.
if this had happened after his training had begun in real earnest, he would have averted his eyes from the spectacle, however alluring, and continued on his way without a pause. but now, as he had not yet settled down to genuine hard work, he felt justified in turning aside and looking into the matter. the fact that the chauffeur, who seemed to be a taciturn man, lacking the conversational graces, manifestly objected to an audience, deterred him not at all. one cannot have everything in this world, and the kid and his attendant thick-necks were content to watch the process of mending the tire, without demanding the additional joy of sparkling small talk from the man in charge of the operations.
"guy's had a breakdown, sure," said the first of the thick-necks.
"surest thing you know," agreed his colleague.
"seems to me the tire's punctured," said the kid.
all three concentrated their gaze on the machine.
"kid's right," said thick-neck number one. "guy's been an' bust a tire."
"surest thing you know," said thick-neck number two.
they observed the perspiring chauffeur in silence for a while.
"wonder how he did that, now?" speculated the kid.
"ran over a nail, i guess," said thick-neck number one.
"surest thing you know," said the other, who, while perhaps somewhat deficient in the matter of original thought, was a most useful fellow to have by one a sort of boswell.
"did you run over a nail?" the kid enquired of the chauffeur.
the chauffeur worked on, unheeding.
"this is his busy day," said the first thick-neck, with satire. "guy's too full of work to talk to us."
"deaf, shouldn't wonder," surmised the kid. "say, wonder what's he doing with a taxi so far out of the city."
"some guy tells him to drive him out here, i guess. say, it'll cost him something, too. he'll have to strip off a few from his roll to pay for this."
john glanced at mr. parker, quivering with excitement. it was his last chance. would the kid think to look inside the cab, or would he move on? could he risk a shout?
mr. parker leaned forward, and thrust the muzzle of the pistol against his body. the possibilities of the situation had evidently not been lost upon him.
"keep quiet," he whispered.
outside, the conversation had begun again, and the kid had made his decision.
"pretty rich guy inside," he said, following up his companion's train of thought. "i'm going to rubber through the window."
john met mr. parker's eye, and smiled.
there came the sound of the kid's feet grating on the road, as he turned, and, as he heard it, mr. parker for the first time lost his head. with a vague idea of screening john, he half-rose. the pistol wavered. it was the chance john had prayed for. his left hand shot out, grasped the other's wrist, and gave it a sharp wrench. the pistol went off with a deafening report, the bullet passing through the back of the cab, then fell to the floor, as the fingers lost their hold. and the next moment john's right fist, darting upward, crashed home.
the effect was instantaneous. john had risen from his seat as he delivered the blow, and it got the full benefit of his weight. mr.
parker literally crumpled up. his head jerked, then fell limply forward.
john pushed him on to the seat as he slid toward the floor.
the interested face of the kid appeared at the window. behind him could be seen portions of the faces of the two thick-necks.
"hello, kid," said john. "i heard your voice. i hoped you might look in for a chat."
the kid stared, amazed.
"what's doin'?" he queried.
"a good deal. i'll explain later. first, will you kindly knock that chauffeur down and sit on his head?"
"de guy's beat it," volunteered the first thick-neck.
"surest thing you know," said the other.
"what's been doin'?" asked the kid. "what are you going to do with this guy?"
john inspected the prostrate mr. parker, who had begun to stir slightly.
"i guess we'll leave him here," he said. "i've had all of his company that i need for to-day. show me the nearest station, kid. i must be getting back to new york. i'll tell you all about it as we go. a walk will do me good. riding in a taxi is pleasant, but, believe me, you can have too much of it."
chapter xxix
a representative gathering
when john returned to the office, he found that his absence had been causing betty an anxious hour's waiting. she had been informed by pugsy that he had gone out in the company of mr. parker, and she felt uneasy.
she turned white at his story of the ride, but he minimized the dangers.
"i don't think he ever meant to shoot. i think he was going to shut me up somewhere out there, and keep me till i promised to be good."
"do you think my stepfather told him to do it?"
"i doubt it. i fancy parker is a man who acts a good deal on his own inspirations. but we'll ask him, when he calls to-day."
"is he going to call?"
"i have an idea he will," said john. "i sent him a note just now, asking if he could manage a visit."
it was unfortunate, in the light of subsequent events, that mr. jarvis should have seen fit to bring with him to the office that afternoon two of his collection of cats, and that long otto, who, as before, accompanied him, should have been fired by his example to the extent of introducing a large yellow dog. for before the afternoon was ended, space in the office was destined to be at premium.
mr. jarvis, when he had recovered from the surprise of seeing betty and learning that she had returned to her old situation, explained:
"t'ought i'd bring de kits along," he said. "dey starts fuss'n' wit'
each odder yesterday, so i brings dem along."
john inspected the menagerie without resentment.
"sure!" he said. "they add a kind of peaceful touch to the scene."
the atmosphere was, indeed, one of peace. the dog, after an inquisitive journey round the room, lay down and went to sleep. the cats settled themselves comfortably, one on each of mr. jarvis' knees. long otto, surveying the ceiling with his customary glassy stare, smoked a long cigar. and bat, scratching one of the cats under the ear, began to entertain john with some reminiscences of fits and kittens.
but the peace did not last. ten minutes had barely elapsed when the dog, sitting up with a start, uttered a whine. the door burst open and a little man dashed in. he was brown in the face, and had evidently been living recently in the open air. behind him was a crowd of uncertain numbers. they were all strangers to john.
"yes?" he said.
the little man glared speechlessly at the occupants of the room. the two bowery boys rose awkwardly. the cats fell to the floor.
the rest of the party had entered. betty recognized the reverend edwin t. philpotts and mr. b. henderson asher.
"my name is renshaw," said the little man, having found speech.
"what can i do for you?" asked john.
the question appeared to astound the other.
"what can you ! of all !"
"mr. renshaw is the editor of peaceful moments," she said. "mr.
smith was only acting for him."
mr. renshaw caught the name.
"yes. mr. smith. i want to see mr. smith. where is he?"
"in prison," said john.
"in prison!"
john nodded.
"a good many things have happened since you left for your vacation.
smith assaulted a policeman, and is now on blackwell's island."
mr. renshaw gasped. mr. b. henderson asher stared, and stumbled over the cat.
"and who are you?" asked the editor.
"my name is maude. i "
he broke off, to turn his attention to mr. jarvis and mr. asher, between whom unpleasantness seemed to have arisen. mr. jarvis, holding a cat in his arms, was scowling at mr. asher, who had backed away and appeared apprehensive.
"what is the trouble?" asked john.
"dis guy here wit' two left feet," said bat querulously, "treads on de kit."
mr. renshaw, eying bat and the silent otto with disgust, intervened.
"who are these persons?" he enquired.
"poison yourself," rejoined bat, justly incensed. "who's de little squirt, mr. maude?"
john waved his hands.
"gentlemen, gentlemen," he said, "why descend to mere personalities? i ought to have introduced you. this is mr. renshaw, our editor. these, mr. renshaw, are bat jarvis and long otto, our acting fighting editors, vice kid brady, absent on unavoidable business."
the name stung mr. renshaw to indignation, as smith's had done.
"brady!" he shrilled. "i insist that you give me a full explanation. i go away by my doctor's orders for a vacation, leaving mr. smith to conduct the paper on certain clearly defined lines. by mere chance, while on my vacation, i saw a copy of the paper. it had been ruined."
"ruined?" said john. "on the contrary. the circulation has been going up every week."
"who is this person, brady? with mr. philpotts i have been going carefully over the numbers which have been issued since my departure "
"an intellectual treat," murmured john.
" and in each there is a picture of this young man in a costume which i will not particularize "
"there is hardly enough of it to particularize."
" together with a page of disgusting autobiographical matter."
john held up his hand.
"i protest," he said. "we court criticism, but this is mere abuse. i appeal to these gentlemen to say whether this, for instance, is not bright and interesting."
he picked up the current number of peaceful moments, and turned to the kid's page.
"this," he said, "describes a certain ten-round unpleasantness with one mexican joe. 'joe comes up for the second round and he gives me a nasty look, but i thinks of my mother and swats him one in the lower ribs. he gives me another nasty look. "all right, kid," he says; "now i'll knock you up into the gallery." and with that he cuts loose with a right swing, but i falls into the clinch, and then '"
"pah!" exclaimed mr. renshaw.
"go on, boss," urged mr. jarvis approvingly. "it's to de good, dat stuff."
"there!" said john triumphantly. "you heard? mr. jarvis, one of the most firmly established critics east of fifth avenue stamps kid brady's reminiscences with the hall-mark of his approval."
"i falls fer de kid every time," assented mr. jarvis.
"sure! you know a good thing when you see one. why," he went on warmly, "there is stuff in these reminiscences which would stir the blood of a jellyfish. let me quote you another passage, to show that they are not only enthralling, but helpful as well. let me see, where is it? ah, i have it. 'a bully good way of putting a guy out of business is this.
you don't want to use it in the ring, because rightly speaking it's a foul, but you will find it mighty useful if any thick-neck comes up to you in the street and tries to start anything. it's this way. while he's setting himself for a punch, just place the tips of the fingers of your left hand on the right side of the chest. then bring down the heel of your left hand. there isn't a guy living that could stand up against that. the fingers give you a leverage to beat the band. the guy doubles up, and you upper-cut him with your right, and out he goes.' now, i bet you never knew that before, mr. philpotts. try it on your parishioners."
"peaceful moments," said mr. renshaw irately, "is no medium for exploiting low prize-fighters."
"low prize-fighters! no, no! the kid is as decent a little chap as you'd meet anywhere. and right up in the championship class, too! he's matched against eddie wood at this very moment. and mr. waterman will support me in my statement that a victory over eddie wood means that he gets a cast-iron claim to meet jimmy garvin for the championship."
"it is abominable," burst forth mr. renshaw. "it is disgraceful. the paper is ruined."
"you keep saying that. it really isn't so. the returns are excellent.
prosperity beams on us like a sun. the proprietor is more than satisfied."
"indeed!" said mr. renshaw sardonically.
"sure," said john.
mr. renshaw laughed an acid laugh.
"you may not know it," he said, "but mr. scobell is in new york at this very moment. we arrived together yesterday on the mauretania. i was spending my vacation in england when i happened to see the copy of the paper. i instantly communicated with mr. scobell, who was at mervo, an island in the mediterranean "
"i seem to know the name "
" and received in reply a long cable desiring me to return to new york immediately. i sailed on the mauretania, and found that he was one of the passengers. he was extremely agitated, let me tell you. so that your impudent assertion that the proprietor is pleased "
john raised his eyebrows.
"i don't quite understand," he said. "from what you say, one would almost imagine that you thought mr. scobell was the proprietor of this paper."
mr. renshaw stared. everyone stared, except mr. jarvis, who, since the readings from the kid's reminiscences had ceased, had lost interest in the proceedings, and was now entertaining the cats with a ball of paper tied to a string.
"thought that mr. scobell ?" repeated mr. renshaw. "who is, if he is not?"
"i am," said john.
there was a moment's absolute silence.
"you!" cried mr. renshaw.
"you!" exclaimed mr. waterman, mr. asher, and the reverend edwin t.
philpotts.
"sure thing," said john.
mr. renshaw groped for a chair, and sat down.
"am i going mad?" he demanded feebly. "do i understand you to say that you own this paper?"
"i do."
"since when?"
"roughly speaking, about three days."
among his audience (still excepting mr. jarvis, who was tickling one of the cats and whistling a plaintive melody) there was a tendency toward awkward silence. to start assailing a seeming nonentity and then to discover he is the proprietor of the paper to which you wish to contribute is like kicking an apparently empty hat and finding your rich uncle inside it. mr. renshaw in particular was disturbed.
editorships of the kind to which he aspired are not easy to get. if he were to be removed from peaceful moments he would find it hard to place himself anywhere else. editors, like manuscripts, are rejected from want of space.
"i had a little money to invest," continued john. "and it seemed to me that i couldn't do better than put it into peaceful moments. if it did nothing else, it would give me a free hand in pursuing a policy in which i was interested. smith told me that mr. scobell's representatives had instructions to accept any offer, so i made an offer, and they jumped at it."
pugsy maloney entered, bearing a card.
"ask him to wait just one moment," said john, reading it.
he turned to mr. renshaw.
"mr. renshaw," he said, "if you took hold of the paper again, helped by these other gentlemen, do you think you could gather in our old subscribers and generally make the thing a live proposition on the old lines? because, if so, i should be glad if you would start in with the next number. i am through with the present policy. at least, i hope to be in a few minutes. do you think you can undertake that?"
mr. renshaw, with a sigh of relief, intimated that he could.
"good," said john. "and now i'm afraid i must ask you to go. a rather private and delicate interview is in the offing. bat, i'm very much obliged to you and otto for your help. i don't know what we should have done without it."
"aw, chee!" said mr. jarvis.
"then good-by for the present."
"good-by, boss. good-by, loidy."
long otto pulled his forelock, and, accompanied by the cats and the dog, they left the room.
when mr. renshaw and the others had followed them, john rang the bell for pugsy.
"ask mr. scobell to step in," he said.
the man of many enterprises entered. his appearance had deteriorated since john had last met him. he had the air of one who has been caught in the machinery. his face was even sallower than of yore, and there was no gleam in his dull green eyes.
he started at the sight of betty, but he was evidently too absorbed in the business in hand to be surprised at seeing her. he sank into a chair, and stared gloomily at john.
"well?" he said.
"well?" said john.
"this," observed mr. scobell simply, "is hell." he drew a cigar stump mechanically from his vest pocket and lighted it.
"what are you going to do about it?" he asked.
"what are you?" said john. "it's up to you."
mr. scobell gazed heavily into vacancy.
"ever since i started in to monkey with that darned mervo," he said sadly, "there ain't a thing gone right. i haven't been able to turn around without bumping into myself. everything i touch turns to mud. i guess i can still breathe, but i'm not betting on that lasting long. of all the darned hoodoos that island was the worst. say, i gotta close down that casino. what do you know about that! sure thing. the old lady won't stand for it. i had a letter from her." he turned to betty. "you got her all worked up, betty. i'm not blaming you. it's just my jinx.
she took it into her head i'd been treating you mean, and she kicked at the casino. i gotta close it down or nix on the heir thing. that was enough for me. i'm going to turn it into a hotel."
he relighted his cigar.
"and now, just as i got her smoothed down, along comes this darned tenement business. say, prince, for the love of mike cut it out. if those houses are as bad as you say they are, and the old lady finds out that i own them, it'll be katie bar the door for me. she wouldn't stand for it for a moment. i guess i didn't treat you good, prince, but let's forget it. ease up on this rough stuff. i'll do anything you want."
betty spoke.
"we only want you to make the houses fit to live in," she said. "i don't believe you know what they're like."
"why, no. i left parker in charge. it was up to him to do what was wanted. say, prince, i want to talk to you about that guy, parker. i understand he's been rather rough with you and your crowd. that wasn't my doing. i didn't know anything about it till he told me. it's the darned wild west strain in him coming out. he used to do those sort of things out there, and he's forgotten his manners. i pay him well, and i guess he thinks that's the way it's up to him to earn it. you mustn't mind parker."
"oh, well! so long as he means well !" said john. "i've no grudge against parker. i've settled with him."
"well, then, what about this broster street thing? you want me to fix some improvements, is that it?"
"that's it."
"why, say, i'll do that. sure. and then you'll quit handing out the newspaper stories? that goes. i'll start right in."
he rose.
"that's taken a heap off my mind," he said.
"there's just one other thing," said john. "have you by any chance such a thing as a stepfather's blessing on you?"
"eh?"
john took betty's hand.
"we've come round to your views, mr. scobell," he said. "that scheme of yours for our future looks good to us."
mr. scobell bit through his cigar in his emotion.
"now, why the heck," he moaned, "couldn't you have had the sense to do that before, and save all this trouble?"
chapter xxx
conclusion
smith drew thoughtfully at his cigar, and shifted himself more comfortably into his chair. it was long since he had visited the west, and he had found all the old magic in the still, scented darkness of the prairie night. he gave a little sigh of content. when john, a year before, had announced his intention of buying this ranch, and, as it seemed to smith, burying himself alive a thousand miles from anywhere, he had disapproved. he had pointed out that john was not doing what fate expected of him. a miracle, in the shape of a six-figure wedding present from mrs. oakley, who had never been known before, in the memory of man, to give away a millionth of that sum, had happened to him. fate, argued smith, plainly intended him to stay in new york and spend his money in a civilized way.
john had had only one reply, but it was clinching.
"betty likes the idea," he said, and smith ceased to argue.
now, as he sat smoking on the porch on the first night of his inaugural visit to the ranch, a conviction was creeping over him that john had chosen wisely.
a door opened behind him. betty came out on to the porch, and dropped into a chair close to where john's cigar glowed redly in the darkness.
they sat there without speaking. the stirring of unseen cattle in the corral made a soothing accompaniment to thought.
"it is very pleasant for an old jail bird like myself," said smith at last, "to sit here at my ease. i wish all our absent friends could be with us to-night. or perhaps not quite all. let us say, comrade parker here, comrades brady and maloney over there by you, and our old friend renshaw sharing the floor with b. henderson asher, bat jarvis, and the cats. by the way, i was round at broster street before i left new york.
there is certainly an improvement. millionaires now stop there instead of going on to the plaza. are you asleep, john?"
"no."
"excellent. i also saw comrade brady before i left. he has definitely got on his match with jimmy garvin."
"good. he'll win."
"the papers seem to think so. peaceful moments, however, i am sorry to say, is silent on the subject. it was not like this in the good old days. how is the paper going now, john? are the receipts satisfactory?"
"pretty fair. renshaw is rather a marvel in his way. he seems to have roped in nearly all the old subscribers. they eat out of his hand."
smith stretched himself.
"these," he said, "are the moments in life to which we look back with that wistful pleasure. this peaceful scene, john, will remain with me when i have forgotten that such a man as spider reilly ever existed.
these are the real peaceful moments."
he closed his eyes. the cigar dropped from his fingers. there was a long silence.
"mr. smith," said betty.
there was no answer.
"he's asleep," said john. "he had a long journey to-day."
betty drew her chair closer. from somewhere out in the darkness, from the direction of the men's quarters, came the soft tinkle of a guitar and a voice droning a mexican love-song.
her hand stole out and found his. they began to talk in whispers.
the adventures of sherlock holmes
i. a scandal in bohemia
to sherlock holmes she is always the woman. i have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. in his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. it was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for irene adler. all emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. he was, i take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position. he never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. they were admirable things for the observer—excellent for drawing the veil from men’s motives and actions. but for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. and yet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late irene adler, of dubious and questionable memory.
i had seen little of holmes lately. my marriage had drifted us away from each other. my own complete happiness, and the home-centred interests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention, while holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in baker street, buried among his old books, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. he was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in following out those clues, and clearing up those mysteries which had been abandoned as hopeless by the official police.
from time to time i heard some vague account of his doings: of his summons to odessa in the case of the trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the singular tragedy of the atkinson brothers at trincomalee, and finally of the mission which he had accomplished so delicately and successfully for the reigning family of holland. beyond these signs of his activity, however, which i merely shared with all the readers of the daily press, i knew little of my former friend and companion.
one night—it was on the twentieth of march, 1888—i was returning from a journey to a patient (for i had now returned to civil practice), when my way led me through baker street. as i passed the well-remembered door, which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and with the dark incidents of the study in scarlet, i was seized with a keen desire to see holmes again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary powers. his rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as i looked up, i saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against the blind. he was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. to me, who knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own story. he was at work again. he had risen out of his drug-created dreams and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. i rang the bell and was shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.
his manner was not effusive. it seldom was; but he was glad, i think, to see me. with hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. then he stood before the fire and looked me over in his singular introspective fashion.
“wedlock suits you,” he remarked. “i think, watson, that you have put on seven and a half pounds since i saw you.”
“seven!” i answered.
“indeed, i should have thought a little more. just a trifle more, i fancy, watson. and in practice again, i observe. you did not tell me that you intended to go into harness.”
“then, how do you know?”
“i see it, i deduce it. how do i know that you have been getting yourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and careless servant girl?”
“my dear holmes,” said i, “this is too much. you would certainly have been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. it is true that i had a country walk on thursday and came home in a dreadful mess, but as i have changed my clothes i can’t imagine how you deduce it. as to mary jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice, but there, again, i fail to see how you work it out.”
he chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands together.
“it is simplicity itself,” said he; “my eyes tell me that on the inside of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts. obviously they have been caused by someone who has very carelessly scraped round the edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud from it. hence, you see, my double deduction that you had been out in vile weather, and that you had a particularly malignant boot-slitting specimen of the london slavey. as to your practice, if a gentleman walks into my rooms smelling of iodoform, with a black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right forefinger, and a bulge on the right side of his top-hat to show where he has secreted his stethoscope, i must be dull, indeed, if i do not pronounce him to be an active member of the medical profession.”
i could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his process of deduction. “when i hear you give your reasons,” i remarked, “the thing always appears to me to be so ridiculously simple that i could easily do it myself, though at each successive instance of your reasoning i am baffled until you explain your process. and yet i believe that my eyes are as good as yours.”
“quite so,” he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself down into an armchair. “you see, but you do not observe. the distinction is clear. for example, you have frequently seen the steps which lead up from the hall to this room.”
“frequently.”
“how often?”
“well, some hundreds of times.”
“then how many are there?”
“how many? i don’t know.”
“quite so! you have not observed. and yet you have seen. that is just my point. now, i know that there are seventeen steps, because i have both seen and observed. by the way, since you are interested in these little problems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or two of my trifling experiences, you may be interested in this.” he threw over a sheet of thick, pink-tinted notepaper which had been lying open upon the table. “it came by the last post,” said he. “read it aloud.”
the note was undated, and without either signature or address.
“there will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight o’clock,” it said, “a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very deepest moment. your recent services to one of the royal houses of europe have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated.
this account of you we have from all quarters received. be in your chamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor wear a mask.”
“this is indeed a mystery,” i remarked. “what do you imagine that it means?”
“i have no data yet. it is a capital mistake to theorise before one has data. insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. but the note itself. what do you deduce from it?”
i carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was written.
“the man who wrote it was presumably well to do,” i remarked, endeavouring to imitate my companion’s processes. “such paper could not be bought under half a crown a packet. it is peculiarly strong and stiff.”
“peculiar—that is the very word,” said holmes. “it is not an english paper at all. hold it up to the light.”
i did so, and saw a large “e” with a small “g,” a “p,” and a large “g”
with a small “t” woven into the texture of the paper.
“what do you make of that?” asked holmes.
“the name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather.”
“not at all. the ‘g’ with the small ‘t’ stands for ‘gesellschaft,’
which is the german for ‘company.’ it is a customary contraction like our ‘co.’ ‘p,’ of course, stands for ‘papier.’ now for the ‘eg.’ let us glance at our continental gazetteer.” he took down a heavy brown volume from his shelves. “eglow, eglonitz—here we are, egria. it is in a german-speaking country—in bohemia, not far from carlsbad. ‘remarkable as being the scene of the death of wallenstein, and for its numerous glass-factories and paper-mills.’ ha, ha, my boy, what do you make of that?” his eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud from his cigarette.
“the paper was made in bohemia,” i said.
“precisely. and the man who wrote the note is a german. do you note the peculiar construction of the sentence—‘this account of you we have from all quarters received.’ a frenchman or russian could not have written that. it is the german who is so uncourteous to his verbs. it only remains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this german who writes upon bohemian paper and prefers wearing a mask to showing his face. and here he comes, if i am not mistaken, to resolve all our doubts.”
as he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses’ hoofs and grating wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell. holmes whistled.
“a pair, by the sound,” said he. “yes,” he continued, glancing out of the window. “a nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. a hundred and fifty guineas apiece. there’s money in this case, watson, if there is nothing else.”
“i think that i had better go, holmes.”
“not a bit, doctor. stay where you are. i am lost without my boswell.
and this promises to be interesting. it would be a pity to miss it.”
“but your client—”
“never mind him. i may want your help, and so may he. here he comes.
sit down in that armchair, doctor, and give us your best attention.”
a slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and in the passage, paused immediately outside the door. then there was a loud and authoritative tap.
“come in!” said holmes.
a man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six inches in height, with the chest and limbs of a hercules. his dress was rich with a richness which would, in england, be looked upon as akin to bad taste. heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and fronts of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was thrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk and secured at the neck with a brooch which consisted of a single flaming beryl. boots which extended halfway up his calves, and which were trimmed at the tops with rich brown fur, completed the impression of barbaric opulence which was suggested by his whole appearance. he carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper part of his face, extending down past the cheekbones, a black vizard mask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment, for his hand was still raised to it as he entered. from the lower part of the face he appeared to be a man of strong character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a long, straight chin suggestive of resolution pushed to the length of obstinacy.
“you had my note?” he asked with a deep harsh voice and a strongly marked german accent. “i told you that i would call.” he looked from one to the other of us, as if uncertain which to address.
“pray take a seat,” said holmes. “this is my friend and colleague, dr.
watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases. whom have i the honour to address?”
“you may address me as the count von kramm, a bohemian nobleman. i understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour and discretion, whom i may trust with a matter of the most extreme importance. if not, i should much prefer to communicate with you alone.”
i rose to go, but holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back into my chair. “it is both, or none,” said he. “you may say before this gentleman anything which you may say to me.”
the count shrugged his broad shoulders. “then i must begin,” said he, “by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of that time the matter will be of no importance. at present it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon european history.”
“i promise,” said holmes.
“and i.”
“you will excuse this mask,” continued our strange visitor. “the august person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and i may confess at once that the title by which i have just called myself is not exactly my own.”
“i was aware of it,” said holmes dryly.
“the circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has to be taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal and seriously compromise one of the reigning families of europe. to speak plainly, the matter implicates the great house of ormstein, hereditary kings of bohemia.”
“i was also aware of that,” murmured holmes, settling himself down in his armchair and closing his eyes.
our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid, lounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him as the most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in europe. holmes slowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic client.
“if your majesty would condescend to state your case,” he remarked, “i should be better able to advise you.”
the man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in uncontrollable agitation. then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. “you are right,”
he cried; “i am the king. why should i attempt to conceal it?”
“why, indeed?” murmured holmes. “your majesty had not spoken before i was aware that i was addressing wilhelm gottsreich sigismond von ormstein, grand duke of cassel-felstein, and hereditary king of bohemia.”
“but you can understand,” said our strange visitor, sitting down once more and passing his hand over his high white forehead, “you can understand that i am not accustomed to doing such business in my own person. yet the matter was so delicate that i could not confide it to an agent without putting myself in his power. i have come incognito from prague for the purpose of consulting you.”
“then, pray consult,” said holmes, shutting his eyes once more.
“the facts are briefly these: some five years ago, during a lengthy visit to warsaw, i made the acquaintance of the well-known adventuress, irene adler. the name is no doubt familiar to you.”
“kindly look her up in my index, doctor,” murmured holmes without opening his eyes. for many years he had adopted a system of docketing all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to name a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish information. in this case i found her biography sandwiched in between that of a hebrew rabbi and that of a staff-commander who had written a monograph upon the deep-sea fishes.
“let me see!” said holmes. “hum! born in new jersey in the year 1858.
contralto—hum! la scala, hum! prima donna imperial opera of warsaw—yes!
retired from operatic stage—ha! living in london—quite so! your majesty, as i understand, became entangled with this young person, wrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous of getting those letters back.”
“precisely so. but how—”
“was there a secret marriage?”
“none.”
“no legal papers or certificates?”
“none.”
“then i fail to follow your majesty. if this young person should produce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to prove their authenticity?”
“there is the writing.”
“pooh, pooh! forgery.”
“my private note-paper.”
“stolen.”
“my own seal.”
“imitated.”
“my photograph.”
“bought.”
“we were both in the photograph.”
“oh, dear! that is very bad! your majesty has indeed committed an indiscretion.”
“i was mad—insane.”
“you have compromised yourself seriously.”
“i was only crown prince then. i was young. i am but thirty now.”
“it must be recovered.”
“we have tried and failed.”
“your majesty must pay. it must be bought.”
“she will not sell.”
“stolen, then.”
“five attempts have been made. twice burglars in my pay ransacked her house. once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. twice she has been waylaid. there has been no result.”
“no sign of it?”
“absolutely none.”
holmes laughed. “it is quite a pretty little problem,” said he.
“but a very serious one to me,” returned the king reproachfully.
“very, indeed. and what does she propose to do with the photograph?”
“to ruin me.”
“but how?”
“i am about to be married.”
“so i have heard.”
“to clotilde lothman von saxe-meningen, second daughter of the king of scandinavia. you may know the strict principles of her family. she is herself the very soul of delicacy. a shadow of a doubt as to my conduct would bring the matter to an end.”
“and irene adler?”
“threatens to send them the photograph. and she will do it. i know that she will do it. you do not know her, but she has a soul of steel. she has the face of the most beautiful of women, and the mind of the most resolute of men. rather than i should marry another woman, there are no lengths to which she would not go—none.”
“you are sure that she has not sent it yet?”
“i am sure.”
“and why?”
“because she has said that she would send it on the day when the betrothal was publicly proclaimed. that will be next monday.”
“oh, then we have three days yet,” said holmes with a yawn. “that is very fortunate, as i have one or two matters of importance to look into just at present. your majesty will, of course, stay in london for the present?”
“certainly. you will find me at the langham under the name of the count von kramm.”
“then i shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress.”
“pray do so. i shall be all anxiety.”
“then, as to money?”
“you have carte blanche.”
“absolutely?”
“i tell you that i would give one of the provinces of my kingdom to have that photograph.”
“and for present expenses?”
the king took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his cloak and laid it on the table.
“there are three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in notes,” he said.
holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book and handed it to him.
“and mademoiselle’s address?” he asked.
“is briony lodge, serpentine avenue, st. john’s wood.”
holmes took a note of it. “one other question,” said he. “was the photograph a cabinet?”
“it was.”
“then, good-night, your majesty, and i trust that we shall soon have some good news for you. and good-night, watson,” he added, as the wheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. “if you will be good enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three o’clock i should like to chat this little matter over with you.”
ii.
at three o’clock precisely i was at baker street, but holmes had not yet returned. the landlady informed me that he had left the house shortly after eight o’clock in the morning. i sat down beside the fire, however, with the intention of awaiting him, however long he might be.
i was already deeply interested in his inquiry, for, though it was surrounded by none of the grim and strange features which were associated with the two crimes which i have already recorded, still, the nature of the case and the exalted station of his client gave it a character of its own. indeed, apart from the nature of the investigation which my friend had on hand, there was something in his masterly grasp of a situation, and his keen, incisive reasoning, which made it a pleasure to me to study his system of work, and to follow the quick, subtle methods by which he disentangled the most inextricable mysteries. so accustomed was i to his invariable success that the very possibility of his failing had ceased to enter into my head.
it was close upon four before the door opened, and a drunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed face and disreputable clothes, walked into the room. accustomed as i was to my friend’s amazing powers in the use of disguises, i had to look three times before i was certain that it was indeed he. with a nod he vanished into the bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes tweed-suited and respectable, as of old. putting his hands into his pockets, he stretched out his legs in front of the fire and laughed heartily for some minutes.
“well, really!” he cried, and then he choked and laughed again until he was obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in the chair.
“what is it?”
“it’s quite too funny. i am sure you could never guess how i employed my morning, or what i ended by doing.”
“i can’t imagine. i suppose that you have been watching the habits, and perhaps the house, of miss irene adler.”
“quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual. i will tell you, however.
i left the house a little after eight o’clock this morning in the character of a groom out of work. there is a wonderful sympathy and freemasonry among horsey men. be one of them, and you will know all that there is to know. i soon found briony lodge. it is a bijou villa, with a garden at the back, but built out in front right up to the road, two stories. chubb lock to the door. large sitting-room on the right side, well furnished, with long windows almost to the floor, and those preposterous english window fasteners which a child could open. behind there was nothing remarkable, save that the passage window could be reached from the top of the coach-house. i walked round it and examined it closely from every point of view, but without noting anything else of interest.
“i then lounged down the street and found, as i expected, that there was a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the garden. i lent the ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses, and received in exchange twopence, a glass of half-and-half, two fills of shag tobacco, and as much information as i could desire about miss adler, to say nothing of half a dozen other people in the neighbourhood in whom i was not in the least interested, but whose biographies i was compelled to listen to.”
“and what of irene adler?” i asked.
“oh, she has turned all the men’s heads down in that part. she is the daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. so say the serpentine-mews, to a man. she lives quietly, sings at concerts, drives out at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for dinner. seldom goes out at other times, except when she sings. has only one male visitor, but a good deal of him. he is dark, handsome, and dashing, never calls less than once a day, and often twice. he is a mr. godfrey norton, of the inner temple. see the advantages of a cabman as a confidant. they had driven him home a dozen times from serpentine-mews, and knew all about him. when i had listened to all they had to tell, i began to walk up and down near briony lodge once more, and to think over my plan of campaign.
“this godfrey norton was evidently an important factor in the matter.
he was a lawyer. that sounded ominous. what was the relation between them, and what the object of his repeated visits? was she his client, his friend, or his mistress? if the former, she had probably transferred the photograph to his keeping. if the latter, it was less likely. on the issue of this question depended whether i should continue my work at briony lodge, or turn my attention to the gentleman’s chambers in the temple. it was a delicate point, and it widened the field of my inquiry. i fear that i bore you with these details, but i have to let you see my little difficulties, if you are to understand the situation.”
“i am following you closely,” i answered.
“i was still balancing the matter in my mind when a hansom cab drove up to briony lodge, and a gentleman sprang out. he was a remarkably handsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached—evidently the man of whom i had heard. he appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the cabman to wait, and brushed past the maid who opened the door with the air of a man who was thoroughly at home.
“he was in the house about half an hour, and i could catch glimpses of him in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and down, talking excitedly, and waving his arms. of her i could see nothing. presently he emerged, looking even more flurried than before. as he stepped up to the cab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked at it earnestly, ‘drive like the devil,’ he shouted, ‘first to gross &
hankey’s in regent street, and then to the church of st. monica in the edgeware road. half a guinea if you do it in twenty minutes!’
“away they went, and i was just wondering whether i should not do well to follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau, the coachman with his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie under his ear, while all the tags of his harness were sticking out of the buckles. it hadn’t pulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it. i only caught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovely woman, with a face that a man might die for.
“‘the church of st. monica, john,’ she cried, ‘and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.’
“this was quite too good to lose, watson. i was just balancing whether i should run for it, or whether i should perch behind her landau when a cab came through the street. the driver looked twice at such a shabby fare, but i jumped in before he could object. ‘the church of st.
monica,’ said i, ‘and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.’ it was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and of course it was clear enough what was in the wind.
“my cabby drove fast. i don’t think i ever drove faster, but the others were there before us. the cab and the landau with their steaming horses were in front of the door when i arrived. i paid the man and hurried into the church. there was not a soul there save the two whom i had followed and a surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be expostulating with them. they were all three standing in a knot in front of the altar. i lounged up the side aisle like any other idler who has dropped into a church. suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to me, and godfrey norton came running as hard as he could towards me.
“‘thank god,’ he cried. ‘you’ll do. come! come!’
“‘what then?’ i asked.
“‘come, man, come, only three minutes, or it won’t be legal.’
“i was half-dragged up to the altar, and before i knew where i was i found myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear, and vouching for things of which i knew nothing, and generally assisting in the secure tying up of irene adler, spinster, to godfrey norton, bachelor. it was all done in an instant, and there was the gentleman thanking me on the one side and the lady on the other, while the clergyman beamed on me in front. it was the most preposterous position in which i ever found myself in my life, and it was the thought of it that started me laughing just now. it seems that there had been some informality about their license, that the clergyman absolutely refused to marry them without a witness of some sort, and that my lucky appearance saved the bridegroom from having to sally out into the streets in search of a best man. the bride gave me a sovereign, and i mean to wear it on my watch chain in memory of the occasion.”
“this is a very unexpected turn of affairs,” said i; “and what then?”
“well, i found my plans very seriously menaced. it looked as if the pair might take an immediate departure, and so necessitate very prompt and energetic measures on my part. at the church door, however, they separated, he driving back to the temple, and she to her own house. ‘i shall drive out in the park at five as usual,’ she said as she left him. i heard no more. they drove away in different directions, and i went off to make my own arrangements.”
“which are?”
“some cold beef and a glass of beer,” he answered, ringing the bell. “i have been too busy to think of food, and i am likely to be busier still this evening. by the way, doctor, i shall want your co-operation.”
“i shall be delighted.”
“you don’t mind breaking the law?”
“not in the least.”
“nor running a chance of arrest?”
“not in a good cause.”
“oh, the cause is excellent!”
“then i am your man.”
“i was sure that i might rely on you.”
“but what is it you wish?”
“when mrs. turner has brought in the tray i will make it clear to you.
now,” he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that our landlady had provided, “i must discuss it while i eat, for i have not much time. it is nearly five now. in two hours we must be on the scene of action. miss irene, or madame, rather, returns from her drive at seven. we must be at briony lodge to meet her.”
“and what then?”
“you must leave that to me. i have already arranged what is to occur.
there is only one point on which i must insist. you must not interfere, come what may. you understand?”
“i am to be neutral?”
“to do nothing whatever. there will probably be some small unpleasantness. do not join in it. it will end in my being conveyed into the house. four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room window will open. you are to station yourself close to that open window.”
“yes.”
“you are to watch me, for i will be visible to you.”
“yes.”
“and when i raise my hand—so—you will throw into the room what i give you to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire. you quite follow me?”
“entirely.”
“it is nothing very formidable,” he said, taking a long cigar-shaped roll from his pocket. “it is an ordinary plumber’s smoke-rocket, fitted with a cap at either end to make it self-lighting. your task is confined to that. when you raise your cry of fire, it will be taken up by quite a number of people. you may then walk to the end of the street, and i will rejoin you in ten minutes. i hope that i have made myself clear?”
“i am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and at the signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of fire, and to wait you at the corner of the street.”
“precisely.”
“then you may entirely rely on me.”
“that is excellent. i think, perhaps, it is almost time that i prepare for the new role i have to play.”
he disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in the character of an amiable and simple-minded nonconformist clergyman. his broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his sympathetic smile, and general look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such as mr. john hare alone could have equalled. it was not merely that holmes changed his costume. his expression, his manner, his very soul seemed to vary with every fresh part that he assumed. the stage lost a fine actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a specialist in crime.
it was a quarter past six when we left baker street, and it still wanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in serpentine avenue. it was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as we paced up and down in front of briony lodge, waiting for the coming of its occupant. the house was just such as i had pictured it from sherlock holmes’ succinct description, but the locality appeared to be less private than i expected. on the contrary, for a small street in a quiet neighbourhood, it was remarkably animated. there was a group of shabbily dressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinder with his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a nurse-girl, and several well-dressed young men who were lounging up and down with cigars in their mouths.
“you see,” remarked holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of the house, “this marriage rather simplifies matters. the photograph becomes a double-edged weapon now. the chances are that she would be as averse to its being seen by mr. godfrey norton, as our client is to its coming to the eyes of his princess. now the question is, where are we to find the photograph?”
“where, indeed?”
“it is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. it is cabinet size. too large for easy concealment about a woman’s dress. she knows that the king is capable of having her waylaid and searched. two attempts of the sort have already been made. we may take it, then, that she does not carry it about with her.”
“where, then?”
“her banker or her lawyer. there is that double possibility. but i am inclined to think neither. women are naturally secretive, and they like to do their own secreting. why should she hand it over to anyone else?
she could trust her own guardianship, but she could not tell what indirect or political influence might be brought to bear upon a business man. besides, remember that she had resolved to use it within a few days. it must be where she can lay her hands upon it. it must be in her own house.”
“but it has twice been burgled.”
“pshaw! they did not know how to look.”
“but how will you look?”
“i will not look.”
“what then?”
“i will get her to show me.”
“but she will refuse.”
“she will not be able to. but i hear the rumble of wheels. it is her carriage. now carry out my orders to the letter.”
as he spoke the gleam of the sidelights of a carriage came round the curve of the avenue. it was a smart little landau which rattled up to the door of briony lodge. as it pulled up, one of the loafing men at the corner dashed forward to open the door in the hope of earning a copper, but was elbowed away by another loafer, who had rushed up with the same intention. a fierce quarrel broke out, which was increased by the two guardsmen, who took sides with one of the loungers, and by the scissors-grinder, who was equally hot upon the other side. a blow was struck, and in an instant the lady, who had stepped from her carriage, was the centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling men, who struck savagely at each other with their fists and sticks. holmes dashed into the crowd to protect the lady; but, just as he reached her, he gave a cry and dropped to the ground, with the blood running freely down his face. at his fall the guardsmen took to their heels in one direction and the loungers in the other, while a number of better dressed people, who had watched the scuffle without taking part in it, crowded in to help the lady and to attend to the injured man. irene adler, as i will still call her, had hurried up the steps; but she stood at the top with her superb figure outlined against the lights of the hall, looking back into the street.
“is the poor gentleman much hurt?” she asked.
“he is dead,” cried several voices.
“no, no, there’s life in him!” shouted another. “but he’ll be gone before you can get him to hospital.”
“he’s a brave fellow,” said a woman. “they would have had the lady’s purse and watch if it hadn’t been for him. they were a gang, and a rough one, too. ah, he’s breathing now.”
“he can’t lie in the street. may we bring him in, marm?”
“surely. bring him into the sitting-room. there is a comfortable sofa.
this way, please!”
slowly and solemnly he was borne into briony lodge and laid out in the principal room, while i still observed the proceedings from my post by the window. the lamps had been lit, but the blinds had not been drawn, so that i could see holmes as he lay upon the couch. i do not know whether he was seized with compunction at that moment for the part he was playing, but i know that i never felt more heartily ashamed of myself in my life than when i saw the beautiful creature against whom i was conspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which she waited upon the injured man. and yet it would be the blackest treachery to holmes to draw back now from the part which he had intrusted to me. i hardened my heart, and took the smoke-rocket from under my ulster. after all, i thought, we are not injuring her. we are but preventing her from injuring another.
holmes had sat up upon the couch, and i saw him motion like a man who is in need of air. a maid rushed across and threw open the window. at the same instant i saw him raise his hand and at the signal i tossed my rocket into the room with a cry of “fire!” the word was no sooner out of my mouth than the whole crowd of spectators, well dressed and ill—gentlemen, ostlers, and servant maids—joined in a general shriek of “fire!” thick clouds of smoke curled through the room and out at the open window. i caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later the voice of holmes from within assuring them that it was a false alarm. slipping through the shouting crowd i made my way to the corner of the street, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find my friend’s arm in mine, and to get away from the scene of uproar. he walked swiftly and in silence for some few minutes until we had turned down one of the quiet streets which lead towards the edgeware road.
“you did it very nicely, doctor,” he remarked. “nothing could have been better. it is all right.”
“you have the photograph?”
“i know where it is.”
“and how did you find out?”
“she showed me, as i told you she would.”
“i am still in the dark.”
“i do not wish to make a mystery,” said he, laughing. “the matter was perfectly simple. you, of course, saw that everyone in the street was an accomplice. they were all engaged for the evening.”
“i guessed as much.”
“then, when the row broke out, i had a little moist red paint in the palm of my hand. i rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand to my face, and became a piteous spectacle. it is an old trick.”
“that also i could fathom.”
“then they carried me in. she was bound to have me in. what else could she do? and into her sitting-room, which was the very room which i suspected. it lay between that and her bedroom, and i was determined to see which. they laid me on a couch, i motioned for air, they were compelled to open the window, and you had your chance.”
“how did that help you?”
“it was all-important. when a woman thinks that her house is on fire, her instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she values most. it is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and i have more than once taken advantage of it. in the case of the darlington substitution scandal it was of use to me, and also in the arnsworth castle business. a married woman grabs at her baby; an unmarried one reaches for her jewel-box.
now it was clear to me that our lady of to-day had nothing in the house more precious to her than what we are in quest of. she would rush to secure it. the alarm of fire was admirably done. the smoke and shouting were enough to shake nerves of steel. she responded beautifully. the photograph is in a recess behind a sliding panel just above the right bell-pull. she was there in an instant, and i caught a glimpse of it as she half drew it out. when i cried out that it was a false alarm, she replaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from the room, and i have not seen her since. i rose, and, making my excuses, escaped from the house. i hesitated whether to attempt to secure the photograph at once; but the coachman had come in, and as he was watching me narrowly, it seemed safer to wait. a little over-precipitance may ruin all.”
“and now?” i asked.
“our quest is practically finished. i shall call with the king to-morrow, and with you, if you care to come with us. we will be shown into the sitting-room to wait for the lady, but it is probable that when she comes she may find neither us nor the photograph. it might be a satisfaction to his majesty to regain it with his own hands.”
“and when will you call?”
“at eight in the morning. she will not be up, so that we shall have a clear field. besides, we must be prompt, for this marriage may mean a complete change in her life and habits. i must wire to the king without delay.”
we had reached baker street and had stopped at the door. he was searching his pockets for the key when someone passing said:
“good-night, mister sherlock holmes.”
there were several people on the pavement at the time, but the greeting appeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who had hurried by.
“i’ve heard that voice before,” said holmes, staring down the dimly lit street. “now, i wonder who the deuce that could have been.”
iii.
i slept at baker street that night, and we were engaged upon our toast and coffee in the morning when the king of bohemia rushed into the room.
“you have really got it!” he cried, grasping sherlock holmes by either shoulder and looking eagerly into his face.
“not yet.”
“but you have hopes?”
“i have hopes.”
“then, come. i am all impatience to be gone.”
“we must have a cab.”
“no, my brougham is waiting.”
“then that will simplify matters.” we descended and started off once more for briony lodge.
“irene adler is married,” remarked holmes.
“married! when?”
“yesterday.”
“but to whom?”
“to an english lawyer named norton.”
“but she could not love him.”
“i am in hopes that she does.”
“and why in hopes?”
“because it would spare your majesty all fear of future annoyance. if the lady loves her husband, she does not love your majesty. if she does not love your majesty, there is no reason why she should interfere with your majesty’s plan.”
“it is true. and yet—! well! i wish she had been of my own station!
what a queen she would have made!” he relapsed into a moody silence, which was not broken until we drew up in serpentine avenue.
the door of briony lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood upon the steps. she watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped from the brougham.
“mr. sherlock holmes, i believe?” said she.
“i am mr. holmes,” answered my companion, looking at her with a questioning and rather startled gaze.
“indeed! my mistress told me that you were likely to call. she left this morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from charing cross for the continent.”
“what!” sherlock holmes staggered back, white with chagrin and surprise. “do you mean that she has left england?”
“never to return.”
“and the papers?” asked the king hoarsely. “all is lost.”
“we shall see.” he pushed past the servant and rushed into the drawing-room, followed by the king and myself. the furniture was scattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and open drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them before her flight.
holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small sliding shutter, and, plunging in his hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. the photograph was of irene adler herself in evening dress, the letter was superscribed to “sherlock holmes, esq. to be left till called for.” my friend tore it open, and we all three read it together. it was dated at midnight of the preceding night and ran in this way:
“my dear mr. sherlock holmes,—you really did it very well. you took me in completely. until after the alarm of fire, i had not a suspicion. but then, when i found how i had betrayed myself, i began to think. i had been warned against you months ago. i had been told that, if the king employed an agent, it would certainly be you. and your address had been given me. yet, with all this, you made me reveal what you wanted to know. even after i became suspicious, i found it hard to think evil of such a dear, kind old clergyman. but, you know, i have been trained as an actress myself.
male costume is nothing new to me. i often take advantage of the freedom which it gives. i sent john, the coachman, to watch you, ran upstairs, got into my walking clothes, as i call them, and came down just as you departed.
“well, i followed you to your door, and so made sure that i was really an object of interest to the celebrated mr. sherlock holmes.
then i, rather imprudently, wished you good-night, and started for the temple to see my husband.
“we both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by so formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty when you call to-morrow. as to the photograph, your client may rest in peace. i love and am loved by a better man than he. the king may do what he will without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. i keep it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a weapon which will always secure me from any steps which he might take in the future. i leave a photograph which he might care to possess; and i remain, dear mr. sherlock holmes,
“very truly yours,
“irene norton, née adler.”
“what a woman—oh, what a woman!” cried the king of bohemia, when we had all three read this epistle. “did i not tell you how quick and resolute she was? would she not have made an admirable queen? is it not a pity that she was not on my level?”
“from what i have seen of the lady, she seems, indeed, to be on a very different level to your majesty,” said holmes coldly. “i am sorry that i have not been able to bring your majesty’s business to a more successful conclusion.”
“on the contrary, my dear sir,” cried the king; “nothing could be more successful. i know that her word is inviolate. the photograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire.”
“i am glad to hear your majesty say so.”
“i am immensely indebted to you. pray tell me in what way i can reward you. this ring—” he slipped an emerald snake ring from his finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand.
“your majesty has something which i should value even more highly,”
said holmes.
“you have but to name it.”
“this photograph!”
the king stared at him in amazement.
“irene’s photograph!” he cried. “certainly, if you wish it.”
“i thank your majesty. then there is no more to be done in the matter.
i have the honour to wish you a very good morning.” he bowed, and, turning away without observing the hand which the king had stretched out to him, he set off in my company for his chambers.
and that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of bohemia, and how the best plans of mr. sherlock holmes were beaten by a woman’s wit. he used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but i have not heard him do it of late. and when he speaks of irene adler, or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman.
ii. the red-headed league
i had called upon my friend, mr. sherlock holmes, one day in the autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. with an apology for my intrusion, i was about to withdraw when holmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door behind me.
“you could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear watson,” he said cordially.
“i was afraid that you were engaged.”
“so i am. very much so.”
“then i can wait in the next room.”
“not at all. this gentleman, mr. wilson, has been my partner and helper in many of my most successful cases, and i have no doubt that he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also.”
the stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small fat-encircled eyes.
“try the settee,” said holmes, relapsing into his armchair and putting his fingertips together, as was his custom when in judicial moods. “i know, my dear watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life. you have shown your relish for it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and, if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own little adventures.”
“your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me,” i observed.
“you will remember that i remarked the other day, just before we went into the very simple problem presented by miss mary sutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go to life itself, which is always far more daring than any effort of the imagination.”
“a proposition which i took the liberty of doubting.”
“you did, doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view, for otherwise i shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you until your reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to be right. now, mr.
jabez wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to be one of the most singular which i have listened to for some time. you have heard me remark that the strangest and most unique things are very often connected not with the larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there is room for doubt whether any positive crime has been committed.
as far as i have heard, it is impossible for me to say whether the present case is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events is certainly among the most singular that i have ever listened to.
perhaps, mr. wilson, you would have the great kindness to recommence your narrative. i ask you not merely because my friend dr. watson has not heard the opening part but also because the peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have every possible detail from your lips. as a rule, when i have heard some slight indication of the course of events, i am able to guide myself by the thousands of other similar cases which occur to my memory. in the present instance i am forced to admit that the facts are, to the best of my belief, unique.”
the portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some little pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket of his greatcoat. as he glanced down the advertisement column, with his head thrust forward and the paper flattened out upon his knee, i took a good look at the man and endeavoured, after the fashion of my companion, to read the indications which might be presented by his dress or appearance.
i did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. our visitor bore every mark of being an average commonplace british tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. he wore rather baggy grey shepherd’s check trousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy albert chain, and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down as an ornament. a frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him.
altogether, look as i would, there was nothing remarkable about the man save his blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and discontent upon his features.
sherlock holmes’ quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. “beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labour, that he takes snuff, that he is a freemason, that he has been in china, and that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately, i can deduce nothing else.”
mr. jabez wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion.
“how, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, mr. holmes?”
he asked. “how did you know, for example, that i did manual labour.
it’s as true as gospel, for i began as a ship’s carpenter.”
“your hands, my dear sir. your right hand is quite a size larger than your left. you have worked with it, and the muscles are more developed.”
“well, the snuff, then, and the freemasonry?”
“i won’t insult your intelligence by telling you how i read that, especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use an arc-and-compass breastpin.”
“ah, of course, i forgot that. but the writing?”
“what else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where you rest it upon the desk?”
“well, but china?”
“the fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wrist could only have been done in china. i have made a small study of tattoo marks and have even contributed to the literature of the subject. that trick of staining the fishes’ scales of a delicate pink is quite peculiar to china. when, in addition, i see a chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, the matter becomes even more simple.”
mr. jabez wilson laughed heavily. “well, i never!” said he. “i thought at first that you had done something clever, but i see that there was nothing in it after all.”
“i begin to think, watson,” said holmes, “that i make a mistake in explaining. ‘omne ignotum pro magnifico,’ you know, and my poor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if i am so candid. can you not find the advertisement, mr. wilson?”
“yes, i have got it now,” he answered with his thick red finger planted halfway down the column. “here it is. this is what began it all. you just read it for yourself, sir.”
i took the paper from him and read as follows:
“to the red-headed league: on account of the bequest of the late ezekiah hopkins, of lebanon, pennsylvania, u.s.a., there is now another vacancy open which entitles a member of the league to a salary of £ 4 a week for purely nominal services. all red-headed men who are sound in body and mind and above the age of twenty-one years, are eligible.
apply in person on monday, at eleven o’clock, to duncan ross, at the offices of the league, 7 pope’s court, fleet street.”
“what on earth does this mean?” i ejaculated after i had twice read over the extraordinary announcement.
holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in high spirits. “it is a little off the beaten track, isn’t it?” said he.
“and now, mr. wilson, off you go at scratch and tell us all about yourself, your household, and the effect which this advertisement had upon your fortunes. you will first make a note, doctor, of the paper and the date.”
“it is the morning chronicle of april 27, 1890. just two months ago.”
“very good. now, mr. wilson?”
“well, it is just as i have been telling you, mr. sherlock holmes,”
said jabez wilson, mopping his forehead; “i have a small pawnbroker’s business at coburg square, near the city. it’s not a very large affair, and of late years it has not done more than just give me a living. i used to be able to keep two assistants, but now i only keep one; and i would have a job to pay him but that he is willing to come for half wages so as to learn the business.”
“what is the name of this obliging youth?” asked sherlock holmes.
“his name is vincent spaulding, and he’s not such a youth, either. it’s hard to say his age. i should not wish a smarter assistant, mr. holmes; and i know very well that he could better himself and earn twice what i am able to give him. but, after all, if he is satisfied, why should i put ideas in his head?”
“why, indeed? you seem most fortunate in having an employé who comes under the full market price. it is not a common experience among employers in this age. i don’t know that your assistant is not as remarkable as your advertisement.”
“oh, he has his faults, too,” said mr. wilson. “never was such a fellow for photography. snapping away with a camera when he ought to be improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures. that is his main fault, but on the whole he’s a good worker. there’s no vice in him.”
“he is still with you, i presume?”
“yes, sir. he and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple cooking and keeps the place clean—that’s all i have in the house, for i am a widower and never had any family. we live very quietly, sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over our heads and pay our debts, if we do nothing more.
“the first thing that put us out was that advertisement. spaulding, he came down into the office just this day eight weeks, with this very paper in his hand, and he says:
“‘i wish to the lord, mr. wilson, that i was a red-headed man.’
“‘why that?’ i asks.
“‘why,’ says he, ‘here’s another vacancy on the league of the red-headed men. it’s worth quite a little fortune to any man who gets it, and i understand that there are more vacancies than there are men, so that the trustees are at their wits’ end what to do with the money.
if my hair would only change colour, here’s a nice little crib all ready for me to step into.’
“‘why, what is it, then?’ i asked. you see, mr. holmes, i am a very stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of my having to go to it, i was often weeks on end without putting my foot over the door-mat. in that way i didn’t know much of what was going on outside, and i was always glad of a bit of news.
“‘have you never heard of the league of the red-headed men?’ he asked with his eyes open.
“‘never.’
“‘why, i wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one of the vacancies.’
“‘and what are they worth?’ i asked.
“‘oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight, and it need not interfere very much with one’s other occupations.’
“well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears, for the business has not been over good for some years, and an extra couple of hundred would have been very handy.
“‘tell me all about it,’ said i.
“‘well,’ said he, showing me the advertisement, ‘you can see for yourself that the league has a vacancy, and there is the address where you should apply for particulars. as far as i can make out, the league was founded by an american millionaire, ezekiah hopkins, who was very peculiar in his ways. he was himself red-headed, and he had a great sympathy for all red-headed men; so, when he died, it was found that he had left his enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, with instructions to apply the interest to the providing of easy berths to men whose hair is of that colour. from all i hear it is splendid pay and very little to do.’
“‘but,’ said i, ‘there would be millions of red-headed men who would apply.’
“‘not so many as you might think,’ he answered. ‘you see it is really confined to londoners, and to grown men. this american had started from london when he was young, and he wanted to do the old town a good turn.
then, again, i have heard it is no use your applying if your hair is light red, or dark red, or anything but real bright, blazing, fiery red. now, if you cared to apply, mr. wilson, you would just walk in; but perhaps it would hardly be worth your while to put yourself out of the way for the sake of a few hundred pounds.’
“now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that my hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed to me that if there was to be any competition in the matter i stood as good a chance as any man that i had ever met. vincent spaulding seemed to know so much about it that i thought he might prove useful, so i just ordered him to put up the shutters for the day and to come right away with me.
he was very willing to have a holiday, so we shut the business up and started off for the address that was given us in the advertisement.
“i never hope to see such a sight as that again, mr. holmes. from north, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in his hair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement. fleet street was choked with red-headed folk, and pope’s court looked like a coster’s orange barrow. i should not have thought there were so many in the whole country as were brought together by that single advertisement. every shade of colour they were—straw, lemon, orange, brick, irish-setter, liver, clay; but, as spaulding said, there were not many who had the real vivid flame-coloured tint. when i saw how many were waiting, i would have given it up in despair; but spaulding would not hear of it. how he did it i could not imagine, but he pushed and pulled and butted until he got me through the crowd, and right up to the steps which led to the office. there was a double stream upon the stair, some going up in hope, and some coming back dejected; but we wedged in as well as we could and soon found ourselves in the office.”
“your experience has been a most entertaining one,” remarked holmes as his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of snuff.
“pray continue your very interesting statement.”
“there was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs and a deal table, behind which sat a small man with a head that was even redder than mine. he said a few words to each candidate as he came up, and then he always managed to find some fault in them which would disqualify them. getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a very easy matter, after all. however, when our turn came the little man was much more favourable to me than to any of the others, and he closed the door as we entered, so that he might have a private word with us.
“‘this is mr. jabez wilson,’ said my assistant, ‘and he is willing to fill a vacancy in the league.’
“‘and he is admirably suited for it,’ the other answered. ‘he has every requirement. i cannot recall when i have seen anything so fine.’ he took a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and gazed at my hair until i felt quite bashful. then suddenly he plunged forward, wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly on my success.
“‘it would be injustice to hesitate,’ said he. ‘you will, however, i am sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.’ with that he seized my hair in both his hands, and tugged until i yelled with the pain.
‘there is water in your eyes,’ said he as he released me. ‘i perceive that all is as it should be. but we have to be careful, for we have twice been deceived by wigs and once by paint. i could tell you tales of cobbler’s wax which would disgust you with human nature.’ he stepped over to the window and shouted through it at the top of his voice that the vacancy was filled. a groan of disappointment came up from below, and the folk all trooped away in different directions until there was not a red-head to be seen except my own and that of the manager.
“‘my name,’ said he, ‘is mr. duncan ross, and i am myself one of the pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. are you a married man, mr. wilson? have you a family?’
“i answered that i had not.
“his face fell immediately.
“‘dear me!’ he said gravely, ‘that is very serious indeed! i am sorry to hear you say that. the fund was, of course, for the propagation and spread of the red-heads as well as for their maintenance. it is exceedingly unfortunate that you should be a bachelor.’
“my face lengthened at this, mr. holmes, for i thought that i was not to have the vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for a few minutes he said that it would be all right.
“‘in the case of another,’ said he, ‘the objection might be fatal, but we must stretch a point in favour of a man with such a head of hair as yours. when shall you be able to enter upon your new duties?’
“‘well, it is a little awkward, for i have a business already,’ said i.
“‘oh, never mind about that, mr. wilson!’ said vincent spaulding. ‘i should be able to look after that for you.’
“‘what would be the hours?’ i asked.
“‘ten to two.’
“now a pawnbroker’s business is mostly done of an evening, mr. holmes, especially thursday and friday evening, which is just before pay-day; so it would suit me very well to earn a little in the mornings.
besides, i knew that my assistant was a good man, and that he would see to anything that turned up.
“‘that would suit me very well,’ said i. ‘and the pay?’
“‘is £ 4 a week.’
“‘and the work?’
“‘is purely nominal.’
“‘what do you call purely nominal?’
“‘well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, the whole time. if you leave, you forfeit your whole position forever. the will is very clear upon that point. you don’t comply with the conditions if you budge from the office during that time.’
“‘it’s only four hours a day, and i should not think of leaving,’ said i.
“‘no excuse will avail,’ said mr. duncan ross; ‘neither sickness nor business nor anything else. there you must stay, or you lose your billet.’
“‘and the work?’
“‘is to copy out the encyclopædia britannica. there is the first volume of it in that press. you must find your own ink, pens, and blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. will you be ready to-morrow?’
“‘certainly,’ i answered.
“‘then, good-bye, mr. jabez wilson, and let me congratulate you once more on the important position which you have been fortunate enough to gain.’ he bowed me out of the room and i went home with my assistant, hardly knowing what to say or do, i was so pleased at my own good fortune.
“well, i thought over the matter all day, and by evening i was in low spirits again; for i had quite persuaded myself that the whole affair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its object might be i could not imagine. it seemed altogether past belief that anyone could make such a will, or that they would pay such a sum for doing anything so simple as copying out the encyclopædia britannica. vincent spaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but by bedtime i had reasoned myself out of the whole thing. however, in the morning i determined to have a look at it anyhow, so i bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, i started off for pope’s court.
“well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as possible.
the table was set out ready for me, and mr. duncan ross was there to see that i got fairly to work. he started me off upon the letter a, and then he left me; but he would drop in from time to time to see that all was right with me. at two o’clock he bade me good-day, complimented me upon the amount that i had written, and locked the door of the office after me.
“this went on day after day, mr. holmes, and on saturday the manager came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my week’s work. it was the same next week, and the same the week after. every morning i was there at ten, and every afternoon i left at two. by degrees mr.
duncan ross took to coming in only once of a morning, and then, after a time, he did not come in at all. still, of course, i never dared to leave the room for an instant, for i was not sure when he might come, and the billet was such a good one, and suited me so well, that i would not risk the loss of it.
“eight weeks passed away like this, and i had written about abbots and archery and armour and architecture and attica, and hoped with diligence that i might get on to the b’s before very long. it cost me something in foolscap, and i had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my writings. and then suddenly the whole business came to an end.”
“to an end?”
“yes, sir. and no later than this morning. i went to my work as usual at ten o’clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a little square of cardboard hammered on to the middle of the panel with a tack. here it is, and you can read for yourself.”
he held up a piece of white cardboard about the size of a sheet of note-paper. it read in this fashion:
“the red-headed league is dissolved. october 9, 1890.”
sherlock holmes and i surveyed this curt announcement and the rueful face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completely overtopped every other consideration that we both burst out into a roar of laughter.
“i cannot see that there is anything very funny,” cried our client, flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. “if you can do nothing better than laugh at me, i can go elsewhere.”
“no, no,” cried holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which he had half risen. “i really wouldn’t miss your case for the world. it is most refreshingly unusual. but there is, if you will excuse my saying so, something just a little funny about it. pray what steps did you take when you found the card upon the door?”
“i was staggered, sir. i did not know what to do. then i called at the offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it.
finally, i went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the ground floor, and i asked him if he could tell me what had become of the red-headed league. he said that he had never heard of any such body. then i asked him who mr. duncan ross was. he answered that the name was new to him.
“‘well,’ said i, ‘the gentleman at no. 4.’
“‘what, the red-headed man?’
“‘yes.’
“‘oh,’ said he, ‘his name was william morris. he was a solicitor and was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new premises were ready. he moved out yesterday.’
“‘where could i find him?’
“‘oh, at his new offices. he did tell me the address. yes, 17 king edward street, near st. paul’s.’
“i started off, mr. holmes, but when i got to that address it was a manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard of either mr. william morris or mr. duncan ross.”
“and what did you do then?” asked holmes.
“i went home to saxe-coburg square, and i took the advice of my assistant. but he could not help me in any way. he could only say that if i waited i should hear by post. but that was not quite good enough, mr. holmes. i did not wish to lose such a place without a struggle, so, as i had heard that you were good enough to give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, i came right away to you.”
“and you did very wisely,” said holmes. “your case is an exceedingly remarkable one, and i shall be happy to look into it. from what you have told me i think that it is possible that graver issues hang from it than might at first sight appear.”
“grave enough!” said mr. jabez wilson. “why, i have lost four pound a week.”
“as far as you are personally concerned,” remarked holmes, “i do not see that you have any grievance against this extraordinary league. on the contrary, you are, as i understand, richer by some £ 30, to say nothing of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every subject which comes under the letter a. you have lost nothing by them.”
“no, sir. but i want to find out about them, and who they are, and what their object was in playing this prank—if it was a prank—upon me. it was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it cost them two and thirty pounds.”
“we shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. and, first, one or two questions, mr. wilson. this assistant of yours who first called your attention to the advertisement—how long had he been with you?”
“about a month then.”
“how did he come?”
“in answer to an advertisement.”
“was he the only applicant?”
“no, i had a dozen.”
“why did you pick him?”
“because he was handy and would come cheap.”
“at half wages, in fact.”
“yes.”
“what is he like, this vincent spaulding?”
“small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face, though he’s not short of thirty. has a white splash of acid upon his forehead.”
holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. “i thought as much,” said he. “have you ever observed that his ears are pierced for earrings?”
“yes, sir. he told me that a gipsy had done it for him when he was a lad.”
“hum!” said holmes, sinking back in deep thought. “he is still with you?”
“oh, yes, sir; i have only just left him.”
“and has your business been attended to in your absence?”
“nothing to complain of, sir. there’s never very much to do of a morning.”
“that will do, mr. wilson. i shall be happy to give you an opinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two. to-day is saturday, and i hope that by monday we may come to a conclusion.”
“well, watson,” said holmes when our visitor had left us, “what do you make of it all?”
“i make nothing of it,” i answered frankly. “it is a most mysterious business.”
“as a rule,” said holmes, “the more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious it proves to be. it is your commonplace, featureless crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most difficult to identify. but i must be prompt over this matter.”
“what are you going to do, then?” i asked.
“to smoke,” he answered. “it is quite a three pipe problem, and i beg that you won’t speak to me for fifty minutes.” he curled himself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird. i had come to the conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind and put his pipe down upon the mantelpiece.
“sarasate plays at the st. james’s hall this afternoon,” he remarked.
“what do you think, watson? could your patients spare you for a few hours?”
“i have nothing to do to-day. my practice is never very absorbing.”
“then put on your hat and come. i am going through the city first, and we can have some lunch on the way. i observe that there is a good deal of german music on the programme, which is rather more to my taste than italian or french. it is introspective, and i want to introspect. come along!”
we travelled by the underground as far as aldersgate; and a short walk took us to saxe-coburg square, the scene of the singular story which we had listened to in the morning. it was a poky, little, shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy two-storied brick houses looked out into a small railed-in enclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few clumps of faded laurel bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and uncongenial atmosphere. three gilt balls and a brown board with “jabez wilson” in white letters, upon a corner house, announced the place where our red-headed client carried on his business. sherlock holmes stopped in front of it with his head on one side and looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly between puckered lids. then he walked slowly up the street, and then down again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses. finally he returned to the pawnbroker’s, and, having thumped vigorously upon the pavement with his stick two or three times, he went up to the door and knocked. it was instantly opened by a bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step in.
“thank you,” said holmes, “i only wished to ask you how you would go from here to the strand.”
“third right, fourth left,” answered the assistant promptly, closing the door.
“smart fellow, that,” observed holmes as we walked away. “he is, in my judgment, the fourth smartest man in london, and for daring i am not sure that he has not a claim to be third. i have known something of him before.”
“evidently,” said i, “mr. wilson’s assistant counts for a good deal in this mystery of the red-headed league. i am sure that you inquired your way merely in order that you might see him.”
“not him.”
“what then?”
“the knees of his trousers.”
“and what did you see?”
“what i expected to see.”
“why did you beat the pavement?”
“my dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. we are spies in an enemy’s country. we know something of saxe-coburg square.
let us now explore the parts which lie behind it.”
the road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the corner from the retired saxe-coburg square presented as great a contrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back. it was one of the main arteries which conveyed the traffic of the city to the north and west.
the roadway was blocked with the immense stream of commerce flowing in a double tide inward and outward, while the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. it was difficult to realise as we looked at the line of fine shops and stately business premises that they really abutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant square which we had just quitted.
“let me see,” said holmes, standing at the corner and glancing along the line, “i should like just to remember the order of the houses here.
it is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of london. there is mortimer’s, the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the coburg branch of the city and suburban bank, the vegetarian restaurant, and mcfarlane’s carriage-building depot. that carries us right on to the other block. and now, doctor, we’ve done our work, so it’s time we had some play. a sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no red-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums.”
my friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. all the afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those of holmes the sleuth-hound, holmes the relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive. in his singular character the dual nature alternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and astuteness represented, as i have often thought, the reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally predominated in him. the swing of his nature took him from extreme languor to devouring energy; and, as i knew well, he was never so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been lounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and his black-letter editions.
then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to the level of intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his methods would look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that of other mortals. when i saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in the music at st.
james’s hall i felt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom he had set himself to hunt down.
“you want to go home, no doubt, doctor,” he remarked as we emerged.
“yes, it would be as well.”
“and i have some business to do which will take some hours. this business at coburg square is serious.”
“why serious?”
“a considerable crime is in contemplation. i have every reason to believe that we shall be in time to stop it. but to-day being saturday rather complicates matters. i shall want your help to-night.”
“at what time?”
“ten will be early enough.”
“i shall be at baker street at ten.”
“very well. and, i say, doctor, there may be some little danger, so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket.” he waved his hand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd.
i trust that i am not more dense than my neighbours, but i was always oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with sherlock holmes. here i had heard what he had heard, i had seen what he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that he saw clearly not only what had happened but what was about to happen, while to me the whole business was still confused and grotesque. as i drove home to my house in kensington i thought over it all, from the extraordinary story of the red-headed copier of the encyclopædia down to the visit to saxe-coburg square, and the ominous words with which he had parted from me. what was this nocturnal expedition, and why should i go armed?
where were we going, and what were we to do? i had the hint from holmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker’s assistant was a formidable man—a man who might play a deep game. i tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter aside until night should bring an explanation.
it was a quarter-past nine when i started from home and made my way across the park, and so through oxford street to baker street. two hansoms were standing at the door, and as i entered the passage i heard the sound of voices from above. on entering his room, i found holmes in animated conversation with two men, one of whom i recognised as peter jones, the official police agent, while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-coat.
“ha! our party is complete,” said holmes, buttoning up his pea-jacket and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. “watson, i think you know mr. jones, of scotland yard? let me introduce you to mr.
merryweather, who is to be our companion in to-night’s adventure.”
“we’re hunting in couples again, doctor, you see,” said jones in his consequential way. “our friend here is a wonderful man for starting a chase. all he wants is an old dog to help him to do the running down.”
“i hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,”
observed mr. merryweather gloomily.
“you may place considerable confidence in mr. holmes, sir,” said the police agent loftily. “he has his own little methods, which are, if he won’t mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. it is not too much to say that once or twice, as in that business of the sholto murder and the agra treasure, he has been more nearly correct than the official force.”
“oh, if you say so, mr. jones, it is all right,” said the stranger with deference. “still, i confess that i miss my rubber. it is the first saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that i have not had my rubber.”
“i think you will find,” said sherlock holmes, “that you will play for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and that the play will be more exciting. for you, mr. merryweather, the stake will be some £ 30,000; and for you, jones, it will be the man upon whom you wish to lay your hands.”
“john clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. he’s a young man, mr. merryweather, but he is at the head of his profession, and i would rather have my bracelets on him than on any criminal in london. he’s a remarkable man, is young john clay. his grandfather was a royal duke, and he himself has been to eton and oxford. his brain is as cunning as his fingers, and though we meet signs of him at every turn, we never know where to find the man himself. he’ll crack a crib in scotland one week, and be raising money to build an orphanage in cornwall the next.
i’ve been on his track for years and have never set eyes on him yet.”
“i hope that i may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night. i’ve had one or two little turns also with mr. john clay, and i agree with you that he is at the head of his profession. it is past ten, however, and quite time that we started. if you two will take the first hansom, watson and i will follow in the second.”
sherlock holmes was not very communicative during the long drive and lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in the afternoon. we rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit streets until we emerged into farrington street.
“we are close there now,” my friend remarked. “this fellow merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the matter. i thought it as well to have jones with us also. he is not a bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession. he has one positive virtue. he is as brave as a bulldog and as tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. here we are, and they are waiting for us.”
we had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had found ourselves in the morning. our cabs were dismissed, and, following the guidance of mr. merryweather, we passed down a narrow passage and through a side door, which he opened for us. within there was a small corridor, which ended in a very massive iron gate. this also was opened, and led down a flight of winding stone steps, which terminated at another formidable gate. mr. merryweather stopped to light a lantern, and then conducted us down a dark, earth-smelling passage, and so, after opening a third door, into a huge vault or cellar, which was piled all round with crates and massive boxes.
“you are not very vulnerable from above,” holmes remarked as he held up the lantern and gazed about him.
“nor from below,” said mr. merryweather, striking his stick upon the flags which lined the floor. “why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow!” he remarked, looking up in surprise.
“i must really ask you to be a little more quiet!” said holmes severely. “you have already imperilled the whole success of our expedition. might i beg that you would have the goodness to sit down upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?”
the solemn mr. merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a very injured expression upon his face, while holmes fell upon his knees upon the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens, began to examine minutely the cracks between the stones. a few seconds sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again and put his glass in his pocket.
“we have at least an hour before us,” he remarked, “for they can hardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed. then they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their work the longer time they will have for their escape. we are at present, doctor—as no doubt you have divined—in the cellar of the city branch of one of the principal london banks. mr. merryweather is the chairman of directors, and he will explain to you that there are reasons why the more daring criminals of london should take a considerable interest in this cellar at present.”
“it is our french gold,” whispered the director. “we have had several warnings that an attempt might be made upon it.”
“your french gold?”
“yes. we had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources and borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from the bank of france. it has become known that we have never had occasion to unpack the money, and that it is still lying in our cellar. the crate upon which i sit contains 2,000 napoleons packed between layers of lead foil. our reserve of bullion is much larger at present than is usually kept in a single branch office, and the directors have had misgivings upon the subject.”
“which were very well justified,” observed holmes. “and now it is time that we arranged our little plans. i expect that within an hour matters will come to a head. in the meantime mr. merryweather, we must put the screen over that dark lantern.”
“and sit in the dark?”
“i am afraid so. i had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and i thought that, as we were a partie carrée, you might have your rubber after all. but i see that the enemy’s preparations have gone so far that we cannot risk the presence of a light. and, first of all, we must choose our positions. these are daring men, and though we shall take them at a disadvantage, they may do us some harm unless we are careful.
i shall stand behind this crate, and do you conceal yourselves behind those. then, when i flash a light upon them, close in swiftly. if they fire, watson, have no compunction about shooting them down.”
i placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case behind which i crouched. holmes shot the slide across the front of his lantern and left us in pitch darkness—such an absolute darkness as i have never before experienced. the smell of hot metal remained to assure us that the light was still there, ready to flash out at a moment’s notice. to me, with my nerves worked up to a pitch of expectancy, there was something depressing and subduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold dank air of the vault.
“they have but one retreat,” whispered holmes. “that is back through the house into saxe-coburg square. i hope that you have done what i asked you, jones?”
“i have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door.”
“then we have stopped all the holes. and now we must be silent and wait.”
what a time it seemed! from comparing notes afterwards it was but an hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must have almost gone, and the dawn be breaking above us. my limbs were weary and stiff, for i feared to change my position; yet my nerves were worked up to the highest pitch of tension, and my hearing was so acute that i could not only hear the gentle breathing of my companions, but i could distinguish the deeper, heavier in-breath of the bulky jones from the thin, sighing note of the bank director. from my position i could look over the case in the direction of the floor. suddenly my eyes caught the glint of a light.
at first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. then it lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, without any warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand appeared, a white, almost womanly hand, which felt about in the centre of the little area of light. for a minute or more the hand, with its writhing fingers, protruded out of the floor. then it was withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, and all was dark again save the single lurid spark which marked a chink between the stones.
its disappearance, however, was but momentary. with a rending, tearing sound, one of the broad, white stones turned over upon its side and left a square, gaping hole, through which streamed the light of a lantern. over the edge there peeped a clean-cut, boyish face, which looked keenly about it, and then, with a hand on either side of the aperture, drew itself shoulder-high and waist-high, until one knee rested upon the edge. in another instant he stood at the side of the hole and was hauling after him a companion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale face and a shock of very red hair.
“it’s all clear,” he whispered. “have you the chisel and the bags?
great scott! jump, archie, jump, and i’ll swing for it!”
sherlock holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the collar.
the other dived down the hole, and i heard the sound of rending cloth as jones clutched at his skirts. the light flashed upon the barrel of a revolver, but holmes’ hunting crop came down on the man’s wrist, and the pistol clinked upon the stone floor.
“it’s no use, john clay,” said holmes blandly. “you have no chance at all.”
“so i see,” the other answered with the utmost coolness. “i fancy that my pal is all right, though i see you have got his coat-tails.”
“there are three men waiting for him at the door,” said holmes.
“oh, indeed! you seem to have done the thing very completely. i must compliment you.”
“and i you,” holmes answered. “your red-headed idea was very new and effective.”
“you’ll see your pal again presently,” said jones. “he’s quicker at climbing down holes than i am. just hold out while i fix the derbies.”
“i beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,” remarked our prisoner as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists. “you may not be aware that i have royal blood in my veins. have the goodness, also, when you address me always to say ‘sir’ and ‘please.’”
“all right,” said jones with a stare and a snigger. “well, would you please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry your highness to the police-station?”
“that is better,” said john clay serenely. he made a sweeping bow to the three of us and walked quietly off in the custody of the detective.
“really, mr. holmes,” said mr. merryweather as we followed them from the cellar, “i do not know how the bank can thank you or repay you.
there is no doubt that you have detected and defeated in the most complete manner one of the most determined attempts at bank robbery that have ever come within my experience.”
“i have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with mr. john clay,” said holmes. “i have been at some small expense over this matter, which i shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond that i am amply repaid by having had an experience which is in many ways unique, and by hearing the very remarkable narrative of the red-headed league.”
“you see, watson,” he explained in the early hours of the morning as we sat over a glass of whisky and soda in baker street, “it was perfectly obvious from the first that the only possible object of this rather fantastic business of the advertisement of the league, and the copying of the encyclopædia, must be to get this not over-bright pawnbroker out of the way for a number of hours every day. it was a curious way of managing it, but, really, it would be difficult to suggest a better.
the method was no doubt suggested to clay’s ingenious mind by the colour of his accomplice’s hair. the £ 4 a week was a lure which must draw him, and what was it to them, who were playing for thousands? they put in the advertisement, one rogue has the temporary office, the other rogue incites the man to apply for it, and together they manage to secure his absence every morning in the week. from the time that i heard of the assistant having come for half wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong motive for securing the situation.”
“but how could you guess what the motive was?”
“had there been women in the house, i should have suspected a mere vulgar intrigue. that, however, was out of the question. the man’s business was a small one, and there was nothing in his house which could account for such elaborate preparations, and such an expenditure as they were at. it must, then, be something out of the house. what could it be? i thought of the assistant’s fondness for photography, and his trick of vanishing into the cellar. the cellar! there was the end of this tangled clue. then i made inquiries as to this mysterious assistant and found that i had to deal with one of the coolest and most daring criminals in london. he was doing something in the cellar—something which took many hours a day for months on end. what could it be, once more? i could think of nothing save that he was running a tunnel to some other building.
“so far i had got when we went to visit the scene of action. i surprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. i was ascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind. it was not in front. then i rang the bell, and, as i hoped, the assistant answered it. we have had some skirmishes, but we had never set eyes upon each other before. i hardly looked at his face. his knees were what i wished to see. you must yourself have remarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. they spoke of those hours of burrowing. the only remaining point was what they were burrowing for. i walked round the corner, saw the city and suburban bank abutted on our friend’s premises, and felt that i had solved my problem. when you drove home after the concert i called upon scotland yard and upon the chairman of the bank directors, with the result that you have seen.”
“and how could you tell that they would make their attempt to-night?” i asked.
“well, when they closed their league offices that was a sign that they cared no longer about mr. jabez wilson’s presence—in other words, that they had completed their tunnel. but it was essential that they should use it soon, as it might be discovered, or the bullion might be removed. saturday would suit them better than any other day, as it would give them two days for their escape. for all these reasons i expected them to come to-night.”
“you reasoned it out beautifully,” i exclaimed in unfeigned admiration.
“it is so long a chain, and yet every link rings true.”
“it saved me from ennui,” he answered, yawning. “alas! i already feel it closing in upon me. my life is spent in one long effort to escape from the commonplaces of existence. these little problems help me to do so.”
“and you are a benefactor of the race,” said i.
he shrugged his shoulders. “well, perhaps, after all, it is of some little use,” he remarked. “‘l’homme c’est rien—l’œuvre c’est tout,’
as gustave flaubert wrote to george sand.”
iii. a case of identity
“my dear fellow,” said sherlock holmes as we sat on either side of the fire in his lodgings at baker street, “life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. we would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere commonplaces of existence. if we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generations, and leading to the most outré results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable.”
“and yet i am not convinced of it,” i answered. “the cases which come to light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and vulgar enough.
we have in our police reports realism pushed to its extreme limits, and yet the result is, it must be confessed, neither fascinating nor artistic.”
“a certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a realistic effect,” remarked holmes. “this is wanting in the police report, where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon the platitudes of the magistrate than upon the details, which to an observer contain the vital essence of the whole matter. depend upon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace.”
i smiled and shook my head. “i can quite understand your thinking so,”
i said. “of course, in your position of unofficial adviser and helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled, throughout three continents, you are brought in contact with all that is strange and bizarre. but here”—i picked up the morning paper from the ground—“let us put it to a practical test. here is the first heading upon which i come. ‘a husband’s cruelty to his wife.’ there is half a column of print, but i know without reading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me. there is, of course, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the bruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady. the crudest of writers could invent nothing more crude.”
“indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument,” said holmes, taking the paper and glancing his eye down it. “this is the dundas separation case, and, as it happens, i was engaged in clearing up some small points in connection with it. the husband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the conduct complained of was that he had drifted into the habit of winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and hurling them at his wife, which, you will allow, is not an action likely to occur to the imagination of the average story-teller. take a pinch of snuff, doctor, and acknowledge that i have scored over you in your example.”
he held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst in the centre of the lid. its splendour was in such contrast to his homely ways and simple life that i could not help commenting upon it.
“ah,” said he, “i forgot that i had not seen you for some weeks. it is a little souvenir from the king of bohemia in return for my assistance in the case of the irene adler papers.”
“and the ring?” i asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant which sparkled upon his finger.
“it was from the reigning family of holland, though the matter in which i served them was of such delicacy that i cannot confide it even to you, who have been good enough to chronicle one or two of my little problems.”
“and have you any on hand just now?” i asked with interest.
“some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature of interest.
they are important, you understand, without being interesting. indeed, i have found that it is usually in unimportant matters that there is a field for the observation, and for the quick analysis of cause and effect which gives the charm to an investigation. the larger crimes are apt to be the simpler, for the bigger the crime the more obvious, as a rule, is the motive. in these cases, save for one rather intricate matter which has been referred to me from marseilles, there is nothing which presents any features of interest. it is possible, however, that i may have something better before very many minutes are over, for this is one of my clients, or i am much mistaken.”
he had risen from his chair and was standing between the parted blinds gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted london street. looking over his shoulder, i saw that on the pavement opposite there stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck, and a large curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hat which was tilted in a coquettish duchess of devonshire fashion over her ear. from under this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous, hesitating fashion at our windows, while her body oscillated backward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with her glove buttons. suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmer who leaves the bank, she hurried across the road, and we heard the sharp clang of the bell.
“i have seen those symptoms before,” said holmes, throwing his cigarette into the fire. “oscillation upon the pavement always means an affaire de cœur. she would like advice, but is not sure that the matter is not too delicate for communication. and yet even here we may discriminate. when a woman has been seriously wronged by a man she no longer oscillates, and the usual symptom is a broken bell wire. here we may take it that there is a love matter, but that the maiden is not so much angry as perplexed, or grieved. but here she comes in person to resolve our doubts.”
as he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons entered to announce miss mary sutherland, while the lady herself loomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailed merchant-man behind a tiny pilot boat. sherlock holmes welcomed her with the easy courtesy for which he was remarkable, and, having closed the door and bowed her into an armchair, he looked her over in the minute and yet abstracted fashion which was peculiar to him.
“do you not find,” he said, “that with your short sight it is a little trying to do so much typewriting?”
“i did at first,” she answered, “but now i know where the letters are without looking.” then, suddenly realising the full purport of his words, she gave a violent start and looked up, with fear and astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face. “you’ve heard about me, mr. holmes,” she cried, “else how could you know all that?”
“never mind,” said holmes, laughing; “it is my business to know things.
perhaps i have trained myself to see what others overlook. if not, why should you come to consult me?”
“i came to you, sir, because i heard of you from mrs. etherege, whose husband you found so easy when the police and everyone had given him up for dead. oh, mr. holmes, i wish you would do as much for me. i’m not rich, but still i have a hundred a year in my own right, besides the little that i make by the machine, and i would give it all to know what has become of mr. hosmer angel.”
“why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?” asked sherlock holmes, with his finger-tips together and his eyes to the ceiling.
again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of miss mary sutherland. “yes, i did bang out of the house,” she said, “for it made me angry to see the easy way in which mr. windibank—that is, my father—took it all. he would not go to the police, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as he would do nothing and kept on saying that there was no harm done, it made me mad, and i just on with my things and came right away to you.”
“your father,” said holmes, “your stepfather, surely, since the name is different.”
“yes, my stepfather. i call him father, though it sounds funny, too, for he is only five years and two months older than myself.”
“and your mother is alive?”
“oh, yes, mother is alive and well. i wasn’t best pleased, mr. holmes, when she married again so soon after father’s death, and a man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself. father was a plumber in the tottenham court road, and he left a tidy business behind him, which mother carried on with mr. hardy, the foreman; but when mr. windibank came he made her sell the business, for he was very superior, being a traveller in wines. they got £ 4700 for the goodwill and interest, which wasn’t near as much as father could have got if he had been alive.”
i had expected to see sherlock holmes impatient under this rambling and inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he had listened with the greatest concentration of attention.
“your own little income,” he asked, “does it come out of the business?”
“oh, no, sir. it is quite separate and was left me by my uncle ned in auckland. it is in new zealand stock, paying 4½ per cent. two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but i can only touch the interest.”
“you interest me extremely,” said holmes. “and since you draw so large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the bargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in every way. i believe that a single lady can get on very nicely upon an income of about £ 60.”
“i could do with much less than that, mr. holmes, but you understand that as long as i live at home i don’t wish to be a burden to them, and so they have the use of the money just while i am staying with them. of course, that is only just for the time. mr. windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it over to mother, and i find that i can do pretty well with what i earn at typewriting. it brings me twopence a sheet, and i can often do from fifteen to twenty sheets in a day.”
“you have made your position very clear to me,” said holmes. “this is my friend, dr. watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. kindly tell us now all about your connection with mr. hosmer angel.”
a flush stole over miss sutherland’s face, and she picked nervously at the fringe of her jacket. “i met him first at the gasfitters’ ball,”
she said. “they used to send father tickets when he was alive, and then afterwards they remembered us, and sent them to mother. mr. windibank did not wish us to go. he never did wish us to go anywhere. he would get quite mad if i wanted so much as to join a sunday-school treat. but this time i was set on going, and i would go; for what right had he to prevent? he said the folk were not fit for us to know, when all father’s friends were to be there. and he said that i had nothing fit to wear, when i had my purple plush that i had never so much as taken out of the drawer. at last, when nothing else would do, he went off to france upon the business of the firm, but we went, mother and i, with mr. hardy, who used to be our foreman, and it was there i met mr.
hosmer angel.”
“i suppose,” said holmes, “that when mr. windibank came back from france he was very annoyed at your having gone to the ball.”
“oh, well, he was very good about it. he laughed, i remember, and shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use denying anything to a woman, for she would have her way.”
“i see. then at the gasfitters’ ball you met, as i understand, a gentleman called mr. hosmer angel.”
“yes, sir. i met him that night, and he called next day to ask if we had got home all safe, and after that we met him—that is to say, mr.
holmes, i met him twice for walks, but after that father came back again, and mr. hosmer angel could not come to the house any more.”
“no?”
“well, you know father didn’t like anything of the sort. he wouldn’t have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to say that a woman should be happy in her own family circle. but then, as i used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle to begin with, and i had not got mine yet.”
“but how about mr. hosmer angel? did he make no attempt to see you?”
“well, father was going off to france again in a week, and hosmer wrote and said that it would be safer and better not to see each other until he had gone. we could write in the meantime, and he used to write every day. i took the letters in in the morning, so there was no need for father to know.”
“were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?”
“oh, yes, mr. holmes. we were engaged after the first walk that we took. hosmer—mr. angel—was a cashier in an office in leadenhall street—and—”
“what office?”
“that’s the worst of it, mr. holmes, i don’t know.”
“where did he live, then?”
“he slept on the premises.”
“and you don’t know his address?”
“no—except that it was leadenhall street.”
“where did you address your letters, then?”
“to the leadenhall street post office, to be left till called for. he said that if they were sent to the office he would be chaffed by all the other clerks about having letters from a lady, so i offered to typewrite them, like he did his, but he wouldn’t have that, for he said that when i wrote them they seemed to come from me, but when they were typewritten he always felt that the machine had come between us. that will just show you how fond he was of me, mr. holmes, and the little things that he would think of.”
“it was most suggestive,” said holmes. “it has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important. can you remember any other little things about mr. hosmer angel?”
“he was a very shy man, mr. holmes. he would rather walk with me in the evening than in the daylight, for he said that he hated to be conspicuous. very retiring and gentlemanly he was. even his voice was gentle. he’d had the quinsy and swollen glands when he was young, he told me, and it had left him with a weak throat, and a hesitating, whispering fashion of speech. he was always well dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes were weak, just as mine are, and he wore tinted glasses against the glare.”
“well, and what happened when mr. windibank, your stepfather, returned to france?”
“mr. hosmer angel came to the house again and proposed that we should marry before father came back. he was in dreadful earnest and made me swear, with my hands on the testament, that whatever happened i would always be true to him. mother said he was quite right to make me swear, and that it was a sign of his passion. mother was all in his favour from the first and was even fonder of him than i was. then, when they talked of marrying within the week, i began to ask about father; but they both said never to mind about father, but just to tell him afterwards, and mother said she would make it all right with him. i didn’t quite like that, mr. holmes. it seemed funny that i should ask his leave, as he was only a few years older than me; but i didn’t want to do anything on the sly, so i wrote to father at bordeaux, where the company has its french offices, but the letter came back to me on the very morning of the wedding.”
“it missed him, then?”
“yes, sir; for he had started to england just before it arrived.”
“ha! that was unfortunate. your wedding was arranged, then, for the friday. was it to be in church?”
“yes, sir, but very quietly. it was to be at st. saviour’s, near king’s cross, and we were to have breakfast afterwards at the st. pancras hotel. hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there were two of us he put us both into it and stepped himself into a four-wheeler, which happened to be the only other cab in the street. we got to the church first, and when the four-wheeler drove up we waited for him to step out, but he never did, and when the cabman got down from the box and looked there was no one there! the cabman said that he could not imagine what had become of him, for he had seen him get in with his own eyes. that was last friday, mr. holmes, and i have never seen or heard anything since then to throw any light upon what became of him.”
“it seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated,” said holmes.
“oh, no, sir! he was too good and kind to leave me so. why, all the morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, i was to be true; and that even if something quite unforeseen occurred to separate us, i was always to remember that i was pledged to him, and that he would claim his pledge sooner or later. it seemed strange talk for a wedding-morning, but what has happened since gives a meaning to it.”
“most certainly it does. your own opinion is, then, that some unforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?”
“yes, sir. i believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he would not have talked so. and then i think that what he foresaw happened.”
“but you have no notion as to what it could have been?”
“none.”
“one more question. how did your mother take the matter?”
“she was angry, and said that i was never to speak of the matter again.”
“and your father? did you tell him?”
“yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that something had happened, and that i should hear of hosmer again. as he said, what interest could anyone have in bringing me to the doors of the church, and then leaving me? now, if he had borrowed my money, or if he had married me and got my money settled on him, there might be some reason, but hosmer was very independent about money and never would look at a shilling of mine. and yet, what could have happened? and why could he not write?
oh, it drives me half-mad to think of it, and i can’t sleep a wink at night.” she pulled a little handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob heavily into it.
“i shall glance into the case for you,” said holmes, rising, “and i have no doubt that we shall reach some definite result. let the weight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let your mind dwell upon it further. above all, try to let mr. hosmer angel vanish from your memory, as he has done from your life.”
“then you don’t think i’ll see him again?”
“i fear not.”
“then what has happened to him?”
“you will leave that question in my hands. i should like an accurate description of him and any letters of his which you can spare.”
“i advertised for him in last saturday’s chronicle,” said she. “here is the slip and here are four letters from him.”
“thank you. and your address?”
“no. 31 lyon place, camberwell.”
“mr. angel’s address you never had, i understand. where is your father’s place of business?”
“he travels for westhouse & marbank, the great claret importers of fenchurch street.”
“thank you. you have made your statement very clearly. you will leave the papers here, and remember the advice which i have given you. let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it to affect your life.”
“you are very kind, mr. holmes, but i cannot do that. i shall be true to hosmer. he shall find me ready when he comes back.”
for all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was something noble in the simple faith of our visitor which compelled our respect.
she laid her little bundle of papers upon the table and went her way, with a promise to come again whenever she might be summoned.
sherlock holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips still pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him, and his gaze directed upward to the ceiling. then he took down from the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a counsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with the thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of infinite languor in his face.
“quite an interesting study, that maiden,” he observed. “i found her more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way, is rather a trite one. you will find parallel cases, if you consult my index, in andover in ’77, and there was something of the sort at the hague last year. old as is the idea, however, there were one or two details which were new to me. but the maiden herself was most instructive.”
“you appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite invisible to me,” i remarked.
“not invisible but unnoticed, watson. you did not know where to look, and so you missed all that was important. i can never bring you to realise the importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness of thumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a boot-lace. now, what did you gather from that woman’s appearance? describe it.”
“well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat, with a feather of a brickish red. her jacket was black, with black beads sewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. her dress was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little purple plush at the neck and sleeves. her gloves were greyish and were worn through at the right forefinger. her boots i didn’t observe. she had small round, hanging gold earrings, and a general air of being fairly well-to-do in a vulgar, comfortable, easy-going way.”
sherlock holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled.
“’pon my word, watson, you are coming along wonderfully. you have really done very well indeed. it is true that you have missed everything of importance, but you have hit upon the method, and you have a quick eye for colour. never trust to general impressions, my boy, but concentrate yourself upon details. my first glance is always at a woman’s sleeve. in a man it is perhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser. as you observe, this woman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most useful material for showing traces. the double line a little above the wrist, where the typewritist presses against the table, was beautifully defined. the sewing-machine, of the hand type, leaves a similar mark, but only on the left arm, and on the side of it farthest from the thumb, instead of being right across the broadest part, as this was. i then glanced at her face, and, observing the dint of a pince-nez at either side of her nose, i ventured a remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed to surprise her.”
“it surprised me.”
“but, surely, it was obvious. i was then much surprised and interested on glancing down to observe that, though the boots which she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were really odd ones; the one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and the other a plain one. one was buttoned only in the two lower buttons out of five, and the other at the first, third, and fifth. now, when you see that a young lady, otherwise neatly dressed, has come away from home with odd boots, half-buttoned, it is no great deduction to say that she came away in a hurry.”
“and what else?” i asked, keenly interested, as i always was, by my friend’s incisive reasoning.
“i noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving home but after being fully dressed. you observed that her right glove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently see that both glove and finger were stained with violet ink. she had written in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep. it must have been this morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the finger. all this is amusing, though rather elementary, but i must go back to business, watson. would you mind reading me the advertised description of mr. hosmer angel?”
i held the little printed slip to the light. “missing,” it said, “on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman named hosmer angel. about five ft. seven in. in height; strongly built, sallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in the centre, bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted glasses, slight infirmity of speech. was dressed, when last seen, in black frock-coat faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold albert chain, and grey harris tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over elastic-sided boots. known to have been employed in an office in leadenhall street. anybody bringing,” &c, &c.
“that will do,” said holmes. “as to the letters,” he continued, glancing over them, “they are very commonplace. absolutely no clue in them to mr. angel, save that he quotes balzac once. there is one remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike you.”
“they are typewritten,” i remarked.
“not only that, but the signature is typewritten. look at the neat little ‘hosmer angel’ at the bottom. there is a date, you see, but no superscription except leadenhall street, which is rather vague. the point about the signature is very suggestive—in fact, we may call it conclusive.”
“of what?”
“my dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears upon the case?”
“i cannot say that i do unless it were that he wished to be able to deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were instituted.”
“no, that was not the point. however, i shall write two letters, which should settle the matter. one is to a firm in the city, the other is to the young lady’s stepfather, mr. windibank, asking him whether he could meet us here at six o’clock to-morrow evening. it is just as well that we should do business with the male relatives. and now, doctor, we can do nothing until the answers to those letters come, so we may put our little problem upon the shelf for the interim.”
i had had so many reasons to believe in my friend’s subtle powers of reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that i felt that he must have some solid grounds for the assured and easy demeanour with which he treated the singular mystery which he had been called upon to fathom. once only had i known him to fail, in the case of the king of bohemia and of the irene adler photograph; but when i looked back to the weird business of the sign of four, and the extraordinary circumstances connected with the study in scarlet, i felt that it would be a strange tangle indeed which he could not unravel.
i left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the conviction that when i came again on the next evening i would find that he held in his hands all the clues which would lead up to the identity of the disappearing bridegroom of miss mary sutherland.
a professional case of great gravity was engaging my own attention at the time, and the whole of next day i was busy at the bedside of the sufferer. it was not until close upon six o’clock that i found myself free and was able to spring into a hansom and drive to baker street, half afraid that i might be too late to assist at the dénouement of the little mystery. i found sherlock holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin form curled up in the recesses of his armchair. a formidable array of bottles and test-tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell of hydrochloric acid, told me that he had spent his day in the chemical work which was so dear to him.
“well, have you solved it?” i asked as i entered.
“yes. it was the bisulphate of baryta.”
“no, no, the mystery!” i cried.
“oh, that! i thought of the salt that i have been working upon. there was never any mystery in the matter, though, as i said yesterday, some of the details are of interest. the only drawback is that there is no law, i fear, that can touch the scoundrel.”
“who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting miss sutherland?”
the question was hardly out of my mouth, and holmes had not yet opened his lips to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the passage and a tap at the door.
“this is the girl’s stepfather, mr. james windibank,” said holmes. “he has written to me to say that he would be here at six. come in!”
the man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some thirty years of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a bland, insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp and penetrating grey eyes. he shot a questioning glance at each of us, placed his shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a slight bow sidled down into the nearest chair.
“good-evening, mr. james windibank,” said holmes. “i think that this typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an appointment with me for six o’clock?”
“yes, sir. i am afraid that i am a little late, but i am not quite my own master, you know. i am sorry that miss sutherland has troubled you about this little matter, for i think it is far better not to wash linen of the sort in public. it was quite against my wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable, impulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not easily controlled when she has made up her mind on a point. of course, i did not mind you so much, as you are not connected with the official police, but it is not pleasant to have a family misfortune like this noised abroad. besides, it is a useless expense, for how could you possibly find this hosmer angel?”
“on the contrary,” said holmes quietly; “i have every reason to believe that i will succeed in discovering mr. hosmer angel.”
mr. windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. “i am delighted to hear it,” he said.
“it is a curious thing,” remarked holmes, “that a typewriter has really quite as much individuality as a man’s handwriting. unless they are quite new, no two of them write exactly alike. some letters get more worn than others, and some wear only on one side. now, you remark in this note of yours, mr. windibank, that in every case there is some little slurring over of the ‘e,’ and a slight defect in the tail of the ‘r.’ there are fourteen other characteristics, but those are the more obvious.”
“we do all our correspondence with this machine at the office, and no doubt it is a little worn,” our visitor answered, glancing keenly at holmes with his bright little eyes.
“and now i will show you what is really a very interesting study, mr.
windibank,” holmes continued. “i think of writing another little monograph some of these days on the typewriter and its relation to crime. it is a subject to which i have devoted some little attention. i have here four letters which purport to come from the missing man. they are all typewritten. in each case, not only are the ‘e’s’ slurred and the ‘r’s’ tailless, but you will observe, if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the fourteen other characteristics to which i have alluded are there as well.”
mr. windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat. “i cannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, mr. holmes,” he said. “if you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know when you have done it.”
“certainly,” said holmes, stepping over and turning the key in the door. “i let you know, then, that i have caught him!”
“what! where?” shouted mr. windibank, turning white to his lips and glancing about him like a rat in a trap.
“oh, it won’t do—really it won’t,” said holmes suavely. “there is no possible getting out of it, mr. windibank. it is quite too transparent, and it was a very bad compliment when you said that it was impossible for me to solve so simple a question. that’s right! sit down and let us talk it over.”
our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face and a glitter of moisture on his brow. “it—it’s not actionable,” he stammered.
“i am very much afraid that it is not. but between ourselves, windibank, it was as cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a petty way as ever came before me. now, let me just run over the course of events, and you will contradict me if i go wrong.”
the man sat huddled up in his chair, with his head sunk upon his breast, like one who is utterly crushed. holmes stuck his feet up on the corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his hands in his pockets, began talking, rather to himself, as it seemed, than to us.
“the man married a woman very much older than himself for her money,”
said he, “and he enjoyed the use of the money of the daughter as long as she lived with them. it was a considerable sum, for people in their position, and the loss of it would have made a serious difference. it was worth an effort to preserve it. the daughter was of a good, amiable disposition, but affectionate and warm-hearted in her ways, so that it was evident that with her fair personal advantages, and her little income, she would not be allowed to remain single long. now her marriage would mean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year, so what does her stepfather do to prevent it? he takes the obvious course of keeping her at home and forbidding her to seek the company of people of her own age. but soon he found that that would not answer forever. she became restive, insisted upon her rights, and finally announced her positive intention of going to a certain ball. what does her clever stepfather do then? he conceives an idea more creditable to his head than to his heart. with the connivance and assistance of his wife he disguised himself, covered those keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face with a moustache and a pair of bushy whiskers, sunk that clear voice into an insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account of the girl’s short sight, he appears as mr. hosmer angel, and keeps off other lovers by making love himself.”
“it was only a joke at first,” groaned our visitor. “we never thought that she would have been so carried away.”
“very likely not. however that may be, the young lady was very decidedly carried away, and, having quite made up her mind that her stepfather was in france, the suspicion of treachery never for an instant entered her mind. she was flattered by the gentleman’s attentions, and the effect was increased by the loudly expressed admiration of her mother. then mr. angel began to call, for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed as far as it would go if a real effect were to be produced. there were meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure the girl’s affections from turning towards anyone else. but the deception could not be kept up forever. these pretended journeys to france were rather cumbrous. the thing to do was clearly to bring the business to an end in such a dramatic manner that it would leave a permanent impression upon the young lady’s mind and prevent her from looking upon any other suitor for some time to come. hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a testament, and hence also the allusions to a possibility of something happening on the very morning of the wedding. james windibank wished miss sutherland to be so bound to hosmer angel, and so uncertain as to his fate, that for ten years to come, at any rate, she would not listen to another man. as far as the church door he brought her, and then, as he could go no farther, he conveniently vanished away by the old trick of stepping in at one door of a four-wheeler and out at the other. i think that was the chain of events, mr. windibank!”
our visitor had recovered something of his assurance while holmes had been talking, and he rose from his chair now with a cold sneer upon his pale face.
“it may be so, or it may not, mr. holmes,” said he, “but if you are so very sharp you ought to be sharp enough to know that it is you who are breaking the law now, and not me. i have done nothing actionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door locked you lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegal constraint.”
“the law cannot, as you say, touch you,” said holmes, unlocking and throwing open the door, “yet there never was a man who deserved punishment more. if the young lady has a brother or a friend, he ought to lay a whip across your shoulders. by jove!” he continued, flushing up at the sight of the bitter sneer upon the man’s face, “it is not part of my duties to my client, but here’s a hunting crop handy, and i think i shall just treat myself to—” he took two swift steps to the whip, but before he could grasp it there was a wild clatter of steps upon the stairs, the heavy hall door banged, and from the window we could see mr. james windibank running at the top of his speed down the road.
“there’s a cold-blooded scoundrel!” said holmes, laughing, as he threw himself down into his chair once more. “that fellow will rise from crime to crime until he does something very bad, and ends on a gallows.
the case has, in some respects, been not entirely devoid of interest.”
“i cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning,” i remarked.
“well, of course it was obvious from the first that this mr. hosmer angel must have some strong object for his curious conduct, and it was equally clear that the only man who really profited by the incident, as far as we could see, was the stepfather. then the fact that the two men were never together, but that the one always appeared when the other was away, was suggestive. so were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice, which both hinted at a disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. my suspicions were all confirmed by his peculiar action in typewriting his signature, which, of course, inferred that his handwriting was so familiar to her that she would recognise even the smallest sample of it. you see all these isolated facts, together with many minor ones, all pointed in the same direction.”
“and how did you verify them?”
“having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. i knew the firm for which this man worked. having taken the printed description. i eliminated everything from it which could be the result of a disguise—the whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and i sent it to the firm, with a request that they would inform me whether it answered to the description of any of their travellers. i had already noticed the peculiarities of the typewriter, and i wrote to the man himself at his business address asking him if he would come here. as i expected, his reply was typewritten and revealed the same trivial but characteristic defects. the same post brought me a letter from westhouse & marbank, of fenchurch street, to say that the description tallied in every respect with that of their employé, james windibank.
voilà tout!”
“and miss sutherland?”
“if i tell her she will not believe me. you may remember the old persian saying, ‘there is danger for him who taketh the tiger cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.’ there is as much sense in hafiz as in horace, and as much knowledge of the world.”
iv. the boscombe valley mystery
we were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and i, when the maid brought in a telegram. it was from sherlock holmes and ran in this way:
“have you a couple of days to spare? have just been wired for from the west of england in connection with boscombe valley tragedy. shall be glad if you will come with me. air and scenery perfect. leave paddington by the 11:15.”
“what do you say, dear?” said my wife, looking across at me. “will you go?”
“i really don’t know what to say. i have a fairly long list at present.”
“oh, anstruther would do your work for you. you have been looking a little pale lately. i think that the change would do you good, and you are always so interested in mr. sherlock holmes’ cases.”
“i should be ungrateful if i were not, seeing what i gained through one of them,” i answered. “but if i am to go, i must pack at once, for i have only half an hour.”
my experience of camp life in afghanistan had at least had the effect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. my wants were few and simple, so that in less than the time stated i was in a cab with my valise, rattling away to paddington station. sherlock holmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt figure made even gaunter and taller by his long grey travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap.
“it is really very good of you to come, watson,” said he. “it makes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me on whom i can thoroughly rely. local aid is always either worthless or else biassed.
if you will keep the two corner seats i shall get the tickets.”
we had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of papers which holmes had brought with him. among these he rummaged and read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until we were past reading. then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack.
“have you heard anything of the case?” he asked.
“not a word. i have not seen a paper for some days.”
“the london press has not had very full accounts. i have just been looking through all the recent papers in order to master the particulars. it seems, from what i gather, to be one of those simple cases which are so extremely difficult.”
“that sounds a little paradoxical.”
“but it is profoundly true. singularity is almost invariably a clue.
the more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult it is to bring it home. in this case, however, they have established a very serious case against the son of the murdered man.”
“it is a murder, then?”
“well, it is conjectured to be so. i shall take nothing for granted until i have the opportunity of looking personally into it. i will explain the state of things to you, as far as i have been able to understand it, in a very few words.
“boscombe valley is a country district not very far from ross, in herefordshire. the largest landed proprietor in that part is a mr. john turner, who made his money in australia and returned some years ago to the old country. one of the farms which he held, that of hatherley, was let to mr. charles mccarthy, who was also an ex-australian. the men had known each other in the colonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they came to settle down they should do so as near each other as possible. turner was apparently the richer man, so mccarthy became his tenant but still remained, it seems, upon terms of perfect equality, as they were frequently together. mccarthy had one son, a lad of eighteen, and turner had an only daughter of the same age, but neither of them had wives living. they appear to have avoided the society of the neighbouring english families and to have led retired lives, though both the mccarthys were fond of sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of the neighbourhood. mccarthy kept two servants—a man and a girl. turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the least. that is as much as i have been able to gather about the families. now for the facts.
“on june 3rd, that is, on monday last, mccarthy left his house at hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the boscombe pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out of the stream which runs down the boscombe valley. he had been out with his serving-man in the morning at ross, and he had told the man that he must hurry, as he had an appointment of importance to keep at three.
from that appointment he never came back alive.
“from hatherley farmhouse to the boscombe pool is a quarter of a mile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. one was an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was william crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of mr. turner. both these witnesses depose that mr. mccarthy was walking alone. the game-keeper adds that within a few minutes of his seeing mr. mccarthy pass he had seen his son, mr.
james mccarthy, going the same way with a gun under his arm. to the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight at the time, and the son was following him. he thought no more of the matter until he heard in the evening of the tragedy that had occurred.
“the two mccarthys were seen after the time when william crowder, the game-keeper, lost sight of them. the boscombe pool is thickly wooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round the edge. a girl of fourteen, patience moran, who is the daughter of the lodge-keeper of the boscombe valley estate, was in one of the woods picking flowers.
she states that while she was there she saw, at the border of the wood and close by the lake, mr. mccarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be having a violent quarrel. she heard mr. mccarthy the elder using very strong language to his son, and she saw the latter raise up his hand as if to strike his father. she was so frightened by their violence that she ran away and told her mother when she reached home that she had left the two mccarthys quarrelling near boscombe pool, and that she was afraid that they were going to fight. she had hardly said the words when young mr. mccarthy came running up to the lodge to say that he had found his father dead in the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper. he was much excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his right hand and sleeve were observed to be stained with fresh blood. on following him they found the dead body stretched out upon the grass beside the pool. the head had been beaten in by repeated blows of some heavy and blunt weapon. the injuries were such as might very well have been inflicted by the butt-end of his son’s gun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of the body. under these circumstances the young man was instantly arrested, and a verdict of ‘wilful murder’ having been returned at the inquest on tuesday, he was on wednesday brought before the magistrates at ross, who have referred the case to the next assizes. those are the main facts of the case as they came out before the coroner and the police-court.”
“i could hardly imagine a more damning case,” i remarked. “if ever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so here.”
“circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing,” answered holmes thoughtfully. “it may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something entirely different. it must be confessed, however, that the case looks exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is very possible that he is indeed the culprit. there are several people in the neighbourhood, however, and among them miss turner, the daughter of the neighbouring landowner, who believe in his innocence, and who have retained lestrade, whom you may recollect in connection with the study in scarlet, to work out the case in his interest. lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the case to me, and hence it is that two middle-aged gentlemen are flying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of quietly digesting their breakfasts at home.”
“i am afraid,” said i, “that the facts are so obvious that you will find little credit to be gained out of this case.”
“there is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact,” he answered, laughing. “besides, we may chance to hit upon some other obvious facts which may have been by no means obvious to mr. lestrade. you know me too well to think that i am boasting when i say that i shall either confirm or destroy his theory by means which he is quite incapable of employing, or even of understanding. to take the first example to hand, i very clearly perceive that in your bedroom the window is upon the right-hand side, and yet i question whether mr. lestrade would have noted even so self-evident a thing as that.”
“how on earth—”
“my dear fellow, i know you well. i know the military neatness which characterises you. you shave every morning, and in this season you shave by the sunlight; but since your shaving is less and less complete as we get farther back on the left side, until it becomes positively slovenly as we get round the angle of the jaw, it is surely very clear that that side is less illuminated than the other. i could not imagine a man of your habits looking at himself in an equal light and being satisfied with such a result. i only quote this as a trivial example of observation and inference. therein lies my métier, and it is just possible that it may be of some service in the investigation which lies before us. there are one or two minor points which were brought out in the inquest, and which are worth considering.”
“what are they?”
“it appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after the return to hatherley farm. on the inspector of constabulary informing him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was not surprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts. this observation of his had the natural effect of removing any traces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of the coroner’s jury.”
“it was a confession,” i ejaculated.
“no, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence.”
“coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at least a most suspicious remark.”
“on the contrary,” said holmes, “it is the brightest rift which i can at present see in the clouds. however innocent he might be, he could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see that the circumstances were very black against him. had he appeared surprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, i should have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such surprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances, and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man. his frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent man, or else as a man of considerable self-restraint and firmness. as to his remark about his deserts, it was also not unnatural if you consider that he stood beside the dead body of his father, and that there is no doubt that he had that very day so far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him, and even, according to the little girl whose evidence is so important, to raise his hand as if to strike him. the self-reproach and contrition which are displayed in his remark appear to me to be the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a guilty one.”
i shook my head. “many men have been hanged on far slighter evidence,”
i remarked.
“so they have. and many men have been wrongfully hanged.”
“what is the young man’s own account of the matter?”
“it is, i am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters, though there are one or two points in it which are suggestive. you will find it here, and may read it for yourself.”
he picked out from his bundle a copy of the local herefordshire paper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out the paragraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his own statement of what had occurred. i settled myself down in the corner of the carriage and read it very carefully. it ran in this way:
“mr. james mccarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then called and gave evidence as follows: ‘i had been away from home for three days at bristol, and had only just returned upon the morning of last monday, the 3rd. my father was absent from home at the time of my arrival, and i was informed by the maid that he had driven over to ross with john cobb, the groom. shortly after my return i heard the wheels of his trap in the yard, and, looking out of my window, i saw him get out and walk rapidly out of the yard, though i was not aware in which direction he was going. i then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of the boscombe pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit warren which is upon the other side. on my way i saw william crowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his evidence; but he is mistaken in thinking that i was following my father. i had no idea that he was in front of me. when about a hundred yards from the pool i heard a cry of “cooee!” which was a usual signal between my father and myself. i then hurried forward, and found him standing by the pool. he appeared to be much surprised at seeing me and asked me rather roughly what i was doing there. a conversation ensued which led to high words and almost to blows, for my father was a man of a very violent temper. seeing that his passion was becoming ungovernable, i left him and returned towards hatherley farm. i had not gone more than 150 yards, however, when i heard a hideous outcry behind me, which caused me to run back again. i found my father expiring upon the ground, with his head terribly injured. i dropped my gun and held him in my arms, but he almost instantly expired. i knelt beside him for some minutes, and then made my way to mr. turner’s lodge-keeper, his house being the nearest, to ask for assistance. i saw no one near my father when i returned, and i have no idea how he came by his injuries. he was not a popular man, being somewhat cold and forbidding in his manners, but he had, as far as i know, no active enemies. i know nothing further of the matter.’
“the coroner: did your father make any statement to you before he died?
“witness: he mumbled a few words, but i could only catch some allusion to a rat.
“the coroner: what did you understand by that?
“witness: it conveyed no meaning to me. i thought that he was delirious.
“the coroner: what was the point upon which you and your father had this final quarrel?
“witness: i should prefer not to answer.
“the coroner: i am afraid that i must press it.
“witness: it is really impossible for me to tell you. i can assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which followed.
“the coroner: that is for the court to decide. i need not point out to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case considerably in any future proceedings which may arise.
“witness: i must still refuse.
“the coroner: i understand that the cry of ‘cooee’ was a common signal between you and your father?
“witness: it was.
“the coroner: how was it, then, that he uttered it before he saw you, and before he even knew that you had returned from bristol?
“witness (with considerable confusion): i do not know.
“a juryman: did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions when you returned on hearing the cry and found your father fatally injured?
“witness: nothing definite.
“the coroner: what do you mean?
“witness: i was so disturbed and excited as i rushed out into the open, that i could think of nothing except of my father. yet i have a vague impression that as i ran forward something lay upon the ground to the left of me. it seemed to me to be something grey in colour, a coat of some sort, or a plaid perhaps. when i rose from my father i looked round for it, but it was gone.
“‘do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?’
“‘yes, it was gone.’
“ ‘you cannot say what it was?’
“‘no, i had a feeling something was there.’
“‘how far from the body?’
“‘a dozen yards or so.’
“‘and how far from the edge of the wood?’
“‘about the same.’
“‘then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen yards of it?’
“‘yes, but with my back towards it.’
“this concluded the examination of the witness.”
“i see,” said i as i glanced down the column, “that the coroner in his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young mccarthy. he calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his father having signalled to him before seeing him, also to his refusal to give details of his conversation with his father, and his singular account of his father’s dying words. they are all, as he remarks, very much against the son.”
holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon the cushioned seat. “both you and the coroner have been at some pains,”
said he, “to single out the very strongest points in the young man’s favour. don’t you see that you alternately give him credit for having too much imagination and too little? too little, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would give him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved from his own inner consciousness anything so outré as a dying reference to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. no, sir, i shall approach this case from the point of view that what this young man says is true, and we shall see whither that hypothesis will lead us. and now here is my pocket petrarch, and not another word shall i say of this case until we are on the scene of action. we lunch at swindon, and i see that we shall be there in twenty minutes.”
it was nearly four o’clock when we at last, after passing through the beautiful stroud valley, and over the broad gleaming severn, found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of ross. a lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for us upon the platform. in spite of the light brown dustcoat and leather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rustic surroundings, i had no difficulty in recognising lestrade, of scotland yard. with him we drove to the hereford arms where a room had already been engaged for us.
“i have ordered a carriage,” said lestrade as we sat over a cup of tea.
“i knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be happy until you had been on the scene of the crime.”
“it was very nice and complimentary of you,” holmes answered. “it is entirely a question of barometric pressure.”
lestrade looked startled. “i do not quite follow,” he said.
“how is the glass? twenty-nine, i see. no wind, and not a cloud in the sky. i have a caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country hotel abomination. i do not think that it is probable that i shall use the carriage to-night.”
lestrade laughed indulgently. “you have, no doubt, already formed your conclusions from the newspapers,” he said. “the case is as plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer it becomes. still, of course, one can’t refuse a lady, and such a very positive one, too.
she has heard of you, and would have your opinion, though i repeatedly told her that there was nothing which you could do which i had not already done. why, bless my soul! here is her carriage at the door.”
he had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the most lovely young women that i have ever seen in my life. her violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement and concern.
“oh, mr. sherlock holmes!” she cried, glancing from one to the other of us, and finally, with a woman’s quick intuition, fastening upon my companion, “i am so glad that you have come. i have driven down to tell you so. i know that james didn’t do it. i know it, and i want you to start upon your work knowing it, too. never let yourself doubt upon that point. we have known each other since we were little children, and i know his faults as no one else does; but he is too tender-hearted to hurt a fly. such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him.”
“i hope we may clear him, miss turner,” said sherlock holmes. “you may rely upon my doing all that i can.”
“but you have read the evidence. you have formed some conclusion? do you not see some loophole, some flaw? do you not yourself think that he is innocent?”
“i think that it is very probable.”
“there, now!” she cried, throwing back her head and looking defiantly at lestrade. “you hear! he gives me hopes.”
lestrade shrugged his shoulders. “i am afraid that my colleague has been a little quick in forming his conclusions,” he said.
“but he is right. oh! i know that he is right. james never did it. and about his quarrel with his father, i am sure that the reason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was because i was concerned in it.”
“in what way?” asked holmes.
“it is no time for me to hide anything. james and his father had many disagreements about me. mr. mccarthy was very anxious that there should be a marriage between us. james and i have always loved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is young and has seen very little of life yet, and—and—well, he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. so there were quarrels, and this, i am sure, was one of them.”
“and your father?” asked holmes. “was he in favour of such a union?”
“no, he was averse to it also. no one but mr. mccarthy was in favour of it.” a quick blush passed over her fresh young face as holmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her.
“thank you for this information,” said he. “may i see your father if i call to-morrow?”
“i am afraid the doctor won’t allow it.”
“the doctor?”
“yes, have you not heard? poor father has never been strong for years back, but this has broken him down completely. he has taken to his bed, and dr. willows says that he is a wreck and that his nervous system is shattered. mr. mccarthy was the only man alive who had known dad in the old days in victoria.”
“ha! in victoria! that is important.”
“yes, at the mines.”
“quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as i understand, mr. turner made his money.”
“yes, certainly.”
“thank you, miss turner. you have been of material assistance to me.”
“you will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. no doubt you will go to the prison to see james. oh, if you do, mr. holmes, do tell him that i know him to be innocent.”
“i will, miss turner.”
“i must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if i leave him. good-bye, and god help you in your undertaking.” she hurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we heard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street.
“i am ashamed of you, holmes,” said lestrade with dignity after a few minutes’ silence. “why should you raise up hopes which you are bound to disappoint? i am not over-tender of heart, but i call it cruel.”
“i think that i see my way to clearing james mccarthy,” said holmes.
“have you an order to see him in prison?”
“yes, but only for you and me.”
“then i shall reconsider my resolution about going out. we have still time to take a train to hereford and see him to-night?”
“ample.”
“then let us do so. watson, i fear that you will find it very slow, but i shall only be away a couple of hours.”
i walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through the streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel, where i lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed novel.
the puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we were groping, and i found my attention wander so continually from the action to the fact, that i at last flung it across the room and gave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of the day. supposing that this unhappy young man’s story were absolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely unforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred between the time when he parted from his father, and the moment when, drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? it was something terrible and deadly. what could it be? might not the nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts? i rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which contained a verbatim account of the inquest.
in the surgeon’s deposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone had been shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. i marked the spot upon my own head. clearly such a blow must have been struck from behind.
that was to some extent in favour of the accused, as when seen quarrelling he was face to face with his father. still, it did not go for very much, for the older man might have turned his back before the blow fell. still, it might be worth while to call holmes’ attention to it. then there was the peculiar dying reference to a rat. what could that mean? it could not be delirium. a man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become delirious. no, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how he met his fate. but what could it indicate? i cudgelled my brains to find some possible explanation. and then the incident of the grey cloth seen by young mccarthy. if that were true the murderer must have dropped some part of his dress, presumably his overcoat, in his flight, and must have had the hardihood to return and to carry it away at the instant when the son was kneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off. what a tissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing was! i did not wonder at lestrade’s opinion, and yet i had so much faith in sherlock holmes’ insight that i could not lose hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction of young mccarthy’s innocence.
it was late before sherlock holmes returned. he came back alone, for lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.
“the glass still keeps very high,” he remarked as he sat down. “it is of importance that it should not rain before we are able to go over the ground. on the other hand, a man should be at his very best and keenest for such nice work as that, and i did not wish to do it when fagged by a long journey. i have seen young mccarthy.”
“and what did you learn from him?”
“nothing.”
“could he throw no light?”
“none at all. i was inclined to think at one time that he knew who had done it and was screening him or her, but i am convinced now that he is as puzzled as everyone else. he is not a very quick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, i should think, sound at heart.”
“i cannot admire his taste,” i remarked, “if it is indeed a fact that he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as this miss turner.”
“ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. this fellow is madly, insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was only a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away five years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get into the clutches of a barmaid in bristol and marry her at a registry office? no one knows a word of the matter, but you can imagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for not doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knows to be absolutely impossible. it was sheer frenzy of this sort which made him throw his hands up into the air when his father, at their last interview, was goading him on to propose to miss turner. on the other hand, he had no means of supporting himself, and his father, who was by all accounts a very hard man, would have thrown him over utterly had he known the truth. it was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in bristol, and his father did not know where he was. mark that point. it is of importance. good has come out of evil, however, for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written to him to say that she has a husband already in the bermuda dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them. i think that that bit of news has consoled young mccarthy for all that he has suffered.”
“but if he is innocent, who has done it?”
“ah! who? i would call your attention very particularly to two points.
one is that the murdered man had an appointment with someone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his son, for his son was away, and he did not know when he would return. the second is that the murdered man was heard to cry ‘cooee!’ before he knew that his son had returned. those are the crucial points upon which the case depends. and now let us talk about george meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all minor matters until to-morrow.”
there was no rain, as holmes had foretold, and the morning broke bright and cloudless. at nine o’clock lestrade called for us with the carriage, and we set off for hatherley farm and the boscombe pool.
“there is serious news this morning,” lestrade observed. “it is said that mr. turner, of the hall, is so ill that his life is despaired of.”
“an elderly man, i presume?” said holmes.
“about sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life abroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. this business has had a very bad effect upon him. he was an old friend of mccarthy’s, and, i may add, a great benefactor to him, for i have learned that he gave him hatherley farm rent free.”
“indeed! that is interesting,” said holmes.
“oh, yes! in a hundred other ways he has helped him. everybody about here speaks of his kindness to him.”
“really! does it not strike you as a little singular that this mccarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been under such obligations to turner, should still talk of marrying his son to turner’s daughter, who is, presumably, heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would follow? it is the more strange, since we know that turner himself was averse to the idea. the daughter told us as much. do you not deduce something from that?”
“we have got to the deductions and the inferences,” said lestrade, winking at me. “i find it hard enough to tackle facts, holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies.”
“you are right,” said holmes demurely; “you do find it very hard to tackle the facts.”
“anyhow, i have grasped one fact which you seem to find it difficult to get hold of,” replied lestrade with some warmth.
“and that is—”
“that mccarthy senior met his death from mccarthy junior and that all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine.”
“well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog,” said holmes, laughing.
“but i am very much mistaken if this is not hatherley farm upon the left.”
“yes, that is it.” it was a widespread, comfortable-looking building, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches of lichen upon the grey walls. the drawn blinds and the smokeless chimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weight of this horror still lay heavy upon it. we called at the door, when the maid, at holmes’
request, showed us the boots which her master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the son’s, though not the pair which he had then had. having measured these very carefully from seven or eight different points, holmes desired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed the winding track which led to boscombe pool.
sherlock holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent as this. men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of baker street would have failed to recognise him. his face flushed and darkened. his brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter. his face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips compressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long, sinewy neck. his nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark fell unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick, impatient snarl in reply. swiftly and silently he made his way along the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way of the woods to the boscombe pool. it was damp, marshy ground, as is all that district, and there were marks of many feet, both upon the path and amid the short grass which bounded it on either side. sometimes holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and once he made quite a little detour into the meadow. lestrade and i walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous, while i watched my friend with the interest which sprang from the conviction that every one of his actions was directed towards a definite end.
the boscombe pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water some fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the hatherley farm and the private park of the wealthy mr. turner. above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could see the red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the rich landowner’s dwelling. on the hatherley side of the pool the woods grew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden grass twenty paces across between the edge of the trees and the reeds which lined the lake. lestrade showed us the exact spot at which the body had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground, that i could plainly see the traces which had been left by the fall of the stricken man. to holmes, as i could see by his eager face and peering eyes, very many other things were to be read upon the trampled grass. he ran round, like a dog who is picking up a scent, and then turned upon my companion.
“what did you go into the pool for?” he asked.
“i fished about with a rake. i thought there might be some weapon or other trace. but how on earth—”
“oh, tut, tut! i have no time! that left foot of yours with its inward twist is all over the place. a mole could trace it, and there it vanishes among the reeds. oh, how simple it would all have been had i been here before they came like a herd of buffalo and wallowed all over it. here is where the party with the lodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six or eight feet round the body. but here are three separate tracks of the same feet.” he drew out a lens and lay down upon his waterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather to himself than to us. “these are young mccarthy’s feet. twice he was walking, and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles are deeply marked and the heels hardly visible. that bears out his story. he ran when he saw his father on the ground. then here are the father’s feet as he paced up and down. what is this, then? it is the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. and this? ha, ha! what have we here?
tiptoes! tiptoes! square, too, quite unusual boots! they come, they go, they come again—of course that was for the cloak. now where did they come from?” he ran up and down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until we were well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of a great beech, the largest tree in the neighbourhood. holmes traced his way to the farther side of this and lay down once more upon his face with a little cry of satisfaction. for a long time he remained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks, gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope and examining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark of the tree as far as he could reach. a jagged stone was lying among the moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained. then he followed a pathway through the wood until he came to the highroad, where all traces were lost.
“it has been a case of considerable interest,” he remarked, returning to his natural manner. “i fancy that this grey house on the right must be the lodge. i think that i will go in and have a word with moran, and perhaps write a little note. having done that, we may drive back to our luncheon. you may walk to the cab, and i shall be with you presently.”
it was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and drove back into ross, holmes still carrying with him the stone which he had picked up in the wood.
“this may interest you, lestrade,” he remarked, holding it out. “the murder was done with it.”
“i see no marks.”
“there are none.”
“how do you know, then?”
“the grass was growing under it. it had only lain there a few days.
there was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. it corresponds with the injuries. there is no sign of any other weapon.”
“and the murderer?”
“is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears thick-soled shooting-boots and a grey cloak, smokes indian cigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket. there are several other indications, but these may be enough to aid us in our search.”
lestrade laughed. “i am afraid that i am still a sceptic,” he said.
“theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a hard-headed british jury.”
“nous verrons,” answered holmes calmly. “you work your own method, and i shall work mine. i shall be busy this afternoon, and shall probably return to london by the evening train.”
“and leave your case unfinished?”
“no, finished.”
“but the mystery?”
“it is solved.”
“who was the criminal, then?”
“the gentleman i describe.”
“but who is he?”
“surely it would not be difficult to find out. this is not such a populous neighbourhood.”
lestrade shrugged his shoulders. “i am a practical man,” he said, “and i really cannot undertake to go about the country looking for a left-handed gentleman with a game leg. i should become the laughing-stock of scotland yard.”
“all right,” said holmes quietly. “i have given you the chance. here are your lodgings. good-bye. i shall drop you a line before i leave.”
having left lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, where we found lunch upon the table. holmes was silent and buried in thought with a pained expression upon his face, as one who finds himself in a perplexing position.
“look here, watson,” he said when the cloth was cleared “just sit down in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. i don’t know quite what to do, and i should value your advice. light a cigar and let me expound.”
“pray do so.”
“well, now, in considering this case there are two points about young mccarthy’s narrative which struck us both instantly, although they impressed me in his favour and you against him. one was the fact that his father should, according to his account, cry ‘cooee!’ before seeing him. the other was his singular dying reference to a rat. he mumbled several words, you understand, but that was all that caught the son’s ear. now from this double point our research must commence, and we will begin it by presuming that what the lad says is absolutely true.”
“what of this ‘cooee!’ then?”
“well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. the son, as far as he knew, was in bristol. it was mere chance that he was within earshot. the ‘cooee!’ was meant to attract the attention of whoever it was that he had the appointment with. but ‘cooee’ is a distinctly australian cry, and one which is used between australians. there is a strong presumption that the person whom mccarthy expected to meet him at boscombe pool was someone who had been in australia.”
“what of the rat, then?”
sherlock holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened it out on the table. “this is a map of the colony of victoria,” he said.
“i wired to bristol for it last night.” he put his hand over part of the map. “what do you read?”
“arat,” i read.
“and now?” he raised his hand.
“ballarat.”
“quite so. that was the word the man uttered, and of which his son only caught the last two syllables. he was trying to utter the name of his murderer. so and so, of ballarat.”
“it is wonderful!” i exclaimed.
“it is obvious. and now, you see, i had narrowed the field down considerably. the possession of a grey garment was a third point which, granting the son’s statement to be correct, was a certainty. we have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite conception of an australian from ballarat with a grey cloak.”
“certainly.”
“and one who was at home in the district, for the pool can only be approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers could hardly wander.”
“quite so.”
“then comes our expedition of to-day. by an examination of the ground i gained the trifling details which i gave to that imbecile lestrade, as to the personality of the criminal.”
“but how did you gain them?”
“you know my method. it is founded upon the observation of trifles.”
“his height i know that you might roughly judge from the length of his stride. his boots, too, might be told from their traces.”
“yes, they were peculiar boots.”
“but his lameness?”
“the impression of his right foot was always less distinct than his left. he put less weight upon it. why? because he limped—he was lame.”
“but his left-handedness.”
“you were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded by the surgeon at the inquest. the blow was struck from immediately behind, and yet was upon the left side. now, how can that be unless it were by a left-handed man? he had stood behind that tree during the interview between the father and son. he had even smoked there. i found the ash of a cigar, which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to pronounce as an indian cigar. i have, as you know, devoted some attention to this, and written a little monograph on the ashes of 140 different varieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. having found the ash, i then looked round and discovered the stump among the moss where he had tossed it. it was an indian cigar, of the variety which are rolled in rotterdam.”
“and the cigar-holder?”
“i could see that the end had not been in his mouth. therefore he used a holder. the tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the cut was not a clean one, so i deduced a blunt pen-knife.”
“holmes,” i said, “you have drawn a net round this man from which he cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human life as truly as if you had cut the cord which was hanging him. i see the direction in which all this points. the culprit is—”
“mr. john turner,” cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of our sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor.
the man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. his slow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of decrepitude, and yet his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and his enormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual strength of body and of character. his tangled beard, grizzled hair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give an air of dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of an ashen white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were tinged with a shade of blue. it was clear to me at a glance that he was in the grip of some deadly and chronic disease.
“pray sit down on the sofa,” said holmes gently. “you had my note?”
“yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. you said that you wished to see me here to avoid scandal.”
“i thought people would talk if i went to the hall.”
“and why did you wish to see me?” he looked across at my companion with despair in his weary eyes, as though his question was already answered.
“yes,” said holmes, answering the look rather than the words. “it is so. i know all about mccarthy.”
the old man sank his face in his hands. “god help me!” he cried. “but i would not have let the young man come to harm. i give you my word that i would have spoken out if it went against him at the assizes.”
“i am glad to hear you say so,” said holmes gravely.
“i would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. it would break her heart—it will break her heart when she hears that i am arrested.”
“it may not come to that,” said holmes.
“what?”
“i am no official agent. i understand that it was your daughter who required my presence here, and i am acting in her interests. young mccarthy must be got off, however.”
“i am a dying man,” said old turner. “i have had diabetes for years. my doctor says it is a question whether i shall live a month. yet i would rather die under my own roof than in a gaol.”
holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand and a bundle of paper before him. “just tell us the truth,” he said. “i shall jot down the facts. you will sign it, and watson here can witness it.
then i could produce your confession at the last extremity to save young mccarthy. i promise you that i shall not use it unless it is absolutely needed.”
“it’s as well,” said the old man; “it’s a question whether i shall live to the assizes, so it matters little to me, but i should wish to spare alice the shock. and now i will make the thing clear to you; it has been a long time in the acting, but will not take me long to tell.
“you didn’t know this dead man, mccarthy. he was a devil incarnate. i tell you that. god keep you out of the clutches of such a man as he.
his grip has been upon me these twenty years, and he has blasted my life. i’ll tell you first how i came to be in his power.
“it was in the early ’60’s at the diggings. i was a young chap then, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at anything; i got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck with my claim, took to the bush, and in a word became what you would call over here a highway robber. there were six of us, and we had a wild, free life of it, sticking up a station from time to time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings. black jack of ballarat was the name i went under, and our party is still remembered in the colony as the ballarat gang.
“one day a gold convoy came down from ballarat to melbourne, and we lay in wait for it and attacked it. there were six troopers and six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of their saddles at the first volley. three of our boys were killed, however, before we got the swag. i put my pistol to the head of the wagon-driver, who was this very man mccarthy. i wish to the lord that i had shot him then, but i spared him, though i saw his wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every feature. we got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made our way over to england without being suspected.
there i parted from my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet and respectable life. i bought this estate, which chanced to be in the market, and i set myself to do a little good with my money, to make up for the way in which i had earned it. i married, too, and though my wife died young she left me my dear little alice. even when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me down the right path as nothing else had ever done. in a word, i turned over a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. all was going well when mccarthy laid his grip upon me.
“i had gone up to town about an investment, and i met him in regent street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his foot.
“‘here we are, jack,’ says he, touching me on the arm; ‘we’ll be as good as a family to you. there’s two of us, me and my son, and you can have the keeping of us. if you don’t—it’s a fine, law-abiding country is england, and there’s always a policeman within hail.’
“well, down they came to the west country, there was no shaking them off, and there they have lived rent free on my best land ever since.
there was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness; turn where i would, there was his cunning, grinning face at my elbow. it grew worse as alice grew up, for he soon saw i was more afraid of her knowing my past than of the police. whatever he wanted he must have, and whatever it was i gave him without question, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing which i could not give. he asked for alice.
“his son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as i was known to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that his lad should step into the whole property. but there i was firm. i would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not that i had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that was enough. i stood firm.
mccarthy threatened. i braved him to do his worst. we were to meet at the pool midway between our houses to talk it over.
“when i went down there i found him talking with his son, so i smoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone. but as i listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in me seemed to come uppermost. he was urging his son to marry my daughter with as little regard for what she might think as if she were a slut from off the streets. it drove me mad to think that i and all that i held most dear should be in the power of such a man as this. could i not snap the bond? i was already a dying and a desperate man. though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb, i knew that my own fate was sealed. but my memory and my girl! both could be saved if i could but silence that foul tongue. i did it, mr. holmes. i would do it again. deeply as i have sinned, i have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it. but that my girl should be entangled in the same meshes which held me was more than i could suffer. i struck him down with no more compunction than if he had been some foul and venomous beast. his cry brought back his son; but i had gained the cover of the wood, though i was forced to go back to fetch the cloak which i had dropped in my flight. that is the true story, gentlemen, of all that occurred.”
“well, it is not for me to judge you,” said holmes as the old man signed the statement which had been drawn out. “i pray that we may never be exposed to such a temptation.”
“i pray not, sir. and what do you intend to do?”
“in view of your health, nothing. you are yourself aware that you will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the assizes. i will keep your confession, and if mccarthy is condemned i shall be forced to use it. if not, it shall never be seen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or dead, shall be safe with us.”
“farewell, then,” said the old man solemnly. “your own deathbeds, when they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peace which you have given to mine.” tottering and shaking in all his giant frame, he stumbled slowly from the room.
“god help us!” said holmes after a long silence. “why does fate play such tricks with poor, helpless worms? i never hear of such a case as this that i do not think of baxter’s words, and say, ‘there, but for the grace of god, goes sherlock holmes.’”
james mccarthy was acquitted at the assizes on the strength of a number of objections which had been drawn out by holmes and submitted to the defending counsel. old turner lived for seven months after our interview, but he is now dead; and there is every prospect that the son and daughter may come to live happily together in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon their past.
v. the five orange pips
when i glance over my notes and records of the sherlock holmes cases between the years ’82 and ’90, i am faced by so many which present strange and interesting features that it is no easy matter to know which to choose and which to leave. some, however, have already gained publicity through the papers, and others have not offered a field for those peculiar qualities which my friend possessed in so high a degree, and which it is the object of these papers to illustrate. some, too, have baffled his analytical skill, and would be, as narratives, beginnings without an ending, while others have been but partially cleared up, and have their explanations founded rather upon conjecture and surmise than on that absolute logical proof which was so dear to him. there is, however, one of these last which was so remarkable in its details and so startling in its results that i am tempted to give some account of it in spite of the fact that there are points in connection with it which never have been, and probably never will be, entirely cleared up.
the year ’87 furnished us with a long series of cases of greater or less interest, of which i retain the records. among my headings under this one twelve months i find an account of the adventure of the paradol chamber, of the amateur mendicant society, who held a luxurious club in the lower vault of a furniture warehouse, of the facts connected with the loss of the british barque sophy anderson, of the singular adventures of the grice patersons in the island of uffa, and finally of the camberwell poisoning case. in the latter, as may be remembered, sherlock holmes was able, by winding up the dead man’s watch, to prove that it had been wound up two hours before, and that therefore the deceased had gone to bed within that time—a deduction which was of the greatest importance in clearing up the case. all these i may sketch out at some future date, but none of them present such singular features as the strange train of circumstances which i have now taken up my pen to describe.
it was in the latter days of september, and the equinoctial gales had set in with exceptional violence. all day the wind had screamed and the rain had beaten against the windows, so that even here in the heart of great, hand-made london we were forced to raise our minds for the instant from the routine of life and to recognise the presence of those great elemental forces which shriek at mankind through the bars of his civilisation, like untamed beasts in a cage. as evening drew in, the storm grew higher and louder, and the wind cried and sobbed like a child in the chimney. sherlock holmes sat moodily at one side of the fireplace cross-indexing his records of crime, while i at the other was deep in one of clark russell’s fine sea-stories until the howl of the gale from without seemed to blend with the text, and the splash of the rain to lengthen out into the long swash of the sea waves. my wife was on a visit to her mother’s, and for a few days i was a dweller once more in my old quarters at baker street.
“why,” said i, glancing up at my companion, “that was surely the bell.
who could come to-night? some friend of yours, perhaps?”
“except yourself i have none,” he answered. “i do not encourage visitors.”
“a client, then?”
“if so, it is a serious case. nothing less would bring a man out on such a day and at such an hour. but i take it that it is more likely to be some crony of the landlady’s.”
sherlock holmes was wrong in his conjecture, however, for there came a step in the passage and a tapping at the door. he stretched out his long arm to turn the lamp away from himself and towards the vacant chair upon which a newcomer must sit.
“come in!” said he.
the man who entered was young, some two-and-twenty at the outside, well-groomed and trimly clad, with something of refinement and delicacy in his bearing. the streaming umbrella which he held in his hand, and his long shining waterproof told of the fierce weather through which he had come. he looked about him anxiously in the glare of the lamp, and i could see that his face was pale and his eyes heavy, like those of a man who is weighed down with some great anxiety.
“i owe you an apology,” he said, raising his golden pince-nez to his eyes. “i trust that i am not intruding. i fear that i have brought some traces of the storm and rain into your snug chamber.”
“give me your coat and umbrella,” said holmes. “they may rest here on the hook and will be dry presently. you have come up from the south-west, i see.”
“yes, from horsham.”
“that clay and chalk mixture which i see upon your toe caps is quite distinctive.”
“i have come for advice.”
“that is easily got.”
“and help.”
“that is not always so easy.”
“i have heard of you, mr. holmes. i heard from major prendergast how you saved him in the tankerville club scandal.”
“ah, of course. he was wrongfully accused of cheating at cards.”
“he said that you could solve anything.”
“he said too much.”
“that you are never beaten.”
“i have been beaten four times—three times by men, and once by a woman.”
“but what is that compared with the number of your successes?”
“it is true that i have been generally successful.”
“then you may be so with me.”
“i beg that you will draw your chair up to the fire and favour me with some details as to your case.”
“it is no ordinary one.”
“none of those which come to me are. i am the last court of appeal.”
“and yet i question, sir, whether, in all your experience, you have ever listened to a more mysterious and inexplicable chain of events than those which have happened in my own family.”
“you fill me with interest,” said holmes. “pray give us the essential facts from the commencement, and i can afterwards question you as to those details which seem to me to be most important.”
the young man pulled his chair up and pushed his wet feet out towards the blaze.
“my name,” said he, “is john openshaw, but my own affairs have, as far as i can understand, little to do with this awful business. it is a hereditary matter; so in order to give you an idea of the facts, i must go back to the commencement of the affair.
“you must know that my grandfather had two sons—my uncle elias and my father joseph. my father had a small factory at coventry, which he enlarged at the time of the invention of bicycling. he was a patentee of the openshaw unbreakable tire, and his business met with such success that he was able to sell it and to retire upon a handsome competence.
“my uncle elias emigrated to america when he was a young man and became a planter in florida, where he was reported to have done very well. at the time of the war he fought in jackson’s army, and afterwards under hood, where he rose to be a colonel. when lee laid down his arms my uncle returned to his plantation, where he remained for three or four years. about 1869 or 1870 he came back to europe and took a small estate in sussex, near horsham. he had made a very considerable fortune in the states, and his reason for leaving them was his aversion to the negroes, and his dislike of the republican policy in extending the franchise to them. he was a singular man, fierce and quick-tempered, very foul-mouthed when he was angry, and of a most retiring disposition. during all the years that he lived at horsham, i doubt if ever he set foot in the town. he had a garden and two or three fields round his house, and there he would take his exercise, though very often for weeks on end he would never leave his room. he drank a great deal of brandy and smoked very heavily, but he would see no society and did not want any friends, not even his own brother.
“he didn’t mind me; in fact, he took a fancy to me, for at the time when he saw me first i was a youngster of twelve or so. this would be in the year 1878, after he had been eight or nine years in england. he begged my father to let me live with him and he was very kind to me in his way. when he was sober he used to be fond of playing backgammon and draughts with me, and he would make me his representative both with the servants and with the tradespeople, so that by the time that i was sixteen i was quite master of the house. i kept all the keys and could go where i liked and do what i liked, so long as i did not disturb him in his privacy. there was one singular exception, however, for he had a single room, a lumber-room up among the attics, which was invariably locked, and which he would never permit either me or anyone else to enter. with a boy’s curiosity i have peeped through the keyhole, but i was never able to see more than such a collection of old trunks and bundles as would be expected in such a room.
“one day—it was in march, 1883—a letter with a foreign stamp lay upon the table in front of the colonel’s plate. it was not a common thing for him to receive letters, for his bills were all paid in ready money, and he had no friends of any sort. ‘from india!’ said he as he took it up, ‘pondicherry postmark! what can this be?’ opening it hurriedly, out there jumped five little dried orange pips, which pattered down upon his plate. i began to laugh at this, but the laugh was struck from my lips at the sight of his face. his lip had fallen, his eyes were protruding, his skin the colour of putty, and he glared at the envelope which he still held in his trembling hand, ‘k. k. k.!’ he shrieked, and then, ‘my god, my god, my sins have overtaken me!’
“‘what is it, uncle?’ i cried.
“‘death,’ said he, and rising from the table he retired to his room, leaving me palpitating with horror. i took up the envelope and saw scrawled in red ink upon the inner flap, just above the gum, the letter k three times repeated. there was nothing else save the five dried pips. what could be the reason of his overpowering terror? i left the breakfast-table, and as i ascended the stair i met him coming down with an old rusty key, which must have belonged to the attic, in one hand, and a small brass box, like a cashbox, in the other.
“‘they may do what they like, but i’ll checkmate them still,’ said he with an oath. ‘tell mary that i shall want a fire in my room to-day, and send down to fordham, the horsham lawyer.’
“i did as he ordered, and when the lawyer arrived i was asked to step up to the room. the fire was burning brightly, and in the grate there was a mass of black, fluffy ashes, as of burned paper, while the brass box stood open and empty beside it. as i glanced at the box i noticed, with a start, that upon the lid was printed the treble k which i had read in the morning upon the envelope.
“‘i wish you, john,’ said my uncle, ‘to witness my will. i leave my estate, with all its advantages and all its disadvantages, to my brother, your father, whence it will, no doubt, descend to you. if you can enjoy it in peace, well and good! if you find you cannot, take my advice, my boy, and leave it to your deadliest enemy. i am sorry to give you such a two-edged thing, but i can’t say what turn things are going to take. kindly sign the paper where mr. fordham shows you.’
“i signed the paper as directed, and the lawyer took it away with him.
the singular incident made, as you may think, the deepest impression upon me, and i pondered over it and turned it every way in my mind without being able to make anything of it. yet i could not shake off the vague feeling of dread which it left behind, though the sensation grew less keen as the weeks passed and nothing happened to disturb the usual routine of our lives. i could see a change in my uncle, however.
he drank more than ever, and he was less inclined for any sort of society. most of his time he would spend in his room, with the door locked upon the inside, but sometimes he would emerge in a sort of drunken frenzy and would burst out of the house and tear about the garden with a revolver in his hand, screaming out that he was afraid of no man, and that he was not to be cooped up, like a sheep in a pen, by man or devil. when these hot fits were over, however, he would rush tumultuously in at the door and lock and bar it behind him, like a man who can brazen it out no longer against the terror which lies at the roots of his soul. at such times i have seen his face, even on a cold day, glisten with moisture, as though it were new raised from a basin.
“well, to come to an end of the matter, mr. holmes, and not to abuse your patience, there came a night when he made one of those drunken sallies from which he never came back. we found him, when we went to search for him, face downward in a little green-scummed pool, which lay at the foot of the garden. there was no sign of any violence, and the water was but two feet deep, so that the jury, having regard to his known eccentricity, brought in a verdict of ‘suicide.’ but i, who knew how he winced from the very thought of death, had much ado to persuade myself that he had gone out of his way to meet it. the matter passed, however, and my father entered into possession of the estate, and of some £ 14,000, which lay to his credit at the bank.”
“one moment,” holmes interposed, “your statement is, i foresee, one of the most remarkable to which i have ever listened. let me have the date of the reception by your uncle of the letter, and the date of his supposed suicide.”
“the letter arrived on march 10, 1883. his death was seven weeks later, upon the night of may 2nd.”
“thank you. pray proceed.”
“when my father took over the horsham property, he, at my request, made a careful examination of the attic, which had been always locked up. we found the brass box there, although its contents had been destroyed. on the inside of the cover was a paper label, with the initials of k. k.
k. repeated upon it, and ‘letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register’
written beneath. these, we presume, indicated the nature of the papers which had been destroyed by colonel openshaw. for the rest, there was nothing of much importance in the attic save a great many scattered papers and note-books bearing upon my uncle’s life in america. some of them were of the war time and showed that he had done his duty well and had borne the repute of a brave soldier. others were of a date during the reconstruction of the southern states, and were mostly concerned with politics, for he had evidently taken a strong part in opposing the carpet-bag politicians who had been sent down from the north.
“well, it was the beginning of ’84 when my father came to live at horsham, and all went as well as possible with us until the january of ’85. on the fourth day after the new year i heard my father give a sharp cry of surprise as we sat together at the breakfast-table. there he was, sitting with a newly opened envelope in one hand and five dried orange pips in the outstretched palm of the other one. he had always laughed at what he called my cock-and-bull story about the colonel, but he looked very scared and puzzled now that the same thing had come upon himself.
“‘why, what on earth does this mean, john?’ he stammered.
“my heart had turned to lead. ‘it is k. k. k.,’ said i.
“he looked inside the envelope. ‘so it is,’ he cried. ‘here are the very letters. but what is this written above them?’
“‘put the papers on the sundial,’ i read, peeping over his shoulder.
“‘what papers? what sundial?’ he asked.
“‘the sundial in the garden. there is no other,’ said i; ‘but the papers must be those that are destroyed.’
“‘pooh!’ said he, gripping hard at his courage. ‘we are in a civilised land here, and we can’t have tomfoolery of this kind. where does the thing come from?’
“‘from dundee,’ i answered, glancing at the postmark.
“‘some preposterous practical joke,’ said he. ‘what have i to do with sundials and papers? i shall take no notice of such nonsense.’
“‘i should certainly speak to the police,’ i said.
“‘and be laughed at for my pains. nothing of the sort.’
“‘then let me do so?’
“‘no, i forbid you. i won’t have a fuss made about such nonsense.’
“it was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinate man. i went about, however, with a heart which was full of forebodings.
“on the third day after the coming of the letter my father went from home to visit an old friend of his, major freebody, who is in command of one of the forts upon portsdown hill. i was glad that he should go, for it seemed to me that he was farther from danger when he was away from home. in that, however, i was in error. upon the second day of his absence i received a telegram from the major, imploring me to come at once. my father had fallen over one of the deep chalk-pits which abound in the neighbourhood, and was lying senseless, with a shattered skull.
i hurried to him, but he passed away without having ever recovered his consciousness. he had, as it appears, been returning from fareham in the twilight, and as the country was unknown to him, and the chalk-pit unfenced, the jury had no hesitation in bringing in a verdict of ‘death from accidental causes.’ carefully as i examined every fact connected with his death, i was unable to find anything which could suggest the idea of murder. there were no signs of violence, no footmarks, no robbery, no record of strangers having been seen upon the roads. and yet i need not tell you that my mind was far from at ease, and that i was well-nigh certain that some foul plot had been woven round him.
“in this sinister way i came into my inheritance. you will ask me why i did not dispose of it? i answer, because i was well convinced that our troubles were in some way dependent upon an incident in my uncle’s life, and that the danger would be as pressing in one house as in another.
“it was in january, ’85, that my poor father met his end, and two years and eight months have elapsed since then. during that time i have lived happily at horsham, and i had begun to hope that this curse had passed away from the family, and that it had ended with the last generation. i had begun to take comfort too soon, however; yesterday morning the blow fell in the very shape in which it had come upon my father.”
the young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope, and turning to the table he shook out upon it five little dried orange pips.
“this is the envelope,” he continued. “the postmark is london—eastern division. within are the very words which were upon my father’s last message: ‘k. k. k.’; and then ‘put the papers on the sundial.’”
“what have you done?” asked holmes.
“nothing.”
“nothing?”
“to tell the truth”—he sank his face into his thin, white hands—“i have felt helpless. i have felt like one of those poor rabbits when the snake is writhing towards it. i seem to be in the grasp of some resistless, inexorable evil, which no foresight and no precautions can guard against.”
“tut! tut!” cried sherlock holmes. “you must act, man, or you are lost.
nothing but energy can save you. this is no time for despair.”
“i have seen the police.”
“ah!”
“but they listened to my story with a smile. i am convinced that the inspector has formed the opinion that the letters are all practical jokes, and that the deaths of my relations were really accidents, as the jury stated, and were not to be connected with the warnings.”
holmes shook his clenched hands in the air. “incredible imbecility!” he cried.
“they have, however, allowed me a policeman, who may remain in the house with me.”
“has he come with you to-night?”
“no. his orders were to stay in the house.”
again holmes raved in the air.
“why did you come to me?” he said, “and, above all, why did you not come at once?”
“i did not know. it was only to-day that i spoke to major prendergast about my troubles and was advised by him to come to you.”
“it is really two days since you had the letter. we should have acted before this. you have no further evidence, i suppose, than that which you have placed before us—no suggestive detail which might help us?”
“there is one thing,” said john openshaw. he rummaged in his coat pocket, and, drawing out a piece of discoloured, blue-tinted paper, he laid it out upon the table. “i have some remembrance,” said he, “that on the day when my uncle burned the papers i observed that the small, unburned margins which lay amid the ashes were of this particular colour. i found this single sheet upon the floor of his room, and i am inclined to think that it may be one of the papers which has, perhaps, fluttered out from among the others, and in that way has escaped destruction. beyond the mention of pips, i do not see that it helps us much. i think myself that it is a page from some private diary. the writing is undoubtedly my uncle’s.”
holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper, which showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn from a book. it was headed, “march, 1869,” and beneath were the following enigmatical notices:
“4th. hudson came. same old platform.
“7th. set the pips on mccauley, paramore, and john swain of st.
augustine.
“9th. mccauley cleared.
“10th. john swain cleared.
“12th. visited paramore. all well.”
“thank you!” said holmes, folding up the paper and returning it to our visitor. “and now you must on no account lose another instant. we cannot spare time even to discuss what you have told me. you must get home instantly and act.”
“what shall i do?”
“there is but one thing to do. it must be done at once. you must put this piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass box which you have described. you must also put in a note to say that all the other papers were burned by your uncle, and that this is the only one which remains. you must assert that in such words as will carry conviction with them. having done this, you must at once put the box out upon the sundial, as directed. do you understand?”
“entirely.”
“do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present. i think that we may gain that by means of the law; but we have our web to weave, while theirs is already woven. the first consideration is to remove the pressing danger which threatens you. the second is to clear up the mystery and to punish the guilty parties.”
“i thank you,” said the young man, rising and pulling on his overcoat.
“you have given me fresh life and hope. i shall certainly do as you advise.”
“do not lose an instant. and, above all, take care of yourself in the meanwhile, for i do not think that there can be a doubt that you are threatened by a very real and imminent danger. how do you go back?”
“by train from waterloo.”
“it is not yet nine. the streets will be crowded, so i trust that you may be in safety. and yet you cannot guard yourself too closely.”
“i am armed.”
“that is well. to-morrow i shall set to work upon your case.”
“i shall see you at horsham, then?”
“no, your secret lies in london. it is there that i shall seek it.”
“then i shall call upon you in a day, or in two days, with news as to the box and the papers. i shall take your advice in every particular.”
he shook hands with us and took his leave. outside the wind still screamed and the rain splashed and pattered against the windows. this strange, wild story seemed to have come to us from amid the mad elements—blown in upon us like a sheet of sea-weed in a gale—and now to have been reabsorbed by them once more.
sherlock holmes sat for some time in silence, with his head sunk forward and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire. then he lit his pipe, and leaning back in his chair he watched the blue smoke-rings as they chased each other up to the ceiling.
“i think, watson,” he remarked at last, “that of all our cases we have had none more fantastic than this.”
“save, perhaps, the sign of four.”
“well, yes. save, perhaps, that. and yet this john openshaw seems to me to be walking amid even greater perils than did the sholtos.”
“but have you,” i asked, “formed any definite conception as to what these perils are?”
“there can be no question as to their nature,” he answered.
“then what are they? who is this k. k. k., and why does he pursue this unhappy family?”
sherlock holmes closed his eyes and placed his elbows upon the arms of his chair, with his finger-tips together. “the ideal reasoner,” he remarked, “would, when he had once been shown a single fact in all its bearings, deduce from it not only all the chain of events which led up to it but also all the results which would follow from it. as cuvier could correctly describe a whole animal by the contemplation of a single bone, so the observer who has thoroughly understood one link in a series of incidents should be able to accurately state all the other ones, both before and after. we have not yet grasped the results which the reason alone can attain to. problems may be solved in the study which have baffled all those who have sought a solution by the aid of their senses. to carry the art, however, to its highest pitch, it is necessary that the reasoner should be able to utilise all the facts which have come to his knowledge; and this in itself implies, as you will readily see, a possession of all knowledge, which, even in these days of free education and encyclopædias, is a somewhat rare accomplishment. it is not so impossible, however, that a man should possess all knowledge which is likely to be useful to him in his work, and this i have endeavoured in my case to do. if i remember rightly, you on one occasion, in the early days of our friendship, defined my limits in a very precise fashion.”
“yes,” i answered, laughing. “it was a singular document. philosophy, astronomy, and politics were marked at zero, i remember. botany variable, geology profound as regards the mud-stains from any region within fifty miles of town, chemistry eccentric, anatomy unsystematic, sensational literature and crime records unique, violin-player, boxer, swordsman, lawyer, and self-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco. those, i think, were the main points of my analysis.”
holmes grinned at the last item. “well,” he said, “i say now, as i said then, that a man should keep his little brain-attic stocked with all the furniture that he is likely to use, and the rest he can put away in the lumber-room of his library, where he can get it if he wants it.
now, for such a case as the one which has been submitted to us to-night, we need certainly to muster all our resources. kindly hand me down the letter k of the american encyclopædia which stands upon the shelf beside you. thank you. now let us consider the situation and see what may be deduced from it. in the first place, we may start with a strong presumption that colonel openshaw had some very strong reason for leaving america. men at his time of life do not change all their habits and exchange willingly the charming climate of florida for the lonely life of an english provincial town. his extreme love of solitude in england suggests the idea that he was in fear of someone or something, so we may assume as a working hypothesis that it was fear of someone or something which drove him from america. as to what it was he feared, we can only deduce that by considering the formidable letters which were received by himself and his successors. did you remark the postmarks of those letters?”
“the first was from pondicherry, the second from dundee, and the third from london.”
“from east london. what do you deduce from that?”
“they are all seaports. that the writer was on board of a ship.”
“excellent. we have already a clue. there can be no doubt that the probability—the strong probability—is that the writer was on board of a ship. and now let us consider another point. in the case of pondicherry, seven weeks elapsed between the threat and its fulfilment, in dundee it was only some three or four days. does that suggest anything?”
“a greater distance to travel.”
“but the letter had also a greater distance to come.”
“then i do not see the point.”
“there is at least a presumption that the vessel in which the man or men are is a sailing-ship. it looks as if they always send their singular warning or token before them when starting upon their mission.
you see how quickly the deed followed the sign when it came from dundee. if they had come from pondicherry in a steamer they would have arrived almost as soon as their letter. but, as a matter of fact, seven weeks elapsed. i think that those seven weeks represented the difference between the mail-boat which brought the letter and the sailing vessel which brought the writer.”
“it is possible.”
“more than that. it is probable. and now you see the deadly urgency of this new case, and why i urged young openshaw to caution. the blow has always fallen at the end of the time which it would take the senders to travel the distance. but this one comes from london, and therefore we cannot count upon delay.”
“good god!” i cried. “what can it mean, this relentless persecution?”
“the papers which openshaw carried are obviously of vital importance to the person or persons in the sailing-ship. i think that it is quite clear that there must be more than one of them. a single man could not have carried out two deaths in such a way as to deceive a coroner’s jury. there must have been several in it, and they must have been men of resource and determination. their papers they mean to have, be the holder of them who it may. in this way you see k. k. k. ceases to be the initials of an individual and becomes the badge of a society.”
“but of what society?”
“have you never—” said sherlock holmes, bending forward and sinking his voice—“have you never heard of the ku klux klan?”
“i never have.”
holmes turned over the leaves of the book upon his knee. “here it is,”
said he presently:
“‘ku klux klan. a name derived from the fanciful resemblance to the sound produced by cocking a rifle. this terrible secret society was formed by some ex-confederate soldiers in the southern states after the civil war, and it rapidly formed local branches in different parts of the country, notably in tennessee, louisiana, the carolinas, georgia, and florida. its power was used for political purposes, principally for the terrorising of the negro voters and the murdering and driving from the country of those who were opposed to its views. its outrages were usually preceded by a warning sent to the marked man in some fantastic but generally recognised shape—a sprig of oak-leaves in some parts, melon seeds or orange pips in others. on receiving this the victim might either openly abjure his former ways, or might fly from the country. if he braved the matter out, death would unfailingly come upon him, and usually in some strange and unforeseen manner. so perfect was the organisation of the society, and so systematic its methods, that there is hardly a case upon record where any man succeeded in braving it with impunity, or in which any of its outrages were traced home to the perpetrators. for some years the organisation flourished in spite of the efforts of the united states government and of the better classes of the community in the south. eventually, in the year 1869, the movement rather suddenly collapsed, although there have been sporadic outbreaks of the same sort since that date.’
“you will observe,” said holmes, laying down the volume, “that the sudden breaking up of the society was coincident with the disappearance of openshaw from america with their papers. it may well have been cause and effect. it is no wonder that he and his family have some of the more implacable spirits upon their track. you can understand that this register and diary may implicate some of the first men in the south, and that there may be many who will not sleep easy at night until it is recovered.”
“then the page we have seen—”
“is such as we might expect. it ran, if i remember right, ‘sent the pips to a, b, and c’—that is, sent the society’s warning to them. then there are successive entries that a and b cleared, or left the country, and finally that c was visited, with, i fear, a sinister result for c.
well, i think, doctor, that we may let some light into this dark place, and i believe that the only chance young openshaw has in the meantime is to do what i have told him. there is nothing more to be said or to be done to-night, so hand me over my violin and let us try to forget for half an hour the miserable weather and the still more miserable ways of our fellow men.”
it had cleared in the morning, and the sun was shining with a subdued brightness through the dim veil which hangs over the great city.
sherlock holmes was already at breakfast when i came down.
“you will excuse me for not waiting for you,” said he; “i have, i foresee, a very busy day before me in looking into this case of young openshaw’s.”
“what steps will you take?” i asked.
“it will very much depend upon the results of my first inquiries. i may have to go down to horsham, after all.”
“you will not go there first?”
“no, i shall commence with the city. just ring the bell and the maid will bring up your coffee.”
as i waited, i lifted the unopened newspaper from the table and glanced my eye over it. it rested upon a heading which sent a chill to my heart.
“holmes,” i cried, “you are too late.”
“ah!” said he, laying down his cup, “i feared as much. how was it done?” he spoke calmly, but i could see that he was deeply moved.
“my eye caught the name of openshaw, and the heading ‘tragedy near waterloo bridge.’ here is the account:
“‘between nine and ten last night police-constable cook, of the h division, on duty near waterloo bridge, heard a cry for help and a splash in the water. the night, however, was extremely dark and stormy, so that, in spite of the help of several passers-by, it was quite impossible to effect a rescue. the alarm, however, was given, and, by the aid of the water-police, the body was eventually recovered. it proved to be that of a young gentleman whose name, as it appears from an envelope which was found in his pocket, was john openshaw, and whose residence is near horsham. it is conjectured that he may have been hurrying down to catch the last train from waterloo station, and that in his haste and the extreme darkness he missed his path and walked over the edge of one of the small landing-places for river steamboats.
the body exhibited no traces of violence, and there can be no doubt that the deceased had been the victim of an unfortunate accident, which should have the effect of calling the attention of the authorities to the condition of the riverside landing-stages.’”
we sat in silence for some minutes, holmes more depressed and shaken than i had ever seen him.
“that hurts my pride, watson,” he said at last. “it is a petty feeling, no doubt, but it hurts my pride. it becomes a personal matter with me now, and, if god sends me health, i shall set my hand upon this gang.
that he should come to me for help, and that i should send him away to his death—!” he sprang from his chair and paced about the room in uncontrollable agitation, with a flush upon his sallow cheeks and a nervous clasping and unclasping of his long thin hands.
“they must be cunning devils,” he exclaimed at last. “how could they have decoyed him down there? the embankment is not on the direct line to the station. the bridge, no doubt, was too crowded, even on such a night, for their purpose. well, watson, we shall see who will win in the long run. i am going out now!”
“to the police?”
“no; i shall be my own police. when i have spun the web they may take the flies, but not before.”
all day i was engaged in my professional work, and it was late in the evening before i returned to baker street. sherlock holmes had not come back yet. it was nearly ten o’clock before he entered, looking pale and worn. he walked up to the sideboard, and tearing a piece from the loaf he devoured it voraciously, washing it down with a long draught of water.
“you are hungry,” i remarked.
“starving. it had escaped my memory. i have had nothing since breakfast.”
“nothing?”
“not a bite. i had no time to think of it.”
“and how have you succeeded?”
“well.”
“you have a clue?”
“i have them in the hollow of my hand. young openshaw shall not long remain unavenged. why, watson, let us put their own devilish trade-mark upon them. it is well thought of!”
“what do you mean?”
he took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it to pieces he squeezed out the pips upon the table. of these he took five and thrust them into an envelope. on the inside of the flap he wrote “s. h. for j.
o.” then he sealed it and addressed it to “captain james calhoun, barque lone star, savannah, georgia.”
“that will await him when he enters port,” said he, chuckling. “it may give him a sleepless night. he will find it as sure a precursor of his fate as openshaw did before him.”
“and who is this captain calhoun?”
“the leader of the gang. i shall have the others, but he first.”
“how did you trace it, then?”
he took a large sheet of paper from his pocket, all covered with dates and names.
“i have spent the whole day,” said he, “over lloyd’s registers and files of the old papers, following the future career of every vessel which touched at pondicherry in january and february in ’83. there were thirty-six ships of fair tonnage which were reported there during those months. of these, one, the lone star, instantly attracted my attention, since, although it was reported as having cleared from london, the name is that which is given to one of the states of the union.”
“texas, i think.”
“i was not and am not sure which; but i knew that the ship must have an american origin.”
“what then?”
“i searched the dundee records, and when i found that the barque lone star was there in january, ’85, my suspicion became a certainty. i then inquired as to the vessels which lay at present in the port of london.”
“yes?”
“the lone star had arrived here last week. i went down to the albert dock and found that she had been taken down the river by the early tide this morning, homeward bound to savannah. i wired to gravesend and learned that she had passed some time ago, and as the wind is easterly i have no doubt that she is now past the goodwins and not very far from the isle of wight.”
“what will you do, then?”
“oh, i have my hand upon him. he and the two mates, are as i learn, the only native-born americans in the ship. the others are finns and germans. i know, also, that they were all three away from the ship last night. i had it from the stevedore who has been loading their cargo. by the time that their sailing-ship reaches savannah the mail-boat will have carried this letter, and the cable will have informed the police of savannah that these three gentlemen are badly wanted here upon a charge of murder.”
there is ever a flaw, however, in the best laid of human plans, and the murderers of john openshaw were never to receive the orange pips which would show them that another, as cunning and as resolute as themselves, was upon their track. very long and very severe were the equinoctial gales that year. we waited long for news of the lone star of savannah, but none ever reached us. we did at last hear that somewhere far out in the atlantic a shattered stern-post of a boat was seen swinging in the trough of a wave, with the letters “l. s.” carved upon it, and that is all which we shall ever know of the fate of the lone star.
vi. the man with the twisted lip
isa whitney, brother of the late elias whitney, d.d., principal of the theological college of st. george’s, was much addicted to opium. the habit grew upon him, as i understand, from some foolish freak when he was at college; for having read de quincey’s description of his dreams and sensations, he had drenched his tobacco with laudanum in an attempt to produce the same effects. he found, as so many more have done, that the practice is easier to attain than to get rid of, and for many years he continued to be a slave to the drug, an object of mingled horror and pity to his friends and relatives. i can see him now, with yellow, pasty face, drooping lids, and pin-point pupils, all huddled in a chair, the wreck and ruin of a noble man.
one night—it was in june, ’89—there came a ring to my bell, about the hour when a man gives his first yawn and glances at the clock. i sat up in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work down in her lap and made a little face of disappointment.
“a patient!” said she. “you’ll have to go out.”
i groaned, for i was newly come back from a weary day.
we heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps upon the linoleum. our own door flew open, and a lady, clad in some dark-coloured stuff, with a black veil, entered the room.
“you will excuse my calling so late,” she began, and then, suddenly losing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms about my wife’s neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder. “oh, i’m in such trouble!”
she cried; “i do so want a little help.”
“why,” said my wife, pulling up her veil, “it is kate whitney. how you startled me, kate! i had not an idea who you were when you came in.”
“i didn’t know what to do, so i came straight to you.” that was always the way. folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds to a lighthouse.
“it was very sweet of you to come. now, you must have some wine and water, and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. or should you rather that i sent james off to bed?”
“oh, no, no! i want the doctor’s advice and help, too. it’s about isa.
he has not been home for two days. i am so frightened about him!”
it was not the first time that she had spoken to us of her husband’s trouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old friend and school companion. we soothed and comforted her by such words as we could find.
did she know where her husband was? was it possible that we could bring him back to her?
it seems that it was. she had the surest information that of late he had, when the fit was on him, made use of an opium den in the farthest east of the city. hitherto his orgies had always been confined to one day, and he had come back, twitching and shattered, in the evening. but now the spell had been upon him eight-and-forty hours, and he lay there, doubtless among the dregs of the docks, breathing in the poison or sleeping off the effects. there he was to be found, she was sure of it, at the bar of gold, in upper swandam lane. but what was she to do?
how could she, a young and timid woman, make her way into such a place and pluck her husband out from among the ruffians who surrounded him?
there was the case, and of course there was but one way out of it.
might i not escort her to this place? and then, as a second thought, why should she come at all? i was isa whitney’s medical adviser, and as such i had influence over him. i could manage it better if i were alone. i promised her on my word that i would send him home in a cab within two hours if he were indeed at the address which she had given me. and so in ten minutes i had left my armchair and cheery sitting-room behind me, and was speeding eastward in a hansom on a strange errand, as it seemed to me at the time, though the future only could show how strange it was to be.
but there was no great difficulty in the first stage of my adventure.
upper swandam lane is a vile alley lurking behind the high wharves which line the north side of the river to the east of london bridge.
between a slop-shop and a gin-shop, approached by a steep flight of steps leading down to a black gap like the mouth of a cave, i found the den of which i was in search. ordering my cab to wait, i passed down the steps, worn hollow in the centre by the ceaseless tread of drunken feet; and by the light of a flickering oil-lamp above the door i found the latch and made my way into a long, low room, thick and heavy with the brown opium smoke, and terraced with wooden berths, like the forecastle of an emigrant ship.
through the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies lying in strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads thrown back, and chins pointing upward, with here and there a dark, lack-lustre eye turned upon the newcomer. out of the black shadows there glimmered little red circles of light, now bright, now faint, as the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowls of the metal pipes. the most lay silent, but some muttered to themselves, and others talked together in a strange, low, monotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes, and then suddenly tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his own thoughts and paying little heed to the words of his neighbour. at the farther end was a small brazier of burning charcoal, beside which on a three-legged wooden stool there sat a tall, thin old man, with his jaw resting upon his two fists, and his elbows upon his knees, staring into the fire.
as i entered, a sallow malay attendant had hurried up with a pipe for me and a supply of the drug, beckoning me to an empty berth.
“thank you. i have not come to stay,” said i. “there is a friend of mine here, mr. isa whitney, and i wish to speak with him.”
there was a movement and an exclamation from my right, and peering through the gloom, i saw whitney, pale, haggard, and unkempt, staring out at me.
“my god! it’s watson,” said he. he was in a pitiable state of reaction, with every nerve in a twitter. “i say, watson, what o’clock is it?”
“nearly eleven.”
“of what day?”
“of friday, june 19th.”
“good heavens! i thought it was wednesday. it is wednesday. what d’you want to frighten a chap for?” he sank his face onto his arms and began to sob in a high treble key.
“i tell you that it is friday, man. your wife has been waiting this two days for you. you should be ashamed of yourself!”
“so i am. but you’ve got mixed, watson, for i have only been here a few hours, three pipes, four pipes—i forget how many. but i’ll go home with you. i wouldn’t frighten kate—poor little kate. give me your hand! have you a cab?”
“yes, i have one waiting.”
“then i shall go in it. but i must owe something. find what i owe, watson. i am all off colour. i can do nothing for myself.”
i walked down the narrow passage between the double row of sleepers, holding my breath to keep out the vile, stupefying fumes of the drug, and looking about for the manager. as i passed the tall man who sat by the brazier i felt a sudden pluck at my skirt, and a low voice whispered, “walk past me, and then look back at me.” the words fell quite distinctly upon my ear. i glanced down. they could only have come from the old man at my side, and yet he sat now as absorbed as ever, very thin, very wrinkled, bent with age, an opium pipe dangling down from between his knees, as though it had dropped in sheer lassitude from his fingers. i took two steps forward and looked back. it took all my self-control to prevent me from breaking out into a cry of astonishment. he had turned his back so that none could see him but i.
his form had filled out, his wrinkles were gone, the dull eyes had regained their fire, and there, sitting by the fire and grinning at my surprise, was none other than sherlock holmes. he made a slight motion to me to approach him, and instantly, as he turned his face half round to the company once more, subsided into a doddering, loose-lipped senility.
“holmes!” i whispered, “what on earth are you doing in this den?”
“as low as you can,” he answered; “i have excellent ears. if you would have the great kindness to get rid of that sottish friend of yours i should be exceedingly glad to have a little talk with you.”
“i have a cab outside.”
“then pray send him home in it. you may safely trust him, for he appears to be too limp to get into any mischief. i should recommend you also to send a note by the cabman to your wife to say that you have thrown in your lot with me. if you will wait outside, i shall be with you in five minutes.”
it was difficult to refuse any of sherlock holmes’ requests, for they were always so exceedingly definite, and put forward with such a quiet air of mastery. i felt, however, that when whitney was once confined in the cab my mission was practically accomplished; and for the rest, i could not wish anything better than to be associated with my friend in one of those singular adventures which were the normal condition of his existence. in a few minutes i had written my note, paid whitney’s bill, led him out to the cab, and seen him driven through the darkness. in a very short time a decrepit figure had emerged from the opium den, and i was walking down the street with sherlock holmes. for two streets he shuffled along with a bent back and an uncertain foot. then, glancing quickly round, he straightened himself out and burst into a hearty fit of laughter.
“i suppose, watson,” said he, “that you imagine that i have added opium-smoking to cocaine injections, and all the other little weaknesses on which you have favoured me with your medical views.”
“i was certainly surprised to find you there.”
“but not more so than i to find you.”
“i came to find a friend.”
“and i to find an enemy.”
“an enemy?”
“yes; one of my natural enemies, or, shall i say, my natural prey.
briefly, watson, i am in the midst of a very remarkable inquiry, and i have hoped to find a clue in the incoherent ramblings of these sots, as i have done before now. had i been recognised in that den my life would not have been worth an hour’s purchase; for i have used it before now for my own purposes, and the rascally lascar who runs it has sworn to have vengeance upon me. there is a trap-door at the back of that building, near the corner of paul’s wharf, which could tell some strange tales of what has passed through it upon the moonless nights.”
“what! you do not mean bodies?”
“ay, bodies, watson. we should be rich men if we had £ 1000 for every poor devil who has been done to death in that den. it is the vilest murder-trap on the whole riverside, and i fear that neville st. clair has entered it never to leave it more. but our trap should be here.” he put his two forefingers between his teeth and whistled shrilly—a signal which was answered by a similar whistle from the distance, followed shortly by the rattle of wheels and the clink of horses’ hoofs.
“now, watson,” said holmes, as a tall dog-cart dashed up through the gloom, throwing out two golden tunnels of yellow light from its side lanterns. “you’ll come with me, won’t you?”
“if i can be of use.”
“oh, a trusty comrade is always of use; and a chronicler still more so.
my room at the cedars is a double-bedded one.”
“the cedars?”
“yes; that is mr. st. clair’s house. i am staying there while i conduct the inquiry.”
“where is it, then?”
“near lee, in kent. we have a seven-mile drive before us.”
“but i am all in the dark.”
“of course you are. you’ll know all about it presently. jump up here.
all right, john; we shall not need you. here’s half a crown. look out for me to-morrow, about eleven. give her her head. so long, then!”
he flicked the horse with his whip, and we dashed away through the endless succession of sombre and deserted streets, which widened gradually, until we were flying across a broad balustraded bridge, with the murky river flowing sluggishly beneath us. beyond lay another dull wilderness of bricks and mortar, its silence broken only by the heavy, regular footfall of the policeman, or the songs and shouts of some belated party of revellers. a dull wrack was drifting slowly across the sky, and a star or two twinkled dimly here and there through the rifts of the clouds. holmes drove in silence, with his head sunk upon his breast, and the air of a man who is lost in thought, while i sat beside him, curious to learn what this new quest might be which seemed to tax his powers so sorely, and yet afraid to break in upon the current of his thoughts. we had driven several miles, and were beginning to get to the fringe of the belt of suburban villas, when he shook himself, shrugged his shoulders, and lit up his pipe with the air of a man who has satisfied himself that he is acting for the best.
“you have a grand gift of silence, watson,” said he. “it makes you quite invaluable as a companion. ’pon my word, it is a great thing for me to have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts are not over-pleasant. i was wondering what i should say to this dear little woman to-night when she meets me at the door.”
“you forget that i know nothing about it.”
“i shall just have time to tell you the facts of the case before we get to lee. it seems absurdly simple, and yet, somehow i can get nothing to go upon. there’s plenty of thread, no doubt, but i can’t get the end of it into my hand. now, i’ll state the case clearly and concisely to you, watson, and maybe you can see a spark where all is dark to me.”
“proceed, then.”
“some years ago—to be definite, in may, 1884—there came to lee a gentleman, neville st. clair by name, who appeared to have plenty of money. he took a large villa, laid out the grounds very nicely, and lived generally in good style. by degrees he made friends in the neighbourhood, and in 1887 he married the daughter of a local brewer, by whom he now has two children. he had no occupation, but was interested in several companies and went into town as a rule in the morning, returning by the 5:14 from cannon street every night. mr. st.
clair is now thirty-seven years of age, is a man of temperate habits, a good husband, a very affectionate father, and a man who is popular with all who know him. i may add that his whole debts at the present moment, as far as we have been able to ascertain, amount to £ 88 10s., while he has £ 220 standing to his credit in the capital and counties bank.
there is no reason, therefore, to think that money troubles have been weighing upon his mind.
“last monday mr. neville st. clair went into town rather earlier than usual, remarking before he started that he had two important commissions to perform, and that he would bring his little boy home a box of bricks. now, by the merest chance, his wife received a telegram upon this same monday, very shortly after his departure, to the effect that a small parcel of considerable value which she had been expecting was waiting for her at the offices of the aberdeen shipping company.
now, if you are well up in your london, you will know that the office of the company is in fresno street, which branches out of upper swandam lane, where you found me to-night. mrs. st. clair had her lunch, started for the city, did some shopping, proceeded to the company’s office, got her packet, and found herself at exactly 4:35 walking through swandam lane on her way back to the station. have you followed me so far?”
“it is very clear.”
“if you remember, monday was an exceedingly hot day, and mrs. st. clair walked slowly, glancing about in the hope of seeing a cab, as she did not like the neighbourhood in which she found herself. while she was walking in this way down swandam lane, she suddenly heard an ejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to see her husband looking down at her and, as it seemed to her, beckoning to her from a second-floor window. the window was open, and she distinctly saw his face, which she describes as being terribly agitated. he waved his hands frantically to her, and then vanished from the window so suddenly that it seemed to her that he had been plucked back by some irresistible force from behind. one singular point which struck her quick feminine eye was that although he wore some dark coat, such as he had started to town in, he had on neither collar nor necktie.
“convinced that something was amiss with him, she rushed down the steps—for the house was none other than the opium den in which you found me to-night—and running through the front room she attempted to ascend the stairs which led to the first floor. at the foot of the stairs, however, she met this lascar scoundrel of whom i have spoken, who thrust her back and, aided by a dane, who acts as assistant there, pushed her out into the street. filled with the most maddening doubts and fears, she rushed down the lane and, by rare good-fortune, met in fresno street a number of constables with an inspector, all on their way to their beat. the inspector and two men accompanied her back, and in spite of the continued resistance of the proprietor, they made their way to the room in which mr. st. clair had last been seen. there was no sign of him there. in fact, in the whole of that floor there was no one to be found save a crippled wretch of hideous aspect, who, it seems, made his home there. both he and the lascar stoutly swore that no one else had been in the front room during the afternoon. so determined was their denial that the inspector was staggered, and had almost come to believe that mrs. st. clair had been deluded when, with a cry, she sprang at a small deal box which lay upon the table and tore the lid from it. out there fell a cascade of children’s bricks. it was the toy which he had promised to bring home.
“this discovery, and the evident confusion which the cripple showed, made the inspector realise that the matter was serious. the rooms were carefully examined, and results all pointed to an abominable crime. the front room was plainly furnished as a sitting-room and led into a small bedroom, which looked out upon the back of one of the wharves. between the wharf and the bedroom window is a narrow strip, which is dry at low tide but is covered at high tide with at least four and a half feet of water. the bedroom window was a broad one and opened from below. on examination traces of blood were to be seen upon the windowsill, and several scattered drops were visible upon the wooden floor of the bedroom. thrust away behind a curtain in the front room were all the clothes of mr. neville st. clair, with the exception of his coat. his boots, his socks, his hat, and his watch—all were there. there were no signs of violence upon any of these garments, and there were no other traces of mr. neville st. clair. out of the window he must apparently have gone for no other exit could be discovered, and the ominous bloodstains upon the sill gave little promise that he could save himself by swimming, for the tide was at its very highest at the moment of the tragedy.
“and now as to the villains who seemed to be immediately implicated in the matter. the lascar was known to be a man of the vilest antecedents, but as, by mrs. st. clair’s story, he was known to have been at the foot of the stair within a very few seconds of her husband’s appearance at the window, he could hardly have been more than an accessory to the crime. his defence was one of absolute ignorance, and he protested that he had no knowledge as to the doings of hugh boone, his lodger, and that he could not account in any way for the presence of the missing gentleman’s clothes.
“so much for the lascar manager. now for the sinister cripple who lives upon the second floor of the opium den, and who was certainly the last human being whose eyes rested upon neville st. clair. his name is hugh boone, and his hideous face is one which is familiar to every man who goes much to the city. he is a professional beggar, though in order to avoid the police regulations he pretends to a small trade in wax vestas. some little distance down threadneedle street, upon the left-hand side, there is, as you may have remarked, a small angle in the wall. here it is that this creature takes his daily seat, cross-legged with his tiny stock of matches on his lap, and as he is a piteous spectacle a small rain of charity descends into the greasy leather cap which lies upon the pavement beside him. i have watched the fellow more than once before ever i thought of making his professional acquaintance, and i have been surprised at the harvest which he has reaped in a short time. his appearance, you see, is so remarkable that no one can pass him without observing him. a shock of orange hair, a pale face disfigured by a horrible scar, which, by its contraction, has turned up the outer edge of his upper lip, a bulldog chin, and a pair of very penetrating dark eyes, which present a singular contrast to the colour of his hair, all mark him out from amid the common crowd of mendicants and so, too, does his wit, for he is ever ready with a reply to any piece of chaff which may be thrown at him by the passers-by.
this is the man whom we now learn to have been the lodger at the opium den, and to have been the last man to see the gentleman of whom we are in quest.”
“but a cripple!” said i. “what could he have done single-handed against a man in the prime of life?”
“he is a cripple in the sense that he walks with a limp; but in other respects he appears to be a powerful and well-nurtured man. surely your medical experience would tell you, watson, that weakness in one limb is often compensated for by exceptional strength in the others.”
“pray continue your narrative.”
“mrs. st. clair had fainted at the sight of the blood upon the window, and she was escorted home in a cab by the police, as her presence could be of no help to them in their investigations. inspector barton, who had charge of the case, made a very careful examination of the premises, but without finding anything which threw any light upon the matter. one mistake had been made in not arresting boone instantly, as he was allowed some few minutes during which he might have communicated with his friend the lascar, but this fault was soon remedied, and he was seized and searched, without anything being found which could incriminate him. there were, it is true, some blood-stains upon his right shirt-sleeve, but he pointed to his ring-finger, which had been cut near the nail, and explained that the bleeding came from there, adding that he had been to the window not long before, and that the stains which had been observed there came doubtless from the same source. he denied strenuously having ever seen mr. neville st. clair and swore that the presence of the clothes in his room was as much a mystery to him as to the police. as to mrs. st. clair’s assertion that she had actually seen her husband at the window, he declared that she must have been either mad or dreaming. he was removed, loudly protesting, to the police-station, while the inspector remained upon the premises in the hope that the ebbing tide might afford some fresh clue.
“and it did, though they hardly found upon the mud-bank what they had feared to find. it was neville st. clair’s coat, and not neville st.
clair, which lay uncovered as the tide receded. and what do you think they found in the pockets?”
“i cannot imagine.”
“no, i don’t think you would guess. every pocket stuffed with pennies and half-pennies—421 pennies and 270 half-pennies. it was no wonder that it had not been swept away by the tide. but a human body is a different matter. there is a fierce eddy between the wharf and the house. it seemed likely enough that the weighted coat had remained when the stripped body had been sucked away into the river.”
“but i understand that all the other clothes were found in the room.
would the body be dressed in a coat alone?”
“no, sir, but the facts might be met speciously enough. suppose that this man boone had thrust neville st. clair through the window, there is no human eye which could have seen the deed. what would he do then?
it would of course instantly strike him that he must get rid of the tell-tale garments. he would seize the coat, then, and be in the act of throwing it out, when it would occur to him that it would swim and not sink. he has little time, for he has heard the scuffle downstairs when the wife tried to force her way up, and perhaps he has already heard from his lascar confederate that the police are hurrying up the street.
there is not an instant to be lost. he rushes to some secret hoard, where he has accumulated the fruits of his beggary, and he stuffs all the coins upon which he can lay his hands into the pockets to make sure of the coat’s sinking. he throws it out, and would have done the same with the other garments had not he heard the rush of steps below, and only just had time to close the window when the police appeared.”
“it certainly sounds feasible.”
“well, we will take it as a working hypothesis for want of a better.
boone, as i have told you, was arrested and taken to the station, but it could not be shown that there had ever before been anything against him. he had for years been known as a professional beggar, but his life appeared to have been a very quiet and innocent one. there the matter stands at present, and the questions which have to be solved—what neville st. clair was doing in the opium den, what happened to him when there, where is he now, and what hugh boone had to do with his disappearance—are all as far from a solution as ever. i confess that i cannot recall any case within my experience which looked at the first glance so simple and yet which presented such difficulties.”
while sherlock holmes had been detailing this singular series of events, we had been whirling through the outskirts of the great town until the last straggling houses had been left behind, and we rattled along with a country hedge upon either side of us. just as he finished, however, we drove through two scattered villages, where a few lights still glimmered in the windows.
“we are on the outskirts of lee,” said my companion. “we have touched on three english counties in our short drive, starting in middlesex, passing over an angle of surrey, and ending in kent. see that light among the trees? that is the cedars, and beside that lamp sits a woman whose anxious ears have already, i have little doubt, caught the clink of our horse’s feet.”
“but why are you not conducting the case from baker street?” i asked.
“because there are many inquiries which must be made out here. mrs. st.
clair has most kindly put two rooms at my disposal, and you may rest assured that she will have nothing but a welcome for my friend and colleague. i hate to meet her, watson, when i have no news of her husband. here we are. whoa, there, whoa!”
we had pulled up in front of a large villa which stood within its own grounds. a stable-boy had run out to the horse’s head, and springing down, i followed holmes up the small, winding gravel-drive which led to the house. as we approached, the door flew open, and a little blonde woman stood in the opening, clad in some sort of light mousseline de soie, with a touch of fluffy pink chiffon at her neck and wrists. she stood with her figure outlined against the flood of light, one hand upon the door, one half-raised in her eagerness, her body slightly bent, her head and face protruded, with eager eyes and parted lips, a standing question.
“well?” she cried, “well?” and then, seeing that there were two of us, she gave a cry of hope which sank into a groan as she saw that my companion shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
“no good news?”
“none.”
“no bad?”
“no.”
“thank god for that. but come in. you must be weary, for you have had a long day.”
“this is my friend, dr. watson. he has been of most vital use to me in several of my cases, and a lucky chance has made it possible for me to bring him out and associate him with this investigation.”
“i am delighted to see you,” said she, pressing my hand warmly. “you will, i am sure, forgive anything that may be wanting in our arrangements, when you consider the blow which has come so suddenly upon us.”
“my dear madam,” said i, “i am an old campaigner, and if i were not i can very well see that no apology is needed. if i can be of any assistance, either to you or to my friend here, i shall be indeed happy.”
“now, mr. sherlock holmes,” said the lady as we entered a well-lit dining-room, upon the table of which a cold supper had been laid out, “i should very much like to ask you one or two plain questions, to which i beg that you will give a plain answer.”
“certainly, madam.”
“do not trouble about my feelings. i am not hysterical, nor given to fainting. i simply wish to hear your real, real opinion.”
“upon what point?”
“in your heart of hearts, do you think that neville is alive?”
sherlock holmes seemed to be embarrassed by the question. “frankly, now!” she repeated, standing upon the rug and looking keenly down at him as he leaned back in a basket-chair.
“frankly, then, madam, i do not.”
“you think that he is dead?”
“i do.”
“murdered?”
“i don’t say that. perhaps.”
“and on what day did he meet his death?”
“on monday.”
“then perhaps, mr. holmes, you will be good enough to explain how it is that i have received a letter from him to-day.”
sherlock holmes sprang out of his chair as if he had been galvanised.
“what!” he roared.
“yes, to-day.” she stood smiling, holding up a little slip of paper in the air.
“may i see it?”
“certainly.”
he snatched it from her in his eagerness, and smoothing it out upon the table he drew over the lamp and examined it intently. i had left my chair and was gazing at it over his shoulder. the envelope was a very coarse one and was stamped with the gravesend postmark and with the date of that very day, or rather of the day before, for it was considerably after midnight.
“coarse writing,” murmured holmes. “surely this is not your husband’s writing, madam.”
“no, but the enclosure is.”
“i perceive also that whoever addressed the envelope had to go and inquire as to the address.”
“how can you tell that?”
“the name, you see, is in perfectly black ink, which has dried itself.
the rest is of the greyish colour, which shows that blotting-paper has been used. if it had been written straight off, and then blotted, none would be of a deep black shade. this man has written the name, and there has then been a pause before he wrote the address, which can only mean that he was not familiar with it. it is, of course, a trifle, but there is nothing so important as trifles. let us now see the letter.
ha! there has been an enclosure here!”
“yes, there was a ring. his signet-ring.”
“and you are sure that this is your husband’s hand?”
“one of his hands.”
“one?”
“his hand when he wrote hurriedly. it is very unlike his usual writing, and yet i know it well.”
“‘dearest do not be frightened. all will come well. there is a huge error which it may take some little time to rectify. wait in patience.—neville.’ written in pencil upon the fly-leaf of a book, octavo size, no water-mark. hum! posted to-day in gravesend by a man with a dirty thumb. ha! and the flap has been gummed, if i am not very much in error, by a person who had been chewing tobacco. and you have no doubt that it is your husband’s hand, madam?”
“none. neville wrote those words.”
“and they were posted to-day at gravesend. well, mrs. st. clair, the clouds lighten, though i should not venture to say that the danger is over.”
“but he must be alive, mr. holmes.”
“unless this is a clever forgery to put us on the wrong scent. the ring, after all, proves nothing. it may have been taken from him.”
“no, no; it is, it is his very own writing!”
“very well. it may, however, have been written on monday and only posted to-day.”
“that is possible.”
“if so, much may have happened between.”
“oh, you must not discourage me, mr. holmes. i know that all is well with him. there is so keen a sympathy between us that i should know if evil came upon him. on the very day that i saw him last he cut himself in the bedroom, and yet i in the dining-room rushed upstairs instantly with the utmost certainty that something had happened. do you think that i would respond to such a trifle and yet be ignorant of his death?”
“i have seen too much not to know that the impression of a woman may be more valuable than the conclusion of an analytical reasoner. and in this letter you certainly have a very strong piece of evidence to corroborate your view. but if your husband is alive and able to write letters, why should he remain away from you?”
“i cannot imagine. it is unthinkable.”
“and on monday he made no remarks before leaving you?”
“no.”
“and you were surprised to see him in swandam lane?”
“very much so.”
“was the window open?”
“yes.”
“then he might have called to you?”
“he might.”
“he only, as i understand, gave an inarticulate cry?”
“yes.”
“a call for help, you thought?”
“yes. he waved his hands.”
“but it might have been a cry of surprise. astonishment at the unexpected sight of you might cause him to throw up his hands?”
“it is possible.”
“and you thought he was pulled back?”
“he disappeared so suddenly.”
“he might have leaped back. you did not see anyone else in the room?”
“no, but this horrible man confessed to having been there, and the lascar was at the foot of the stairs.”
“quite so. your husband, as far as you could see, had his ordinary clothes on?”
“but without his collar or tie. i distinctly saw his bare throat.”
“had he ever spoken of swandam lane?”
“never.”
“had he ever showed any signs of having taken opium?”
“never.”
“thank you, mrs. st. clair. those are the principal points about which i wished to be absolutely clear. we shall now have a little supper and then retire, for we may have a very busy day to-morrow.”
a large and comfortable double-bedded room had been placed at our disposal, and i was quickly between the sheets, for i was weary after my night of adventure. sherlock holmes was a man, however, who, when he had an unsolved problem upon his mind, would go for days, and even for a week, without rest, turning it over, rearranging his facts, looking at it from every point of view until he had either fathomed it or convinced himself that his data were insufficient. it was soon evident to me that he was now preparing for an all-night sitting. he took off his coat and waistcoat, put on a large blue dressing-gown, and then wandered about the room collecting pillows from his bed and cushions from the sofa and armchairs. with these he constructed a sort of eastern divan, upon which he perched himself cross-legged, with an ounce of shag tobacco and a box of matches laid out in front of him. in the dim light of the lamp i saw him sitting there, an old briar pipe between his lips, his eyes fixed vacantly upon the corner of the ceiling, the blue smoke curling up from him, silent, motionless, with the light shining upon his strong-set aquiline features. so he sat as i dropped off to sleep, and so he sat when a sudden ejaculation caused me to wake up, and i found the summer sun shining into the apartment. the pipe was still between his lips, the smoke still curled upward, and the room was full of a dense tobacco haze, but nothing remained of the heap of shag which i had seen upon the previous night.
“awake, watson?” he asked.
“yes.”
“game for a morning drive?”
“certainly.”
“then dress. no one is stirring yet, but i know where the stable-boy sleeps, and we shall soon have the trap out.” he chuckled to himself as he spoke, his eyes twinkled, and he seemed a different man to the sombre thinker of the previous night.
as i dressed i glanced at my watch. it was no wonder that no one was stirring. it was twenty-five minutes past four. i had hardly finished when holmes returned with the news that the boy was putting in the horse.
“i want to test a little theory of mine,” said he, pulling on his boots. “i think, watson, that you are now standing in the presence of one of the most absolute fools in europe. i deserve to be kicked from here to charing cross. but i think i have the key of the affair now.”
“and where is it?” i asked, smiling.
“in the bathroom,” he answered. “oh, yes, i am not joking,” he continued, seeing my look of incredulity. “i have just been there, and i have taken it out, and i have got it in this gladstone bag. come on, my boy, and we shall see whether it will not fit the lock.”
we made our way downstairs as quietly as possible, and out into the bright morning sunshine. in the road stood our horse and trap, with the half-clad stable-boy waiting at the head. we both sprang in, and away we dashed down the london road. a few country carts were stirring, bearing in vegetables to the metropolis, but the lines of villas on either side were as silent and lifeless as some city in a dream.
“it has been in some points a singular case,” said holmes, flicking the horse on into a gallop. “i confess that i have been as blind as a mole, but it is better to learn wisdom late than never to learn it at all.”
in town the earliest risers were just beginning to look sleepily from their windows as we drove through the streets of the surrey side.
passing down the waterloo bridge road we crossed over the river, and dashing up wellington street wheeled sharply to the right and found ourselves in bow street. sherlock holmes was well known to the force, and the two constables at the door saluted him. one of them held the horse’s head while the other led us in.
“who is on duty?” asked holmes.
“inspector bradstreet, sir.”
“ah, bradstreet, how are you?” a tall, stout official had come down the stone-flagged passage, in a peaked cap and frogged jacket. “i wish to have a quiet word with you, bradstreet.”
“certainly, mr. holmes. step into my room here.”
it was a small, office-like room, with a huge ledger upon the table, and a telephone projecting from the wall. the inspector sat down at his desk.
“what can i do for you, mr. holmes?”
“i called about that beggarman, boone—the one who was charged with being concerned in the disappearance of mr. neville st. clair, of lee.”
“yes. he was brought up and remanded for further inquiries.”
“so i heard. you have him here?”
“in the cells.”
“is he quiet?”
“oh, he gives no trouble. but he is a dirty scoundrel.”
“dirty?”
“yes, it is all we can do to make him wash his hands, and his face is as black as a tinker’s. well, when once his case has been settled, he will have a regular prison bath; and i think, if you saw him, you would agree with me that he needed it.”
“i should like to see him very much.”
“would you? that is easily done. come this way. you can leave your bag.”
“no, i think that i’ll take it.”
“very good. come this way, if you please.” he led us down a passage, opened a barred door, passed down a winding stair, and brought us to a whitewashed corridor with a line of doors on each side.
“the third on the right is his,” said the inspector. “here it is!” he quietly shot back a panel in the upper part of the door and glanced through.
“he is asleep,” said he. “you can see him very well.”
we both put our eyes to the grating. the prisoner lay with his face towards us, in a very deep sleep, breathing slowly and heavily. he was a middle-sized man, coarsely clad as became his calling, with a coloured shirt protruding through the rent in his tattered coat. he was, as the inspector had said, extremely dirty, but the grime which covered his face could not conceal its repulsive ugliness. a broad wheal from an old scar ran right across it from eye to chin, and by its contraction had turned up one side of the upper lip, so that three teeth were exposed in a perpetual snarl. a shock of very bright red hair grew low over his eyes and forehead.
“he’s a beauty, isn’t he?” said the inspector.
“he certainly needs a wash,” remarked holmes. “i had an idea that he might, and i took the liberty of bringing the tools with me.” he opened the gladstone bag as he spoke, and took out, to my astonishment, a very large bath-sponge.
“he! he! you are a funny one,” chuckled the inspector.
“now, if you will have the great goodness to open that door very quietly, we will soon make him cut a much more respectable figure.”
“well, i don’t know why not,” said the inspector. “he doesn’t look a credit to the bow street cells, does he?” he slipped his key into the lock, and we all very quietly entered the cell. the sleeper half turned, and then settled down once more into a deep slumber. holmes stooped to the water-jug, moistened his sponge, and then rubbed it twice vigorously across and down the prisoner’s face.
“let me introduce you,” he shouted, “to mr. neville st. clair, of lee, in the county of kent.”
never in my life have i seen such a sight. the man’s face peeled off under the sponge like the bark from a tree. gone was the coarse brown tint! gone, too, was the horrid scar which had seamed it across, and the twisted lip which had given the repulsive sneer to the face! a twitch brought away the tangled red hair, and there, sitting up in his bed, was a pale, sad-faced, refined-looking man, black-haired and smooth-skinned, rubbing his eyes and staring about him with sleepy bewilderment. then suddenly realising the exposure, he broke into a scream and threw himself down with his face to the pillow.
“great heavens!” cried the inspector, “it is, indeed, the missing man.
i know him from the photograph.”
the prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandons himself to his destiny. “be it so,” said he. “and pray what am i charged with?”
“with making away with mr. neville st.— oh, come, you can’t be charged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of it,” said the inspector with a grin. “well, i have been twenty-seven years in the force, but this really takes the cake.”
“if i am mr. neville st. clair, then it is obvious that no crime has been committed, and that, therefore, i am illegally detained.”
“no crime, but a very great error has been committed,” said holmes.
“you would have done better to have trusted your wife.”
“it was not the wife; it was the children,” groaned the prisoner. “god help me, i would not have them ashamed of their father. my god! what an exposure! what can i do?”
sherlock holmes sat down beside him on the couch and patted him kindly on the shoulder.
“if you leave it to a court of law to clear the matter up,” said he, “of course you can hardly avoid publicity. on the other hand, if you convince the police authorities that there is no possible case against you, i do not know that there is any reason that the details should find their way into the papers. inspector bradstreet would, i am sure, make notes upon anything which you might tell us and submit it to the proper authorities. the case would then never go into court at all.”
“god bless you!” cried the prisoner passionately. “i would have endured imprisonment, ay, even execution, rather than have left my miserable secret as a family blot to my children.
“you are the first who have ever heard my story. my father was a schoolmaster in chesterfield, where i received an excellent education.
i travelled in my youth, took to the stage, and finally became a reporter on an evening paper in london. one day my editor wished to have a series of articles upon begging in the metropolis, and i volunteered to supply them. there was the point from which all my adventures started. it was only by trying begging as an amateur that i could get the facts upon which to base my articles. when an actor i had, of course, learned all the secrets of making up, and had been famous in the green-room for my skill. i took advantage now of my attainments. i painted my face, and to make myself as pitiable as possible i made a good scar and fixed one side of my lip in a twist by the aid of a small slip of flesh-coloured plaster. then with a red head of hair, and an appropriate dress, i took my station in the business part of the city, ostensibly as a match-seller but really as a beggar.
for seven hours i plied my trade, and when i returned home in the evening i found to my surprise that i had received no less than 26s.
4d.
“i wrote my articles and thought little more of the matter until, some time later, i backed a bill for a friend and had a writ served upon me for £ 25. i was at my wit’s end where to get the money, but a sudden idea came to me. i begged a fortnight’s grace from the creditor, asked for a holiday from my employers, and spent the time in begging in the city under my disguise. in ten days i had the money and had paid the debt.
“well, you can imagine how hard it was to settle down to arduous work at £ 2 a week when i knew that i could earn as much in a day by smearing my face with a little paint, laying my cap on the ground, and sitting still. it was a long fight between my pride and the money, but the dollars won at last, and i threw up reporting and sat day after day in the corner which i had first chosen, inspiring pity by my ghastly face and filling my pockets with coppers. only one man knew my secret.
he was the keeper of a low den in which i used to lodge in swandam lane, where i could every morning emerge as a squalid beggar and in the evenings transform myself into a well-dressed man about town. this fellow, a lascar, was well paid by me for his rooms, so that i knew that my secret was safe in his possession.
“well, very soon i found that i was saving considerable sums of money.
i do not mean that any beggar in the streets of london could earn £ 700 a year—which is less than my average takings—but i had exceptional advantages in my power of making up, and also in a facility of repartee, which improved by practice and made me quite a recognised character in the city. all day a stream of pennies, varied by silver, poured in upon me, and it was a very bad day in which i failed to take £ 2.
“as i grew richer i grew more ambitious, took a house in the country, and eventually married, without anyone having a suspicion as to my real occupation. my dear wife knew that i had business in the city. she little knew what.
“last monday i had finished for the day and was dressing in my room above the opium den when i looked out of my window and saw, to my horror and astonishment, that my wife was standing in the street, with her eyes fixed full upon me. i gave a cry of surprise, threw up my arms to cover my face, and, rushing to my confidant, the lascar, entreated him to prevent anyone from coming up to me. i heard her voice downstairs, but i knew that she could not ascend. swiftly i threw off my clothes, pulled on those of a beggar, and put on my pigments and wig. even a wife’s eyes could not pierce so complete a disguise. but then it occurred to me that there might be a search in the room, and that the clothes might betray me. i threw open the window, reopening by my violence a small cut which i had inflicted upon myself in the bedroom that morning. then i seized my coat, which was weighted by the coppers which i had just transferred to it from the leather bag in which i carried my takings. i hurled it out of the window, and it disappeared into the thames. the other clothes would have followed, but at that moment there was a rush of constables up the stair, and a few minutes after i found, rather, i confess, to my relief, that instead of being identified as mr. neville st. clair, i was arrested as his murderer.
“i do not know that there is anything else for me to explain. i was determined to preserve my disguise as long as possible, and hence my preference for a dirty face. knowing that my wife would be terribly anxious, i slipped off my ring and confided it to the lascar at a moment when no constable was watching me, together with a hurried scrawl, telling her that she had no cause to fear.”
“that note only reached her yesterday,” said holmes.
“good god! what a week she must have spent!”
“the police have watched this lascar,” said inspector bradstreet, “and i can quite understand that he might find it difficult to post a letter unobserved. probably he handed it to some sailor customer of his, who forgot all about it for some days.”
“that was it,” said holmes, nodding approvingly; “i have no doubt of it. but have you never been prosecuted for begging?”
“many times; but what was a fine to me?”
“it must stop here, however,” said bradstreet. “if the police are to hush this thing up, there must be no more of hugh boone.”
“i have sworn it by the most solemn oaths which a man can take.”
“in that case i think that it is probable that no further steps may be taken. but if you are found again, then all must come out. i am sure, mr. holmes, that we are very much indebted to you for having cleared the matter up. i wish i knew how you reach your results.”
“i reached this one,” said my friend, “by sitting upon five pillows and consuming an ounce of shag. i think, watson, that if we drive to baker street we shall just be in time for breakfast.”
vii. the adventure of the blue carbuncle
i had called upon my friend sherlock holmes upon the second morning after christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the season. he was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. beside the couch was a wooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in several places. a lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chair suggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for the purpose of examination.
“you are engaged,” said i; “perhaps i interrupt you.”
“not at all. i am glad to have a friend with whom i can discuss my results. the matter is a perfectly trivial one”—he jerked his thumb in the direction of the old hat—“but there are points in connection with it which are not entirely devoid of interest and even of instruction.”
i seated myself in his armchair and warmed my hands before his crackling fire, for a sharp frost had set in, and the windows were thick with the ice crystals. “i suppose,” i remarked, “that, homely as it looks, this thing has some deadly story linked on to it—that it is the clue which will guide you in the solution of some mystery and the punishment of some crime.”
“no, no. no crime,” said sherlock holmes, laughing. “only one of those whimsical little incidents which will happen when you have four million human beings all jostling each other within the space of a few square miles. amid the action and reaction of so dense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of events may be expected to take place, and many a little problem will be presented which may be striking and bizarre without being criminal. we have already had experience of such.”
“so much so,” i remarked, “that of the last six cases which i have added to my notes, three have been entirely free of any legal crime.”
“precisely. you allude to my attempt to recover the irene adler papers, to the singular case of miss mary sutherland, and to the adventure of the man with the twisted lip. well, i have no doubt that this small matter will fall into the same innocent category. you know peterson, the commissionaire?”
“yes.”
“it is to him that this trophy belongs.”
“it is his hat.”
“no, no, he found it. its owner is unknown. i beg that you will look upon it not as a battered billycock but as an intellectual problem.
and, first, as to how it came here. it arrived upon christmas morning, in company with a good fat goose, which is, i have no doubt, roasting at this moment in front of peterson’s fire. the facts are these: about four o’clock on christmas morning, peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest fellow, was returning from some small jollification and was making his way homeward down tottenham court road. in front of him he saw, in the gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and carrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. as he reached the corner of goodge street, a row broke out between this stranger and a little knot of roughs. one of the latter knocked off the man’s hat, on which he raised his stick to defend himself and, swinging it over his head, smashed the shop window behind him. peterson had rushed forward to protect the stranger from his assailants; but the man, shocked at having broken the window, and seeing an official-looking person in uniform rushing towards him, dropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid the labyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of tottenham court road. the roughs had also fled at the appearance of peterson, so that he was left in possession of the field of battle, and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of this battered hat and a most unimpeachable christmas goose.”
“which surely he restored to their owner?”
“my dear fellow, there lies the problem. it is true that ‘for mrs.
henry baker’ was printed upon a small card which was tied to the bird’s left leg, and it is also true that the initials ‘h. b.’ are legible upon the lining of this hat, but as there are some thousands of bakers, and some hundreds of henry bakers in this city of ours, it is not easy to restore lost property to any one of them.”
“what, then, did peterson do?”
“he brought round both hat and goose to me on christmas morning, knowing that even the smallest problems are of interest to me. the goose we retained until this morning, when there were signs that, in spite of the slight frost, it would be well that it should be eaten without unnecessary delay. its finder has carried it off, therefore, to fulfil the ultimate destiny of a goose, while i continue to retain the hat of the unknown gentleman who lost his christmas dinner.”
“did he not advertise?”
“no.”
“then, what clue could you have as to his identity?”
“only as much as we can deduce.”
“from his hat?”
“precisely.”
“but you are joking. what can you gather from this old battered felt?”
“here is my lens. you know my methods. what can you gather yourself as to the individuality of the man who has worn this article?”
i took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over rather ruefully. it was a very ordinary black hat of the usual round shape, hard and much the worse for wear. the lining had been of red silk, but was a good deal discoloured. there was no maker’s name; but, as holmes had remarked, the initials “h. b.” were scrawled upon one side. it was pierced in the brim for a hat-securer, but the elastic was missing. for the rest, it was cracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places, although there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discoloured patches by smearing them with ink.
“i can see nothing,” said i, handing it back to my friend.
“on the contrary, watson, you can see everything. you fail, however, to reason from what you see. you are too timid in drawing your inferences.”
“then, pray tell me what it is that you can infer from this hat?”
he picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar introspective fashion which was characteristic of him. “it is perhaps less suggestive than it might have been,” he remarked, “and yet there are a few inferences which are very distinct, and a few others which represent at least a strong balance of probability. that the man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the face of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do within the last three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. he had foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a moral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his fortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink, at work upon him. this may account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to love him.”
“my dear holmes!”
“he has, however, retained some degree of self-respect,” he continued, disregarding my remonstrance. “he is a man who leads a sedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, is middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the last few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. these are the more patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat. also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid on in his house.”
“you are certainly joking, holmes.”
“not in the least. is it possible that even now, when i give you these results, you are unable to see how they are attained?”
“i have no doubt that i am very stupid, but i must confess that i am unable to follow you. for example, how did you deduce that this man was intellectual?”
for answer holmes clapped the hat upon his head. it came right over the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. “it is a question of cubic capacity,” said he; “a man with so large a brain must have something in it.”
“the decline of his fortunes, then?”
“this hat is three years old. these flat brims curled at the edge came in then. it is a hat of the very best quality. look at the band of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. if this man could afford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had no hat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world.”
“well, that is clear enough, certainly. but how about the foresight and the moral retrogression?”
sherlock holmes laughed. “here is the foresight,” said he putting his finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer. “they are never sold upon hats. if this man ordered one, it is a sign of a certain amount of foresight, since he went out of his way to take this precaution against the wind. but since we see that he has broken the elastic and has not troubled to replace it, it is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly, which is a distinct proof of a weakening nature. on the other hand, he has endeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon the felt by daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has not entirely lost his self-respect.”
“your reasoning is certainly plausible.”
“the further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he uses lime-cream, are all to be gathered from a close examination of the lower part of the lining.
the lens discloses a large number of hair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. they all appear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour of lime-cream. this dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, grey dust of the street but the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that it has been hung up indoors most of the time, while the marks of moisture upon the inside are proof positive that the wearer perspired very freely, and could therefore, hardly be in the best of training.”
“but his wife—you said that she had ceased to love him.”
“this hat has not been brushed for weeks. when i see you, my dear watson, with a week’s accumulation of dust upon your hat, and when your wife allows you to go out in such a state, i shall fear that you also have been unfortunate enough to lose your wife’s affection.”
“but he might be a bachelor.”
“nay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to his wife.
remember the card upon the bird’s leg.”
“you have an answer to everything. but how on earth do you deduce that the gas is not laid on in his house?”
“one tallow stain, or even two, might come by chance; but when i see no less than five, i think that there can be little doubt that the individual must be brought into frequent contact with burning tallow—walks upstairs at night probably with his hat in one hand and a guttering candle in the other. anyhow, he never got tallow-stains from a gas-jet. are you satisfied?”
“well, it is very ingenious,” said i, laughing; “but since, as you said just now, there has been no crime committed, and no harm done save the loss of a goose, all this seems to be rather a waste of energy.”
sherlock holmes had opened his mouth to reply, when the door flew open, and peterson, the commissionaire, rushed into the apartment with flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is dazed with astonishment.
“the goose, mr. holmes! the goose, sir!” he gasped.
“eh? what of it, then? has it returned to life and flapped off through the kitchen window?” holmes twisted himself round upon the sofa to get a fairer view of the man’s excited face.
“see here, sir! see what my wife found in its crop!” he held out his hand and displayed upon the centre of the palm a brilliantly scintillating blue stone, rather smaller than a bean in size, but of such purity and radiance that it twinkled like an electric point in the dark hollow of his hand.
sherlock holmes sat up with a whistle. “by jove, peterson!” said he, “this is treasure trove indeed. i suppose you know what you have got?”
“a diamond, sir? a precious stone. it cuts into glass as though it were putty.”
“it’s more than a precious stone. it is the precious stone.”
“not the countess of morcar’s blue carbuncle!” i ejaculated.
“precisely so. i ought to know its size and shape, seeing that i have read the advertisement about it in the times every day lately. it is absolutely unique, and its value can only be conjectured, but the reward offered of £ 1000 is certainly not within a twentieth part of the market price.”
“a thousand pounds! great lord of mercy!” the commissionaire plumped down into a chair and stared from one to the other of us.
“that is the reward, and i have reason to know that there are sentimental considerations in the background which would induce the countess to part with half her fortune if she could but recover the gem.”
“it was lost, if i remember aright, at the hotel cosmopolitan,” i remarked.
“precisely so, on december 22nd, just five days ago. john horner, a plumber, was accused of having abstracted it from the lady’s jewel-case. the evidence against him was so strong that the case has been referred to the assizes. i have some account of the matter here, i believe.” he rummaged amid his newspapers, glancing over the dates, until at last he smoothed one out, doubled it over, and read the following paragraph:
“hotel cosmopolitan jewel robbery. john horner, 26, plumber, was brought up upon the charge of having upon the 22nd inst., abstracted from the jewel-case of the countess of morcar the valuable gem known as the blue carbuncle. james ryder, upper-attendant at the hotel, gave his evidence to the effect that he had shown horner up to the dressing-room of the countess of morcar upon the day of the robbery in order that he might solder the second bar of the grate, which was loose. he had remained with horner some little time, but had finally been called away. on returning, he found that horner had disappeared, that the bureau had been forced open, and that the small morocco casket in which, as it afterwards transpired, the countess was accustomed to keep her jewel, was lying empty upon the dressing-table. ryder instantly gave the alarm, and horner was arrested the same evening; but the stone could not be found either upon his person or in his rooms. catherine cusack, maid to the countess, deposed to having heard ryder’s cry of dismay on discovering the robbery, and to having rushed into the room, where she found matters as described by the last witness. inspector bradstreet, b division, gave evidence as to the arrest of horner, who struggled frantically, and protested his innocence in the strongest terms. evidence of a previous conviction for robbery having been given against the prisoner, the magistrate refused to deal summarily with the offence, but referred it to the assizes. horner, who had shown signs of intense emotion during the proceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and was carried out of court.”
“hum! so much for the police-court,” said holmes thoughtfully, tossing aside the paper. “the question for us now to solve is the sequence of events leading from a rifled jewel-case at one end to the crop of a goose in tottenham court road at the other. you see, watson, our little deductions have suddenly assumed a much more important and less innocent aspect. here is the stone; the stone came from the goose, and the goose came from mr. henry baker, the gentleman with the bad hat and all the other characteristics with which i have bored you. so now we must set ourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman and ascertaining what part he has played in this little mystery. to do this, we must try the simplest means first, and these lie undoubtedly in an advertisement in all the evening papers. if this fail, i shall have recourse to other methods.”
“what will you say?”
“give me a pencil and that slip of paper. now, then: ‘found at the corner of goodge street, a goose and a black felt hat. mr. henry baker can have the same by applying at 6:30 this evening at 221b, baker street.’ that is clear and concise.”
“very. but will he see it?”
“well, he is sure to keep an eye on the papers, since, to a poor man, the loss was a heavy one. he was clearly so scared by his mischance in breaking the window and by the approach of peterson that he thought of nothing but flight, but since then he must have bitterly regretted the impulse which caused him to drop his bird. then, again, the introduction of his name will cause him to see it, for everyone who knows him will direct his attention to it. here you are, peterson, run down to the advertising agency and have this put in the evening papers.”
“in which, sir?”
“oh, in the globe, star, pall mall, st. james’s gazette, evening news, standard, echo, and any others that occur to you.”
“very well, sir. and this stone?”
“ah, yes, i shall keep the stone. thank you. and, i say, peterson, just buy a goose on your way back and leave it here with me, for we must have one to give to this gentleman in place of the one which your family is now devouring.”
when the commissionaire had gone, holmes took up the stone and held it against the light. “it’s a bonny thing,” said he. “just see how it glints and sparkles. of course it is a nucleus and focus of crime.
every good stone is. they are the devil’s pet baits. in the larger and older jewels every facet may stand for a bloody deed. this stone is not yet twenty years old. it was found in the banks of the amoy river in southern china and is remarkable in having every characteristic of the carbuncle, save that it is blue in shade instead of ruby red. in spite of its youth, it has already a sinister history. there have been two murders, a vitriol-throwing, a suicide, and several robberies brought about for the sake of this forty-grain weight of crystallised charcoal.
who would think that so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the gallows and the prison? i’ll lock it up in my strong box now and drop a line to the countess to say that we have it.”
“do you think that this man horner is innocent?”
“i cannot tell.”
“well, then, do you imagine that this other one, henry baker, had anything to do with the matter?”
“it is, i think, much more likely that henry baker is an absolutely innocent man, who had no idea that the bird which he was carrying was of considerably more value than if it were made of solid gold. that, however, i shall determine by a very simple test if we have an answer to our advertisement.”
“and you can do nothing until then?”
“nothing.”
“in that case i shall continue my professional round. but i shall come back in the evening at the hour you have mentioned, for i should like to see the solution of so tangled a business.”
“very glad to see you. i dine at seven. there is a woodcock, i believe.
by the way, in view of recent occurrences, perhaps i ought to ask mrs.
hudson to examine its crop.”
i had been delayed at a case, and it was a little after half-past six when i found myself in baker street once more. as i approached the house i saw a tall man in a scotch bonnet with a coat which was buttoned up to his chin waiting outside in the bright semicircle which was thrown from the fanlight. just as i arrived the door was opened, and we were shown up together to holmes’ room.
“mr. henry baker, i believe,” said he, rising from his armchair and greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which he could so readily assume. “pray take this chair by the fire, mr. baker. it is a cold night, and i observe that your circulation is more adapted for summer than for winter. ah, watson, you have just come at the right time. is that your hat, mr. baker?”
“yes, sir, that is undoubtedly my hat.”
he was a large man with rounded shoulders, a massive head, and a broad, intelligent face, sloping down to a pointed beard of grizzled brown. a touch of red in nose and cheeks, with a slight tremor of his extended hand, recalled holmes’ surmise as to his habits. his rusty black frock-coat was buttoned right up in front, with the collar turned up, and his lank wrists protruded from his sleeves without a sign of cuff or shirt. he spoke in a slow staccato fashion, choosing his words with care, and gave the impression generally of a man of learning and letters who had had ill-usage at the hands of fortune.
“we have retained these things for some days,” said holmes, “because we expected to see an advertisement from you giving your address. i am at a loss to know now why you did not advertise.”
our visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh. “shillings have not been so plentiful with me as they once were,” he remarked. “i had no doubt that the gang of roughs who assaulted me had carried off both my hat and the bird. i did not care to spend more money in a hopeless attempt at recovering them.”
“very naturally. by the way, about the bird, we were compelled to eat it.”
“to eat it!” our visitor half rose from his chair in his excitement.
“yes, it would have been of no use to anyone had we not done so. but i presume that this other goose upon the sideboard, which is about the same weight and perfectly fresh, will answer your purpose equally well?”
“oh, certainly, certainly,” answered mr. baker with a sigh of relief.
“of course, we still have the feathers, legs, crop, and so on of your own bird, so if you wish—”
the man burst into a hearty laugh. “they might be useful to me as relics of my adventure,” said he, “but beyond that i can hardly see what use the disjecta membra of my late acquaintance are going to be to me. no, sir, i think that, with your permission, i will confine my attentions to the excellent bird which i perceive upon the sideboard.”
sherlock holmes glanced sharply across at me with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
“there is your hat, then, and there your bird,” said he. “by the way, would it bore you to tell me where you got the other one from? i am somewhat of a fowl fancier, and i have seldom seen a better grown goose.”
“certainly, sir,” said baker, who had risen and tucked his newly gained property under his arm. “there are a few of us who frequent the alpha inn, near the museum—we are to be found in the museum itself during the day, you understand. this year our good host, windigate by name, instituted a goose club, by which, on consideration of some few pence every week, we were each to receive a bird at christmas. my pence were duly paid, and the rest is familiar to you. i am much indebted to you, sir, for a scotch bonnet is fitted neither to my years nor my gravity.”
with a comical pomposity of manner he bowed solemnly to both of us and strode off upon his way.
“so much for mr. henry baker,” said holmes when he had closed the door behind him. “it is quite certain that he knows nothing whatever about the matter. are you hungry, watson?”
“not particularly.”
“then i suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper and follow up this clue while it is still hot.”
“by all means.”
it was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrapped cravats about our throats. outside, the stars were shining coldly in a cloudless sky, and the breath of the passers-by blew out into smoke like so many pistol shots. our footfalls rang out crisply and loudly as we swung through the doctors’ quarter, wimpole street, harley street, and so through wigmore street into oxford street. in a quarter of an hour we were in bloomsbury at the alpha inn, which is a small public-house at the corner of one of the streets which runs down into holborn. holmes pushed open the door of the private bar and ordered two glasses of beer from the ruddy-faced, white-aproned landlord.
“your beer should be excellent if it is as good as your geese,” said he.
“my geese!” the man seemed surprised.
“yes. i was speaking only half an hour ago to mr. henry baker, who was a member of your goose club.”
“ah! yes, i see. but you see, sir, them’s not our geese.”
“indeed! whose, then?”
“well, i got the two dozen from a salesman in covent garden.”
“indeed? i know some of them. which was it?”
“breckinridge is his name.”
“ah! i don’t know him. well, here’s your good health landlord, and prosperity to your house. good-night.”
“now for mr. breckinridge,” he continued, buttoning up his coat as we came out into the frosty air. “remember, watson that though we have so homely a thing as a goose at one end of this chain, we have at the other a man who will certainly get seven years’ penal servitude unless we can establish his innocence. it is possible that our inquiry may but confirm his guilt; but, in any case, we have a line of investigation which has been missed by the police, and which a singular chance has placed in our hands. let us follow it out to the bitter end. faces to the south, then, and quick march!”
we passed across holborn, down endell street, and so through a zigzag of slums to covent garden market. one of the largest stalls bore the name of breckinridge upon it, and the proprietor a horsey-looking man, with a sharp face and trim side-whiskers was helping a boy to put up the shutters.
“good-evening. it’s a cold night,” said holmes.
the salesman nodded and shot a questioning glance at my companion.
“sold out of geese, i see,” continued holmes, pointing at the bare slabs of marble.
“let you have five hundred to-morrow morning.”
“that’s no good.”
“well, there are some on the stall with the gas-flare.”
“ah, but i was recommended to you.”
“who by?”
“the landlord of the alpha.”
“oh, yes; i sent him a couple of dozen.”
“fine birds they were, too. now where did you get them from?”
to my surprise the question provoked a burst of anger from the salesman.
“now, then, mister,” said he, with his head cocked and his arms akimbo, “what are you driving at? let’s have it straight, now.”
“it is straight enough. i should like to know who sold you the geese which you supplied to the alpha.”
“well then, i shan’t tell you. so now!”
“oh, it is a matter of no importance; but i don’t know why you should be so warm over such a trifle.”
“warm! you’d be as warm, maybe, if you were as pestered as i am. when i pay good money for a good article there should be an end of the business; but it’s ‘where are the geese?’ and ‘who did you sell the geese to?’ and ‘what will you take for the geese?’ one would think they were the only geese in the world, to hear the fuss that is made over them.”
“well, i have no connection with any other people who have been making inquiries,” said holmes carelessly. “if you won’t tell us the bet is off, that is all. but i’m always ready to back my opinion on a matter of fowls, and i have a fiver on it that the bird i ate is country bred.”
“well, then, you’ve lost your fiver, for it’s town bred,” snapped the salesman.
“it’s nothing of the kind.”
“i say it is.”
“i don’t believe it.”
“d’you think you know more about fowls than i, who have handled them ever since i was a nipper? i tell you, all those birds that went to the alpha were town bred.”
“you’ll never persuade me to believe that.”
“will you bet, then?”
“it’s merely taking your money, for i know that i am right. but i’ll have a sovereign on with you, just to teach you not to be obstinate.”
the salesman chuckled grimly. “bring me the books, bill,” said he.
the small boy brought round a small thin volume and a great greasy-backed one, laying them out together beneath the hanging lamp.
“now then, mr. cocksure,” said the salesman, “i thought that i was out of geese, but before i finish you’ll find that there is still one left in my shop. you see this little book?”
“well?”
“that’s the list of the folk from whom i buy. d’you see? well, then, here on this page are the country folk, and the numbers after their names are where their accounts are in the big ledger. now, then! you see this other page in red ink? well, that is a list of my town suppliers. now, look at that third name. just read it out to me.”
“mrs. oakshott, 117, brixton road—249,” read holmes.
“quite so. now turn that up in the ledger.”
holmes turned to the page indicated. “here you are, ‘mrs. oakshott, 117, brixton road, egg and poultry supplier.’”
“now, then, what’s the last entry?”
“‘december 22nd. twenty-four geese at 7s. 6d.’”
“quite so. there you are. and underneath?”
“‘sold to mr. windigate of the alpha, at 12s.’”
“what have you to say now?”
sherlock holmes looked deeply chagrined. he drew a sovereign from his pocket and threw it down upon the slab, turning away with the air of a man whose disgust is too deep for words. a few yards off he stopped under a lamp-post and laughed in the hearty, noiseless fashion which was peculiar to him.
“when you see a man with whiskers of that cut and the ‘pink ’un’
protruding out of his pocket, you can always draw him by a bet,” said he. “i daresay that if i had put £ 100 down in front of him, that man would not have given me such complete information as was drawn from him by the idea that he was doing me on a wager. well, watson, we are, i fancy, nearing the end of our quest, and the only point which remains to be determined is whether we should go on to this mrs. oakshott to-night, or whether we should reserve it for to-morrow. it is clear from what that surly fellow said that there are others besides ourselves who are anxious about the matter, and i should—”
his remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud hubbub which broke out from the stall which we had just left. turning round we saw a little rat-faced fellow standing in the centre of the circle of yellow light which was thrown by the swinging lamp, while breckinridge, the salesman, framed in the door of his stall, was shaking his fists fiercely at the cringing figure.
“i’ve had enough of you and your geese,” he shouted. “i wish you were all at the devil together. if you come pestering me any more with your silly talk i’ll set the dog at you. you bring mrs. oakshott here and i’ll answer her, but what have you to do with it? did i buy the geese off you?”
“no; but one of them was mine all the same,” whined the little man.
“well, then, ask mrs. oakshott for it.”
“she told me to ask you.”
“well, you can ask the king of proosia, for all i care. i’ve had enough of it. get out of this!” he rushed fiercely forward, and the inquirer flitted away into the darkness.
“ha! this may save us a visit to brixton road,” whispered holmes. “come with me, and we will see what is to be made of this fellow.” striding through the scattered knots of people who lounged round the flaring stalls, my companion speedily overtook the little man and touched him upon the shoulder. he sprang round, and i could see in the gas-light that every vestige of colour had been driven from his face.
“who are you, then? what do you want?” he asked in a quavering voice.
“you will excuse me,” said holmes blandly, “but i could not help overhearing the questions which you put to the salesman just now. i think that i could be of assistance to you.”
“you? who are you? how could you know anything of the matter?”
“my name is sherlock holmes. it is my business to know what other people don’t know.”
“but you can know nothing of this?”
“excuse me, i know everything of it. you are endeavouring to trace some geese which were sold by mrs. oakshott, of brixton road, to a salesman named breckinridge, by him in turn to mr. windigate, of the alpha, and by him to his club, of which mr. henry baker is a member.”
“oh, sir, you are the very man whom i have longed to meet,” cried the little fellow with outstretched hands and quivering fingers. “i can hardly explain to you how interested i am in this matter.”
sherlock holmes hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. “in that case we had better discuss it in a cosy room rather than in this wind-swept market-place,” said he. “but pray tell me, before we go farther, who it is that i have the pleasure of assisting.”
the man hesitated for an instant. “my name is john robinson,” he answered with a sidelong glance.
“no, no; the real name,” said holmes sweetly. “it is always awkward doing business with an alias.”
a flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger. “well then,” said he, “my real name is james ryder.”
“precisely so. head attendant at the hotel cosmopolitan. pray step into the cab, and i shall soon be able to tell you everything which you would wish to know.”
the little man stood glancing from one to the other of us with half-frightened, half-hopeful eyes, as one who is not sure whether he is on the verge of a windfall or of a catastrophe. then he stepped into the cab, and in half an hour we were back in the sitting-room at baker street. nothing had been said during our drive, but the high, thin breathing of our new companion, and the claspings and unclaspings of his hands, spoke of the nervous tension within him.
“here we are!” said holmes cheerily as we filed into the room. “the fire looks very seasonable in this weather. you look cold, mr. ryder.
pray take the basket-chair. i will just put on my slippers before we settle this little matter of yours. now, then! you want to know what became of those geese?”
“yes, sir.”
“or rather, i fancy, of that goose. it was one bird, i imagine in which you were interested—white, with a black bar across the tail.”
ryder quivered with emotion. “oh, sir,” he cried, “can you tell me where it went to?”
“it came here.”
“here?”
“yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved. i don’t wonder that you should take an interest in it. it laid an egg after it was dead—the bonniest, brightest little blue egg that ever was seen. i have it here in my museum.”
our visitor staggered to his feet and clutched the mantelpiece with his right hand. holmes unlocked his strong-box and held up the blue carbuncle, which shone out like a star, with a cold, brilliant, many-pointed radiance. ryder stood glaring with a drawn face, uncertain whether to claim or to disown it.
“the game’s up, ryder,” said holmes quietly. “hold up, man, or you’ll be into the fire! give him an arm back into his chair, watson. he’s not got blood enough to go in for felony with impunity. give him a dash of brandy. so! now he looks a little more human. what a shrimp it is, to be sure!”
for a moment he had staggered and nearly fallen, but the brandy brought a tinge of colour into his cheeks, and he sat staring with frightened eyes at his accuser.
“i have almost every link in my hands, and all the proofs which i could possibly need, so there is little which you need tell me. still, that little may as well be cleared up to make the case complete. you had heard, ryder, of this blue stone of the countess of morcar’s?”
“it was catherine cusack who told me of it,” said he in a crackling voice.
“i see—her ladyship’s waiting-maid. well, the temptation of sudden wealth so easily acquired was too much for you, as it has been for better men before you; but you were not very scrupulous in the means you used. it seems to me, ryder, that there is the making of a very pretty villain in you. you knew that this man horner, the plumber, had been concerned in some such matter before, and that suspicion would rest the more readily upon him. what did you do, then? you made some small job in my lady’s room—you and your confederate cusack—and you managed that he should be the man sent for. then, when he had left, you rifled the jewel-case, raised the alarm, and had this unfortunate man arrested. you then—”
ryder threw himself down suddenly upon the rug and clutched at my companion’s knees. “for god’s sake, have mercy!” he shrieked. “think of my father! of my mother! it would break their hearts. i never went wrong before! i never will again. i swear it. i’ll swear it on a bible.
oh, don’t bring it into court! for christ’s sake, don’t!”
“get back into your chair!” said holmes sternly. “it is very well to cringe and crawl now, but you thought little enough of this poor horner in the dock for a crime of which he knew nothing.”
“i will fly, mr. holmes. i will leave the country, sir. then the charge against him will break down.”
“hum! we will talk about that. and now let us hear a true account of the next act. how came the stone into the goose, and how came the goose into the open market? tell us the truth, for there lies your only hope of safety.”
ryder passed his tongue over his parched lips. “i will tell you it just as it happened, sir,” said he. “when horner had been arrested, it seemed to me that it would be best for me to get away with the stone at once, for i did not know at what moment the police might not take it into their heads to search me and my room. there was no place about the hotel where it would be safe. i went out, as if on some commission, and i made for my sister’s house. she had married a man named oakshott, and lived in brixton road, where she fattened fowls for the market. all the way there every man i met seemed to me to be a policeman or a detective; and, for all that it was a cold night, the sweat was pouring down my face before i came to the brixton road. my sister asked me what was the matter, and why i was so pale; but i told her that i had been upset by the jewel robbery at the hotel. then i went into the back yard and smoked a pipe and wondered what it would be best to do.
“i had a friend once called maudsley, who went to the bad, and has just been serving his time in pentonville. one day he had met me, and fell into talk about the ways of thieves, and how they could get rid of what they stole. i knew that he would be true to me, for i knew one or two things about him; so i made up my mind to go right on to kilburn, where he lived, and take him into my confidence. he would show me how to turn the stone into money. but how to get to him in safety? i thought of the agonies i had gone through in coming from the hotel. i might at any moment be seized and searched, and there would be the stone in my waistcoat pocket. i was leaning against the wall at the time and looking at the geese which were waddling about round my feet, and suddenly an idea came into my head which showed me how i could beat the best detective that ever lived.
“my sister had told me some weeks before that i might have the pick of her geese for a christmas present, and i knew that she was always as good as her word. i would take my goose now, and in it i would carry my stone to kilburn. there was a little shed in the yard, and behind this i drove one of the birds—a fine big one, white, with a barred tail. i caught it, and prying its bill open, i thrust the stone down its throat as far as my finger could reach. the bird gave a gulp, and i felt the stone pass along its gullet and down into its crop. but the creature flapped and struggled, and out came my sister to know what was the matter. as i turned to speak to her the brute broke loose and fluttered off among the others.
“‘whatever were you doing with that bird, jem?’ says she.
“‘well,’ said i, ‘you said you’d give me one for christmas, and i was feeling which was the fattest.’
“‘oh,’ says she, ‘we’ve set yours aside for you—jem’s bird, we call it.
it’s the big white one over yonder. there’s twenty-six of them, which makes one for you, and one for us, and two dozen for the market.’
“‘thank you, maggie,’ says i; ‘but if it is all the same to you, i’d rather have that one i was handling just now.’
“‘the other is a good three pound heavier,’ said she, ‘and we fattened it expressly for you.’
“‘never mind. i’ll have the other, and i’ll take it now,’ said i.
“‘oh, just as you like,’ said she, a little huffed. ‘which is it you want, then?’
“‘that white one with the barred tail, right in the middle of the flock.’
“‘oh, very well. kill it and take it with you.’
“well, i did what she said, mr. holmes, and i carried the bird all the way to kilburn. i told my pal what i had done, for he was a man that it was easy to tell a thing like that to. he laughed until he choked, and we got a knife and opened the goose. my heart turned to water, for there was no sign of the stone, and i knew that some terrible mistake had occurred. i left the bird, rushed back to my sister’s, and hurried into the back yard. there was not a bird to be seen there.
“‘where are they all, maggie?’ i cried.
“‘gone to the dealer’s, jem.’
“‘which dealer’s?’
“‘breckinridge, of covent garden.’
“‘but was there another with a barred tail?’ i asked, ‘the same as the one i chose?’
“‘yes, jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and i could never tell them apart.’
“well, then, of course i saw it all, and i ran off as hard as my feet would carry me to this man breckinridge; but he had sold the lot at once, and not one word would he tell me as to where they had gone. you heard him yourselves to-night. well, he has always answered me like that. my sister thinks that i am going mad. sometimes i think that i am myself. and now—and now i am myself a branded thief, without ever having touched the wealth for which i sold my character. god help me!
god help me!” he burst into convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands.
there was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and by the measured tapping of sherlock holmes’ finger-tips upon the edge of the table. then my friend rose and threw open the door.
“get out!” said he.
“what, sir! oh, heaven bless you!”
“no more words. get out!”
and no more words were needed. there was a rush, a clatter upon the stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running footfalls from the street.
“after all, watson,” said holmes, reaching up his hand for his clay pipe, “i am not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies. if horner were in danger it would be another thing; but this fellow will not appear against him, and the case must collapse. i suppose that i am commuting a felony, but it is just possible that i am saving a soul.
this fellow will not go wrong again; he is too terribly frightened.
send him to gaol now, and you make him a gaol-bird for life. besides, it is the season of forgiveness. chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. if you will have the goodness to touch the bell, doctor, we will begin another investigation, in which, also a bird will be the chief feature.”
viii. the adventure of the speckled band
on glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which i have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend sherlock holmes, i find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic. of all these varied cases, however, i cannot recall any which presented more singular features than that which was associated with the well-known surrey family of the roylotts of stoke moran. the events in question occurred in the early days of my association with holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors in baker street. it is possible that i might have placed them upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the time, from which i have only been freed during the last month by the untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. it is perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for i have reasons to know that there are widespread rumours as to the death of dr. grimesby roylott which tend to make the matter even more terrible than the truth.
it was early in april in the year ’83 that i woke one morning to find sherlock holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. he was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, i blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little resentment, for i was myself regular in my habits.
“very sorry to knock you up, watson,” said he, “but it’s the common lot this morning. mrs. hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and i on you.”
“what is it, then—a fire?”
“no; a client. it seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. she is waiting now in the sitting-room. now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, i presume that it is something very pressing which they have to communicate. should it prove to be an interesting case, you would, i am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. i thought, at any rate, that i should call you and give you the chance.”
“my dear fellow, i would not miss it for anything.”
i had no keener pleasure than in following holmes in his professional investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basis with which he unravelled the problems which were submitted to him. i rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. a lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in the window, rose as we entered.
“good-morning, madam,” said holmes cheerily. “my name is sherlock holmes. this is my intimate friend and associate, dr. watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. ha! i am glad to see that mrs. hudson has had the good sense to light the fire. pray draw up to it, and i shall order you a cup of hot coffee, for i observe that you are shivering.”
“it is not cold which makes me shiver,” said the woman in a low voice, changing her seat as requested.
“what, then?”
“it is fear, mr. holmes. it is terror.” she raised her veil as she spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable state of agitation, her face all drawn and grey, with restless frightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal. her features and figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot with premature grey, and her expression was weary and haggard. sherlock holmes ran her over with one of his quick, all-comprehensive glances.
“you must not fear,” said he soothingly, bending forward and patting her forearm. “we shall soon set matters right, i have no doubt. you have come in by train this morning, i see.”
“you know me, then?”
“no, but i observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm of your left glove. you must have started early, and yet you had a good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached the station.”
the lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my companion.
“there is no mystery, my dear madam,” said he, smiling. “the left arm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven places. the marks are perfectly fresh. there is no vehicle save a dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when you sit on the left-hand side of the driver.”
“whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct,” said she. “i started from home before six, reached leatherhead at twenty past, and came in by the first train to waterloo. sir, i can stand this strain no longer; i shall go mad if it continues. i have no one to turn to—none, save only one, who cares for me, and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. i have heard of you, mr. holmes; i have heard of you from mrs.
farintosh, whom you helped in the hour of her sore need. it was from her that i had your address. oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me, too, and at least throw a little light through the dense darkness which surrounds me? at present it is out of my power to reward you for your services, but in a month or six weeks i shall be married, with the control of my own income, and then at least you shall not find me ungrateful.”
holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small case-book, which he consulted.
“farintosh,” said he. “ah yes, i recall the case; it was concerned with an opal tiara. i think it was before your time, watson. i can only say, madam, that i shall be happy to devote the same care to your case as i did to that of your friend. as to reward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty to defray whatever expenses i may be put to, at the time which suits you best. and now i beg that you will lay before us everything that may help us in forming an opinion upon the matter.”
“alas!” replied our visitor, “the very horror of my situation lies in the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions depend so entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial to another, that even he to whom of all others i have a right to look for help and advice looks upon all that i tell him about it as the fancies of a nervous woman. he does not say so, but i can read it from his soothing answers and averted eyes. but i have heard, mr. holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifold wickedness of the human heart. you may advise me how to walk amid the dangers which encompass me.”
“i am all attention, madam.”
“my name is helen stoner, and i am living with my stepfather, who is the last survivor of one of the oldest saxon families in england, the roylotts of stoke moran, on the western border of surrey.”
holmes nodded his head. “the name is familiar to me,” said he.
“the family was at one time among the richest in england, and the estates extended over the borders into berkshire in the north, and hampshire in the west. in the last century, however, four successive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposition, and the family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the days of the regency.
nothing was left save a few acres of ground, and the two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under a heavy mortgage. the last squire dragged out his existence there, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but his only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to the new conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which enabled him to take a medical degree and went out to calcutta, where, by his professional skill and his force of character, he established a large practice. in a fit of anger, however, caused by some robberies which had been perpetrated in the house, he beat his native butler to death and narrowly escaped a capital sentence. as it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and afterwards returned to england a morose and disappointed man.
“when dr. roylott was in india he married my mother, mrs. stoner, the young widow of major-general stoner, of the bengal artillery. my sister julia and i were twins, and we were only two years old at the time of my mother’s re-marriage. she had a considerable sum of money—not less than £ 1000 a year—and this she bequeathed to dr. roylott entirely while we resided with him, with a provision that a certain annual sum should be allowed to each of us in the event of our marriage. shortly after our return to england my mother died—she was killed eight years ago in a railway accident near crewe. dr. roylott then abandoned his attempts to establish himself in practice in london and took us to live with him in the old ancestral house at stoke moran. the money which my mother had left was enough for all our wants, and there seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness.
“but a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time.
instead of making friends and exchanging visits with our neighbours, who had at first been overjoyed to see a roylott of stoke moran back in the old family seat, he shut himself up in his house and seldom came out save to indulge in ferocious quarrels with whoever might cross his path. violence of temper approaching to mania has been hereditary in the men of the family, and in my stepfather’s case it had, i believe, been intensified by his long residence in the tropics. a series of disgraceful brawls took place, two of which ended in the police-court, until at last he became the terror of the village, and the folks would fly at his approach, for he is a man of immense strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger.
“last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into a stream, and it was only by paying over all the money which i could gather together that i was able to avert another public exposure. he had no friends at all save the wandering gipsies, and he would give these vagabonds leave to encamp upon the few acres of bramble-covered land which represent the family estate, and would accept in return the hospitality of their tents, wandering away with them sometimes for weeks on end. he has a passion also for indian animals, which are sent over to him by a correspondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah and a baboon, which wander freely over his grounds and are feared by the villagers almost as much as their master.
“you can imagine from what i say that my poor sister julia and i had no great pleasure in our lives. no servant would stay with us, and for a long time we did all the work of the house. she was but thirty at the time of her death, and yet her hair had already begun to whiten, even as mine has.”
“your sister is dead, then?”
“she died just two years ago, and it is of her death that i wish to speak to you. you can understand that, living the life which i have described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own age and position. we had, however, an aunt, my mother’s maiden sister, miss honoria westphail, who lives near harrow, and we were occasionally allowed to pay short visits at this lady’s house. julia went there at christmas two years ago, and met there a half-pay major of marines, to whom she became engaged. my stepfather learned of the engagement when my sister returned and offered no objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight of the day which had been fixed for the wedding, the terrible event occurred which has deprived me of my only companion.”
sherlock holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his lids now and glanced across at his visitor.
“pray be precise as to details,” said he.
“it is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful time is seared into my memory. the manor-house is, as i have already said, very old, and only one wing is now inhabited. the bedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-rooms being in the central block of the buildings. of these bedrooms the first is dr. roylott’s, the second my sister’s, and the third my own. there is no communication between them, but they all open out into the same corridor. do i make myself plain?”
“perfectly so.”
“the windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. that fatal night dr. roylott had gone to his room early, though we knew that he had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled by the smell of the strong indian cigars which it was his custom to smoke. she left her room, therefore, and came into mine, where she sat for some time, chatting about her approaching wedding. at eleven o’clock she rose to leave me, but she paused at the door and looked back.
“‘tell me, helen,’ said she, ‘have you ever heard anyone whistle in the dead of the night?’
“‘never,’ said i.
“‘i suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in your sleep?’
“‘certainly not. but why?’
“‘because during the last few nights i have always, about three in the morning, heard a low, clear whistle. i am a light sleeper, and it has awakened me. i cannot tell where it came from—perhaps from the next room, perhaps from the lawn. i thought that i would just ask you whether you had heard it.’
“‘no, i have not. it must be those wretched gipsies in the plantation.’
“‘very likely. and yet if it were on the lawn, i wonder that you did not hear it also.’
“‘ah, but i sleep more heavily than you.’
“‘well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.’ she smiled back at me, closed my door, and a few moments later i heard her key turn in the lock.”
“indeed,” said holmes. “was it your custom always to lock yourselves in at night?”
“always.”
“and why?”
“i think that i mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah and a baboon. we had no feeling of security unless our doors were locked.”
“quite so. pray proceed with your statement.”
“i could not sleep that night. a vague feeling of impending misfortune impressed me. my sister and i, you will recollect, were twins, and you know how subtle are the links which bind two souls which are so closely allied. it was a wild night. the wind was howling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing against the windows. suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the gale, there burst forth the wild scream of a terrified woman. i knew that it was my sister’s voice. i sprang from my bed, wrapped a shawl round me, and rushed into the corridor. as i opened my door i seemed to hear a low whistle, such as my sister described, and a few moments later a clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had fallen.
as i ran down the passage, my sister’s door was unlocked, and revolved slowly upon its hinges. i stared at it horror-stricken, not knowing what was about to issue from it. by the light of the corridor-lamp i saw my sister appear at the opening, her face blanched with terror, her hands groping for help, her whole figure swaying to and fro like that of a drunkard. i ran to her and threw my arms round her, but at that moment her knees seemed to give way and she fell to the ground. she writhed as one who is in terrible pain, and her limbs were dreadfully convulsed. at first i thought that she had not recognised me, but as i bent over her she suddenly shrieked out in a voice which i shall never forget, ‘oh, my god! helen! it was the band! the speckled band!’ there was something else which she would fain have said, and she stabbed with her finger into the air in the direction of the doctor’s room, but a fresh convulsion seized her and choked her words. i rushed out, calling loudly for my stepfather, and i met him hastening from his room in his dressing-gown. when he reached my sister’s side she was unconscious, and though he poured brandy down her throat and sent for medical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain, for she slowly sank and died without having recovered her consciousness. such was the dreadful end of my beloved sister.”
“one moment,” said holmes, “are you sure about this whistle and metallic sound? could you swear to it?”
“that was what the county coroner asked me at the inquiry. it is my strong impression that i heard it, and yet, among the crash of the gale and the creaking of an old house, i may possibly have been deceived.”
“was your sister dressed?”
“no, she was in her night-dress. in her right hand was found the charred stump of a match, and in her left a match-box.”
“showing that she had struck a light and looked about her when the alarm took place. that is important. and what conclusions did the coroner come to?”
“he investigated the case with great care, for dr. roylott’s conduct had long been notorious in the county, but he was unable to find any satisfactory cause of death. my evidence showed that the door had been fastened upon the inner side, and the windows were blocked by old-fashioned shutters with broad iron bars, which were secured every night. the walls were carefully sounded, and were shown to be quite solid all round, and the flooring was also thoroughly examined, with the same result. the chimney is wide, but is barred up by four large staples. it is certain, therefore, that my sister was quite alone when she met her end. besides, there were no marks of any violence upon her.”
“how about poison?”
“the doctors examined her for it, but without success.”
“what do you think that this unfortunate lady died of, then?”
“it is my belief that she died of pure fear and nervous shock, though what it was that frightened her i cannot imagine.”
“were there gipsies in the plantation at the time?”
“yes, there are nearly always some there.”
“ah, and what did you gather from this allusion to a band—a speckled band?”
“sometimes i have thought that it was merely the wild talk of delirium, sometimes that it may have referred to some band of people, perhaps to these very gipsies in the plantation. i do not know whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so many of them wear over their heads might have suggested the strange adjective which she used.”
holmes shook his head like a man who is far from being satisfied.
“these are very deep waters,” said he; “pray go on with your narrative.”
“two years have passed since then, and my life has been until lately lonelier than ever. a month ago, however, a dear friend, whom i have known for many years, has done me the honour to ask my hand in marriage. his name is armitage—percy armitage—the second son of mr.
armitage, of crane water, near reading. my stepfather has offered no opposition to the match, and we are to be married in the course of the spring. two days ago some repairs were started in the west wing of the building, and my bedroom wall has been pierced, so that i have had to move into the chamber in which my sister died, and to sleep in the very bed in which she slept. imagine, then, my thrill of terror when last night, as i lay awake, thinking over her terrible fate, i suddenly heard in the silence of the night the low whistle which had been the herald of her own death. i sprang up and lit the lamp, but nothing was to be seen in the room. i was too shaken to go to bed again, however, so i dressed, and as soon as it was daylight i slipped down, got a dog-cart at the crown inn, which is opposite, and drove to leatherhead, from whence i have come on this morning with the one object of seeing you and asking your advice.”
“you have done wisely,” said my friend. “but have you told me all?”
“yes, all.”
“miss roylott, you have not. you are screening your stepfather.”
“why, what do you mean?”
for answer holmes pushed back the frill of black lace which fringed the hand that lay upon our visitor’s knee. five little livid spots, the marks of four fingers and a thumb, were printed upon the white wrist.
“you have been cruelly used,” said holmes.
the lady coloured deeply and covered over her injured wrist. “he is a hard man,” she said, “and perhaps he hardly knows his own strength.”
there was a long silence, during which holmes leaned his chin upon his hands and stared into the crackling fire.
“this is a very deep business,” he said at last. “there are a thousand details which i should desire to know before i decide upon our course of action. yet we have not a moment to lose. if we were to come to stoke moran to-day, would it be possible for us to see over these rooms without the knowledge of your stepfather?”
“as it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon some most important business. it is probable that he will be away all day, and that there would be nothing to disturb you. we have a housekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and i could easily get her out of the way.”
“excellent. you are not averse to this trip, watson?”
“by no means.”
“then we shall both come. what are you going to do yourself?”
“i have one or two things which i would wish to do now that i am in town. but i shall return by the twelve o’clock train, so as to be there in time for your coming.”
“and you may expect us early in the afternoon. i have myself some small business matters to attend to. will you not wait and breakfast?”
“no, i must go. my heart is lightened already since i have confided my trouble to you. i shall look forward to seeing you again this afternoon.” she dropped her thick black veil over her face and glided from the room.
“and what do you think of it all, watson?” asked sherlock holmes, leaning back in his chair.
“it seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business.”
“dark enough and sinister enough.”
“yet if the lady is correct in saying that the flooring and walls are sound, and that the door, window, and chimney are impassable, then her sister must have been undoubtedly alone when she met her mysterious end.”
“what becomes, then, of these nocturnal whistles, and what of the very peculiar words of the dying woman?”
“i cannot think.”
“when you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the presence of a band of gipsies who are on intimate terms with this old doctor, the fact that we have every reason to believe that the doctor has an interest in preventing his stepdaughter’s marriage, the dying allusion to a band, and, finally, the fact that miss helen stoner heard a metallic clang, which might have been caused by one of those metal bars that secured the shutters falling back into its place, i think that there is good ground to think that the mystery may be cleared along those lines.”
“but what, then, did the gipsies do?”
“i cannot imagine.”
“i see many objections to any such theory.”
“and so do i. it is precisely for that reason that we are going to stoke moran this day. i want to see whether the objections are fatal, or if they may be explained away. but what in the name of the devil!”
the ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact that our door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had framed himself in the aperture. his costume was a peculiar mixture of the professional and of the agricultural, having a black top-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair of high gaiters, with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. so tall was he that his hat actually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his breadth seemed to span it across from side to side. a large face, seared with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and marked with every evil passion, was turned from one to the other of us, while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high, thin, fleshless nose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old bird of prey.
“which of you is holmes?” asked this apparition.
“my name, sir; but you have the advantage of me,” said my companion quietly.
“i am dr. grimesby roylott, of stoke moran.”
“indeed, doctor,” said holmes blandly. “pray take a seat.”
“i will do nothing of the kind. my stepdaughter has been here. i have traced her. what has she been saying to you?”
“it is a little cold for the time of the year,” said holmes.
“what has she been saying to you?” screamed the old man furiously.
“but i have heard that the crocuses promise well,” continued my companion imperturbably.
“ha! you put me off, do you?” said our new visitor, taking a step forward and shaking his hunting-crop. “i know you, you scoundrel! i have heard of you before. you are holmes, the meddler.”
my friend smiled.
“holmes, the busybody!”
his smile broadened.
“holmes, the scotland yard jack-in-office!”
holmes chuckled heartily. “your conversation is most entertaining,”
said he. “when you go out close the door, for there is a decided draught.”
“i will go when i have had my say. don’t you dare to meddle with my affairs. i know that miss stoner has been here. i traced her! i am a dangerous man to fall foul of! see here.” he stepped swiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into a curve with his huge brown hands.
“see that you keep yourself out of my grip,” he snarled, and hurling the twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the room.
“he seems a very amiable person,” said holmes, laughing. “i am not quite so bulky, but if he had remained i might have shown him that my grip was not much more feeble than his own.” as he spoke he picked up the steel poker and, with a sudden effort, straightened it out again.
“fancy his having the insolence to confound me with the official detective force! this incident gives zest to our investigation, however, and i only trust that our little friend will not suffer from her imprudence in allowing this brute to trace her. and now, watson, we shall order breakfast, and afterwards i shall walk down to doctors’
commons, where i hope to get some data which may help us in this matter.”
it was nearly one o’clock when sherlock holmes returned from his excursion. he held in his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled over with notes and figures.
“i have seen the will of the deceased wife,” said he. “to determine its exact meaning i have been obliged to work out the present prices of the investments with which it is concerned. the total income, which at the time of the wife’s death was little short of £ 1,100, is now, through the fall in agricultural prices, not more than £ 750. each daughter can claim an income of £ 250, in case of marriage. it is evident, therefore, that if both girls had married, this beauty would have had a mere pittance, while even one of them would cripple him to a very serious extent. my morning’s work has not been wasted, since it has proved that he has the very strongest motives for standing in the way of anything of the sort. and now, watson, this is too serious for dawdling, especially as the old man is aware that we are interesting ourselves in his affairs; so if you are ready, we shall call a cab and drive to waterloo. i should be very much obliged if you would slip your revolver into your pocket. an eley’s no. 2 is an excellent argument with gentlemen who can twist steel pokers into knots. that and a tooth-brush are, i think, all that we need.”
at waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train for leatherhead, where we hired a trap at the station inn and drove for four or five miles through the lovely surrey lanes. it was a perfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in the heavens. the trees and wayside hedges were just throwing out their first green shoots, and the air was full of the pleasant smell of the moist earth. to me at least there was a strange contrast between the sweet promise of the spring and this sinister quest upon which we were engaged. my companion sat in the front of the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled down over his eyes, and his chin sunk upon his breast, buried in the deepest thought.
suddenly, however, he started, tapped me on the shoulder, and pointed over the meadows.
“look there!” said he.
a heavily timbered park stretched up in a gentle slope, thickening into a grove at the highest point. from amid the branches there jutted out the grey gables and high roof-tree of a very old mansion.
“stoke moran?” said he.
“yes, sir, that be the house of dr. grimesby roylott,” remarked the driver.
“there is some building going on there,” said holmes; “that is where we are going.”
“there’s the village,” said the driver, pointing to a cluster of roofs some distance to the left; “but if you want to get to the house, you’ll find it shorter to get over this stile, and so by the footpath over the fields. there it is, where the lady is walking.”
“and the lady, i fancy, is miss stoner,” observed holmes, shading his eyes. “yes, i think we had better do as you suggest.”
we got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its way to leatherhead.
“i thought it as well,” said holmes as we climbed the stile, “that this fellow should think we had come here as architects, or on some definite business. it may stop his gossip. good-afternoon, miss stoner. you see that we have been as good as our word.”
our client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with a face which spoke her joy. “i have been waiting so eagerly for you,” she cried, shaking hands with us warmly. “all has turned out splendidly.
dr. roylott has gone to town, and it is unlikely that he will be back before evening.”
“we have had the pleasure of making the doctor’s acquaintance,” said holmes, and in a few words he sketched out what had occurred. miss stoner turned white to the lips as she listened.
“good heavens!” she cried, “he has followed me, then.”
“so it appears.”
“he is so cunning that i never know when i am safe from him. what will he say when he returns?”
“he must guard himself, for he may find that there is someone more cunning than himself upon his track. you must lock yourself up from him to-night. if he is violent, we shall take you away to your aunt’s at harrow. now, we must make the best use of our time, so kindly take us at once to the rooms which we are to examine.”
the building was of grey, lichen-blotched stone, with a high central portion and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab, thrown out on each side. in one of these wings the windows were broken and blocked with wooden boards, while the roof was partly caved in, a picture of ruin. the central portion was in little better repair, but the right-hand block was comparatively modern, and the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke curling up from the chimneys, showed that this was where the family resided. some scaffolding had been erected against the end wall, and the stone-work had been broken into, but there were no signs of any workmen at the moment of our visit. holmes walked slowly up and down the ill-trimmed lawn and examined with deep attention the outsides of the windows.
“this, i take it, belongs to the room in which you used to sleep, the centre one to your sister’s, and the one next to the main building to dr. roylott’s chamber?”
“exactly so. but i am now sleeping in the middle one.”
“pending the alterations, as i understand. by the way, there does not seem to be any very pressing need for repairs at that end wall.”
“there were none. i believe that it was an excuse to move me from my room.”
“ah! that is suggestive. now, on the other side of this narrow wing runs the corridor from which these three rooms open. there are windows in it, of course?”
“yes, but very small ones. too narrow for anyone to pass through.”
“as you both locked your doors at night, your rooms were unapproachable from that side. now, would you have the kindness to go into your room and bar your shutters?”
miss stoner did so, and holmes, after a careful examination through the open window, endeavoured in every way to force the shutter open, but without success. there was no slit through which a knife could be passed to raise the bar. then with his lens he tested the hinges, but they were of solid iron, built firmly into the massive masonry. “hum!”
said he, scratching his chin in some perplexity, “my theory certainly presents some difficulties. no one could pass these shutters if they were bolted. well, we shall see if the inside throws any light upon the matter.”
a small side door led into the whitewashed corridor from which the three bedrooms opened. holmes refused to examine the third chamber, so we passed at once to the second, that in which miss stoner was now sleeping, and in which her sister had met with her fate. it was a homely little room, with a low ceiling and a gaping fireplace, after the fashion of old country-houses. a brown chest of drawers stood in one corner, a narrow white-counterpaned bed in another, and a dressing-table on the left-hand side of the window. these articles, with two small wicker-work chairs, made up all the furniture in the room save for a square of wilton carpet in the centre. the boards round and the panelling of the walls were of brown, worm-eaten oak, so old and discoloured that it may have dated from the original building of the house. holmes drew one of the chairs into a corner and sat silent, while his eyes travelled round and round and up and down, taking in every detail of the apartment.
“where does that bell communicate with?” he asked at last pointing to a thick bell-rope which hung down beside the bed, the tassel actually lying upon the pillow.
“it goes to the housekeeper’s room.”
“it looks newer than the other things?”
“yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago.”
“your sister asked for it, i suppose?”
“no, i never heard of her using it. we used always to get what we wanted for ourselves.”
“indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull there. you will excuse me for a few minutes while i satisfy myself as to this floor.” he threw himself down upon his face with his lens in his hand and crawled swiftly backward and forward, examining minutely the cracks between the boards. then he did the same with the wood-work with which the chamber was panelled. finally he walked over to the bed and spent some time in staring at it and in running his eye up and down the wall.
finally he took the bell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk tug.
“why, it’s a dummy,” said he.
“won’t it ring?”
“no, it is not even attached to a wire. this is very interesting. you can see now that it is fastened to a hook just above where the little opening for the ventilator is.”
“how very absurd! i never noticed that before.”
“very strange!” muttered holmes, pulling at the rope. “there are one or two very singular points about this room. for example, what a fool a builder must be to open a ventilator into another room, when, with the same trouble, he might have communicated with the outside air!”
“that is also quite modern,” said the lady.
“done about the same time as the bell-rope?” remarked holmes.
“yes, there were several little changes carried out about that time.”
“they seem to have been of a most interesting character—dummy bell-ropes, and ventilators which do not ventilate. with your permission, miss stoner, we shall now carry our researches into the inner apartment.”
dr. grimesby roylott’s chamber was larger than that of his step-daughter, but was as plainly furnished. a camp-bed, a small wooden shelf full of books, mostly of a technical character, an armchair beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against the wall, a round table, and a large iron safe were the principal things which met the eye.
holmes walked slowly round and examined each and all of them with the keenest interest.
“what’s in here?” he asked, tapping the safe.
“my stepfather’s business papers.”
“oh! you have seen inside, then?”
“only once, some years ago. i remember that it was full of papers.”
“there isn’t a cat in it, for example?”
“no. what a strange idea!”
“well, look at this!” he took up a small saucer of milk which stood on the top of it.
“no; we don’t keep a cat. but there is a cheetah and a baboon.”
“ah, yes, of course! well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet a saucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, i daresay.
there is one point which i should wish to determine.” he squatted down in front of the wooden chair and examined the seat of it with the greatest attention.
“thank you. that is quite settled,” said he, rising and putting his lens in his pocket. “hullo! here is something interesting!”
the object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung on one corner of the bed. the lash, however, was curled upon itself and tied so as to make a loop of whipcord.
“what do you make of that, watson?”
“it’s a common enough lash. but i don’t know why it should be tied.”
“that is not quite so common, is it? ah, me! it’s a wicked world, and when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst of all. i think that i have seen enough now, miss stoner, and with your permission we shall walk out upon the lawn.”
i had never seen my friend’s face so grim or his brow so dark as it was when we turned from the scene of this investigation. we had walked several times up and down the lawn, neither miss stoner nor myself liking to break in upon his thoughts before he roused himself from his reverie.
“it is very essential, miss stoner,” said he, “that you should absolutely follow my advice in every respect.”
“i shall most certainly do so.”
“the matter is too serious for any hesitation. your life may depend upon your compliance.”
“i assure you that i am in your hands.”
“in the first place, both my friend and i must spend the night in your room.”
both miss stoner and i gazed at him in astonishment.
“yes, it must be so. let me explain. i believe that that is the village inn over there?”
“yes, that is the crown.”
“very good. your windows would be visible from there?”
“certainly.”
“you must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of a headache, when your stepfather comes back. then when you hear him retire for the night, you must open the shutters of your window, undo the hasp, put your lamp there as a signal to us, and then withdraw quietly with everything which you are likely to want into the room which you used to occupy. i have no doubt that, in spite of the repairs, you could manage there for one night.”
“oh, yes, easily.”
“the rest you will leave in our hands.”
“but what will you do?”
“we shall spend the night in your room, and we shall investigate the cause of this noise which has disturbed you.”
“i believe, mr. holmes, that you have already made up your mind,” said miss stoner, laying her hand upon my companion’s sleeve.
“perhaps i have.”
“then, for pity’s sake, tell me what was the cause of my sister’s death.”
“i should prefer to have clearer proofs before i speak.”
“you can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct, and if she died from some sudden fright.”
“no, i do not think so. i think that there was probably some more tangible cause. and now, miss stoner, we must leave you for if dr.
roylott returned and saw us our journey would be in vain. good-bye, and be brave, for if you will do what i have told you, you may rest assured that we shall soon drive away the dangers that threaten you.”
sherlock holmes and i had no difficulty in engaging a bedroom and sitting-room at the crown inn. they were on the upper floor, and from our window we could command a view of the avenue gate, and of the inhabited wing of stoke moran manor house. at dusk we saw dr. grimesby roylott drive past, his huge form looming up beside the little figure of the lad who drove him. the boy had some slight difficulty in undoing the heavy iron gates, and we heard the hoarse roar of the doctor’s voice and saw the fury with which he shook his clinched fists at him.
the trap drove on, and a few minutes later we saw a sudden light spring up among the trees as the lamp was lit in one of the sitting-rooms.
“do you know, watson,” said holmes as we sat together in the gathering darkness, “i have really some scruples as to taking you to-night. there is a distinct element of danger.”
“can i be of assistance?”
“your presence might be invaluable.”
“then i shall certainly come.”
“it is very kind of you.”
“you speak of danger. you have evidently seen more in these rooms than was visible to me.”
“no, but i fancy that i may have deduced a little more. i imagine that you saw all that i did.”
“i saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose that could answer i confess is more than i can imagine.”
“you saw the ventilator, too?”
“yes, but i do not think that it is such a very unusual thing to have a small opening between two rooms. it was so small that a rat could hardly pass through.”
“i knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came to stoke moran.”
“my dear holmes!”
“oh, yes, i did. you remember in her statement she said that her sister could smell dr. roylott’s cigar. now, of course that suggested at once that there must be a communication between the two rooms. it could only be a small one, or it would have been remarked upon at the coroner’s inquiry. i deduced a ventilator.”
“but what harm can there be in that?”
“well, there is at least a curious coincidence of dates. a ventilator is made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the bed dies. does not that strike you?”
“i cannot as yet see any connection.”
“did you observe anything very peculiar about that bed?”
“no.”
“it was clamped to the floor. did you ever see a bed fastened like that before?”
“i cannot say that i have.”
“the lady could not move her bed. it must always be in the same relative position to the ventilator and to the rope—or so we may call it, since it was clearly never meant for a bell-pull.”
“holmes,” i cried, “i seem to see dimly what you are hinting at. we are only just in time to prevent some subtle and horrible crime.”
“subtle enough and horrible enough. when a doctor does go wrong he is the first of criminals. he has nerve and he has knowledge. palmer and pritchard were among the heads of their profession. this man strikes even deeper, but i think, watson, that we shall be able to strike deeper still. but we shall have horrors enough before the night is over; for goodness’ sake let us have a quiet pipe and turn our minds for a few hours to something more cheerful.”
about nine o’clock the light among the trees was extinguished, and all was dark in the direction of the manor house. two hours passed slowly away, and then, suddenly, just at the stroke of eleven, a single bright light shone out right in front of us.
“that is our signal,” said holmes, springing to his feet; “it comes from the middle window.”
as we passed out he exchanged a few words with the landlord, explaining that we were going on a late visit to an acquaintance, and that it was possible that we might spend the night there. a moment later we were out on the dark road, a chill wind blowing in our faces, and one yellow light twinkling in front of us through the gloom to guide us on our sombre errand.
there was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for unrepaired breaches gaped in the old park wall. making our way among the trees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about to enter through the window when out from a clump of laurel bushes there darted what seemed to be a hideous and distorted child, who threw itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and then ran swiftly across the lawn into the darkness.
“my god!” i whispered; “did you see it?”
holmes was for the moment as startled as i. his hand closed like a vice upon my wrist in his agitation. then he broke into a low laugh and put his lips to my ear.
“it is a nice household,” he murmured. “that is the baboon.”
i had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected. there was a cheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon our shoulders at any moment. i confess that i felt easier in my mind when, after following holmes’ example and slipping off my shoes, i found myself inside the bedroom. my companion noiselessly closed the shutters, moved the lamp onto the table, and cast his eyes round the room. all was as we had seen it in the daytime. then creeping up to me and making a trumpet of his hand, he whispered into my ear again so gently that it was all that i could do to distinguish the words:
“the least sound would be fatal to our plans.”
i nodded to show that i had heard.
“we must sit without light. he would see it through the ventilator.”
i nodded again.
“do not go asleep; your very life may depend upon it. have your pistol ready in case we should need it. i will sit on the side of the bed, and you in that chair.”
i took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table.
holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon the bed beside him. by it he laid the box of matches and the stump of a candle.
then he turned down the lamp, and we were left in darkness.
how shall i ever forget that dreadful vigil? i could not hear a sound, not even the drawing of a breath, and yet i knew that my companion sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same state of nervous tension in which i was myself. the shutters cut off the least ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness.
from outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at our very window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us that the cheetah was indeed at liberty. far away we could hear the deep tones of the parish clock, which boomed out every quarter of an hour. how long they seemed, those quarters! twelve struck, and one and two and three, and still we sat waiting silently for whatever might befall.
suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the direction of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was succeeded by a strong smell of burning oil and heated metal. someone in the next room had lit a dark-lantern. i heard a gentle sound of movement, and then all was silent once more, though the smell grew stronger. for half an hour i sat with straining ears. then suddenly another sound became audible—a very gentle, soothing sound, like that of a small jet of steam escaping continually from a kettle. the instant that we heard it, holmes sprang from the bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with his cane at the bell-pull.
“you see it, watson?” he yelled. “you see it?”
but i saw nothing. at the moment when holmes struck the light i heard a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my weary eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was at which my friend lashed so savagely. i could, however, see that his face was deadly pale and filled with horror and loathing. he had ceased to strike and was gazing up at the ventilator when suddenly there broke from the silence of the night the most horrible cry to which i have ever listened. it swelled up louder and louder, a hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all mingled in the one dreadful shriek. they say that away down in the village, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry raised the sleepers from their beds. it struck cold to our hearts, and i stood gazing at holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of it had died away into the silence from which it rose.
“what can it mean?” i gasped.
“it means that it is all over,” holmes answered. “and perhaps, after all, it is for the best. take your pistol, and we will enter dr.
roylott’s room.”
with a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the corridor.
twice he struck at the chamber door without any reply from within. then he turned the handle and entered, i at his heels, with the cocked pistol in my hand.
it was a singular sight which met our eyes. on the table stood a dark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant beam of light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar. beside this table, on the wooden chair, sat dr. grimesby roylott clad in a long grey dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding beneath, and his feet thrust into red heelless turkish slippers. across his lap lay the short stock with the long lash which we had noticed during the day. his chin was cocked upward and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at the corner of the ceiling. round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band, with brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his head. as we entered he made neither sound nor motion.
“the band! the speckled band!” whispered holmes.
i took a step forward. in an instant his strange headgear began to move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.
“it is a swamp adder!” cried holmes; “the deadliest snake in india. he has died within ten seconds of being bitten. violence does, in truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit which he digs for another. let us thrust this creature back into its den, and we can then remove miss stoner to some place of shelter and let the county police know what has happened.”
as he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man’s lap, and throwing the noose round the reptile’s neck he drew it from its horrid perch and, carrying it at arm’s length, threw it into the iron safe, which he closed upon it.
such are the true facts of the death of dr. grimesby roylott, of stoke moran. it is not necessary that i should prolong a narrative which has already run to too great a length by telling how we broke the sad news to the terrified girl, how we conveyed her by the morning train to the care of her good aunt at harrow, of how the slow process of official inquiry came to the conclusion that the doctor met his fate while indiscreetly playing with a dangerous pet. the little which i had yet to learn of the case was told me by sherlock holmes as we travelled back next day.
“i had,” said he, “come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which shows, my dear watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from insufficient data. the presence of the gipsies, and the use of the word ‘band,’ which was used by the poor girl, no doubt, to explain the appearance which she had caught a hurried glimpse of by the light of her match, were sufficient to put me upon an entirely wrong scent. i can only claim the merit that i instantly reconsidered my position when, however, it became clear to me that whatever danger threatened an occupant of the room could not come either from the window or the door.
my attention was speedily drawn, as i have already remarked to you, to this ventilator, and to the bell-rope which hung down to the bed. the discovery that this was a dummy, and that the bed was clamped to the floor, instantly gave rise to the suspicion that the rope was there as a bridge for something passing through the hole and coming to the bed.
the idea of a snake instantly occurred to me, and when i coupled it with my knowledge that the doctor was furnished with a supply of creatures from india, i felt that i was probably on the right track.
the idea of using a form of poison which could not possibly be discovered by any chemical test was just such a one as would occur to a clever and ruthless man who had had an eastern training. the rapidity with which such a poison would take effect would also, from his point of view, be an advantage. it would be a sharp-eyed coroner, indeed, who could distinguish the two little dark punctures which would show where the poison fangs had done their work. then i thought of the whistle. of course he must recall the snake before the morning light revealed it to the victim. he had trained it, probably by the use of the milk which we saw, to return to him when summoned. he would put it through this ventilator at the hour that he thought best, with the certainty that it would crawl down the rope and land on the bed. it might or might not bite the occupant, perhaps she might escape every night for a week, but sooner or later she must fall a victim.
“i had come to these conclusions before ever i had entered his room. an inspection of his chair showed me that he had been in the habit of standing on it, which of course would be necessary in order that he should reach the ventilator. the sight of the safe, the saucer of milk, and the loop of whipcord were enough to finally dispel any doubts which may have remained. the metallic clang heard by miss stoner was obviously caused by her stepfather hastily closing the door of his safe upon its terrible occupant. having once made up my mind, you know the steps which i took in order to put the matter to the proof. i heard the creature hiss as i have no doubt that you did also, and i instantly lit the light and attacked it.”
“with the result of driving it through the ventilator.”
“and also with the result of causing it to turn upon its master at the other side. some of the blows of my cane came home and roused its snakish temper, so that it flew upon the first person it saw. in this way i am no doubt indirectly responsible for dr. grimesby roylott’s death, and i cannot say that it is likely to weigh very heavily upon my conscience.”
ix. the adventure of the engineer’s thumb
of all the problems which have been submitted to my friend, mr.
sherlock holmes, for solution during the years of our intimacy, there were only two which i was the means of introducing to his notice—that of mr. hatherley’s thumb, and that of colonel warburton’s madness. of these the latter may have afforded a finer field for an acute and original observer, but the other was so strange in its inception and so dramatic in its details that it may be the more worthy of being placed upon record, even if it gave my friend fewer openings for those deductive methods of reasoning by which he achieved such remarkable results. the story has, i believe, been told more than once in the newspapers, but, like all such narratives, its effect is much less striking when set forth en bloc in a single half-column of print than when the facts slowly evolve before your own eyes, and the mystery clears gradually away as each new discovery furnishes a step which leads on to the complete truth. at the time the circumstances made a deep impression upon me, and the lapse of two years has hardly served to weaken the effect.
it was in the summer of ’89, not long after my marriage, that the events occurred which i am now about to summarise. i had returned to civil practice and had finally abandoned holmes in his baker street rooms, although i continually visited him and occasionally even persuaded him to forgo his bohemian habits so far as to come and visit us. my practice had steadily increased, and as i happened to live at no very great distance from paddington station, i got a few patients from among the officials. one of these, whom i had cured of a painful and lingering disease, was never weary of advertising my virtues and of endeavouring to send me on every sufferer over whom he might have any influence.
one morning, at a little before seven o’clock, i was awakened by the maid tapping at the door to announce that two men had come from paddington and were waiting in the consulting-room. i dressed hurriedly, for i knew by experience that railway cases were seldom trivial, and hastened downstairs. as i descended, my old ally, the guard, came out of the room and closed the door tightly behind him.
“i’ve got him here,” he whispered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder; “he’s all right.”
“what is it, then?” i asked, for his manner suggested that it was some strange creature which he had caged up in my room.
“it’s a new patient,” he whispered. “i thought i’d bring him round myself; then he couldn’t slip away. there he is, all safe and sound. i must go now, doctor; i have my dooties, just the same as you.” and off he went, this trusty tout, without even giving me time to thank him.
i entered my consulting-room and found a gentleman seated by the table.
he was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed with a soft cloth cap which he had laid down upon my books. round one of his hands he had a handkerchief wrapped, which was mottled all over with bloodstains. he was young, not more than five-and-twenty, i should say, with a strong, masculine face; but he was exceedingly pale and gave me the impression of a man who was suffering from some strong agitation, which it took all his strength of mind to control.
“i am sorry to knock you up so early, doctor,” said he, “but i have had a very serious accident during the night. i came in by train this morning, and on inquiring at paddington as to where i might find a doctor, a worthy fellow very kindly escorted me here. i gave the maid a card, but i see that she has left it upon the side-table.”
i took it up and glanced at it. “mr. victor hatherley, hydraulic engineer, 16a, victoria street (3rd floor).” that was the name, style, and abode of my morning visitor. “i regret that i have kept you waiting,” said i, sitting down in my library-chair. “you are fresh from a night journey, i understand, which is in itself a monotonous occupation.”
“oh, my night could not be called monotonous,” said he, and laughed. he laughed very heartily, with a high, ringing note, leaning back in his chair and shaking his sides. all my medical instincts rose up against that laugh.
“stop it!” i cried; “pull yourself together!” and i poured out some water from a caraffe.
it was useless, however. he was off in one of those hysterical outbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great crisis is over and gone. presently he came to himself once more, very weary and pale-looking.
“i have been making a fool of myself,” he gasped.
“not at all. drink this.” i dashed some brandy into the water, and the colour began to come back to his bloodless cheeks.
“that’s better!” said he. “and now, doctor, perhaps you would kindly attend to my thumb, or rather to the place where my thumb used to be.”
he unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. it gave even my hardened nerves a shudder to look at it. there were four protruding fingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where the thumb should have been. it had been hacked or torn right out from the roots.
“good heavens!” i cried, “this is a terrible injury. it must have bled considerably.”
“yes, it did. i fainted when it was done, and i think that i must have been senseless for a long time. when i came to i found that it was still bleeding, so i tied one end of my handkerchief very tightly round the wrist and braced it up with a twig.”
“excellent! you should have been a surgeon.”
“it is a question of hydraulics, you see, and came within my own province.”
“this has been done,” said i, examining the wound, “by a very heavy and sharp instrument.”
“a thing like a cleaver,” said he.
“an accident, i presume?”
“by no means.”
“what! a murderous attack?”
“very murderous indeed.”
“you horrify me.”
i sponged the wound, cleaned it, dressed it, and finally covered it over with cotton wadding and carbolised bandages. he lay back without wincing, though he bit his lip from time to time.
“how is that?” i asked when i had finished.
“capital! between your brandy and your bandage, i feel a new man. i was very weak, but i have had a good deal to go through.”
“perhaps you had better not speak of the matter. it is evidently trying to your nerves.”
“oh, no, not now. i shall have to tell my tale to the police; but, between ourselves, if it were not for the convincing evidence of this wound of mine, i should be surprised if they believed my statement, for it is a very extraordinary one, and i have not much in the way of proof with which to back it up; and, even if they believe me, the clues which i can give them are so vague that it is a question whether justice will be done.”
“ha!” cried i, “if it is anything in the nature of a problem which you desire to see solved, i should strongly recommend you to come to my friend, mr. sherlock holmes, before you go to the official police.”
“oh, i have heard of that fellow,” answered my visitor, “and i should be very glad if he would take the matter up, though of course i must use the official police as well. would you give me an introduction to him?”
“i’ll do better. i’ll take you round to him myself.”
“i should be immensely obliged to you.”
“we’ll call a cab and go together. we shall just be in time to have a little breakfast with him. do you feel equal to it?”
“yes; i shall not feel easy until i have told my story.”
“then my servant will call a cab, and i shall be with you in an instant.” i rushed upstairs, explained the matter shortly to my wife, and in five minutes was inside a hansom, driving with my new acquaintance to baker street.
sherlock holmes was, as i expected, lounging about his sitting-room in his dressing-gown, reading the agony column of the times and smoking his before-breakfast pipe, which was composed of all the plugs and dottles left from his smokes of the day before, all carefully dried and collected on the corner of the mantelpiece. he received us in his quietly genial fashion, ordered fresh rashers and eggs, and joined us in a hearty meal. when it was concluded he settled our new acquaintance upon the sofa, placed a pillow beneath his head, and laid a glass of brandy and water within his reach.
“it is easy to see that your experience has been no common one, mr.
hatherley,” said he. “pray, lie down there and make yourself absolutely at home. tell us what you can, but stop when you are tired and keep up your strength with a little stimulant.”
“thank you,” said my patient, “but i have felt another man since the doctor bandaged me, and i think that your breakfast has completed the cure. i shall take up as little of your valuable time as possible, so i shall start at once upon my peculiar experiences.”
holmes sat in his big armchair with the weary, heavy-lidded expression which veiled his keen and eager nature, while i sat opposite to him, and we listened in silence to the strange story which our visitor detailed to us.
“you must know,” said he, “that i am an orphan and a bachelor, residing alone in lodgings in london. by profession i am a hydraulic engineer, and i have had considerable experience of my work during the seven years that i was apprenticed to venner & matheson, the well-known firm, of greenwich. two years ago, having served my time, and having also come into a fair sum of money through my poor father’s death, i determined to start in business for myself and took professional chambers in victoria street.
“i suppose that everyone finds his first independent start in business a dreary experience. to me it has been exceptionally so. during two years i have had three consultations and one small job, and that is absolutely all that my profession has brought me. my gross takings amount to £ 27 10s. every day, from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, i waited in my little den, until at last my heart began to sink, and i came to believe that i should never have any practice at all.
“yesterday, however, just as i was thinking of leaving the office, my clerk entered to say there was a gentleman waiting who wished to see me upon business. he brought up a card, too, with the name of ‘colonel lysander stark’ engraved upon it. close at his heels came the colonel himself, a man rather over the middle size, but of an exceeding thinness. i do not think that i have ever seen so thin a man. his whole face sharpened away into nose and chin, and the skin of his cheeks was drawn quite tense over his outstanding bones. yet this emaciation seemed to be his natural habit, and due to no disease, for his eye was bright, his step brisk, and his bearing assured. he was plainly but neatly dressed, and his age, i should judge, would be nearer forty than thirty.
“‘mr. hatherley?’ said he, with something of a german accent. ‘you have been recommended to me, mr. hatherley, as being a man who is not only proficient in his profession but is also discreet and capable of preserving a secret.’
“i bowed, feeling as flattered as any young man would at such an address. ‘may i ask who it was who gave me so good a character?’
“‘well, perhaps it is better that i should not tell you that just at this moment. i have it from the same source that you are both an orphan and a bachelor and are residing alone in london.’
“‘that is quite correct,’ i answered; ‘but you will excuse me if i say that i cannot see how all this bears upon my professional qualifications. i understand that it was on a professional matter that you wished to speak to me?’
“‘undoubtedly so. but you will find that all i say is really to the point. i have a professional commission for you, but absolute secrecy is quite essential—absolute secrecy, you understand, and of course we may expect that more from a man who is alone than from one who lives in the bosom of his family.’
“‘if i promise to keep a secret,’ said i, ‘you may absolutely depend upon my doing so.’
“he looked very hard at me as i spoke, and it seemed to me that i had never seen so suspicious and questioning an eye.
“‘do you promise, then?’ said he at last.
“‘yes, i promise.’
“‘absolute and complete silence before, during, and after? no reference to the matter at all, either in word or writing?’
“‘i have already given you my word.’
“‘very good.’ he suddenly sprang up, and darting like lightning across the room he flung open the door. the passage outside was empty.
“‘that’s all right,’ said he, coming back. ‘i know that clerks are sometimes curious as to their master’s affairs. now we can talk in safety.’ he drew up his chair very close to mine and began to stare at me again with the same questioning and thoughtful look.
“a feeling of repulsion, and of something akin to fear had begun to rise within me at the strange antics of this fleshless man. even my dread of losing a client could not restrain me from showing my impatience.
“‘i beg that you will state your business, sir,’ said i; ‘my time is of value.’ heaven forgive me for that last sentence, but the words came to my lips.
“‘how would fifty guineas for a night’s work suit you?’ he asked.
“‘most admirably.’
“‘i say a night’s work, but an hour’s would be nearer the mark. i simply want your opinion about a hydraulic stamping machine which has got out of gear. if you show us what is wrong we shall soon set it right ourselves. what do you think of such a commission as that?’
“‘the work appears to be light and the pay munificent.’
“‘precisely so. we shall want you to come to-night by the last train.’
“‘where to?’
“‘to eyford, in berkshire. it is a little place near the borders of oxfordshire, and within seven miles of reading. there is a train from paddington which would bring you there at about 11:15.’
“‘very good.’
“‘i shall come down in a carriage to meet you.’
“‘there is a drive, then?’
“‘yes, our little place is quite out in the country. it is a good seven miles from eyford station.’
“‘then we can hardly get there before midnight. i suppose there would be no chance of a train back. i should be compelled to stop the night.’
“‘yes, we could easily give you a shake-down.’
“‘that is very awkward. could i not come at some more convenient hour?’
“‘we have judged it best that you should come late. it is to recompense you for any inconvenience that we are paying to you, a young and unknown man, a fee which would buy an opinion from the very heads of your profession. still, of course, if you would like to draw out of the business, there is plenty of time to do so.’
“i thought of the fifty guineas, and of how very useful they would be to me. ‘not at all,’ said i, ‘i shall be very happy to accommodate myself to your wishes. i should like, however, to understand a little more clearly what it is that you wish me to do.’
“‘quite so. it is very natural that the pledge of secrecy which we have exacted from you should have aroused your curiosity. i have no wish to commit you to anything without your having it all laid before you. i suppose that we are absolutely safe from eavesdroppers?’
“‘entirely.’
“‘then the matter stands thus. you are probably aware that fuller’s-earth is a valuable product, and that it is only found in one or two places in england?’
“‘i have heard so.’
“‘some little time ago i bought a small place—a very small place—within ten miles of reading. i was fortunate enough to discover that there was a deposit of fuller’s-earth in one of my fields. on examining it, however, i found that this deposit was a comparatively small one, and that it formed a link between two very much larger ones upon the right and left—both of them, however, in the grounds of my neighbours. these good people were absolutely ignorant that their land contained that which was quite as valuable as a gold-mine. naturally, it was to my interest to buy their land before they discovered its true value, but unfortunately i had no capital by which i could do this. i took a few of my friends into the secret, however, and they suggested that we should quietly and secretly work our own little deposit and that in this way we should earn the money which would enable us to buy the neighbouring fields. this we have now been doing for some time, and in order to help us in our operations we erected a hydraulic press. this press, as i have already explained, has got out of order, and we wish your advice upon the subject. we guard our secret very jealously, however, and if it once became known that we had hydraulic engineers coming to our little house, it would soon rouse inquiry, and then, if the facts came out, it would be good-bye to any chance of getting these fields and carrying out our plans. that is why i have made you promise me that you will not tell a human being that you are going to eyford to-night. i hope that i make it all plain?’
“‘i quite follow you,’ said i. ‘the only point which i could not quite understand was what use you could make of a hydraulic press in excavating fuller’s-earth, which, as i understand, is dug out like gravel from a pit.’
“‘ah!’ said he carelessly, ‘we have our own process. we compress the earth into bricks, so as to remove them without revealing what they are. but that is a mere detail. i have taken you fully into my confidence now, mr. hatherley, and i have shown you how i trust you.’
he rose as he spoke. ‘i shall expect you, then, at eyford at 11:15.’
“‘i shall certainly be there.’
“‘and not a word to a soul.’ he looked at me with a last long, questioning gaze, and then, pressing my hand in a cold, dank grasp, he hurried from the room.
“well, when i came to think it all over in cool blood i was very much astonished, as you may both think, at this sudden commission which had been intrusted to me. on the one hand, of course, i was glad, for the fee was at least tenfold what i should have asked had i set a price upon my own services, and it was possible that this order might lead to other ones. on the other hand, the face and manner of my patron had made an unpleasant impression upon me, and i could not think that his explanation of the fuller’s-earth was sufficient to explain the necessity for my coming at midnight, and his extreme anxiety lest i should tell anyone of my errand. however, i threw all fears to the winds, ate a hearty supper, drove to paddington, and started off, having obeyed to the letter the injunction as to holding my tongue.
“at reading i had to change not only my carriage but my station.
however, i was in time for the last train to eyford, and i reached the little dim-lit station after eleven o’clock. i was the only passenger who got out there, and there was no one upon the platform save a single sleepy porter with a lantern. as i passed out through the wicket gate, however, i found my acquaintance of the morning waiting in the shadow upon the other side. without a word he grasped my arm and hurried me into a carriage, the door of which was standing open. he drew up the windows on either side, tapped on the wood-work, and away we went as fast as the horse could go.”
“one horse?” interjected holmes.
“yes, only one.”
“did you observe the colour?”
“yes, i saw it by the side-lights when i was stepping into the carriage. it was a chestnut.”
“tired-looking or fresh?”
“oh, fresh and glossy.”
“thank you. i am sorry to have interrupted you. pray continue your most interesting statement.”
“away we went then, and we drove for at least an hour. colonel lysander stark had said that it was only seven miles, but i should think, from the rate that we seemed to go, and from the time that we took, that it must have been nearer twelve. he sat at my side in silence all the time, and i was aware, more than once when i glanced in his direction, that he was looking at me with great intensity. the country roads seem to be not very good in that part of the world, for we lurched and jolted terribly. i tried to look out of the windows to see something of where we were, but they were made of frosted glass, and i could make out nothing save the occasional bright blur of a passing light. now and then i hazarded some remark to break the monotony of the journey, but the colonel answered only in monosyllables, and the conversation soon flagged. at last, however, the bumping of the road was exchanged for the crisp smoothness of a gravel-drive, and the carriage came to a stand. colonel lysander stark sprang out, and, as i followed after him, pulled me swiftly into a porch which gaped in front of us. we stepped, as it were, right out of the carriage and into the hall, so that i failed to catch the most fleeting glance of the front of the house. the instant that i had crossed the threshold the door slammed heavily behind us, and i heard faintly the rattle of the wheels as the carriage drove away.
“it was pitch dark inside the house, and the colonel fumbled about looking for matches and muttering under his breath. suddenly a door opened at the other end of the passage, and a long, golden bar of light shot out in our direction. it grew broader, and a woman appeared with a lamp in her hand, which she held above her head, pushing her face forward and peering at us. i could see that she was pretty, and from the gloss with which the light shone upon her dark dress i knew that it was a rich material. she spoke a few words in a foreign tongue in a tone as though asking a question, and when my companion answered in a gruff monosyllable she gave such a start that the lamp nearly fell from her hand. colonel stark went up to her, whispered something in her ear, and then, pushing her back into the room from whence she had come, he walked towards me again with the lamp in his hand.
“‘perhaps you will have the kindness to wait in this room for a few minutes,’ said he, throwing open another door. it was a quiet, little, plainly furnished room, with a round table in the centre, on which several german books were scattered. colonel stark laid down the lamp on the top of a harmonium beside the door. ‘i shall not keep you waiting an instant,’ said he, and vanished into the darkness.
“i glanced at the books upon the table, and in spite of my ignorance of german i could see that two of them were treatises on science, the others being volumes of poetry. then i walked across to the window, hoping that i might catch some glimpse of the country-side, but an oak shutter, heavily barred, was folded across it. it was a wonderfully silent house. there was an old clock ticking loudly somewhere in the passage, but otherwise everything was deadly still. a vague feeling of uneasiness began to steal over me. who were these german people, and what were they doing living in this strange, out-of-the-way place? and where was the place? i was ten miles or so from eyford, that was all i knew, but whether north, south, east, or west i had no idea. for that matter, reading, and possibly other large towns, were within that radius, so the place might not be so secluded, after all. yet it was quite certain, from the absolute stillness, that we were in the country. i paced up and down the room, humming a tune under my breath to keep up my spirits and feeling that i was thoroughly earning my fifty-guinea fee.
“suddenly, without any preliminary sound in the midst of the utter stillness, the door of my room swung slowly open. the woman was standing in the aperture, the darkness of the hall behind her, the yellow light from my lamp beating upon her eager and beautiful face. i could see at a glance that she was sick with fear, and the sight sent a chill to my own heart. she held up one shaking finger to warn me to be silent, and she shot a few whispered words of broken english at me, her eyes glancing back, like those of a frightened horse, into the gloom behind her.
“‘i would go,’ said she, trying hard, as it seemed to me, to speak calmly; ‘i would go. i should not stay here. there is no good for you to do.’
“‘but, madam,’ said i, ‘i have not yet done what i came for. i cannot possibly leave until i have seen the machine.’
“‘it is not worth your while to wait,’ she went on. ‘you can pass through the door; no one hinders.’ and then, seeing that i smiled and shook my head, she suddenly threw aside her constraint and made a step forward, with her hands wrung together. ‘for the love of heaven!’ she whispered, ‘get away from here before it is too late!’
“but i am somewhat headstrong by nature, and the more ready to engage in an affair when there is some obstacle in the way. i thought of my fifty-guinea fee, of my wearisome journey, and of the unpleasant night which seemed to be before me. was it all to go for nothing? why should i slink away without having carried out my commission, and without the payment which was my due? this woman might, for all i knew, be a monomaniac. with a stout bearing, therefore, though her manner had shaken me more than i cared to confess, i still shook my head and declared my intention of remaining where i was. she was about to renew her entreaties when a door slammed overhead, and the sound of several footsteps was heard upon the stairs. she listened for an instant, threw up her hands with a despairing gesture, and vanished as suddenly and as noiselessly as she had come.
“the newcomers were colonel lysander stark and a short thick man with a chinchilla beard growing out of the creases of his double chin, who was introduced to me as mr. ferguson.
“‘this is my secretary and manager,’ said the colonel. ‘by the way, i was under the impression that i left this door shut just now. i fear that you have felt the draught.’
“‘on the contrary,’ said i, ‘i opened the door myself because i felt the room to be a little close.’
“he shot one of his suspicious looks at me. ‘perhaps we had better proceed to business, then,’ said he. ‘mr. ferguson and i will take you up to see the machine.’
“‘i had better put my hat on, i suppose.’
“‘oh, no, it is in the house.’
“‘what, you dig fuller’s-earth in the house?’
“‘no, no. this is only where we compress it. but never mind that. all we wish you to do is to examine the machine and to let us know what is wrong with it.’
“we went upstairs together, the colonel first with the lamp, the fat manager and i behind him. it was a labyrinth of an old house, with corridors, passages, narrow winding staircases, and little low doors, the thresholds of which were hollowed out by the generations who had crossed them. there were no carpets and no signs of any furniture above the ground floor, while the plaster was peeling off the walls, and the damp was breaking through in green, unhealthy blotches. i tried to put on as unconcerned an air as possible, but i had not forgotten the warnings of the lady, even though i disregarded them, and i kept a keen eye upon my two companions. ferguson appeared to be a morose and silent man, but i could see from the little that he said that he was at least a fellow-countryman.
“colonel lysander stark stopped at last before a low door, which he unlocked. within was a small, square room, in which the three of us could hardly get at one time. ferguson remained outside, and the colonel ushered me in.
“‘we are now,’ said he, ‘actually within the hydraulic press, and it would be a particularly unpleasant thing for us if anyone were to turn it on. the ceiling of this small chamber is really the end of the descending piston, and it comes down with the force of many tons upon this metal floor. there are small lateral columns of water outside which receive the force, and which transmit and multiply it in the manner which is familiar to you. the machine goes readily enough, but there is some stiffness in the working of it, and it has lost a little of its force. perhaps you will have the goodness to look it over and to show us how we can set it right.’
“i took the lamp from him, and i examined the machine very thoroughly.
it was indeed a gigantic one, and capable of exercising enormous pressure. when i passed outside, however, and pressed down the levers which controlled it, i knew at once by the whishing sound that there was a slight leakage, which allowed a regurgitation of water through one of the side cylinders. an examination showed that one of the india-rubber bands which was round the head of a driving-rod had shrunk so as not quite to fill the socket along which it worked. this was clearly the cause of the loss of power, and i pointed it out to my companions, who followed my remarks very carefully and asked several practical questions as to how they should proceed to set it right. when i had made it clear to them, i returned to the main chamber of the machine and took a good look at it to satisfy my own curiosity. it was obvious at a glance that the story of the fuller’s-earth was the merest fabrication, for it would be absurd to suppose that so powerful an engine could be designed for so inadequate a purpose. the walls were of wood, but the floor consisted of a large iron trough, and when i came to examine it i could see a crust of metallic deposit all over it. i had stooped and was scraping at this to see exactly what it was when i heard a muttered exclamation in german and saw the cadaverous face of the colonel looking down at me.
“‘what are you doing there?’ he asked.
“i felt angry at having been tricked by so elaborate a story as that which he had told me. ‘i was admiring your fuller’s-earth,’ said i; ‘i think that i should be better able to advise you as to your machine if i knew what the exact purpose was for which it was used.’
“the instant that i uttered the words i regretted the rashness of my speech. his face set hard, and a baleful light sprang up in his grey eyes.
“‘very well,’ said he, ‘you shall know all about the machine.’ he took a step backward, slammed the little door, and turned the key in the lock. i rushed towards it and pulled at the handle, but it was quite secure, and did not give in the least to my kicks and shoves. ‘hullo!’
i yelled. ‘hullo! colonel! let me out!’
“and then suddenly in the silence i heard a sound which sent my heart into my mouth. it was the clank of the levers and the swish of the leaking cylinder. he had set the engine at work. the lamp still stood upon the floor where i had placed it when examining the trough. by its light i saw that the black ceiling was coming down upon me, slowly, jerkily, but, as none knew better than myself, with a force which must within a minute grind me to a shapeless pulp. i threw myself, screaming, against the door, and dragged with my nails at the lock. i implored the colonel to let me out, but the remorseless clanking of the levers drowned my cries. the ceiling was only a foot or two above my head, and with my hand upraised i could feel its hard, rough surface.
then it flashed through my mind that the pain of my death would depend very much upon the position in which i met it. if i lay on my face the weight would come upon my spine, and i shuddered to think of that dreadful snap. easier the other way, perhaps; and yet, had i the nerve to lie and look up at that deadly black shadow wavering down upon me?
already i was unable to stand erect, when my eye caught something which brought a gush of hope back to my heart.
“i have said that though the floor and ceiling were of iron, the walls were of wood. as i gave a last hurried glance around, i saw a thin line of yellow light between two of the boards, which broadened and broadened as a small panel was pushed backward. for an instant i could hardly believe that here was indeed a door which led away from death.
the next instant i threw myself through, and lay half-fainting upon the other side. the panel had closed again behind me, but the crash of the lamp, and a few moments afterwards the clang of the two slabs of metal, told me how narrow had been my escape.
“i was recalled to myself by a frantic plucking at my wrist, and i found myself lying upon the stone floor of a narrow corridor, while a woman bent over me and tugged at me with her left hand, while she held a candle in her right. it was the same good friend whose warning i had so foolishly rejected.
“‘come! come!’ she cried breathlessly. ‘they will be here in a moment.
they will see that you are not there. oh, do not waste the so-precious time, but come!’
“this time, at least, i did not scorn her advice. i staggered to my feet and ran with her along the corridor and down a winding stair. the latter led to another broad passage, and just as we reached it we heard the sound of running feet and the shouting of two voices, one answering the other from the floor on which we were and from the one beneath. my guide stopped and looked about her like one who is at her wit’s end.
then she threw open a door which led into a bedroom, through the window of which the moon was shining brightly.
“‘it is your only chance,’ said she. ‘it is high, but it may be that you can jump it.’
“as she spoke a light sprang into view at the further end of the passage, and i saw the lean figure of colonel lysander stark rushing forward with a lantern in one hand and a weapon like a butcher’s cleaver in the other. i rushed across the bedroom, flung open the window, and looked out. how quiet and sweet and wholesome the garden looked in the moonlight, and it could not be more than thirty feet down. i clambered out upon the sill, but i hesitated to jump until i should have heard what passed between my saviour and the ruffian who pursued me. if she were ill-used, then at any risks i was determined to go back to her assistance. the thought had hardly flashed through my mind before he was at the door, pushing his way past her; but she threw her arms round him and tried to hold him back.
“‘fritz! fritz!’ she cried in english, ‘remember your promise after the last time. you said it should not be again. he will be silent! oh, he will be silent!’
“‘you are mad, elise!’ he shouted, struggling to break away from her.
‘you will be the ruin of us. he has seen too much. let me pass, i say!’
he dashed her to one side, and, rushing to the window, cut at me with his heavy weapon. i had let myself go, and was hanging by the hands to the sill, when his blow fell. i was conscious of a dull pain, my grip loosened, and i fell into the garden below.
“i was shaken but not hurt by the fall; so i picked myself up and rushed off among the bushes as hard as i could run, for i understood that i was far from being out of danger yet. suddenly, however, as i ran, a deadly dizziness and sickness came over me. i glanced down at my hand, which was throbbing painfully, and then, for the first time, saw that my thumb had been cut off and that the blood was pouring from my wound. i endeavoured to tie my handkerchief round it, but there came a sudden buzzing in my ears, and next moment i fell in a dead faint among the rose-bushes.
“how long i remained unconscious i cannot tell. it must have been a very long time, for the moon had sunk, and a bright morning was breaking when i came to myself. my clothes were all sodden with dew, and my coat-sleeve was drenched with blood from my wounded thumb. the smarting of it recalled in an instant all the particulars of my night’s adventure, and i sprang to my feet with the feeling that i might hardly yet be safe from my pursuers. but to my astonishment, when i came to look round me, neither house nor garden were to be seen. i had been lying in an angle of the hedge close by the highroad, and just a little lower down was a long building, which proved, upon my approaching it, to be the very station at which i had arrived upon the previous night.
were it not for the ugly wound upon my hand, all that had passed during those dreadful hours might have been an evil dream.
“half dazed, i went into the station and asked about the morning train.
there would be one to reading in less than an hour. the same porter was on duty, i found, as had been there when i arrived. i inquired of him whether he had ever heard of colonel lysander stark. the name was strange to him. had he observed a carriage the night before waiting for me? no, he had not. was there a police-station anywhere near? there was one about three miles off.
“it was too far for me to go, weak and ill as i was. i determined to wait until i got back to town before telling my story to the police. it was a little past six when i arrived, so i went first to have my wound dressed, and then the doctor was kind enough to bring me along here. i put the case into your hands and shall do exactly what you advise.”
we both sat in silence for some little time after listening to this extraordinary narrative. then sherlock holmes pulled down from the shelf one of the ponderous commonplace books in which he placed his cuttings.
“here is an advertisement which will interest you,” said he. “it appeared in all the papers about a year ago. listen to this: ‘lost, on the 9th inst., mr. jeremiah hayling, aged twenty-six, a hydraulic engineer. left his lodgings at ten o’clock at night, and has not been heard of since. was dressed in,’ etc., etc. ha! that represents the last time that the colonel needed to have his machine overhauled, i fancy.”
“good heavens!” cried my patient. “then that explains what the girl said.”
“undoubtedly. it is quite clear that the colonel was a cool and desperate man, who was absolutely determined that nothing should stand in the way of his little game, like those out-and-out pirates who will leave no survivor from a captured ship. well, every moment now is precious, so if you feel equal to it we shall go down to scotland yard at once as a preliminary to starting for eyford.”
some three hours or so afterwards we were all in the train together, bound from reading to the little berkshire village. there were sherlock holmes, the hydraulic engineer, inspector bradstreet, of scotland yard, a plain-clothes man, and myself. bradstreet had spread an ordnance map of the county out upon the seat and was busy with his compasses drawing a circle with eyford for its centre.
“there you are,” said he. “that circle is drawn at a radius of ten miles from the village. the place we want must be somewhere near that line. you said ten miles, i think, sir.”
“it was an hour’s good drive.”
“and you think that they brought you back all that way when you were unconscious?”
“they must have done so. i have a confused memory, too, of having been lifted and conveyed somewhere.”
“what i cannot understand,” said i, “is why they should have spared you when they found you lying fainting in the garden. perhaps the villain was softened by the woman’s entreaties.”
“i hardly think that likely. i never saw a more inexorable face in my life.”
“oh, we shall soon clear up all that,” said bradstreet. “well, i have drawn my circle, and i only wish i knew at what point upon it the folk that we are in search of are to be found.”
“i think i could lay my finger on it,” said holmes quietly.
“really, now!” cried the inspector, “you have formed your opinion!
come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. i say it is south, for the country is more deserted there.”
“and i say east,” said my patient.
“i am for west,” remarked the plain-clothes man. “there are several quiet little villages up there.”
“and i am for north,” said i, “because there are no hills there, and our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go up any.”
“come,” cried the inspector, laughing; “it’s a very pretty diversity of opinion. we have boxed the compass among us. who do you give your casting vote to?”
“you are all wrong.”
“but we can’t all be.”
“oh, yes, you can. this is my point.” he placed his finger in the centre of the circle. “this is where we shall find them.”
“but the twelve-mile drive?” gasped hatherley.
“six out and six back. nothing simpler. you say yourself that the horse was fresh and glossy when you got in. how could it be that if it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads?”
“indeed, it is a likely ruse enough,” observed bradstreet thoughtfully.
“of course there can be no doubt as to the nature of this gang.”
“none at all,” said holmes. “they are coiners on a large scale, and have used the machine to form the amalgam which has taken the place of silver.”
“we have known for some time that a clever gang was at work,” said the inspector. “they have been turning out half-crowns by the thousand. we even traced them as far as reading, but could get no farther, for they had covered their traces in a way that showed that they were very old hands. but now, thanks to this lucky chance, i think that we have got them right enough.”
but the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not destined to fall into the hands of justice. as we rolled into eyford station we saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed up from behind a small clump of trees in the neighbourhood and hung like an immense ostrich feather over the landscape.
“a house on fire?” asked bradstreet as the train steamed off again on its way.
“yes, sir!” said the station-master.
“when did it break out?”
“i hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse, and the whole place is in a blaze.”
“whose house is it?”
“dr. becher’s.”
“tell me,” broke in the engineer, “is dr. becher a german, very thin, with a long, sharp nose?”
the station-master laughed heartily. “no, sir, dr. becher is an englishman, and there isn’t a man in the parish who has a better-lined waistcoat. but he has a gentleman staying with him, a patient, as i understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as if a little good berkshire beef would do him no harm.”
the station-master had not finished his speech before we were all hastening in the direction of the fire. the road topped a low hill, and there was a great widespread whitewashed building in front of us, spouting fire at every chink and window, while in the garden in front three fire-engines were vainly striving to keep the flames under.
“that’s it!” cried hatherley, in intense excitement. “there is the gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where i lay. that second window is the one that i jumped from.”
“well, at least,” said holmes, “you have had your revenge upon them.
there can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which, when it was crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls, though no doubt they were too excited in the chase after you to observe it at the time.
now keep your eyes open in this crowd for your friends of last night, though i very much fear that they are a good hundred miles off by now.”
and holmes’ fears came to be realised, for from that day to this no word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, the sinister german, or the morose englishman. early that morning a peasant had met a cart containing several people and some very bulky boxes driving rapidly in the direction of reading, but there all traces of the fugitives disappeared, and even holmes’ ingenuity failed ever to discover the least clue as to their whereabouts.
the firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements which they had found within, and still more so by discovering a newly severed human thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor. about sunset, however, their efforts were at last successful, and they subdued the flames, but not before the roof had fallen in, and the whole place been reduced to such absolute ruin that, save some twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a trace remained of the machinery which had cost our unfortunate acquaintance so dearly. large masses of nickel and of tin were discovered stored in an out-house, but no coins were to be found, which may have explained the presence of those bulky boxes which have been already referred to.
how our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to the spot where he recovered his senses might have remained forever a mystery were it not for the soft mould, which told us a very plain tale. he had evidently been carried down by two persons, one of whom had remarkably small feet and the other unusually large ones. on the whole, it was most probable that the silent englishman, being less bold or less murderous than his companion, had assisted the woman to bear the unconscious man out of the way of danger.
“well,” said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to return once more to london, “it has been a pretty business for me! i have lost my thumb and i have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what have i gained?”
“experience,” said holmes, laughing. “indirectly it may be of value, you know; you have only to put it into words to gain the reputation of being excellent company for the remainder of your existence.”
x. the adventure of the noble bachelor
the lord st. simon marriage, and its curious termination, have long ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles in which the unfortunate bridegroom moves. fresh scandals have eclipsed it, and their more piquant details have drawn the gossips away from this four-year-old drama. as i have reason to believe, however, that the full facts have never been revealed to the general public, and as my friend sherlock holmes had a considerable share in clearing the matter up, i feel that no memoir of him would be complete without some little sketch of this remarkable episode.
it was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when i was still sharing rooms with holmes in baker street, that he came home from an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table waiting for him. i had remained indoors all day, for the weather had taken a sudden turn to rain, with high autumnal winds, and the jezail bullet which i had brought back in one of my limbs as a relic of my afghan campaign throbbed with dull persistence. with my body in one easy-chair and my legs upon another, i had surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers until at last, saturated with the news of the day, i tossed them all aside and lay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram upon the envelope upon the table and wondering lazily who my friend’s noble correspondent could be.
“here is a very fashionable epistle,” i remarked as he entered. “your morning letters, if i remember right, were from a fish-monger and a tide-waiter.”
“yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety,” he answered, smiling, “and the humbler are usually the more interesting.
this looks like one of those unwelcome social summonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie.”
he broke the seal and glanced over the contents.
“oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, after all.”
“not social, then?”
“no, distinctly professional.”
“and from a noble client?”
“one of the highest in england.”
“my dear fellow, i congratulate you.”
“i assure you, watson, without affectation, that the status of my client is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his case.
it is just possible, however, that that also may not be wanting in this new investigation. you have been reading the papers diligently of late, have you not?”
“it looks like it,” said i ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in the corner. “i have had nothing else to do.”
“it is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. i read nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. the latter is always instructive. but if you have followed recent events so closely you must have read about lord st. simon and his wedding?”
“oh, yes, with the deepest interest.”
“that is well. the letter which i hold in my hand is from lord st.
simon. i will read it to you, and in return you must turn over these papers and let me have whatever bears upon the matter. this is what he says:
“‘my dear mr. sherlock holmes,—lord backwater tells me that i may place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion. i have determined, therefore, to call upon you and to consult you in reference to the very painful event which has occurred in connection with my wedding. mr. lestrade, of scotland yard, is acting already in the matter, but he assures me that he sees no objection to your co-operation, and that he even thinks that it might be of some assistance. i will call at four o’clock in the afternoon, and, should you have any other engagement at that time, i hope that you will postpone it, as this matter is of paramount importance. yours faithfully,
“‘robert st. simon.’
“it is dated from grosvenor mansions, written with a quill pen, and the noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink upon the outer side of his right little finger,” remarked holmes as he folded up the epistle.
“he says four o’clock. it is three now. he will be here in an hour.”
“then i have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon the subject. turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in their order of time, while i take a glance as to who our client is.” he picked a red-covered volume from a line of books of reference beside the mantelpiece. “here he is,” said he, sitting down and flattening it out upon his knee. “‘lord robert walsingham de vere st. simon, second son of the duke of balmoral.’ hum! ‘arms: azure, three caltrops in chief over a fess sable. born in 1846.’ he’s forty-one years of age, which is mature for marriage. was under-secretary for the colonies in a late administration. the duke, his father, was at one time secretary for foreign affairs. they inherit plantagenet blood by direct descent, and tudor on the distaff side. ha! well, there is nothing very instructive in all this. i think that i must turn to you watson, for something more solid.”
“i have very little difficulty in finding what i want,” said i, “for the facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as remarkable. i feared to refer them to you, however, as i knew that you had an inquiry on hand and that you disliked the intrusion of other matters.”
“oh, you mean the little problem of the grosvenor square furniture van.
that is quite cleared up now—though, indeed, it was obvious from the first. pray give me the results of your newspaper selections.”
“here is the first notice which i can find. it is in the personal column of the morning post, and dates, as you see, some weeks back:
‘a marriage has been arranged,’ it says, ‘and will, if rumour is correct, very shortly take place, between lord robert st. simon, second son of the duke of balmoral, and miss hatty doran, the only daughter of aloysius doran. esq., of san francisco, cal., u.s.a.’ that is all.”
“terse and to the point,” remarked holmes, stretching his long, thin legs towards the fire.
“there was a paragraph amplifying this in one of the society papers of the same week. ah, here it is: ‘there will soon be a call for protection in the marriage market, for the present free-trade principle appears to tell heavily against our home product. one by one the management of the noble houses of great britain is passing into the hands of our fair cousins from across the atlantic. an important addition has been made during the last week to the list of the prizes which have been borne away by these charming invaders. lord st. simon, who has shown himself for over twenty years proof against the little god’s arrows, has now definitely announced his approaching marriage with miss hatty doran, the fascinating daughter of a california millionaire. miss doran, whose graceful figure and striking face attracted much attention at the westbury house festivities, is an only child, and it is currently reported that her dowry will run to considerably over the six figures, with expectancies for the future. as it is an open secret that the duke of balmoral has been compelled to sell his pictures within the last few years, and as lord st. simon has no property of his own save the small estate of birchmoor, it is obvious that the californian heiress is not the only gainer by an alliance which will enable her to make the easy and common transition from a republican lady to a british peeress.’”
“anything else?” asked holmes, yawning.
“oh, yes; plenty. then there is another note in the morning post to say that the marriage would be an absolutely quiet one, that it would be at st. george’s, hanover square, that only half a dozen intimate friends would be invited, and that the party would return to the furnished house at lancaster gate which has been taken by mr. aloysius doran. two days later—that is, on wednesday last—there is a curt announcement that the wedding had taken place, and that the honeymoon would be passed at lord backwater’s place, near petersfield. those are all the notices which appeared before the disappearance of the bride.”
“before the what?” asked holmes with a start.
“the vanishing of the lady.”
“when did she vanish, then?”
“at the wedding breakfast.”
“indeed. this is more interesting than it promised to be; quite dramatic, in fact.”
“yes; it struck me as being a little out of the common.”
“they often vanish before the ceremony, and occasionally during the honeymoon; but i cannot call to mind anything quite so prompt as this.
pray let me have the details.”
“i warn you that they are very incomplete.”
“perhaps we may make them less so.”
“such as they are, they are set forth in a single article of a morning paper of yesterday, which i will read to you. it is headed, ‘singular occurrence at a fashionable wedding’:
“‘the family of lord robert st. simon has been thrown into the greatest consternation by the strange and painful episodes which have taken place in connection with his wedding. the ceremony, as shortly announced in the papers of yesterday, occurred on the previous morning; but it is only now that it has been possible to confirm the strange rumours which have been so persistently floating about. in spite of the attempts of the friends to hush the matter up, so much public attention has now been drawn to it that no good purpose can be served by affecting to disregard what is a common subject for conversation.
“‘the ceremony, which was performed at st. george’s, hanover square, was a very quiet one, no one being present save the father of the bride, mr. aloysius doran, the duchess of balmoral, lord backwater, lord eustace and lady clara st. simon (the younger brother and sister of the bridegroom), and lady alicia whittington. the whole party proceeded afterwards to the house of mr. aloysius doran, at lancaster gate, where breakfast had been prepared. it appears that some little trouble was caused by a woman, whose name has not been ascertained, who endeavoured to force her way into the house after the bridal party, alleging that she had some claim upon lord st. simon. it was only after a painful and prolonged scene that she was ejected by the butler and the footman. the bride, who had fortunately entered the house before this unpleasant interruption, had sat down to breakfast with the rest, when she complained of a sudden indisposition and retired to her room.
her prolonged absence having caused some comment, her father followed her, but learned from her maid that she had only come up to her chamber for an instant, caught up an ulster and bonnet, and hurried down to the passage. one of the footmen declared that he had seen a lady leave the house thus apparelled, but had refused to credit that it was his mistress, believing her to be with the company. on ascertaining that his daughter had disappeared, mr. aloysius doran, in conjunction with the bridegroom, instantly put themselves in communication with the police, and very energetic inquiries are being made, which will probably result in a speedy clearing up of this very singular business.
up to a late hour last night, however, nothing had transpired as to the whereabouts of the missing lady. there are rumours of foul play in the matter, and it is said that the police have caused the arrest of the woman who had caused the original disturbance, in the belief that, from jealousy or some other motive, she may have been concerned in the strange disappearance of the bride.’”
“and is that all?”
“only one little item in another of the morning papers, but it is a suggestive one.”
“and it is—”
“that miss flora millar, the lady who had caused the disturbance, has actually been arrested. it appears that she was formerly a danseuse at the allegro, and that she has known the bridegroom for some years.
there are no further particulars, and the whole case is in your hands now—so far as it has been set forth in the public press.”
“and an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. i would not have missed it for worlds. but there is a ring at the bell, watson, and as the clock makes it a few minutes after four, i have no doubt that this will prove to be our noble client. do not dream of going, watson, for i very much prefer having a witness, if only as a check to my own memory.”
“lord robert st. simon,” announced our page-boy, throwing open the door. a gentleman entered, with a pleasant, cultured face, high-nosed and pale, with something perhaps of petulance about the mouth, and with the steady, well-opened eye of a man whose pleasant lot it had ever been to command and to be obeyed. his manner was brisk, and yet his general appearance gave an undue impression of age, for he had a slight forward stoop and a little bend of the knees as he walked. his hair, too, as he swept off his very curly-brimmed hat, was grizzled round the edges and thin upon the top. as to his dress, it was careful to the verge of foppishness, with high collar, black frock-coat, white waistcoat, yellow gloves, patent-leather shoes, and light-coloured gaiters. he advanced slowly into the room, turning his head from left to right, and swinging in his right hand the cord which held his golden eyeglasses.
“good-day, lord st. simon,” said holmes, rising and bowing. “pray take the basket-chair. this is my friend and colleague, dr. watson. draw up a little to the fire, and we will talk this matter over.”
“a most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine, mr.
holmes. i have been cut to the quick. i understand that you have already managed several delicate cases of this sort, sir, though i presume that they were hardly from the same class of society.”
“no, i am descending.”
“i beg pardon.”
“my last client of the sort was a king.”
“oh, really! i had no idea. and which king?”
“the king of scandinavia.”
“what! had he lost his wife?”
“you can understand,” said holmes suavely, “that i extend to the affairs of my other clients the same secrecy which i promise to you in yours.”
“of course! very right! very right! i’m sure i beg pardon. as to my own case, i am ready to give you any information which may assist you in forming an opinion.”
“thank you. i have already learned all that is in the public prints, nothing more. i presume that i may take it as correct—this article, for example, as to the disappearance of the bride.”
lord st. simon glanced over it. “yes, it is correct, as far as it goes.”
“but it needs a great deal of supplementing before anyone could offer an opinion. i think that i may arrive at my facts most directly by questioning you.”
“pray do so.”
“when did you first meet miss hatty doran?”
“in san francisco, a year ago.”
“you were travelling in the states?”
“yes.”
“did you become engaged then?”
“no.”
“but you were on a friendly footing?”
“i was amused by her society, and she could see that i was amused.”
“her father is very rich?”
“he is said to be the richest man on the pacific slope.”
“and how did he make his money?”
“in mining. he had nothing a few years ago. then he struck gold, invested it, and came up by leaps and bounds.”
“now, what is your own impression as to the young lady’s—your wife’s character?”
the nobleman swung his glasses a little faster and stared down into the fire. “you see, mr. holmes,” said he, “my wife was twenty before her father became a rich man. during that time she ran free in a mining camp and wandered through woods or mountains, so that her education has come from nature rather than from the schoolmaster. she is what we call in england a tomboy, with a strong nature, wild and free, unfettered by any sort of traditions. she is impetuous—volcanic, i was about to say.
she is swift in making up her mind and fearless in carrying out her resolutions. on the other hand, i would not have given her the name which i have the honour to bear”—he gave a little stately cough—“had i not thought her to be at bottom a noble woman. i believe that she is capable of heroic self-sacrifice and that anything dishonourable would be repugnant to her.”
“have you her photograph?”
“i brought this with me.” he opened a locket and showed us the full face of a very lovely woman. it was not a photograph but an ivory miniature, and the artist had brought out the full effect of the lustrous black hair, the large dark eyes, and the exquisite mouth.
holmes gazed long and earnestly at it. then he closed the locket and handed it back to lord st. simon.
“the young lady came to london, then, and you renewed your acquaintance?”
“yes, her father brought her over for this last london season. i met her several times, became engaged to her, and have now married her.”
“she brought, i understand, a considerable dowry?”
“a fair dowry. not more than is usual in my family.”
“and this, of course, remains to you, since the marriage is a fait accompli?”
“i really have made no inquiries on the subject.”
“very naturally not. did you see miss doran on the day before the wedding?”
“yes.”
“was she in good spirits?”
“never better. she kept talking of what we should do in our future lives.”
“indeed! that is very interesting. and on the morning of the wedding?”
“she was as bright as possible—at least until after the ceremony.”
“and did you observe any change in her then?”
“well, to tell the truth, i saw then the first signs that i had ever seen that her temper was just a little sharp. the incident however, was too trivial to relate and can have no possible bearing upon the case.”
“pray let us have it, for all that.”
“oh, it is childish. she dropped her bouquet as we went towards the vestry. she was passing the front pew at the time, and it fell over into the pew. there was a moment’s delay, but the gentleman in the pew handed it up to her again, and it did not appear to be the worse for the fall. yet when i spoke to her of the matter, she answered me abruptly; and in the carriage, on our way home, she seemed absurdly agitated over this trifling cause.”
“indeed! you say that there was a gentleman in the pew. some of the general public were present, then?”
“oh, yes. it is impossible to exclude them when the church is open.”
“this gentleman was not one of your wife’s friends?”
“no, no; i call him a gentleman by courtesy, but he was quite a common-looking person. i hardly noticed his appearance. but really i think that we are wandering rather far from the point.”
“lady st. simon, then, returned from the wedding in a less cheerful frame of mind than she had gone to it. what did she do on re-entering her father’s house?”
“i saw her in conversation with her maid.”
“and who is her maid?”
“alice is her name. she is an american and came from california with her.”
“a confidential servant?”
“a little too much so. it seemed to me that her mistress allowed her to take great liberties. still, of course, in america they look upon these things in a different way.”
“how long did she speak to this alice?”
“oh, a few minutes. i had something else to think of.”
“you did not overhear what they said?”
“lady st. simon said something about ‘jumping a claim.’ she was accustomed to use slang of the kind. i have no idea what she meant.”
“american slang is very expressive sometimes. and what did your wife do when she finished speaking to her maid?”
“she walked into the breakfast-room.”
“on your arm?”
“no, alone. she was very independent in little matters like that. then, after we had sat down for ten minutes or so, she rose hurriedly, muttered some words of apology, and left the room. she never came back.”
“but this maid, alice, as i understand, deposes that she went to her room, covered her bride’s dress with a long ulster, put on a bonnet, and went out.”
“quite so. and she was afterwards seen walking into hyde park in company with flora millar, a woman who is now in custody, and who had already made a disturbance at mr. doran’s house that morning.”
“ah, yes. i should like a few particulars as to this young lady, and your relations to her.”
lord st. simon shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows. “we have been on a friendly footing for some years—i may say on a very friendly footing. she used to be at the allegro. i have not treated her ungenerously, and she had no just cause of complaint against me, but you know what women are, mr. holmes. flora was a dear little thing, but exceedingly hot-headed and devotedly attached to me. she wrote me dreadful letters when she heard that i was about to be married, and, to tell the truth, the reason why i had the marriage celebrated so quietly was that i feared lest there might be a scandal in the church. she came to mr. doran’s door just after we returned, and she endeavoured to push her way in, uttering very abusive expressions towards my wife, and even threatening her, but i had foreseen the possibility of something of the sort, and i had two police fellows there in private clothes, who soon pushed her out again. she was quiet when she saw that there was no good in making a row.”
“did your wife hear all this?”
“no, thank goodness, she did not.”
“and she was seen walking with this very woman afterwards?”
“yes. that is what mr. lestrade, of scotland yard, looks upon as so serious. it is thought that flora decoyed my wife out and laid some terrible trap for her.”
“well, it is a possible supposition.”
“you think so, too?”
“i did not say a probable one. but you do not yourself look upon this as likely?”
“i do not think flora would hurt a fly.”
“still, jealousy is a strange transformer of characters. pray what is your own theory as to what took place?”
“well, really, i came to seek a theory, not to propound one. i have given you all the facts. since you ask me, however, i may say that it has occurred to me as possible that the excitement of this affair, the consciousness that she had made so immense a social stride, had the effect of causing some little nervous disturbance in my wife.”
“in short, that she had become suddenly deranged?”
“well, really, when i consider that she has turned her back—i will not say upon me, but upon so much that many have aspired to without success—i can hardly explain it in any other fashion.”
“well, certainly that is also a conceivable hypothesis,” said holmes, smiling. “and now, lord st. simon, i think that i have nearly all my data. may i ask whether you were seated at the breakfast-table so that you could see out of the window?”
“we could see the other side of the road and the park.”
“quite so. then i do not think that i need to detain you longer. i shall communicate with you.”
“should you be fortunate enough to solve this problem,” said our client, rising.
“i have solved it.”
“eh? what was that?”
“i say that i have solved it.”
“where, then, is my wife?”
“that is a detail which i shall speedily supply.”
lord st. simon shook his head. “i am afraid that it will take wiser heads than yours or mine,” he remarked, and bowing in a stately, old-fashioned manner he departed.
“it is very good of lord st. simon to honour my head by putting it on a level with his own,” said sherlock holmes, laughing. “i think that i shall have a whisky and soda and a cigar after all this cross-questioning. i had formed my conclusions as to the case before our client came into the room.”
“my dear holmes!”
“i have notes of several similar cases, though none, as i remarked before, which were quite as prompt. my whole examination served to turn my conjecture into a certainty. circumstantial evidence is occasionally very convincing, as when you find a trout in the milk, to quote thoreau’s example.”
“but i have heard all that you have heard.”
“without, however, the knowledge of pre-existing cases which serves me so well. there was a parallel instance in aberdeen some years back, and something on very much the same lines at munich the year after the franco-prussian war. it is one of these cases—but, hullo, here is lestrade! good-afternoon, lestrade! you will find an extra tumbler upon the sideboard, and there are cigars in the box.”
the official detective was attired in a pea-jacket and cravat, which gave him a decidedly nautical appearance, and he carried a black canvas bag in his hand. with a short greeting he seated himself and lit the cigar which had been offered to him.
“what’s up, then?” asked holmes with a twinkle in his eye. “you look dissatisfied.”
“and i feel dissatisfied. it is this infernal st. simon marriage case.
i can make neither head nor tail of the business.”
“really! you surprise me.”
“who ever heard of such a mixed affair? every clue seems to slip through my fingers. i have been at work upon it all day.”
“and very wet it seems to have made you,” said holmes laying his hand upon the arm of the pea-jacket.
“yes, i have been dragging the serpentine.”
“in heaven’s name, what for?”
“in search of the body of lady st. simon.”
sherlock holmes leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.
“have you dragged the basin of trafalgar square fountain?” he asked.
“why? what do you mean?”
“because you have just as good a chance of finding this lady in the one as in the other.”
lestrade shot an angry glance at my companion. “i suppose you know all about it,” he snarled.
“well, i have only just heard the facts, but my mind is made up.”
“oh, indeed! then you think that the serpentine plays no part in the matter?”
“i think it very unlikely.”
“then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we found this in it?” he opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled onto the floor a wedding-dress of watered silk, a pair of white satin shoes and a bride’s wreath and veil, all discoloured and soaked in water. “there,”
said he, putting a new wedding-ring upon the top of the pile. “there is a little nut for you to crack, master holmes.”
“oh, indeed!” said my friend, blowing blue rings into the air. “you dragged them from the serpentine?”
“no. they were found floating near the margin by a park-keeper. they have been identified as her clothes, and it seemed to me that if the clothes were there the body would not be far off.”
“by the same brilliant reasoning, every man’s body is to be found in the neighbourhood of his wardrobe. and pray what did you hope to arrive at through this?”
“at some evidence implicating flora millar in the disappearance.”
“i am afraid that you will find it difficult.”
“are you, indeed, now?” cried lestrade with some bitterness. “i am afraid, holmes, that you are not very practical with your deductions and your inferences. you have made two blunders in as many minutes.
this dress does implicate miss flora millar.”
“and how?”
“in the dress is a pocket. in the pocket is a card-case. in the card-case is a note. and here is the very note.” he slapped it down upon the table in front of him. “listen to this: ‘you will see me when all is ready. come at once. f. h. m.’ now my theory all along has been that lady st. simon was decoyed away by flora millar, and that she, with confederates, no doubt, was responsible for her disappearance.
here, signed with her initials, is the very note which was no doubt quietly slipped into her hand at the door and which lured her within their reach.”
“very good, lestrade,” said holmes, laughing. “you really are very fine indeed. let me see it.” he took up the paper in a listless way, but his attention instantly became riveted, and he gave a little cry of satisfaction. “this is indeed important,” said he.
“ha! you find it so?”
“extremely so. i congratulate you warmly.”
lestrade rose in his triumph and bent his head to look. “why,” he shrieked, “you’re looking at the wrong side!”
“on the contrary, this is the right side.”
“the right side? you’re mad! here is the note written in pencil over here.”
“and over here is what appears to be the fragment of a hotel bill, which interests me deeply.”
“there’s nothing in it. i looked at it before,” said lestrade. “‘oct.
4th, rooms 8s., breakfast 2s. 6d., cocktail 1s., lunch 2s.
6d., glass sherry, 8d.’ i see nothing in that.”
“very likely not. it is most important, all the same. as to the note, it is important also, or at least the initials are, so i congratulate you again.”
“i’ve wasted time enough,” said lestrade, rising. “i believe in hard work and not in sitting by the fire spinning fine theories. good-day, mr. holmes, and we shall see which gets to the bottom of the matter first.” he gathered up the garments, thrust them into the bag, and made for the door.
“just one hint to you, lestrade,” drawled holmes before his rival vanished; “i will tell you the true solution of the matter. lady st.
simon is a myth. there is not, and there never has been, any such person.”
lestrade looked sadly at my companion. then he turned to me, tapped his forehead three times, shook his head solemnly, and hurried away.
he had hardly shut the door behind him when holmes rose to put on his overcoat. “there is something in what the fellow says about outdoor work,” he remarked, “so i think, watson, that i must leave you to your papers for a little.”
it was after five o’clock when sherlock holmes left me, but i had no time to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived a confectioner’s man with a very large flat box. this he unpacked with the help of a youth whom he had brought with him, and presently, to my very great astonishment, a quite epicurean little cold supper began to be laid out upon our humble lodging-house mahogany. there were a couple of brace of cold woodcock, a pheasant, a pâté de foie gras pie with a group of ancient and cobwebby bottles. having laid out all these luxuries, my two visitors vanished away, like the genii of the arabian nights, with no explanation save that the things had been paid for and were ordered to this address.
just before nine o’clock sherlock holmes stepped briskly into the room.
his features were gravely set, but there was a light in his eye which made me think that he had not been disappointed in his conclusions.
“they have laid the supper, then,” he said, rubbing his hands.
“you seem to expect company. they have laid for five.”
“yes, i fancy we may have some company dropping in,” said he. “i am surprised that lord st. simon has not already arrived. ha! i fancy that i hear his step now upon the stairs.”
it was indeed our visitor of the afternoon who came bustling in, dangling his glasses more vigorously than ever, and with a very perturbed expression upon his aristocratic features.
“my messenger reached you, then?” asked holmes.
“yes, and i confess that the contents startled me beyond measure. have you good authority for what you say?”
“the best possible.”
lord st. simon sank into a chair and passed his hand over his forehead.
“what will the duke say,” he murmured, “when he hears that one of the family has been subjected to such humiliation?”
“it is the purest accident. i cannot allow that there is any humiliation.”
“ah, you look on these things from another standpoint.”
“i fail to see that anyone is to blame. i can hardly see how the lady could have acted otherwise, though her abrupt method of doing it was undoubtedly to be regretted. having no mother, she had no one to advise her at such a crisis.”
“it was a slight, sir, a public slight,” said lord st. simon, tapping his fingers upon the table.
“you must make allowance for this poor girl, placed in so unprecedented a position.”
“i will make no allowance. i am very angry indeed, and i have been shamefully used.”
“i think that i heard a ring,” said holmes. “yes, there are steps on the landing. if i cannot persuade you to take a lenient view of the matter, lord st. simon, i have brought an advocate here who may be more successful.” he opened the door and ushered in a lady and gentleman.
“lord st. simon,” said he “allow me to introduce you to mr. and mrs.
francis hay moulton. the lady, i think, you have already met.”
at the sight of these newcomers our client had sprung from his seat and stood very erect, with his eyes cast down and his hand thrust into the breast of his frock-coat, a picture of offended dignity. the lady had taken a quick step forward and had held out her hand to him, but he still refused to raise his eyes. it was as well for his resolution, perhaps, for her pleading face was one which it was hard to resist.
“you’re angry, robert,” said she. “well, i guess you have every cause to be.”
“pray make no apology to me,” said lord st. simon bitterly.
“oh, yes, i know that i have treated you real bad and that i should have spoken to you before i went; but i was kind of rattled, and from the time when i saw frank here again i just didn’t know what i was doing or saying. i only wonder i didn’t fall down and do a faint right there before the altar.”
“perhaps, mrs. moulton, you would like my friend and me to leave the room while you explain this matter?”
“if i may give an opinion,” remarked the strange gentleman, “we’ve had just a little too much secrecy over this business already. for my part, i should like all europe and america to hear the rights of it.” he was a small, wiry, sunburnt man, clean-shaven, with a sharp face and alert manner.
“then i’ll tell our story right away,” said the lady. “frank here and i met in ’84, in mcquire’s camp, near the rockies, where pa was working a claim. we were engaged to each other, frank and i; but then one day father struck a rich pocket and made a pile, while poor frank here had a claim that petered out and came to nothing. the richer pa grew the poorer was frank; so at last pa wouldn’t hear of our engagement lasting any longer, and he took me away to ’frisco. frank wouldn’t throw up his hand, though; so he followed me there, and he saw me without pa knowing anything about it. it would only have made him mad to know, so we just fixed it all up for ourselves. frank said that he would go and make his pile, too, and never come back to claim me until he had as much as pa.
so then i promised to wait for him to the end of time and pledged myself not to marry anyone else while he lived. ‘why shouldn’t we be married right away, then,’ said he, ‘and then i will feel sure of you; and i won’t claim to be your husband until i come back?’ well, we talked it over, and he had fixed it all up so nicely, with a clergyman all ready in waiting, that we just did it right there; and then frank went off to seek his fortune, and i went back to pa.
“the next i heard of frank was that he was in montana, and then he went prospecting in arizona, and then i heard of him from new mexico. after that came a long newspaper story about how a miners’ camp had been attacked by apache indians, and there was my frank’s name among the killed. i fainted dead away, and i was very sick for months after. pa thought i had a decline and took me to half the doctors in ’frisco. not a word of news came for a year and more, so that i never doubted that frank was really dead. then lord st. simon came to ’frisco, and we came to london, and a marriage was arranged, and pa was very pleased, but i felt all the time that no man on this earth would ever take the place in my heart that had been given to my poor frank.
“still, if i had married lord st. simon, of course i’d have done my duty by him. we can’t command our love, but we can our actions. i went to the altar with him with the intention to make him just as good a wife as it was in me to be. but you may imagine what i felt when, just as i came to the altar rails, i glanced back and saw frank standing and looking at me out of the first pew. i thought it was his ghost at first; but when i looked again there he was still, with a kind of question in his eyes, as if to ask me whether i were glad or sorry to see him. i wonder i didn’t drop. i know that everything was turning round, and the words of the clergyman were just like the buzz of a bee in my ear. i didn’t know what to do. should i stop the service and make a scene in the church? i glanced at him again, and he seemed to know what i was thinking, for he raised his finger to his lips to tell me to be still. then i saw him scribble on a piece of paper, and i knew that he was writing me a note. as i passed his pew on the way out i dropped my bouquet over to him, and he slipped the note into my hand when he returned me the flowers. it was only a line asking me to join him when he made the sign to me to do so. of course i never doubted for a moment that my first duty was now to him, and i determined to do just whatever he might direct.
“when i got back i told my maid, who had known him in california, and had always been his friend. i ordered her to say nothing, but to get a few things packed and my ulster ready. i know i ought to have spoken to lord st. simon, but it was dreadful hard before his mother and all those great people. i just made up my mind to run away and explain afterwards. i hadn’t been at the table ten minutes before i saw frank out of the window at the other side of the road. he beckoned to me and then began walking into the park. i slipped out, put on my things, and followed him. some woman came talking something or other about lord st.
simon to me—seemed to me from the little i heard as if he had a little secret of his own before marriage also—but i managed to get away from her and soon overtook frank. we got into a cab together, and away we drove to some lodgings he had taken in gordon square, and that was my true wedding after all those years of waiting. frank had been a prisoner among the apaches, had escaped, came on to ’frisco, found that i had given him up for dead and had gone to england, followed me there, and had come upon me at last on the very morning of my second wedding.”
“i saw it in a paper,” explained the american. “it gave the name and the church but not where the lady lived.”
“then we had a talk as to what we should do, and frank was all for openness, but i was so ashamed of it all that i felt as if i should like to vanish away and never see any of them again—just sending a line to pa, perhaps, to show him that i was alive. it was awful to me to think of all those lords and ladies sitting round that breakfast-table and waiting for me to come back. so frank took my wedding-clothes and things and made a bundle of them, so that i should not be traced, and dropped them away somewhere where no one could find them. it is likely that we should have gone on to paris to-morrow, only that this good gentleman, mr. holmes, came round to us this evening, though how he found us is more than i can think, and he showed us very clearly and kindly that i was wrong and that frank was right, and that we should be putting ourselves in the wrong if we were so secret. then he offered to give us a chance of talking to lord st. simon alone, and so we came right away round to his rooms at once. now, robert, you have heard it all, and i am very sorry if i have given you pain, and i hope that you do not think very meanly of me.”
lord st. simon had by no means relaxed his rigid attitude, but had listened with a frowning brow and a compressed lip to this long narrative.
“excuse me,” he said, “but it is not my custom to discuss my most intimate personal affairs in this public manner.”
“then you won’t forgive me? you won’t shake hands before i go?”
“oh, certainly, if it would give you any pleasure.” he put out his hand and coldly grasped that which she extended to him.
“i had hoped,” suggested holmes, “that you would have joined us in a friendly supper.”
“i think that there you ask a little too much,” responded his lordship.
“i may be forced to acquiesce in these recent developments, but i can hardly be expected to make merry over them. i think that with your permission i will now wish you all a very good-night.” he included us all in a sweeping bow and stalked out of the room.
“then i trust that you at least will honour me with your company,” said sherlock holmes. “it is always a joy to meet an american, mr. moulton, for i am one of those who believe that the folly of a monarch and the blundering of a minister in far-gone years will not prevent our children from being some day citizens of the same world-wide country under a flag which shall be a quartering of the union jack with the stars and stripes.”
“the case has been an interesting one,” remarked holmes when our visitors had left us, “because it serves to show very clearly how simple the explanation may be of an affair which at first sight seems to be almost inexplicable. nothing could be more natural than the sequence of events as narrated by this lady, and nothing stranger than the result when viewed, for instance, by mr. lestrade of scotland yard.”
“you were not yourself at fault at all, then?”
“from the first, two facts were very obvious to me, the one that the lady had been quite willing to undergo the wedding ceremony, the other that she had repented of it within a few minutes of returning home.
obviously something had occurred during the morning, then, to cause her to change her mind. what could that something be? she could not have spoken to anyone when she was out, for she had been in the company of the bridegroom. had she seen someone, then? if she had, it must be someone from america because she had spent so short a time in this country that she could hardly have allowed anyone to acquire so deep an influence over her that the mere sight of him would induce her to change her plans so completely. you see we have already arrived, by a process of exclusion, at the idea that she might have seen an american.
then who could this american be, and why should he possess so much influence over her? it might be a lover; it might be a husband. her young womanhood had, i knew, been spent in rough scenes and under strange conditions. so far i had got before i ever heard lord st.
simon’s narrative. when he told us of a man in a pew, of the change in the bride’s manner, of so transparent a device for obtaining a note as the dropping of a bouquet, of her resort to her confidential maid, and of her very significant allusion to claim-jumping—which in miners’
parlance means taking possession of that which another person has a prior claim to—the whole situation became absolutely clear. she had gone off with a man, and the man was either a lover or was a previous husband—the chances being in favour of the latter.”
“and how in the world did you find them?”
“it might have been difficult, but friend lestrade held information in his hands the value of which he did not himself know. the initials were, of course, of the highest importance, but more valuable still was it to know that within a week he had settled his bill at one of the most select london hotels.”
“how did you deduce the select?”
“by the select prices. eight shillings for a bed and eightpence for a glass of sherry pointed to one of the most expensive hotels. there are not many in london which charge at that rate. in the second one which i visited in northumberland avenue, i learned by an inspection of the book that francis h. moulton, an american gentleman, had left only the day before, and on looking over the entries against him, i came upon the very items which i had seen in the duplicate bill. his letters were to be forwarded to 226 gordon square; so thither i travelled, and being fortunate enough to find the loving couple at home, i ventured to give them some paternal advice and to point out to them that it would be better in every way that they should make their position a little clearer both to the general public and to lord st. simon in particular.
i invited them to meet him here, and, as you see, i made him keep the appointment.”
“but with no very good result,” i remarked. “his conduct was certainly not very gracious.”
“ah, watson,” said holmes, smiling, “perhaps you would not be very gracious either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and wedding, you found yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of fortune. i think that we may judge lord st. simon very mercifully and thank our stars that we are never likely to find ourselves in the same position. draw your chair up and hand me my violin, for the only problem we have still to solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings.”
xi. the adventure of the beryl coronet
“holmes,” said i as i stood one morning in our bow-window looking down the street, “here is a madman coming along. it seems rather sad that his relatives should allow him to come out alone.”
my friend rose lazily from his armchair and stood with his hands in the pockets of his dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder. it was a bright, crisp february morning, and the snow of the day before still lay deep upon the ground, shimmering brightly in the wintry sun. down the centre of baker street it had been ploughed into a brown crumbly band by the traffic, but at either side and on the heaped-up edges of the footpaths it still lay as white as when it fell. the grey pavement had been cleaned and scraped, but was still dangerously slippery, so that there were fewer passengers than usual. indeed, from the direction of the metropolitan station no one was coming save the single gentleman whose eccentric conduct had drawn my attention.
he was a man of about fifty, tall, portly, and imposing, with a massive, strongly marked face and a commanding figure. he was dressed in a sombre yet rich style, in black frock-coat, shining hat, neat brown gaiters, and well-cut pearl-grey trousers. yet his actions were in absurd contrast to the dignity of his dress and features, for he was running hard, with occasional little springs, such as a weary man gives who is little accustomed to set any tax upon his legs. as he ran he jerked his hands up and down, waggled his head, and writhed his face into the most extraordinary contortions.
“what on earth can be the matter with him?” i asked. “he is looking up at the numbers of the houses.”
“i believe that he is coming here,” said holmes, rubbing his hands.
“here?”
“yes; i rather think he is coming to consult me professionally. i think that i recognise the symptoms. ha! did i not tell you?” as he spoke, the man, puffing and blowing, rushed at our door and pulled at our bell until the whole house resounded with the clanging.
a few moments later he was in our room, still puffing, still gesticulating, but with so fixed a look of grief and despair in his eyes that our smiles were turned in an instant to horror and pity. for a while he could not get his words out, but swayed his body and plucked at his hair like one who has been driven to the extreme limits of his reason. then, suddenly springing to his feet, he beat his head against the wall with such force that we both rushed upon him and tore him away to the centre of the room. sherlock holmes pushed him down into the easy-chair and, sitting beside him, patted his hand and chatted with him in the easy, soothing tones which he knew so well how to employ.
“you have come to me to tell your story, have you not?” said he. “you are fatigued with your haste. pray wait until you have recovered yourself, and then i shall be most happy to look into any little problem which you may submit to me.”
the man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest, fighting against his emotion. then he passed his handkerchief over his brow, set his lips tight, and turned his face towards us.
“no doubt you think me mad?” said he.
“i see that you have had some great trouble,” responded holmes.
“god knows i have!—a trouble which is enough to unseat my reason, so sudden and so terrible is it. public disgrace i might have faced, although i am a man whose character has never yet borne a stain.
private affliction also is the lot of every man; but the two coming together, and in so frightful a form, have been enough to shake my very soul. besides, it is not i alone. the very noblest in the land may suffer unless some way be found out of this horrible affair.”
“pray compose yourself, sir,” said holmes, “and let me have a clear account of who you are and what it is that has befallen you.”
“my name,” answered our visitor, “is probably familiar to your ears. i am alexander holder, of the banking firm of holder & stevenson, of threadneedle street.”
the name was indeed well known to us as belonging to the senior partner in the second largest private banking concern in the city of london.
what could have happened, then, to bring one of the foremost citizens of london to this most pitiable pass? we waited, all curiosity, until with another effort he braced himself to tell his story.
“i feel that time is of value,” said he; “that is why i hastened here when the police inspector suggested that i should secure your co-operation. i came to baker street by the underground and hurried from there on foot, for the cabs go slowly through this snow. that is why i was so out of breath, for i am a man who takes very little exercise. i feel better now, and i will put the facts before you as shortly and yet as clearly as i can.
“it is, of course, well known to you that in a successful banking business as much depends upon our being able to find remunerative investments for our funds as upon our increasing our connection and the number of our depositors. one of our most lucrative means of laying out money is in the shape of loans, where the security is unimpeachable. we have done a good deal in this direction during the last few years, and there are many noble families to whom we have advanced large sums upon the security of their pictures, libraries, or plate.
“yesterday morning i was seated in my office at the bank when a card was brought in to me by one of the clerks. i started when i saw the name, for it was that of none other than—well, perhaps even to you i had better say no more than that it was a name which is a household word all over the earth—one of the highest, noblest, most exalted names in england. i was overwhelmed by the honour and attempted, when he entered, to say so, but he plunged at once into business with the air of a man who wishes to hurry quickly through a disagreeable task.
“‘mr. holder,’ said he, ‘i have been informed that you are in the habit of advancing money.’
“‘the firm does so when the security is good.’ i answered.
“‘it is absolutely essential to me,’ said he, ‘that i should have £
50,000 at once. i could, of course, borrow so trifling a sum ten times over from my friends, but i much prefer to make it a matter of business and to carry out that business myself. in my position you can readily understand that it is unwise to place one’s self under obligations.’
“‘for how long, may i ask, do you want this sum?’ i asked.
“‘next monday i have a large sum due to me, and i shall then most certainly repay what you advance, with whatever interest you think it right to charge. but it is very essential to me that the money should be paid at once.’
“‘i should be happy to advance it without further parley from my own private purse,’ said i, ‘were it not that the strain would be rather more than it could bear. if, on the other hand, i am to do it in the name of the firm, then in justice to my partner i must insist that, even in your case, every businesslike precaution should be taken.’
“‘i should much prefer to have it so,’ said he, raising up a square, black morocco case which he had laid beside his chair. ‘you have doubtless heard of the beryl coronet?’
“‘one of the most precious public possessions of the empire,’ said i.
“‘precisely.’ he opened the case, and there, imbedded in soft, flesh-coloured velvet, lay the magnificent piece of jewellery which he had named. ‘there are thirty-nine enormous beryls,’ said he, ‘and the price of the gold chasing is incalculable. the lowest estimate would put the worth of the coronet at double the sum which i have asked. i am prepared to leave it with you as my security.’
“i took the precious case into my hands and looked in some perplexity from it to my illustrious client.
“‘you doubt its value?’ he asked.
“‘not at all. i only doubt—’
“‘the propriety of my leaving it. you may set your mind at rest about that. i should not dream of doing so were it not absolutely certain that i should be able in four days to reclaim it. it is a pure matter of form. is the security sufficient?’
“‘ample.’
“‘you understand, mr. holder, that i am giving you a strong proof of the confidence which i have in you, founded upon all that i have heard of you. i rely upon you not only to be discreet and to refrain from all gossip upon the matter but, above all, to preserve this coronet with every possible precaution because i need not say that a great public scandal would be caused if any harm were to befall it. any injury to it would be almost as serious as its complete loss, for there are no beryls in the world to match these, and it would be impossible to replace them. i leave it with you, however, with every confidence, and i shall call for it in person on monday morning.’
“seeing that my client was anxious to leave, i said no more but, calling for my cashier, i ordered him to pay over fifty £ 1000 notes.
when i was alone once more, however, with the precious case lying upon the table in front of me, i could not but think with some misgivings of the immense responsibility which it entailed upon me. there could be no doubt that, as it was a national possession, a horrible scandal would ensue if any misfortune should occur to it. i already regretted having ever consented to take charge of it. however, it was too late to alter the matter now, so i locked it up in my private safe and turned once more to my work.
“when evening came i felt that it would be an imprudence to leave so precious a thing in the office behind me. bankers’ safes had been forced before now, and why should not mine be? if so, how terrible would be the position in which i should find myself! i determined, therefore, that for the next few days i would always carry the case backward and forward with me, so that it might never be really out of my reach. with this intention, i called a cab and drove out to my house at streatham, carrying the jewel with me. i did not breathe freely until i had taken it upstairs and locked it in the bureau of my dressing-room.
“and now a word as to my household, mr. holmes, for i wish you to thoroughly understand the situation. my groom and my page sleep out of the house, and may be set aside altogether. i have three maid-servants who have been with me a number of years and whose absolute reliability is quite above suspicion. another, lucy parr, the second waiting-maid, has only been in my service a few months. she came with an excellent character, however, and has always given me satisfaction. she is a very pretty girl and has attracted admirers who have occasionally hung about the place. that is the only drawback which we have found to her, but we believe her to be a thoroughly good girl in every way.
“so much for the servants. my family itself is so small that it will not take me long to describe it. i am a widower and have an only son, arthur. he has been a disappointment to me, mr. holmes—a grievous disappointment. i have no doubt that i am myself to blame. people tell me that i have spoiled him. very likely i have. when my dear wife died i felt that he was all i had to love. i could not bear to see the smile fade even for a moment from his face. i have never denied him a wish.
perhaps it would have been better for both of us had i been sterner, but i meant it for the best.
“it was naturally my intention that he should succeed me in my business, but he was not of a business turn. he was wild, wayward, and, to speak the truth, i could not trust him in the handling of large sums of money. when he was young he became a member of an aristocratic club, and there, having charming manners, he was soon the intimate of a number of men with long purses and expensive habits. he learned to play heavily at cards and to squander money on the turf, until he had again and again to come to me and implore me to give him an advance upon his allowance, that he might settle his debts of honour. he tried more than once to break away from the dangerous company which he was keeping, but each time the influence of his friend, sir george burnwell, was enough to draw him back again.
“and, indeed, i could not wonder that such a man as sir george burnwell should gain an influence over him, for he has frequently brought him to my house, and i have found myself that i could hardly resist the fascination of his manner. he is older than arthur, a man of the world to his finger-tips, one who had been everywhere, seen everything, a brilliant talker, and a man of great personal beauty. yet when i think of him in cold blood, far away from the glamour of his presence, i am convinced from his cynical speech and the look which i have caught in his eyes that he is one who should be deeply distrusted. so i think, and so, too, thinks my little mary, who has a woman’s quick insight into character.
“and now there is only she to be described. she is my niece; but when my brother died five years ago and left her alone in the world i adopted her, and have looked upon her ever since as my daughter. she is a sunbeam in my house—sweet, loving, beautiful, a wonderful manager and housekeeper, yet as tender and quiet and gentle as a woman could be.
she is my right hand. i do not know what i could do without her. in only one matter has she ever gone against my wishes. twice my boy has asked her to marry him, for he loves her devotedly, but each time she has refused him. i think that if anyone could have drawn him into the right path it would have been she, and that his marriage might have changed his whole life; but now, alas! it is too late—forever too late!
“now, mr. holmes, you know the people who live under my roof, and i shall continue with my miserable story.
“when we were taking coffee in the drawing-room that night after dinner, i told arthur and mary my experience, and of the precious treasure which we had under our roof, suppressing only the name of my client. lucy parr, who had brought in the coffee, had, i am sure, left the room; but i cannot swear that the door was closed. mary and arthur were much interested and wished to see the famous coronet, but i thought it better not to disturb it.
“‘where have you put it?’ asked arthur.
“‘in my own bureau.’
“‘well, i hope to goodness the house won’t be burgled during the night.’ said he.
“‘it is locked up,’ i answered.
“‘oh, any old key will fit that bureau. when i was a youngster i have opened it myself with the key of the box-room cupboard.’
“he often had a wild way of talking, so that i thought little of what he said. he followed me to my room, however, that night with a very grave face.
“‘look here, dad,’ said he with his eyes cast down, ‘can you let me have £ 200?’
“‘no, i cannot!’ i answered sharply. ‘i have been far too generous with you in money matters.’
“‘you have been very kind,’ said he, ‘but i must have this money, or else i can never show my face inside the club again.’
“‘and a very good thing, too!’ i cried.
“‘yes, but you would not have me leave it a dishonoured man,’ said he.
‘i could not bear the disgrace. i must raise the money in some way, and if you will not let me have it, then i must try other means.’
“i was very angry, for this was the third demand during the month. ‘you shall not have a farthing from me,’ i cried, on which he bowed and left the room without another word.
“when he was gone i unlocked my bureau, made sure that my treasure was safe, and locked it again. then i started to go round the house to see that all was secure—a duty which i usually leave to mary but which i thought it well to perform myself that night. as i came down the stairs i saw mary herself at the side window of the hall, which she closed and fastened as i approached.
“‘tell me, dad,’ said she, looking, i thought, a little disturbed, ‘did you give lucy, the maid, leave to go out to-night?’
“‘certainly not.’
“‘she came in just now by the back door. i have no doubt that she has only been to the side gate to see someone, but i think that it is hardly safe and should be stopped.’
“‘you must speak to her in the morning, or i will if you prefer it. are you sure that everything is fastened?’
“‘quite sure, dad.’
“‘then, good-night.’ i kissed her and went up to my bedroom again, where i was soon asleep.
“i am endeavouring to tell you everything, mr. holmes, which may have any bearing upon the case, but i beg that you will question me upon any point which i do not make clear.”
“on the contrary, your statement is singularly lucid.”
“i come to a part of my story now in which i should wish to be particularly so. i am not a very heavy sleeper, and the anxiety in my mind tended, no doubt, to make me even less so than usual. about two in the morning, then, i was awakened by some sound in the house. it had ceased ere i was wide awake, but it had left an impression behind it as though a window had gently closed somewhere. i lay listening with all my ears. suddenly, to my horror, there was a distinct sound of footsteps moving softly in the next room. i slipped out of bed, all palpitating with fear, and peeped round the corner of my dressing-room door.
“‘arthur!’ i screamed, ‘you villain! you thief! how dare you touch that coronet?’
“the gas was half up, as i had left it, and my unhappy boy, dressed only in his shirt and trousers, was standing beside the light, holding the coronet in his hands. he appeared to be wrenching at it, or bending it with all his strength. at my cry he dropped it from his grasp and turned as pale as death. i snatched it up and examined it. one of the gold corners, with three of the beryls in it, was missing.
“‘you blackguard!’ i shouted, beside myself with rage. ‘you have destroyed it! you have dishonoured me forever! where are the jewels which you have stolen?’
“‘stolen!’ he cried.
“‘yes, thief!’ i roared, shaking him by the shoulder.
“‘there are none missing. there cannot be any missing,’ said he.
“‘there are three missing. and you know where they are. must i call you a liar as well as a thief? did i not see you trying to tear off another piece?’
“‘you have called me names enough,’ said he, ‘i will not stand it any longer. i shall not say another word about this business, since you have chosen to insult me. i will leave your house in the morning and make my own way in the world.’
“‘you shall leave it in the hands of the police!’ i cried half-mad with grief and rage. ‘i shall have this matter probed to the bottom.’
“‘you shall learn nothing from me,’ said he with a passion such as i should not have thought was in his nature. ‘if you choose to call the police, let the police find what they can.’
“by this time the whole house was astir, for i had raised my voice in my anger. mary was the first to rush into my room, and, at the sight of the coronet and of arthur’s face, she read the whole story and, with a scream, fell down senseless on the ground. i sent the housemaid for the police and put the investigation into their hands at once. when the inspector and a constable entered the house, arthur, who had stood sullenly with his arms folded, asked me whether it was my intention to charge him with theft. i answered that it had ceased to be a private matter, but had become a public one, since the ruined coronet was national property. i was determined that the law should have its way in everything.
“‘at least,’ said he, ‘you will not have me arrested at once. it would be to your advantage as well as mine if i might leave the house for five minutes.’
“‘that you may get away, or perhaps that you may conceal what you have stolen,’ said i. and then, realising the dreadful position in which i was placed, i implored him to remember that not only my honour but that of one who was far greater than i was at stake; and that he threatened to raise a scandal which would convulse the nation. he might avert it all if he would but tell me what he had done with the three missing stones.
“‘you may as well face the matter,’ said i; ‘you have been caught in the act, and no confession could make your guilt more heinous. if you but make such reparation as is in your power, by telling us where the beryls are, all shall be forgiven and forgotten.’
“‘keep your forgiveness for those who ask for it,’ he answered, turning away from me with a sneer. i saw that he was too hardened for any words of mine to influence him. there was but one way for it. i called in the inspector and gave him into custody. a search was made at once not only of his person but of his room and of every portion of the house where he could possibly have concealed the gems; but no trace of them could be found, nor would the wretched boy open his mouth for all our persuasions and our threats. this morning he was removed to a cell, and i, after going through all the police formalities, have hurried round to you to implore you to use your skill in unravelling the matter. the police have openly confessed that they can at present make nothing of it. you may go to any expense which you think necessary. i have already offered a reward of £ 1000. my god, what shall i do! i have lost my honour, my gems, and my son in one night. oh, what shall i do!”
he put a hand on either side of his head and rocked himself to and fro, droning to himself like a child whose grief has got beyond words.
sherlock holmes sat silent for some few minutes, with his brows knitted and his eyes fixed upon the fire.
“do you receive much company?” he asked.
“none save my partner with his family and an occasional friend of arthur’s. sir george burnwell has been several times lately. no one else, i think.”
“do you go out much in society?”
“arthur does. mary and i stay at home. we neither of us care for it.”
“that is unusual in a young girl.”
“she is of a quiet nature. besides, she is not so very young. she is four-and-twenty.”
“this matter, from what you say, seems to have been a shock to her also.”
“terrible! she is even more affected than i.”
“you have neither of you any doubt as to your son’s guilt?”
“how can we have when i saw him with my own eyes with the coronet in his hands.”
“i hardly consider that a conclusive proof. was the remainder of the coronet at all injured?”
“yes, it was twisted.”
“do you not think, then, that he might have been trying to straighten it?”
“god bless you! you are doing what you can for him and for me. but it is too heavy a task. what was he doing there at all? if his purpose were innocent, why did he not say so?”
“precisely. and if it were guilty, why did he not invent a lie? his silence appears to me to cut both ways. there are several singular points about the case. what did the police think of the noise which awoke you from your sleep?”
“they considered that it might be caused by arthur’s closing his bedroom door.”
“a likely story! as if a man bent on felony would slam his door so as to wake a household. what did they say, then, of the disappearance of these gems?”
“they are still sounding the planking and probing the furniture in the hope of finding them.”
“have they thought of looking outside the house?”
“yes, they have shown extraordinary energy. the whole garden has already been minutely examined.”
“now, my dear sir,” said holmes, “is it not obvious to you now that this matter really strikes very much deeper than either you or the police were at first inclined to think? it appeared to you to be a simple case; to me it seems exceedingly complex. consider what is involved by your theory. you suppose that your son came down from his bed, went, at great risk, to your dressing-room, opened your bureau, took out your coronet, broke off by main force a small portion of it, went off to some other place, concealed three gems out of the thirty-nine, with such skill that nobody can find them, and then returned with the other thirty-six into the room in which he exposed himself to the greatest danger of being discovered. i ask you now, is such a theory tenable?”
“but what other is there?” cried the banker with a gesture of despair.
“if his motives were innocent, why does he not explain them?”
“it is our task to find that out,” replied holmes; “so now, if you please, mr. holder, we will set off for streatham together, and devote an hour to glancing a little more closely into details.”
my friend insisted upon my accompanying them in their expedition, which i was eager enough to do, for my curiosity and sympathy were deeply stirred by the story to which we had listened. i confess that the guilt of the banker’s son appeared to me to be as obvious as it did to his unhappy father, but still i had such faith in holmes’ judgment that i felt that there must be some grounds for hope as long as he was dissatisfied with the accepted explanation. he hardly spoke a word the whole way out to the southern suburb, but sat with his chin upon his breast and his hat drawn over his eyes, sunk in the deepest thought.
our client appeared to have taken fresh heart at the little glimpse of hope which had been presented to him, and he even broke into a desultory chat with me over his business affairs. a short railway journey and a shorter walk brought us to fairbank, the modest residence of the great financier.
fairbank was a good-sized square house of white stone, standing back a little from the road. a double carriage-sweep, with a snow-clad lawn, stretched down in front to two large iron gates which closed the entrance. on the right side was a small wooden thicket, which led into a narrow path between two neat hedges stretching from the road to the kitchen door, and forming the tradesmen’s entrance. on the left ran a lane which led to the stables, and was not itself within the grounds at all, being a public, though little used, thoroughfare. holmes left us standing at the door and walked slowly all round the house, across the front, down the tradesmen’s path, and so round by the garden behind into the stable lane. so long was he that mr. holder and i went into the dining-room and waited by the fire until he should return. we were sitting there in silence when the door opened and a young lady came in.
she was rather above the middle height, slim, with dark hair and eyes, which seemed the darker against the absolute pallor of her skin. i do not think that i have ever seen such deadly paleness in a woman’s face.
her lips, too, were bloodless, but her eyes were flushed with crying.
as she swept silently into the room she impressed me with a greater sense of grief than the banker had done in the morning, and it was the more striking in her as she was evidently a woman of strong character, with immense capacity for self-restraint. disregarding my presence, she went straight to her uncle and passed her hand over his head with a sweet womanly caress.
“you have given orders that arthur should be liberated, have you not, dad?” she asked.
“no, no, my girl, the matter must be probed to the bottom.”
“but i am so sure that he is innocent. you know what woman’s instincts are. i know that he has done no harm and that you will be sorry for having acted so harshly.”
“why is he silent, then, if he is innocent?”
“who knows? perhaps because he was so angry that you should suspect him.”
“how could i help suspecting him, when i actually saw him with the coronet in his hand?”
“oh, but he had only picked it up to look at it. oh, do, do take my word for it that he is innocent. let the matter drop and say no more.
it is so dreadful to think of our dear arthur in prison!”
“i shall never let it drop until the gems are found—never, mary! your affection for arthur blinds you as to the awful consequences to me. far from hushing the thing up, i have brought a gentleman down from london to inquire more deeply into it.”
“this gentleman?” she asked, facing round to me.
“no, his friend. he wished us to leave him alone. he is round in the stable lane now.”
“the stable lane?” she raised her dark eyebrows. “what can he hope to find there? ah! this, i suppose, is he. i trust, sir, that you will succeed in proving, what i feel sure is the truth, that my cousin arthur is innocent of this crime.”
“i fully share your opinion, and i trust, with you, that we may prove it,” returned holmes, going back to the mat to knock the snow from his shoes. “i believe i have the honour of addressing miss mary holder.
might i ask you a question or two?”
“pray do, sir, if it may help to clear this horrible affair up.”
“you heard nothing yourself last night?”
“nothing, until my uncle here began to speak loudly. i heard that, and i came down.”
“you shut up the windows and doors the night before. did you fasten all the windows?”
“yes.”
“were they all fastened this morning?”
“yes.”
“you have a maid who has a sweetheart? i think that you remarked to your uncle last night that she had been out to see him?”
“yes, and she was the girl who waited in the drawing-room, and who may have heard uncle’s remarks about the coronet.”
“i see. you infer that she may have gone out to tell her sweetheart, and that the two may have planned the robbery.”
“but what is the good of all these vague theories,” cried the banker impatiently, “when i have told you that i saw arthur with the coronet in his hands?”
“wait a little, mr. holder. we must come back to that. about this girl, miss holder. you saw her return by the kitchen door, i presume?”
“yes; when i went to see if the door was fastened for the night i met her slipping in. i saw the man, too, in the gloom.”
“do you know him?”
“oh, yes! he is the greengrocer who brings our vegetables round. his name is francis prosper.”
“he stood,” said holmes, “to the left of the door—that is to say, farther up the path than is necessary to reach the door?”
“yes, he did.”
“and he is a man with a wooden leg?”
something like fear sprang up in the young lady’s expressive black eyes. “why, you are like a magician,” said she. “how do you know that?”
she smiled, but there was no answering smile in holmes’ thin, eager face.
“i should be very glad now to go upstairs,” said he. “i shall probably wish to go over the outside of the house again. perhaps i had better take a look at the lower windows before i go up.”
he walked swiftly round from one to the other, pausing only at the large one which looked from the hall onto the stable lane. this he opened and made a very careful examination of the sill with his powerful magnifying lens. “now we shall go upstairs,” said he at last.
the banker’s dressing-room was a plainly furnished little chamber, with a grey carpet, a large bureau, and a long mirror. holmes went to the bureau first and looked hard at the lock.
“which key was used to open it?” he asked.
“that which my son himself indicated—that of the cupboard of the lumber-room.”
“have you it here?”
“that is it on the dressing-table.”
sherlock holmes took it up and opened the bureau.
“it is a noiseless lock,” said he. “it is no wonder that it did not wake you. this case, i presume, contains the coronet. we must have a look at it.” he opened the case, and taking out the diadem he laid it upon the table. it was a magnificent specimen of the jeweller’s art, and the thirty-six stones were the finest that i have ever seen. at one side of the coronet was a cracked edge, where a corner holding three gems had been torn away.
“now, mr. holder,” said holmes, “here is the corner which corresponds to that which has been so unfortunately lost. might i beg that you will break it off.”
the banker recoiled in horror. “i should not dream of trying,” said he.
“then i will.” holmes suddenly bent his strength upon it, but without result. “i feel it give a little,” said he; “but, though i am exceptionally strong in the fingers, it would take me all my time to break it. an ordinary man could not do it. now, what do you think would happen if i did break it, mr. holder? there would be a noise like a pistol shot. do you tell me that all this happened within a few yards of your bed and that you heard nothing of it?”
“i do not know what to think. it is all dark to me.”
“but perhaps it may grow lighter as we go. what do you think, miss holder?”
“i confess that i still share my uncle’s perplexity.”
“your son had no shoes or slippers on when you saw him?”
“he had nothing on save only his trousers and shirt.”
“thank you. we have certainly been favoured with extraordinary luck during this inquiry, and it will be entirely our own fault if we do not succeed in clearing the matter up. with your permission, mr. holder, i shall now continue my investigations outside.”
he went alone, at his own request, for he explained that any unnecessary footmarks might make his task more difficult. for an hour or more he was at work, returning at last with his feet heavy with snow and his features as inscrutable as ever.
“i think that i have seen now all that there is to see, mr. holder,”
said he; “i can serve you best by returning to my rooms.”
“but the gems, mr. holmes. where are they?”
“i cannot tell.”
the banker wrung his hands. “i shall never see them again!” he cried.
“and my son? you give me hopes?”
“my opinion is in no way altered.”
“then, for god’s sake, what was this dark business which was acted in my house last night?”
“if you can call upon me at my baker street rooms to-morrow morning between nine and ten i shall be happy to do what i can to make it clearer. i understand that you give me carte blanche to act for you, provided only that i get back the gems, and that you place no limit on the sum i may draw.”
“i would give my fortune to have them back.”
“very good. i shall look into the matter between this and then.
good-bye; it is just possible that i may have to come over here again before evening.”
it was obvious to me that my companion’s mind was now made up about the case, although what his conclusions were was more than i could even dimly imagine. several times during our homeward journey i endeavoured to sound him upon the point, but he always glided away to some other topic, until at last i gave it over in despair. it was not yet three when we found ourselves in our rooms once more. he hurried to his chamber and was down again in a few minutes dressed as a common loafer.
with his collar turned up, his shiny, seedy coat, his red cravat, and his worn boots, he was a perfect sample of the class.
“i think that this should do,” said he, glancing into the glass above the fireplace. “i only wish that you could come with me, watson, but i fear that it won’t do. i may be on the trail in this matter, or i may be following a will-o’-the-wisp, but i shall soon know which it is. i hope that i may be back in a few hours.” he cut a slice of beef from the joint upon the sideboard, sandwiched it between two rounds of bread, and thrusting this rude meal into his pocket he started off upon his expedition.
i had just finished my tea when he returned, evidently in excellent spirits, swinging an old elastic-sided boot in his hand. he chucked it down into a corner and helped himself to a cup of tea.
“i only looked in as i passed,” said he. “i am going right on.”
“where to?”
“oh, to the other side of the west end. it may be some time before i get back. don’t wait up for me in case i should be late.”
“how are you getting on?”
“oh, so so. nothing to complain of. i have been out to streatham since i saw you last, but i did not call at the house. it is a very sweet little problem, and i would not have missed it for a good deal.
however, i must not sit gossiping here, but must get these disreputable clothes off and return to my highly respectable self.”
i could see by his manner that he had stronger reasons for satisfaction than his words alone would imply. his eyes twinkled, and there was even a touch of colour upon his sallow cheeks. he hastened upstairs, and a few minutes later i heard the slam of the hall door, which told me that he was off once more upon his congenial hunt.
i waited until midnight, but there was no sign of his return, so i retired to my room. it was no uncommon thing for him to be away for days and nights on end when he was hot upon a scent, so that his lateness caused me no surprise. i do not know at what hour he came in, but when i came down to breakfast in the morning there he was with a cup of coffee in one hand and the paper in the other, as fresh and trim as possible.
“you will excuse my beginning without you, watson,” said he, “but you remember that our client has rather an early appointment this morning.”
“why, it is after nine now,” i answered. “i should not be surprised if that were he. i thought i heard a ring.”
it was, indeed, our friend the financier. i was shocked by the change which had come over him, for his face which was naturally of a broad and massive mould, was now pinched and fallen in, while his hair seemed to me at least a shade whiter. he entered with a weariness and lethargy which was even more painful than his violence of the morning before, and he dropped heavily into the armchair which i pushed forward for him.
“i do not know what i have done to be so severely tried,” said he.
“only two days ago i was a happy and prosperous man, without a care in the world. now i am left to a lonely and dishonoured age. one sorrow comes close upon the heels of another. my niece, mary, has deserted me.”
“deserted you?”
“yes. her bed this morning had not been slept in, her room was empty, and a note for me lay upon the hall table. i had said to her last night, in sorrow and not in anger, that if she had married my boy all might have been well with him. perhaps it was thoughtless of me to say so. it is to that remark that she refers in this note:
“‘my dearest uncle,—i feel that i have brought trouble upon you, and that if i had acted differently this terrible misfortune might never have occurred. i cannot, with this thought in my mind, ever again be happy under your roof, and i feel that i must leave you forever. do not worry about my future, for that is provided for; and, above all, do not search for me, for it will be fruitless labour and an ill-service to me. in life or in death, i am ever your loving,
“‘mary.’
“what could she mean by that note, mr. holmes? do you think it points to suicide?”
“no, no, nothing of the kind. it is perhaps the best possible solution.
i trust, mr. holder, that you are nearing the end of your troubles.”
“ha! you say so! you have heard something, mr. holmes; you have learned something! where are the gems?”
“you would not think £ 1000 apiece an excessive sum for them?”
“i would pay ten.”
“that would be unnecessary. three thousand will cover the matter. and there is a little reward, i fancy. have you your cheque-book? here is a pen. better make it out for £ 4000.”
with a dazed face the banker made out the required check. holmes walked over to his desk, took out a little triangular piece of gold with three gems in it, and threw it down upon the table.
with a shriek of joy our client clutched it up.
“you have it!” he gasped. “i am saved! i am saved!”
the reaction of joy was as passionate as his grief had been, and he hugged his recovered gems to his bosom.
“there is one other thing you owe, mr. holder,” said sherlock holmes rather sternly.
“owe!” he caught up a pen. “name the sum, and i will pay it.”
“no, the debt is not to me. you owe a very humble apology to that noble lad, your son, who has carried himself in this matter as i should be proud to see my own son do, should i ever chance to have one.”
“then it was not arthur who took them?”
“i told you yesterday, and i repeat to-day, that it was not.”
“you are sure of it! then let us hurry to him at once to let him know that the truth is known.”
“he knows it already. when i had cleared it all up i had an interview with him, and finding that he would not tell me the story, i told it to him, on which he had to confess that i was right and to add the very few details which were not yet quite clear to me. your news of this morning, however, may open his lips.”
“for heaven’s sake, tell me, then, what is this extraordinary mystery!”
“i will do so, and i will show you the steps by which i reached it. and let me say to you, first, that which it is hardest for me to say and for you to hear: there has been an understanding between sir george burnwell and your niece mary. they have now fled together.”
“my mary? impossible!”
“it is unfortunately more than possible; it is certain. neither you nor your son knew the true character of this man when you admitted him into your family circle. he is one of the most dangerous men in england—a ruined gambler, an absolutely desperate villain, a man without heart or conscience. your niece knew nothing of such men. when he breathed his vows to her, as he had done to a hundred before her, she flattered herself that she alone had touched his heart. the devil knows best what he said, but at least she became his tool and was in the habit of seeing him nearly every evening.”
“i cannot, and i will not, believe it!” cried the banker with an ashen face.
“i will tell you, then, what occurred in your house last night. your niece, when you had, as she thought, gone to your room, slipped down and talked to her lover through the window which leads into the stable lane. his footmarks had pressed right through the snow, so long had he stood there. she told him of the coronet. his wicked lust for gold kindled at the news, and he bent her to his will. i have no doubt that she loved you, but there are women in whom the love of a lover extinguishes all other loves, and i think that she must have been one.
she had hardly listened to his instructions when she saw you coming downstairs, on which she closed the window rapidly and told you about one of the servants’ escapade with her wooden-legged lover, which was all perfectly true.
“your boy, arthur, went to bed after his interview with you but he slept badly on account of his uneasiness about his club debts. in the middle of the night he heard a soft tread pass his door, so he rose and, looking out, was surprised to see his cousin walking very stealthily along the passage until she disappeared into your dressing-room. petrified with astonishment, the lad slipped on some clothes and waited there in the dark to see what would come of this strange affair. presently she emerged from the room again, and in the light of the passage-lamp your son saw that she carried the precious coronet in her hands. she passed down the stairs, and he, thrilling with horror, ran along and slipped behind the curtain near your door, whence he could see what passed in the hall beneath. he saw her stealthily open the window, hand out the coronet to someone in the gloom, and then closing it once more hurry back to her room, passing quite close to where he stood hid behind the curtain.
“as long as she was on the scene he could not take any action without a horrible exposure of the woman whom he loved. but the instant that she was gone he realised how crushing a misfortune this would be for you, and how all-important it was to set it right. he rushed down, just as he was, in his bare feet, opened the window, sprang out into the snow, and ran down the lane, where he could see a dark figure in the moonlight. sir george burnwell tried to get away, but arthur caught him, and there was a struggle between them, your lad tugging at one side of the coronet, and his opponent at the other. in the scuffle, your son struck sir george and cut him over the eye. then something suddenly snapped, and your son, finding that he had the coronet in his hands, rushed back, closed the window, ascended to your room, and had just observed that the coronet had been twisted in the struggle and was endeavouring to straighten it when you appeared upon the scene.”
“is it possible?” gasped the banker.
“you then roused his anger by calling him names at a moment when he felt that he had deserved your warmest thanks. he could not explain the true state of affairs without betraying one who certainly deserved little enough consideration at his hands. he took the more chivalrous view, however, and preserved her secret.”
“and that was why she shrieked and fainted when she saw the coronet,”
cried mr. holder. “oh, my god! what a blind fool i have been! and his asking to be allowed to go out for five minutes! the dear fellow wanted to see if the missing piece were at the scene of the struggle. how cruelly i have misjudged him!”
“when i arrived at the house,” continued holmes, “i at once went very carefully round it to observe if there were any traces in the snow which might help me. i knew that none had fallen since the evening before, and also that there had been a strong frost to preserve impressions. i passed along the tradesmen’s path, but found it all trampled down and indistinguishable. just beyond it, however, at the far side of the kitchen door, a woman had stood and talked with a man, whose round impressions on one side showed that he had a wooden leg. i could even tell that they had been disturbed, for the woman had run back swiftly to the door, as was shown by the deep toe and light heel marks, while wooden-leg had waited a little, and then had gone away. i thought at the time that this might be the maid and her sweetheart, of whom you had already spoken to me, and inquiry showed it was so. i passed round the garden without seeing anything more than random tracks, which i took to be the police; but when i got into the stable lane a very long and complex story was written in the snow in front of me.
“there was a double line of tracks of a booted man, and a second double line which i saw with delight belonged to a man with naked feet. i was at once convinced from what you had told me that the latter was your son. the first had walked both ways, but the other had run swiftly, and as his tread was marked in places over the depression of the boot, it was obvious that he had passed after the other. i followed them up and found they led to the hall window, where boots had worn all the snow away while waiting. then i walked to the other end, which was a hundred yards or more down the lane. i saw where boots had faced round, where the snow was cut up as though there had been a struggle, and, finally, where a few drops of blood had fallen, to show me that i was not mistaken. boots had then run down the lane, and another little smudge of blood showed that it was he who had been hurt. when he came to the highroad at the other end, i found that the pavement had been cleared, so there was an end to that clue.
“on entering the house, however, i examined, as you remember, the sill and framework of the hall window with my lens, and i could at once see that someone had passed out. i could distinguish the outline of an instep where the wet foot had been placed in coming in. i was then beginning to be able to form an opinion as to what had occurred. a man had waited outside the window; someone had brought the gems; the deed had been overseen by your son; he had pursued the thief; had struggled with him; they had each tugged at the coronet, their united strength causing injuries which neither alone could have effected. he had returned with the prize, but had left a fragment in the grasp of his opponent. so far i was clear. the question now was, who was the man and who was it brought him the coronet?
“it is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. now, i knew that it was not you who had brought it down, so there only remained your niece and the maids. but if it were the maids, why should your son allow himself to be accused in their place? there could be no possible reason. as he loved his cousin, however, there was an excellent explanation why he should retain her secret—the more so as the secret was a disgraceful one. when i remembered that you had seen her at that window, and how she had fainted on seeing the coronet again, my conjecture became a certainty.
“and who could it be who was her confederate? a lover evidently, for who else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she must feel to you? i knew that you went out little, and that your circle of friends was a very limited one. but among them was sir george burnwell. i had heard of him before as being a man of evil reputation among women. it must have been he who wore those boots and retained the missing gems.
even though he knew that arthur had discovered him, he might still flatter himself that he was safe, for the lad could not say a word without compromising his own family.
“well, your own good sense will suggest what measures i took next. i went in the shape of a loafer to sir george’s house, managed to pick up an acquaintance with his valet, learned that his master had cut his head the night before, and, finally, at the expense of six shillings, made all sure by buying a pair of his cast-off shoes. with these i journeyed down to streatham and saw that they exactly fitted the tracks.”
“i saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening,” said mr.
holder.
“precisely. it was i. i found that i had my man, so i came home and changed my clothes. it was a delicate part which i had to play then, for i saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert scandal, and i knew that so astute a villain would see that our hands were tied in the matter. i went and saw him. at first, of course, he denied everything.
but when i gave him every particular that had occurred, he tried to bluster and took down a life-preserver from the wall. i knew my man, however, and i clapped a pistol to his head before he could strike.
then he became a little more reasonable. i told him that we would give him a price for the stones he held—£ 1000 apiece. that brought out the first signs of grief that he had shown. ‘why, dash it all!’ said he, ‘i’ve let them go at six hundred for the three!’ i soon managed to get the address of the receiver who had them, on promising him that there would be no prosecution. off i set to him, and after much chaffering i got our stones at £ 1000 apiece. then i looked in upon your son, told him that all was right, and eventually got to my bed about two o’clock, after what i may call a really hard day’s work.”
“a day which has saved england from a great public scandal,” said the banker, rising. “sir, i cannot find words to thank you, but you shall not find me ungrateful for what you have done. your skill has indeed exceeded all that i have heard of it. and now i must fly to my dear boy to apologise to him for the wrong which i have done him. as to what you tell me of poor mary, it goes to my very heart. not even your skill can inform me where she is now.”
“i think that we may safely say,” returned holmes, “that she is wherever sir george burnwell is. it is equally certain, too, that whatever her sins are, they will soon receive a more than sufficient punishment.”
xii. the adventure of the copper beeches
“to the man who loves art for its own sake,” remarked sherlock holmes, tossing aside the advertisement sheet of the daily telegraph, “it is frequently in its least important and lowliest manifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived. it is pleasant to me to observe, watson, that you have so far grasped this truth that in these little records of our cases which you have been good enough to draw up, and, i am bound to say, occasionally to embellish, you have given prominence not so much to the many causes célèbres and sensational trials in which i have figured but rather to those incidents which may have been trivial in themselves, but which have given room for those faculties of deduction and of logical synthesis which i have made my special province.”
“and yet,” said i, smiling, “i cannot quite hold myself absolved from the charge of sensationalism which has been urged against my records.”
“you have erred, perhaps,” he observed, taking up a glowing cinder with the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood pipe which was wont to replace his clay when he was in a disputatious rather than a meditative mood—“you have erred perhaps in attempting to put colour and life into each of your statements instead of confining yourself to the task of placing upon record that severe reasoning from cause to effect which is really the only notable feature about the thing.”
“it seems to me that i have done you full justice in the matter,” i remarked with some coldness, for i was repelled by the egotism which i had more than once observed to be a strong factor in my friend’s singular character.
“no, it is not selfishness or conceit,” said he, answering, as was his wont, my thoughts rather than my words. “if i claim full justice for my art, it is because it is an impersonal thing—a thing beyond myself.
crime is common. logic is rare. therefore it is upon the logic rather than upon the crime that you should dwell. you have degraded what should have been a course of lectures into a series of tales.”
it was a cold morning of the early spring, and we sat after breakfast on either side of a cheery fire in the old room at baker street. a thick fog rolled down between the lines of dun-coloured houses, and the opposing windows loomed like dark, shapeless blurs through the heavy yellow wreaths. our gas was lit and shone on the white cloth and glimmer of china and metal, for the table had not been cleared yet.
sherlock holmes had been silent all the morning, dipping continuously into the advertisement columns of a succession of papers until at last, having apparently given up his search, he had emerged in no very sweet temper to lecture me upon my literary shortcomings.
“at the same time,” he remarked after a pause, during which he had sat puffing at his long pipe and gazing down into the fire, “you can hardly be open to a charge of sensationalism, for out of these cases which you have been so kind as to interest yourself in, a fair proportion do not treat of crime, in its legal sense, at all. the small matter in which i endeavoured to help the king of bohemia, the singular experience of miss mary sutherland, the problem connected with the man with the twisted lip, and the incident of the noble bachelor, were all matters which are outside the pale of the law. but in avoiding the sensational, i fear that you may have bordered on the trivial.”
“the end may have been so,” i answered, “but the methods i hold to have been novel and of interest.”
“pshaw, my dear fellow, what do the public, the great unobservant public, who could hardly tell a weaver by his tooth or a compositor by his left thumb, care about the finer shades of analysis and deduction!
but, indeed, if you are trivial, i cannot blame you, for the days of the great cases are past. man, or at least criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality. as to my own little practice, it seems to be degenerating into an agency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to young ladies from boarding-schools. i think that i have touched bottom at last, however. this note i had this morning marks my zero-point, i fancy. read it!” he tossed a crumpled letter across to me.
it was dated from montague place upon the preceding evening, and ran thus:
“dear mr. holmes,—i am very anxious to consult you as to whether i should or should not accept a situation which has been offered to me as governess. i shall call at half-past ten to-morrow if i do not inconvenience you. yours faithfully,
“violet hunter.”
“do you know the young lady?” i asked.
“not i.”
“it is half-past ten now.”
“yes, and i have no doubt that is her ring.”
“it may turn out to be of more interest than you think. you remember that the affair of the blue carbuncle, which appeared to be a mere whim at first, developed into a serious investigation. it may be so in this case, also.”
“well, let us hope so. but our doubts will very soon be solved, for here, unless i am much mistaken, is the person in question.”
as he spoke the door opened and a young lady entered the room. she was plainly but neatly dressed, with a bright, quick face, freckled like a plover’s egg, and with the brisk manner of a woman who has had her own way to make in the world.
“you will excuse my troubling you, i am sure,” said she, as my companion rose to greet her, “but i have had a very strange experience, and as i have no parents or relations of any sort from whom i could ask advice, i thought that perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me what i should do.”
“pray take a seat, miss hunter. i shall be happy to do anything that i can to serve you.”
i could see that holmes was favourably impressed by the manner and speech of his new client. he looked her over in his searching fashion, and then composed himself, with his lids drooping and his finger-tips together, to listen to her story.
“i have been a governess for five years,” said she, “in the family of colonel spence munro, but two months ago the colonel received an appointment at halifax, in nova scotia, and took his children over to america with him, so that i found myself without a situation. i advertised, and i answered advertisements, but without success. at last the little money which i had saved began to run short, and i was at my wit’s end as to what i should do.
“there is a well-known agency for governesses in the west end called westaway’s, and there i used to call about once a week in order to see whether anything had turned up which might suit me. westaway was the name of the founder of the business, but it is really managed by miss stoper. she sits in her own little office, and the ladies who are seeking employment wait in an anteroom, and are then shown in one by one, when she consults her ledgers and sees whether she has anything which would suit them.
“well, when i called last week i was shown into the little office as usual, but i found that miss stoper was not alone. a prodigiously stout man with a very smiling face and a great heavy chin which rolled down in fold upon fold over his throat sat at her elbow with a pair of glasses on his nose, looking very earnestly at the ladies who entered.
as i came in he gave quite a jump in his chair and turned quickly to miss stoper.
“‘that will do,’ said he; ‘i could not ask for anything better.
capital! capital!’ he seemed quite enthusiastic and rubbed his hands together in the most genial fashion. he was such a comfortable-looking man that it was quite a pleasure to look at him.
“‘you are looking for a situation, miss?’ he asked.
“‘yes, sir.’
“‘as governess?’
“‘yes, sir.’
“‘and what salary do you ask?’
“‘i had £ 4 a month in my last place with colonel spence munro.’
“‘oh, tut, tut! sweating—rank sweating!’ he cried, throwing his fat hands out into the air like a man who is in a boiling passion. ‘how could anyone offer so pitiful a sum to a lady with such attractions and accomplishments?’
“‘my accomplishments, sir, may be less than you imagine,’ said i. ‘a little french, a little german, music, and drawing—’
“‘tut, tut!’ he cried. ‘this is all quite beside the question. the point is, have you or have you not the bearing and deportment of a lady? there it is in a nutshell. if you have not, you are not fitted for the rearing of a child who may some day play a considerable part in the history of the country. but if you have why, then, how could any gentleman ask you to condescend to accept anything under the three figures? your salary with me, madam, would commence at £ 100 a year.’
“you may imagine, mr. holmes, that to me, destitute as i was, such an offer seemed almost too good to be true. the gentleman, however, seeing perhaps the look of incredulity upon my face, opened a pocket-book and took out a note.
“‘it is also my custom,’ said he, smiling in the most pleasant fashion until his eyes were just two little shining slits amid the white creases of his face, ‘to advance to my young ladies half their salary beforehand, so that they may meet any little expenses of their journey and their wardrobe.’
“it seemed to me that i had never met so fascinating and so thoughtful a man. as i was already in debt to my tradesmen, the advance was a great convenience, and yet there was something unnatural about the whole transaction which made me wish to know a little more before i quite committed myself.
“‘may i ask where you live, sir?’ said i.
“‘hampshire. charming rural place. the copper beeches, five miles on the far side of winchester. it is the most lovely country, my dear young lady, and the dearest old country-house.’
“‘and my duties, sir? i should be glad to know what they would be.’
“‘one child—one dear little romper just six years old. oh, if you could see him killing cockroaches with a slipper! smack! smack! smack! three gone before you could wink!’ he leaned back in his chair and laughed his eyes into his head again.
“i was a little startled at the nature of the child’s amusement, but the father’s laughter made me think that perhaps he was joking.
“‘my sole duties, then,’ i asked, ‘are to take charge of a single child?’
“‘no, no, not the sole, not the sole, my dear young lady,’ he cried.
‘your duty would be, as i am sure your good sense would suggest, to obey any little commands my wife might give, provided always that they were such commands as a lady might with propriety obey. you see no difficulty, heh?’
“‘i should be happy to make myself useful.’
“‘quite so. in dress now, for example. we are faddy people, you know—faddy but kind-hearted. if you were asked to wear any dress which we might give you, you would not object to our little whim. heh?’
“‘no,’ said i, considerably astonished at his words.
“‘or to sit here, or sit there, that would not be offensive to you?’
“‘oh, no.’
“‘or to cut your hair quite short before you come to us?’
“i could hardly believe my ears. as you may observe, mr. holmes, my hair is somewhat luxuriant, and of a rather peculiar tint of chestnut.
it has been considered artistic. i could not dream of sacrificing it in this offhand fashion.
“‘i am afraid that that is quite impossible,’ said i. he had been watching me eagerly out of his small eyes, and i could see a shadow pass over his face as i spoke.
“‘i am afraid that it is quite essential,’ said he. ‘it is a little fancy of my wife’s, and ladies’ fancies, you know, madam, ladies’
fancies must be consulted. and so you won’t cut your hair?’
“‘no, sir, i really could not,’ i answered firmly.
“‘ah, very well; then that quite settles the matter. it is a pity, because in other respects you would really have done very nicely. in that case, miss stoper, i had best inspect a few more of your young ladies.’
“the manageress had sat all this while busy with her papers without a word to either of us, but she glanced at me now with so much annoyance upon her face that i could not help suspecting that she had lost a handsome commission through my refusal.
“‘do you desire your name to be kept upon the books?’ she asked.
“‘if you please, miss stoper.’
“‘well, really, it seems rather useless, since you refuse the most excellent offers in this fashion,’ said she sharply. ‘you can hardly expect us to exert ourselves to find another such opening for you.
good-day to you, miss hunter.’ she struck a gong upon the table, and i was shown out by the page.
“well, mr. holmes, when i got back to my lodgings and found little enough in the cupboard, and two or three bills upon the table, i began to ask myself whether i had not done a very foolish thing. after all, if these people had strange fads and expected obedience on the most extraordinary matters, they were at least ready to pay for their eccentricity. very few governesses in england are getting £ 100 a year.
besides, what use was my hair to me? many people are improved by wearing it short and perhaps i should be among the number. next day i was inclined to think that i had made a mistake, and by the day after i was sure of it. i had almost overcome my pride so far as to go back to the agency and inquire whether the place was still open when i received this letter from the gentleman himself. i have it here and i will read it to you:
“‘the copper beeches, near winchester.
“‘dear miss hunter,—miss stoper has very kindly given me your address, and i write from here to ask you whether you have reconsidered your decision. my wife is very anxious that you should come, for she has been much attracted by my description of you. we are willing to give £ 30 a quarter, or £ 120 a year, so as to recompense you for any little inconvenience which our fads may cause you. they are not very exacting, after all. my wife is fond of a particular shade of electric blue and would like you to wear such a dress indoors in the morning. you need not, however, go to the expense of purchasing one, as we have one belonging to my dear daughter alice (now in philadelphia), which would, i should think, fit you very well. then, as to sitting here or there, or amusing yourself in any manner indicated, that need cause you no inconvenience. as regards your hair, it is no doubt a pity, especially as i could not help remarking its beauty during our short interview, but i am afraid that i must remain firm upon this point, and i only hope that the increased salary may recompense you for the loss. your duties, as far as the child is concerned, are very light. now do try to come, and i shall meet you with the dog-cart at winchester. let me know your train. yours faithfully,
“‘jephro rucastle.’
“that is the letter which i have just received, mr. holmes, and my mind is made up that i will accept it. i thought, however, that before taking the final step i should like to submit the whole matter to your consideration.”
“well, miss hunter, if your mind is made up, that settles the question,” said holmes, smiling.
“but you would not advise me to refuse?”
“i confess that it is not the situation which i should like to see a sister of mine apply for.”
“what is the meaning of it all, mr. holmes?”
“ah, i have no data. i cannot tell. perhaps you have yourself formed some opinion?”
“well, there seems to me to be only one possible solution. mr. rucastle seemed to be a very kind, good-natured man. is it not possible that his wife is a lunatic, that he desires to keep the matter quiet for fear she should be taken to an asylum, and that he humours her fancies in every way in order to prevent an outbreak?”
“that is a possible solution—in fact, as matters stand, it is the most probable one. but in any case it does not seem to be a nice household for a young lady.”
“but the money, mr. holmes, the money!”
“well, yes, of course the pay is good—too good. that is what makes me uneasy. why should they give you £ 120 a year, when they could have their pick for £ 40? there must be some strong reason behind.”
“i thought that if i told you the circumstances you would understand afterwards if i wanted your help. i should feel so much stronger if i felt that you were at the back of me.”
“oh, you may carry that feeling away with you. i assure you that your little problem promises to be the most interesting which has come my way for some months. there is something distinctly novel about some of the features. if you should find yourself in doubt or in danger—”
“danger! what danger do you foresee?”
holmes shook his head gravely. “it would cease to be a danger if we could define it,” said he. “but at any time, day or night, a telegram would bring me down to your help.”
“that is enough.” she rose briskly from her chair with the anxiety all swept from her face. “i shall go down to hampshire quite easy in my mind now. i shall write to mr. rucastle at once, sacrifice my poor hair to-night, and start for winchester to-morrow.” with a few grateful words to holmes she bade us both good-night and bustled off upon her way.
“at least,” said i as we heard her quick, firm steps descending the stairs, “she seems to be a young lady who is very well able to take care of herself.”
“and she would need to be,” said holmes gravely. “i am much mistaken if we do not hear from her before many days are past.”
it was not very long before my friend’s prediction was fulfilled. a fortnight went by, during which i frequently found my thoughts turning in her direction and wondering what strange side-alley of human experience this lonely woman had strayed into. the unusual salary, the curious conditions, the light duties, all pointed to something abnormal, though whether a fad or a plot, or whether the man were a philanthropist or a villain, it was quite beyond my powers to determine. as to holmes, i observed that he sat frequently for half an hour on end, with knitted brows and an abstracted air, but he swept the matter away with a wave of his hand when i mentioned it. “data! data!
data!” he cried impatiently. “i can’t make bricks without clay.” and yet he would always wind up by muttering that no sister of his should ever have accepted such a situation.
the telegram which we eventually received came late one night just as i was thinking of turning in and holmes was settling down to one of those all-night chemical researches which he frequently indulged in, when i would leave him stooping over a retort and a test-tube at night and find him in the same position when i came down to breakfast in the morning. he opened the yellow envelope, and then, glancing at the message, threw it across to me.
“just look up the trains in bradshaw,” said he, and turned back to his chemical studies.
the summons was a brief and urgent one.
“please be at the black swan hotel at winchester at midday to-morrow,”
it said. “do come! i am at my wit’s end.
“hunter.”
“will you come with me?” asked holmes, glancing up.
“i should wish to.”
“just look it up, then.”
“there is a train at half-past nine,” said i, glancing over my bradshaw. “it is due at winchester at 11:30.”
“that will do very nicely. then perhaps i had better postpone my analysis of the acetones, as we may need to be at our best in the morning.”
by eleven o’clock the next day we were well upon our way to the old english capital. holmes had been buried in the morning papers all the way down, but after we had passed the hampshire border he threw them down and began to admire the scenery. it was an ideal spring day, a light blue sky, flecked with little fleecy white clouds drifting across from west to east. the sun was shining very brightly, and yet there was an exhilarating nip in the air, which set an edge to a man’s energy.
all over the countryside, away to the rolling hills around aldershot, the little red and grey roofs of the farm-steadings peeped out from amid the light green of the new foliage.
“are they not fresh and beautiful?” i cried with all the enthusiasm of a man fresh from the fogs of baker street.
but holmes shook his head gravely.
“do you know, watson,” said he, “that it is one of the curses of a mind with a turn like mine that i must look at everything with reference to my own special subject. you look at these scattered houses, and you are impressed by their beauty. i look at them, and the only thought which comes to me is a feeling of their isolation and of the impunity with which crime may be committed there.”
“good heavens!” i cried. “who would associate crime with these dear old homesteads?”
“they always fill me with a certain horror. it is my belief, watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in london do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside.”
“you horrify me!”
“but the reason is very obvious. the pressure of public opinion can do in the town what the law cannot accomplish. there is no lane so vile that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of a drunkard’s blow, does not beget sympathy and indignation among the neighbours, and then the whole machinery of justice is ever so close that a word of complaint can set it going, and there is but a step between the crime and the dock. but look at these lonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most part with poor ignorant folk who know little of the law. think of the deeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on, year in, year out, in such places, and none the wiser. had this lady who appeals to us for help gone to live in winchester, i should never have had a fear for her. it is the five miles of country which makes the danger. still, it is clear that she is not personally threatened.”
“no. if she can come to winchester to meet us she can get away.”
“quite so. she has her freedom.”
“what can be the matter, then? can you suggest no explanation?”
“i have devised seven separate explanations, each of which would cover the facts as far as we know them. but which of these is correct can only be determined by the fresh information which we shall no doubt find waiting for us. well, there is the tower of the cathedral, and we shall soon learn all that miss hunter has to tell.”
the black swan is an inn of repute in the high street, at no distance from the station, and there we found the young lady waiting for us. she had engaged a sitting-room, and our lunch awaited us upon the table.
“i am so delighted that you have come,” she said earnestly. “it is so very kind of you both; but indeed i do not know what i should do. your advice will be altogether invaluable to me.”
“pray tell us what has happened to you.”
“i will do so, and i must be quick, for i have promised mr. rucastle to be back before three. i got his leave to come into town this morning, though he little knew for what purpose.”
“let us have everything in its due order.” holmes thrust his long thin legs out towards the fire and composed himself to listen.
“in the first place, i may say that i have met, on the whole, with no actual ill-treatment from mr. and mrs. rucastle. it is only fair to them to say that. but i cannot understand them, and i am not easy in my mind about them.”
“what can you not understand?”
“their reasons for their conduct. but you shall have it all just as it occurred. when i came down, mr. rucastle met me here and drove me in his dog-cart to the copper beeches. it is, as he said, beautifully situated, but it is not beautiful in itself, for it is a large square block of a house, whitewashed, but all stained and streaked with damp and bad weather. there are grounds round it, woods on three sides, and on the fourth a field which slopes down to the southampton highroad, which curves past about a hundred yards from the front door. this ground in front belongs to the house, but the woods all round are part of lord southerton’s preserves. a clump of copper beeches immediately in front of the hall door has given its name to the place.
“i was driven over by my employer, who was as amiable as ever, and was introduced by him that evening to his wife and the child. there was no truth, mr. holmes, in the conjecture which seemed to us to be probable in your rooms at baker street. mrs. rucastle is not mad. i found her to be a silent, pale-faced woman, much younger than her husband, not more than thirty, i should think, while he can hardly be less than forty-five. from their conversation i have gathered that they have been married about seven years, that he was a widower, and that his only child by the first wife was the daughter who has gone to philadelphia.
mr. rucastle told me in private that the reason why she had left them was that she had an unreasoning aversion to her stepmother. as the daughter could not have been less than twenty, i can quite imagine that her position must have been uncomfortable with her father’s young wife.
“mrs. rucastle seemed to me to be colourless in mind as well as in feature. she impressed me neither favourably nor the reverse. she was a nonentity. it was easy to see that she was passionately devoted both to her husband and to her little son. her light grey eyes wandered continually from one to the other, noting every little want and forestalling it if possible. he was kind to her also in his bluff, boisterous fashion, and on the whole they seemed to be a happy couple.
and yet she had some secret sorrow, this woman. she would often be lost in deep thought, with the saddest look upon her face. more than once i have surprised her in tears. i have thought sometimes that it was the disposition of her child which weighed upon her mind, for i have never met so utterly spoiled and so ill-natured a little creature. he is small for his age, with a head which is quite disproportionately large.
his whole life appears to be spent in an alternation between savage fits of passion and gloomy intervals of sulking. giving pain to any creature weaker than himself seems to be his one idea of amusement, and he shows quite remarkable talent in planning the capture of mice, little birds, and insects. but i would rather not talk about the creature, mr. holmes, and, indeed, he has little to do with my story.”
“i am glad of all details,” remarked my friend, “whether they seem to you to be relevant or not.”
“i shall try not to miss anything of importance. the one unpleasant thing about the house, which struck me at once, was the appearance and conduct of the servants. there are only two, a man and his wife.
toller, for that is his name, is a rough, uncouth man, with grizzled hair and whiskers, and a perpetual smell of drink. twice since i have been with them he has been quite drunk, and yet mr. rucastle seemed to take no notice of it. his wife is a very tall and strong woman with a sour face, as silent as mrs. rucastle and much less amiable. they are a most unpleasant couple, but fortunately i spend most of my time in the nursery and my own room, which are next to each other in one corner of the building.
“for two days after my arrival at the copper beeches my life was very quiet; on the third, mrs. rucastle came down just after breakfast and whispered something to her husband.
“‘oh, yes,’ said he, turning to me, ‘we are very much obliged to you, miss hunter, for falling in with our whims so far as to cut your hair.
i assure you that it has not detracted in the tiniest iota from your appearance. we shall now see how the electric-blue dress will become you. you will find it laid out upon the bed in your room, and if you would be so good as to put it on we should both be extremely obliged.’
“the dress which i found waiting for me was of a peculiar shade of blue. it was of excellent material, a sort of beige, but it bore unmistakable signs of having been worn before. it could not have been a better fit if i had been measured for it. both mr. and mrs. rucastle expressed a delight at the look of it, which seemed quite exaggerated in its vehemence. they were waiting for me in the drawing-room, which is a very large room, stretching along the entire front of the house, with three long windows reaching down to the floor. a chair had been placed close to the central window, with its back turned towards it. in this i was asked to sit, and then mr. rucastle, walking up and down on the other side of the room, began to tell me a series of the funniest stories that i have ever listened to. you cannot imagine how comical he was, and i laughed until i was quite weary. mrs. rucastle, however, who has evidently no sense of humour, never so much as smiled, but sat with her hands in her lap, and a sad, anxious look upon her face. after an hour or so, mr. rucastle suddenly remarked that it was time to commence the duties of the day, and that i might change my dress and go to little edward in the nursery.
“two days later this same performance was gone through under exactly similar circumstances. again i changed my dress, again i sat in the window, and again i laughed very heartily at the funny stories of which my employer had an immense répertoire, and which he told inimitably.
then he handed me a yellow-backed novel, and moving my chair a little sideways, that my own shadow might not fall upon the page, he begged me to read aloud to him. i read for about ten minutes, beginning in the heart of a chapter, and then suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he ordered me to cease and to change my dress.
“you can easily imagine, mr. holmes, how curious i became as to what the meaning of this extraordinary performance could possibly be. they were always very careful, i observed, to turn my face away from the window, so that i became consumed with the desire to see what was going on behind my back. at first it seemed to be impossible, but i soon devised a means. my hand-mirror had been broken, so a happy thought seized me, and i concealed a piece of the glass in my handkerchief. on the next occasion, in the midst of my laughter, i put my handkerchief up to my eyes, and was able with a little management to see all that there was behind me. i confess that i was disappointed. there was nothing. at least that was my first impression. at the second glance, however, i perceived that there was a man standing in the southampton road, a small bearded man in a grey suit, who seemed to be looking in my direction. the road is an important highway, and there are usually people there. this man, however, was leaning against the railings which bordered our field and was looking earnestly up. i lowered my handkerchief and glanced at mrs. rucastle to find her eyes fixed upon me with a most searching gaze. she said nothing, but i am convinced that she had divined that i had a mirror in my hand and had seen what was behind me. she rose at once.
“‘jephro,’ said she, ‘there is an impertinent fellow upon the road there who stares up at miss hunter.’
“‘no friend of yours, miss hunter?’ he asked.
“‘no, i know no one in these parts.’
“‘dear me! how very impertinent! kindly turn round and motion to him to go away.’
“‘surely it would be better to take no notice.’
“‘no, no, we should have him loitering here always. kindly turn round and wave him away like that.’
“i did as i was told, and at the same instant mrs. rucastle drew down the blind. that was a week ago, and from that time i have not sat again in the window, nor have i worn the blue dress, nor seen the man in the road.”
“pray continue,” said holmes. “your narrative promises to be a most interesting one.”
“you will find it rather disconnected, i fear, and there may prove to be little relation between the different incidents of which i speak. on the very first day that i was at the copper beeches, mr. rucastle took me to a small outhouse which stands near the kitchen door. as we approached it i heard the sharp rattling of a chain, and the sound as of a large animal moving about.
“‘look in here!’ said mr. rucastle, showing me a slit between two planks. ‘is he not a beauty?’
“i looked through and was conscious of two glowing eyes, and of a vague figure huddled up in the darkness.
“‘don’t be frightened,’ said my employer, laughing at the start which i had given. ‘it’s only carlo, my mastiff. i call him mine, but really old toller, my groom, is the only man who can do anything with him. we feed him once a day, and not too much then, so that he is always as keen as mustard. toller lets him loose every night, and god help the trespasser whom he lays his fangs upon. for goodness’ sake don’t you ever on any pretext set your foot over the threshold at night, for it’s as much as your life is worth.’
“the warning was no idle one, for two nights later i happened to look out of my bedroom window about two o’clock in the morning. it was a beautiful moonlight night, and the lawn in front of the house was silvered over and almost as bright as day. i was standing, rapt in the peaceful beauty of the scene, when i was aware that something was moving under the shadow of the copper beeches. as it emerged into the moonshine i saw what it was. it was a giant dog, as large as a calf, tawny tinted, with hanging jowl, black muzzle, and huge projecting bones. it walked slowly across the lawn and vanished into the shadow upon the other side. that dreadful sentinel sent a chill to my heart which i do not think that any burglar could have done.
“and now i have a very strange experience to tell you. i had, as you know, cut off my hair in london, and i had placed it in a great coil at the bottom of my trunk. one evening, after the child was in bed, i began to amuse myself by examining the furniture of my room and by rearranging my own little things. there was an old chest of drawers in the room, the two upper ones empty and open, the lower one locked. i had filled the first two with my linen, and as i had still much to pack away i was naturally annoyed at not having the use of the third drawer.
it struck me that it might have been fastened by a mere oversight, so i took out my bunch of keys and tried to open it. the very first key fitted to perfection, and i drew the drawer open. there was only one thing in it, but i am sure that you would never guess what it was. it was my coil of hair.
“i took it up and examined it. it was of the same peculiar tint, and the same thickness. but then the impossibility of the thing obtruded itself upon me. how could my hair have been locked in the drawer? with trembling hands i undid my trunk, turned out the contents, and drew from the bottom my own hair. i laid the two tresses together, and i assure you that they were identical. was it not extraordinary? puzzle as i would, i could make nothing at all of what it meant. i returned the strange hair to the drawer, and i said nothing of the matter to the rucastles as i felt that i had put myself in the wrong by opening a drawer which they had locked.
“i am naturally observant, as you may have remarked, mr. holmes, and i soon had a pretty good plan of the whole house in my head. there was one wing, however, which appeared not to be inhabited at all. a door which faced that which led into the quarters of the tollers opened into this suite, but it was invariably locked. one day, however, as i ascended the stair, i met mr. rucastle coming out through this door, his keys in his hand, and a look on his face which made him a very different person to the round, jovial man to whom i was accustomed. his cheeks were red, his brow was all crinkled with anger, and the veins stood out at his temples with passion. he locked the door and hurried past me without a word or a look.
“this aroused my curiosity, so when i went out for a walk in the grounds with my charge, i strolled round to the side from which i could see the windows of this part of the house. there were four of them in a row, three of which were simply dirty, while the fourth was shuttered up. they were evidently all deserted. as i strolled up and down, glancing at them occasionally, mr. rucastle came out to me, looking as merry and jovial as ever.
“‘ah!’ said he, ‘you must not think me rude if i passed you without a word, my dear young lady. i was preoccupied with business matters.’
“i assured him that i was not offended. ‘by the way,’ said i, ‘you seem to have quite a suite of spare rooms up there, and one of them has the shutters up.’
“he looked surprised and, as it seemed to me, a little startled at my remark.
“‘photography is one of my hobbies,’ said he. ‘i have made my dark room up there. but, dear me! what an observant young lady we have come upon.
who would have believed it? who would have ever believed it?’ he spoke in a jesting tone, but there was no jest in his eyes as he looked at me. i read suspicion there and annoyance, but no jest.
“well, mr. holmes, from the moment that i understood that there was something about that suite of rooms which i was not to know, i was all on fire to go over them. it was not mere curiosity, though i have my share of that. it was more a feeling of duty—a feeling that some good might come from my penetrating to this place. they talk of woman’s instinct; perhaps it was woman’s instinct which gave me that feeling.
at any rate, it was there, and i was keenly on the lookout for any chance to pass the forbidden door.
“it was only yesterday that the chance came. i may tell you that, besides mr. rucastle, both toller and his wife find something to do in these deserted rooms, and i once saw him carrying a large black linen bag with him through the door. recently he has been drinking hard, and yesterday evening he was very drunk; and when i came upstairs there was the key in the door. i have no doubt at all that he had left it there.
mr. and mrs. rucastle were both downstairs, and the child was with them, so that i had an admirable opportunity. i turned the key gently in the lock, opened the door, and slipped through.
“there was a little passage in front of me, unpapered and uncarpeted, which turned at a right angle at the farther end. round this corner were three doors in a line, the first and third of which were open.
they each led into an empty room, dusty and cheerless, with two windows in the one and one in the other, so thick with dirt that the evening light glimmered dimly through them. the centre door was closed, and across the outside of it had been fastened one of the broad bars of an iron bed, padlocked at one end to a ring in the wall, and fastened at the other with stout cord. the door itself was locked as well, and the key was not there. this barricaded door corresponded clearly with the shuttered window outside, and yet i could see by the glimmer from beneath it that the room was not in darkness. evidently there was a skylight which let in light from above. as i stood in the passage gazing at the sinister door and wondering what secret it might veil, i suddenly heard the sound of steps within the room and saw a shadow pass backward and forward against the little slit of dim light which shone out from under the door. a mad, unreasoning terror rose up in me at the sight, mr. holmes. my overstrung nerves failed me suddenly, and i turned and ran—ran as though some dreadful hand were behind me clutching at the skirt of my dress. i rushed down the passage, through the door, and straight into the arms of mr. rucastle, who was waiting outside.
“‘so,’ said he, smiling, ‘it was you, then. i thought that it must be when i saw the door open.’
“‘oh, i am so frightened!’ i panted.
“‘my dear young lady! my dear young lady!’—you cannot think how caressing and soothing his manner was—‘and what has frightened you, my dear young lady?’
“but his voice was just a little too coaxing. he overdid it. i was keenly on my guard against him.
“‘i was foolish enough to go into the empty wing,’ i answered. ‘but it is so lonely and eerie in this dim light that i was frightened and ran out again. oh, it is so dreadfully still in there!’
“‘only that?’ said he, looking at me keenly.
“‘why, what did you think?’ i asked.
“‘why do you think that i lock this door?’
“‘i am sure that i do not know.’
“‘it is to keep people out who have no business there. do you see?’ he was still smiling in the most amiable manner.
“‘i am sure if i had known—’
“‘well, then, you know now. and if you ever put your foot over that threshold again’—here in an instant the smile hardened into a grin of rage, and he glared down at me with the face of a demon—‘i’ll throw you to the mastiff.’
“i was so terrified that i do not know what i did. i suppose that i must have rushed past him into my room. i remember nothing until i found myself lying on my bed trembling all over. then i thought of you, mr. holmes. i could not live there longer without some advice. i was frightened of the house, of the man, of the woman, of the servants, even of the child. they were all horrible to me. if i could only bring you down all would be well. of course i might have fled from the house, but my curiosity was almost as strong as my fears. my mind was soon made up. i would send you a wire. i put on my hat and cloak, went down to the office, which is about half a mile from the house, and then returned, feeling very much easier. a horrible doubt came into my mind as i approached the door lest the dog might be loose, but i remembered that toller had drunk himself into a state of insensibility that evening, and i knew that he was the only one in the household who had any influence with the savage creature, or who would venture to set him free. i slipped in in safety and lay awake half the night in my joy at the thought of seeing you. i had no difficulty in getting leave to come into winchester this morning, but i must be back before three o’clock, for mr. and mrs. rucastle are going on a visit, and will be away all the evening, so that i must look after the child. now i have told you all my adventures, mr. holmes, and i should be very glad if you could tell me what it all means, and, above all, what i should do.”
holmes and i had listened spellbound to this extraordinary story. my friend rose now and paced up and down the room, his hands in his pockets, and an expression of the most profound gravity upon his face.
“is toller still drunk?” he asked.
“yes. i heard his wife tell mrs. rucastle that she could do nothing with him.”
“that is well. and the rucastles go out to-night?”
“yes.”
“is there a cellar with a good strong lock?”
“yes, the wine-cellar.”
“you seem to me to have acted all through this matter like a very brave and sensible girl, miss hunter. do you think that you could perform one more feat? i should not ask it of you if i did not think you a quite exceptional woman.”
“i will try. what is it?”
“we shall be at the copper beeches by seven o’clock, my friend and i.
the rucastles will be gone by that time, and toller will, we hope, be incapable. there only remains mrs. toller, who might give the alarm. if you could send her into the cellar on some errand, and then turn the key upon her, you would facilitate matters immensely.”
“i will do it.”
“excellent! we shall then look thoroughly into the affair. of course there is only one feasible explanation. you have been brought there to personate someone, and the real person is imprisoned in this chamber.
that is obvious. as to who this prisoner is, i have no doubt that it is the daughter, miss alice rucastle, if i remember right, who was said to have gone to america. you were chosen, doubtless, as resembling her in height, figure, and the colour of your hair. hers had been cut off, very possibly in some illness through which she has passed, and so, of course, yours had to be sacrificed also. by a curious chance you came upon her tresses. the man in the road was undoubtedly some friend of hers—possibly her fiancé—and no doubt, as you wore the girl’s dress and were so like her, he was convinced from your laughter, whenever he saw you, and afterwards from your gesture, that miss rucastle was perfectly happy, and that she no longer desired his attentions. the dog is let loose at night to prevent him from endeavouring to communicate with her. so much is fairly clear. the most serious point in the case is the disposition of the child.”
“what on earth has that to do with it?” i ejaculated.
“my dear watson, you as a medical man are continually gaining light as to the tendencies of a child by the study of the parents. don’t you see that the converse is equally valid. i have frequently gained my first real insight into the character of parents by studying their children.
this child’s disposition is abnormally cruel, merely for cruelty’s sake, and whether he derives this from his smiling father, as i should suspect, or from his mother, it bodes evil for the poor girl who is in their power.”
“i am sure that you are right, mr. holmes,” cried our client. “a thousand things come back to me which make me certain that you have hit it. oh, let us lose not an instant in bringing help to this poor creature.”
“we must be circumspect, for we are dealing with a very cunning man. we can do nothing until seven o’clock. at that hour we shall be with you, and it will not be long before we solve the mystery.”
we were as good as our word, for it was just seven when we reached the copper beeches, having put up our trap at a wayside public-house. the group of trees, with their dark leaves shining like burnished metal in the light of the setting sun, were sufficient to mark the house even had miss hunter not been standing smiling on the door-step.
“have you managed it?” asked holmes.
a loud thudding noise came from somewhere downstairs. “that is mrs.
toller in the cellar,” said she. “her husband lies snoring on the kitchen rug. here are his keys, which are the duplicates of mr.
rucastle’s.”
“you have done well indeed!” cried holmes with enthusiasm. “now lead the way, and we shall soon see the end of this black business.”
we passed up the stair, unlocked the door, followed on down a passage, and found ourselves in front of the barricade which miss hunter had described. holmes cut the cord and removed the transverse bar. then he tried the various keys in the lock, but without success. no sound came from within, and at the silence holmes’ face clouded over.
“i trust that we are not too late,” said he. “i think, miss hunter, that we had better go in without you. now, watson, put your shoulder to it, and we shall see whether we cannot make our way in.”
it was an old rickety door and gave at once before our united strength.
together we rushed into the room. it was empty. there was no furniture save a little pallet bed, a small table, and a basketful of linen. the skylight above was open, and the prisoner gone.
“there has been some villainy here,” said holmes; “this beauty has guessed miss hunter’s intentions and has carried his victim off.”
“but how?”
“through the skylight. we shall soon see how he managed it.” he swung himself up onto the roof. “ah, yes,” he cried, “here’s the end of a long light ladder against the eaves. that is how he did it.”
“but it is impossible,” said miss hunter; “the ladder was not there when the rucastles went away.”
“he has come back and done it. i tell you that he is a clever and dangerous man. i should not be very much surprised if this were he whose step i hear now upon the stair. i think, watson, that it would be as well for you to have your pistol ready.”
the words were hardly out of his mouth before a man appeared at the door of the room, a very fat and burly man, with a heavy stick in his hand. miss hunter screamed and shrunk against the wall at the sight of him, but sherlock holmes sprang forward and confronted him.
“you villain!” said he, “where’s your daughter?”
the fat man cast his eyes round, and then up at the open skylight.
“it is for me to ask you that,” he shrieked, “you thieves! spies and thieves! i have caught you, have i? you are in my power. i’ll serve you!” he turned and clattered down the stairs as hard as he could go.
“he’s gone for the dog!” cried miss hunter.
“i have my revolver,” said i.
“better close the front door,” cried holmes, and we all rushed down the stairs together. we had hardly reached the hall when we heard the baying of a hound, and then a scream of agony, with a horrible worrying sound which it was dreadful to listen to. an elderly man with a red face and shaking limbs came staggering out at a side door.
“my god!” he cried. “someone has loosed the dog. it’s not been fed for two days. quick, quick, or it’ll be too late!”
holmes and i rushed out and round the angle of the house, with toller hurrying behind us. there was the huge famished brute, its black muzzle buried in rucastle’s throat, while he writhed and screamed upon the ground. running up, i blew its brains out, and it fell over with its keen white teeth still meeting in the great creases of his neck. with much labour we separated them and carried him, living but horribly mangled, into the house. we laid him upon the drawing-room sofa, and having dispatched the sobered toller to bear the news to his wife, i did what i could to relieve his pain. we were all assembled round him when the door opened, and a tall, gaunt woman entered the room.
“mrs. toller!” cried miss hunter.
“yes, miss. mr. rucastle let me out when he came back before he went up to you. ah, miss, it is a pity you didn’t let me know what you were planning, for i would have told you that your pains were wasted.”
“ha!” said holmes, looking keenly at her. “it is clear that mrs. toller knows more about this matter than anyone else.”
“yes, sir, i do, and i am ready enough to tell what i know.”
“then, pray, sit down, and let us hear it for there are several points on which i must confess that i am still in the dark.”
“i will soon make it clear to you,” said she; “and i’d have done so before now if i could ha’ got out from the cellar. if there’s police-court business over this, you’ll remember that i was the one that stood your friend, and that i was miss alice’s friend too.
“she was never happy at home, miss alice wasn’t, from the time that her father married again. she was slighted like and had no say in anything, but it never really became bad for her until after she met mr. fowler at a friend’s house. as well as i could learn, miss alice had rights of her own by will, but she was so quiet and patient, she was, that she never said a word about them but just left everything in mr. rucastle’s hands. he knew he was safe with her; but when there was a chance of a husband coming forward, who would ask for all that the law would give him, then her father thought it time to put a stop on it. he wanted her to sign a paper, so that whether she married or not, he could use her money. when she wouldn’t do it, he kept on worrying her until she got brain-fever, and for six weeks was at death’s door. then she got better at last, all worn to a shadow, and with her beautiful hair cut off; but that didn’t make no change in her young man, and he stuck to her as true as man could be.”
“ah,” said holmes, “i think that what you have been good enough to tell us makes the matter fairly clear, and that i can deduce all that remains. mr. rucastle then, i presume, took to this system of imprisonment?”
“yes, sir.”
“and brought miss hunter down from london in order to get rid of the disagreeable persistence of mr. fowler.”
“that was it, sir.”
“but mr. fowler being a persevering man, as a good seaman should be, blockaded the house, and having met you succeeded by certain arguments, metallic or otherwise, in convincing you that your interests were the same as his.”
“mr. fowler was a very kind-spoken, free-handed gentleman,” said mrs.
toller serenely.
“and in this way he managed that your good man should have no want of drink, and that a ladder should be ready at the moment when your master had gone out.”
“you have it, sir, just as it happened.”
“i am sure we owe you an apology, mrs. toller,” said holmes, “for you have certainly cleared up everything which puzzled us. and here comes the country surgeon and mrs. rucastle, so i think, watson, that we had best escort miss hunter back to winchester, as it seems to me that our locus standi now is rather a questionable one.”
and thus was solved the mystery of the sinister house with the copper beeches in front of the door. mr. rucastle survived, but was always a broken man, kept alive solely through the care of his devoted wife.
they still live with their old servants, who probably know so much of rucastle’s past life that he finds it difficult to part from them. mr.
fowler and miss rucastle were married, by special license, in southampton the day after their flight, and he is now the holder of a government appointment in the island of mauritius. as to miss violet hunter, my friend holmes, rather to my disappointment, manifested no further interest in her when once she had ceased to be the centre of one of his problems, and she is now the head of a private school at walsall, where i believe that she has met with considerable success.
peter pan
chapter 1 peter breaks through
all children, except one, grow up. they soon know that they will grow up, and the way wendy knew was this. one day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. i suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for mrs. darling put her hand to her heart and cried, “oh, why can't you remain like this for ever!” this was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth wendy knew that she must grow up. you always know after you are two. two is the beginning of the end.
of course they lived at 14 [their house number on their street], and until wendy came her mother was the chief one. she was a lovely lady, with a romantic mind and such a sweet mocking mouth. her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the other, that come from the puzzling east, however many you discover there is always one more; and her sweet mocking mouth had one kiss on it that wendy could never get, though there it was, perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner.
the way mr. darling won her was this: the many gentlemen who had been boys when she was a girl discovered simultaneously that they loved her, and they all ran to her house to propose to her except mr. darling, who took a cab and nipped in first, and so he got her. he got all of her, except the innermost box and the kiss. he never knew about the box, and in time he gave up trying for the kiss. wendy thought napoleon could have got it, but i can picture him trying, and then going off in a passion, slamming the door.
mr. darling used to boast to wendy that her mother not only loved him but respected him. he was one of those deep ones who know about stocks and shares. of course no one really knows, but he quite seemed to know, and he often said stocks were up and shares were down in a way that would have made any woman respect him.
mrs. darling was married in white, and at first she kept the books perfectly, almost gleefully, as if it were a game, not so much as a brussels sprout was missing; but by and by whole cauliflowers dropped out, and instead of them there were pictures of babies without faces.
she drew them when she should have been totting up. they were mrs.
darling's guesses.
wendy came first, then john, then michael.
for a week or two after wendy came it was doubtful whether they would be able to keep her, as she was another mouth to feed. mr. darling was frightfully proud of her, but he was very honourable, and he sat on the edge of mrs. darling's bed, holding her hand and calculating expenses, while she looked at him imploringly. she wanted to risk it, come what might, but that was not his way; his way was with a pencil and a piece of paper, and if she confused him with suggestions he had to begin at the beginning again.
“now don't interrupt,” he would beg of her.
“i have one pound seventeen here, and two and six at the office; i can cut off my coffee at the office, say ten shillings, making two nine and six, with your eighteen and three makes three nine seven, with five naught naught in my cheque-book makes eight nine seven who is that moving? eight nine seven, dot and carry seven don't speak, my own and the pound you lent to that man who came to the door quiet, child dot and carry child there, you've done it! did i say nine nine seven? yes, i said nine nine seven; the question is, can we try it for a year on nine nine seven?”
“of course we can, george,” she cried. but she was prejudiced in wendy's favour, and he was really the grander character of the two.
“remember mumps,” he warned her almost threateningly, and off he went again. “mumps one pound, that is what i have put down, but i daresay it will be more like thirty shillings don't speak measles one five, german measles half a guinea, makes two fifteen six don't waggle your finger whooping-cough, say fifteen shillings” and so on it went, and it added up differently each time; but at last wendy just got through, with mumps reduced to twelve six, and the two kinds of measles treated as one.
there was the same excitement over john, and michael had even a narrower squeak; but both were kept, and soon, you might have seen the three of them going in a row to miss fulsom's kindergarten school, accompanied by their nurse.
mrs. darling loved to have everything just so, and mr. darling had a passion for being exactly like his neighbours; so, of course, they had a nurse. as they were poor, owing to the amount of milk the children drank, this nurse was a prim newfoundland dog, called nana, who had belonged to no one in particular until the darlings engaged her. she had always thought children important, however, and the darlings had become acquainted with her in kensington gardens, where she spent most of her spare time peeping into perambulators, and was much hated by careless nursemaids, whom she followed to their homes and complained of to their mistresses. she proved to be quite a treasure of a nurse. how thorough she was at bath-time, and up at any moment of the night if one of her charges made the slightest cry. of course her kennel was in the nursery.
she had a genius for knowing when a cough is a thing to have no patience with and when it needs stocking around your throat. she believed to her last day in old-fashioned remedies like rhubarb leaf, and made sounds of contempt over all this new-fangled talk about germs, and so on. it was a lesson in propriety to see her escorting the children to school, walking sedately by their side when they were well behaved, and butting them back into line if they strayed. on john's footer [in england soccer was called football, “footer” for short] days she never once forgot his sweater, and she usually carried an umbrella in her mouth in case of rain. there is a room in the basement of miss fulsom's school where the nurses wait. they sat on forms, while nana lay on the floor, but that was the only difference. they affected to ignore her as of an inferior social status to themselves, and she despised their light talk. she resented visits to the nursery from mrs. darling's friends, but if they did come she first whipped off michael's pinafore and put him into the one with blue braiding, and smoothed out wendy and made a dash at john's hair.
no nursery could possibly have been conducted more correctly, and mr. darling knew it, yet he sometimes wondered uneasily whether the neighbours talked.
he had his position in the city to consider.
nana also troubled him in another way. he had sometimes a feeling that she did not admire him. “i know she admires you tremendously, george,”
mrs. darling would assure him, and then she would sign to the children to be specially nice to father. lovely dances followed, in which the only other servant, liza, was sometimes allowed to join. such a midget she looked in her long skirt and maid's cap, though she had sworn, when engaged, that she would never see ten again. the gaiety of those romps!
and gayest of all was mrs. darling, who would pirouette so wildly that all you could see of her was the kiss, and then if you had dashed at her you might have got it. there never was a simpler happier family until the coming of peter pan.
mrs. darling first heard of peter when she was tidying up her children's minds. it is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day. if you could keep awake (but of course you can't) you would see your own mother doing this, and you would find it very interesting to watch her. it is quite like tidying up drawers. you would see her on her knees, i expect, lingering humorously over some of your contents, wondering where on earth you had picked this thing up, making discoveries sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to her cheek as if it were as nice as a kitten, and hurriedly stowing that out of sight.
when you wake in the morning, the naughtiness and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of your mind and on the top, beautifully aired, are spread out your prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on.
i don't know whether you have ever seen a map of a person's mind.
doctors sometimes draw maps of other parts of you, and your own map can become intensely interesting, but catch them trying to draw a map of a child's mind, which is not only confused, but keeps going round all the time. there are zigzag lines on it, just like your temperature on a card, and these are probably roads in the island, for the neverland is always more or less an island, with astonishing splashes of colour here and there, and coral reefs and rakish-looking craft in the offing, and savages and lonely lairs, and gnomes who are mostly tailors, and caves through which a river runs, and princes with six elder brothers, and a hut fast going to decay, and one very small old lady with a hooked nose.
it would be an easy map if that were all, but there is also first day at school, religion, fathers, the round pond, needle-work, murders, hangings, verbs that take the dative, chocolate pudding day, getting into braces, say ninety-nine, three-pence for pulling out your tooth yourself, and so on, and either these are part of the island or they are another map showing through, and it is all rather confusing, especially as nothing will stand still.
of course the neverlands vary a good deal. john's, for instance, had a lagoon with flamingoes flying over it at which john was shooting, while michael, who was very small, had a flamingo with lagoons flying over it. john lived in a boat turned upside down on the sands, michael in a wigwam, wendy in a house of leaves deftly sewn together. john had no friends, michael had friends at night, wendy had a pet wolf forsaken by its parents, but on the whole the neverlands have a family resemblance, and if they stood still in a row you could say of them that they have each other's nose, and so forth. on these magic shores children at play are for ever beaching their coracles [simple boat]. we too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more.
of all delectable islands the neverland is the snuggest and most compact, not large and sprawly, you know, with tedious distances between one adventure and another, but nicely crammed. when you play at it by day with the chairs and table-cloth, it is not in the least alarming, but in the two minutes before you go to sleep it becomes very real. that is why there are night-lights.
occasionally in her travels through her children's minds mrs. darling found things she could not understand, and of these quite the most perplexing was the word peter. she knew of no peter, and yet he was here and there in john and michael's minds, while wendy's began to be scrawled all over with him. the name stood out in bolder letters than any of the other words, and as mrs. darling gazed she felt that it had an oddly cocky appearance.
“yes, he is rather cocky,” wendy admitted with regret. her mother had been questioning her.
“but who is he, my pet?”
“he is peter pan, you know, mother.”
at first mrs. darling did not know, but after thinking back into her childhood she just remembered a peter pan who was said to live with the fairies. there were odd stories about him, as that when children died he went part of the way with them, so that they should not be frightened.
she had believed in him at the time, but now that she was married and full of sense she quite doubted whether there was any such person.
“besides,” she said to wendy, “he would be grown up by this time.”
“oh no, he isn't grown up,” wendy assured her confidently, “and he is just my size.” she meant that he was her size in both mind and body; she didn't know how she knew, she just knew it.
mrs. darling consulted mr. darling, but he smiled pooh-pooh. “mark my words,” he said, “it is some nonsense nana has been putting into their heads; just the sort of idea a dog would have. leave it alone, and it will blow over.”
but it would not blow over and soon the troublesome boy gave mrs.
darling quite a shock.
children have the strangest adventures without being troubled by them.
for instance, they may remember to mention, a week after the event happened, that when they were in the wood they had met their dead father and had a game with him. it was in this casual way that wendy one morning made a disquieting revelation. some leaves of a tree had been found on the nursery floor, which certainly were not there when the children went to bed, and mrs. darling was puzzling over them when wendy said with a tolerant smile:
“i do believe it is that peter again!”
“whatever do you mean, wendy?”
“it is so naughty of him not to wipe his feet,” wendy said, sighing. she was a tidy child.
she explained in quite a matter-of-fact way that she thought peter sometimes came to the nursery in the night and sat on the foot of her bed and played on his pipes to her. unfortunately she never woke, so she didn't know how she knew, she just knew.
“what nonsense you talk, precious. no one can get into the house without knocking.”
“i think he comes in by the window,” she said.
“my love, it is three floors up.”
“were not the leaves at the foot of the window, mother?”
it was quite true; the leaves had been found very near the window.
mrs. darling did not know what to think, for it all seemed so natural to wendy that you could not dismiss it by saying she had been dreaming.
“my child,” the mother cried, “why did you not tell me of this before?”
“i forgot,” said wendy lightly. she was in a hurry to get her breakfast.
oh, surely she must have been dreaming.
but, on the other hand, there were the leaves. mrs. darling examined them very carefully; they were skeleton leaves, but she was sure they did not come from any tree that grew in england. she crawled about the floor, peering at it with a candle for marks of a strange foot. she rattled the poker up the chimney and tapped the walls. she let down a tape from the window to the pavement, and it was a sheer drop of thirty feet, without so much as a spout to climb up by.
certainly wendy had been dreaming.
but wendy had not been dreaming, as the very next night showed, the night on which the extraordinary adventures of these children may be said to have begun.
on the night we speak of all the children were once more in bed. it happened to be nana's evening off, and mrs. darling had bathed them and sung to them till one by one they had let go her hand and slid away into the land of sleep.
all were looking so safe and cosy that she smiled at her fears now and sat down tranquilly by the fire to sew.
it was something for michael, who on his birthday was getting into shirts. the fire was warm, however, and the nursery dimly lit by three night-lights, and presently the sewing lay on mrs. darling's lap. then her head nodded, oh, so gracefully. she was asleep. look at the four of them, wendy and michael over there, john here, and mrs. darling by the fire. there should have been a fourth night-light.
while she slept she had a dream. she dreamt that the neverland had come too near and that a strange boy had broken through from it. he did not alarm her, for she thought she had seen him before in the faces of many women who have no children. perhaps he is to be found in the faces of some mothers also. but in her dream he had rent the film that obscures the neverland, and she saw wendy and john and michael peeping through the gap.
the dream by itself would have been a trifle, but while she was dreaming the window of the nursery blew open, and a boy did drop on the floor.
he was accompanied by a strange light, no bigger than your fist, which darted about the room like a living thing and i think it must have been this light that wakened mrs. darling.
she started up with a cry, and saw the boy, and somehow she knew at once that he was peter pan. if you or i or wendy had been there we should have seen that he was very like mrs. darling's kiss. he was a lovely boy, clad in skeleton leaves and the juices that ooze out of trees but the most entrancing thing about him was that he had all his first teeth.
when he saw she was a grown-up, he gnashed the little pearls at her.
chapter 2 the shadow
mrs. darling screamed, and, as if in answer to a bell, the door opened, and nana entered, returned from her evening out. she growled and sprang at the boy, who leapt lightly through the window. again mrs. darling screamed, this time in distress for him, for she thought he was killed, and she ran down into the street to look for his little body, but it was not there; and she looked up, and in the black night she could see nothing but what she thought was a shooting star.
she returned to the nursery, and found nana with something in her mouth, which proved to be the boy's shadow. as he leapt at the window nana had closed it quickly, too late to catch him, but his shadow had not had time to get out; slam went the window and snapped it off.
you may be sure mrs. darling examined the shadow carefully, but it was quite the ordinary kind.
nana had no doubt of what was the best thing to do with this shadow. she hung it out at the window, meaning “he is sure to come back for it; let us put it where he can get it easily without disturbing the children.”
but unfortunately mrs. darling could not leave it hanging out at the window, it looked so like the washing and lowered the whole tone of the house. she thought of showing it to mr. darling, but he was totting up winter great-coats for john and michael, with a wet towel around his head to keep his brain clear, and it seemed a shame to trouble him; besides, she knew exactly what he would say: “it all comes of having a dog for a nurse.”
she decided to roll the shadow up and put it away carefully in a drawer, until a fitting opportunity came for telling her husband. ah me!
the opportunity came a week later, on that never-to-be-forgotten friday.
of course it was a friday.
“i ought to have been specially careful on a friday,” she used to say afterwards to her husband, while perhaps nana was on the other side of her, holding her hand.
“no, no,” mr. darling always said, “i am responsible for it all. i, george darling, did it. mea culpa, mea culpa.” he had had a classical education.
they sat thus night after night recalling that fatal friday, till every detail of it was stamped on their brains and came through on the other side like the faces on a bad coinage.
“if only i had not accepted that invitation to dine at 27,” mrs. darling said.
“if only i had not poured my medicine into nana's bowl,” said mr.
darling.
“if only i had pretended to like the medicine,” was what nana's wet eyes said.
“my liking for parties, george.”
“my fatal gift of humour, dearest.”
“my touchiness about trifles, dear master and mistress.”
then one or more of them would break down altogether; nana at the thought, “it's true, it's true, they ought not to have had a dog for a nurse.” many a time it was mr. darling who put the handkerchief to nana's eyes.
“that fiend!” mr. darling would cry, and nana's bark was the echo of it, but mrs. darling never upbraided peter; there was something in the right-hand corner of her mouth that wanted her not to call peter names.
they would sit there in the empty nursery, recalling fondly every smallest detail of that dreadful evening. it had begun so uneventfully, so precisely like a hundred other evenings, with nana putting on the water for michael's bath and carrying him to it on her back.
“i won't go to bed,” he had shouted, like one who still believed that he had the last word on the subject, “i won't, i won't. nana, it isn't six o'clock yet. oh dear, oh dear, i shan't love you any more, nana. i tell you i won't be bathed, i won't, i won't!”
then mrs. darling had come in, wearing her white evening-gown. she had dressed early because wendy so loved to see her in her evening-gown, with the necklace george had given her. she was wearing wendy's bracelet on her arm; she had asked for the loan of it. wendy loved to lend her bracelet to her mother.
she had found her two older children playing at being herself and father on the occasion of wendy's birth, and john was saying:
“i am happy to inform you, mrs. darling, that you are now a mother,”
in just such a tone as mr. darling himself may have used on the real occasion.
wendy had danced with joy, just as the real mrs. darling must have done.
then john was born, with the extra pomp that he conceived due to the birth of a male, and michael came from his bath to ask to be born also, but john said brutally that they did not want any more.
michael had nearly cried. “nobody wants me,” he said, and of course the lady in the evening-dress could not stand that.
“i do,” she said, “i so want a third child.”
“boy or girl?” asked michael, not too hopefully.
“boy.”
then he had leapt into her arms. such a little thing for mr. and mrs.
darling and nana to recall now, but not so little if that was to be michael's last night in the nursery.
they go on with their recollections.
“it was then that i rushed in like a tornado, wasn't it?” mr. darling would say, scorning himself; and indeed he had been like a tornado.
perhaps there was some excuse for him. he, too, had been dressing for the party, and all had gone well with him until he came to his tie. it is an astounding thing to have to tell, but this man, though he knew about stocks and shares, had no real mastery of his tie. sometimes the thing yielded to him without a contest, but there were occasions when it would have been better for the house if he had swallowed his pride and used a made-up tie.
this was such an occasion. he came rushing into the nursery with the crumpled little brute of a tie in his hand.
“why, what is the matter, father dear?”
“matter!” he yelled; he really yelled. “this tie, it will not tie.” he became dangerously sarcastic. “not round my neck! round the bed-post!
oh yes, twenty times have i made it up round the bed-post, but round my neck, no! oh dear no! begs to be excused!”
he thought mrs. darling was not sufficiently impressed, and he went on sternly, “i warn you of this, mother, that unless this tie is round my neck we don't go out to dinner to-night, and if i don't go out to dinner to-night, i never go to the office again, and if i don't go to the office again, you and i starve, and our children will be flung into the streets.”
even then mrs. darling was placid. “let me try, dear,” she said, and indeed that was what he had come to ask her to do, and with her nice cool hands she tied his tie for him, while the children stood around to see their fate decided. some men would have resented her being able to do it so easily, but mr. darling had far too fine a nature for that; he thanked her carelessly, at once forgot his rage, and in another moment was dancing round the room with michael on his back.
“how wildly we romped!” says mrs. darling now, recalling it.
“our last romp!” mr. darling groaned.
“o george, do you remember michael suddenly said to me, 'how did you get to know me, mother?'”
“i remember!”
“they were rather sweet, don't you think, george?”
“and they were ours, ours! and now they are gone.”
the romp had ended with the appearance of nana, and most unluckily mr.
darling collided against her, covering his trousers with hairs. they were not only new trousers, but they were the first he had ever had with braid on them, and he had had to bite his lip to prevent the tears coming. of course mrs. darling brushed him, but he began to talk again about its being a mistake to have a dog for a nurse.
“george, nana is a treasure.”
“no doubt, but i have an uneasy feeling at times that she looks upon the children as puppies.”
“oh no, dear one, i feel sure she knows they have souls.”
“i wonder,” mr. darling said thoughtfully, “i wonder.” it was an opportunity, his wife felt, for telling him about the boy. at first he pooh-poohed the story, but he became thoughtful when she showed him the shadow.
“it is nobody i know,” he said, examining it carefully, “but it does look a scoundrel.”
“we were still discussing it, you remember,” says mr. darling, “when nana came in with michael's medicine. you will never carry the bottle in your mouth again, nana, and it is all my fault.”
strong man though he was, there is no doubt that he had behaved rather foolishly over the medicine. if he had a weakness, it was for thinking that all his life he had taken medicine boldly, and so now, when michael dodged the spoon in nana's mouth, he had said reprovingly, “be a man, michael.”
“won't; won't!” michael cried naughtily. mrs. darling left the room to get a chocolate for him, and mr. darling thought this showed want of firmness.
“mother, don't pamper him,” he called after her. “michael, when i was your age i took medicine without a murmur. i said, 'thank you, kind parents, for giving me bottles to make me well.'”
he really thought this was true, and wendy, who was now in her night-gown, believed it also, and she said, to encourage michael, “that medicine you sometimes take, father, is much nastier, isn't it?”
“ever so much nastier,” mr. darling said bravely, “and i would take it now as an example to you, michael, if i hadn't lost the bottle.”
he had not exactly lost it; he had climbed in the dead of night to the top of the wardrobe and hidden it there. what he did not know was that the faithful liza had found it, and put it back on his wash-stand.
“i know where it is, father,” wendy cried, always glad to be of service.
“i'll bring it,” and she was off before he could stop her. immediately his spirits sank in the strangest way.
“john,” he said, shuddering, “it's most beastly stuff. it's that nasty, sticky, sweet kind.”
“it will soon be over, father,” john said cheerily, and then in rushed wendy with the medicine in a glass.
“i have been as quick as i could,” she panted.
“you have been wonderfully quick,” her father retorted, with a vindictive politeness that was quite thrown away upon her. “michael first,” he said doggedly.
“father first,” said michael, who was of a suspicious nature.
“i shall be sick, you know,” mr. darling said threateningly.
“come on, father,” said john.
“hold your tongue, john,” his father rapped out.
wendy was quite puzzled. “i thought you took it quite easily, father.”
“that is not the point,” he retorted. “the point is, that there is more in my glass than in michael's spoon.” his proud heart was nearly bursting. “and it isn't fair: i would say it though it were with my last breath; it isn't fair.”
“father, i am waiting,” said michael coldly.
“it's all very well to say you are waiting; so am i waiting.”
“father's a cowardly custard.”
“so are you a cowardly custard.”
“i'm not frightened.”
“neither am i frightened.”
“well, then, take it.”
“well, then, you take it.”
wendy had a splendid idea. “why not both take it at the same time?”
“certainly,” said mr. darling. “are you ready, michael?”
wendy gave the words, one, two, three, and michael took his medicine, but mr. darling slipped his behind his back.
there was a yell of rage from michael, and “o father!” wendy exclaimed.
“what do you mean by 'o father'?” mr. darling demanded. “stop that row, michael. i meant to take mine, but i i missed it.”
it was dreadful the way all the three were looking at him, just as if they did not admire him. “look here, all of you,” he said entreatingly, as soon as nana had gone into the bathroom. “i have just thought of a splendid joke. i shall pour my medicine into nana's bowl, and she will drink it, thinking it is milk!”
it was the colour of milk; but the children did not have their father's sense of humour, and they looked at him reproachfully as he poured the medicine into nana's bowl. “what fun!” he said doubtfully, and they did not dare expose him when mrs. darling and nana returned.
“nana, good dog,” he said, patting her, “i have put a little milk into your bowl, nana.”
nana wagged her tail, ran to the medicine, and began lapping it. then she gave mr. darling such a look, not an angry look: she showed him the great red tear that makes us so sorry for noble dogs, and crept into her kennel.
mr. darling was frightfully ashamed of himself, but he would not give in. in a horrid silence mrs. darling smelt the bowl. “o george,” she said, “it's your medicine!”
“it was only a joke,” he roared, while she comforted her boys, and wendy hugged nana. “much good,” he said bitterly, “my wearing myself to the bone trying to be funny in this house.”
and still wendy hugged nana. “that's right,” he shouted. “coddle her!
nobody coddles me. oh dear no! i am only the breadwinner, why should i be coddled why, why, why!”
“george,” mrs. darling entreated him, “not so loud; the servants will hear you.” somehow they had got into the way of calling liza the servants.
“let them!” he answered recklessly. “bring in the whole world. but i refuse to allow that dog to lord it in my nursery for an hour longer.”
the children wept, and nana ran to him beseechingly, but he waved her back. he felt he was a strong man again. “in vain, in vain,” he cried; “the proper place for you is the yard, and there you go to be tied up this instant.”
“george, george,” mrs. darling whispered, “remember what i told you about that boy.”
alas, he would not listen. he was determined to show who was master in that house, and when commands would not draw nana from the kennel, he lured her out of it with honeyed words, and seizing her roughly, dragged her from the nursery. he was ashamed of himself, and yet he did it.
it was all owing to his too affectionate nature, which craved for admiration. when he had tied her up in the back-yard, the wretched father went and sat in the passage, with his knuckles to his eyes.
in the meantime mrs. darling had put the children to bed in unwonted silence and lit their night-lights. they could hear nana barking, and john whimpered, “it is because he is chaining her up in the yard,” but wendy was wiser.
“that is not nana's unhappy bark,” she said, little guessing what was about to happen; “that is her bark when she smells danger.”
danger!
“are you sure, wendy?”
“oh, yes.”
mrs. darling quivered and went to the window. it was securely fastened.
she looked out, and the night was peppered with stars. they were crowding round the house, as if curious to see what was to take place there, but she did not notice this, nor that one or two of the smaller ones winked at her. yet a nameless fear clutched at her heart and made her cry, “oh, how i wish that i wasn't going to a party to-night!”
even michael, already half asleep, knew that she was perturbed, and he asked, “can anything harm us, mother, after the night-lights are lit?”
“nothing, precious,” she said; “they are the eyes a mother leaves behind her to guard her children.”
she went from bed to bed singing enchantments over them, and little michael flung his arms round her. “mother,” he cried, “i'm glad of you.”
they were the last words she was to hear from him for a long time.
no. 27 was only a few yards distant, but there had been a slight fall of snow, and father and mother darling picked their way over it deftly not to soil their shoes. they were already the only persons in the street, and all the stars were watching them. stars are beautiful, but they may not take an active part in anything, they must just look on for ever. it is a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star now knows what it was. so the older ones have become glassy-eyed and seldom speak (winking is the star language), but the little ones still wonder. they are not really friendly to peter, who had a mischievous way of stealing up behind them and trying to blow them out; but they are so fond of fun that they were on his side to-night, and anxious to get the grown-ups out of the way. so as soon as the door of 27 closed on mr. and mrs. darling there was a commotion in the firmament, and the smallest of all the stars in the milky way screamed out:
“now, peter!”
chapter 3 come away, come away!
for a moment after mr. and mrs. darling left the house the night-lights by the beds of the three children continued to burn clearly. they were awfully nice little night-lights, and one cannot help wishing that they could have kept awake to see peter; but wendy's light blinked and gave such a yawn that the other two yawned also, and before they could close their mouths all the three went out.
there was another light in the room now, a thousand times brighter than the night-lights, and in the time we have taken to say this, it had been in all the drawers in the nursery, looking for peter's shadow, rummaged the wardrobe and turned every pocket inside out. it was not really a light; it made this light by flashing about so quickly, but when it came to rest for a second you saw it was a fairy, no longer than your hand, but still growing. it was a girl called tinker bell exquisitely gowned in a skeleton leaf, cut low and square, through which her figure could be seen to the best advantage. she was slightly inclined to embonpoint.
[plump hourglass figure]
a moment after the fairy's entrance the window was blown open by the breathing of the little stars, and peter dropped in. he had carried tinker bell part of the way, and his hand was still messy with the fairy dust.
“tinker bell,” he called softly, after making sure that the children were asleep, “tink, where are you?” she was in a jug for the moment, and liking it extremely; she had never been in a jug before.
“oh, do come out of that jug, and tell me, do you know where they put my shadow?”
the loveliest tinkle as of golden bells answered him. it is the fairy language. you ordinary children can never hear it, but if you were to hear it you would know that you had heard it once before.
tink said that the shadow was in the big box. she meant the chest of drawers, and peter jumped at the drawers, scattering their contents to the floor with both hands, as kings toss ha'pence to the crowd. in a moment he had recovered his shadow, and in his delight he forgot that he had shut tinker bell up in the drawer.
if he thought at all, but i don't believe he ever thought, it was that he and his shadow, when brought near each other, would join like drops of water, and when they did not he was appalled. he tried to stick it on with soap from the bathroom, but that also failed. a shudder passed through peter, and he sat on the floor and cried.
his sobs woke wendy, and she sat up in bed. she was not alarmed to see a stranger crying on the nursery floor; she was only pleasantly interested.
“boy,” she said courteously, “why are you crying?”
peter could be exceeding polite also, having learned the grand manner at fairy ceremonies, and he rose and bowed to her beautifully. she was much pleased, and bowed beautifully to him from the bed.
“what's your name?” he asked.
“wendy moira angela darling,” she replied with some satisfaction. “what is your name?”
“peter pan.”
she was already sure that he must be peter, but it did seem a comparatively short name.
“is that all?”
“yes,” he said rather sharply. he felt for the first time that it was a shortish name.
“i'm so sorry,” said wendy moira angela.
“it doesn't matter,” peter gulped.
she asked where he lived.
“second to the right,” said peter, “and then straight on till morning.”
“what a funny address!”
peter had a sinking. for the first time he felt that perhaps it was a funny address.
“no, it isn't,” he said.
“i mean,” wendy said nicely, remembering that she was hostess, “is that what they put on the letters?”
he wished she had not mentioned letters.
“don't get any letters,” he said contemptuously.
“but your mother gets letters?”
“don't have a mother,” he said. not only had he no mother, but he had not the slightest desire to have one. he thought them very over-rated persons. wendy, however, felt at once that she was in the presence of a tragedy.
“o peter, no wonder you were crying,” she said, and got out of bed and ran to him.
“i wasn't crying about mothers,” he said rather indignantly. “i was crying because i can't get my shadow to stick on. besides, i wasn't crying.”
“it has come off?”
“yes.”
then wendy saw the shadow on the floor, looking so draggled, and she was frightfully sorry for peter. “how awful!” she said, but she could not help smiling when she saw that he had been trying to stick it on with soap. how exactly like a boy!
fortunately she knew at once what to do. “it must be sewn on,” she said, just a little patronisingly.
“what's sewn?” he asked.
“you're dreadfully ignorant.”
“no, i'm not.”
but she was exulting in his ignorance. “i shall sew it on for you, my little man,” she said, though he was tall as herself, and she got out her housewife [sewing bag], and sewed the shadow on to peter's foot.
“i daresay it will hurt a little,” she warned him.
“oh, i shan't cry,” said peter, who was already of the opinion that he had never cried in his life. and he clenched his teeth and did not cry, and soon his shadow was behaving properly, though still a little creased.
“perhaps i should have ironed it,” wendy said thoughtfully, but peter, boylike, was indifferent to appearances, and he was now jumping about in the wildest glee. alas, he had already forgotten that he owed his bliss to wendy. he thought he had attached the shadow himself. “how clever i am!” he crowed rapturously, “oh, the cleverness of me!”
it is humiliating to have to confess that this conceit of peter was one of his most fascinating qualities. to put it with brutal frankness, there never was a cockier boy.
but for the moment wendy was shocked. “you conceit [braggart],” she exclaimed, with frightful sarcasm; “of course i did nothing!”
“you did a little,” peter said carelessly, and continued to dance.
“a little!” she replied with hauteur [pride]; “if i am no use i can at least withdraw,” and she sprang in the most dignified way into bed and covered her face with the blankets.
to induce her to look up he pretended to be going away, and when this failed he sat on the end of the bed and tapped her gently with his foot.
“wendy,” he said, “don't withdraw. i can't help crowing, wendy, when i'm pleased with myself.” still she would not look up, though she was listening eagerly. “wendy,” he continued, in a voice that no woman has ever yet been able to resist, “wendy, one girl is more use than twenty boys.”
now wendy was every inch a woman, though there were not very many inches, and she peeped out of the bed-clothes.
“do you really think so, peter?”
“yes, i do.”
“i think it's perfectly sweet of you,” she declared, “and i'll get up again,” and she sat with him on the side of the bed. she also said she would give him a kiss if he liked, but peter did not know what she meant, and he held out his hand expectantly.
“surely you know what a kiss is?” she asked, aghast.
“i shall know when you give it to me,” he replied stiffly, and not to hurt his feeling she gave him a thimble.
“now,” said he, “shall i give you a kiss?” and she replied with a slight primness, “if you please.” she made herself rather cheap by inclining her face toward him, but he merely dropped an acorn button into her hand, so she slowly returned her face to where it had been before, and said nicely that she would wear his kiss on the chain around her neck.
it was lucky that she did put it on that chain, for it was afterwards to save her life.
when people in our set are introduced, it is customary for them to ask each other's age, and so wendy, who always liked to do the correct thing, asked peter how old he was. it was not really a happy question to ask him; it was like an examination paper that asks grammar, when what you want to be asked is kings of england.
“i don't know,” he replied uneasily, “but i am quite young.” he really knew nothing about it, he had merely suspicions, but he said at a venture, “wendy, i ran away the day i was born.”
wendy was quite surprised, but interested; and she indicated in the charming drawing-room manner, by a touch on her night-gown, that he could sit nearer her.
“it was because i heard father and mother,” he explained in a low voice, “talking about what i was to be when i became a man.” he was extraordinarily agitated now. “i don't want ever to be a man,” he said with passion. “i want always to be a little boy and to have fun. so i ran away to kensington gardens and lived a long long time among the fairies.”
she gave him a look of the most intense admiration, and he thought it was because he had run away, but it was really because he knew fairies.
wendy had lived such a home life that to know fairies struck her as quite delightful. she poured out questions about them, to his surprise, for they were rather a nuisance to him, getting in his way and so on, and indeed he sometimes had to give them a hiding [spanking]. still, he liked them on the whole, and he told her about the beginning of fairies.
“you see, wendy, when the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies.”
tedious talk this, but being a stay-at-home she liked it.
“and so,” he went on good-naturedly, “there ought to be one fairy for every boy and girl.”
“ought to be? isn't there?”
“no. you see children know such a lot now, they soon don't believe in fairies, and every time a child says, 'i don't believe in fairies,'
there is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead.”
really, he thought they had now talked enough about fairies, and it struck him that tinker bell was keeping very quiet. “i can't think where she has gone to,” he said, rising, and he called tink by name. wendy's heart went flutter with a sudden thrill.
“peter,” she cried, clutching him, “you don't mean to tell me that there is a fairy in this room!”
“she was here just now,” he said a little impatiently. “you don't hear her, do you?” and they both listened.
“the only sound i hear,” said wendy, “is like a tinkle of bells.”
“well, that's tink, that's the fairy language. i think i hear her too.”
the sound came from the chest of drawers, and peter made a merry face.
no one could ever look quite so merry as peter, and the loveliest of gurgles was his laugh. he had his first laugh still.
“wendy,” he whispered gleefully, “i do believe i shut her up in the drawer!”
he let poor tink out of the drawer, and she flew about the nursery screaming with fury. “you shouldn't say such things,” peter retorted.
“of course i'm very sorry, but how could i know you were in the drawer?”
wendy was not listening to him. “o peter,” she cried, “if she would only stand still and let me see her!”
“they hardly ever stand still,” he said, but for one moment wendy saw the romantic figure come to rest on the cuckoo clock. “o the lovely!”
she cried, though tink's face was still distorted with passion.
“tink,” said peter amiably, “this lady says she wishes you were her fairy.”
tinker bell answered insolently.
“what does she say, peter?”
he had to translate. “she is not very polite. she says you are a great [huge] ugly girl, and that she is my fairy.”
he tried to argue with tink. “you know you can't be my fairy, tink, because i am an gentleman and you are a lady.”
to this tink replied in these words, “you silly ass,” and disappeared into the bathroom. “she is quite a common fairy,” peter explained apologetically, “she is called tinker bell because she mends the pots and kettles [tinker = tin worker].” [similar to “cinder” plus “elle” to get cinderella]
they were together in the armchair by this time, and wendy plied him with more questions.
“if you don't live in kensington gardens now ”
“sometimes i do still.”
“but where do you live mostly now?”
“with the lost boys.”
“who are they?”
“they are the children who fall out of their perambulators when the nurse is looking the other way. if they are not claimed in seven days they are sent far away to the neverland to defray expenses. i'm captain.”
“what fun it must be!”
so he pulled, and the elephant’s child pulled, and the crocodile pulled; but the elephant’s child and the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake pulled hardest; and at last the crocodile let go of the elephant’s child’s nose with a plop that you could hear all up and down the limpopo.
then the elephant’s child sat down most hard and sudden; but first he was careful to say ‘thank you’ to the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake; and next he was kind to his poor pulled nose, and wrapped it all up in cool banana leaves, and hung it in the great grey-green, greasy limpopo to cool.
‘what are you doing that for?’ said the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake.
‘’scuse me,’ said the elephant’s child, ‘but my nose is badly out of shape, and i am waiting for it to shrink.
‘then you will have to wait a long time, said the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake. ‘some people do not know what is good for them.’
the elephant’s child sat there for three days waiting for his nose to shrink. but it never grew any shorter, and, besides, it made him squint.
for, o best beloved, you will see and understand that the crocodile had pulled it out into a really truly trunk same as all elephants have to-day.
at the end of the third day a fly came and stung him on the shoulder, and before he knew what he was doing he lifted up his trunk and hit that fly dead with the end of it.
‘’vantage number one!’ said the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake. ‘you couldn’t have done that with a mere-smear nose. try and eat a little now.’
before he thought what he was doing the elephant’s child put out his trunk and plucked a large bundle of grass, dusted it clean against his fore-legs, and stuffed it into his own mouth.
‘vantage number two!’ said the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake. ‘you couldn’t have done that with a mear-smear nose. don’t you think the sun is very hot here?’
‘it is,’ said the elephant’s child, and before he thought what he was doing he schlooped up a schloop of mud from the banks of the great grey-green, greasy limpopo, and slapped it on his head, where it made a cool schloopy-sloshy mud-cap all trickly behind his ears.
‘vantage number three!’ said the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake. ‘you couldn’t have done that with a mere-smear nose. now how do you feel about being spanked again?’
‘’scuse me,’ said the elephant’s child, ‘but i should not like it at all.’
‘how would you like to spank somebody?’ said the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake.
‘i should like it very much indeed,’ said the elephant’s child.
‘well,’ said the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake, ‘you will find that new nose of yours very useful to spank people with.’
‘thank you,’ said the elephant’s child, ‘i’ll remember that; and now i think i’ll go home to all my dear families and try.’
so the elephant’s child went home across africa frisking and whisking his trunk. when he wanted fruit to eat he pulled fruit down from a tree, instead of waiting for it to fall as he used to do. when he wanted grass he plucked grass up from the ground, instead of going on his knees as he used to do. when the flies bit him he broke off the branch of a tree and used it as fly-whisk; and he made himself a new, cool, slushy-squshy mud-cap whenever the sun was hot. when he felt lonely walking through africa he sang to himself down his trunk, and the noise was louder than several brass bands.
he went especially out of his way to find a broad hippopotamus (she was no relation of his), and he spanked her very hard, to make sure that the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake had spoken the truth about his new trunk.
the rest of the time he picked up the melon rinds that he had dropped on his way to the limpopo for he was a tidy pachyderm.
one dark evening he came back to all his dear families, and he coiled up his trunk and said, ‘how do you do?’ they were very glad to see him, and immediately said, ‘come here and be spanked for your ‘satiable curtiosity.’
‘pooh,’ said the elephant’s child. ‘i don’t think you peoples know anything about spanking; but i do, and i’ll show you.’ then he uncurled his trunk and knocked two of his dear brothers head over heels.
‘o bananas!’ said they, ‘where did you learn that trick, and what have you done to your nose?’
‘i got a new one from the crocodile on the banks of the great grey-green, greasy limpopo river,’ said the elephant’s child. ‘i asked him what he had for dinner, and he gave me this to keep.’
‘it looks very ugly,’ said his hairy uncle, the baboon.
‘it does,’ said the elephant’s child. ‘but it’s very useful,’ and he picked up his hairy uncle, the baboon, by one hairy leg, and hove him into a hornet’s nest.
then that bad elephant’s child spanked all his dear families for a long time, till they were very warm and greatly astonished. he pulled out his tall ostrich aunt’s tail-feathers; and he caught his tall uncle, the giraffe, by the hind-leg, and dragged him through a thorn-bush; and he shouted at his broad aunt, the hippopotamus, and blew bubbles into her ear when she was sleeping in the water after meals; but he never let any one touch kolokolo bird.
at last things grew so exciting that his dear families went off one by one in a hurry to the banks of the great grey-green, greasy limpopo river, all set about with fever-trees, to borrow new noses from the crocodile. when they came back nobody spanked anybody any more; and ever since that day, o best beloved, all the elephants you will ever see, besides all those that you won’t, have trunks precisely like the trunk of the ‘satiable elephant’s child.
i keep six honest serving-men:
(they taught me all i knew)
their names are what and where and when and how and why and who.
i send them over land and sea, i send them east and west; but after they have worked for me, i give them all a rest.
i let them rest from nine till five.
for i am busy then, as well as breakfast, lunch, and tea, for they are hungry men:
but different folk have different views:
i know a person small
she keeps ten million serving-men, who get no rest at all!
she sends ‘em abroad on her own affairs, from the second she opens her eyes
one million hows, two million wheres, and seven million whys!
the sing-song of old man kangaroo
not always was the kangaroo as now we do behold him, but a different animal with four short legs. he was grey and he was woolly, and his pride was inordinate: he danced on an outcrop in the middle of australia, and he went to the little god nqa.
he went to nqa at six before breakfast, saying, ‘make me different from all other animals by five this afternoon.’
up jumped nqa from his seat on the sandflat and shouted, ‘go away!’
he was grey and he was woolly, and his pride was inordinate: he danced on a rock-ledge in the middle of australia, and he went to the middle god nquing.
he went to nquing at eight after breakfast, saying, ‘make me different from all other animals; make me, also, wonderfully popular by five this afternoon.’
up jumped nquing from his burrow in the spinifex and shouted, ‘go away!’
he was grey and he was woolly, and his pride was inordinate: he danced on a sandbank in the middle of australia, and he went to the big god nqong.
he went to nqong at ten before dinner-time, saying, ‘make me different from all other animals; make me popular and wonderfully run after by five this afternoon.’
up jumped nqong from his bath in the salt-pan and shouted, ‘yes, i will!’
nqong called dingo yellow-dog dingo always hungry, dusty in the sunshine, and showed him kangaroo. nqong said, ‘dingo! wake up, dingo!
do you see that gentleman dancing on an ashpit? he wants to be popular and very truly run after. dingo, make him so!’
up jumped dingo yellow-dog dingo and said, ‘what, that cat-rabbit?’
off ran dingo yellow-dog dingo always hungry, grinning like a coal-scuttle, ran after kangaroo.
off went the proud kangaroo on his four little legs like a bunny.
this, o beloved of mine, ends the first part of the tale!
he ran through the desert; he ran through the mountains; he ran through the salt-pans; he ran through the reed-beds; he ran through the blue gums; he ran through the spinifex; he ran till his front legs ached.
he had to!
still ran dingo yellow-dog dingo always hungry, grinning like a rat-trap, never getting nearer, never getting farther, ran after kangaroo.
he had to!
still ran kangaroo old man kangaroo. he ran through the ti-trees; he ran through the mulga; he ran through the long grass; he ran through the short grass; he ran through the tropics of capricorn and cancer; he ran till his hind legs ached.
he had to!
still ran dingo yellow-dog dingo hungrier and hungrier, grinning like a horse-collar, never getting nearer, never getting farther; and they came to the wollgong river.
now, there wasn’t any bridge, and there wasn’t any ferry-boat, and kangaroo didn’t know how to get over; so he stood on his legs and hopped.
he had to!
he hopped through the flinders; he hopped through the cinders; he hopped through the deserts in the middle of australia. he hopped like a kangaroo.
first he hopped one yard; then he hopped three yards; then he hopped five yards; his legs growing stronger; his legs growing longer. he hadn’t any time for rest or refreshment, and he wanted them very much.
still ran dingo yellow-dog dingo very much bewildered, very much hungry, and wondering what in the world or out of it made old man kangaroo hop.
for he hopped like a cricket; like a pea in a saucepan; or a new rubber ball on a nursery floor.
he had to!
he tucked up his front legs; he hopped on his hind legs; he stuck out his tail for a balance-weight behind him; and he hopped through the darling downs.
he had to!
still ran dingo tired-dog dingo hungrier and hungrier, very much bewildered, and wondering when in the world or out of it would old man kangaroo stop.
then came nqong from his bath in the salt-pans, and said, ‘it’s five o’clock.’
down sat dingo poor dog dingo always hungry, dusky in the sunshine; hung out his tongue and howled.
down sat kangaroo old man kangaroo stuck out his tail like a milking-stool behind him, and said, ‘thank goodness that’s finished!’
then said nqong, who is always a gentleman, ‘why aren’t you grateful to yellow-dog dingo? why don’t you thank him for all he has done for you?’
then said kangaroo tired old kangaroo he’s chased me out of the homes of my childhood; he’s chased me out of my regular meal-times; he’s altered my shape so i’ll never get it back; and he’s played old scratch with my legs.’
then said nqong, ‘perhaps i’m mistaken, but didn’t you ask me to make you different from all other animals, as well as to make you very truly sought after? and now it is five o’clock.’
‘yes,’ said kangaroo. ‘i wish that i hadn’t. i thought you would do it by charms and incantations, but this is a practical joke.’
‘joke!’ said nqong from his bath in the blue gums. ‘say that again and i’ll whistle up dingo and run your hind legs off.’
‘no,’ said the kangaroo. ‘i must apologise. legs are legs, and you needn’t alter ‘em so far as i am concerned. i only meant to explain to your lordliness that i’ve had nothing to eat since morning, and i’m very empty indeed.’
‘yes,’ said dingo yellow-dog dingo, ‘i am just in the same situation.
i’ve made him different from all other animals; but what may i have for my tea?’
then said nqong from his bath in the salt-pan, ‘come and ask me about it tomorrow, because i’m going to wash.’
so they were left in the middle of australia, old man kangaroo and yellow-dog dingo, and each said, ‘that’s your fault.’
this is the mouth-filling song of the race that was run by a boomer, run in a single burst only event of its kind
started by big god nqong from warrigaborrigarooma, old man kangaroo first: yellow-dog dingo behind.
kangaroo bounded away, his back-legs working like pistons
bounded from morning till dark, twenty-five feet to a bound.
yellow-dog dingo lay like a yellow cloud in the distance
much too busy to bark.
my! but they covered the ground!
nobody knows where they went, or followed the track that they flew in, for that continent hadn’t been given a name.
they ran thirty degrees, from torres straits to the leeuwin (look at the atlas, please), and they ran back as they came.
s’posing you could trot from adelaide to the pacific, for an afternoon’s run half what these gentlemen did you would feel rather hot, but your legs would develop terrific
yes, my importunate son, you’d be a marvellous kid!
the beginning of the armadillos
this, o best beloved, is another story of the high and far-off times.
in the very middle of those times was a stickly-prickly hedgehog, and he lived on the banks of the turbid amazon, eating shelly snails and things. and he had a friend, a slow-solid tortoise, who lived on the banks of the turbid amazon, eating green lettuces and things. and so that was all right, best beloved. do you see?
but also, and at the same time, in those high and far-off times, there was a painted jaguar, and he lived on the banks of the turbid amazon too; and he ate everything that he could catch. when he could not catch deer or monkeys he would eat frogs and beetles; and when he could not catch frogs and beetles he went to his mother jaguar, and she told him how to eat hedgehogs and tortoises.
she said to him ever so many times, graciously waving her tail, ‘my son, when you find a hedgehog you must drop him into the water and then he will uncoil, and when you catch a tortoise you must scoop him out of his shell with your paw.’ and so that was all right, best beloved.
one beautiful night on the banks of the turbid amazon, painted jaguar found stickly-prickly hedgehog and slow-solid tortoise sitting under the trunk of a fallen tree. they could not run away, and so stickly-prickly curled himself up into a ball, because he was a hedgehog, and slow-solid tortoise drew in his head and feet into his shell as far as they would go, because he was a tortoise; and so that was all right, best beloved.
do you see?
‘now attend to me,’ said painted jaguar, ‘because this is very important. my mother said that when i meet a hedgehog i am to drop him into the water and then he will uncoil, and when i meet a tortoise i am to scoop him out of his shell with my paw. now which of you is hedgehog and which is tortoise? because, to save my spots, i can’t tell.’
‘are you sure of what your mummy told you?’ said stickly-prickly hedgehog. ‘are you quite sure? perhaps she said that when you uncoil a tortoise you must shell him out the water with a scoop, and when you paw a hedgehog you must drop him on the shell.’
‘are you sure of what your mummy told you?’ said slow-and-solid tortoise. ‘are you quite sure? perhaps she said that when you water a hedgehog you must drop him into your paw, and when you meet a tortoise you must shell him till he uncoils.’
‘i don’t think it was at all like that,’ said painted jaguar, but he felt a little puzzled; ‘but, please, say it again more distinctly.’
‘when you scoop water with your paw you uncoil it with a hedgehog,’ said stickly-prickly. ‘remember that, because it’s important.’
‘but,’ said the tortoise, ‘when you paw your meat you drop it into a tortoise with a scoop. why can’t you understand?’
‘you are making my spots ache,’ said painted jaguar; ‘and besides, i didn’t want your advice at all. i only wanted to know which of you is hedgehog and which is tortoise.’
‘i shan’t tell you,’ said stickly-prickly, ‘but you can scoop me out of my shell if you like.’
‘aha!’ said painted jaguar. ‘now i know you’re tortoise. you thought i wouldn’t! now i will.’ painted jaguar darted out his paddy-paw just as stickly-prickly curled himself up, and of course jaguar’s paddy-paw was just filled with prickles. worse than that, he knocked stickly-prickly away and away into the woods and the bushes, where it was too dark to find him. then he put his paddy-paw into his mouth, and of course the prickles hurt him worse than ever. as soon as he could speak he said, ‘now i know he isn’t tortoise at all. but’ and then he scratched his head with his un-prickly paw ‘how do i know that this other is tortoise?’
‘but i am tortoise,’ said slow-and-solid. your mother was quite right.
she said that you were to scoop me out of my shell with your paw.
begin.’
‘you didn’t say she said that a minute ago, said painted jaguar, sucking the prickles out of his paddy-paw. ‘you said she said something quite different.’
‘well, suppose you say that i said that she said something quite different, i don’t see that it makes any difference; because if she said what you said i said she said, it’s just the same as if i said what she said she said. on the other hand, if you think she said that you were to uncoil me with a scoop, instead of pawing me into drops with a shell, i can’t help that, can i?’
‘but you said you wanted to be scooped out of your shell with my paw,’
said painted jaguar.
‘if you’ll think again you’ll find that i didn’t say anything of the kind. i said that your mother said that you were to scoop me out of my shell,’ said slow-and-solid.
‘what will happen if i do?’ said the jaguar most sniffily and most cautious.
‘i don’t know, because i’ve never been scooped out of my shell before; but i tell you truly, if you want to see me swim away you’ve only got to drop me into the water.
‘i don’t believe it,’ said painted jaguar. ‘you’ve mixed up all the things my mother told me to do with the things that you asked me whether i was sure that she didn’t say, till i don’t know whether i’m on my head or my painted tail; and now you come and tell me something i can understand, and it makes me more mixy than before. my mother told me that i was to drop one of you two into the water, and as you seem so anxious to be dropped i think you don’t want to be dropped. so jump into the turbid amazon and be quick about it.’
‘i warn you that your mummy won’t be pleased. don’t tell her i didn’t tell you,’ said slow-solid.
‘if you say another word about what my mother said ’ the jaguar answered, but he had not finished the sentence before slow-and-solid quietly dived into the turbid amazon, swam under water for a long way, and came out on the bank where stickly-prickly was waiting for him.
‘that was a very narrow escape,’ said stickly-prickly. ‘i don’t rib painted jaguar. what did you tell him that you were?’
‘i told him truthfully that i was a truthful tortoise, but he wouldn’t believe it, and he made me jump into the river to see if i was, and i was, and he is surprised. now he’s gone to tell his mummy. listen to him!’
they could hear painted jaguar roaring up and down among the trees and the bushes by the side of the turbid amazon, till his mummy came.
‘son, son!’ said his mother ever so many times, graciously waving her tail, ‘what have you been doing that you shouldn’t have done?’
‘i tried to scoop something that said it wanted to be scooped out of its shell with my paw, and my paw is full of per-ickles,’ said painted jaguar.
‘son, son!’ said his mother ever so many times, graciously waving her tail, ‘by the prickles in your paddy-paw i see that that must have been a hedgehog. you should have dropped him into the water.
‘i did that to the other thing; and he said he was a tortoise, and i didn’t believe him, and it was quite true, and he has dived under the turbid amazon, and he won’t come up again, and i haven’t anything at all to eat, and i think we had better find lodgings somewhere else. they are too clever on the turbid amazon for poor me!’
‘son, son!’ said his mother ever so many times, graciously waving her tail, ‘now attend to me and remember what i say. a hedgehog curls himself up into a ball and his prickles stick out every which way at once. by this you may know the hedgehog.’
‘i don’t like this old lady one little bit,’ said stickly-prickly, under the shadow of a large leaf. ‘i wonder what else she knows?’
‘a tortoise can’t curl himself up,’ mother jaguar went on, ever so many times, graciously waving her tail. ‘he only draws his head and legs into his shell. by this you may know the tortoise.’
‘i don’t like this old lady at all at all,’ said slow-and-solid tortoise. ‘even painted jaguar can’t forget those directions. it’s a great pity that you can’t swim, stickly-prickly.’
‘don’t talk to me,’ said stickly-prickly. ‘just think how much better it would be if you could curl up. this is a mess! listen to painted jaguar.’
painted jaguar was sitting on the banks of the turbid amazon sucking prickles out of his paws and saying to himself
‘can’t curl, but can swim
slow-solid, that’s him!
curls up, but can’t swim
stickly-prickly, that’s him!’
‘he’ll never forget that this month of sundays,’ said stickly-prickly.
‘hold up my chin, slow-and-solid. i’m going to try to learn to swim. it may be useful.’
‘excellent!’ said slow-and-solid; and he held up stickly-prickly’s chin, while stickly-prickly kicked in the waters of the turbid amazon.
‘you’ll make a fine swimmer yet,’ said slow-and-solid. ‘now, if you can unlace my back-plates a little, i’ll see what i can do towards curling up. it may be useful.’
stickly-prickly helped to unlace tortoise’s back-plates, so that by twisting and straining slow-and-solid actually managed to curl up a tiddy wee bit.
‘excellent!’ said stickly-prickly; ‘but i shouldn’t do any more just now. it’s making you black in the face. kindly lead me into the water once again and i’ll practice that side-stroke which you say is so easy.’
and so stickly-prickly practiced, and slow-solid swam alongside.
‘excellent!’ said slow-and-solid. ‘a little more practice will make you a regular whale. now, if i may trouble you to unlace my back and front plates two holes more, i’ll try that fascinating bend that you say is so easy. won’t painted jaguar be surprised!’
‘excellent!’ said stickly-prickly, all wet from the turbid amazon. ‘i declare, i shouldn’t know you from one of my own family. two holes, i think, you said? a little more expression, please, and don’t grunt quite so much, or painted jaguar may hear us. when you’ve finished, i want to try that long dive which you say is so easy. won’t painted jaguar be surprised!’
and so stickly-prickly dived, and slow-and-solid dived alongside.
‘excellent!’ said slow-and-solid. ‘a leetle more attention to holding your breath and you will be able to keep house at the bottom of the turbid amazon. now i’ll try that exercise of putting my hind legs round my ears which you say is so peculiarly comfortable. won’t painted jaguar be surprised!’
‘excellent!’ said stickly-prickly. ‘but it’s straining your back-plates a little. they are all overlapping now, instead of lying side by side.’
‘oh, that’s the result of exercise,’ said slow-and-solid. ‘i’ve noticed that your prickles seem to be melting into one another, and that you’re growing to look rather more like a pinecone, and less like a chestnut-burr, than you used to.’
‘am i?’ said stickly-prickly. ‘that comes from my soaking in the water.
oh, won’t painted jaguar be surprised!’
they went on with their exercises, each helping the other, till morning came; and when the sun was high they rested and dried themselves. then they saw that they were both of them quite different from what they had been.
‘stickly-prickly,’ said tortoise after breakfast, ‘i am not what i was yesterday; but i think that i may yet amuse painted jaguar.
‘that was the very thing i was thinking just now,’ said stickly-prickly.
‘i think scales are a tremendous improvement on prickles to say nothing of being able to swim. oh, won’t painted jaguar be surprised! let’s go and find him.’
by and by they found painted jaguar, still nursing his paddy-paw that had been hurt the night before. he was so astonished that he fell three times backward over his own painted tail without stopping.
‘good morning!’ said stickly-prickly. ‘and how is your dear gracious mummy this morning?’
‘she is quite well, thank you,’ said painted jaguar; ‘but you must forgive me if i do not at this precise moment recall your name.’
‘that’s unkind of you,’ said stickly-prickly, ‘seeing that this time yesterday you tried to scoop me out of my shell with your paw.’
‘but you hadn’t any shell. it was all prickles,’ said painted jaguar. ‘i know it was. just look at my paw!’
‘you told me to drop into the turbid amazon and be drowned,’ said slow-solid. ‘why are you so rude and forgetful to-day?’
‘don’t you remember what your mother told you?’ said stickly-prickly,
‘can’t curl, but can swim
stickly-prickly, that’s him!
curls up, but can’t swim
slow-solid, that’s him!’
then they both curled themselves up and rolled round and round painted jaguar till his eyes turned truly cart-wheels in his head.
then he went to fetch his mother.
‘mother,’ he said, ‘there are two new animals in the woods to-day, and the one that you said couldn’t swim, swims, and the one that you said couldn’t curl up, curls; and they’ve gone shares in their prickles, i think, because both of them are scaly all over, instead of one being smooth and the other very prickly; and, besides that, they are rolling round and round in circles, and i don’t feel comfy.’
‘son, son!’ said mother jaguar ever so many times, graciously waving her tail, ‘a hedgehog is a hedgehog, and can’t be anything but a hedgehog; and a tortoise is a tortoise, and can never be anything else.’
‘but it isn’t a hedgehog, and it isn’t a tortoise. it’s a little bit of both, and i don’t know its proper name.’
‘nonsense!’ said mother jaguar. ‘everything has its proper name. i should call it “armadillo” till i found out the real one. and i should leave it alone.’
so painted jaguar did as he was told, especially about leaving them alone; but the curious thing is that from that day to this, o best beloved, no one on the banks of the turbid amazon has ever called stickly-prickly and slow-solid anything except armadillo. there are hedgehogs and tortoises in other places, of course (there are some in my garden); but the real old and clever kind, with their scales lying lippety-lappety one over the other, like pine-cone scales, that lived on the banks of the turbid amazon in the high and far-off days, are always called armadillos, because they were so clever.
so that; all right, best beloved. do you see?
i’ve never sailed the amazon, i’ve never reached brazil; but the don and magdelana, they can go there when they will!
yes, weekly from southampton, great steamers, white and gold, go rolling down to rio (roll down roll down to rio!)
and i’d like to roll to rio some day before i’m old!
i’ve never seen a jaguar, nor yet an armadill o dilloing in his armour, and i s’pose i never will,
unless i go to rio these wonders to behold
roll down roll down to rio
roll really down to rio!
oh, i’d love to roll to rio some day before i’m old!
how the first letter was written
once upon a most early time was a neolithic man. he was not a jute or an angle, or even a dravidian, which he might well have been, best beloved, but never mind why. he was a primitive, and he lived cavily in a cave, and he wore very few clothes, and he couldn’t read and he couldn’t write and he didn’t want to, and except when he was hungry he was quite happy. his name was tegumai bopsulai, and that means, ‘man-who-does-not-put-his-foot-forward-in-a-hurry’; but we, o best beloved, will call him tegumai, for short. and his wife’s name was teshumai tewindrow, and that means, ‘lady-who-asks-a-very-many-questions’; but we, o best beloved, will call her teshumai, for short. and his little girl-daughter’s name was taffimai metallumai, and that means, ‘small-person-without-any-manners-who-ought-to-be-spanked’; but i’m going to call her taffy. and she was tegumai bopsulai’s best beloved and her own mummy’s best beloved, and she was not spanked half as much as was good for her; and they were all three very happy. as soon as taffy could run about she went everywhere with her daddy tegumai, and sometimes they would not come home to the cave till they were hungry, and then teshumai tewindrow would say, ‘where in the world have you two been to, to get so shocking dirty? really, my tegumai, you’re no better than my taffy.’
now attend and listen!
one day tegumai bopsulai went down through the beaver-swamp to the wagai river to spear carp-fish for dinner, and taffy went too. tegumai’s spear was made of wood with shark’s teeth at the end, and before he had caught any fish at all he accidentally broke it clean across by jabbing it down too hard on the bottom of the river. they were miles and miles from home (of course they had their lunch with them in a little bag), and tegumai had forgotten to bring any extra spears.
‘here’s a pretty kettle of fish!’ said tegumai. ‘it will take me half the day to mend this.’
‘there’s your big black spear at home,’ said taffy. ‘let me run back to the cave and ask mummy to give it me.’
‘it’s too far for your little fat legs,’ said tegumai. ‘besides, you might fall into the beaver-swamp and be drowned. we must make the best of a bad job.’ he sat down and took out a little leather mendy-bag, full of reindeer-sinews and strips of leather, and lumps of bee’s-wax and resin, and began to mend the spear.
taffy sat down too, with her toes in the water and her chin in her hand, and thought very hard. then she said ‘i say, daddy, it’s an awful nuisance that you and i don’t know how to write, isn’t it? if we did we could send a message for the new spear.’
‘taffy,’ said tegumai, ‘how often have i told you not to use slang?
“awful” isn’t a pretty word, but it could be a convenience, now you mention it, if we could write home.’
just then a stranger-man came along the river, but he belonged to a far tribe, the tewaras, and he did not understand one word of tegumai’s language. he stood on the bank and smiled at taffy, because he had a little girl-daughter of his own at home. tegumai drew a hank of deer-sinews from his mendy-bag and began to mend his spear.
‘come here, said taffy. ‘do you know where my mummy lives?’ and the stranger-man said ‘um!’ being, as you know, a tewara.
‘silly!’ said taffy, and she stamped her foot, because she saw a shoal of very big carp going up the river just when her daddy couldn’t use his spear.
‘don’t bother grown-ups,’ said tegumai, so busy with his spear-mending that he did not turn round.
‘i aren’t, said taffy. ‘i only want him to do what i want him to do, and he won’t understand.’
‘then don’t bother me, said tegumai, and he went on pulling and straining at the deer-sinews with his mouth full of loose ends. the stranger-man a genuine tewara he was sat down on the grass, and taffy showed him what her daddy was doing. the stranger-man thought, this is a very wonderful child. she stamps her foot at me and she makes faces. she must be the daughter of that noble chief who is so great that he won’t take any notice of me.’ so he smiled more politely than ever.
‘now,’ said taffy, ‘i want you to go to my mummy, because your legs are longer than mine, and you won’t fall into the beaver-swamp, and ask for daddy’s other spear the one with the black handle that hangs over our fireplace.’
the stranger-man (and he was a tewara) thought, ‘this is a very, very wonderful child. she waves her arms and she shouts at me, but i don’t understand a word of what she says. but if i don’t do what she wants, i greatly fear that that haughty chief, man-who-turns-his-back-on-callers, will be angry.’ he got up and twisted a big flat piece of bark off a birch-tree and gave it to taffy. he did this, best beloved, to show that his heart was as white as the birch-bark and that he meant no harm; but taffy didn’t quite understand.
‘oh!’ said she. ‘now i see! you want my mummy’s living-address? of course i can’t write, but i can draw pictures if i’ve anything sharp to scratch with. please lend me the shark’s tooth off your necklace.’
the stranger-man (and he was a tewara) didn’t say anything, so taffy put up her little hand and pulled at the beautiful bead and seed and shark-tooth necklace round his neck.
the stranger-man (and he was a tewara) thought, ‘this is a very, very, very wonderful child. the shark’s tooth on my necklace is a magic shark’s tooth, and i was always told that if anybody touched it without my leave they would immediately swell up or burst, but this child doesn’t swell up or burst, and that important chief, man-who-attends-strictly-to-his-business, who has not yet taken any notice of me at all, doesn’t seem to be afraid that she will swell up or burst. i had better be more polite.’
so he gave taffy the shark’s tooth, and she lay down flat on her tummy with her legs in the air, like some people on the drawing-room floor when they want to draw pictures, and she said, ‘now i’ll draw you some beautiful pictures! you can look over my shoulder, but you mustn’t joggle. first i’ll draw daddy fishing. it isn’t very like him; but mummy will know, because i’ve drawn his spear all broken. well, now i’ll draw the other spear that he wants, the black-handled spear. it looks as if it was sticking in daddy’s back, but that’s because the shark’s tooth slipped and this piece of bark isn’t big enough. that’s the spear i want you to fetch; so i’ll draw a picture of me myself ‘splaining to you. my hair doesn’t stand up like i’ve drawn, but it’s easier to draw that way.
now i’ll draw you. i think you’re very nice really, but i can’t make you pretty in the picture, so you mustn’t be ‘fended. are you ‘fended?’
the stranger-man (and he was a tewara) smiled. he thought, ‘there must be a big battle going to be fought somewhere, and this extraordinary child, who takes my magic shark’s tooth but who does not swell up or burst, is telling me to call all the great chief’s tribe to help him. he is a great chief, or he would have noticed me.
‘look,’ said taffy, drawing very hard and rather scratchily, ‘now i’ve drawn you, and i’ve put the spear that daddy wants into your hand, just to remind you that you’re to bring it. now i’ll show you how to find my mummy’s living-address. you go along till you come to two trees (those are trees), and then you go over a hill (that’s a hill), and then you come into a beaver-swamp all full of beavers. i haven’t put in all the beavers, because i can’t draw beavers, but i’ve drawn their heads, and that’s all you’ll see of them when you cross the swamp. mind you don’t fall in! then our cave is just beyond the beaver-swamp. it isn’t as high as the hills really, but i can’t draw things very small. that’s my mummy outside. she is beautiful. she is the most beautifullest mummy there ever was, but she won’t be ‘fended when she sees i’ve drawn her so plain. she’ll be pleased of me because i can draw. now, in case you forget, i’ve drawn the spear that daddy wants outside our cave. it’s inside really, but you show the picture to my mummy and she’ll give it you. i’ve made her holding up her hands, because i know she’ll be so pleased to see you. isn’t it a beautiful picture? and do you quite understand, or shall i ‘splain again?’
the stranger-man (and he was a tewara) looked at the picture and nodded very hard. he said to himself,’ if i do not fetch this great chief’s tribe to help him, he will be slain by his enemies who are coming up on all sides with spears. now i see why the great chief pretended not to notice me! he feared that his enemies were hiding in the bushes and would see him. therefore he turned to me his back, and let the wise and wonderful child draw the terrible picture showing me his difficulties.
i will away and get help for him from his tribe.’ he did not even ask taffy the road, but raced off into the bushes like the wind, with the birch-bark in his hand, and taffy sat down most pleased.
now this is the picture that taffy had drawn for him!
‘what have you been doing, taffy?’ said tegumai. he had mended his spear and was carefully waving it to and fro.
‘it’s a little berangement of my own, daddy dear,’ said taffy. ‘if you won’t ask me questions, you’ll know all about it in a little time, and you’ll be surprised. you don’t know how surprised you’ll be, daddy!
promise you’ll be surprised.’
‘very well,’ said tegumai, and went on fishing.
the stranger-man did you know he was a tewara? hurried away with the picture and ran for some miles, till quite by accident he found teshumai tewindrow at the door of her cave, talking to some other neolithic ladies who had come in to a primitive lunch. taffy was very like teshumai, especially about the upper part of the face and the eyes, so the stranger-man always a pure tewara smiled politely and handed teshumai the birch-bark. he had run hard, so that he panted, and his legs were scratched with brambles, but he still tried to be polite.
as soon as teshumai saw the picture she screamed like anything and flew at the stranger-man. the other neolithic ladies at once knocked him down and sat on him in a long line of six, while teshumai pulled his hair.
‘it’s as plain as the nose on this stranger-man’s face,’ she said. ‘he has stuck my tegumai all full of spears, and frightened poor taffy so that her hair stands all on end; and not content with that, he brings me a horrid picture of how it was done. look!’ she showed the picture to all the neolithic ladies sitting patiently on the stranger-man. ‘here is my tegumai with his arm broken; here is a spear sticking into his back; here is a man with a spear ready to throw; here is another man throwing a spear from a cave, and here are a whole pack of people’ (they were taffy’s beavers really, but they did look rather like people) ‘coming up behind tegumai. isn’t it shocking!’
‘most shocking!’ said the neolithic ladies, and they filled the stranger-man’s hair with mud (at which he was surprised), and they beat upon the reverberating tribal drums, and called together all the chiefs of the tribe of tegumai, with their hetmans and dolmans, all neguses, woons, and akhoonds of the organisation, in addition to the warlocks, angekoks, juju-men, bonzes, and the rest, who decided that before they chopped the stranger-man’s head off he should instantly lead them down to the river and show them where he had hidden poor taffy.
by this time the stranger-man (in spite of being a tewara) was really annoyed. they had filled his hair quite solid with mud; they had rolled him up and down on knobby pebbles; they had sat upon him in a long line of six; they had thumped him and bumped him till he could hardly breathe; and though he did not understand their language, he was almost sure that the names the neolithic ladies called him were not ladylike.
however, he said nothing till all the tribe of tegumai were assembled, and then he led them back to the bank of the wagai river, and there they found taffy making daisy-chains, and tegumai carefully spearing small carp with his mended spear.
‘well, you have been quick!’ said taffy. ‘but why did you bring so many people? daddy dear, this is my surprise. are you surprised, daddy?’
‘very,’ said tegumai; ‘but it has ruined all my fishing for the day.
why, the whole dear, kind, nice, clean, quiet tribe is here, taffy.’
and so they were. first of all walked teshumai tewindrow and the neolithic ladies, tightly holding on to the stranger-man, whose hair was full of mud (although he was a tewara). behind them came the head chief, the vice-chief, the deputy and assistant chiefs (all armed to the upper teeth), the hetmans and heads of hundreds, platoffs with their platoons, and dolmans with their detachments; woons, neguses, and akhoonds ranking in the rear (still armed to the teeth). behind them was the tribe in hierarchical order, from owners of four caves (one for each season), a private reindeer-run, and two salmon-leaps, to feudal and prognathous villeins, semi-entitled to half a bearskin of winter nights, seven yards from the fire, and adscript serfs, holding the reversion of a scraped marrow-bone under heriot (aren’t those beautiful words, best beloved?).
they were all there, prancing and shouting, and they frightened every fish for twenty miles, and tegumai thanked them in a fluid neolithic oration.
then teshumai tewindrow ran down and kissed and hugged taffy very much indeed; but the head chief of the tribe of tegumai took tegumai by the top-knot feathers and shook him severely.
‘explain! explain! explain!’ cried all the tribe of tegumai.
‘goodness’ sakes alive!’ said tegumai. ‘let go of my top-knot. can’t a man break his carp-spear without the whole countryside descending on him? you’re a very interfering people.’
‘i don’t believe you’ve brought my daddy’s black-handled spear after all,’ said taffy. ‘and what are you doing to my nice stranger-man?’
they were thumping him by twos and threes and tens till his eyes turned round and round. he could only gasp and point at taffy.
‘where are the bad people who speared you, my darling?’ said teshumai tewindrow.
‘there weren’t any,’ said tegumai. ‘my only visitor this morning was the poor fellow that you are trying to choke. aren’t you well, or are you ill, o tribe of tegumai?’
‘he came with a horrible picture,’ said the head chief, ‘a picture that showed you were full of spears.’
‘er-um-pr’aps i’d better ‘splain that i gave him that picture,’ said taffy, but she did not feel quite comfy.
‘you!’ said the tribe of tegumai all together.
‘small-person-with-no-manners-who-ought-to-be-spanked! you?’
‘taffy dear, i’m afraid we’re in for a little trouble,’ said her daddy, and put his arm round her, so she didn’t care.
‘explain! explain! explain!’ said the head chief of the tribe of tegumai, and he hopped on one foot.
‘i wanted the stranger-man to fetch daddy’s spear, so i drawded it,’
said taffy. ‘there wasn’t lots of spears. there was only one spear. i drawded it three times to make sure. i couldn’t help it looking as if it stuck into daddy’s head there wasn’t room on the birch-bark; and those things that mummy called bad people are my beavers. i drawded them to show him the way through the swamp; and i drawded mummy at the mouth of the cave looking pleased because he is a nice stranger-man, and i think you are just the stupidest people in the world,’ said taffy. ‘he is a very nice man. why have you filled his hair with mud? wash him!’
nobody said anything at all for a longtime, till the head chief laughed; then the stranger-man (who was at least a tewara) laughed; then tegumai laughed till he fell down flat on the bank; then all the tribe laughed more and worse and louder. the only people who did not laugh were teshumai tewindrow and all the neolithic ladies. they were very polite to all their husbands, and said ‘idiot!’ ever so often.
then the head chief of the tribe of tegumai cried and said and sang, ‘o small-person-with-out-any-manners-who-ought-to-be-spanked, you’ve hit upon a great invention!’
‘i didn’t intend to; i only wanted daddy’s black-handled spear,’ said taffy.
‘never mind. it is a great invention, and some day men will call it writing. at present it is only pictures, and, as we have seen to-day, pictures are not always properly understood. but a time will come, o babe of tegumai, when we shall make letters all twenty-six of ‘em, and when we shall be able to read as well as to write, and then we shall always say exactly what we mean without any mistakes. let the neolithic ladies wash the mud out of the stranger’s hair.’
‘i shall be glad of that,’ said taffy, ‘because, after all, though you’ve brought every single other spear in the tribe of tegumai, you’ve forgotten my daddy’s black-handled spear.’
then the head chief cried and said and sang, ‘taffy dear, the next time you write a picture-letter, you’d better send a man who can talk our language with it, to explain what it means. i don’t mind it myself, because i am a head chief, but it’s very bad for the rest of the tribe of tegumai, and, as you can see, it surprises the stranger.’
then they adopted the stranger-man (a genuine tewara of tewar) into the tribe of tegumai, because he was a gentleman and did not make a fuss about the mud that the neolithic ladies had put into his hair. but from that day to this (and i suppose it is all taffy’s fault), very few little girls have ever liked learning to read or write. most of them prefer to draw pictures and play about with their daddies just like taffy.
there runs a road by merrow down
a grassy track to-day it is an hour out of guildford town, above the river wey it is.
here, when they heard the horse-bells ring, the ancient britons dressed and rode to watch the dark phoenicians bring their goods along the western road.
and here, or hereabouts, they met to hold their racial talks and such
to barter beads for whitby jet, and tin for gay shell torques and such.
but long and long before that time (when bison used to roam on it)
did taffy and her daddy climb that down, and had their home on it.
then beavers built in broadstone brook and made a swamp where bramley stands:
and bears from shere would come and look for taffimai where shamley stands.
the wey, that taffy called wagai, was more than six times bigger then; and all the tribe of tegumai they cut a noble figure then!
how the alphabet was made
the week after taffimai metallumai (we will still call her taffy, best beloved) made that little mistake about her daddy’s spear and the stranger-man and the picture-letter and all, she went carp-fishing again with her daddy. her mummy wanted her to stay at home and help hang up hides to dry on the big drying-poles outside their neolithic cave, but taffy slipped away down to her daddy quite early, and they fished.
presently she began to giggle, and her daddy said, ‘don’t be silly, child.’
‘but wasn’t it inciting!’ said taffy. ‘don’t you remember how the head chief puffed out his cheeks, and how funny the nice stranger-man looked with the mud in his hair?’
‘well do i,’ said tegumai. ‘i had to pay two deerskins soft ones with fringes to the stranger-man for the things we did to him.’
‘we didn’t do anything,’ said taffy. ‘it was mummy and the other neolithic ladies and the mud.’
‘we won’t talk about that,’ said her daddy, ‘let’s have lunch.’
taffy took a marrow-bone and sat mousy-quiet for ten whole minutes, while her daddy scratched on pieces of birch-bark with a shark’s tooth.
then she said, ‘daddy, i’ve thinked of a secret surprise. you make a noise any sort of noise.’
‘ah!’ said tegumai. ‘will that do to begin with?’
‘yes,’ said taffy. ‘you look just like a carp-fish with its mouth open.
say it again, please.’
‘ah! ah! ah!’ said her daddy. ‘don’t be rude, my daughter.’
‘i’m not meaning rude, really and truly,’ said taffy. ‘it’s part of my secret-surprise-think. do say ah, daddy, and keep your mouth open at the end, and lend me that tooth. i’m going to draw a carp-fish’s mouth wide-open.’
‘what for?’ said her daddy.
‘don’t you see?’ said taffy, scratching away on the bark. ‘that will be our little secret s’prise. when i draw a carp-fish with his mouth open in the smoke at the back of our cave if mummy doesn’t mind it will remind you of that ah-noise. then we can play that it was me jumped out of the dark and s’prised you with that noise same as i did in the beaver-swamp last winter.’
‘really?’ said her daddy, in the voice that grown-ups use when they are truly attending. ‘go on, taffy.’
‘oh bother!’ she said. ‘i can’t draw all of a carp-fish, but i can draw something that means a carp-fish’s mouth. don’t you know how they stand on their heads rooting in the mud? well, here’s a pretence carp-fish (we can play that the rest of him is drawn). here’s just his mouth, and that means ah.’ and she drew this. (1.)
‘that’s not bad,’ said tegumai, and scratched on his own piece of bark for himself; but you’ve forgotten the feeler that hangs across his mouth.’
‘but i can’t draw, daddy.’
‘you needn’t draw anything of him except just the opening of his mouth and the feeler across. then we’ll know he’s a carp-fish, ‘cause the perches and trouts haven’t got feelers. look here, taffy.’ and he drew this. (2.)
‘now i’ll copy it.’ said taffy. ‘will you understand this when you see it?’
‘perfectly,’ said her daddy.
and she drew this. (3.) ‘and i’ll be quite as s’prised when i see it anywhere, as if you had jumped out from behind a tree and said ‘“ah!”’
‘now, make another noise,’ said taffy, very proud.
‘yah!’ said her daddy, very loud.
‘h’m,’ said taffy. ‘that’s a mixy noise. the end part is ah-carp-fish-mouth; but what can we do about the front part? yer-yer-yer and ah! ya!’
‘it’s very like the carp-fish-mouth noise. let’s draw another bit of the carp-fish and join ‘em,’ said her daddy. he was quite incited too.
‘no. if they’re joined, i’ll forget. draw it separate. draw his tail.
if he’s standing on his head the tail will come first. ‘sides, i think i can draw tails easiest,’ said taffy.
‘a good notion,’ said tegumai. ‘here’s a carp-fish tail for the yer-noise.’ and he drew this. (4.)
‘i’ll try now,’ said taffy. ‘’member i can’t draw like you, daddy. will it do if i just draw the split part of the tail, and the sticky-down line for where it joins?’ and she drew this. (5.)
her daddy nodded, and his eyes were shiny bright with ‘citement.
‘that’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘now make another noise, daddy.’
‘oh!’ said her daddy, very loud.
‘that’s quite easy,’ said taffy. ‘you make your mouth all around like an egg or a stone. so an egg or a stone will do for that.’
‘you can’t always find eggs or stones. we’ll have to scratch a round something like one.’ and he drew this. (6.)
‘my gracious!’ said taffy, ‘what a lot of noise-pictures we’ve made, carp-mouth, carp-tail, and egg! now, make another noise, daddy.’
‘ssh!’ said her daddy, and frowned to himself, but taffy was too incited to notice.
‘that’s quite easy,’ she said, scratching on the bark.
‘eh, what?’ said her daddy. ‘i meant i was thinking, and didn’t want to be disturbed.’
‘it’s a noise just the same. it’s the noise a snake makes, daddy, when it is thinking and doesn’t want to be disturbed. let’s make the ssh-noise a snake. will this do?’ and she drew this. (7.)
‘there,’ she said. ‘that’s another s’prise-secret. when you draw a hissy-snake by the door of your little back-cave where you mend the spears, i’ll know you’re thinking hard; and i’ll come in most mousy-quiet. and if you draw it on a tree by the river when you are fishing, i’ll know you want me to walk most most mousy-quiet, so as not to shake the banks.’
‘perfectly true,’ said tegumai. and there’s more in this game than you think. taffy, dear, i’ve a notion that your daddy’s daughter has hit upon the finest thing that there ever was since the tribe of tegumai took to using shark’s teeth instead of flints for their spear-heads. i believe we’ve found out the big secret of the world.’
‘why?’ said taffy, and her eyes shone too with incitement.
‘i’ll show,’ said her daddy. ‘what’s water in the tegumai language?’
‘ya, of course, and it means river too like wagai-ya the wagai river.’
‘what is bad water that gives you fever if you drink it black water swamp-water?’
‘yo, of course.’
‘now look,’ said her daddy. ‘s’pose you saw this scratched by the side of a pool in the beaver-swamp?’ and he drew this. (8.)
‘carp-tail and round egg. two noises mixed! yo, bad water,’ said taffy.
‘’course i wouldn’t drink that water because i’d know you said it was bad.’
‘but i needn’t be near the water at all. i might be miles away, hunting, and still ’
‘and still it would be just the same as if you stood there and said, “g’way, taffy, or you’ll get fever.” all that in a carp-fish-tail and a round egg! o daddy, we must tell mummy, quick!’ and taffy danced all round him.
‘not yet,’ said tegumai; ‘not till we’ve gone a little further. let’s see. yo is bad water, but so is food cooked on the fire, isn’t it?’ and he drew this. (9.)
‘yes. snake and egg,’ said taffy ‘so that means dinner’s ready. if you saw that scratched on a tree you’d know it was time to come to the cave.
so’d i.’
‘my winkie!’ said tegumai. ‘that’s true too. but wait a minute. i see a difficulty. so means “come and have dinner,” but sho means the drying-poles where we hang our hides.’
‘horrid old drying-poles!’ said taffy. ‘i hate helping to hang heavy, hot, hairy hides on them. if you drew the snake and egg, and i thought it meant dinner, and i came in from the wood and found that it meant i was to help mummy hang the two hides on the drying-poles, what would i do?’
‘you’d be cross. so’d mummy. we must make a new picture for sho. we must draw a spotty snake that hisses sh-sh, and we’ll play that the plain snake only hisses ssss.’
‘i couldn’t be sure how to put in the spots,’ said taffy. ‘and p’raps if you were in a hurry you might leave them out, and i’d think it was so when it was sho, and then mummy would catch me just the same. no! i think we’d better draw a picture of the horrid high drying-poles their very selves, and make quite sure. i’ll put them in just after the hissy-snake. look!’ and she drew this. (10.)
‘p’raps that’s safest. it’s very like our drying-poles, anyhow,’
said her daddy, laughing. ‘now i’ll make a new noise with a snake and drying-pole sound in it. i’ll say shi. that’s tegumai for spear, taffy.’
and he laughed.
‘don’t make fun of me,’ said taffy, as she thought of her picture-letter and the mud in the stranger-man’s hair. ‘you draw it, daddy.’
‘we won’t have beavers or hills this time, eh?’ said her daddy, ‘i’ll just draw a straight line for my spear.’ and he drew this. (11.)
‘even mummy couldn’t mistake that for me being killed.’
‘please don’t, daddy. it makes me uncomfy. do some more noises. we’re getting on beautifully.’
‘er-hm!’ said tegumai, looking up. ‘we’ll say shu. that means sky.’
taffy drew the snake and the drying-pole. then she stopped. ‘we must make a new picture for that end sound, mustn’t we?’
‘shu-shu-u-u-u!’ said her daddy. ‘why, it’s just like the round-egg-sound made thin.’
‘then s’pose we draw a thin round egg, and pretend it’s a frog that hasn’t eaten anything for years.’
‘n-no,’ said her daddy. ‘if we drew that in a hurry we might mistake it for the round egg itself. shu-shu-shu! ‘i tell you what we’ll do. we’ll open a little hole at the end of the round egg to show how the o-noise runs out all thin, ooo-oo-oo. like this.’ and he drew this. (12.)
‘oh, that’s lovely! much better than a thin frog. go on,’ said taffy, using her shark’s tooth. her daddy went on drawing, and his hand shook with incitement. he went on till he had drawn this. (13.)
‘don’t look up, taffy,’ he said. ‘try if you can make out what that means in the tegumai language. if you can, we’ve found the secret.’
‘snake pole broken egg carp tail and carp-mouth,’ said taffy.
‘shu-ya. sky-water (rain).’ just then a drop fell on her hand, for the day had clouded over. ‘why, daddy, it’s raining. was that what you meant to tell me?’
‘of course,’ said her daddy. ‘and i told it you without saying a word, didn’t i?’
‘well, i think i would have known it in a minute, but that raindrop made me quite sure. i’ll always remember now. shu-ya means rain, or “it is going to rain.” why, daddy!’ she got up and danced round him. ‘s’pose you went out before i was awake, and drawed shu-ya in the smoke on the wall, i’d know it was going to rain and i’d take my beaver-skin hood.
wouldn’t mummy be surprised?’
tegumai got up and danced. (daddies didn’t mind doing those things in those days.) ‘more than that! more than that!’ he said. ‘s’pose i wanted to tell you it wasn’t going to rain much and you must come down to the river, what would we draw? say the words in tegumai-talk first.’
‘shu-ya-las, ya maru. (sky-water ending. river come to.) what a lot of new sounds! i don’t see how we can draw them.’
‘but i do but i do!’ said tegumai. ‘just attend a minute, taffy, and we won’t do any more to-day. we’ve got shu-ya all right, haven’t we? but this las is a teaser. la-la-la’ and he waved his shark-tooth.
‘there’s the hissy-snake at the end and the carp-mouth before the snake as-as-as. we only want la-la,’ said taffy.
‘i know it, but we have to make la-la. and we’re the first people in all the world who’ve ever tried to do it, taffimai!’
‘well,’ said taffy, yawning, for she was rather tired. ‘las means breaking or finishing as well as ending, doesn’t it?’
‘so it does,’ said tegumai. ‘to-las means that there’s no water in the tank for mummy to cook with just when i’m going hunting, too.’
‘and shi-las means that your spear is broken. if i’d only thought of that instead of drawing silly beaver pictures for the stranger!’
‘la! la! la!’ said tegumai, waiving his stick and frowning. ‘oh bother!’
‘i could have drawn shi quite easily,’ taffy went on. ‘then i’d have drawn your spear all broken this way!’ and she drew. (14.)
‘the very thing,’ said tegumai. ‘that’s la all over. it isn’t like any of the other marks either.’ and he drew this. (15.)
‘now for ya. oh, we’ve done that before. now for maru. mum-mum-mum. mum shuts one’s mouth up, doesn’t it? we’ll draw a shut mouth like this.’
and he drew. (16.)
‘then the carp-mouth open. that makes ma-ma-ma! but what about this rrrrr-thing, taffy?’
‘it sounds all rough and edgy, like your shark-tooth saw when you’re cutting out a plank for the canoe,’ said taffy.
‘you mean all sharp at the edges, like this?’ said tegumai. and he drew.
(17.)
‘’xactly,’ said taffy. ‘but we don’t want all those teeth: only put two.’
‘i’ll only put in one,’ said tegumai. ‘if this game of ours is going to be what i think it will, the easier we make our sound-pictures the better for everybody.’ and he drew. (18.)
‘now, we’ve got it,’ said tegumai, standing on one leg. ‘i’ll draw ‘em all in a string like fish.’
‘hadn’t we better put a little bit of stick or something between each word, so’s they won’t rub up against each other and jostle, same as if they were carps?’
‘oh, i’ll leave a space for that,’ said her daddy. and very incitedly he drew them all without stopping, on a big new bit of birch-bark. (19.)
‘shu-ya-las ya-maru,’ said taffy, reading it out sound by sound.
‘that’s enough for to-day,’ said tegumai. ‘besides, you’re getting tired, taffy. never mind, dear. we’ll finish it all to-morrow, and then we’ll be remembered for years and years after the biggest trees you can see are all chopped up for firewood.’
so they went home, and all that evening tegumai sat on one side of the fire and taffy on the other, drawing ya’s and yo’s and shu’s and shi’s in the smoke on the wall and giggling together till her mummy said, ‘really, tegumai, you’re worse than my taffy.’
‘please don’t mind,’ said taffy. ‘it’s only our secret-s’prise, mummy dear, and we’ll tell you all about it the very minute it’s done; but please don’t ask me what it is now, or else i’ll have to tell.’
so her mummy most carefully didn’t; and bright and early next morning tegumai went down to the river to think about new sound pictures, and when taffy got up she saw ya-las (water is ending or running out)
chalked on the side of the big stone water-tank, outside the cave.
‘um,’ said taffy. ‘these picture-sounds are rather a bother! daddy’s just as good as come here himself and told me to get more water for mummy to cook with.’ she went to the spring at the back of the house and filled the tank from a bark bucket, and then she ran down to the river and pulled her daddy’s left ear the one that belonged to her to pull when she was good.
‘now come along and we’ll draw all the left-over sound-pictures,’ said her daddy, and they had a most inciting day of it, and a beautiful lunch in the middle, and two games of romps. when they came to t, taffy said that as her name, and her daddy’s, and her mummy’s all began with that sound, they should draw a sort of family group of themselves holding hands. that was all very well to draw once or twice; but when it came to drawing it six or seven times, taffy and tegumai drew it scratchier and scratchier, till at last the t-sound was only a thin long tegumai with his arms out to hold taffy and teshumai. you can see from these three pictures partly how it happened. (20, 21, 22.)
many of the other pictures were much too beautiful to begin with, especially before lunch, but as they were drawn over and over again on birch-bark, they became plainer and easier, till at last even tegumai said he could find no fault with them. they turned the hissy-snake the other way round for the z-sound, to show it was hissing backwards in a soft and gentle way (23); and they just made a twiddle for e, because it came into the pictures so often (24); and they drew pictures of the sacred beaver of the tegumais for the b-sound (25, 26, 27, 28); and because it was a nasty, nosy noise, they just drew noses for the n-sound, till they were tired (29); and they drew a picture of the big lake-pike’s mouth for the greedy ga-sound (30); and they drew the pike’s mouth again with a spear behind it for the scratchy, hurty ka-sound (31); and they drew pictures of a little bit of the winding wagai river for the nice windy-windy wa-sound (32, 33); and so on and so forth and so following till they had done and drawn all the sound-pictures that they wanted, and there was the alphabet, all complete.
and after thousands and thousands and thousands of years, and after hieroglyphics and demotics, and nilotics, and cryptics, and cufics, and runics, and dorics, and ionics, and all sorts of other ricks and tricks (because the woons, and the neguses, and the akhoonds, and the repositories of tradition would never leave a good thing alone when they saw it), the fine old easy, understandable alphabet a, b, c, d, e, and the rest of ‘em got back into its proper shape again for all best beloveds to learn when they are old enough.
but i remember tegumai bopsulai, and taffimai metallumai and teshumai tewindrow, her dear mummy, and all the days gone by. and it was so just so a little time ago on the banks of the big wagai!
of all the tribe of tegumai who cut that figure, none remain,
on merrow down the cuckoos cry the silence and the sun remain.
but as the faithful years return and hearts unwounded sing again, comes taffy dancing through the fern to lead the surrey spring again.
her brows are bound with bracken-fronds, and golden elf-locks fly above; her eyes are bright as diamonds and bluer than the skies above.
in mocassins and deer-skin cloak, unfearing, free and fair she flits, and lights her little damp-wood smoke to show her daddy where she flits.
for far oh, very far behind, so far she cannot call to him, comes tegumai alone to find the daughter that was all to him.
the crab that played with the sea
before the high and far-off times, o my best beloved, came the time of the very beginnings; and that was in the days when the eldest magician was getting things ready. first he got the earth ready; then he got the sea ready; and then he told all the animals that they could come out and play. and the animals said, ‘o eldest magician, what shall we play at?’ and he said, ‘i will show you. he took the elephant all-the-elephant-there-was and said, ‘play at being an elephant,’ and all-the-elephant-there-was played. he took the beaver all-the-beaver-there-was and said, ‘play at being a beaver,’
and all-the beaver-there-was played. he took the cow all-the cow-there-was and said, ‘play at being a cow,’ and all-the-cow-there-was played. he took the turtle all-the-turtle there-was and said, ‘play at being a turtle,’ and all-the-turtle-there-was played. one by one he took all the beasts and birds and fishes and told them what to play at.
but towards evening, when people and things grow restless and tired, there came up the man (with his own little girl-daughter?) yes, with his own best beloved little girl-daughter sitting upon his shoulder, and he said, ‘what is this play, eldest magician?’ and the eldest magician said, ‘ho, son of adam, this is the play of the very beginning; but you are too wise for this play.’ and the man saluted and said, ‘yes, i am too wise for this play; but see that you make all the animals obedient to me.’
now, while the two were talking together, pau amma the crab, who was next in the game, scuttled off sideways and stepped into the sea, saying to himself, ‘i will play my play alone in the deep waters, and i will never be obedient to this son of adam.’ nobody saw him go away except the little girl-daughter where she leaned on the man’s shoulder. and the play went on till there were no more animals left without orders; and the eldest magician wiped the fine dust off his hands and walked about the world to see how the animals were playing.
he went north, best beloved, and he found all-the-elephant-there-was digging with his tusks and stamping with his feet in the nice new clean earth that had been made ready for him.
‘kun?’ said all-the-elephant-there-was, meaning, ‘is this right?’
‘payah kun,’ said the eldest magician, meaning, ‘that is quite right’; and he breathed upon the great rocks and lumps of earth that all-the-elephant-there-was had thrown up, and they became the great himalayan mountains, and you can look them out on the map.
he went east, and he found all-the-cow there-was feeding in the field that had been made ready for her, and she licked her tongue round a whole forest at a time, and swallowed it and sat down to chew her cud.
‘kun?’ said all-the-cow-there-was.
‘payah kun,’ said the eldest magician; and he breathed upon the bare patch where she had eaten, and upon the place where she had sat down, and one became the great indian desert, and the other became the desert of sahara, and you can look them out on the map.
he went west, and he found all-the-beaver-there-was making a beaver-dam across the mouths of broad rivers that had been got ready for him.
‘kun?’ said all-the-beaver-there-was.
‘payah kun,’ said the eldest magician; and he breathed upon the fallen trees and the still water, and they became the everglades in florida, and you may look them out on the map.
then he went south and found all-the-turtle-there-was scratching with his flippers in the sand that had been got ready for him, and the sand and the rocks whirled through the air and fell far off into the sea.
‘kun?’ said all-the-turtle-there-was.
‘payah kun,’ said the eldest magician; and he breathed upon the sand and the rocks, where they had fallen in the sea, and they became the most beautiful islands of borneo, celebes, sumatra, java, and the rest of the malay archipelago, and you can look them out on the map!
by and by the eldest magician met the man on the banks of the perak river, and said, ‘ho! son of adam, are all the animals obedient to you?’
‘yes,’ said the man.
‘is all the earth obedient to you?’
‘yes,’ said the man.
‘is all the sea obedient to you?’
‘no,’ said the man. ‘once a day and once a night the sea runs up the perak river and drives the sweet-water back into the forest, so that my house is made wet; once a day and once a night it runs down the river and draws all the water after it, so that there is nothing left but mud, and my canoe is upset. is that the play you told it to play?’
‘no,’ said the eldest magician. ‘that is a new and a bad play.’
‘look!’ said the man, and as he spoke the great sea came up the mouth of the perak river, driving the river backwards till it overflowed all the dark forests for miles and miles, and flooded the man’s house.
‘this is wrong. launch your canoe and we will find out who is playing with the sea,’ said the eldest magician. they stepped into the canoe; the little girl-daughter came with them; and the man took his kris a curving, wavy dagger with a blade like a flame, and they pushed out on the perak river. then the sea began to run back and back, and the canoe was sucked out of the mouth of the perak river, past selangor, past malacca, past singapore, out and out to the island of bingtang, as though it had been pulled by a string.
then the eldest magician stood up and shouted, ‘ho! beasts, birds, and fishes, that i took between my hands at the very beginning and taught the play that you should play, which one of you is playing with the sea?’
then all the beasts, birds, and fishes said together, ‘eldest magician, we play the plays that you taught us to play we and our children’s children. but not one of us plays with the sea.’
then the moon rose big and full over the water, and the eldest magician said to the hunchbacked old man who sits in the moon spinning a fishing-line with which he hopes one day to catch the world, ‘ho! fisher of the moon, are you playing with the sea?’
‘no,’ said the fisherman, ‘i am spinning a line with which i shall some day catch the world; but i do not play with the sea.’ and he went on spinning his line.
now there is also a rat up in the moon who always bites the old fisherman’s line as fast as it is made, and the eldest magician said to him, ‘ho! rat of the moon, are you playing with the sea?’
and the rat said, ‘i am too busy biting through the line that this old fisherman is spinning. i do not play with the sea.’ and he went on biting the line.
then the little girl-daughter put up her little soft brown arms with the beautiful white shell bracelets and said, ‘o eldest magician! when my father here talked to you at the very beginning, and i leaned upon his shoulder while the beasts were being taught their plays, one beast went away naughtily into the sea before you had taught him his play.
and the eldest magician said, ‘how wise are little children who see and are silent! what was the beast like?’
and the little girl-daughter said, ‘he was round and he was flat; and his eyes grew upon stalks; and he walked sideways like this; and he was covered with strong armour upon his back.’
and the eldest magician said, ‘how wise are little children who speak truth! now i know where pau amma went. give me the paddle!’
so he took the paddle; but there was no need to paddle, for the water flowed steadily past all the islands till they came to the place called pusat tasek the heart of the sea where the great hollow is that leads down to the heart of the world, and in that hollow grows the wonderful tree, pauh janggi, that bears the magic twin nuts. then the eldest magician slid his arm up to the shoulder through the deep warm water, and under the roots of the wonderful tree he touched the broad back of pau amma the crab. and pau amma settled down at the touch, and all the sea rose up as water rises in a basin when you put your hand into it.
‘ah!’ said the eldest magician. ‘now i know who has been playing with the sea;’ and he called out, ‘what are you doing, pau amma?’
and pau amma, deep down below, answered, ‘once a day and once a night i go out to look for my food. once a day and once a night i return. leave me alone.’
then the eldest magician said, ‘listen, pau amma. when you go out from your cave the waters of the sea pour down into pusat tasek, and all the beaches of all the islands are left bare, and the little fish die, and raja moyang kaban, the king of the elephants, his legs are made muddy.
when you come back and sit in pusat tasek, the waters of the sea rise, and half the little islands are drowned, and the man’s house is flooded, and raja abdullah, the king of the crocodiles, his mouth is filled with the salt water.
then pau amma, deep down below, laughed and said, ‘i did not know i was so important. henceforward i will go out seven times a day, and the waters shall never be still.’
and the eldest magician said, ‘i cannot make you play the play you were meant to play, pau amma, because you escaped me at the very beginning; but if you are not afraid, come up and we will talk about it.’
‘i am not afraid,’ said pau amma, and he rose to the top of the sea in the moonlight. there was nobody in the world so big as pau amma for he was the king crab of all crabs. not a common crab, but a king crab. one side of his great shell touched the beach at sarawak; the other touched the beach at pahang; and he was taller than the smoke of three volcanoes! as he rose up through the branches of the wonderful tree he tore off one of the great twin fruits the magic double kernelled nuts that make people young, and the little girl-daughter saw it bobbing alongside the canoe, and pulled it in and began to pick out the soft eyes of it with her little golden scissors.
‘now,’ said the magician, ‘make a magic, pau amma, to show that you are really important.’
pau amma rolled his eyes and waved his legs, but he could only stir up the sea, because, though he was a king crab, he was nothing more than a crab, and the eldest magician laughed.
‘you are not so important after all, pau amma,’ he said. ‘now, let me try,’ and he made a magic with his left hand with just the little finger of his left hand and lo and behold, best beloved, pau amma’s hard, blue-green-black shell fell off him as a husk falls off a cocoa-nut, and pau amma was left all soft soft as the little crabs that you sometimes find on the beach, best beloved.
‘indeed, you are very important,’ said the eldest magician. ‘shall i ask the man here to cut you with kris? shall i send for raja moyang kaban, the king of the elephants, to pierce you with his tusks, or shall i call raja abdullah, the king of the crocodiles, to bite you?’
and pau amma said, ‘i am ashamed! give me back my hard shell and let me go back to pusat tasek, and i will only stir out once a day and once a night to get my food.’
and the eldest magician said, ‘no, pau amma, i will not give you back your shell, for you will grow bigger and prouder and stronger, and perhaps you will forget your promise, and you will play with the sea once more.
then pau amma said, ‘what shall i do? i am so big that i can only hide in pusat tasek, and if i go anywhere else, all soft as i am now, the sharks and the dogfish will eat me. and if i go to pusat tasek, all soft as i am now, though i may be safe, i can never stir out to get my food, and so i shall die.’ then he waved his legs and lamented.
‘listen, pau amma,’ said the eldest magician. ‘i cannot make you play the play you were meant to play, because you escaped me at the very beginning; but if you choose, i can make every stone and every hole and every bunch of weed in all the seas a safe pusat tasek for you and your children for always.’
then pau amma said, ‘that is good, but i do not choose yet. look! there is that man who talked to you at the very beginning. if he had not taken up your attention i should not have grown tired of waiting and run away, and all this would never have happened. what will he do for me?’
and the man said, ‘if you choose, i will make a magic, so that both the deep water and the dry ground will be a home for you and your children so that you shall be able to hide both on the land and in the sea.’
and pau amma said, ‘i do not choose yet. look! there is that girl who saw me running away at the very beginning. if she had spoken then, the eldest magician would have called me back, and all this would never have happened. what will she do for me?’
and the little girl-daughter said, ‘this is a good nut that i am eating.
if you choose, i will make a magic and i will give you this pair of scissors, very sharp and strong, so that you and your children can eat cocoa-nuts like this all day long when you come up from the sea to the land; or you can dig a pusat tasek for yourself with the scissors that belong to you when there is no stone or hole near by; and when the earth is too hard, by the help of these same scissors you can run up a tree.’
and pau amma said, ‘i do not choose yet, for, all soft as i am, these gifts would not help me. give me back my shell, o eldest magician, and then i will play your play.’
and the eldest magician said, ‘i will give it back, pau amma, for eleven months of the year; but on the twelfth month of every year it shall grow soft again, to remind you and all your children that i can make magics, and to keep you humble, pau amma; for i see that if you can run both under the water and on land, you will grow too bold; and if you can climb trees and crack nuts and dig holes with your scissors, you will grow too greedy, pau amma.’
then pau amma thought a little and said, ‘i have made my choice. i will take all the gifts.’
then the eldest magician made a magic with the right hand, with all five fingers of his right hand, and lo and behold, best beloved, pau amma grew smaller and smaller and smaller, till at last there was only a little green crab swimming in the water alongside the canoe, crying in a very small voice, ‘give me the scissors!’
and the girl-daughter picked him up on the palm of her little brown hand, and sat him in the bottom of the canoe and gave him her scissors, and he waved them in his little arms, and opened them and shut them and snapped them, and said, ‘i can eat nuts. i can crack shells. i can dig holes. i can climb trees. i can breathe in the dry air, and i can find a safe pusat tasek under every stone. i did not know i was so important.
kun?’ (is this right?)
‘payah-kun,’ said the eldest magician, and he laughed and gave him his blessing; and little pau amma scuttled over the side of the canoe into the water; and he was so tiny that he could have hidden under the shadow of a dry leaf on land or of a dead shell at the bottom of the sea.
‘was that well done?’ said the eldest magician.
‘yes,’ said the man. ‘but now we must go back to perak, and that is a weary way to paddle. if we had waited till pau amma had gone out of pusat tasek and come home, the water would have carried us there by itself.’
‘you are lazy,’ said the eldest magician. ‘so your children shall be lazy. they shall be the laziest people in the world. they shall be called the malazy the lazy people;’ and he held up his finger to the moon and said, ‘o fisherman, here is the man too lazy to row home. pull his canoe home with your line, fisherman.’
‘no,’ said the man. ‘if i am to be lazy all my days, let the sea work for me twice a day for ever. that will save paddling.’
and the eldest magician laughed and said, ‘payah kun’ (that is right).
and the rat of the moon stopped biting the line; and the fisherman let his line down till it touched the sea, and he pulled the whole deep sea along, past the island of bintang, past singapore, past malacca, past selangor, till the canoe whirled into the mouth of the perak river again. kun?’ said the fisherman of the moon.
‘payah kun,’ said the eldest magician. ‘see now that you pull the sea twice a day and twice a night for ever, so that the malazy fishermen may be saved paddling. but be careful not to do it too hard, or i shall make a magic on you as i did to pau amma.’
then they all went up the perak river and went to bed, best beloved.
now listen and attend!
from that day to this the moon has always pulled the sea up and down and made what we call the tides. sometimes the fisher of the sea pulls a little too hard, and then we get spring tides; and sometimes he pulls a little too softly, and then we get what are called neap-tides; but nearly always he is careful, because of the eldest magician.
and pau amma? you can see when you go to the beach, how all pau amma’s babies make little pusat taseks for themselves under every stone and bunch of weed on the sands; you can see them waving their little scissors; and in some parts of the world they truly live on the dry land and run up the palm trees and eat cocoa-nuts, exactly as the girl-daughter promised. but once a year all pau ammas must shake off their hard armour and be soft-to remind them of what the eldest magician could do. and so it isn’t fair to kill or hunt pau amma’s babies just because old pau amma was stupidly rude a very long time ago.
oh yes! and pau amma’s babies hate being taken out of their little pusat taseks and brought home in pickle-bottles. that is why they nip you with their scissors, and it serves you right!
china-going p’s and o’s pass pau amma’s playground close, and his pusat tasek lies near the track of most b.i.’s.
u.y.k. and n.d.l.
know pau amma’s home as well as the fisher of the sea knows ‘bens,’ m.m.’s, and rubattinos.
but (and this is rather queer)
a.t.l.’s can not come here; o. and o. and d.o.a.
must go round another way.
orient, anchor, bibby, hall, never go that way at all.
u.c.s. would have a fit if it found itself on it.
and if ‘beavers’ took their cargoes to penang instead of lagos, or a fat shaw-savill bore passengers to singapore, or a white star were to try a little trip to sourabaya, or a b.s.a. went on past natal to cheribon, then great mr. lloyds would come with a wire and drag them home!
you’ll know what my riddle means when you’ve eaten mangosteens.
or if you can’t wait till then, ask them to let you have the outside page of the times; turn over to page 2 where it is marked ‘shipping’
on the top left hand; then take the atlas (and that is the finest picture-book in the world) and see how the names of the places that the steamers go to fit into the names of the places on the map. any steamer-kiddy ought to be able to do that; but if you can’t read, ask some one to show it you.
the cat that walked by himself
hear and attend and listen; for this befell and behappened and became and was, o my best beloved, when the tame animals were wild. the dog was wild, and the horse was wild, and the cow was wild, and the sheep was wild, and the pig was wild as wild as wild could be and they walked in the wet wild woods by their wild lones. but the wildest of all the wild animals was the cat. he walked by himself, and all places were alike to him.
of course the man was wild too. he was dreadfully wild. he didn’t even begin to be tame till he met the woman, and she told him that she did not like living in his wild ways. she picked out a nice dry cave, instead of a heap of wet leaves, to lie down in; and she strewed clean sand on the floor; and she lit a nice fire of wood at the back of the cave; and she hung a dried wild-horse skin, tail-down, across the opening of the cave; and she said, ‘wipe you feet, dear, when you come in, and now we’ll keep house.’
that night, best beloved, they ate wild sheep roasted on the hot stones, and flavoured with wild garlic and wild pepper; and wild duck stuffed with wild rice and wild fenugreek and wild coriander; and marrow-bones of wild oxen; and wild cherries, and wild grenadillas. then the man went to sleep in front of the fire ever so happy; but the woman sat up, combing her hair. she took the bone of the shoulder of mutton the big fat blade-bone and she looked at the wonderful marks on it, and she threw more wood on the fire, and she made a magic. she made the first singing magic in the world.
out in the wet wild woods all the wild animals gathered together where they could see the light of the fire a long way off, and they wondered what it meant.
then wild horse stamped with his wild foot and said, ‘o my friends and o my enemies, why have the man and the woman made that great light in that great cave, and what harm will it do us?’
wild dog lifted up his wild nose and smelled the smell of roast mutton, and said, ‘i will go up and see and look, and say; for i think it is good. cat, come with me.’
‘nenni!’ said the cat. ‘i am the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me. i will not come.’
‘then we can never be friends again,’ said wild dog, and he trotted off to the cave. but when he had gone a little way the cat said to himself, ‘all places are alike to me. why should i not go too and see and look and come away at my own liking.’ so he slipped after wild dog softly, very softly, and hid himself where he could hear everything.
when wild dog reached the mouth of the cave he lifted up the dried horse-skin with his nose and sniffed the beautiful smell of the roast mutton, and the woman, looking at the blade-bone, heard him, and laughed, and said, ‘here comes the first. wild thing out of the wild woods, what do you want?’
wild dog said, ‘o my enemy and wife of my enemy, what is this that smells so good in the wild woods?’
then the woman picked up a roasted mutton-bone and threw it to wild dog, and said, ‘wild thing out of the wild woods, taste and try.’ wild dog gnawed the bone, and it was more delicious than anything he had ever tasted, and he said, ‘o my enemy and wife of my enemy, give me another.’
the woman said, ‘wild thing out of the wild woods, help my man to hunt through the day and guard this cave at night, and i will give you as many roast bones as you need.’
‘ah!’ said the cat, listening. ‘this is a very wise woman, but she is not so wise as i am.’
wild dog crawled into the cave and laid his head on the woman’s lap, and said, ‘o my friend and wife of my friend, i will help your man to hunt through the day, and at night i will guard your cave.’
‘ah!’ said the cat, listening. ‘that is a very foolish dog.’ and he went back through the wet wild woods waving his wild tail, and walking by his wild lone. but he never told anybody.
when the man waked up he said, ‘what is wild dog doing here?’ and the woman said, ‘his name is not wild dog any more, but the first friend, because he will be our friend for always and always and always. take him with you when you go hunting.’
next night the woman cut great green armfuls of fresh grass from the water-meadows, and dried it before the fire, so that it smelt like new-mown hay, and she sat at the mouth of the cave and plaited a halter out of horse-hide, and she looked at the shoulder of mutton-bone at the big broad blade-bone and she made a magic. she made the second singing magic in the world.
out in the wild woods all the wild animals wondered what had happened to wild dog, and at last wild horse stamped with his foot and said, ‘i will go and see and say why wild dog has not returned. cat, come with me.’
‘nenni!’ said the cat. ‘i am the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me. i will not come.’ but all the same he followed wild horse softly, very softly, and hid himself where he could hear everything.
when the woman heard wild horse tripping and stumbling on his long mane, she laughed and said, ‘here comes the second. wild thing out of the wild woods what do you want?’
wild horse said, ‘o my enemy and wife of my enemy, where is wild dog?’
the woman laughed, and picked up the blade-bone and looked at it, and said, ‘wild thing out of the wild woods, you did not come here for wild dog, but for the sake of this good grass.’
and wild horse, tripping and stumbling on his long mane, said, ‘that is true; give it me to eat.’
the woman said, ‘wild thing out of the wild woods, bend your wild head and wear what i give you, and you shall eat the wonderful grass three times a day.’
‘ah,’ said the cat, listening, ‘this is a clever woman, but she is not so clever as i am.’ wild horse bent his wild head, and the woman slipped the plaited hide halter over it, and wild horse breathed on the woman’s feet and said, ‘o my mistress, and wife of my master, i will be your servant for the sake of the wonderful grass.’
‘ah,’ said the cat, listening, ‘that is a very foolish horse.’ and he went back through the wet wild woods, waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone. but he never told anybody.
when the man and the dog came back from hunting, the man said, ‘what is wild horse doing here?’ and the woman said, ‘his name is not wild horse any more, but the first servant, because he will carry us from place to place for always and always and always. ride on his back when you go hunting.
next day, holding her wild head high that her wild horns should not catch in the wild trees, wild cow came up to the cave, and the cat followed, and hid himself just the same as before; and everything happened just the same as before; and the cat said the same things as before, and when wild cow had promised to give her milk to the woman every day in exchange for the wonderful grass, the cat went back through the wet wild woods waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone, just the same as before. but he never told anybody. and when the man and the horse and the dog came home from hunting and asked the same questions same as before, the woman said, ‘her name is not wild cow any more, but the giver of good food. she will give us the warm white milk for always and always and always, and i will take care of her while you and the first friend and the first servant go hunting.
next day the cat waited to see if any other wild thing would go up to the cave, but no one moved in the wet wild woods, so the cat walked there by himself; and he saw the woman milking the cow, and he saw the light of the fire in the cave, and he smelt the smell of the warm white milk.
cat said, ‘o my enemy and wife of my enemy, where did wild cow go?’
the woman laughed and said, ‘wild thing out of the wild woods, go back to the woods again, for i have braided up my hair, and i have put away the magic blade-bone, and we have no more need of either friends or servants in our cave.
cat said, ‘i am not a friend, and i am not a servant. i am the cat who walks by himself, and i wish to come into your cave.’
woman said, ‘then why did you not come with first friend on the first night?’
cat grew very angry and said, ‘has wild dog told tales of me?’
then the woman laughed and said, ‘you are the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to you. your are neither a friend nor a servant. you have said it yourself. go away and walk by yourself in all places alike.’
then cat pretended to be sorry and said, ‘must i never come into the cave? must i never sit by the warm fire? must i never drink the warm white milk? you are very wise and very beautiful. you should not be cruel even to a cat.’
woman said, ‘i knew i was wise, but i did not know i was beautiful. so i will make a bargain with you. if ever i say one word in your praise you may come into the cave.’
‘and if you say two words in my praise?’ said the cat.
‘i never shall,’ said the woman, ‘but if i say two words in your praise, you may sit by the fire in the cave.’
‘and if you say three words?’ said the cat.
‘i never shall,’ said the woman, ‘but if i say three words in your praise, you may drink the warm white milk three times a day for always and always and always.’
then the cat arched his back and said, ‘now let the curtain at the mouth of the cave, and the fire at the back of the cave, and the milk-pots that stand beside the fire, remember what my enemy and the wife of my enemy has said.’ and he went away through the wet wild woods waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone.
that night when the man and the horse and the dog came home from hunting, the woman did not tell them of the bargain that she had made with the cat, because she was afraid that they might not like it.
cat went far and far away and hid himself in the wet wild woods by his wild lone for a long time till the woman forgot all about him. only the bat the little upside-down bat that hung inside the cave, knew where cat hid; and every evening bat would fly to cat with news of what was happening.
one evening bat said, ‘there is a baby in the cave. he is new and pink and fat and small, and the woman is very fond of him.’
‘ah,’ said the cat, listening, ‘but what is the baby fond of?’
‘he is fond of things that are soft and tickle,’ said the bat. ‘he is fond of warm things to hold in his arms when he goes to sleep. he is fond of being played with. he is fond of all those things.’
‘ah,’ said the cat, listening, ‘then my time has come.’
next night cat walked through the wet wild woods and hid very near the cave till morning-time, and man and dog and horse went hunting. the woman was busy cooking that morning, and the baby cried and interrupted.
so she carried him outside the cave and gave him a handful of pebbles to play with. but still the baby cried.
then the cat put out his paddy paw and patted the baby on the cheek, and it cooed; and the cat rubbed against its fat knees and tickled it under its fat chin with his tail. and the baby laughed; and the woman heard him and smiled.
then the bat the little upside-down bat that hung in the mouth of the cave said, ‘o my hostess and wife of my host and mother of my host’s son, a wild thing from the wild woods is most beautifully playing with your baby.’
‘a blessing on that wild thing whoever he may be,’ said the woman, straightening her back, ‘for i was a busy woman this morning and he has done me a service.’
that very minute and second, best beloved, the dried horse-skin curtain that was stretched tail-down at the mouth of the cave fell down whoosh! because it remembered the bargain she had made with the cat, and when the woman went to pick it up lo and behold! the cat was sitting quite comfy inside the cave.
‘o my enemy and wife of my enemy and mother of my enemy,’ said the cat, ‘it is i: for you have spoken a word in my praise, and now i can sit within the cave for always and always and always. but still i am the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.’
the woman was very angry, and shut her lips tight and took up her spinning-wheel and began to spin. but the baby cried because the cat had gone away, and the woman could not hush it, for it struggled and kicked and grew black in the face.
‘o my enemy and wife of my enemy and mother of my enemy,’ said the cat, ‘take a strand of the wire that you are spinning and tie it to your spinning-whorl and drag it along the floor, and i will show you a magic that shall make your baby laugh as loudly as he is now crying.’
‘i will do so,’ said the woman, ‘because i am at my wits’ end; but i will not thank you for it.’
she tied the thread to the little clay spindle whorl and drew it across the floor, and the cat ran after it and patted it with his paws and rolled head over heels, and tossed it backward over his shoulder and chased it between his hind-legs and pretended to lose it, and pounced down upon it again, till the baby laughed as loudly as it had been crying, and scrambled after the cat and frolicked all over the cave till it grew tired and settled down to sleep with the cat in its arms.
‘now,’ said the cat, ‘i will sing the baby a song that shall keep him asleep for an hour. and he began to purr, loud and low, low and loud, till the baby fell fast asleep. the woman smiled as she looked down upon the two of them and said, ‘that was wonderfully done. no question but you are very clever, o cat.’
that very minute and second, best beloved, the smoke of the fire at the back of the cave came down in clouds from the roof puff! because it remembered the bargain she had made with the cat, and when it had cleared away lo and behold! the cat was sitting quite comfy close to the fire.
‘o my enemy and wife of my enemy and mother of my enemy,’ said the cat, ‘it is i, for you have spoken a second word in my praise, and now i can sit by the warm fire at the back of the cave for always and always and always. but still i am the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.’
then the woman was very very angry, and let down her hair and put more wood on the fire and brought out the broad blade-bone of the shoulder of mutton and began to make a magic that should prevent her from saying a third word in praise of the cat. it was not a singing magic, best beloved, it was a still magic; and by and by the cave grew so still that a little wee-wee mouse crept out of a corner and ran across the floor.
‘o my enemy and wife of my enemy and mother of my enemy,’ said the cat, ‘is that little mouse part of your magic?’
‘ouh! chee! no indeed!’ said the woman, and she dropped the blade-bone and jumped upon the footstool in front of the fire and braided up her hair very quick for fear that the mouse should run up it.
‘ah,’ said the cat, watching, ‘then the mouse will do me no harm if i eat it?’
‘no,’ said the woman, braiding up her hair, ‘eat it quickly and i will ever be grateful to you.’
cat made one jump and caught the little mouse, and the woman said, ‘a hundred thanks. even the first friend is not quick enough to catch little mice as you have done. you must be very wise.’
that very moment and second, o best beloved, the milk-pot that stood by the fire cracked in two pieces ffft because it remembered the bargain she had made with the cat, and when the woman jumped down from the footstool lo and behold! the cat was lapping up the warm white milk that lay in one of the broken pieces.
‘o my enemy and wife of my enemy and mother of my enemy, said the cat, ‘it is i; for you have spoken three words in my praise, and now i can drink the warm white milk three times a day for always and always and always. but still i am the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.’
then the woman laughed and set the cat a bowl of the warm white milk and said, ‘o cat, you are as clever as a man, but remember that your bargain was not made with the man or the dog, and i do not know what they will do when they come home.’
‘what is that to me?’ said the cat. ‘if i have my place in the cave by the fire and my warm white milk three times a day i do not care what the man or the dog can do.’
that evening when the man and the dog came into the cave, the woman told them all the story of the bargain while the cat sat by the fire and smiled. then the man said, ‘yes, but he has not made a bargain with me or with all proper men after me.’ then he took off his two leather boots and he took up his little stone axe (that makes three) and he fetched a piece of wood and a hatchet (that is five altogether), and he set them out in a row and he said, ‘now we will make our bargain. if you do not catch mice when you are in the cave for always and always and always, i will throw these five things at you whenever i see you, and so shall all proper men do after me.’
‘ah,’ said the woman, listening, ‘this is a very clever cat, but he is not so clever as my man.’
the cat counted the five things (and they looked very knobby) and he said, ‘i will catch mice when i am in the cave for always and always and always; but still i am the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.’
‘not when i am near,’ said the man. ‘if you had not said that last i would have put all these things away for always and always and always; but i am now going to throw my two boots and my little stone axe (that makes three) at you whenever i meet you. and so shall all proper men do after me!’
then the dog said, ‘wait a minute. he has not made a bargain with me or with all proper dogs after me.’ and he showed his teeth and said, ‘if you are not kind to the baby while i am in the cave for always and always and always, i will hunt you till i catch you, and when i catch you i will bite you. and so shall all proper dogs do after me.’
‘ah,’ said the woman, listening, ‘this is a very clever cat, but he is not so clever as the dog.’
cat counted the dog’s teeth (and they looked very pointed) and he said, ‘i will be kind to the baby while i am in the cave, as long as he does not pull my tail too hard, for always and always and always. but still i am the cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.’
‘not when i am near,’ said the dog. ‘if you had not said that last i would have shut my mouth for always and always and always; but now i am going to hunt you up a tree whenever i meet you. and so shall all proper dogs do after me.’
then the man threw his two boots and his little stone axe (that makes three) at the cat, and the cat ran out of the cave and the dog chased him up a tree; and from that day to this, best beloved, three proper men out of five will always throw things at a cat whenever they meet him, and all proper dogs will chase him up a tree. but the cat keeps his side of the bargain too. he will kill mice and he will be kind to babies when he is in the house, just as long as they do not pull his tail too hard.
but when he has done that, and between times, and when the moon gets up and night comes, he is the cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to him. then he goes out to the wet wild woods or up the wet wild trees or on the wet wild roofs, waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone.
pussy can sit by the fire and sing, pussy can climb a tree, or play with a silly old cork and string to’muse herself, not me.
but i like binkie my dog, because he lnows how to behave; so, binkie’s the same as the first friend was, and i am the man in the cave.
pussy will play man-friday till it’s time to wet her paw and make her walk on the window-sill (for the footprint crusoe saw); then she fluffles her tail and mews, and scratches and won’t attend.
but binkie will play whatever i choose, and he is my true first friend.
pussy will rub my knees with her head pretending she loves me hard; but the very minute i go to my bed pussy runs out in the yard, and there she stays till the morning-light; so i know it is only pretend; but binkie, he snores at my feet all night, and he is my firstest friend!
the butterfly that stamped
this, o my best beloved, is a story a new and a wonderful story a story quite different from the other stories a story about the most wise sovereign suleiman-bin-daoud solomon the son of david.
there are three hundred and fifty-five stories about suleiman-bin-daoud; but this is not one of them. it is not the story of the lapwing who found the water; or the hoopoe who shaded suleimanbin-daoud from the heat. it is not the story of the glass pavement, or the ruby with the crooked hole, or the gold bars of balkis. it is the story of the butterfly that stamped.
now attend all over again and listen!
suleiman-bin-daoud was wise. he understood what the beasts said, what the birds said, what the fishes said, and what the insects said. he understood what the rocks said deep under the earth when they bowed in towards each other and groaned; and he understood what the trees said when they rustled in the middle of the morning. he understood everything, from the bishop on the bench to the hyssop on the wall, and balkis, his head queen, the most beautiful queen balkis, was nearly as wise as he was.
suleiman-bin-daoud was strong. upon the third finger of the right hand he wore a ring. when he turned it once, afrits and djinns came out of the earth to do whatever he told them. when he turned it twice, fairies came down from the sky to do whatever he told them; and when he turned it three times, the very great angel azrael of the sword came dressed as a water-carrier, and told him the news of the three worlds, above below and here.
and yet suleiman-bin-daoud was not proud. he very seldom showed off, and when he did he was sorry for it. once he tried to feed all the animals in all the world in one day, but when the food was ready an animal came out of the deep sea and ate it up in three mouthfuls. suleiman-bin-daoud was very surprised and said, ‘o animal, who are you?’ and the animal said, ‘o king, live for ever! i am the smallest of thirty thousand brothers, and our home is at the bottom of the sea. we heard that you were going to feed all the animals in all the world, and my brothers sent me to ask when dinner would be ready.’ suleiman-bin-daoud was more surprised than ever and said, ‘o animal, you have eaten all the dinner that i made ready for all the animals in the world.’ and the animal said, ‘o king, live for ever, but do you really call that a dinner?
where i come from we each eat twice as much as that between meals.’ then suleiman-bin-daoud fell flat on his face and said, ‘o animal! i gave that dinner to show what a great and rich king i was, and not because i really wanted to be kind to the animals. now i am ashamed, and it serves me right. suleiman-bin-daoud was a really truly wise man, best beloved.
after that he never forgot that it was silly to show off; and now the real story part of my story begins.
he married ever so many wifes. he married nine hundred and ninety-nine wives, besides the most beautiful balkis; and they all lived in a great golden palace in the middle of a lovely garden with fountains. he didn’t really want nine-hundred and ninety-nine wives, but in those days everybody married ever so many wives, and of course the king had to marry ever so many more just to show that he was the king.
some of the wives were nice, but some were simply horrid, and the horrid ones quarrelled with the nice ones and made them horrid too, and then they would all quarrel with suleiman-bin-daoud, and that was horrid for him. but balkis the most beautiful never quarrelled with suleiman-bin-daoud. she loved him too much. she sat in her rooms in the golden palace, or walked in the palace garden, and was truly sorry for him.
of course if he had chosen to turn his ring on his finger and call up the djinns and the afrits they would have magicked all those nine hundred and ninety-nine quarrelsome wives into white mules of the desert or greyhounds or pomegranate seeds; but suleiman-bin-daoud thought that that would be showing off. so, when they quarrelled too much, he only walked by himself in one part of the beautiful palace gardens and wished he had never been born.
one day, when they had quarrelled for three weeks all nine hundred and ninety-nine wives together suleiman-bin-daoud went out for peace and quiet as usual; and among the orange trees he met balkis the most beautiful, very sorrowful because suleiman-bin-daoud was so worried.
and she said to him, ‘o my lord and light of my eyes, turn the ring upon your finger and show these queens of egypt and mesopotamia and persia and china that you are the great and terrible king.’ but suleiman-bin-daoud shook his head and said, ‘o my lady and delight of my life, remember the animal that came out of the sea and made me ashamed before all the animals in all the world because i showed off. now, if i showed off before these queens of persia and egypt and abyssinia and china, merely because they worry me, i might be made even more ashamed than i have been.’
and balkis the most beautiful said, ‘o my lord and treasure of my soul, what will you do?’
and suleiman-bin-daoud said, ‘o my lady and content of my heart, i shall continue to endure my fate at the hands of these nine hundred and ninety-nine queens who vex me with their continual quarrelling.’
so he went on between the lilies and the loquats and the roses and the cannas and the heavy-scented ginger-plants that grew in the garden, till he came to the great camphor-tree that was called the camphor tree of suleiman-bin-daoud. but balkis hid among the tall irises and the spotted bamboos and the red lillies behind the camphor-tree, so as to be near her own true love, suleiman-bin-daoud.
presently two butterflies flew under the tree, quarrelling.
suleiman-bin-daoud heard one say to the other, ‘i wonder at your presumption in talking like this to me. don’t you know that if i stamped with my foot all suleiman-bin-daoud’s palace and this garden here would immediately vanish in a clap of thunder.’
then suleiman-bin-daoud forgot his nine hundred and ninety-nine bothersome wives, and laughed, till the camphor-tree shook, at the butterfly’s boast. and he held out his finger and said, ‘little man, come here.’
the butterfly was dreadfully frightened, but he managed to fly up to the hand of suleiman-bin-daoud, and clung there, fanning himself.
suleiman-bin-daoud bent his head and whispered very softly, ‘little man, you know that all your stamping wouldn’t bend one blade of grass. what made you tell that awful fib to your wife? for doubtless she is your wife.’
the butterfly looked at suleiman-bin-daoud and saw the most wise king’s eye twinkle like stars on a frosty night, and he picked up his courage with both wings, and he put his head on one side and said, ‘o king, live for ever. she is my wife; and you know what wives are like.
suleiman-bin-daoud smiled in his beard and said, ‘yes, i know, little brother.
‘one must keep them in order somehow, said the butterfly, and she has been quarrelling with me all the morning. i said that to quiet her.’
and suleiman-bin-daoud said, ‘may it quiet her. go back to your wife, little brother, and let me hear what you say.’
back flew the butterfly to his wife, who was all of a twitter behind a leaf, and she said, ‘he heard you! suleiman-bin-daoud himself heard you!’
‘heard me!’ said the butterfly. ‘of course he did. i meant him to hear me.’
‘and what did he say? oh, what did he say?’
‘well,’ said the butterfly, fanning himself most importantly, ‘between you and me, my dear of course i don’t blame him, because his palace must have cost a great deal and the oranges are just ripening, he asked me not to stamp, and i promised i wouldn’t.’
‘gracious!’ said his wife, and sat quite quiet; but suleiman-bin-daoud laughed till the tears ran down his face at the impudence of the bad little butterfly.
balkis the most beautiful stood up behind the tree among the red lilies and smiled to herself, for she had heard all this talk. she thought, ‘if i am wise i can yet save my lord from the persecutions of these quarrelsome queens,’ and she held out her finger and whispered softly to the butterfly’s wife, ‘little woman, come here.’ up flew the butterfly’s wife, very frightened, and clung to balkis’s white hand.
balkis bent her beautiful head down and whispered, ‘little woman, do you believe what your husband has just said?’
the butterfly’s wife looked at balkis, and saw the most beautiful queen’s eyes shining like deep pools with starlight on them, and she picked up her courage with both wings and said, ‘o queen, be lovely for ever. you know what men-folk are like.’
and the queen balkis, the wise balkis of sheba, put her hand to her lips to hide a smile and said, ‘little sister, i know.’
‘they get angry,’ said the butterfly’s wife, fanning herself quickly, ‘over nothing at all, but we must humour them, o queen. they never mean half they say. if it pleases my husband to believe that i believe he can make suleiman-bin-daoud’s palace disappear by stamping his foot, i’m sure i don’t care. he’ll forget all about it to-morrow.’
‘little sister,’ said balkis, ‘you are quite right; but next time he begins to boast, take him at his word. ask him to stamp, and see what will happen. we know what men-folk are like, don’t we? he’ll be very much ashamed.’
away flew the butterfly’s wife to her husband, and in five minutes they were quarrelling worse than ever.
‘remember!’ said the butterfly. ‘remember what i can do if i stamp my foot.’
‘i don’t believe you one little bit,’ said the butterfly’s wife. ‘i should very much like to see it done. suppose you stamp now.’
‘i promised suleiman-bin-daoud that i wouldn’t,’ said the butterfly, ‘and i don’t want to break my promise.’
‘it wouldn’t matter if you did,’ said his wife. ‘you couldn’t bend a blade of grass with your stamping. i dare you to do it,’ she said.
stamp! stamp! stamp!’
suleiman-bin-daoud, sitting under the camphor-tree, heard every word of this, and he laughed as he had never laughed in his life before. he forgot all about his queens; he forgot all about the animal that came out of the sea; he forgot about showing off. he just laughed with joy, and balkis, on the other side of the tree, smiled because her own true love was so joyful.
presently the butterfly, very hot and puffy, came whirling back under the shadow of the camphor-tree and said to suleiman, ‘she wants me to stamp! she wants to see what will happen, o suleiman-bin-daoud! you know i can’t do it, and now she’ll never believe a word i say. she’ll laugh at me to the end of my days!’
‘no, little brother,’ said suleiman-bin-daoud, ‘she will never laugh at you again,’ and he turned the ring on his finger just for the little butterfly’s sake, not for the sake of showing off, and, lo and behold, four huge djinns came out of the earth!
‘slaves,’ said suleiman-bin-daoud, ‘when this gentleman on my finger’
(that was where the impudent butterfly was sitting) ‘stamps his left front forefoot you will make my palace and these gardens disappear in a clap of thunder. when he stamps again you will bring them back carefully.’
‘now, little brother,’ he said, ‘go back to your wife and stamp all you’ve a mind to.’
away flew the butterfly to his wife, who was crying, ‘i dare you to do it! i dare you to do it! stamp! stamp now! stamp!’ balkis saw the four vast djinns stoop down to the four corners of the gardens with the palace in the middle, and she clapped her hands softly and said, ‘at last suleiman-bin-daoud will do for the sake of a butterfly what he ought to have done long ago for his own sake, and the quarrelsome queens will be frightened!’
the the butterfly stamped. the djinns jerked the palace and the gardens a thousand miles into the air: there was a most awful thunder-clap, and everything grew inky-black. the butterfly’s wife fluttered about in the dark, crying, ‘oh, i’ll be good! i’m so sorry i spoke. only bring the gardens back, my dear darling husband, and i’ll never contradict again.’
the butterfly was nearly as frightened as his wife, and suleiman-bin-daoud laughed so much that it was several minutes before he found breath enough to whisper to the butterfly, ‘stamp again, little brother. give me back my palace, most great magician.’
‘yes, give him back his palace,’ said the butterfly’s wife, still flying about in the dark like a moth. ‘give him back his palace, and don’t let’s have any more horrid.magic.’
‘well, my dear,’ said the butterfly as bravely as he could, ‘you see what your nagging has led to. of course it doesn’t make any difference to me i’m used to this kind of thing but as a favour to you and to suleiman-bin-daoud i don’t mind putting things right.’
so he stamped once more, and that instant the djinns let down the palace and the gardens, without even a bump. the sun shone on the dark-green orange leaves; the fountains played among the pink egyptian lilies; the birds went on singing, and the butterfly’s wife lay on her side under the camphor-tree waggling her wings and panting, ‘oh, i’ll be good! i’ll be good!’
suleiman-bin-daolld could hardly speak for laughing. he leaned back all weak and hiccoughy, and shook his finger at the butterfly and said, ‘o great wizard, what is the sense of returning to me my palace if at the same time you slay me with mirth!’
then came a terrible noise, for all the nine hundred and ninety-nine queens ran out of the palace shrieking and shouting and calling for their babies. they hurried down the great marble steps below the fountain, one hundred abreast, and the most wise balkis went statelily forward to meet them and said, ‘what is your trouble, o queens?’
they stood on the marble steps one hundred abreast and shouted, ‘what is our trouble? we were living peacefully in our golden palace, as is our custom, when upon a sudden the palace disappeared, and we were left sitting in a thick and noisome darkness; and it thundered, and djinns and afrits moved about in the darkness! that is our trouble, o head queen, and we are most extremely troubled on account of that trouble, for it was a troublesome trouble, unlike any trouble we have known.’
then balkis the most beautiful queen suleiman-bin-daoud’s very best beloved queen that was of sheba and sable and the rivers of the gold of the south from the desert of zinn to the towers of zimbabwe balkis, almost as wise as the most wise suleiman-bin-daoud himself, said, ‘it is nothing, o queens! a butterfly has made complaint against his wife because she quarrelled with him, and it has pleased our lord suleiman-bin-daoud to teach her a lesson in low-speaking and humbleness, for that is counted a virtue among the wives of the butterflies.’
then up and spoke an egyptian queen the daughter of a pharoah and she said, ‘our palace cannot be plucked up by the roots like a leek for the sake of a little insect. no! suleiman-bin-daoud must be dead, and what we heard and saw was the earth thundering and darkening at the news.’
then balkis beckoned that bold queen without looking at her, and said to her and to the others, ‘come and see.’
they came down the marble steps, one hundred abreast, and beneath his camphor-tree, still weak with laughing, they saw the most wise king suleiman-bin-daoud rocking back and forth with a butterfly on either hand, and they heard him say, ‘o wife of my brother in the air, remember after this, to please your husband in all things, lest he be provoked to stamp his foot yet again; for he has said that he is used to this magic, and he is most eminently a great magician one who steals away the very palace of suleirnan-bin-daoud himself. go in peace, little folk!’ and he kissed them on the wings, and they flew away.
then all the queens except balkis the most beautiful and splendid balkis, who stood apart smiling fell flat on their faces, for they said, ‘if these things are done when a butterfly is displeased with his wife, what shall be done to us who have vexed our king with our loud-speaking and open quarrelling through many days?’
then they put their veils over their heads, and they put their hands over their mouths, and they tiptoed back to the palace most mousy-quiet.
then balkis the most beautiful and excellent balkis went forward through the red lilies into the shade of the camphor-tree and laid her hand upon suleiman-bin-daoud’s shoulder and said, ‘o my lord and treasure of my soul, rejoice, for we have taught the queens of egypt and ethiopia and abyssinia and persia and india and china with a great and a memorable teaching.’
and suleiman-bin-daoud, still looking after the butterflies where they played in the sunlight, said, ‘o my lady and jewel of my felicity, when did this happen? for i have been jesting with a butterfly ever since i came into the garden.’ and he told balkis what he had done.
balkis the tender and most lovely balkis said, ‘o my lord and regent of my existence, i hid behind the camphor-tree and saw it all. it was i who told the butterfly’s wife to ask the butterfly to stamp, because i hoped that for the sake of the jest my lord would make some great magic and that the queens would see it and be frightened.’ and she told him what the queens had said and seen and thought.
then suleiman-bin-daoud rose up from his seat under the camphor-tree, and stretched his arms and rejoiced and said, ‘o my lady and sweetener of my days, know that if i had made a magic against my queens for the sake of pride or anger, as i made that feast for all the animals, i should certainly have been put to shame. but by means of your wisdom i made the magic for the sake of a jest and for the sake of a little butterfly, and behold it has also delivered me from the vexations of my vexatious wives! tell me, therefore, o my lady and heart of my heart, how did you come to be so wise?’ and balkis the queen, beautiful and tall, looked up into suleiman-bin-daoud’s eyes and put her head a little on one side, just like the butterfly, and said, ‘first, o my lord, because i loved you; and secondly, o my lord, because i know what women-folk are.’
then they went up to the palace and lived happily ever afterwards.
but wasn’t it clever of balkis?
there was never a queen like balkis, from here to the wide world’s end; but balkis talked to a butterfly as you would talk to a friend.
there was never a king like solomon, not since the world began; but solomon talked to a butterfly as a man would talk to a man.
she was queen of sabaea
and he was asia’s lord
but they both of ‘em talked to butterflies when they took their walks abroad!
moby-dick;
chapter 1. loomings.
call me ishmael. some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, i thought i would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. it is a way i have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. whenever i find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly november in my soul; whenever i find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral i meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, i account it high time to get to sea as soon as i can. this is my substitute for pistol and ball.
with a philosophical flourish cato throws himself upon his sword; i quietly take to the ship. there is nothing surprising in this. if they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.
there now is your insular city of the manhattoes, belted round by wharves as indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf. right and left, the streets take you waterward. its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. look at the crowds of water-gazers there.
circumambulate the city of a dreamy sabbath afternoon. go from corlears hook to coenties slip, and from thence, by whitehall, northward. what do you see?—posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from china; some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. but these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster—tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. how then is this? are the green fields gone? what do they here?
but look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and seemingly bound for a dive. strange! nothing will content them but the extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder warehouses will not suffice. no. they must get just as nigh the water as they possibly can without falling in. and there they stand—miles of them—leagues. inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets and avenues—north, east, south, and west. yet here they all unite. tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither?
once more. say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. there is magic in it. let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries—stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that region.
should you ever be athirst in the great american desert, try this experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical professor. yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever.
but here is an artist. he desires to paint you the dreamiest, shadiest, quietest, most enchanting bit of romantic landscape in all the valley of the saco. what is the chief element he employs? there stand his trees, each with a hollow trunk, as if a hermit and a crucifix were within; and here sleeps his meadow, and there sleep his cattle; and up from yonder cottage goes a sleepy smoke. deep into distant woodlands winds a mazy way, reaching to overlapping spurs of mountains bathed in their hill-side blue. but though the picture lies thus tranced, and though this pine-tree shakes down its sighs like leaves upon this shepherd’s head, yet all were vain, unless the shepherd’s eye were fixed upon the magic stream before him. go visit the prairies in june, when for scores on scores of miles you wade knee-deep among tiger-lilies—what is the one charm wanting?—water—there is not a drop of water there! were niagara but a cataract of sand, would you travel your thousand miles to see it? why did the poor poet of tennessee, upon suddenly receiving two handfuls of silver, deliberate whether to buy him a coat, which he sadly needed, or invest his money in a pedestrian trip to rockaway beach? why is almost every robust healthy boy with a robust healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy to go to sea?
why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such a mystical vibration, when first told that you and your ship were now out of sight of land? why did the old persians hold the sea holy? why did the greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother of jove? surely all this is not without meaning. and still deeper the meaning of that story of narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. but that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. it is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all.
now, when i say that i am in the habit of going to sea whenever i begin to grow hazy about the eyes, and begin to be over conscious of my lungs, i do not mean to have it inferred that i ever go to sea as a passenger. for to go as a passenger you must needs have a purse, and a purse is but a rag unless you have something in it. besides, passengers get sea-sick—grow quarrelsome—don’t sleep of nights—do not enjoy themselves much, as a general thing;—no, i never go as a passenger; nor, though i am something of a salt, do i ever go to sea as a commodore, or a captain, or a cook. i abandon the glory and distinction of such offices to those who like them. for my part, i abominate all honorable respectable toils, trials, and tribulations of every kind whatsoever. it is quite as much as i can do to take care of myself, without taking care of ships, barques, brigs, schooners, and what not.
and as for going as cook,—though i confess there is considerable glory in that, a cook being a sort of officer on ship-board—yet, somehow, i never fancied broiling fowls;—though once broiled, judiciously buttered, and judgmatically salted and peppered, there is no one who will speak more respectfully, not to say reverentially, of a broiled fowl than i will. it is out of the idolatrous dotings of the old egyptians upon broiled ibis and roasted river horse, that you see the mummies of those creatures in their huge bake-houses the pyramids.
no, when i go to sea, i go as a simple sailor, right before the mast, plumb down into the forecastle, aloft there to the royal mast-head.
true, they rather order me about some, and make me jump from spar to spar, like a grasshopper in a may meadow. and at first, this sort of thing is unpleasant enough. it touches one’s sense of honor, particularly if you come of an old established family in the land, the van rensselaers, or randolphs, or hardicanutes. and more than all, if just previous to putting your hand into the tar-pot, you have been lording it as a country schoolmaster, making the tallest boys stand in awe of you. the transition is a keen one, i assure you, from a schoolmaster to a sailor, and requires a strong decoction of seneca and the stoics to enable you to grin and bear it. but even this wears off in time.
what of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom and sweep down the decks? what does that indignity amount to, weighed, i mean, in the scales of the new testament? do you think the archangel gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because i promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? who ain’t a slave? tell me that. well, then, however the old sea-captains may order me about—however they may thump and punch me about, i have the satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is one way or other served in much the same way—either in a physical or metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump is passed round, and all hands should rub each other’s shoulder-blades, and be content.
again, i always go to sea as a sailor, because they make a point of paying me for my trouble, whereas they never pay passengers a single penny that i ever heard of. on the contrary, passengers themselves must pay. and there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid. the act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. but being paid,—what will compare with it? the urbane activity with which a man receives money is really marvellous, considering that we so earnestly believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no account can a monied man enter heaven. ah! how cheerfully we consign ourselves to perdition!
finally, i always go to sea as a sailor, because of the wholesome exercise and pure air of the fore-castle deck. for as in this world, head winds are far more prevalent than winds from astern (that is, if you never violate the pythagorean maxim), so for the most part the commodore on the quarter-deck gets his atmosphere at second hand from the sailors on the forecastle. he thinks he breathes it first; but not so. in much the same way do the commonalty lead their leaders in many other things, at the same time that the leaders little suspect it. but wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt the sea as a merchant sailor, i should now take it into my head to go on a whaling voyage; this the invisible police officer of the fates, who has the constant surveillance of me, and secretly dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable way—he can better answer than any one else. and, doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand programme of providence that was drawn up a long time ago. it came in as a sort of brief interlude and solo between more extensive performances. i take it that this part of the bill must have run something like this:
“grand contested election for the presidency of the united states. “whaling voyage by one ishmael. “bloody battle in affghanistan.”
though i cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the fates, put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage, when others were set down for magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces—though i cannot tell why this was exactly; yet, now that i recall all the circumstances, i think i can see a little into the springs and motives which being cunningly presented to me under various disguises, induced me to set about performing the part i did, besides cajoling me into the delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill and discriminating judgment.
chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself. such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my curiosity. then the wild and distant seas where he rolled his island bulk; the undeliverable, nameless perils of the whale; these, with all the attending marvels of a thousand patagonian sights and sounds, helped to sway me to my wish. with other men, perhaps, such things would not have been inducements; but as for me, i am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. i love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts. not ignoring what is good, i am quick to perceive a horror, and could still be social with it—would they let me—since it is but well to be on friendly terms with all the inmates of the place one lodges in.
by reason of these things, then, the whaling voyage was welcome; the great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild conceits that swayed me to my purpose, two and two there floated into my inmost soul, endless processions of the whale, and, mid most of them all, one grand hooded phantom, like a snow hill in the air.
chapter 2. the carpet-bag.
i stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my arm, and started for cape horn and the pacific. quitting the good city of old manhatto, i duly arrived in new bedford. it was a saturday night in december. much was i disappointed upon learning that the little packet for nantucket had already sailed, and that no way of reaching that place would offer, till the following monday.
as most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop at this same new bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as well be related that i, for one, had no idea of so doing. for my mind was made up to sail in no other than a nantucket craft, because there was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. besides though new bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of whaling, and though in this matter poor old nantucket is now much behind her, yet nantucket was her great original—the tyre of this carthage;—the place where the first dead american whale was stranded. where else but from nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the red-men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the leviathan? and where but from nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones—so goes the story—to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?
now having a night, a day, and still another night following before me in new bedford, ere i could embark for my destined port, it became a matter of concernment where i was to eat and sleep meanwhile. it was a very dubious-looking, nay, a very dark and dismal night, bitingly cold and cheerless. i knew no one in the place. with anxious grapnels i had sounded my pocket, and only brought up a few pieces of silver,—so, wherever you go, ishmael, said i to myself, as i stood in the middle of a dreary street shouldering my bag, and comparing the gloom towards the north with the darkness towards the south—wherever in your wisdom you may conclude to lodge for the night, my dear ishmael, be sure to inquire the price, and don’t be too particular.
with halting steps i paced the streets, and passed the sign of “the crossed harpoons”—but it looked too expensive and jolly there. further on, from the bright red windows of the “sword-fish inn,” there came such fervent rays, that it seemed to have melted the packed snow and ice from before the house, for everywhere else the congealed frost lay ten inches thick in a hard, asphaltic pavement,—rather weary for me, when i struck my foot against the flinty projections, because from hard, remorseless service the soles of my boots were in a most miserable plight. too expensive and jolly, again thought i, pausing one moment to watch the broad glare in the street, and hear the sounds of the tinkling glasses within. but go on, ishmael, said i at last; don’t you hear? get away from before the door; your patched boots are stopping the way. so on i went. i now by instinct followed the streets that took me waterward, for there, doubtless, were the cheapest, if not the cheeriest inns.
such dreary streets! blocks of blackness, not houses, on either hand, and here and there a candle, like a candle moving about in a tomb. at this hour of the night, of the last day of the week, that quarter of the town proved all but deserted. but presently i came to a smoky light proceeding from a low, wide building, the door of which stood invitingly open. it had a careless look, as if it were meant for the uses of the public; so, entering, the first thing i did was to stumble over an ash-box in the porch. ha! thought i, ha, as the flying particles almost choked me, are these ashes from that destroyed city, gomorrah? but “the crossed harpoons,” and “the sword-fish?”—this, then must needs be the sign of “the trap.” however, i picked myself up and hearing a loud voice within, pushed on and opened a second, interior door.
it seemed the great black parliament sitting in tophet. a hundred black faces turned round in their rows to peer; and beyond, a black angel of doom was beating a book in a pulpit. it was a negro church; and the preacher’s text was about the blackness of darkness, and the weeping and wailing and teeth-gnashing there. ha, ishmael, muttered i, backing out, wretched entertainment at the sign of ‘the trap!’
moving on, i at last came to a dim sort of light not far from the docks, and heard a forlorn creaking in the air; and looking up, saw a swinging sign over the door with a white painting upon it, faintly representing a tall straight jet of misty spray, and these words underneath—“the spouter inn:—peter coffin.”
coffin?—spouter?—rather ominous in that particular connexion, thought i. but it is a common name in nantucket, they say, and i suppose this peter here is an emigrant from there. as the light looked so dim, and the place, for the time, looked quiet enough, and the dilapidated little wooden house itself looked as if it might have been carted here from the ruins of some burnt district, and as the swinging sign had a poverty-stricken sort of creak to it, i thought that here was the very spot for cheap lodgings, and the best of pea coffee.
it was a queer sort of place—a gable-ended old house, one side palsied as it were, and leaning over sadly. it stood on a sharp bleak corner, where that tempestuous wind euroclydon kept up a worse howling than ever it did about poor paul’s tossed craft. euroclydon, nevertheless, is a mighty pleasant zephyr to any one in-doors, with his feet on the hob quietly toasting for bed. “in judging of that tempestuous wind called euroclydon,” says an old writer—of whose works i possess the only copy extant—“it maketh a marvellous difference, whether thou lookest out at it from a glass window where the frost is all on the outside, or whether thou observest it from that sashless window, where the frost is on both sides, and of which the wight death is the only glazier.” true enough, thought i, as this passage occurred to my mind—old black-letter, thou reasonest well. yes, these eyes are windows, and this body of mine is the house. what a pity they didn’t stop up the chinks and the crannies though, and thrust in a little lint here and there. but it’s too late to make any improvements now. the universe is finished; the copestone is on, and the chips were carted off a million years ago. poor lazarus there, chattering his teeth against the curbstone for his pillow, and shaking off his tatters with his shiverings, he might plug up both ears with rags, and put a corn-cob into his mouth, and yet that would not keep out the tempestuous euroclydon. euroclydon! says old dives, in his red silken wrapper—(he had a redder one afterwards) pooh, pooh! what a fine frosty night; how orion glitters; what northern lights! let them talk of their oriental summer climes of everlasting conservatories; give me the privilege of making my own summer with my own coals.
but what thinks lazarus? can he warm his blue hands by holding them up to the grand northern lights? would not lazarus rather be in sumatra than here? would he not far rather lay him down lengthwise along the line of the equator; yea, ye gods! go down to the fiery pit itself, in order to keep out this frost?
now, that lazarus should lie stranded there on the curbstone before the door of dives, this is more wonderful than that an iceberg should be moored to one of the moluccas. yet dives himself, he too lives like a czar in an ice palace made of frozen sighs, and being a president of a temperance society, he only drinks the tepid tears of orphans.
but no more of this blubbering now, we are going a-whaling, and there is plenty of that yet to come. let us scrape the ice from our frosted feet, and see what sort of a place this “spouter” may be.
chapter 3. the spouter-inn.
entering that gable-ended spouter-inn, you found yourself in a wide, low, straggling entry with old-fashioned wainscots, reminding one of the bulwarks of some condemned old craft. on one side hung a very large oilpainting so thoroughly besmoked, and every way defaced, that in the unequal crosslights by which you viewed it, it was only by diligent study and a series of systematic visits to it, and careful inquiry of the neighbors, that you could any way arrive at an understanding of its purpose. such unaccountable masses of shades and shadows, that at first you almost thought some ambitious young artist, in the time of the new england hags, had endeavored to delineate chaos bewitched. but by dint of much and earnest contemplation, and oft repeated ponderings, and especially by throwing open the little window towards the back of the entry, you at last come to the conclusion that such an idea, however wild, might not be altogether unwarranted.
but what most puzzled and confounded you was a long, limber, portentous, black mass of something hovering in the centre of the picture over three blue, dim, perpendicular lines floating in a nameless yeast. a boggy, soggy, squitchy picture truly, enough to drive a nervous man distracted. yet was there a sort of indefinite, half-attained, unimaginable sublimity about it that fairly froze you to it, till you involuntarily took an oath with yourself to find out what that marvellous painting meant. ever and anon a bright, but, alas, deceptive idea would dart you through.—it’s the black sea in a midnight gale.—it’s the unnatural combat of the four primal elements.—it’s a blasted heath.—it’s a hyperborean winter scene.—it’s the breaking-up of the icebound stream of time. but at last all these fancies yielded to that one portentous something in the picture’s midst. that once found out, and all the rest were plain. but stop; does it not bear a faint resemblance to a gigantic fish? even the great leviathan himself?
in fact, the artist’s design seemed this: a final theory of my own, partly based upon the aggregated opinions of many aged persons with whom i conversed upon the subject. the picture represents a cape-horner in a great hurricane; the half-foundered ship weltering there with its three dismantled masts alone visible; and an exasperated whale, purposing to spring clean over the craft, is in the enormous act of impaling himself upon the three mast-heads.
the opposite wall of this entry was hung all over with a heathenish array of monstrous clubs and spears. some were thickly set with glittering teeth resembling ivory saws; others were tufted with knots of human hair; and one was sickle-shaped, with a vast handle sweeping round like the segment made in the new-mown grass by a long-armed mower. you shuddered as you gazed, and wondered what monstrous cannibal and savage could ever have gone a death-harvesting with such a hacking, horrifying implement. mixed with these were rusty old whaling lances and harpoons all broken and deformed. some were storied weapons. with this once long lance, now wildly elbowed, fifty years ago did nathan swain kill fifteen whales between a sunrise and a sunset. and that harpoon—so like a corkscrew now—was flung in javan seas, and run away with by a whale, years afterwards slain off the cape of blanco. the original iron entered nigh the tail, and, like a restless needle sojourning in the body of a man, travelled full forty feet, and at last was found imbedded in the hump.
crossing this dusky entry, and on through yon low-arched way—cut through what in old times must have been a great central chimney with fireplaces all round—you enter the public room. a still duskier place is this, with such low ponderous beams above, and such old wrinkled planks beneath, that you would almost fancy you trod some old craft’s cockpits, especially of such a howling night, when this corner-anchored old ark rocked so furiously. on one side stood a long, low, shelf-like table covered with cracked glass cases, filled with dusty rarities gathered from this wide world’s remotest nooks. projecting from the further angle of the room stands a dark-looking den—the bar—a rude attempt at a right whale’s head. be that how it may, there stands the vast arched bone of the whale’s jaw, so wide, a coach might almost drive beneath it. within are shabby shelves, ranged round with old decanters, bottles, flasks; and in those jaws of swift destruction, like another cursed jonah (by which name indeed they called him), bustles a little withered old man, who, for their money, dearly sells the sailors deliriums and death.
abominable are the tumblers into which he pours his poison. though true cylinders without—within, the villanous green goggling glasses deceitfully tapered downwards to a cheating bottom. parallel meridians rudely pecked into the glass, surround these footpads’ goblets. fill to this mark, and your charge is but a penny; to this a penny more; and so on to the full glass—the cape horn measure, which you may gulp down for a shilling.
upon entering the place i found a number of young seamen gathered about a table, examining by a dim light divers specimens of skrimshander. i sought the landlord, and telling him i desired to be accommodated with a room, received for answer that his house was full—not a bed unoccupied. “but avast,” he added, tapping his forehead, “you haint no objections to sharing a harpooneer’s blanket, have ye? i s’pose you are goin’ a-whalin’, so you’d better get used to that sort of thing.”
i told him that i never liked to sleep two in a bed; that if i should ever do so, it would depend upon who the harpooneer might be, and that if he (the landlord) really had no other place for me, and the harpooneer was not decidedly objectionable, why rather than wander further about a strange town on so bitter a night, i would put up with the half of any decent man’s blanket.
“i thought so. all right; take a seat. supper?—you want supper?
supper’ll be ready directly.”
i sat down on an old wooden settle, carved all over like a bench on the battery. at one end a ruminating tar was still further adorning it with his jack-knife, stooping over and diligently working away at the space between his legs. he was trying his hand at a ship under full sail, but he didn’t make much headway, i thought.
at last some four or five of us were summoned to our meal in an adjoining room. it was cold as iceland—no fire at all—the landlord said he couldn’t afford it. nothing but two dismal tallow candles, each in a winding sheet. we were fain to button up our monkey jackets, and hold to our lips cups of scalding tea with our half frozen fingers. but the fare was of the most substantial kind—not only meat and potatoes, but dumplings; good heavens! dumplings for supper! one young fellow in a green box coat, addressed himself to these dumplings in a most direful manner.
“my boy,” said the landlord, “you’ll have the nightmare to a dead sartainty.”
“landlord,” i whispered, “that aint the harpooneer is it?”
“oh, no,” said he, looking a sort of diabolically funny, “the harpooneer is a dark complexioned chap. he never eats dumplings, he don’t—he eats nothing but steaks, and he likes ’em rare.”
“the devil he does,” says i. “where is that harpooneer? is he here?”
“he’ll be here afore long,” was the answer.
i could not help it, but i began to feel suspicious of this “dark complexioned” harpooneer. at any rate, i made up my mind that if it so turned out that we should sleep together, he must undress and get into bed before i did.
supper over, the company went back to the bar-room, when, knowing not what else to do with myself, i resolved to spend the rest of the evening as a looker on.
presently a rioting noise was heard without. starting up, the landlord cried, “that’s the grampus’s crew. i seed her reported in the offing this morning; a three years’ voyage, and a full ship. hurrah, boys; now we’ll have the latest news from the feegees.”
a tramping of sea boots was heard in the entry; the door was flung open, and in rolled a wild set of mariners enough. enveloped in their shaggy watch coats, and with their heads muffled in woollen comforters, all bedarned and ragged, and their beards stiff with icicles, they seemed an eruption of bears from labrador. they had just landed from their boat, and this was the first house they entered. no wonder, then, that they made a straight wake for the whale’s mouth—the bar—when the wrinkled little old jonah, there officiating, soon poured them out brimmers all round. one complained of a bad cold in his head, upon which jonah mixed him a pitch-like potion of gin and molasses, which he swore was a sovereign cure for all colds and catarrhs whatsoever, never mind of how long standing, or whether caught off the coast of labrador, or on the weather side of an ice-island.
the liquor soon mounted into their heads, as it generally does even with the arrantest topers newly landed from sea, and they began capering about most obstreperously.
i observed, however, that one of them held somewhat aloof, and though he seemed desirous not to spoil the hilarity of his shipmates by his own sober face, yet upon the whole he refrained from making as much noise as the rest. this man interested me at once; and since the sea-gods had ordained that he should soon become my shipmate (though but a sleeping-partner one, so far as this narrative is concerned), i will here venture upon a little description of him. he stood full six feet in height, with noble shoulders, and a chest like a coffer-dam. i have seldom seen such brawn in a man. his face was deeply brown and burnt, making his white teeth dazzling by the contrast; while in the deep shadows of his eyes floated some reminiscences that did not seem to give him much joy. his voice at once announced that he was a southerner, and from his fine stature, i thought he must be one of those tall mountaineers from the alleghanian ridge in virginia. when the revelry of his companions had mounted to its height, this man slipped away unobserved, and i saw no more of him till he became my comrade on the sea. in a few minutes, however, he was missed by his shipmates, and being, it seems, for some reason a huge favourite with them, they raised a cry of “bulkington! bulkington! where’s bulkington?” and darted out of the house in pursuit of him.
it was now about nine o’clock, and the room seeming almost supernaturally quiet after these orgies, i began to congratulate myself upon a little plan that had occurred to me just previous to the entrance of the seamen.
no man prefers to sleep two in a bed. in fact, you would a good deal rather not sleep with your own brother. i don’t know how it is, but people like to be private when they are sleeping. and when it comes to sleeping with an unknown stranger, in a strange inn, in a strange town, and that stranger a harpooneer, then your objections indefinitely multiply. nor was there any earthly reason why i as a sailor should sleep two in a bed, more than anybody else; for sailors no more sleep two in a bed at sea, than bachelor kings do ashore. to be sure they all sleep together in one apartment, but you have your own hammock, and cover yourself with your own blanket, and sleep in your own skin.
the more i pondered over this harpooneer, the more i abominated the thought of sleeping with him. it was fair to presume that being a harpooneer, his linen or woollen, as the case might be, would not be of the tidiest, certainly none of the finest. i began to twitch all over.
besides, it was getting late, and my decent harpooneer ought to be home and going bedwards. suppose now, he should tumble in upon me at midnight—how could i tell from what vile hole he had been coming?
“landlord! i’ve changed my mind about that harpooneer.—i shan’t sleep with him. i’ll try the bench here.”
“just as you please; i’m sorry i can’t spare ye a tablecloth for a mattress, and it’s a plaguy rough board here”—feeling of the knots and notches. “but wait a bit, skrimshander; i’ve got a carpenter’s plane there in the bar—wait, i say, and i’ll make ye snug enough.” so saying he procured the plane; and with his old silk handkerchief first dusting the bench, vigorously set to planing away at my bed, the while grinning like an ape. the shavings flew right and left; till at last the plane-iron came bump against an indestructible knot. the landlord was near spraining his wrist, and i told him for heaven’s sake to quit—the bed was soft enough to suit me, and i did not know how all the planing in the world could make eider down of a pine plank. so gathering up the shavings with another grin, and throwing them into the great stove in the middle of the room, he went about his business, and left me in a brown study.
i now took the measure of the bench, and found that it was a foot too short; but that could be mended with a chair. but it was a foot too narrow, and the other bench in the room was about four inches higher than the planed one—so there was no yoking them. i then placed the first bench lengthwise along the only clear space against the wall, leaving a little interval between, for my back to settle down in. but i soon found that there came such a draught of cold air over me from under the sill of the window, that this plan would never do at all, especially as another current from the rickety door met the one from the window, and both together formed a series of small whirlwinds in the immediate vicinity of the spot where i had thought to spend the night.
the devil fetch that harpooneer, thought i, but stop, couldn’t i steal a march on him—bolt his door inside, and jump into his bed, not to be wakened by the most violent knockings? it seemed no bad idea; but upon second thoughts i dismissed it. for who could tell but what the next morning, so soon as i popped out of the room, the harpooneer might be standing in the entry, all ready to knock me down!
still, looking round me again, and seeing no possible chance of spending a sufferable night unless in some other person’s bed, i began to think that after all i might be cherishing unwarrantable prejudices against this unknown harpooneer. thinks i, i’ll wait awhile; he must be dropping in before long. i’ll have a good look at him then, and perhaps we may become jolly good bedfellows after all—there’s no telling.
but though the other boarders kept coming in by ones, twos, and threes, and going to bed, yet no sign of my harpooneer.
“landlord!” said i, “what sort of a chap is he—does he always keep such late hours?” it was now hard upon twelve o’clock.
the landlord chuckled again with his lean chuckle, and seemed to be mightily tickled at something beyond my comprehension. “no,” he answered, “generally he’s an early bird—airley to bed and airley to rise—yes, he’s the bird what catches the worm. but to-night he went out a peddling, you see, and i don’t see what on airth keeps him so late, unless, may be, he can’t sell his head.”
“can’t sell his head?—what sort of a bamboozingly story is this you are telling me?” getting into a towering rage. “do you pretend to say, landlord, that this harpooneer is actually engaged this blessed saturday night, or rather sunday morning, in peddling his head around this town?”
“that’s precisely it,” said the landlord, “and i told him he couldn’t sell it here, the market’s overstocked.”
“with what?” shouted i.
“with heads to be sure; ain’t there too many heads in the world?”
“i tell you what it is, landlord,” said i quite calmly, “you’d better stop spinning that yarn to me—i’m not green.”
“may be not,” taking out a stick and whittling a toothpick, “but i rayther guess you’ll be done brown if that ere harpooneer hears you a slanderin’ his head.”
“i’ll break it for him,” said i, now flying into a passion again at this unaccountable farrago of the landlord’s.
“it’s broke a’ready,” said he.
“broke,” said i—“broke, do you mean?”
“sartain, and that’s the very reason he can’t sell it, i guess.”
“landlord,” said i, going up to him as cool as mt. hecla in a snow-storm—“landlord, stop whittling. you and i must understand one another, and that too without delay. i come to your house and want a bed; you tell me you can only give me half a one; that the other half belongs to a certain harpooneer. and about this harpooneer, whom i have not yet seen, you persist in telling me the most mystifying and exasperating stories tending to beget in me an uncomfortable feeling towards the man whom you design for my bedfellow—a sort of connexion, landlord, which is an intimate and confidential one in the highest degree. i now demand of you to speak out and tell me who and what this harpooneer is, and whether i shall be in all respects safe to spend the night with him. and in the first place, you will be so good as to unsay that story about selling his head, which if true i take to be good evidence that this harpooneer is stark mad, and i’ve no idea of sleeping with a madman; and you, sir, you i mean, landlord, you, sir, by trying to induce me to do so knowingly, would thereby render yourself liable to a criminal prosecution.”
“wall,” said the landlord, fetching a long breath, “that’s a purty long sarmon for a chap that rips a little now and then. but be easy, be easy, this here harpooneer i have been tellin’ you of has just arrived from the south seas, where he bought up a lot of ’balmed new zealand heads (great curios, you know), and he’s sold all on ’em but one, and that one he’s trying to sell to-night, cause to-morrow’s sunday, and it would not do to be sellin’ human heads about the streets when folks is goin’ to churches. he wanted to, last sunday, but i stopped him just as he was goin’ out of the door with four heads strung on a string, for all the airth like a string of inions.”
this account cleared up the otherwise unaccountable mystery, and showed that the landlord, after all, had had no idea of fooling me—but at the same time what could i think of a harpooneer who stayed out of a saturday night clean into the holy sabbath, engaged in such a cannibal business as selling the heads of dead idolators?
“depend upon it, landlord, that harpooneer is a dangerous man.”
“he pays reg’lar,” was the rejoinder. “but come, it’s getting dreadful late, you had better be turning flukes—it’s a nice bed; sal and me slept in that ere bed the night we were spliced. there’s plenty of room for two to kick about in that bed; it’s an almighty big bed that. why, afore we give it up, sal used to put our sam and little johnny in the foot of it. but i got a dreaming and sprawling about one night, and somehow, sam got pitched on the floor, and came near breaking his arm.
arter that, sal said it wouldn’t do. come along here, i’ll give ye a glim in a jiffy;” and so saying he lighted a candle and held it towards me, offering to lead the way. but i stood irresolute; when looking at a clock in the corner, he exclaimed “i vum it’s sunday—you won’t see that harpooneer to-night; he’s come to anchor somewhere—come along then; do come; won’t ye come?”
i considered the matter a moment, and then up stairs we went, and i was ushered into a small room, cold as a clam, and furnished, sure enough, with a prodigious bed, almost big enough indeed for any four harpooneers to sleep abreast.
“there,” said the landlord, placing the candle on a crazy old sea chest that did double duty as a wash-stand and centre table; “there, make yourself comfortable now, and good night to ye.” i turned round from eyeing the bed, but he had disappeared.
folding back the counterpane, i stooped over the bed. though none of the most elegant, it yet stood the scrutiny tolerably well. i then glanced round the room; and besides the bedstead and centre table, could see no other furniture belonging to the place, but a rude shelf, the four walls, and a papered fireboard representing a man striking a whale. of things not properly belonging to the room, there was a hammock lashed up, and thrown upon the floor in one corner; also a large seaman’s bag, containing the harpooneer’s wardrobe, no doubt in lieu of a land trunk. likewise, there was a parcel of outlandish bone fish hooks on the shelf over the fire-place, and a tall harpoon standing at the head of the bed.
but what is this on the chest? i took it up, and held it close to the light, and felt it, and smelt it, and tried every way possible to arrive at some satisfactory conclusion concerning it. i can compare it to nothing but a large door mat, ornamented at the edges with little tinkling tags something like the stained porcupine quills round an indian moccasin. there was a hole or slit in the middle of this mat, as you see the same in south american ponchos. but could it be possible that any sober harpooneer would get into a door mat, and parade the streets of any christian town in that sort of guise? i put it on, to try it, and it weighed me down like a hamper, being uncommonly shaggy and thick, and i thought a little damp, as though this mysterious harpooneer had been wearing it of a rainy day. i went up in it to a bit of glass stuck against the wall, and i never saw such a sight in my life. i tore myself out of it in such a hurry that i gave myself a kink in the neck.
i sat down on the side of the bed, and commenced thinking about this head-peddling harpooneer, and his door mat. after thinking some time on the bed-side, i got up and took off my monkey jacket, and then stood in the middle of the room thinking. i then took off my coat, and thought a little more in my shirt sleeves. but beginning to feel very cold now, half undressed as i was, and remembering what the landlord said about the harpooneer’s not coming home at all that night, it being so very late, i made no more ado, but jumped out of my pantaloons and boots, and then blowing out the light tumbled into bed, and commended myself to the care of heaven.
whether that mattress was stuffed with corn-cobs or broken crockery, there is no telling, but i rolled about a good deal, and could not sleep for a long time. at last i slid off into a light doze, and had pretty nearly made a good offing towards the land of nod, when i heard a heavy footfall in the passage, and saw a glimmer of light come into the room from under the door.
lord save me, thinks i, that must be the harpooneer, the infernal head-peddler. but i lay perfectly still, and resolved not to say a word till spoken to. holding a light in one hand, and that identical new zealand head in the other, the stranger entered the room, and without looking towards the bed, placed his candle a good way off from me on the floor in one corner, and then began working away at the knotted cords of the large bag i before spoke of as being in the room. i was all eagerness to see his face, but he kept it averted for some time while employed in unlacing the bag’s mouth. this accomplished, however, he turned round—when, good heavens! what a sight! such a face! it was of a dark, purplish, yellow colour, here and there stuck over with large blackish looking squares. yes, it’s just as i thought, he’s a terrible bedfellow; he’s been in a fight, got dreadfully cut, and here he is, just from the surgeon. but at that moment he chanced to turn his face so towards the light, that i plainly saw they could not be sticking-plasters at all, those black squares on his cheeks. they were stains of some sort or other. at first i knew not what to make of this; but soon an inkling of the truth occurred to me. i remembered a story of a white man—a whaleman too—who, falling among the cannibals, had been tattooed by them. i concluded that this harpooneer, in the course of his distant voyages, must have met with a similar adventure. and what is it, thought i, after all! it’s only his outside; a man can be honest in any sort of skin. but then, what to make of his unearthly complexion, that part of it, i mean, lying round about, and completely independent of the squares of tattooing. to be sure, it might be nothing but a good coat of tropical tanning; but i never heard of a hot sun’s tanning a white man into a purplish yellow one. however, i had never been in the south seas; and perhaps the sun there produced these extraordinary effects upon the skin. now, while all these ideas were passing through me like lightning, this harpooneer never noticed me at all. but, after some difficulty having opened his bag, he commenced fumbling in it, and presently pulled out a sort of tomahawk, and a seal-skin wallet with the hair on. placing these on the old chest in the middle of the room, he then took the new zealand head—a ghastly thing enough—and crammed it down into the bag. he now took off his hat—a new beaver hat—when i came nigh singing out with fresh surprise.
there was no hair on his head—none to speak of at least—nothing but a small scalp-knot twisted up on his forehead. his bald purplish head now looked for all the world like a mildewed skull. had not the stranger stood between me and the door, i would have bolted out of it quicker than ever i bolted a dinner.
even as it was, i thought something of slipping out of the window, but it was the second floor back. i am no coward, but what to make of this head-peddling purple rascal altogether passed my comprehension.
ignorance is the parent of fear, and being completely nonplussed and confounded about the stranger, i confess i was now as much afraid of him as if it was the devil himself who had thus broken into my room at the dead of night. in fact, i was so afraid of him that i was not game enough just then to address him, and demand a satisfactory answer concerning what seemed inexplicable in him.
meanwhile, he continued the business of undressing, and at last showed his chest and arms. as i live, these covered parts of him were checkered with the same squares as his face; his back, too, was all over the same dark squares; he seemed to have been in a thirty years’
war, and just escaped from it with a sticking-plaster shirt. still more, his very legs were marked, as if a parcel of dark green frogs were running up the trunks of young palms. it was now quite plain that he must be some abominable savage or other shipped aboard of a whaleman in the south seas, and so landed in this christian country. i quaked to think of it. a peddler of heads too—perhaps the heads of his own brothers. he might take a fancy to mine—heavens! look at that tomahawk!
but there was no time for shuddering, for now the savage went about something that completely fascinated my attention, and convinced me that he must indeed be a heathen. going to his heavy grego, or wrapall, or dreadnaught, which he had previously hung on a chair, he fumbled in the pockets, and produced at length a curious little deformed image with a hunch on its back, and exactly the colour of a three days’ old congo baby. remembering the embalmed head, at first i almost thought that this black manikin was a real baby preserved in some similar manner. but seeing that it was not at all limber, and that it glistened a good deal like polished ebony, i concluded that it must be nothing but a wooden idol, which indeed it proved to be. for now the savage goes up to the empty fire-place, and removing the papered fire-board, sets up this little hunch-backed image, like a tenpin, between the andirons. the chimney jambs and all the bricks inside were very sooty, so that i thought this fire-place made a very appropriate little shrine or chapel for his congo idol.
i now screwed my eyes hard towards the half hidden image, feeling but ill at ease meantime—to see what was next to follow. first he takes about a double handful of shavings out of his grego pocket, and places them carefully before the idol; then laying a bit of ship biscuit on top and applying the flame from the lamp, he kindled the shavings into a sacrificial blaze. presently, after many hasty snatches into the fire, and still hastier withdrawals of his fingers (whereby he seemed to be scorching them badly), he at last succeeded in drawing out the biscuit; then blowing off the heat and ashes a little, he made a polite offer of it to the little negro. but the little devil did not seem to fancy such dry sort of fare at all; he never moved his lips. all these strange antics were accompanied by still stranger guttural noises from the devotee, who seemed to be praying in a sing-song or else singing some pagan psalmody or other, during which his face twitched about in the most unnatural manner. at last extinguishing the fire, he took the idol up very unceremoniously, and bagged it again in his grego pocket as carelessly as if he were a sportsman bagging a dead woodcock.
all these queer proceedings increased my uncomfortableness, and seeing him now exhibiting strong symptoms of concluding his business operations, and jumping into bed with me, i thought it was high time, now or never, before the light was put out, to break the spell in which i had so long been bound.
but the interval i spent in deliberating what to say, was a fatal one.
taking up his tomahawk from the table, he examined the head of it for an instant, and then holding it to the light, with his mouth at the handle, he puffed out great clouds of tobacco smoke. the next moment the light was extinguished, and this wild cannibal, tomahawk between his teeth, sprang into bed with me. i sang out, i could not help it now; and giving a sudden grunt of astonishment he began feeling me.
stammering out something, i knew not what, i rolled away from him against the wall, and then conjured him, whoever or whatever he might be, to keep quiet, and let me get up and light the lamp again. but his guttural responses satisfied me at once that he but ill comprehended my meaning.
“who-e debel you?”—he at last said—“you no speak-e, dam-me, i kill-e.”
and so saying the lighted tomahawk began flourishing about me in the dark.
“landlord, for god’s sake, peter coffin!” shouted i. “landlord! watch!
coffin! angels! save me!”
“speak-e! tell-ee me who-ee be, or dam-me, i kill-e!” again growled the cannibal, while his horrid flourishings of the tomahawk scattered the hot tobacco ashes about me till i thought my linen would get on fire.
but thank heaven, at that moment the landlord came into the room light in hand, and leaping from the bed i ran up to him.
“don’t be afraid now,” said he, grinning again, “queequeg here wouldn’t harm a hair of your head.”
“stop your grinning,” shouted i, “and why didn’t you tell me that that infernal harpooneer was a cannibal?”
“i thought ye know’d it;—didn’t i tell ye, he was a peddlin’ heads around town?—but turn flukes again and go to sleep. queequeg, look here—you sabbee me, i sabbee—you this man sleepe you—you sabbee?”
“me sabbee plenty”—grunted queequeg, puffing away at his pipe and sitting up in bed.
“you gettee in,” he added, motioning to me with his tomahawk, and throwing the clothes to one side. he really did this in not only a civil but a really kind and charitable way. i stood looking at him a moment. for all his tattooings he was on the whole a clean, comely looking cannibal. what’s all this fuss i have been making about, thought i to myself—the man’s a human being just as i am: he has just as much reason to fear me, as i have to be afraid of him. better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken christian.
“landlord,” said i, “tell him to stash his tomahawk there, or pipe, or whatever you call it; tell him to stop smoking, in short, and i will turn in with him. but i don’t fancy having a man smoking in bed with me. it’s dangerous. besides, i ain’t insured.”
this being told to queequeg, he at once complied, and again politely motioned me to get into bed—rolling over to one side as much as to say—“i won’t touch a leg of ye.”
“good night, landlord,” said i, “you may go.”
i turned in, and never slept better in my life.
chapter 4. the counterpane.
upon waking next morning about daylight, i found queequeg’s arm thrown over me in the most loving and affectionate manner. you had almost thought i had been his wife. the counterpane was of patchwork, full of odd little parti-coloured squares and triangles; and this arm of his tattooed all over with an interminable cretan labyrinth of a figure, no two parts of which were of one precise shade—owing i suppose to his keeping his arm at sea unmethodically in sun and shade, his shirt sleeves irregularly rolled up at various times—this same arm of his, i say, looked for all the world like a strip of that same patchwork quilt. indeed, partly lying on it as the arm did when i first awoke, i could hardly tell it from the quilt, they so blended their hues together; and it was only by the sense of weight and pressure that i could tell that queequeg was hugging me.
my sensations were strange. let me try to explain them. when i was a child, i well remember a somewhat similar circumstance that befell me; whether it was a reality or a dream, i never could entirely settle. the circumstance was this. i had been cutting up some caper or other—i think it was trying to crawl up the chimney, as i had seen a little sweep do a few days previous; and my stepmother who, somehow or other, was all the time whipping me, or sending me to bed supperless,—my mother dragged me by the legs out of the chimney and packed me off to bed, though it was only two o’clock in the afternoon of the 21st june, the longest day in the year in our hemisphere. i felt dreadfully. but there was no help for it, so up stairs i went to my little room in the third floor, undressed myself as slowly as possible so as to kill time, and with a bitter sigh got between the sheets.
i lay there dismally calculating that sixteen entire hours must elapse before i could hope for a resurrection. sixteen hours in bed! the small of my back ached to think of it. and it was so light too; the sun shining in at the window, and a great rattling of coaches in the streets, and the sound of gay voices all over the house. i felt worse and worse—at last i got up, dressed, and softly going down in my stockinged feet, sought out my stepmother, and suddenly threw myself at her feet, beseeching her as a particular favour to give me a good slippering for my misbehaviour; anything indeed but condemning me to lie abed such an unendurable length of time. but she was the best and most conscientious of stepmothers, and back i had to go to my room. for several hours i lay there broad awake, feeling a great deal worse than i have ever done since, even from the greatest subsequent misfortunes.
at last i must have fallen into a troubled nightmare of a doze; and slowly waking from it—half steeped in dreams—i opened my eyes, and the before sun-lit room was now wrapped in outer darkness. instantly i felt a shock running through all my frame; nothing was to be seen, and nothing was to be heard; but a supernatural hand seemed placed in mine.
my arm hung over the counterpane, and the nameless, unimaginable, silent form or phantom, to which the hand belonged, seemed closely seated by my bed-side. for what seemed ages piled on ages, i lay there, frozen with the most awful fears, not daring to drag away my hand; yet ever thinking that if i could but stir it one single inch, the horrid spell would be broken. i knew not how this consciousness at last glided away from me; but waking in the morning, i shudderingly remembered it all, and for days and weeks and months afterwards i lost myself in confounding attempts to explain the mystery. nay, to this very hour, i often puzzle myself with it.
now, take away the awful fear, and my sensations at feeling the supernatural hand in mine were very similar, in their strangeness, to those which i experienced on waking up and seeing queequeg’s pagan arm thrown round me. but at length all the past night’s events soberly recurred, one by one, in fixed reality, and then i lay only alive to the comical predicament. for though i tried to move his arm—unlock his bridegroom clasp—yet, sleeping as he was, he still hugged me tightly, as though naught but death should part us twain. i now strove to rouse him—“queequeg!”—but his only answer was a snore. i then rolled over, my neck feeling as if it were in a horse-collar; and suddenly felt a slight scratch. throwing aside the counterpane, there lay the tomahawk sleeping by the savage’s side, as if it were a hatchet-faced baby. a pretty pickle, truly, thought i; abed here in a strange house in the broad day, with a cannibal and a tomahawk! “queequeg!—in the name of goodness, queequeg, wake!” at length, by dint of much wriggling, and loud and incessant expostulations upon the unbecomingness of his hugging a fellow male in that matrimonial sort of style, i succeeded in extracting a grunt; and presently, he drew back his arm, shook himself all over like a newfoundland dog just from the water, and sat up in bed, stiff as a pike-staff, looking at me, and rubbing his eyes as if he did not altogether remember how i came to be there, though a dim consciousness of knowing something about me seemed slowly dawning over him. meanwhile, i lay quietly eyeing him, having no serious misgivings now, and bent upon narrowly observing so curious a creature. when, at last, his mind seemed made up touching the character of his bedfellow, and he became, as it were, reconciled to the fact; he jumped out upon the floor, and by certain signs and sounds gave me to understand that, if it pleased me, he would dress first and then leave me to dress afterwards, leaving the whole apartment to myself. thinks i, queequeg, under the circumstances, this is a very civilized overture; but, the truth is, these savages have an innate sense of delicacy, say what you will; it is marvellous how essentially polite they are. i pay this particular compliment to queequeg, because he treated me with so much civility and consideration, while i was guilty of great rudeness; staring at him from the bed, and watching all his toilette motions; for the time my curiosity getting the better of my breeding. nevertheless, a man like queequeg you don’t see every day, he and his ways were well worth unusual regarding.
he commenced dressing at top by donning his beaver hat, a very tall one, by the by, and then—still minus his trowsers—he hunted up his boots. what under the heavens he did it for, i cannot tell, but his next movement was to crush himself—boots in hand, and hat on—under the bed; when, from sundry violent gaspings and strainings, i inferred he was hard at work booting himself; though by no law of propriety that i ever heard of, is any man required to be private when putting on his boots. but queequeg, do you see, was a creature in the transition stage—neither caterpillar nor butterfly. he was just enough civilized to show off his outlandishness in the strangest possible manners. his education was not yet completed. he was an undergraduate. if he had not been a small degree civilized, he very probably would not have troubled himself with boots at all; but then, if he had not been still a savage, he never would have dreamt of getting under the bed to put them on. at last, he emerged with his hat very much dented and crushed down over his eyes, and began creaking and limping about the room, as if, not being much accustomed to boots, his pair of damp, wrinkled cowhide ones—probably not made to order either—rather pinched and tormented him at the first go off of a bitter cold morning.
seeing, now, that there were no curtains to the window, and that the street being very narrow, the house opposite commanded a plain view into the room, and observing more and more the indecorous figure that queequeg made, staving about with little else but his hat and boots on; i begged him as well as i could, to accelerate his toilet somewhat, and particularly to get into his pantaloons as soon as possible. he complied, and then proceeded to wash himself. at that time in the morning any christian would have washed his face; but queequeg, to my amazement, contented himself with restricting his ablutions to his chest, arms, and hands. he then donned his waistcoat, and taking up a piece of hard soap on the wash-stand centre table, dipped it into water and commenced lathering his face. i was watching to see where he kept his razor, when lo and behold, he takes the harpoon from the bed corner, slips out the long wooden stock, unsheathes the head, whets it a little on his boot, and striding up to the bit of mirror against the wall, begins a vigorous scraping, or rather harpooning of his cheeks.
thinks i, queequeg, this is using rogers’s best cutlery with a vengeance. afterwards i wondered the less at this operation when i came to know of what fine steel the head of a harpoon is made, and how exceedingly sharp the long straight edges are always kept.
the rest of his toilet was soon achieved, and he proudly marched out of the room, wrapped up in his great pilot monkey jacket, and sporting his harpoon like a marshal’s baton.
chapter 5. breakfast.
i quickly followed suit, and descending into the bar-room accosted the grinning landlord very pleasantly. i cherished no malice towards him, though he had been skylarking with me not a little in the matter of my bedfellow.
however, a good laugh is a mighty good thing, and rather too scarce a good thing; the more’s the pity. so, if any one man, in his own proper person, afford stuff for a good joke to anybody, let him not be backward, but let him cheerfully allow himself to spend and be spent in that way. and the man that has anything bountifully laughable about him, be sure there is more in that man than you perhaps think for.
the bar-room was now full of the boarders who had been dropping in the night previous, and whom i had not as yet had a good look at. they were nearly all whalemen; chief mates, and second mates, and third mates, and sea carpenters, and sea coopers, and sea blacksmiths, and harpooneers, and ship keepers; a brown and brawny company, with bosky beards; an unshorn, shaggy set, all wearing monkey jackets for morning gowns.
you could pretty plainly tell how long each one had been ashore. this young fellow’s healthy cheek is like a sun-toasted pear in hue, and would seem to smell almost as musky; he cannot have been three days landed from his indian voyage. that man next him looks a few shades lighter; you might say a touch of satin wood is in him. in the complexion of a third still lingers a tropic tawn, but slightly bleached withal; he doubtless has tarried whole weeks ashore. but who could show a cheek like queequeg? which, barred with various tints, seemed like the andes’ western slope, to show forth in one array, contrasting climates, zone by zone.
“grub, ho!” now cried the landlord, flinging open a door, and in we went to breakfast.
they say that men who have seen the world, thereby become quite at ease in manner, quite self-possessed in company. not always, though:
ledyard, the great new england traveller, and mungo park, the scotch one; of all men, they possessed the least assurance in the parlor. but perhaps the mere crossing of siberia in a sledge drawn by dogs as ledyard did, or the taking a long solitary walk on an empty stomach, in the negro heart of africa, which was the sum of poor mungo’s performances—this kind of travel, i say, may not be the very best mode of attaining a high social polish. still, for the most part, that sort of thing is to be had anywhere.
these reflections just here are occasioned by the circumstance that after we were all seated at the table, and i was preparing to hear some good stories about whaling; to my no small surprise, nearly every man maintained a profound silence. and not only that, but they looked embarrassed. yes, here were a set of sea-dogs, many of whom without the slightest bashfulness had boarded great whales on the high seas—entire strangers to them—and duelled them dead without winking; and yet, here they sat at a social breakfast table—all of the same calling, all of kindred tastes—looking round as sheepishly at each other as though they had never been out of sight of some sheepfold among the green mountains. a curious sight; these bashful bears, these timid warrior whalemen!
but as for queequeg—why, queequeg sat there among them—at the head of the table, too, it so chanced; as cool as an icicle. to be sure i cannot say much for his breeding. his greatest admirer could not have cordially justified his bringing his harpoon into breakfast with him, and using it there without ceremony; reaching over the table with it, to the imminent jeopardy of many heads, and grappling the beefsteaks towards him. but that was certainly very coolly done by him, and every one knows that in most people’s estimation, to do anything coolly is to do it genteelly.
we will not speak of all queequeg’s peculiarities here; how he eschewed coffee and hot rolls, and applied his undivided attention to beefsteaks, done rare. enough, that when breakfast was over he withdrew like the rest into the public room, lighted his tomahawk-pipe, and was sitting there quietly digesting and smoking with his inseparable hat on, when i sallied out for a stroll.
chapter 6. the street.
if i had been astonished at first catching a glimpse of so outlandish an individual as queequeg circulating among the polite society of a civilized town, that astonishment soon departed upon taking my first daylight stroll through the streets of new bedford.
in thoroughfares nigh the docks, any considerable seaport will frequently offer to view the queerest looking nondescripts from foreign parts. even in broadway and chestnut streets, mediterranean mariners will sometimes jostle the affrighted ladies. regent street is not unknown to lascars and malays; and at bombay, in the apollo green, live yankees have often scared the natives. but new bedford beats all water street and wapping. in these last-mentioned haunts you see only sailors; but in new bedford, actual cannibals stand chatting at street corners; savages outright; many of whom yet carry on their bones unholy flesh. it makes a stranger stare.
but, besides the feegeeans, tongatobooarrs, erromanggoans, pannangians, and brighggians, and, besides the wild specimens of the whaling-craft which unheeded reel about the streets, you will see other sights still more curious, certainly more comical. there weekly arrive in this town scores of green vermonters and new hampshire men, all athirst for gain and glory in the fishery. they are mostly young, of stalwart frames; fellows who have felled forests, and now seek to drop the axe and snatch the whale-lance. many are as green as the green mountains whence they came. in some things you would think them but a few hours old.
look there! that chap strutting round the corner. he wears a beaver hat and swallow-tailed coat, girdled with a sailor-belt and sheath-knife.
here comes another with a sou’-wester and a bombazine cloak.
no town-bred dandy will compare with a country-bred one—i mean a downright bumpkin dandy—a fellow that, in the dog-days, will mow his two acres in buckskin gloves for fear of tanning his hands. now when a country dandy like this takes it into his head to make a distinguished reputation, and joins the great whale-fishery, you should see the comical things he does upon reaching the seaport. in bespeaking his sea-outfit, he orders bell-buttons to his waistcoats; straps to his canvas trowsers. ah, poor hay-seed! how bitterly will burst those straps in the first howling gale, when thou art driven, straps, buttons, and all, down the throat of the tempest.
but think not that this famous town has only harpooneers, cannibals, and bumpkins to show her visitors. not at all. still new bedford is a queer place. had it not been for us whalemen, that tract of land would this day perhaps have been in as howling condition as the coast of labrador. as it is, parts of her back country are enough to frighten one, they look so bony. the town itself is perhaps the dearest place to live in, in all new england. it is a land of oil, true enough: but not like canaan; a land, also, of corn and wine. the streets do not run with milk; nor in the spring-time do they pave them with fresh eggs.
yet, in spite of this, nowhere in all america will you find more patrician-like houses; parks and gardens more opulent, than in new bedford. whence came they? how planted upon this once scraggy scoria of a country?
go and gaze upon the iron emblematical harpoons round yonder lofty mansion, and your question will be answered. yes; all these brave houses and flowery gardens came from the atlantic, pacific, and indian oceans. one and all, they were harpooned and dragged up hither from the bottom of the sea. can herr alexander perform a feat like that?
in new bedford, fathers, they say, give whales for dowers to their daughters, and portion off their nieces with a few porpoises a-piece.
you must go to new bedford to see a brilliant wedding; for, they say, they have reservoirs of oil in every house, and every night recklessly burn their lengths in spermaceti candles.
in summer time, the town is sweet to see; full of fine maples—long avenues of green and gold. and in august, high in air, the beautiful and bountiful horse-chestnuts, candelabra-wise, proffer the passer-by their tapering upright cones of congregated blossoms. so omnipotent is art; which in many a district of new bedford has superinduced bright terraces of flowers upon the barren refuse rocks thrown aside at creation’s final day.
and the women of new bedford, they bloom like their own red roses. but roses only bloom in summer; whereas the fine carnation of their cheeks is perennial as sunlight in the seventh heavens. elsewhere match that bloom of theirs, ye cannot, save in salem, where they tell me the young girls breathe such musk, their sailor sweethearts smell them miles off shore, as though they were drawing nigh the odorous moluccas instead of the puritanic sands.
chapter 7. the chapel.
in this same new bedford there stands a whaleman’s chapel, and few are the moody fishermen, shortly bound for the indian ocean or pacific, who fail to make a sunday visit to the spot. i am sure that i did not.
returning from my first morning stroll, i again sallied out upon this special errand. the sky had changed from clear, sunny cold, to driving sleet and mist. wrapping myself in my shaggy jacket of the cloth called bearskin, i fought my way against the stubborn storm. entering, i found a small scattered congregation of sailors, and sailors’ wives and widows. a muffled silence reigned, only broken at times by the shrieks of the storm. each silent worshipper seemed purposely sitting apart from the other, as if each silent grief were insular and incommunicable. the chaplain had not yet arrived; and there these silent islands of men and women sat steadfastly eyeing several marble tablets, with black borders, masoned into the wall on either side the pulpit. three of them ran something like the following, but i do not pretend to quote:—
sacred to the memory of john talbot, who, at the age of eighteen, was lost overboard, near the isle of desolation, off patagonia, november 1st, 1836. this tablet is erected to his memory by his sister.
sacred to the memory of robert long, willis ellery, nathan coleman, walter canny, seth macy, and samuel gleig, forming one of the boats’
crews of the ship eliza who were towed out of sight by a whale, on the off-shore ground in the pacific, december 31st, 1839. this marble is here placed by their surviving shipmates.
sacred to the memory of the late captain ezekiel hardy, who in the bows of his boat was killed by a sperm whale on the coast of japan, august 3d, 1833. this tablet is erected to his memory by his widow.
shaking off the sleet from my ice-glazed hat and jacket, i seated myself near the door, and turning sideways was surprised to see queequeg near me. affected by the solemnity of the scene, there was a wondering gaze of incredulous curiosity in his countenance. this savage was the only person present who seemed to notice my entrance; because he was the only one who could not read, and, therefore, was not reading those frigid inscriptions on the wall. whether any of the relatives of the seamen whose names appeared there were now among the congregation, i knew not; but so many are the unrecorded accidents in the fishery, and so plainly did several women present wear the countenance if not the trappings of some unceasing grief, that i feel sure that here before me were assembled those, in whose unhealing hearts the sight of those bleak tablets sympathetically caused the old wounds to bleed afresh.
oh! ye whose dead lie buried beneath the green grass; who standing among flowers can say—here, here lies my beloved; ye know not the desolation that broods in bosoms like these. what bitter blanks in those black-bordered marbles which cover no ashes! what despair in those immovable inscriptions! what deadly voids and unbidden infidelities in the lines that seem to gnaw upon all faith, and refuse resurrections to the beings who have placelessly perished without a grave. as well might those tablets stand in the cave of elephanta as here.
in what census of living creatures, the dead of mankind are included; why it is that a universal proverb says of them, that they tell no tales, though containing more secrets than the goodwin sands; how it is that to his name who yesterday departed for the other world, we prefix so significant and infidel a word, and yet do not thus entitle him, if he but embarks for the remotest indies of this living earth; why the life insurance companies pay death-forfeitures upon immortals; in what eternal, unstirring paralysis, and deadly, hopeless trance, yet lies antique adam who died sixty round centuries ago; how it is that we still refuse to be comforted for those who we nevertheless maintain are dwelling in unspeakable bliss; why all the living so strive to hush all the dead; wherefore but the rumor of a knocking in a tomb will terrify a whole city. all these things are not without their meanings.
but faith, like a jackal, feeds among the tombs, and even from these dead doubts she gathers her most vital hope.
it needs scarcely to be told, with what feelings, on the eve of a nantucket voyage, i regarded those marble tablets, and by the murky light of that darkened, doleful day read the fate of the whalemen who had gone before me. yes, ishmael, the same fate may be thine. but somehow i grew merry again. delightful inducements to embark, fine chance for promotion, it seems—aye, a stove boat will make me an immortal by brevet. yes, there is death in this business of whaling—a speechlessly quick chaotic bundling of a man into eternity. but what then? methinks we have hugely mistaken this matter of life and death.
methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance. methinks that in looking at things spiritual, we are too much like oysters observing the sun through the water, and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air. methinks my body is but the lees of my better being. in fact take my body who will, take it i say, it is not me. and therefore three cheers for nantucket; and come a stove boat and stove body when they will, for stave my soul, jove himself cannot.
chapter 8. the pulpit.
i had not been seated very long ere a man of a certain venerable robustness entered; immediately as the storm-pelted door flew back upon admitting him, a quick regardful eyeing of him by all the congregation, sufficiently attested that this fine old man was the chaplain. yes, it was the famous father mapple, so called by the whalemen, among whom he was a very great favourite. he had been a sailor and a harpooneer in his youth, but for many years past had dedicated his life to the ministry. at the time i now write of, father mapple was in the hardy winter of a healthy old age; that sort of old age which seems merging into a second flowering youth, for among all the fissures of his wrinkles, there shone certain mild gleams of a newly developing bloom—the spring verdure peeping forth even beneath february’s snow. no one having previously heard his history, could for the first time behold father mapple without the utmost interest, because there were certain engrafted clerical peculiarities about him, imputable to that adventurous maritime life he had led. when he entered i observed that he carried no umbrella, and certainly had not come in his carriage, for his tarpaulin hat ran down with melting sleet, and his great pilot cloth jacket seemed almost to drag him to the floor with the weight of the water it had absorbed. however, hat and coat and overshoes were one by one removed, and hung up in a little space in an adjacent corner; when, arrayed in a decent suit, he quietly approached the pulpit.
like most old fashioned pulpits, it was a very lofty one, and since a regular stairs to such a height would, by its long angle with the floor, seriously contract the already small area of the chapel, the architect, it seemed, had acted upon the hint of father mapple, and finished the pulpit without a stairs, substituting a perpendicular side ladder, like those used in mounting a ship from a boat at sea. the wife of a whaling captain had provided the chapel with a handsome pair of red worsted man-ropes for this ladder, which, being itself nicely headed, and stained with a mahogany colour, the whole contrivance, considering what manner of chapel it was, seemed by no means in bad taste. halting for an instant at the foot of the ladder, and with both hands grasping the ornamental knobs of the man-ropes, father mapple cast a look upwards, and then with a truly sailor-like but still reverential dexterity, hand over hand, mounted the steps as if ascending the main-top of his vessel.
the perpendicular parts of this side ladder, as is usually the case with swinging ones, were of cloth-covered rope, only the rounds were of wood, so that at every step there was a joint. at my first glimpse of the pulpit, it had not escaped me that however convenient for a ship, these joints in the present instance seemed unnecessary. for i was not prepared to see father mapple after gaining the height, slowly turn round, and stooping over the pulpit, deliberately drag up the ladder step by step, till the whole was deposited within, leaving him impregnable in his little quebec.
i pondered some time without fully comprehending the reason for this.
father mapple enjoyed such a wide reputation for sincerity and sanctity, that i could not suspect him of courting notoriety by any mere tricks of the stage. no, thought i, there must be some sober reason for this thing; furthermore, it must symbolize something unseen.
can it be, then, that by that act of physical isolation, he signifies his spiritual withdrawal for the time, from all outward worldly ties and connexions? yes, for replenished with the meat and wine of the word, to the faithful man of god, this pulpit, i see, is a self-containing stronghold—a lofty ehrenbreitstein, with a perennial well of water within the walls.
but the side ladder was not the only strange feature of the place, borrowed from the chaplain’s former sea-farings. between the marble cenotaphs on either hand of the pulpit, the wall which formed its back was adorned with a large painting representing a gallant ship beating against a terrible storm off a lee coast of black rocks and snowy breakers. but high above the flying scud and dark-rolling clouds, there floated a little isle of sunlight, from which beamed forth an angel’s face; and this bright face shed a distinct spot of radiance upon the ship’s tossed deck, something like that silver plate now inserted into the victory’s plank where nelson fell. “ah, noble ship,” the angel seemed to say, “beat on, beat on, thou noble ship, and bear a hardy helm; for lo! the sun is breaking through; the clouds are rolling off—serenest azure is at hand.”
nor was the pulpit itself without a trace of the same sea-taste that had achieved the ladder and the picture. its panelled front was in the likeness of a ship’s bluff bows, and the holy bible rested on a projecting piece of scroll work, fashioned after a ship’s fiddle-headed beak.
what could be more full of meaning?—for the pulpit is ever this earth’s foremost part; all the rest comes in its rear; the pulpit leads the world. from thence it is the storm of god’s quick wrath is first descried, and the bow must bear the earliest brunt. from thence it is the god of breezes fair or foul is first invoked for favourable winds.
yes, the world’s a ship on its passage out, and not a voyage complete; and the pulpit is its prow.
chapter 9. the sermon.
father mapple rose, and in a mild voice of unassuming authority ordered the scattered people to condense. “starboard gangway, there! side away to larboard—larboard gangway to starboard! midships! midships!”
there was a low rumbling of heavy sea-boots among the benches, and a still slighter shuffling of women’s shoes, and all was quiet again, and every eye on the preacher.
he paused a little; then kneeling in the pulpit’s bows, folded his large brown hands across his chest, uplifted his closed eyes, and offered a prayer so deeply devout that he seemed kneeling and praying at the bottom of the sea.
this ended, in prolonged solemn tones, like the continual tolling of a bell in a ship that is foundering at sea in a fog—in such tones he commenced reading the following hymn; but changing his manner towards the concluding stanzas, burst forth with a pealing exultation and joy—
“the ribs and terrors in the whale, arched over me a dismal gloom, while all god’s sun-lit waves rolled by, and lift me deepening down to doom.
“i saw the opening maw of hell, with endless pains and sorrows there; which none but they that feel can tell— oh, i was plunging to despair.
“in black distress, i called my god, when i could scarce believe him mine, he bowed his ear to my complaints— no more the whale did me confine.
“with speed he flew to my relief, as on a radiant dolphin borne; awful, yet bright, as lightning shone the face of my deliverer god.
“my song for ever shall record that terrible, that joyful hour; i give the glory to my god, his all the mercy and the power.”
nearly all joined in singing this hymn, which swelled high above the howling of the storm. a brief pause ensued; the preacher slowly turned over the leaves of the bible, and at last, folding his hand down upon the proper page, said: “beloved shipmates, clinch the last verse of the first chapter of jonah—‘and god had prepared a great fish to swallow up jonah.’”
“shipmates, this book, containing only four chapters—four yarns—is one of the smallest strands in the mighty cable of the scriptures. yet what depths of the soul does jonah’s deep sealine sound! what a pregnant lesson to us is this prophet! what a noble thing is that canticle in the fish’s belly! how billow-like and boisterously grand! we feel the floods surging over us; we sound with him to the kelpy bottom of the waters; sea-weed and all the slime of the sea is about us! but what is this lesson that the book of jonah teaches? shipmates, it is a two-stranded lesson; a lesson to us all as sinful men, and a lesson to me as a pilot of the living god. as sinful men, it is a lesson to us all, because it is a story of the sin, hard-heartedness, suddenly awakened fears, the swift punishment, repentance, prayers, and finally the deliverance and joy of jonah. as with all sinners among men, the sin of this son of amittai was in his wilful disobedience of the command of god—never mind now what that command was, or how conveyed—which he found a hard command. but all the things that god would have us do are hard for us to do—remember that—and hence, he oftener commands us than endeavors to persuade. and if we obey god, we must disobey ourselves; and it is in this disobeying ourselves, wherein the hardness of obeying god consists.
“with this sin of disobedience in him, jonah still further flouts at god, by seeking to flee from him. he thinks that a ship made by men will carry him into countries where god does not reign, but only the captains of this earth. he skulks about the wharves of joppa, and seeks a ship that’s bound for tarshish. there lurks, perhaps, a hitherto unheeded meaning here. by all accounts tarshish could have been no other city than the modern cadiz. that’s the opinion of learned men.
and where is cadiz, shipmates? cadiz is in spain; as far by water, from joppa, as jonah could possibly have sailed in those ancient days, when the atlantic was an almost unknown sea. because joppa, the modern jaffa, shipmates, is on the most easterly coast of the mediterranean, the syrian; and tarshish or cadiz more than two thousand miles to the westward from that, just outside the straits of gibraltar. see ye not then, shipmates, that jonah sought to flee world-wide from god?
miserable man! oh! most contemptible and worthy of all scorn; with slouched hat and guilty eye, skulking from his god; prowling among the shipping like a vile burglar hastening to cross the seas. so disordered, self-condemning is his look, that had there been policemen in those days, jonah, on the mere suspicion of something wrong, had been arrested ere he touched a deck. how plainly he’s a fugitive! no baggage, not a hat-box, valise, or carpet-bag,—no friends accompany him to the wharf with their adieux. at last, after much dodging search, he finds the tarshish ship receiving the last items of her cargo; and as he steps on board to see its captain in the cabin, all the sailors for the moment desist from hoisting in the goods, to mark the stranger’s evil eye. jonah sees this; but in vain he tries to look all ease and confidence; in vain essays his wretched smile. strong intuitions of the man assure the mariners he can be no innocent. in their gamesome but still serious way, one whispers to the other—“jack, he’s robbed a widow;” or, “joe, do you mark him; he’s a bigamist;” or, “harry lad, i guess he’s the adulterer that broke jail in old gomorrah, or belike, one of the missing murderers from sodom.” another runs to read the bill that’s stuck against the spile upon the wharf to which the ship is moored, offering five hundred gold coins for the apprehension of a parricide, and containing a description of his person. he reads, and looks from jonah to the bill; while all his sympathetic shipmates now crowd round jonah, prepared to lay their hands upon him. frighted jonah trembles, and summoning all his boldness to his face, only looks so much the more a coward. he will not confess himself suspected; but that itself is strong suspicion. so he makes the best of it; and when the sailors find him not to be the man that is advertised, they let him pass, and he descends into the cabin.
“‘who’s there?’ cries the captain at his busy desk, hurriedly making out his papers for the customs—‘who’s there?’ oh! how that harmless question mangles jonah! for the instant he almost turns to flee again.
but he rallies. ‘i seek a passage in this ship to tarshish; how soon sail ye, sir?’ thus far the busy captain had not looked up to jonah, though the man now stands before him; but no sooner does he hear that hollow voice, than he darts a scrutinizing glance. ‘we sail with the next coming tide,’ at last he slowly answered, still intently eyeing him. ‘no sooner, sir?’—‘soon enough for any honest man that goes a passenger.’ ha! jonah, that’s another stab. but he swiftly calls away the captain from that scent. ‘i’ll sail with ye,’—he says,—‘the passage money how much is that?—i’ll pay now.’ for it is particularly written, shipmates, as if it were a thing not to be overlooked in this history, ‘that he paid the fare thereof’ ere the craft did sail. and taken with the context, this is full of meaning.
“now jonah’s captain, shipmates, was one whose discernment detects crime in any, but whose cupidity exposes it only in the penniless. in this world, shipmates, sin that pays its way can travel freely, and without a passport; whereas virtue, if a pauper, is stopped at all frontiers. so jonah’s captain prepares to test the length of jonah’s purse, ere he judge him openly. he charges him thrice the usual sum; and it’s assented to. then the captain knows that jonah is a fugitive; but at the same time resolves to help a flight that paves its rear with gold. yet when jonah fairly takes out his purse, prudent suspicions still molest the captain. he rings every coin to find a counterfeit.
not a forger, any way, he mutters; and jonah is put down for his passage. ‘point out my state-room, sir,’ says jonah now, ‘i’m travel-weary; i need sleep.’ ‘thou lookest like it,’ says the captain, ‘there’s thy room.’ jonah enters, and would lock the door, but the lock contains no key. hearing him foolishly fumbling there, the captain laughs lowly to himself, and mutters something about the doors of convicts’ cells being never allowed to be locked within. all dressed and dusty as he is, jonah throws himself into his berth, and finds the little state-room ceiling almost resting on his forehead. the air is close, and jonah gasps. then, in that contracted hole, sunk, too, beneath the ship’s water-line, jonah feels the heralding presentiment of that stifling hour, when the whale shall hold him in the smallest of his bowels’ wards.
“screwed at its axis against the side, a swinging lamp slightly oscillates in jonah’s room; and the ship, heeling over towards the wharf with the weight of the last bales received, the lamp, flame and all, though in slight motion, still maintains a permanent obliquity with reference to the room; though, in truth, infallibly straight itself, it but made obvious the false, lying levels among which it hung. the lamp alarms and frightens jonah; as lying in his berth his tormented eyes roll round the place, and this thus far successful fugitive finds no refuge for his restless glance. but that contradiction in the lamp more and more appals him. the floor, the ceiling, and the side, are all awry. ‘oh! so my conscience hangs in me!’ he groans, ‘straight upwards, so it burns; but the chambers of my soul are all in crookedness!’
“like one who after a night of drunken revelry hies to his bed, still reeling, but with conscience yet pricking him, as the plungings of the roman race-horse but so much the more strike his steel tags into him; as one who in that miserable plight still turns and turns in giddy anguish, praying god for annihilation until the fit be passed; and at last amid the whirl of woe he feels, a deep stupor steals over him, as over the man who bleeds to death, for conscience is the wound, and there’s naught to staunch it; so, after sore wrestlings in his berth, jonah’s prodigy of ponderous misery drags him drowning down to sleep.
“and now the time of tide has come; the ship casts off her cables; and from the deserted wharf the uncheered ship for tarshish, all careening, glides to sea. that ship, my friends, was the first of recorded smugglers! the contraband was jonah. but the sea rebels; he will not bear the wicked burden. a dreadful storm comes on, the ship is like to break. but now when the boatswain calls all hands to lighten her; when boxes, bales, and jars are clattering overboard; when the wind is shrieking, and the men are yelling, and every plank thunders with trampling feet right over jonah’s head; in all this raging tumult, jonah sleeps his hideous sleep. he sees no black sky and raging sea, feels not the reeling timbers, and little hears he or heeds he the far rush of the mighty whale, which even now with open mouth is cleaving the seas after him. aye, shipmates, jonah was gone down into the sides of the ship—a berth in the cabin as i have taken it, and was fast asleep. but the frightened master comes to him, and shrieks in his dead ear, ‘what meanest thou, o, sleeper! arise!’ startled from his lethargy by that direful cry, jonah staggers to his feet, and stumbling to the deck, grasps a shroud, to look out upon the sea. but at that moment he is sprung upon by a panther billow leaping over the bulwarks. wave after wave thus leaps into the ship, and finding no speedy vent runs roaring fore and aft, till the mariners come nigh to drowning while yet afloat. and ever, as the white moon shows her affrighted face from the steep gullies in the blackness overhead, aghast jonah sees the rearing bowsprit pointing high upward, but soon beat downward again towards the tormented deep.
“terrors upon terrors run shouting through his soul. in all his cringing attitudes, the god-fugitive is now too plainly known. the sailors mark him; more and more certain grow their suspicions of him, and at last, fully to test the truth, by referring the whole matter to high heaven, they fall to casting lots, to see for whose cause this great tempest was upon them. the lot is jonah’s; that discovered, then how furiously they mob him with their questions. ‘what is thine occupation? whence comest thou? thy country? what people? but mark now, my shipmates, the behavior of poor jonah. the eager mariners but ask him who he is, and where from; whereas, they not only receive an answer to those questions, but likewise another answer to a question not put by them, but the unsolicited answer is forced from jonah by the hard hand of god that is upon him.
“‘i am a hebrew,’ he cries—and then—‘i fear the lord the god of heaven who hath made the sea and the dry land!’ fear him, o jonah? aye, well mightest thou fear the lord god then! straightway, he now goes on to make a full confession; whereupon the mariners became more and more appalled, but still are pitiful. for when jonah, not yet supplicating god for mercy, since he but too well knew the darkness of his deserts,—when wretched jonah cries out to them to take him and cast him forth into the sea, for he knew that for his sake this great tempest was upon them; they mercifully turn from him, and seek by other means to save the ship. but all in vain; the indignant gale howls louder; then, with one hand raised invokingly to god, with the other they not unreluctantly lay hold of jonah.
“and now behold jonah taken up as an anchor and dropped into the sea; when instantly an oily calmness floats out from the east, and the sea is still, as jonah carries down the gale with him, leaving smooth water behind. he goes down in the whirling heart of such a masterless commotion that he scarce heeds the moment when he drops seething into the yawning jaws awaiting him; and the whale shoots-to all his ivory teeth, like so many white bolts, upon his prison. then jonah prayed unto the lord out of the fish’s belly. but observe his prayer, and learn a weighty lesson. for sinful as he is, jonah does not weep and wail for direct deliverance. he feels that his dreadful punishment is just. he leaves all his deliverance to god, contenting himself with this, that spite of all his pains and pangs, he will still look towards his holy temple. and here, shipmates, is true and faithful repentance; not clamorous for pardon, but grateful for punishment. and how pleasing to god was this conduct in jonah, is shown in the eventual deliverance of him from the sea and the whale. shipmates, i do not place jonah before you to be copied for his sin but i do place him before you as a model for repentance. sin not; but if you do, take heed to repent of it like jonah.”
while he was speaking these words, the howling of the shrieking, slanting storm without seemed to add new power to the preacher, who, when describing jonah’s sea-storm, seemed tossed by a storm himself.
his deep chest heaved as with a ground-swell; his tossed arms seemed the warring elements at work; and the thunders that rolled away from off his swarthy brow, and the light leaping from his eye, made all his simple hearers look on him with a quick fear that was strange to them.
there now came a lull in his look, as he silently turned over the leaves of the book once more; and, at last, standing motionless, with closed eyes, for the moment, seemed communing with god and himself.
but again he leaned over towards the people, and bowing his head lowly, with an aspect of the deepest yet manliest humility, he spake these words:
“shipmates, god has laid but one hand upon you; both his hands press upon me. i have read ye by what murky light may be mine the lesson that jonah teaches to all sinners; and therefore to ye, and still more to me, for i am a greater sinner than ye. and now how gladly would i come down from this mast-head and sit on the hatches there where you sit, and listen as you listen, while some one of you reads me that other and more awful lesson which jonah teaches to me, as a pilot of the living god. how being an anointed pilot-prophet, or speaker of true things, and bidden by the lord to sound those unwelcome truths in the ears of a wicked nineveh, jonah, appalled at the hostility he should raise, fled from his mission, and sought to escape his duty and his god by taking ship at joppa. but god is everywhere; tarshish he never reached. as we have seen, god came upon him in the whale, and swallowed him down to living gulfs of doom, and with swift slantings tore him along ‘into the midst of the seas,’ where the eddying depths sucked him ten thousand fathoms down, and ‘the weeds were wrapped about his head,’
and all the watery world of woe bowled over him. yet even then beyond the reach of any plummet—‘out of the belly of hell’—when the whale grounded upon the ocean’s utmost bones, even then, god heard the engulphed, repenting prophet when he cried. then god spake unto the fish; and from the shuddering cold and blackness of the sea, the whale came breeching up towards the warm and pleasant sun, and all the delights of air and earth; and ‘vomited out jonah upon the dry land;’
when the word of the lord came a second time; and jonah, bruised and beaten—his ears, like two sea-shells, still multitudinously murmuring of the ocean—jonah did the almighty’s bidding. and what was that, shipmates? to preach the truth to the face of falsehood! that was it!
“this, shipmates, this is that other lesson; and woe to that pilot of the living god who slights it. woe to him whom this world charms from gospel duty! woe to him who seeks to pour oil upon the waters when god has brewed them into a gale! woe to him who seeks to please rather than to appal! woe to him whose good name is more to him than goodness! woe to him who, in this world, courts not dishonor! woe to him who would not be true, even though to be false were salvation! yea, woe to him who, as the great pilot paul has it, while preaching to others is himself a castaway!”
he dropped and fell away from himself for a moment; then lifting his face to them again, showed a deep joy in his eyes, as he cried out with a heavenly enthusiasm,—“but oh! shipmates! on the starboard hand of every woe, there is a sure delight; and higher the top of that delight, than the bottom of the woe is deep. is not the main-truck higher than the kelson is low? delight is to him—a far, far upward, and inward delight—who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self. delight is to him whose strong arms yet support him, when the ship of this base treacherous world has gone down beneath him. delight is to him, who gives no quarter in the truth, and kills, burns, and destroys all sin though he pluck it out from under the robes of senators and judges. delight,—top-gallant delight is to him, who acknowledges no law or lord, but the lord his god, and is only a patriot to heaven. delight is to him, whom all the waves of the billows of the seas of the boisterous mob can never shake from this sure keel of the ages. and eternal delight and deliciousness will be his, who coming to lay him down, can say with his final breath—o father!—chiefly known to me by thy rod—mortal or immortal, here i die. i have striven to be thine, more than to be this world’s, or mine own. yet this is nothing: i leave eternity to thee; for what is man that he should live out the lifetime of his god?”
he said no more, but slowly waving a benediction, covered his face with his hands, and so remained kneeling, till all the people had departed, and he was left alone in the place.
chapter 10. a bosom friend.
returning to the spouter-inn from the chapel, i found queequeg there quite alone; he having left the chapel before the benediction some time. he was sitting on a bench before the fire, with his feet on the stove hearth, and in one hand was holding close up to his face that little negro idol of his; peering hard into its face, and with a jack-knife gently whittling away at its nose, meanwhile humming to himself in his heathenish way.
but being now interrupted, he put up the image; and pretty soon, going to the table, took up a large book there, and placing it on his lap began counting the pages with deliberate regularity; at every fiftieth page—as i fancied—stopping a moment, looking vacantly around him, and giving utterance to a long-drawn gurgling whistle of astonishment. he would then begin again at the next fifty; seeming to commence at number one each time, as though he could not count more than fifty, and it was only by such a large number of fifties being found together, that his astonishment at the multitude of pages was excited.
with much interest i sat watching him. savage though he was, and hideously marred about the face—at least to my taste—his countenance yet had a something in it which was by no means disagreeable. you cannot hide the soul. through all his unearthly tattooings, i thought i saw the traces of a simple honest heart; and in his large, deep eyes, fiery black and bold, there seemed tokens of a spirit that would dare a thousand devils. and besides all this, there was a certain lofty bearing about the pagan, which even his uncouthness could not altogether maim. he looked like a man who had never cringed and never had had a creditor. whether it was, too, that his head being shaved, his forehead was drawn out in freer and brighter relief, and looked more expansive than it otherwise would, this i will not venture to decide; but certain it was his head was phrenologically an excellent one. it may seem ridiculous, but it reminded me of general washington’s head, as seen in the popular busts of him. it had the same long regularly graded retreating slope from above the brows, which were likewise very projecting, like two long promontories thickly wooded on top. queequeg was george washington cannibalistically developed.
whilst i was thus closely scanning him, half-pretending meanwhile to be looking out at the storm from the casement, he never heeded my presence, never troubled himself with so much as a single glance; but appeared wholly occupied with counting the pages of the marvellous book. considering how sociably we had been sleeping together the night previous, and especially considering the affectionate arm i had found thrown over me upon waking in the morning, i thought this indifference of his very strange. but savages are strange beings; at times you do not know exactly how to take them. at first they are overawing; their calm self-collectedness of simplicity seems a socratic wisdom. i had noticed also that queequeg never consorted at all, or but very little, with the other seamen in the inn. he made no advances whatever; appeared to have no desire to enlarge the circle of his acquaintances.
all this struck me as mighty singular; yet, upon second thoughts, there was something almost sublime in it. here was a man some twenty thousand miles from home, by the way of cape horn, that is—which was the only way he could get there—thrown among people as strange to him as though he were in the planet jupiter; and yet he seemed entirely at his ease; preserving the utmost serenity; content with his own companionship; always equal to himself. surely this was a touch of fine philosophy; though no doubt he had never heard there was such a thing as that. but, perhaps, to be true philosophers, we mortals should not be conscious of so living or so striving. so soon as i hear that such or such a man gives himself out for a philosopher, i conclude that, like the dyspeptic old woman, he must have “broken his digester.”
as i sat there in that now lonely room; the fire burning low, in that mild stage when, after its first intensity has warmed the air, it then only glows to be looked at; the evening shades and phantoms gathering round the casements, and peering in upon us silent, solitary twain; the storm booming without in solemn swells; i began to be sensible of strange feelings. i felt a melting in me. no more my splintered heart and maddened hand were turned against the wolfish world. this soothing savage had redeemed it. there he sat, his very indifference speaking a nature in which there lurked no civilized hypocrisies and bland deceits. wild he was; a very sight of sights to see; yet i began to feel myself mysteriously drawn towards him. and those same things that would have repelled most others, they were the very magnets that thus drew me. i’ll try a pagan friend, thought i, since christian kindness has proved but hollow courtesy. i drew my bench near him, and made some friendly signs and hints, doing my best to talk with him meanwhile. at first he little noticed these advances; but presently, upon my referring to his last night’s hospitalities, he made out to ask me whether we were again to be bedfellows. i told him yes; whereat i thought he looked pleased, perhaps a little complimented.
we then turned over the book together, and i endeavored to explain to him the purpose of the printing, and the meaning of the few pictures that were in it. thus i soon engaged his interest; and from that we went to jabbering the best we could about the various outer sights to be seen in this famous town. soon i proposed a social smoke; and, producing his pouch and tomahawk, he quietly offered me a puff. and then we sat exchanging puffs from that wild pipe of his, and keeping it regularly passing between us.
if there yet lurked any ice of indifference towards me in the pagan’s breast, this pleasant, genial smoke we had, soon thawed it out, and left us cronies. he seemed to take to me quite as naturally and unbiddenly as i to him; and when our smoke was over, he pressed his forehead against mine, clasped me round the waist, and said that henceforth we were married; meaning, in his country’s phrase, that we were bosom friends; he would gladly die for me, if need should be. in a countryman, this sudden flame of friendship would have seemed far too premature, a thing to be much distrusted; but in this simple savage those old rules would not apply.
after supper, and another social chat and smoke, we went to our room together. he made me a present of his embalmed head; took out his enormous tobacco wallet, and groping under the tobacco, drew out some thirty dollars in silver; then spreading them on the table, and mechanically dividing them into two equal portions, pushed one of them towards me, and said it was mine. i was going to remonstrate; but he silenced me by pouring them into my trowsers’ pockets. i let them stay.
he then went about his evening prayers, took out his idol, and removed the paper fireboard. by certain signs and symptoms, i thought he seemed anxious for me to join him; but well knowing what was to follow, i deliberated a moment whether, in case he invited me, i would comply or otherwise.
i was a good christian; born and bred in the bosom of the infallible presbyterian church. how then could i unite with this wild idolator in worshipping his piece of wood? but what is worship? thought i. do you suppose now, ishmael, that the magnanimous god of heaven and earth—pagans and all included—can possibly be jealous of an insignificant bit of black wood? impossible! but what is worship?—to do the will of god—that is worship. and what is the will of god?—to do to my fellow man what i would have my fellow man to do to me—that is the will of god. now, queequeg is my fellow man. and what do i wish that this queequeg would do to me? why, unite with me in my particular presbyterian form of worship. consequently, i must then unite with him in his; ergo, i must turn idolator. so i kindled the shavings; helped prop up the innocent little idol; offered him burnt biscuit with queequeg; salamed before him twice or thrice; kissed his nose; and that done, we undressed and went to bed, at peace with our own consciences and all the world. but we did not go to sleep without some little chat.
how it is i know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends. man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some old couples often lie and chat over old times till nearly morning. thus, then, in our hearts’ honeymoon, lay i and queequeg—a cosy, loving pair.
chapter 11. nightgown.
we had lain thus in bed, chatting and napping at short intervals, and queequeg now and then affectionately throwing his brown tattooed legs over mine, and then drawing them back; so entirely sociable and free and easy were we; when, at last, by reason of our confabulations, what little nappishness remained in us altogether departed, and we felt like getting up again, though day-break was yet some way down the future.
yes, we became very wakeful; so much so that our recumbent position began to grow wearisome, and by little and little we found ourselves sitting up; the clothes well tucked around us, leaning against the head-board with our four knees drawn up close together, and our two noses bending over them, as if our kneepans were warming-pans. we felt very nice and snug, the more so since it was so chilly out of doors; indeed out of bed-clothes too, seeing that there was no fire in the room. the more so, i say, because truly to enjoy bodily warmth, some small part of you must be cold, for there is no quality in this world that is not what it is merely by contrast. nothing exists in itself. if you flatter yourself that you are all over comfortable, and have been so a long time, then you cannot be said to be comfortable any more. but if, like queequeg and me in the bed, the tip of your nose or the crown of your head be slightly chilled, why then, indeed, in the general consciousness you feel most delightfully and unmistakably warm. for this reason a sleeping apartment should never be furnished with a fire, which is one of the luxurious discomforts of the rich. for the height of this sort of deliciousness is to have nothing but the blanket between you and your snugness and the cold of the outer air. then there you lie like the one warm spark in the heart of an arctic crystal.
we had been sitting in this crouching manner for some time, when all at once i thought i would open my eyes; for when between sheets, whether by day or by night, and whether asleep or awake, i have a way of always keeping my eyes shut, in order the more to concentrate the snugness of being in bed. because no man can ever feel his own identity aright except his eyes be closed; as if darkness were indeed the proper element of our essences, though light be more congenial to our clayey part. upon opening my eyes then, and coming out of my own pleasant and self-created darkness into the imposed and coarse outer gloom of the unilluminated twelve-o’clock-at-night, i experienced a disagreeable revulsion. nor did i at all object to the hint from queequeg that perhaps it were best to strike a light, seeing that we were so wide awake; and besides he felt a strong desire to have a few quiet puffs from his tomahawk. be it said, that though i had felt such a strong repugnance to his smoking in the bed the night before, yet see how elastic our stiff prejudices grow when love once comes to bend them.
for now i liked nothing better than to have queequeg smoking by me, even in bed, because he seemed to be full of such serene household joy then. i no more felt unduly concerned for the landlord’s policy of insurance. i was only alive to the condensed confidential comfortableness of sharing a pipe and a blanket with a real friend.
with our shaggy jackets drawn about our shoulders, we now passed the tomahawk from one to the other, till slowly there grew over us a blue hanging tester of smoke, illuminated by the flame of the new-lit lamp.
whether it was that this undulating tester rolled the savage away to far distant scenes, i know not, but he now spoke of his native island; and, eager to hear his history, i begged him to go on and tell it. he gladly complied. though at the time i but ill comprehended not a few of his words, yet subsequent disclosures, when i had become more familiar with his broken phraseology, now enable me to present the whole story such as it may prove in the mere skeleton i give.
chapter 12. biographical.
queequeg was a native of rokovoko, an island far away to the west and south. it is not down in any map; true places never are.
when a new-hatched savage running wild about his native woodlands in a grass clout, followed by the nibbling goats, as if he were a green sapling; even then, in queequeg’s ambitious soul, lurked a strong desire to see something more of christendom than a specimen whaler or two. his father was a high chief, a king; his uncle a high priest; and on the maternal side he boasted aunts who were the wives of unconquerable warriors. there was excellent blood in his veins—royal stuff; though sadly vitiated, i fear, by the cannibal propensity he nourished in his untutored youth.
a sag harbor ship visited his father’s bay, and queequeg sought a passage to christian lands. but the ship, having her full complement of seamen, spurned his suit; and not all the king his father’s influence could prevail. but queequeg vowed a vow. alone in his canoe, he paddled off to a distant strait, which he knew the ship must pass through when she quitted the island. on one side was a coral reef; on the other a low tongue of land, covered with mangrove thickets that grew out into the water. hiding his canoe, still afloat, among these thickets, with its prow seaward, he sat down in the stern, paddle low in hand; and when the ship was gliding by, like a flash he darted out; gained her side; with one backward dash of his foot capsized and sank his canoe; climbed up the chains; and throwing himself at full length upon the deck, grappled a ring-bolt there, and swore not to let it go, though hacked in pieces.
in vain the captain threatened to throw him overboard; suspended a cutlass over his naked wrists; queequeg was the son of a king, and queequeg budged not. struck by his desperate dauntlessness, and his wild desire to visit christendom, the captain at last relented, and told him he might make himself at home. but this fine young savage—this sea prince of wales, never saw the captain’s cabin. they put him down among the sailors, and made a whaleman of him. but like czar peter content to toil in the shipyards of foreign cities, queequeg disdained no seeming ignominy, if thereby he might happily gain the power of enlightening his untutored countrymen. for at bottom—so he told me—he was actuated by a profound desire to learn among the christians, the arts whereby to make his people still happier than they were; and more than that, still better than they were. but, alas! the practices of whalemen soon convinced him that even christians could be both miserable and wicked; infinitely more so, than all his father’s heathens. arrived at last in old sag harbor; and seeing what the sailors did there; and then going on to nantucket, and seeing how they spent their wages in that place also, poor queequeg gave it up for lost. thought he, it’s a wicked world in all meridians; i’ll die a pagan.
and thus an old idolator at heart, he yet lived among these christians, wore their clothes, and tried to talk their gibberish. hence the queer ways about him, though now some time from home.
by hints, i asked him whether he did not propose going back, and having a coronation; since he might now consider his father dead and gone, he being very old and feeble at the last accounts. he answered no, not yet; and added that he was fearful christianity, or rather christians, had unfitted him for ascending the pure and undefiled throne of thirty pagan kings before him. but by and by, he said, he would return,—as soon as he felt himself baptized again. for the nonce, however, he proposed to sail about, and sow his wild oats in all four oceans. they had made a harpooneer of him, and that barbed iron was in lieu of a sceptre now.
i asked him what might be his immediate purpose, touching his future movements. he answered, to go to sea again, in his old vocation. upon this, i told him that whaling was my own design, and informed him of my intention to sail out of nantucket, as being the most promising port for an adventurous whaleman to embark from. he at once resolved to accompany me to that island, ship aboard the same vessel, get into the same watch, the same boat, the same mess with me, in short to share my every hap; with both my hands in his, boldly dip into the potluck of both worlds. to all this i joyously assented; for besides the affection i now felt for queequeg, he was an experienced harpooneer, and as such, could not fail to be of great usefulness to one, who, like me, was wholly ignorant of the mysteries of whaling, though well acquainted with the sea, as known to merchant seamen.
his story being ended with his pipe’s last dying puff, queequeg embraced me, pressed his forehead against mine, and blowing out the light, we rolled over from each other, this way and that, and very soon were sleeping.
chapter 13. wheelbarrow.
next morning, monday, after disposing of the embalmed head to a barber, for a block, i settled my own and comrade’s bill; using, however, my comrade’s money. the grinning landlord, as well as the boarders, seemed amazingly tickled at the sudden friendship which had sprung up between me and queequeg—especially as peter coffin’s cock and bull stories about him had previously so much alarmed me concerning the very person whom i now companied with.
we borrowed a wheelbarrow, and embarking our things, including my own poor carpet-bag, and queequeg’s canvas sack and hammock, away we went down to “the moss,” the little nantucket packet schooner moored at the wharf. as we were going along the people stared; not at queequeg so much—for they were used to seeing cannibals like him in their streets,—but at seeing him and me upon such confidential terms. but we heeded them not, going along wheeling the barrow by turns, and queequeg now and then stopping to adjust the sheath on his harpoon barbs. i asked him why he carried such a troublesome thing with him ashore, and whether all whaling ships did not find their own harpoons. to this, in substance, he replied, that though what i hinted was true enough, yet he had a particular affection for his own harpoon, because it was of assured stuff, well tried in many a mortal combat, and deeply intimate with the hearts of whales. in short, like many inland reapers and mowers, who go into the farmers’ meadows armed with their own scythes—though in no wise obliged to furnish them—even so, queequeg, for his own private reasons, preferred his own harpoon.
shifting the barrow from my hand to his, he told me a funny story about the first wheelbarrow he had ever seen. it was in sag harbor. the owners of his ship, it seems, had lent him one, in which to carry his heavy chest to his boarding house. not to seem ignorant about the thing—though in truth he was entirely so, concerning the precise way in which to manage the barrow—queequeg puts his chest upon it; lashes it fast; and then shoulders the barrow and marches up the wharf. “why,”
said i, “queequeg, you might have known better than that, one would think. didn’t the people laugh?”
upon this, he told me another story. the people of his island of rokovoko, it seems, at their wedding feasts express the fragrant water of young cocoanuts into a large stained calabash like a punchbowl; and this punchbowl always forms the great central ornament on the braided mat where the feast is held. now a certain grand merchant ship once touched at rokovoko, and its commander—from all accounts, a very stately punctilious gentleman, at least for a sea captain—this commander was invited to the wedding feast of queequeg’s sister, a pretty young princess just turned of ten. well; when all the wedding guests were assembled at the bride’s bamboo cottage, this captain marches in, and being assigned the post of honor, placed himself over against the punchbowl, and between the high priest and his majesty the king, queequeg’s father. grace being said,—for those people have their grace as well as we—though queequeg told me that unlike us, who at such times look downwards to our platters, they, on the contrary, copying the ducks, glance upwards to the great giver of all feasts—grace, i say, being said, the high priest opens the banquet by the immemorial ceremony of the island; that is, dipping his consecrated and consecrating fingers into the bowl before the blessed beverage circulates. seeing himself placed next the priest, and noting the ceremony, and thinking himself—being captain of a ship—as having plain precedence over a mere island king, especially in the king’s own house—the captain coolly proceeds to wash his hands in the punchbowl;—taking it i suppose for a huge finger-glass. “now,” said queequeg, “what you tink now?—didn’t our people laugh?”
at last, passage paid, and luggage safe, we stood on board the schooner. hoisting sail, it glided down the acushnet river. on one side, new bedford rose in terraces of streets, their ice-covered trees all glittering in the clear, cold air. huge hills and mountains of casks on casks were piled upon her wharves, and side by side the world-wandering whale ships lay silent and safely moored at last; while from others came a sound of carpenters and coopers, with blended noises of fires and forges to melt the pitch, all betokening that new cruises were on the start; that one most perilous and long voyage ended, only begins a second; and a second ended, only begins a third, and so on, for ever and for aye. such is the endlessness, yea, the intolerableness of all earthly effort.
gaining the more open water, the bracing breeze waxed fresh; the little moss tossed the quick foam from her bows, as a young colt his snortings. how i snuffed that tartar air!—how i spurned that turnpike earth!—that common highway all over dented with the marks of slavish heels and hoofs; and turned me to admire the magnanimity of the sea which will permit no records.
at the same foam-fountain, queequeg seemed to drink and reel with me.
his dusky nostrils swelled apart; he showed his filed and pointed teeth. on, on we flew; and our offing gained, the moss did homage to the blast; ducked and dived her bows as a slave before the sultan.
sideways leaning, we sideways darted; every ropeyarn tingling like a wire; the two tall masts buckling like indian canes in land tornadoes.
so full of this reeling scene were we, as we stood by the plunging bowsprit, that for some time we did not notice the jeering glances of the passengers, a lubber-like assembly, who marvelled that two fellow beings should be so companionable; as though a white man were anything more dignified than a whitewashed negro. but there were some boobies and bumpkins there, who, by their intense greenness, must have come from the heart and centre of all verdure. queequeg caught one of these young saplings mimicking him behind his back. i thought the bumpkin’s hour of doom was come. dropping his harpoon, the brawny savage caught him in his arms, and by an almost miraculous dexterity and strength, sent him high up bodily into the air; then slightly tapping his stern in mid-somerset, the fellow landed with bursting lungs upon his feet, while queequeg, turning his back upon him, lighted his tomahawk pipe and passed it to me for a puff.
“capting! capting!” yelled the bumpkin, running towards that officer; “capting, capting, here’s the devil.”
“hallo, you sir,” cried the captain, a gaunt rib of the sea, stalking up to queequeg, “what in thunder do you mean by that? don’t you know you might have killed that chap?”
“what him say?” said queequeg, as he mildly turned to me.
“he say,” said i, “that you came near kill-e that man there,” pointing to the still shivering greenhorn.
“kill-e,” cried queequeg, twisting his tattooed face into an unearthly expression of disdain, “ah! him bevy small-e fish-e; queequeg no kill-e so small-e fish-e; queequeg kill-e big whale!”
“look you,” roared the captain, “i’ll kill-e you, you cannibal, if you try any more of your tricks aboard here; so mind your eye.”
but it so happened just then, that it was high time for the captain to mind his own eye. the prodigious strain upon the main-sail had parted the weather-sheet, and the tremendous boom was now flying from side to side, completely sweeping the entire after part of the deck. the poor fellow whom queequeg had handled so roughly, was swept overboard; all hands were in a panic; and to attempt snatching at the boom to stay it, seemed madness. it flew from right to left, and back again, almost in one ticking of a watch, and every instant seemed on the point of snapping into splinters. nothing was done, and nothing seemed capable of being done; those on deck rushed towards the bows, and stood eyeing the boom as if it were the lower jaw of an exasperated whale. in the midst of this consternation, queequeg dropped deftly to his knees, and crawling under the path of the boom, whipped hold of a rope, secured one end to the bulwarks, and then flinging the other like a lasso, caught it round the boom as it swept over his head, and at the next jerk, the spar was that way trapped, and all was safe. the schooner was run into the wind, and while the hands were clearing away the stern boat, queequeg, stripped to the waist, darted from the side with a long living arc of a leap. for three minutes or more he was seen swimming like a dog, throwing his long arms straight out before him, and by turns revealing his brawny shoulders through the freezing foam. i looked at the grand and glorious fellow, but saw no one to be saved.
the greenhorn had gone down. shooting himself perpendicularly from the water, queequeg, now took an instant’s glance around him, and seeming to see just how matters were, dived down and disappeared. a few minutes more, and he rose again, one arm still striking out, and with the other dragging a lifeless form. the boat soon picked them up. the poor bumpkin was restored. all hands voted queequeg a noble trump; the captain begged his pardon. from that hour i clove to queequeg like a barnacle; yea, till poor queequeg took his last long dive.
was there ever such unconsciousness? he did not seem to think that he at all deserved a medal from the humane and magnanimous societies. he only asked for water—fresh water—something to wipe the brine off; that done, he put on dry clothes, lighted his pipe, and leaning against the bulwarks, and mildly eyeing those around him, seemed to be saying to himself—“it’s a mutual, joint-stock world, in all meridians. we cannibals must help these christians.”
chapter 14. nantucket.
nothing more happened on the passage worthy the mentioning; so, after a fine run, we safely arrived in nantucket.
nantucket! take out your map and look at it. see what a real corner of the world it occupies; how it stands there, away off shore, more lonely than the eddystone lighthouse. look at it—a mere hillock, and elbow of sand; all beach, without a background. there is more sand there than you would use in twenty years as a substitute for blotting paper. some gamesome wights will tell you that they have to plant weeds there, they don’t grow naturally; that they import canada thistles; that they have to send beyond seas for a spile to stop a leak in an oil cask; that pieces of wood in nantucket are carried about like bits of the true cross in rome; that people there plant toadstools before their houses, to get under the shade in summer time; that one blade of grass makes an oasis, three blades in a day’s walk a prairie; that they wear quicksand shoes, something like laplander snow-shoes; that they are so shut up, belted about, every way inclosed, surrounded, and made an utter island of by the ocean, that to their very chairs and tables small clams will sometimes be found adhering, as to the backs of sea turtles. but these extravaganzas only show that nantucket is no illinois.
look now at the wondrous traditional story of how this island was settled by the red-men. thus goes the legend. in olden times an eagle swooped down upon the new england coast, and carried off an infant indian in his talons. with loud lament the parents saw their child borne out of sight over the wide waters. they resolved to follow in the same direction. setting out in their canoes, after a perilous passage they discovered the island, and there they found an empty ivory casket,—the poor little indian’s skeleton.
what wonder, then, that these nantucketers, born on a beach, should take to the sea for a livelihood! they first caught crabs and quohogs in the sand; grown bolder, they waded out with nets for mackerel; more experienced, they pushed off in boats and captured cod; and at last, launching a navy of great ships on the sea, explored this watery world; put an incessant belt of circumnavigations round it; peeped in at behring’s straits; and in all seasons and all oceans declared everlasting war with the mightiest animated mass that has survived the flood; most monstrous and most mountainous! that himmalehan, salt-sea mastodon, clothed with such portentousness of unconscious power, that his very panics are more to be dreaded than his most fearless and malicious assaults!
and thus have these naked nantucketers, these sea hermits, issuing from their ant-hill in the sea, overrun and conquered the watery world like so many alexanders; parcelling out among them the atlantic, pacific, and indian oceans, as the three pirate powers did poland. let america add mexico to texas, and pile cuba upon canada; let the english overswarm all india, and hang out their blazing banner from the sun; two thirds of this terraqueous globe are the nantucketer’s. for the sea is his; he owns it, as emperors own empires; other seamen having but a right of way through it. merchant ships are but extension bridges; armed ones but floating forts; even pirates and privateers, though following the sea as highwaymen the road, they but plunder other ships, other fragments of the land like themselves, without seeking to draw their living from the bottomless deep itself. the nantucketer, he alone resides and riots on the sea; he alone, in bible language, goes down to it in ships; to and fro ploughing it as his own special plantation.
there is his home; there lies his business, which a noah’s flood would not interrupt, though it overwhelmed all the millions in china.
he lives on the sea, as prairie cocks in the prairie; he hides among the waves, he climbs them as chamois hunters climb the alps. for years he knows not the land; so that when he comes to it at last, it smells like another world, more strangely than the moon would to an earthsman.
with the landless gull, that at sunset folds her wings and is rocked to sleep between billows; so at nightfall, the nantucketer, out of sight of land, furls his sails, and lays him to his rest, while under his very pillow rush herds of walruses and whales.
chapter 15. chowder.
it was quite late in the evening when the little moss came snugly to anchor, and queequeg and i went ashore; so we could attend to no business that day, at least none but a supper and a bed. the landlord of the spouter-inn had recommended us to his cousin hosea hussey of the try pots, whom he asserted to be the proprietor of one of the best kept hotels in all nantucket, and moreover he had assured us that cousin hosea, as he called him, was famous for his chowders. in short, he plainly hinted that we could not possibly do better than try pot-luck at the try pots. but the directions he had given us about keeping a yellow warehouse on our starboard hand till we opened a white church to the larboard, and then keeping that on the larboard hand till we made a corner three points to the starboard, and that done, then ask the first man we met where the place was: these crooked directions of his very much puzzled us at first, especially as, at the outset, queequeg insisted that the yellow warehouse—our first point of departure—must be left on the larboard hand, whereas i had understood peter coffin to say it was on the starboard. however, by dint of beating about a little in the dark, and now and then knocking up a peaceable inhabitant to inquire the way, we at last came to something which there was no mistaking.
two enormous wooden pots painted black, and suspended by asses’ ears, swung from the cross-trees of an old top-mast, planted in front of an old doorway. the horns of the cross-trees were sawed off on the other side, so that this old top-mast looked not a little like a gallows.
perhaps i was over sensitive to such impressions at the time, but i could not help staring at this gallows with a vague misgiving. a sort of crick was in my neck as i gazed up to the two remaining horns; yes, two of them, one for queequeg, and one for me. it’s ominous, thinks i. a coffin my innkeeper upon landing in my first whaling port; tombstones staring at me in the whalemen’s chapel; and here a gallows!
and a pair of prodigious black pots too! are these last throwing out oblique hints touching tophet?
i was called from these reflections by the sight of a freckled woman with yellow hair and a yellow gown, standing in the porch of the inn, under a dull red lamp swinging there, that looked much like an injured eye, and carrying on a brisk scolding with a man in a purple woollen shirt.
“get along with ye,” said she to the man, “or i’ll be combing ye!”
“come on, queequeg,” said i, “all right. there’s mrs. hussey.”
and so it turned out; mr. hosea hussey being from home, but leaving mrs. hussey entirely competent to attend to all his affairs. upon making known our desires for a supper and a bed, mrs. hussey, postponing further scolding for the present, ushered us into a little room, and seating us at a table spread with the relics of a recently concluded repast, turned round to us and said—“clam or cod?”
“what’s that about cods, ma’am?” said i, with much politeness.
“clam or cod?” she repeated.
“a clam for supper? a cold clam; is that what you mean, mrs. hussey?”
says i, “but that’s a rather cold and clammy reception in the winter time, ain’t it, mrs. hussey?”
but being in a great hurry to resume scolding the man in the purple shirt, who was waiting for it in the entry, and seeming to hear nothing but the word “clam,” mrs. hussey hurried towards an open door leading to the kitchen, and bawling out “clam for two,” disappeared.
“queequeg,” said i, “do you think that we can make out a supper for us both on one clam?”
however, a warm savory steam from the kitchen served to belie the apparently cheerless prospect before us. but when that smoking chowder came in, the mystery was delightfully explained. oh, sweet friends!
hearken to me. it was made of small juicy clams, scarcely bigger than hazel nuts, mixed with pounded ship biscuit, and salted pork cut up into little flakes; the whole enriched with butter, and plentifully seasoned with pepper and salt. our appetites being sharpened by the frosty voyage, and in particular, queequeg seeing his favourite fishing food before him, and the chowder being surpassingly excellent, we despatched it with great expedition: when leaning back a moment and bethinking me of mrs. hussey’s clam and cod announcement, i thought i would try a little experiment. stepping to the kitchen door, i uttered the word “cod” with great emphasis, and resumed my seat. in a few moments the savoury steam came forth again, but with a different flavor, and in good time a fine cod-chowder was placed before us.
we resumed business; and while plying our spoons in the bowl, thinks i to myself, i wonder now if this here has any effect on the head? what’s that stultifying saying about chowder-headed people? “but look, queequeg, ain’t that a live eel in your bowl? where’s your harpoon?”
fishiest of all fishy places was the try pots, which well deserved its name; for the pots there were always boiling chowders. chowder for breakfast, and chowder for dinner, and chowder for supper, till you began to look for fish-bones coming through your clothes. the area before the house was paved with clam-shells. mrs. hussey wore a polished necklace of codfish vertebra; and hosea hussey had his account books bound in superior old shark-skin. there was a fishy flavor to the milk, too, which i could not at all account for, till one morning happening to take a stroll along the beach among some fishermen’s boats, i saw hosea’s brindled cow feeding on fish remnants, and marching along the sand with each foot in a cod’s decapitated head, looking very slip-shod, i assure ye.
supper concluded, we received a lamp, and directions from mrs. hussey concerning the nearest way to bed; but, as queequeg was about to precede me up the stairs, the lady reached forth her arm, and demanded his harpoon; she allowed no harpoon in her chambers. “why not?” said i; “every true whaleman sleeps with his harpoon—but why not?” “because it’s dangerous,” says she. “ever since young stiggs coming from that unfort’nt v’y’ge of his, when he was gone four years and a half, with only three barrels of ile, was found dead in my first floor back, with his harpoon in his side; ever since then i allow no boarders to take sich dangerous weepons in their rooms at night. so, mr. queequeg”
(for she had learned his name), “i will just take this here iron, and keep it for you till morning. but the chowder; clam or cod to-morrow for breakfast, men?”
“both,” says i; “and let’s have a couple of smoked herring by way of variety.”
chapter 16. the ship.
in bed we concocted our plans for the morrow. but to my surprise and no small concern, queequeg now gave me to understand, that he had been diligently consulting yojo—the name of his black little god—and yojo had told him two or three times over, and strongly insisted upon it everyway, that instead of our going together among the whaling-fleet in harbor, and in concert selecting our craft; instead of this, i say, yojo earnestly enjoined that the selection of the ship should rest wholly with me, inasmuch as yojo purposed befriending us; and, in order to do so, had already pitched upon a vessel, which, if left to myself, i, ishmael, should infallibly light upon, for all the world as though it had turned out by chance; and in that vessel i must immediately ship myself, for the present irrespective of queequeg.
i have forgotten to mention that, in many things, queequeg placed great confidence in the excellence of yojo’s judgment and surprising forecast of things; and cherished yojo with considerable esteem, as a rather good sort of god, who perhaps meant well enough upon the whole, but in all cases did not succeed in his benevolent designs.
now, this plan of queequeg’s, or rather yojo’s, touching the selection of our craft; i did not like that plan at all. i had not a little relied upon queequeg’s sagacity to point out the whaler best fitted to carry us and our fortunes securely. but as all my remonstrances produced no effect upon queequeg, i was obliged to acquiesce; and accordingly prepared to set about this business with a determined rushing sort of energy and vigor, that should quickly settle that trifling little affair. next morning early, leaving queequeg shut up with yojo in our little bedroom—for it seemed that it was some sort of lent or ramadan, or day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer with queequeg and yojo that day; how it was i never could find out, for, though i applied myself to it several times, i never could master his liturgies and xxxix articles—leaving queequeg, then, fasting on his tomahawk pipe, and yojo warming himself at his sacrificial fire of shavings, i sallied out among the shipping. after much prolonged sauntering and many random inquiries, i learnt that there were three ships up for three-years’ voyages—the devil-dam, the tit-bit, and the pequod. devil-dam, i do not know the origin of; tit-bit is obvious; pequod, you will no doubt remember, was the name of a celebrated tribe of massachusetts indians; now extinct as the ancient medes. i peered and pryed about the devil-dam; from her, hopped over to the tit-bit; and finally, going on board the pequod, looked around her for a moment, and then decided that this was the very ship for us.
you may have seen many a quaint craft in your day, for aught i know;—square-toed luggers; mountainous japanese junks; butter-box galliots, and what not; but take my word for it, you never saw such a rare old craft as this same rare old pequod. she was a ship of the old school, rather small if anything; with an old-fashioned claw-footed look about her. long seasoned and weather-stained in the typhoons and calms of all four oceans, her old hull’s complexion was darkened like a french grenadier’s, who has alike fought in egypt and siberia. her venerable bows looked bearded. her masts—cut somewhere on the coast of japan, where her original ones were lost overboard in a gale—her masts stood stiffly up like the spines of the three old kings of cologne. her ancient decks were worn and wrinkled, like the pilgrim-worshipped flag-stone in canterbury cathedral where becket bled. but to all these her old antiquities, were added new and marvellous features, pertaining to the wild business that for more than half a century she had followed. old captain peleg, many years her chief-mate, before he commanded another vessel of his own, and now a retired seaman, and one of the principal owners of the pequod,—this old peleg, during the term of his chief-mateship, had built upon her original grotesqueness, and inlaid it, all over, with a quaintness both of material and device, unmatched by anything except it be thorkill-hake’s carved buckler or bedstead. she was apparelled like any barbaric ethiopian emperor, his neck heavy with pendants of polished ivory. she was a thing of trophies. a cannibal of a craft, tricking herself forth in the chased bones of her enemies. all round, her unpanelled, open bulwarks were garnished like one continuous jaw, with the long sharp teeth of the sperm whale, inserted there for pins, to fasten her old hempen thews and tendons to. those thews ran not through base blocks of land wood, but deftly travelled over sheaves of sea-ivory. scorning a turnstile wheel at her reverend helm, she sported there a tiller; and that tiller was in one mass, curiously carved from the long narrow lower jaw of her hereditary foe. the helmsman who steered by that tiller in a tempest, felt like the tartar, when he holds back his fiery steed by clutching its jaw. a noble craft, but somehow a most melancholy! all noble things are touched with that.
now when i looked about the quarter-deck, for some one having authority, in order to propose myself as a candidate for the voyage, at first i saw nobody; but i could not well overlook a strange sort of tent, or rather wigwam, pitched a little behind the main-mast. it seemed only a temporary erection used in port. it was of a conical shape, some ten feet high; consisting of the long, huge slabs of limber black bone taken from the middle and highest part of the jaws of the right-whale. planted with their broad ends on the deck, a circle of these slabs laced together, mutually sloped towards each other, and at the apex united in a tufted point, where the loose hairy fibres waved to and fro like the top-knot on some old pottowottamie sachem’s head. a triangular opening faced towards the bows of the ship, so that the insider commanded a complete view forward.
and half concealed in this queer tenement, i at length found one who by his aspect seemed to have authority; and who, it being noon, and the ship’s work suspended, was now enjoying respite from the burden of command. he was seated on an old-fashioned oaken chair, wriggling all over with curious carving; and the bottom of which was formed of a stout interlacing of the same elastic stuff of which the wigwam was constructed.
there was nothing so very particular, perhaps, about the appearance of the elderly man i saw; he was brown and brawny, like most old seamen, and heavily rolled up in blue pilot-cloth, cut in the quaker style; only there was a fine and almost microscopic net-work of the minutest wrinkles interlacing round his eyes, which must have arisen from his continual sailings in many hard gales, and always looking to windward;—for this causes the muscles about the eyes to become pursed together. such eye-wrinkles are very effectual in a scowl.
“is this the captain of the pequod?” said i, advancing to the door of the tent.
“supposing it be the captain of the pequod, what dost thou want of him?” he demanded.
“i was thinking of shipping.”
“thou wast, wast thou? i see thou art no nantucketer—ever been in a stove boat?”
“no, sir, i never have.”
“dost know nothing at all about whaling, i dare say—eh?
“nothing, sir; but i have no doubt i shall soon learn. i’ve been several voyages in the merchant service, and i think that—”
“merchant service be damned. talk not that lingo to me. dost see that leg?—i’ll take that leg away from thy stern, if ever thou talkest of the marchant service to me again. marchant service indeed! i suppose now ye feel considerable proud of having served in those marchant ships. but flukes! man, what makes thee want to go a whaling, eh?—it looks a little suspicious, don’t it, eh?—hast not been a pirate, hast thou?—didst not rob thy last captain, didst thou?—dost not think of murdering the officers when thou gettest to sea?”
i protested my innocence of these things. i saw that under the mask of these half humorous innuendoes, this old seaman, as an insulated quakerish nantucketer, was full of his insular prejudices, and rather distrustful of all aliens, unless they hailed from cape cod or the vineyard.
“but what takes thee a-whaling? i want to know that before i think of shipping ye.”
“well, sir, i want to see what whaling is. i want to see the world.”
“want to see what whaling is, eh? have ye clapped eye on captain ahab?”
“who is captain ahab, sir?”
“aye, aye, i thought so. captain ahab is the captain of this ship.”
“i am mistaken then. i thought i was speaking to the captain himself.”
“thou art speaking to captain peleg—that’s who ye are speaking to, young man. it belongs to me and captain bildad to see the pequod fitted out for the voyage, and supplied with all her needs, including crew. we are part owners and agents. but as i was going to say, if thou wantest to know what whaling is, as thou tellest ye do, i can put ye in a way of finding it out before ye bind yourself to it, past backing out. clap eye on captain ahab, young man, and thou wilt find that he has only one leg.”
“what do you mean, sir? was the other one lost by a whale?”
“lost by a whale! young man, come nearer to me: it was devoured, chewed up, crunched by the monstrousest parmacetty that ever chipped a boat!—ah, ah!”
i was a little alarmed by his energy, perhaps also a little touched at the hearty grief in his concluding exclamation, but said as calmly as i could, “what you say is no doubt true enough, sir; but how could i know there was any peculiar ferocity in that particular whale, though indeed i might have inferred as much from the simple fact of the accident.”
“look ye now, young man, thy lungs are a sort of soft, d’ye see; thou dost not talk shark a bit. sure, ye’ve been to sea before now; sure of that?”
“sir,” said i, “i thought i told you that i had been four voyages in the merchant—”
“hard down out of that! mind what i said about the marchant service—don’t aggravate me—i won’t have it. but let us understand each other. i have given thee a hint about what whaling is; do ye yet feel inclined for it?”
“i do, sir.”
“very good. now, art thou the man to pitch a harpoon down a live whale’s throat, and then jump after it? answer, quick!”
“i am, sir, if it should be positively indispensable to do so; not to be got rid of, that is; which i don’t take to be the fact.”
“good again. now then, thou not only wantest to go a-whaling, to find out by experience what whaling is, but ye also want to go in order to see the world? was not that what ye said? i thought so. well then, just step forward there, and take a peep over the weather-bow, and then back to me and tell me what ye see there.”
for a moment i stood a little puzzled by this curious request, not knowing exactly how to take it, whether humorously or in earnest. but concentrating all his crow’s feet into one scowl, captain peleg started me on the errand.
going forward and glancing over the weather bow, i perceived that the ship swinging to her anchor with the flood-tide, was now obliquely pointing towards the open ocean. the prospect was unlimited, but exceedingly monotonous and forbidding; not the slightest variety that i could see.
“well, what’s the report?” said peleg when i came back; “what did ye see?”
“not much,” i replied—“nothing but water; considerable horizon though, and there’s a squall coming up, i think.”
“well, what does thou think then of seeing the world? do ye wish to go round cape horn to see any more of it, eh? can’t ye see the world where you stand?”
i was a little staggered, but go a-whaling i must, and i would; and the pequod was as good a ship as any—i thought the best—and all this i now repeated to peleg. seeing me so determined, he expressed his willingness to ship me.
“and thou mayest as well sign the papers right off,” he added—“come along with ye.” and so saying, he led the way below deck into the cabin.
seated on the transom was what seemed to me a most uncommon and surprising figure. it turned out to be captain bildad, who along with captain peleg was one of the largest owners of the vessel; the other shares, as is sometimes the case in these ports, being held by a crowd of old annuitants; widows, fatherless children, and chancery wards; each owning about the value of a timber head, or a foot of plank, or a nail or two in the ship. people in nantucket invest their money in whaling vessels, the same way that you do yours in approved state stocks bringing in good interest.
now, bildad, like peleg, and indeed many other nantucketers, was a quaker, the island having been originally settled by that sect; and to this day its inhabitants in general retain in an uncommon measure the peculiarities of the quaker, only variously and anomalously modified by things altogether alien and heterogeneous. for some of these same quakers are the most sanguinary of all sailors and whale-hunters. they are fighting quakers; they are quakers with a vengeance.
so that there are instances among them of men, who, named with scripture names—a singularly common fashion on the island—and in childhood naturally imbibing the stately dramatic thee and thou of the quaker idiom; still, from the audacious, daring, and boundless adventure of their subsequent lives, strangely blend with these unoutgrown peculiarities, a thousand bold dashes of character, not unworthy a scandinavian sea-king, or a poetical pagan roman. and when these things unite in a man of greatly superior natural force, with a globular brain and a ponderous heart; who has also by the stillness and seclusion of many long night-watches in the remotest waters, and beneath constellations never seen here at the north, been led to think untraditionally and independently; receiving all nature’s sweet or savage impressions fresh from her own virgin voluntary and confiding breast, and thereby chiefly, but with some help from accidental advantages, to learn a bold and nervous lofty language—that man makes one in a whole nation’s census—a mighty pageant creature, formed for noble tragedies. nor will it at all detract from him, dramatically regarded, if either by birth or other circumstances, he have what seems a half wilful overruling morbidness at the bottom of his nature. for all men tragically great are made so through a certain morbidness. be sure of this, o young ambition, all mortal greatness is but disease.
but, as yet we have not to do with such an one, but with quite another; and still a man, who, if indeed peculiar, it only results again from another phase of the quaker, modified by individual circumstances.
like captain peleg, captain bildad was a well-to-do, retired whaleman.
but unlike captain peleg—who cared not a rush for what are called serious things, and indeed deemed those self-same serious things the veriest of all trifles—captain bildad had not only been originally educated according to the strictest sect of nantucket quakerism, but all his subsequent ocean life, and the sight of many unclad, lovely island creatures, round the horn—all that had not moved this native born quaker one single jot, had not so much as altered one angle of his vest. still, for all this immutableness, was there some lack of common consistency about worthy captain bildad. though refusing, from conscientious scruples, to bear arms against land invaders, yet himself had illimitably invaded the atlantic and pacific; and though a sworn foe to human bloodshed, yet had he in his straight-bodied coat, spilled tuns upon tuns of leviathan gore. how now in the contemplative evening of his days, the pious bildad reconciled these things in the reminiscence, i do not know; but it did not seem to concern him much, and very probably he had long since come to the sage and sensible conclusion that a man’s religion is one thing, and this practical world quite another. this world pays dividends. rising from a little cabin-boy in short clothes of the drabbest drab, to a harpooneer in a broad shad-bellied waistcoat; from that becoming boat-header, chief-mate, and captain, and finally a ship owner; bildad, as i hinted before, had concluded his adventurous career by wholly retiring from active life at the goodly age of sixty, and dedicating his remaining days to the quiet receiving of his well-earned income.
now, bildad, i am sorry to say, had the reputation of being an incorrigible old hunks, and in his sea-going days, a bitter, hard task-master. they told me in nantucket, though it certainly seems a curious story, that when he sailed the old categut whaleman, his crew, upon arriving home, were mostly all carried ashore to the hospital, sore exhausted and worn out. for a pious man, especially for a quaker, he was certainly rather hard-hearted, to say the least. he never used to swear, though, at his men, they said; but somehow he got an inordinate quantity of cruel, unmitigated hard work out of them. when bildad was a chief-mate, to have his drab-coloured eye intently looking at you, made you feel completely nervous, till you could clutch something—a hammer or a marling-spike, and go to work like mad, at something or other, never mind what. indolence and idleness perished before him. his own person was the exact embodiment of his utilitarian character. on his long, gaunt body, he carried no spare flesh, no superfluous beard, his chin having a soft, economical nap to it, like the worn nap of his broad-brimmed hat.
such, then, was the person that i saw seated on the transom when i followed captain peleg down into the cabin. the space between the decks was small; and there, bolt-upright, sat old bildad, who always sat so, and never leaned, and this to save his coat tails. his broad-brim was placed beside him; his legs were stiffly crossed; his drab vesture was buttoned up to his chin; and spectacles on nose, he seemed absorbed in reading from a ponderous volume.
“bildad,” cried captain peleg, “at it again, bildad, eh? ye have been studying those scriptures, now, for the last thirty years, to my certain knowledge. how far ye got, bildad?”
as if long habituated to such profane talk from his old shipmate, bildad, without noticing his present irreverence, quietly looked up, and seeing me, glanced again inquiringly towards peleg.
“he says he’s our man, bildad,” said peleg, “he wants to ship.”
“dost thee?” said bildad, in a hollow tone, and turning round to me.
“i dost,” said i unconsciously, he was so intense a quaker.
“what do ye think of him, bildad?” said peleg.
“he’ll do,” said bildad, eyeing me, and then went on spelling away at his book in a mumbling tone quite audible.
i thought him the queerest old quaker i ever saw, especially as peleg, his friend and old shipmate, seemed such a blusterer. but i said nothing, only looking round me sharply. peleg now threw open a chest, and drawing forth the ship’s articles, placed pen and ink before him, and seated himself at a little table. i began to think it was high time to settle with myself at what terms i would be willing to engage for the voyage. i was already aware that in the whaling business they paid no wages; but all hands, including the captain, received certain shares of the profits called lays, and that these lays were proportioned to the degree of importance pertaining to the respective duties of the ship’s company. i was also aware that being a green hand at whaling, my own lay would not be very large; but considering that i was used to the sea, could steer a ship, splice a rope, and all that, i made no doubt that from all i had heard i should be offered at least the 275th lay—that is, the 275th part of the clear net proceeds of the voyage, whatever that might eventually amount to. and though the 275th lay was what they call a rather long lay, yet it was better than nothing; and if we had a lucky voyage, might pretty nearly pay for the clothing i would wear out on it, not to speak of my three years’ beef and board, for which i would not have to pay one stiver.
it might be thought that this was a poor way to accumulate a princely fortune—and so it was, a very poor way indeed. but i am one of those that never take on about princely fortunes, and am quite content if the world is ready to board and lodge me, while i am putting up at this grim sign of the thunder cloud. upon the whole, i thought that the 275th lay would be about the fair thing, but would not have been surprised had i been offered the 200th, considering i was of a broad-shouldered make.
but one thing, nevertheless, that made me a little distrustful about receiving a generous share of the profits was this: ashore, i had heard something of both captain peleg and his unaccountable old crony bildad; how that they being the principal proprietors of the pequod, therefore the other and more inconsiderable and scattered owners, left nearly the whole management of the ship’s affairs to these two. and i did not know but what the stingy old bildad might have a mighty deal to say about shipping hands, especially as i now found him on board the pequod, quite at home there in the cabin, and reading his bible as if at his own fireside. now while peleg was vainly trying to mend a pen with his jack-knife, old bildad, to my no small surprise, considering that he was such an interested party in these proceedings; bildad never heeded us, but went on mumbling to himself out of his book, “lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth—”
“well, captain bildad,” interrupted peleg, “what d’ye say, what lay shall we give this young man?”
“thou knowest best,” was the sepulchral reply, “the seven hundred and seventy-seventh wouldn’t be too much, would it?—‘where moth and rust do corrupt, but lay—’”
lay, indeed, thought i, and such a lay! the seven hundred and seventy-seventh! well, old bildad, you are determined that i, for one, shall not lay up many lays here below, where moth and rust do corrupt. it was an exceedingly long lay that, indeed; and though from the magnitude of the figure it might at first deceive a landsman, yet the slightest consideration will show that though seven hundred and seventy-seven is a pretty large number, yet, when you come to make a teenth of it, you will then see, i say, that the seven hundred and seventy-seventh part of a farthing is a good deal less than seven hundred and seventy-seven gold doubloons; and so i thought at the time.
“why, blast your eyes, bildad,” cried peleg, “thou dost not want to swindle this young man! he must have more than that.”
“seven hundred and seventy-seventh,” again said bildad, without lifting his eyes; and then went on mumbling—“for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”
“i am going to put him down for the three hundredth,” said peleg, “do ye hear that, bildad! the three hundredth lay, i say.”
bildad laid down his book, and turning solemnly towards him said, “captain peleg, thou hast a generous heart; but thou must consider the duty thou owest to the other owners of this ship—widows and orphans, many of them—and that if we too abundantly reward the labors of this young man, we may be taking the bread from those widows and those orphans. the seven hundred and seventy-seventh lay, captain peleg.”
“thou bildad!” roared peleg, starting up and clattering about the cabin. “blast ye, captain bildad, if i had followed thy advice in these matters, i would afore now had a conscience to lug about that would be heavy enough to founder the largest ship that ever sailed round cape horn.”
“captain peleg,” said bildad steadily, “thy conscience may be drawing ten inches of water, or ten fathoms, i can’t tell; but as thou art still an impenitent man, captain peleg, i greatly fear lest thy conscience be but a leaky one; and will in the end sink thee foundering down to the fiery pit, captain peleg.”
“fiery pit! fiery pit! ye insult me, man; past all natural bearing, ye insult me. it’s an all-fired outrage to tell any human creature that he’s bound to hell. flukes and flames! bildad, say that again to me, and start my soul-bolts, but i’ll—i’ll—yes, i’ll swallow a live goat with all his hair and horns on. out of the cabin, ye canting, drab-coloured son of a wooden gun—a straight wake with ye!”
as he thundered out this he made a rush at bildad, but with a marvellous oblique, sliding celerity, bildad for that time eluded him.
alarmed at this terrible outburst between the two principal and responsible owners of the ship, and feeling half a mind to give up all idea of sailing in a vessel so questionably owned and temporarily commanded, i stepped aside from the door to give egress to bildad, who, i made no doubt, was all eagerness to vanish from before the awakened wrath of peleg. but to my astonishment, he sat down again on the transom very quietly, and seemed to have not the slightest intention of withdrawing. he seemed quite used to impenitent peleg and his ways. as for peleg, after letting off his rage as he had, there seemed no more left in him, and he, too, sat down like a lamb, though he twitched a little as if still nervously agitated. “whew!” he whistled at last—“the squall’s gone off to leeward, i think. bildad, thou used to be good at sharpening a lance, mend that pen, will ye. my jack-knife here needs the grindstone. that’s he; thank ye, bildad. now then, my young man, ishmael’s thy name, didn’t ye say? well then, down ye go here, ishmael, for the three hundredth lay.”
“captain peleg,” said i, “i have a friend with me who wants to ship too—shall i bring him down to-morrow?”
“to be sure,” said peleg. “fetch him along, and we’ll look at him.”
“what lay does he want?” groaned bildad, glancing up from the book in which he had again been burying himself.
“oh! never thee mind about that, bildad,” said peleg. “has he ever whaled it any?” turning to me.
“killed more whales than i can count, captain peleg.”
“well, bring him along then.”
and, after signing the papers, off i went; nothing doubting but that i had done a good morning’s work, and that the pequod was the identical ship that yojo had provided to carry queequeg and me round the cape.
but i had not proceeded far, when i began to bethink me that the captain with whom i was to sail yet remained unseen by me; though, indeed, in many cases, a whale-ship will be completely fitted out, and receive all her crew on board, ere the captain makes himself visible by arriving to take command; for sometimes these voyages are so prolonged, and the shore intervals at home so exceedingly brief, that if the captain have a family, or any absorbing concernment of that sort, he does not trouble himself much about his ship in port, but leaves her to the owners till all is ready for sea. however, it is always as well to have a look at him before irrevocably committing yourself into his hands. turning back i accosted captain peleg, inquiring where captain ahab was to be found.
“and what dost thou want of captain ahab? it’s all right enough; thou art shipped.”
“yes, but i should like to see him.”
“but i don’t think thou wilt be able to at present. i don’t know exactly what’s the matter with him; but he keeps close inside the house; a sort of sick, and yet he don’t look so. in fact, he ain’t sick; but no, he isn’t well either. any how, young man, he won’t always see me, so i don’t suppose he will thee. he’s a queer man, captain ahab—so some think—but a good one. oh, thou’lt like him well enough; no fear, no fear. he’s a grand, ungodly, god-like man, captain ahab; doesn’t speak much; but, when he does speak, then you may well listen.
mark ye, be forewarned; ahab’s above the common; ahab’s been in colleges, as well as ’mong the cannibals; been used to deeper wonders than the waves; fixed his fiery lance in mightier, stranger foes than whales. his lance! aye, the keenest and the surest that out of all our isle! oh! he ain’t captain bildad; no, and he ain’t captain peleg; he’s ahab, boy; and ahab of old, thou knowest, was a crowned king!”
“and a very vile one. when that wicked king was slain, the dogs, did they not lick his blood?”
“come hither to me—hither, hither,” said peleg, with a significance in his eye that almost startled me. “look ye, lad; never say that on board the pequod. never say it anywhere. captain ahab did not name himself.
’twas a foolish, ignorant whim of his crazy, widowed mother, who died when he was only a twelvemonth old. and yet the old squaw tistig, at gayhead, said that the name would somehow prove prophetic. and, perhaps, other fools like her may tell thee the same. i wish to warn thee. it’s a lie. i know captain ahab well; i’ve sailed with him as mate years ago; i know what he is—a good man—not a pious, good man, like bildad, but a swearing good man—something like me—only there’s a good deal more of him. aye, aye, i know that he was never very jolly; and i know that on the passage home, he was a little out of his mind for a spell; but it was the sharp shooting pains in his bleeding stump that brought that about, as any one might see. i know, too, that ever since he lost his leg last voyage by that accursed whale, he’s been a kind of moody—desperate moody, and savage sometimes; but that will all pass off. and once for all, let me tell thee and assure thee, young man, it’s better to sail with a moody good captain than a laughing bad one. so good-bye to thee—and wrong not captain ahab, because he happens to have a wicked name. besides, my boy, he has a wife—not three voyages wedded—a sweet, resigned girl. think of that; by that sweet girl that old man has a child: hold ye then there can be any utter, hopeless harm in ahab? no, no, my lad; stricken, blasted, if he be, ahab has his humanities!”
as i walked away, i was full of thoughtfulness; what had been incidentally revealed to me of captain ahab, filled me with a certain wild vagueness of painfulness concerning him. and somehow, at the time, i felt a sympathy and a sorrow for him, but for i don’t know what, unless it was the cruel loss of his leg. and yet i also felt a strange awe of him; but that sort of awe, which i cannot at all describe, was not exactly awe; i do not know what it was. but i felt it; and it did not disincline me towards him; though i felt impatience at what seemed like mystery in him, so imperfectly as he was known to me then.
however, my thoughts were at length carried in other directions, so that for the present dark ahab slipped my mind.
chapter 17. the ramadan.
as queequeg’s ramadan, or fasting and humiliation, was to continue all day, i did not choose to disturb him till towards night-fall; for i cherish the greatest respect towards everybody’s religious obligations, never mind how comical, and could not find it in my heart to undervalue even a congregation of ants worshipping a toad-stool; or those other creatures in certain parts of our earth, who with a degree of footmanism quite unprecedented in other planets, bow down before the torso of a deceased landed proprietor merely on account of the inordinate possessions yet owned and rented in his name.
i say, we good presbyterian christians should be charitable in these things, and not fancy ourselves so vastly superior to other mortals, pagans and what not, because of their half-crazy conceits on these subjects. there was queequeg, now, certainly entertaining the most absurd notions about yojo and his ramadan;—but what of that? queequeg thought he knew what he was about, i suppose; he seemed to be content; and there let him rest. all our arguing with him would not avail; let him be, i say: and heaven have mercy on us all—presbyterians and pagans alike—for we are all somehow dreadfully cracked about the head, and sadly need mending.
towards evening, when i felt assured that all his performances and rituals must be over, i went up to his room and knocked at the door; but no answer. i tried to open it, but it was fastened inside.
“queequeg,” said i softly through the key-hole:—all silent. “i say, queequeg! why don’t you speak? it’s i—ishmael.” but all remained still as before. i began to grow alarmed. i had allowed him such abundant time; i thought he might have had an apoplectic fit. i looked through the key-hole; but the door opening into an odd corner of the room, the key-hole prospect was but a crooked and sinister one. i could only see part of the foot-board of the bed and a line of the wall, but nothing more. i was surprised to behold resting against the wall the wooden shaft of queequeg’s harpoon, which the landlady the evening previous had taken from him, before our mounting to the chamber. that’s strange, thought i; but at any rate, since the harpoon stands yonder, and he seldom or never goes abroad without it, therefore he must be inside here, and no possible mistake.
“queequeg!—queequeg!”—all still. something must have happened.
apoplexy! i tried to burst open the door; but it stubbornly resisted.
running down stairs, i quickly stated my suspicions to the first person i met—the chamber-maid. “la! la!” she cried, “i thought something must be the matter. i went to make the bed after breakfast, and the door was locked; and not a mouse to be heard; and it’s been just so silent ever since. but i thought, may be, you had both gone off and locked your baggage in for safe keeping. la! la, ma’am!—mistress! murder! mrs.
hussey! apoplexy!”—and with these cries, she ran towards the kitchen, i following.
mrs. hussey soon appeared, with a mustard-pot in one hand and a vinegar-cruet in the other, having just broken away from the occupation of attending to the castors, and scolding her little black boy meantime.
“wood-house!” cried i, “which way to it? run for god’s sake, and fetch something to pry open the door—the axe!—the axe! he’s had a stroke; depend upon it!”—and so saying i was unmethodically rushing up stairs again empty-handed, when mrs. hussey interposed the mustard-pot and vinegar-cruet, and the entire castor of her countenance.
“what’s the matter with you, young man?”
“get the axe! for god’s sake, run for the doctor, some one, while i pry it open!”
“look here,” said the landlady, quickly putting down the vinegar-cruet, so as to have one hand free; “look here; are you talking about prying open any of my doors?”—and with that she seized my arm. “what’s the matter with you? what’s the matter with you, shipmate?”
in as calm, but rapid a manner as possible, i gave her to understand the whole case. unconsciously clapping the vinegar-cruet to one side of her nose, she ruminated for an instant; then exclaimed—“no! i haven’t seen it since i put it there.” running to a little closet under the landing of the stairs, she glanced in, and returning, told me that queequeg’s harpoon was missing. “he’s killed himself,” she cried. “it’s unfort’nate stiggs done over again—there goes another counterpane—god pity his poor mother!—it will be the ruin of my house. has the poor lad a sister? where’s that girl?—there, betty, go to snarles the painter, and tell him to paint me a sign, with—“no suicides permitted here, and no smoking in the parlor;”—might as well kill both birds at once. kill?
the lord be merciful to his ghost! what’s that noise there? you, young man, avast there!”
and running up after me, she caught me as i was again trying to force open the door.
“i don’t allow it; i won’t have my premises spoiled. go for the locksmith, there’s one about a mile from here. but avast!” putting her hand in her side-pocket, “here’s a key that’ll fit, i guess; let’s see.” and with that, she turned it in the lock; but, alas! queequeg’s supplemental bolt remained unwithdrawn within.
“have to burst it open,” said i, and was running down the entry a little, for a good start, when the landlady caught at me, again vowing i should not break down her premises; but i tore from her, and with a sudden bodily rush dashed myself full against the mark.
with a prodigious noise the door flew open, and the knob slamming against the wall, sent the plaster to the ceiling; and there, good heavens! there sat queequeg, altogether cool and self-collected; right in the middle of the room; squatting on his hams, and holding yojo on top of his head. he looked neither one way nor the other way, but sat like a carved image with scarce a sign of active life.
“queequeg,” said i, going up to him, “queequeg, what’s the matter with you?”
“he hain’t been a sittin’ so all day, has he?” said the landlady.
but all we said, not a word could we drag out of him; i almost felt like pushing him over, so as to change his position, for it was almost intolerable, it seemed so painfully and unnaturally constrained; especially, as in all probability he had been sitting so for upwards of eight or ten hours, going too without his regular meals.
“mrs. hussey,” said i, “he’s alive at all events; so leave us, if you please, and i will see to this strange affair myself.”
closing the door upon the landlady, i endeavored to prevail upon queequeg to take a chair; but in vain. there he sat; and all he could do—for all my polite arts and blandishments—he would not move a peg, nor say a single word, nor even look at me, nor notice my presence in the slightest way.
i wonder, thought i, if this can possibly be a part of his ramadan; do they fast on their hams that way in his native island. it must be so; yes, it’s part of his creed, i suppose; well, then, let him rest; he’ll get up sooner or later, no doubt. it can’t last for ever, thank god, and his ramadan only comes once a year; and i don’t believe it’s very punctual then.
i went down to supper. after sitting a long time listening to the long stories of some sailors who had just come from a plum-pudding voyage, as they called it (that is, a short whaling-voyage in a schooner or brig, confined to the north of the line, in the atlantic ocean only); after listening to these plum-puddingers till nearly eleven o’clock, i went up stairs to go to bed, feeling quite sure by this time queequeg must certainly have brought his ramadan to a termination. but no; there he was just where i had left him; he had not stirred an inch. i began to grow vexed with him; it seemed so downright senseless and insane to be sitting there all day and half the night on his hams in a cold room, holding a piece of wood on his head.
“for heaven’s sake, queequeg, get up and shake yourself; get up and have some supper. you’ll starve; you’ll kill yourself, queequeg.” but not a word did he reply.
despairing of him, therefore, i determined to go to bed and to sleep; and no doubt, before a great while, he would follow me. but previous to turning in, i took my heavy bearskin jacket, and threw it over him, as it promised to be a very cold night; and he had nothing but his ordinary round jacket on. for some time, do all i would, i could not get into the faintest doze. i had blown out the candle; and the mere thought of queequeg—not four feet off—sitting there in that uneasy position, stark alone in the cold and dark; this made me really wretched. think of it; sleeping all night in the same room with a wide awake pagan on his hams in this dreary, unaccountable ramadan!
but somehow i dropped off at last, and knew nothing more till break of day; when, looking over the bedside, there squatted queequeg, as if he had been screwed down to the floor. but as soon as the first glimpse of sun entered the window, up he got, with stiff and grating joints, but with a cheerful look; limped towards me where i lay; pressed his forehead again against mine; and said his ramadan was over.
now, as i before hinted, i have no objection to any person’s religion, be it what it may, so long as that person does not kill or insult any other person, because that other person don’t believe it also. but when a man’s religion becomes really frantic; when it is a positive torment to him; and, in fine, makes this earth of ours an uncomfortable inn to lodge in; then i think it high time to take that individual aside and argue the point with him.
and just so i now did with queequeg. “queequeg,” said i, “get into bed now, and lie and listen to me.” i then went on, beginning with the rise and progress of the primitive religions, and coming down to the various religions of the present time, during which time i labored to show queequeg that all these lents, ramadans, and prolonged ham-squattings in cold, cheerless rooms were stark nonsense; bad for the health; useless for the soul; opposed, in short, to the obvious laws of hygiene and common sense. i told him, too, that he being in other things such an extremely sensible and sagacious savage, it pained me, very badly pained me, to see him now so deplorably foolish about this ridiculous ramadan of his. besides, argued i, fasting makes the body cave in; hence the spirit caves in; and all thoughts born of a fast must necessarily be half-starved. this is the reason why most dyspeptic religionists cherish such melancholy notions about their hereafters. in one word, queequeg, said i, rather digressively; hell is an idea first born on an undigested apple-dumpling; and since then perpetuated through the hereditary dyspepsias nurtured by ramadans.
i then asked queequeg whether he himself was ever troubled with dyspepsia; expressing the idea very plainly, so that he could take it in. he said no; only upon one memorable occasion. it was after a great feast given by his father the king, on the gaining of a great battle wherein fifty of the enemy had been killed by about two o’clock in the afternoon, and all cooked and eaten that very evening.
“no more, queequeg,” said i, shuddering; “that will do;” for i knew the inferences without his further hinting them. i had seen a sailor who had visited that very island, and he told me that it was the custom, when a great battle had been gained there, to barbecue all the slain in the yard or garden of the victor; and then, one by one, they were placed in great wooden trenchers, and garnished round like a pilau, with breadfruit and cocoanuts; and with some parsley in their mouths, were sent round with the victor’s compliments to all his friends, just as though these presents were so many christmas turkeys.
after all, i do not think that my remarks about religion made much impression upon queequeg. because, in the first place, he somehow seemed dull of hearing on that important subject, unless considered from his own point of view; and, in the second place, he did not more than one third understand me, couch my ideas simply as i would; and, finally, he no doubt thought he knew a good deal more about the true religion than i did. he looked at me with a sort of condescending concern and compassion, as though he thought it a great pity that such a sensible young man should be so hopelessly lost to evangelical pagan piety.
at last we rose and dressed; and queequeg, taking a prodigiously hearty breakfast of chowders of all sorts, so that the landlady should not make much profit by reason of his ramadan, we sallied out to board the pequod, sauntering along, and picking our teeth with halibut bones.
chapter 18. his mark.
as we were walking down the end of the wharf towards the ship, queequeg carrying his harpoon, captain peleg in his gruff voice loudly hailed us from his wigwam, saying he had not suspected my friend was a cannibal, and furthermore announcing that he let no cannibals on board that craft, unless they previously produced their papers.
“what do you mean by that, captain peleg?” said i, now jumping on the bulwarks, and leaving my comrade standing on the wharf.
“i mean,” he replied, “he must show his papers.”
“yes,” said captain bildad in his hollow voice, sticking his head from behind peleg’s, out of the wigwam. “he must show that he’s converted.
son of darkness,” he added, turning to queequeg, “art thou at present in communion with any christian church?”
“why,” said i, “he’s a member of the first congregational church.” here be it said, that many tattooed savages sailing in nantucket ships at last come to be converted into the churches.
“first congregational church,” cried bildad, “what! that worships in deacon deuteronomy coleman’s meeting-house?” and so saying, taking out his spectacles, he rubbed them with his great yellow bandana handkerchief, and putting them on very carefully, came out of the wigwam, and leaning stiffly over the bulwarks, took a good long look at queequeg.
“how long hath he been a member?” he then said, turning to me; “not very long, i rather guess, young man.”
“no,” said peleg, “and he hasn’t been baptized right either, or it would have washed some of that devil’s blue off his face.”
“do tell, now,” cried bildad, “is this philistine a regular member of deacon deuteronomy’s meeting? i never saw him going there, and i pass it every lord’s day.”
“i don’t know anything about deacon deuteronomy or his meeting,” said i; “all i know is, that queequeg here is a born member of the first congregational church. he is a deacon himself, queequeg is.”
“young man,” said bildad sternly, “thou art skylarking with me—explain thyself, thou young hittite. what church dost thee mean? answer me.”
finding myself thus hard pushed, i replied. “i mean, sir, the same ancient catholic church to which you and i, and captain peleg there, and queequeg here, and all of us, and every mother’s son and soul of us belong; the great and everlasting first congregation of this whole worshipping world; we all belong to that; only some of us cherish some queer crotchets no ways touching the grand belief; in that we all join hands.”
“splice, thou mean’st splice hands,” cried peleg, drawing nearer.
“young man, you’d better ship for a missionary, instead of a fore-mast hand; i never heard a better sermon. deacon deuteronomy—why father mapple himself couldn’t beat it, and he’s reckoned something. come aboard, come aboard; never mind about the papers. i say, tell quohog there—what’s that you call him? tell quohog to step along. by the great anchor, what a harpoon he’s got there! looks like good stuff that; and he handles it about right. i say, quohog, or whatever your name is, did you ever stand in the head of a whale-boat? did you ever strike a fish?”
without saying a word, queequeg, in his wild sort of way, jumped upon the bulwarks, from thence into the bows of one of the whale-boats hanging to the side; and then bracing his left knee, and poising his harpoon, cried out in some such way as this:—
“cap’ain, you see him small drop tar on water dere? you see him? well, spose him one whale eye, well, den!” and taking sharp aim at it, he darted the iron right over old bildad’s broad brim, clean across the ship’s decks, and struck the glistening tar spot out of sight.
“now,” said queequeg, quietly hauling in the line, “spos-ee him whale-e eye; why, dad whale dead.”
“quick, bildad,” said peleg, his partner, who, aghast at the close vicinity of the flying harpoon, had retreated towards the cabin gangway. “quick, i say, you bildad, and get the ship’s papers. we must have hedgehog there, i mean quohog, in one of our boats. look ye, quohog, we’ll give ye the ninetieth lay, and that’s more than ever was given a harpooneer yet out of nantucket.”
so down we went into the cabin, and to my great joy queequeg was soon enrolled among the same ship’s company to which i myself belonged.
when all preliminaries were over and peleg had got everything ready for signing, he turned to me and said, “i guess, quohog there don’t know how to write, does he? i say, quohog, blast ye! dost thou sign thy name or make thy mark?”
but at this question, queequeg, who had twice or thrice before taken part in similar ceremonies, looked no ways abashed; but taking the offered pen, copied upon the paper, in the proper place, an exact counterpart of a queer round figure which was tattooed upon his arm; so that through captain peleg’s obstinate mistake touching his appellative, it stood something like this:—
quohog. his x mark.
meanwhile captain bildad sat earnestly and steadfastly eyeing queequeg, and at last rising solemnly and fumbling in the huge pockets of his broad-skirted drab coat, took out a bundle of tracts, and selecting one entitled “the latter day coming; or no time to lose,” placed it in queequeg’s hands, and then grasping them and the book with both his, looked earnestly into his eyes, and said, “son of darkness, i must do my duty by thee; i am part owner of this ship, and feel concerned for the souls of all its crew; if thou still clingest to thy pagan ways, which i sadly fear, i beseech thee, remain not for aye a belial bondsman. spurn the idol bell, and the hideous dragon; turn from the wrath to come; mind thine eye, i say; oh! goodness gracious! steer clear of the fiery pit!”
something of the salt sea yet lingered in old bildad’s language, heterogeneously mixed with scriptural and domestic phrases.
“avast there, avast there, bildad, avast now spoiling our harpooneer,”
cried peleg. “pious harpooneers never make good voyagers—it takes the shark out of ’em; no harpooneer is worth a straw who aint pretty sharkish. there was young nat swaine, once the bravest boat-header out of all nantucket and the vineyard; he joined the meeting, and never came to good. he got so frightened about his plaguy soul, that he shrinked and sheered away from whales, for fear of after-claps, in case he got stove and went to davy jones.”
“peleg! peleg!” said bildad, lifting his eyes and hands, “thou thyself, as i myself, hast seen many a perilous time; thou knowest, peleg, what it is to have the fear of death; how, then, can’st thou prate in this ungodly guise. thou beliest thine own heart, peleg. tell me, when this same pequod here had her three masts overboard in that typhoon on japan, that same voyage when thou went mate with captain ahab, did’st thou not think of death and the judgment then?”
“hear him, hear him now,” cried peleg, marching across the cabin, and thrusting his hands far down into his pockets,—“hear him, all of ye.
think of that! when every moment we thought the ship would sink! death and the judgment then? what? with all three masts making such an everlasting thundering against the side; and every sea breaking over us, fore and aft. think of death and the judgment then? no! no time to think about death then. life was what captain ahab and i was thinking of; and how to save all hands—how to rig jury-masts—how to get into the nearest port; that was what i was thinking of.”
bildad said no more, but buttoning up his coat, stalked on deck, where we followed him. there he stood, very quietly overlooking some sailmakers who were mending a top-sail in the waist. now and then he stooped to pick up a patch, or save an end of tarred twine, which otherwise might have been wasted.
chapter 19. the prophet.
“shipmates, have ye shipped in that ship?”
queequeg and i had just left the pequod, and were sauntering away from the water, for the moment each occupied with his own thoughts, when the above words were put to us by a stranger, who, pausing before us, levelled his massive forefinger at the vessel in question. he was but shabbily apparelled in faded jacket and patched trowsers; a rag of a black handkerchief investing his neck. a confluent small-pox had in all directions flowed over his face, and left it like the complicated ribbed bed of a torrent, when the rushing waters have been dried up.
“have ye shipped in her?” he repeated.
“you mean the ship pequod, i suppose,” said i, trying to gain a little more time for an uninterrupted look at him.
“aye, the pequod—that ship there,” he said, drawing back his whole arm, and then rapidly shoving it straight out from him, with the fixed bayonet of his pointed finger darted full at the object.
“yes,” said i, “we have just signed the articles.”
“anything down there about your souls?”
“about what?”
“oh, perhaps you hav’n’t got any,” he said quickly. “no matter though, i know many chaps that hav’n’t got any,—good luck to ’em; and they are all the better off for it. a soul’s a sort of a fifth wheel to a wagon.”
“what are you jabbering about, shipmate?” said i.
“he’s got enough, though, to make up for all deficiencies of that sort in other chaps,” abruptly said the stranger, placing a nervous emphasis upon the word he.
“queequeg,” said i, “let’s go; this fellow has broken loose from somewhere; he’s talking about something and somebody we don’t know.”
“stop!” cried the stranger. “ye said true—ye hav’n’t seen old thunder yet, have ye?”
“who’s old thunder?” said i, again riveted with the insane earnestness of his manner.
“captain ahab.”
“what! the captain of our ship, the pequod?”
“aye, among some of us old sailor chaps, he goes by that name. ye hav’n’t seen him yet, have ye?”
“no, we hav’n’t. he’s sick they say, but is getting better, and will be all right again before long.”
“all right again before long!” laughed the stranger, with a solemnly derisive sort of laugh. “look ye; when captain ahab is all right, then this left arm of mine will be all right; not before.”
“what do you know about him?”
“what did they tell you about him? say that!”
“they didn’t tell much of anything about him; only i’ve heard that he’s a good whale-hunter, and a good captain to his crew.”
“that’s true, that’s true—yes, both true enough. but you must jump when he gives an order. step and growl; growl and go—that’s the word with captain ahab. but nothing about that thing that happened to him off cape horn, long ago, when he lay like dead for three days and nights; nothing about that deadly skrimmage with the spaniard afore the altar in santa?—heard nothing about that, eh? nothing about the silver calabash he spat into? and nothing about his losing his leg last voyage, according to the prophecy. didn’t ye hear a word about them matters and something more, eh? no, i don’t think ye did; how could ye?
who knows it? not all nantucket, i guess. but hows’ever, mayhap, ye’ve heard tell about the leg, and how he lost it; aye, ye have heard of that, i dare say. oh yes, that every one knows a’most—i mean they know he’s only one leg; and that a parmacetti took the other off.”
“my friend,” said i, “what all this gibberish of yours is about, i don’t know, and i don’t much care; for it seems to me that you must be a little damaged in the head. but if you are speaking of captain ahab, of that ship there, the pequod, then let me tell you, that i know all about the loss of his leg.”
“all about it, eh—sure you do?—all?”
“pretty sure.”
with finger pointed and eye levelled at the pequod, the beggar-like stranger stood a moment, as if in a troubled reverie; then starting a little, turned and said:—“ye’ve shipped, have ye? names down on the papers? well, well, what’s signed, is signed; and what’s to be, will be; and then again, perhaps it won’t be, after all. anyhow, it’s all fixed and arranged a’ready; and some sailors or other must go with him, i suppose; as well these as any other men, god pity ’em! morning to ye, shipmates, morning; the ineffable heavens bless ye; i’m sorry i stopped ye.”
“look here, friend,” said i, “if you have anything important to tell us, out with it; but if you are only trying to bamboozle us, you are mistaken in your game; that’s all i have to say.”
“and it’s said very well, and i like to hear a chap talk up that way; you are just the man for him—the likes of ye. morning to ye, shipmates, morning! oh! when ye get there, tell ’em i’ve concluded not to make one of ’em.”
“ah, my dear fellow, you can’t fool us that way—you can’t fool us. it is the easiest thing in the world for a man to look as if he had a great secret in him.”
“morning to ye, shipmates, morning.”
“morning it is,” said i. “come along, queequeg, let’s leave this crazy man. but stop, tell me your name, will you?”
“elijah.”
elijah! thought i, and we walked away, both commenting, after each other’s fashion, upon this ragged old sailor; and agreed that he was nothing but a humbug, trying to be a bugbear. but we had not gone perhaps above a hundred yards, when chancing to turn a corner, and looking back as i did so, who should be seen but elijah following us, though at a distance. somehow, the sight of him struck me so, that i said nothing to queequeg of his being behind, but passed on with my comrade, anxious to see whether the stranger would turn the same corner that we did. he did; and then it seemed to me that he was dogging us, but with what intent i could not for the life of me imagine. this circumstance, coupled with his ambiguous, half-hinting, half-revealing, shrouded sort of talk, now begat in me all kinds of vague wonderments and half-apprehensions, and all connected with the pequod; and captain ahab; and the leg he had lost; and the cape horn fit; and the silver calabash; and what captain peleg had said of him, when i left the ship the day previous; and the prediction of the squaw tistig; and the voyage we had bound ourselves to sail; and a hundred other shadowy things.
i was resolved to satisfy myself whether this ragged elijah was really dogging us or not, and with that intent crossed the way with queequeg, and on that side of it retraced our steps. but elijah passed on, without seeming to notice us. this relieved me; and once more, and finally as it seemed to me, i pronounced him in my heart, a humbug.
chapter 20. all astir.
a day or two passed, and there was great activity aboard the pequod.
not only were the old sails being mended, but new sails were coming on board, and bolts of canvas, and coils of rigging; in short, everything betokened that the ship’s preparations were hurrying to a close.
captain peleg seldom or never went ashore, but sat in his wigwam keeping a sharp look-out upon the hands: bildad did all the purchasing and providing at the stores; and the men employed in the hold and on the rigging were working till long after night-fall.
on the day following queequeg’s signing the articles, word was given at all the inns where the ship’s company were stopping, that their chests must be on board before night, for there was no telling how soon the vessel might be sailing. so queequeg and i got down our traps, resolving, however, to sleep ashore till the last. but it seems they always give very long notice in these cases, and the ship did not sail for several days. but no wonder; there was a good deal to be done, and there is no telling how many things to be thought of, before the pequod was fully equipped.
every one knows what a multitude of things—beds, sauce-pans, knives and forks, shovels and tongs, napkins, nut-crackers, and what not, are indispensable to the business of housekeeping. just so with whaling, which necessitates a three-years’ housekeeping upon the wide ocean, far from all grocers, costermongers, doctors, bakers, and bankers. and though this also holds true of merchant vessels, yet not by any means to the same extent as with whalemen. for besides the great length of the whaling voyage, the numerous articles peculiar to the prosecution of the fishery, and the impossibility of replacing them at the remote harbors usually frequented, it must be remembered, that of all ships, whaling vessels are the most exposed to accidents of all kinds, and especially to the destruction and loss of the very things upon which the success of the voyage most depends. hence, the spare boats, spare spars, and spare lines and harpoons, and spare everythings, almost, but a spare captain and duplicate ship.
at the period of our arrival at the island, the heaviest storage of the pequod had been almost completed; comprising her beef, bread, water, fuel, and iron hoops and staves. but, as before hinted, for some time there was a continual fetching and carrying on board of divers odds and ends of things, both large and small.
chief among those who did this fetching and carrying was captain bildad’s sister, a lean old lady of a most determined and indefatigable spirit, but withal very kindhearted, who seemed resolved that, if she could help it, nothing should be found wanting in the pequod, after once fairly getting to sea. at one time she would come on board with a jar of pickles for the steward’s pantry; another time with a bunch of quills for the chief mate’s desk, where he kept his log; a third time with a roll of flannel for the small of some one’s rheumatic back.
never did any woman better deserve her name, which was charity—aunt charity, as everybody called her. and like a sister of charity did this charitable aunt charity bustle about hither and thither, ready to turn her hand and heart to anything that promised to yield safety, comfort, and consolation to all on board a ship in which her beloved brother bildad was concerned, and in which she herself owned a score or two of well-saved dollars.
but it was startling to see this excellent hearted quakeress coming on board, as she did the last day, with a long oil-ladle in one hand, and a still longer whaling lance in the other. nor was bildad himself nor captain peleg at all backward. as for bildad, he carried about with him a long list of the articles needed, and at every fresh arrival, down went his mark opposite that article upon the paper. every once in a while peleg came hobbling out of his whalebone den, roaring at the men down the hatchways, roaring up to the riggers at the mast-head, and then concluded by roaring back into his wigwam.
during these days of preparation, queequeg and i often visited the craft, and as often i asked about captain ahab, and how he was, and when he was going to come on board his ship. to these questions they would answer, that he was getting better and better, and was expected aboard every day; meantime, the two captains, peleg and bildad, could attend to everything necessary to fit the vessel for the voyage. if i had been downright honest with myself, i would have seen very plainly in my heart that i did but half fancy being committed this way to so long a voyage, without once laying my eyes on the man who was to be the absolute dictator of it, so soon as the ship sailed out upon the open sea. but when a man suspects any wrong, it sometimes happens that if he be already involved in the matter, he insensibly strives to cover up his suspicions even from himself. and much this way it was with me. i said nothing, and tried to think nothing.
at last it was given out that some time next day the ship would certainly sail. so next morning, queequeg and i took a very early start.
chapter 21. going aboard.
it was nearly six o’clock, but only grey imperfect misty dawn, when we drew nigh the wharf.
“there are some sailors running ahead there, if i see right,” said i to queequeg, “it can’t be shadows; she’s off by sunrise, i guess; come on!”
“avast!” cried a voice, whose owner at the same time coming close behind us, laid a hand upon both our shoulders, and then insinuating himself between us, stood stooping forward a little, in the uncertain twilight, strangely peering from queequeg to me. it was elijah.
“going aboard?”
“hands off, will you,” said i.
“lookee here,” said queequeg, shaking himself, “go ’way!”
“ain’t going aboard, then?”
“yes, we are,” said i, “but what business is that of yours? do you know, mr. elijah, that i consider you a little impertinent?”
“no, no, no; i wasn’t aware of that,” said elijah, slowly and wonderingly looking from me to queequeg, with the most unaccountable glances.
“elijah,” said i, “you will oblige my friend and me by withdrawing. we are going to the indian and pacific oceans, and would prefer not to be detained.”
“ye be, be ye? coming back afore breakfast?”
“he’s cracked, queequeg,” said i, “come on.”
“holloa!” cried stationary elijah, hailing us when we had removed a few paces.
“never mind him,” said i, “queequeg, come on.”
but he stole up to us again, and suddenly clapping his hand on my shoulder, said—“did ye see anything looking like men going towards that ship a while ago?”
struck by this plain matter-of-fact question, i answered, saying, “yes, i thought i did see four or five men; but it was too dim to be sure.”
“very dim, very dim,” said elijah. “morning to ye.”
once more we quitted him; but once more he came softly after us; and touching my shoulder again, said, “see if you can find ’em now, will ye?
“find who?”
“morning to ye! morning to ye!” he rejoined, again moving off. “oh! i was going to warn ye against—but never mind, never mind—it’s all one, all in the family too;—sharp frost this morning, ain’t it? good-bye to ye. shan’t see ye again very soon, i guess; unless it’s before the grand jury.” and with these cracked words he finally departed, leaving me, for the moment, in no small wonderment at his frantic impudence.
at last, stepping on board the pequod, we found everything in profound quiet, not a soul moving. the cabin entrance was locked within; the hatches were all on, and lumbered with coils of rigging. going forward to the forecastle, we found the slide of the scuttle open. seeing a light, we went down, and found only an old rigger there, wrapped in a tattered pea-jacket. he was thrown at whole length upon two chests, his face downwards and inclosed in his folded arms. the profoundest slumber slept upon him.
“those sailors we saw, queequeg, where can they have gone to?” said i, looking dubiously at the sleeper. but it seemed that, when on the wharf, queequeg had not at all noticed what i now alluded to; hence i would have thought myself to have been optically deceived in that matter, were it not for elijah’s otherwise inexplicable question. but i beat the thing down; and again marking the sleeper, jocularly hinted to queequeg that perhaps we had best sit up with the body; telling him to establish himself accordingly. he put his hand upon the sleeper’s rear, as though feeling if it was soft enough; and then, without more ado, sat quietly down there.
“gracious! queequeg, don’t sit there,” said i.
“oh! perry dood seat,” said queequeg, “my country way; won’t hurt him face.”
“face!” said i, “call that his face? very benevolent countenance then; but how hard he breathes, he’s heaving himself; get off, queequeg, you are heavy, it’s grinding the face of the poor. get off, queequeg! look, he’ll twitch you off soon. i wonder he don’t wake.”
queequeg removed himself to just beyond the head of the sleeper, and lighted his tomahawk pipe. i sat at the feet. we kept the pipe passing over the sleeper, from one to the other. meanwhile, upon questioning him in his broken fashion, queequeg gave me to understand that, in his land, owing to the absence of settees and sofas of all sorts, the king, chiefs, and great people generally, were in the custom of fattening some of the lower orders for ottomans; and to furnish a house comfortably in that respect, you had only to buy up eight or ten lazy fellows, and lay them round in the piers and alcoves. besides, it was very convenient on an excursion; much better than those garden-chairs which are convertible into walking-sticks; upon occasion, a chief calling his attendant, and desiring him to make a settee of himself under a spreading tree, perhaps in some damp marshy place.
while narrating these things, every time queequeg received the tomahawk from me, he flourished the hatchet-side of it over the sleeper’s head.
“what’s that for, queequeg?”
“perry easy, kill-e; oh! perry easy!”
he was going on with some wild reminiscences about his tomahawk-pipe, which, it seemed, had in its two uses both brained his foes and soothed his soul, when we were directly attracted to the sleeping rigger. the strong vapor now completely filling the contracted hole, it began to tell upon him. he breathed with a sort of muffledness; then seemed troubled in the nose; then revolved over once or twice; then sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“holloa!” he breathed at last, “who be ye smokers?”
“shipped men,” answered i, “when does she sail?”
“aye, aye, ye are going in her, be ye? she sails to-day. the captain came aboard last night.”
“what captain?—ahab?”
“who but him indeed?”
i was going to ask him some further questions concerning ahab, when we heard a noise on deck.
“holloa! starbuck’s astir,” said the rigger. “he’s a lively chief mate, that; good man, and a pious; but all alive now, i must turn to.” and so saying he went on deck, and we followed.
it was now clear sunrise. soon the crew came on board in twos and threes; the riggers bestirred themselves; the mates were actively engaged; and several of the shore people were busy in bringing various last things on board. meanwhile captain ahab remained invisibly enshrined within his cabin.
chapter 22. merry christmas.
at length, towards noon, upon the final dismissal of the ship’s riggers, and after the pequod had been hauled out from the wharf, and after the ever-thoughtful charity had come off in a whale-boat, with her last gift—a night-cap for stubb, the second mate, her brother-in-law, and a spare bible for the steward—after all this, the two captains, peleg and bildad, issued from the cabin, and turning to the chief mate, peleg said:
“now, mr. starbuck, are you sure everything is right? captain ahab is all ready—just spoke to him—nothing more to be got from shore, eh?
well, call all hands, then. muster ’em aft here—blast ’em!”
“no need of profane words, however great the hurry, peleg,” said bildad, “but away with thee, friend starbuck, and do our bidding.”
how now! here upon the very point of starting for the voyage, captain peleg and captain bildad were going it with a high hand on the quarter-deck, just as if they were to be joint-commanders at sea, as well as to all appearances in port. and, as for captain ahab, no sign of him was yet to be seen; only, they said he was in the cabin. but then, the idea was, that his presence was by no means necessary in getting the ship under weigh, and steering her well out to sea. indeed, as that was not at all his proper business, but the pilot’s; and as he was not yet completely recovered—so they said—therefore, captain ahab stayed below. and all this seemed natural enough; especially as in the merchant service many captains never show themselves on deck for a considerable time after heaving up the anchor, but remain over the cabin table, having a farewell merry-making with their shore friends, before they quit the ship for good with the pilot.
but there was not much chance to think over the matter, for captain peleg was now all alive. he seemed to do most of the talking and commanding, and not bildad.
“aft here, ye sons of bachelors,” he cried, as the sailors lingered at the main-mast. “mr. starbuck, drive ’em aft.”
“strike the tent there!”—was the next order. as i hinted before, this whalebone marquee was never pitched except in port; and on board the pequod, for thirty years, the order to strike the tent was well known to be the next thing to heaving up the anchor.
“man the capstan! blood and thunder!—jump!”—was the next command, and the crew sprang for the handspikes.
now in getting under weigh, the station generally occupied by the pilot is the forward part of the ship. and here bildad, who, with peleg, be it known, in addition to his other officers, was one of the licensed pilots of the port—he being suspected to have got himself made a pilot in order to save the nantucket pilot-fee to all the ships he was concerned in, for he never piloted any other craft—bildad, i say, might now be seen actively engaged in looking over the bows for the approaching anchor, and at intervals singing what seemed a dismal stave of psalmody, to cheer the hands at the windlass, who roared forth some sort of a chorus about the girls in booble alley, with hearty good will. nevertheless, not three days previous, bildad had told them that no profane songs would be allowed on board the pequod, particularly in getting under weigh; and charity, his sister, had placed a small choice copy of watts in each seaman’s berth.
meantime, overseeing the other part of the ship, captain peleg ripped and swore astern in the most frightful manner. i almost thought he would sink the ship before the anchor could be got up; involuntarily i paused on my handspike, and told queequeg to do the same, thinking of the perils we both ran, in starting on the voyage with such a devil for a pilot. i was comforting myself, however, with the thought that in pious bildad might be found some salvation, spite of his seven hundred and seventy-seventh lay; when i felt a sudden sharp poke in my rear, and turning round, was horrified at the apparition of captain peleg in the act of withdrawing his leg from my immediate vicinity. that was my first kick.
“is that the way they heave in the marchant service?” he roared.
“spring, thou sheep-head; spring, and break thy backbone! why don’t ye spring, i say, all of ye—spring! quohog! spring, thou chap with the red whiskers; spring there, scotch-cap; spring, thou green pants. spring, i say, all of ye, and spring your eyes out!” and so saying, he moved along the windlass, here and there using his leg very freely, while imperturbable bildad kept leading off with his psalmody. thinks i, captain peleg must have been drinking something to-day.
at last the anchor was up, the sails were set, and off we glided. it was a short, cold christmas; and as the short northern day merged into night, we found ourselves almost broad upon the wintry ocean, whose freezing spray cased us in ice, as in polished armor. the long rows of teeth on the bulwarks glistened in the moonlight; and like the white ivory tusks of some huge elephant, vast curving icicles depended from the bows.
lank bildad, as pilot, headed the first watch, and ever and anon, as the old craft deep dived into the green seas, and sent the shivering frost all over her, and the winds howled, and the cordage rang, his steady notes were heard,—
“sweet fields beyond the swelling flood, stand dressed in living green. so to the jews old canaan stood, while jordan rolled between.”
never did those sweet words sound more sweetly to me than then. they were full of hope and fruition. spite of this frigid winter night in the boisterous atlantic, spite of my wet feet and wetter jacket, there was yet, it then seemed to me, many a pleasant haven in store; and meads and glades so eternally vernal, that the grass shot up by the spring, untrodden, unwilted, remains at midsummer.
at last we gained such an offing, that the two pilots were needed no longer. the stout sail-boat that had accompanied us began ranging alongside.
it was curious and not unpleasing, how peleg and bildad were affected at this juncture, especially captain bildad. for loath to depart, yet; very loath to leave, for good, a ship bound on so long and perilous a voyage—beyond both stormy capes; a ship in which some thousands of his hard earned dollars were invested; a ship, in which an old shipmate sailed as captain; a man almost as old as he, once more starting to encounter all the terrors of the pitiless jaw; loath to say good-bye to a thing so every way brimful of every interest to him,—poor old bildad lingered long; paced the deck with anxious strides; ran down into the cabin to speak another farewell word there; again came on deck, and looked to windward; looked towards the wide and endless waters, only bounded by the far-off unseen eastern continents; looked towards the land; looked aloft; looked right and left; looked everywhere and nowhere; and at last, mechanically coiling a rope upon its pin, convulsively grasped stout peleg by the hand, and holding up a lantern, for a moment stood gazing heroically in his face, as much as to say, “nevertheless, friend peleg, i can stand it; yes, i can.”
as for peleg himself, he took it more like a philosopher; but for all his philosophy, there was a tear twinkling in his eye, when the lantern came too near. and he, too, did not a little run from cabin to deck—now a word below, and now a word with starbuck, the chief mate.
but, at last, he turned to his comrade, with a final sort of look about him,—“captain bildad—come, old shipmate, we must go. back the main-yard there! boat ahoy! stand by to come close alongside, now! careful, careful!—come, bildad, boy—say your last. luck to ye, starbuck—luck to ye, mr. stubb—luck to ye, mr. flask—good-bye and good luck to ye all—and this day three years i’ll have a hot supper smoking for ye in old nantucket. hurrah and away!”
“god bless ye, and have ye in his holy keeping, men,” murmured old bildad, almost incoherently. “i hope ye’ll have fine weather now, so that captain ahab may soon be moving among ye—a pleasant sun is all he needs, and ye’ll have plenty of them in the tropic voyage ye go. be careful in the hunt, ye mates. don’t stave the boats needlessly, ye harpooneers; good white cedar plank is raised full three per cent.
within the year. don’t forget your prayers, either. mr. starbuck, mind that cooper don’t waste the spare staves. oh! the sail-needles are in the green locker! don’t whale it too much a’ lord’s days, men; but don’t miss a fair chance either, that’s rejecting heaven’s good gifts.
have an eye to the molasses tierce, mr. stubb; it was a little leaky, i thought. if ye touch at the islands, mr. flask, beware of fornication.
good-bye, good-bye! don’t keep that cheese too long down in the hold, mr. starbuck; it’ll spoil. be careful with the butter—twenty cents the pound it was, and mind ye, if—”
“come, come, captain bildad; stop palavering,—away!” and with that, peleg hurried him over the side, and both dropt into the boat.
ship and boat diverged; the cold, damp night breeze blew between; a screaming gull flew overhead; the two hulls wildly rolled; we gave three heavy-hearted cheers, and blindly plunged like fate into the lone atlantic.
chapter 23. the lee shore.
some chapters back, one bulkington was spoken of, a tall, newlanded mariner, encountered in new bedford at the inn.
when on that shivering winter’s night, the pequod thrust her vindictive bows into the cold malicious waves, who should i see standing at her helm but bulkington! i looked with sympathetic awe and fearfulness upon the man, who in mid-winter just landed from a four years’ dangerous voyage, could so unrestingly push off again for still another tempestuous term. the land seemed scorching to his feet. wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs; this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of bulkington. let me only say that it fared with him as with the storm-tossed ship, that miserably drives along the leeward land. the port would fain give succor; the port is pitiful; in the port is safety, comfort, hearthstone, supper, warm blankets, friends, all that’s kind to our mortalities. but in that gale, the port, the land, is that ship’s direst jeopardy; she must fly all hospitality; one touch of land, though it but graze the keel, would make her shudder through and through. with all her might she crowds all sail off shore; in so doing, fights ’gainst the very winds that fain would blow her homeward; seeks all the lashed sea’s landlessness again; for refuge’s sake forlornly rushing into peril; her only friend her bitterest foe!
know ye now, bulkington? glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore?
but as in landlessness alone resides highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as god—so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! for worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain? take heart, take heart, o bulkington! bear thee grimly, demigod! up from the spray of thy ocean-perishing—straight up, leaps thy apotheosis!
chapter 24. the advocate.
as queequeg and i are now fairly embarked in this business of whaling; and as this business of whaling has somehow come to be regarded among landsmen as a rather unpoetical and disreputable pursuit; therefore, i am all anxiety to convince ye, ye landsmen, of the injustice hereby done to us hunters of whales.
in the first place, it may be deemed almost superfluous to establish the fact, that among people at large, the business of whaling is not accounted on a level with what are called the liberal professions. if a stranger were introduced into any miscellaneous metropolitan society, it would but slightly advance the general opinion of his merits, were he presented to the company as a harpooneer, say; and if in emulation of the naval officers he should append the initials s.w.f. (sperm whale fishery) to his visiting card, such a procedure would be deemed pre-eminently presuming and ridiculous.
doubtless one leading reason why the world declines honoring us whalemen, is this: they think that, at best, our vocation amounts to a butchering sort of business; and that when actively engaged therein, we are surrounded by all manner of defilements. butchers we are, that is true. but butchers, also, and butchers of the bloodiest badge have been all martial commanders whom the world invariably delights to honor. and as for the matter of the alleged uncleanliness of our business, ye shall soon be initiated into certain facts hitherto pretty generally unknown, and which, upon the whole, will triumphantly plant the sperm whale-ship at least among the cleanliest things of this tidy earth. but even granting the charge in question to be true; what disordered slippery decks of a whale-ship are comparable to the unspeakable carrion of those battle-fields from which so many soldiers return to drink in all ladies’ plaudits? and if the idea of peril so much enhances the popular conceit of the soldier’s profession; let me assure ye that many a veteran who has freely marched up to a battery, would quickly recoil at the apparition of the sperm whale’s vast tail, fanning into eddies the air over his head. for what are the comprehensible terrors of man compared with the interlinked terrors and wonders of god!
but, though the world scouts at us whale hunters, yet does it unwittingly pay us the profoundest homage; yea, an all-abounding adoration! for almost all the tapers, lamps, and candles that burn round the globe, burn, as before so many shrines, to our glory!
but look at this matter in other lights; weigh it in all sorts of scales; see what we whalemen are, and have been.
why did the dutch in de witt’s time have admirals of their whaling fleets? why did louis xvi. of france, at his own personal expense, fit out whaling ships from dunkirk, and politely invite to that town some score or two of families from our own island of nantucket? why did britain between the years 1750 and 1788 pay to her whalemen in bounties upwards of £1,000,000? and lastly, how comes it that we whalemen of america now outnumber all the rest of the banded whalemen in the world; sail a navy of upwards of seven hundred vessels; manned by eighteen thousand men; yearly consuming 4,000,000 of dollars; the ships worth, at the time of sailing, $20,000,000! and every year importing into our harbors a well reaped harvest of $7,000,000. how comes all this, if there be not something puissant in whaling?
but this is not the half; look again.
i freely assert, that the cosmopolite philosopher cannot, for his life, point out one single peaceful influence, which within the last sixty years has operated more potentially upon the whole broad world, taken in one aggregate, than the high and mighty business of whaling. one way and another, it has begotten events so remarkable in themselves, and so continuously momentous in their sequential issues, that whaling may well be regarded as that egyptian mother, who bore offspring themselves pregnant from her womb. it would be a hopeless, endless task to catalogue all these things. let a handful suffice. for many years past the whale-ship has been the pioneer in ferreting out the remotest and least known parts of the earth. she has explored seas and archipelagoes which had no chart, where no cook or vancouver had ever sailed. if american and european men-of-war now peacefully ride in once savage harbors, let them fire salutes to the honor and glory of the whale-ship, which originally showed them the way, and first interpreted between them and the savages. they may celebrate as they will the heroes of exploring expeditions, your cooks, your krusensterns; but i say that scores of anonymous captains have sailed out of nantucket, that were as great, and greater than your cook and your krusenstern.
for in their succourless empty-handedness, they, in the heathenish sharked waters, and by the beaches of unrecorded, javelin islands, battled with virgin wonders and terrors that cook with all his marines and muskets would not willingly have dared. all that is made such a flourish of in the old south sea voyages, those things were but the life-time commonplaces of our heroic nantucketers. often, adventures which vancouver dedicates three chapters to, these men accounted unworthy of being set down in the ship’s common log. ah, the world! oh, the world!
until the whale fishery rounded cape horn, no commerce but colonial, scarcely any intercourse but colonial, was carried on between europe and the long line of the opulent spanish provinces on the pacific coast. it was the whaleman who first broke through the jealous policy of the spanish crown, touching those colonies; and, if space permitted, it might be distinctly shown how from those whalemen at last eventuated the liberation of peru, chili, and bolivia from the yoke of old spain, and the establishment of the eternal democracy in those parts.
that great america on the other side of the sphere, australia, was given to the enlightened world by the whaleman. after its first blunder-born discovery by a dutchman, all other ships long shunned those shores as pestiferously barbarous; but the whale-ship touched there. the whale-ship is the true mother of that now mighty colony.
moreover, in the infancy of the first australian settlement, the emigrants were several times saved from starvation by the benevolent biscuit of the whale-ship luckily dropping an anchor in their waters.
the uncounted isles of all polynesia confess the same truth, and do commercial homage to the whale-ship, that cleared the way for the missionary and the merchant, and in many cases carried the primitive missionaries to their first destinations. if that double-bolted land, japan, is ever to become hospitable, it is the whale-ship alone to whom the credit will be due; for already she is on the threshold.
but if, in the face of all this, you still declare that whaling has no æsthetically noble associations connected with it, then am i ready to shiver fifty lances with you there, and unhorse you with a split helmet every time.
the whale has no famous author, and whaling no famous chronicler, you will say.
the whale no famous author, and whaling no famous chronicler? who wrote the first account of our leviathan? who but mighty job! and who composed the first narrative of a whaling-voyage? who, but no less a prince than alfred the great, who, with his own royal pen, took down the words from other, the norwegian whale-hunter of those times! and who pronounced our glowing eulogy in parliament? who, but edmund burke!
true enough, but then whalemen themselves are poor devils; they have no good blood in their veins.
no good blood in their veins? they have something better than royal blood there. the grandmother of benjamin franklin was mary morrel; afterwards, by marriage, mary folger, one of the old settlers of nantucket, and the ancestress to a long line of folgers and harpooneers—all kith and kin to noble benjamin—this day darting the barbed iron from one side of the world to the other.
good again; but then all confess that somehow whaling is not respectable.
whaling not respectable? whaling is imperial! by old english statutory law, the whale is declared “a royal fish.” *
oh, that’s only nominal! the whale himself has never figured in any grand imposing way.
the whale never figured in any grand imposing way? in one of the mighty triumphs given to a roman general upon his entering the world’s capital, the bones of a whale, brought all the way from the syrian coast, were the most conspicuous object in the cymballed procession.*
*see subsequent chapters for something more on this head.
grant it, since you cite it; but, say what you will, there is no real dignity in whaling.
no dignity in whaling? the dignity of our calling the very heavens attest. cetus is a constellation in the south! no more! drive down your hat in presence of the czar, and take it off to queequeg! no more! i know a man that, in his lifetime, has taken three hundred and fifty whales. i account that man more honorable than that great captain of antiquity who boasted of taking as many walled towns.
and, as for me, if, by any possibility, there be any as yet undiscovered prime thing in me; if i shall ever deserve any real repute in that small but high hushed world which i might not be unreasonably ambitious of; if hereafter i shall do anything that, upon the whole, a man might rather have done than to have left undone; if, at my death, my executors, or more properly my creditors, find any precious mss. in my desk, then here i prospectively ascribe all the honor and the glory to whaling; for a whale-ship was my yale college and my harvard.
chapter 25. postscript.
in behalf of the dignity of whaling, i would fain advance naught but substantiated facts. but after embattling his facts, an advocate who should wholly suppress a not unreasonable surmise, which might tell eloquently upon his cause—such an advocate, would he not be blameworthy?
it is well known that at the coronation of kings and queens, even modern ones, a certain curious process of seasoning them for their functions is gone through. there is a saltcellar of state, so called, and there may be a castor of state. how they use the salt, precisely—who knows? certain i am, however, that a king’s head is solemnly oiled at his coronation, even as a head of salad. can it be, though, that they anoint it with a view of making its interior run well, as they anoint machinery? much might be ruminated here, concerning the essential dignity of this regal process, because in common life we esteem but meanly and contemptibly a fellow who anoints his hair, and palpably smells of that anointing. in truth, a mature man who uses hair-oil, unless medicinally, that man has probably got a quoggy spot in him somewhere. as a general rule, he can’t amount to much in his totality.
but the only thing to be considered here, is this—what kind of oil is used at coronations? certainly it cannot be olive oil, nor macassar oil, nor castor oil, nor bear’s oil, nor train oil, nor cod-liver oil.
what then can it possibly be, but sperm oil in its unmanufactured, unpolluted state, the sweetest of all oils?
think of that, ye loyal britons! we whalemen supply your kings and queens with coronation stuff!
chapter 26. knights and squires.
the chief mate of the pequod was starbuck, a native of nantucket, and a quaker by descent. he was a long, earnest man, and though born on an icy coast, seemed well adapted to endure hot latitudes, his flesh being hard as twice-baked biscuit. transported to the indies, his live blood would not spoil like bottled ale. he must have been born in some time of general drought and famine, or upon one of those fast days for which his state is famous. only some thirty arid summers had he seen; those summers had dried up all his physical superfluousness. but this, his thinness, so to speak, seemed no more the token of wasting anxieties and cares, than it seemed the indication of any bodily blight. it was merely the condensation of the man. he was by no means ill-looking; quite the contrary. his pure tight skin was an excellent fit; and closely wrapped up in it, and embalmed with inner health and strength, like a revivified egyptian, this starbuck seemed prepared to endure for long ages to come, and to endure always, as now; for be it polar snow or torrid sun, like a patent chronometer, his interior vitality was warranted to do well in all climates. looking into his eyes, you seemed to see there the yet lingering images of those thousand-fold perils he had calmly confronted through life. a staid, steadfast man, whose life for the most part was a telling pantomime of action, and not a tame chapter of sounds. yet, for all his hardy sobriety and fortitude, there were certain qualities in him which at times affected, and in some cases seemed well nigh to overbalance all the rest. uncommonly conscientious for a seaman, and endued with a deep natural reverence, the wild watery loneliness of his life did therefore strongly incline him to superstition; but to that sort of superstition, which in some organizations seems rather to spring, somehow, from intelligence than from ignorance. outward portents and inward presentiments were his. and if at times these things bent the welded iron of his soul, much more did his far-away domestic memories of his young cape wife and child, tend to bend him still more from the original ruggedness of his nature, and open him still further to those latent influences which, in some honest-hearted men, restrain the gush of dare-devil daring, so often evinced by others in the more perilous vicissitudes of the fishery. “i will have no man in my boat,” said starbuck, “who is not afraid of a whale.” by this, he seemed to mean, not only that the most reliable and useful courage was that which arises from the fair estimation of the encountered peril, but that an utterly fearless man is a far more dangerous comrade than a coward.
“aye, aye,” said stubb, the second mate, “starbuck, there, is as careful a man as you’ll find anywhere in this fishery.” but we shall ere long see what that word “careful” precisely means when used by a man like stubb, or almost any other whale hunter.
starbuck was no crusader after perils; in him courage was not a sentiment; but a thing simply useful to him, and always at hand upon all mortally practical occasions. besides, he thought, perhaps, that in this business of whaling, courage was one of the great staple outfits of the ship, like her beef and her bread, and not to be foolishly wasted. wherefore he had no fancy for lowering for whales after sun-down; nor for persisting in fighting a fish that too much persisted in fighting him. for, thought starbuck, i am here in this critical ocean to kill whales for my living, and not to be killed by them for theirs; and that hundreds of men had been so killed starbuck well knew.
what doom was his own father’s? where, in the bottomless deeps, could he find the torn limbs of his brother?
with memories like these in him, and, moreover, given to a certain superstitiousness, as has been said; the courage of this starbuck which could, nevertheless, still flourish, must indeed have been extreme. but it was not in reasonable nature that a man so organized, and with such terrible experiences and remembrances as he had; it was not in nature that these things should fail in latently engendering an element in him, which, under suitable circumstances, would break out from its confinement, and burn all his courage up. and brave as he might be, it was that sort of bravery chiefly, visible in some intrepid men, which, while generally abiding firm in the conflict with seas, or winds, or whales, or any of the ordinary irrational horrors of the world, yet cannot withstand those more terrific, because more spiritual terrors, which sometimes menace you from the concentrating brow of an enraged and mighty man.
but were the coming narrative to reveal in any instance, the complete abasement of poor starbuck’s fortitude, scarce might i have the heart to write it; for it is a thing most sorrowful, nay shocking, to expose the fall of valour in the soul. men may seem detestable as joint stock-companies and nations; knaves, fools, and murderers there may be; men may have mean and meagre faces; but man, in the ideal, is so noble and so sparkling, such a grand and glowing creature, that over any ignominious blemish in him all his fellows should run to throw their costliest robes. that immaculate manliness we feel within ourselves, so far within us, that it remains intact though all the outer character seem gone; bleeds with keenest anguish at the undraped spectacle of a valor-ruined man. nor can piety itself, at such a shameful sight, completely stifle her upbraidings against the permitting stars. but this august dignity i treat of, is not the dignity of kings and robes, but that abounding dignity which has no robed investiture. thou shalt see it shining in the arm that wields a pick or drives a spike; that democratic dignity which, on all hands, radiates without end from god; himself! the great god absolute! the centre and circumference of all democracy! his omnipresence, our divine equality!
if, then, to meanest mariners, and renegades and castaways, i shall hereafter ascribe high qualities, though dark; weave round them tragic graces; if even the most mournful, perchance the most abased, among them all, shall at times lift himself to the exalted mounts; if i shall touch that workman’s arm with some ethereal light; if i shall spread a rainbow over his disastrous set of sun; then against all mortal critics bear me out in it, thou just spirit of equality, which hast spread one royal mantle of humanity over all my kind! bear me out in it, thou great democratic god! who didst not refuse to the swart convict, bunyan, the pale, poetic pearl; thou who didst clothe with doubly hammered leaves of finest gold, the stumped and paupered arm of old cervantes; thou who didst pick up andrew jackson from the pebbles; who didst hurl him upon a war-horse; who didst thunder him higher than a throne! thou who, in all thy mighty, earthly marchings, ever cullest thy selectest champions from the kingly commons; bear me out in it, o god!
chapter 27. knights and squires.
stubb was the second mate. he was a native of cape cod; and hence, according to local usage, was called a cape-cod-man. a happy-go-lucky; neither craven nor valiant; taking perils as they came with an indifferent air; and while engaged in the most imminent crisis of the chase, toiling away, calm and collected as a journeyman joiner engaged for the year. good-humored, easy, and careless, he presided over his whale-boat as if the most deadly encounter were but a dinner, and his crew all invited guests. he was as particular about the comfortable arrangement of his part of the boat, as an old stage-driver is about the snugness of his box. when close to the whale, in the very death-lock of the fight, he handled his unpitying lance coolly and off-handedly, as a whistling tinker his hammer. he would hum over his old rigadig tunes while flank and flank with the most exasperated monster. long usage had, for this stubb, converted the jaws of death into an easy chair. what he thought of death itself, there is no telling. whether he ever thought of it at all, might be a question; but, if he ever did chance to cast his mind that way after a comfortable dinner, no doubt, like a good sailor, he took it to be a sort of call of the watch to tumble aloft, and bestir themselves there, about something which he would find out when he obeyed the order, and not sooner.
what, perhaps, with other things, made stubb such an easy-going, unfearing man, so cheerily trudging off with the burden of life in a world full of grave pedlars, all bowed to the ground with their packs; what helped to bring about that almost impious good-humor of his; that thing must have been his pipe. for, like his nose, his short, black little pipe was one of the regular features of his face. you would almost as soon have expected him to turn out of his bunk without his nose as without his pipe. he kept a whole row of pipes there ready loaded, stuck in a rack, within easy reach of his hand; and, whenever he turned in, he smoked them all out in succession, lighting one from the other to the end of the chapter; then loading them again to be in readiness anew. for, when stubb dressed, instead of first putting his legs into his trowsers, he put his pipe into his mouth.
i say this continual smoking must have been one cause, at least, of his peculiar disposition; for every one knows that this earthly air, whether ashore or afloat, is terribly infected with the nameless miseries of the numberless mortals who have died exhaling it; and as in time of the cholera, some people go about with a camphorated handkerchief to their mouths; so, likewise, against all mortal tribulations, stubb’s tobacco smoke might have operated as a sort of disinfecting agent.
the third mate was flask, a native of tisbury, in martha’s vineyard. a short, stout, ruddy young fellow, very pugnacious concerning whales, who somehow seemed to think that the great leviathans had personally and hereditarily affronted him; and therefore it was a sort of point of honor with him, to destroy them whenever encountered. so utterly lost was he to all sense of reverence for the many marvels of their majestic bulk and mystic ways; and so dead to anything like an apprehension of any possible danger from encountering them; that in his poor opinion, the wondrous whale was but a species of magnified mouse, or at least water-rat, requiring only a little circumvention and some small application of time and trouble in order to kill and boil. this ignorant, unconscious fearlessness of his made him a little waggish in the matter of whales; he followed these fish for the fun of it; and a three years’ voyage round cape horn was only a jolly joke that lasted that length of time. as a carpenter’s nails are divided into wrought nails and cut nails; so mankind may be similarly divided. little flask was one of the wrought ones; made to clinch tight and last long. they called him king-post on board of the pequod; because, in form, he could be well likened to the short, square timber known by that name in arctic whalers; and which by the means of many radiating side timbers inserted into it, serves to brace the ship against the icy concussions of those battering seas.
now these three mates—starbuck, stubb, and flask, were momentous men.
they it was who by universal prescription commanded three of the pequod’s boats as headsmen. in that grand order of battle in which captain ahab would probably marshal his forces to descend on the whales, these three headsmen were as captains of companies. or, being armed with their long keen whaling spears, they were as a picked trio of lancers; even as the harpooneers were flingers of javelins.
and since in this famous fishery, each mate or headsman, like a gothic knight of old, is always accompanied by his boat-steerer or harpooneer, who in certain conjunctures provides him with a fresh lance, when the former one has been badly twisted, or elbowed in the assault; and moreover, as there generally subsists between the two, a close intimacy and friendliness; it is therefore but meet, that in this place we set down who the pequod’s harpooneers were, and to what headsman each of them belonged.
first of all was queequeg, whom starbuck, the chief mate, had selected for his squire. but queequeg is already known.
next was tashtego, an unmixed indian from gay head, the most westerly promontory of martha’s vineyard, where there still exists the last remnant of a village of red men, which has long supplied the neighboring island of nantucket with many of her most daring harpooneers. in the fishery, they usually go by the generic name of gay-headers. tashtego’s long, lean, sable hair, his high cheek bones, and black rounding eyes—for an indian, oriental in their largeness, but antarctic in their glittering expression—all this sufficiently proclaimed him an inheritor of the unvitiated blood of those proud warrior hunters, who, in quest of the great new england moose, had scoured, bow in hand, the aboriginal forests of the main. but no longer snuffing in the trail of the wild beasts of the woodland, tashtego now hunted in the wake of the great whales of the sea; the unerring harpoon of the son fitly replacing the infallible arrow of the sires. to look at the tawny brawn of his lithe snaky limbs, you would almost have credited the superstitions of some of the earlier puritans, and half-believed this wild indian to be a son of the prince of the powers of the air. tashtego was stubb the second mate’s squire.
third among the harpooneers was daggoo, a gigantic, coal-black negro-savage, with a lion-like tread—an ahasuerus to behold. suspended from his ears were two golden hoops, so large that the sailors called them ring-bolts, and would talk of securing the top-sail halyards to them. in his youth daggoo had voluntarily shipped on board of a whaler, lying in a lonely bay on his native coast. and never having been anywhere in the world but in africa, nantucket, and the pagan harbors most frequented by whalemen; and having now led for many years the bold life of the fishery in the ships of owners uncommonly heedful of what manner of men they shipped; daggoo retained all his barbaric virtues, and erect as a giraffe, moved about the decks in all the pomp of six feet five in his socks. there was a corporeal humility in looking up at him; and a white man standing before him seemed a white flag come to beg truce of a fortress. curious to tell, this imperial negro, ahasuerus daggoo, was the squire of little flask, who looked like a chess-man beside him. as for the residue of the pequod’s company, be it said, that at the present day not one in two of the many thousand men before the mast employed in the american whale fishery, are americans born, though pretty nearly all the officers are. herein it is the same with the american whale fishery as with the american army and military and merchant navies, and the engineering forces employed in the construction of the american canals and railroads. the same, i say, because in all these cases the native american liberally provides the brains, the rest of the world as generously supplying the muscles. no small number of these whaling seamen belong to the azores, where the outward bound nantucket whalers frequently touch to augment their crews from the hardy peasants of those rocky shores. in like manner, the greenland whalers sailing out of hull or london, put in at the shetland islands, to receive the full complement of their crew. upon the passage homewards, they drop them there again. how it is, there is no telling, but islanders seem to make the best whalemen. they were nearly all islanders in the pequod, isolatoes too, i call such, not acknowledging the common continent of men, but each isolato living on a separate continent of his own. yet now, federated along one keel, what a set these isolatoes were! an anacharsis clootz deputation from all the isles of the sea, and all the ends of the earth, accompanying old ahab in the pequod to lay the world’s grievances before that bar from which not very many of them ever come back. black little pip—he never did—oh, no! he went before. poor alabama boy! on the grim pequod’s forecastle, ye shall ere long see him, beating his tambourine; prelusive of the eternal time, when sent for, to the great quarter-deck on high, he was bid strike in with angels, and beat his tambourine in glory; called a coward here, hailed a hero there!
chapter 28. ahab.
for several days after leaving nantucket, nothing above hatches was seen of captain ahab. the mates regularly relieved each other at the watches, and for aught that could be seen to the contrary, they seemed to be the only commanders of the ship; only they sometimes issued from the cabin with orders so sudden and peremptory, that after all it was plain they but commanded vicariously. yes, their supreme lord and dictator was there, though hitherto unseen by any eyes not permitted to penetrate into the now sacred retreat of the cabin.
every time i ascended to the deck from my watches below, i instantly gazed aft to mark if any strange face were visible; for my first vague disquietude touching the unknown captain, now in the seclusion of the sea, became almost a perturbation. this was strangely heightened at times by the ragged elijah’s diabolical incoherences uninvitedly recurring to me, with a subtle energy i could not have before conceived of. but poorly could i withstand them, much as in other moods i was almost ready to smile at the solemn whimsicalities of that outlandish prophet of the wharves. but whatever it was of apprehensiveness or uneasiness—to call it so—which i felt, yet whenever i came to look about me in the ship, it seemed against all warrantry to cherish such emotions. for though the harpooneers, with the great body of the crew, were a far more barbaric, heathenish, and motley set than any of the tame merchant-ship companies which my previous experiences had made me acquainted with, still i ascribed this—and rightly ascribed it—to the fierce uniqueness of the very nature of that wild scandinavian vocation in which i had so abandonedly embarked. but it was especially the aspect of the three chief officers of the ship, the mates, which was most forcibly calculated to allay these colourless misgivings, and induce confidence and cheerfulness in every presentment of the voyage.
three better, more likely sea-officers and men, each in his own different way, could not readily be found, and they were every one of them americans; a nantucketer, a vineyarder, a cape man. now, it being christmas when the ship shot from out her harbor, for a space we had biting polar weather, though all the time running away from it to the southward; and by every degree and minute of latitude which we sailed, gradually leaving that merciless winter, and all its intolerable weather behind us. it was one of those less lowering, but still grey and gloomy enough mornings of the transition, when with a fair wind the ship was rushing through the water with a vindictive sort of leaping and melancholy rapidity, that as i mounted to the deck at the call of the forenoon watch, so soon as i levelled my glance towards the taffrail, foreboding shivers ran over me. reality outran apprehension; captain ahab stood upon his quarter-deck.
there seemed no sign of common bodily illness about him, nor of the recovery from any. he looked like a man cut away from the stake, when the fire has overrunningly wasted all the limbs without consuming them, or taking away one particle from their compacted aged robustness. his whole high, broad form, seemed made of solid bronze, and shaped in an unalterable mould, like cellini’s cast perseus. threading its way out from among his grey hairs, and continuing right down one side of his tawny scorched face and neck, till it disappeared in his clothing, you saw a slender rod-like mark, lividly whitish. it resembled that perpendicular seam sometimes made in the straight, lofty trunk of a great tree, when the upper lightning tearingly darts down it, and without wrenching a single twig, peels and grooves out the bark from top to bottom, ere running off into the soil, leaving the tree still greenly alive, but branded. whether that mark was born with him, or whether it was the scar left by some desperate wound, no one could certainly say. by some tacit consent, throughout the voyage little or no allusion was made to it, especially by the mates. but once tashtego’s senior, an old gay-head indian among the crew, superstitiously asserted that not till he was full forty years old did ahab become that way branded, and then it came upon him, not in the fury of any mortal fray, but in an elemental strife at sea. yet, this wild hint seemed inferentially negatived, by what a grey manxman insinuated, an old sepulchral man, who, having never before sailed out of nantucket, had never ere this laid eye upon wild ahab. nevertheless, the old sea-traditions, the immemorial credulities, popularly invested this old manxman with preternatural powers of discernment. so that no white sailor seriously contradicted him when he said that if ever captain ahab should be tranquilly laid out—which might hardly come to pass, so he muttered—then, whoever should do that last office for the dead, would find a birth-mark on him from crown to sole.
so powerfully did the whole grim aspect of ahab affect me, and the livid brand which streaked it, that for the first few moments i hardly noted that not a little of this overbearing grimness was owing to the barbaric white leg upon which he partly stood. it had previously come to me that this ivory leg had at sea been fashioned from the polished bone of the sperm whale’s jaw. “aye, he was dismasted off japan,” said the old gay-head indian once; “but like his dismasted craft, he shipped another mast without coming home for it. he has a quiver of ’em.”
i was struck with the singular posture he maintained. upon each side of the pequod’s quarter deck, and pretty close to the mizzen shrouds, there was an auger hole, bored about half an inch or so, into the plank. his bone leg steadied in that hole; one arm elevated, and holding by a shroud; captain ahab stood erect, looking straight out beyond the ship’s ever-pitching prow. there was an infinity of firmest fortitude, a determinate, unsurrenderable wilfulness, in the fixed and fearless, forward dedication of that glance. not a word he spoke; nor did his officers say aught to him; though by all their minutest gestures and expressions, they plainly showed the uneasy, if not painful, consciousness of being under a troubled master-eye. and not only that, but moody stricken ahab stood before them with a crucifixion in his face; in all the nameless regal overbearing dignity of some mighty woe.
ere long, from his first visit in the air, he withdrew into his cabin.
but after that morning, he was every day visible to the crew; either standing in his pivot-hole, or seated upon an ivory stool he had; or heavily walking the deck. as the sky grew less gloomy; indeed, began to grow a little genial, he became still less and less a recluse; as if, when the ship had sailed from home, nothing but the dead wintry bleakness of the sea had then kept him so secluded. and, by and by, it came to pass, that he was almost continually in the air; but, as yet, for all that he said, or perceptibly did, on the at last sunny deck, he seemed as unnecessary there as another mast. but the pequod was only making a passage now; not regularly cruising; nearly all whaling preparatives needing supervision the mates were fully competent to, so that there was little or nothing, out of himself, to employ or excite ahab, now; and thus chase away, for that one interval, the clouds that layer upon layer were piled upon his brow, as ever all clouds choose the loftiest peaks to pile themselves upon.
nevertheless, ere long, the warm, warbling persuasiveness of the pleasant, holiday weather we came to, seemed gradually to charm him from his mood. for, as when the red-cheeked, dancing girls, april and may, trip home to the wintry, misanthropic woods; even the barest, ruggedest, most thunder-cloven old oak will at least send forth some few green sprouts, to welcome such glad-hearted visitants; so ahab did, in the end, a little respond to the playful allurings of that girlish air. more than once did he put forth the faint blossom of a look, which, in any other man, would have soon flowered out in a smile.
chapter 29. enter ahab; to him, stubb.
some days elapsed, and ice and icebergs all astern, the pequod now went rolling through the bright quito spring, which, at sea, almost perpetually reigns on the threshold of the eternal august of the tropic. the warmly cool, clear, ringing, perfumed, overflowing, redundant days, were as crystal goblets of persian sherbet, heaped up—flaked up, with rose-water snow. the starred and stately nights seemed haughty dames in jewelled velvets, nursing at home in lonely pride, the memory of their absent conquering earls, the golden helmeted suns! for sleeping man, ’twas hard to choose between such winsome days and such seducing nights. but all the witcheries of that unwaning weather did not merely lend new spells and potencies to the outward world. inward they turned upon the soul, especially when the still mild hours of eve came on; then, memory shot her crystals as the clear ice most forms of noiseless twilights. and all these subtle agencies, more and more they wrought on ahab’s texture.
old age is always wakeful; as if, the longer linked with life, the less man has to do with aught that looks like death. among sea-commanders, the old greybeards will oftenest leave their berths to visit the night-cloaked deck. it was so with ahab; only that now, of late, he seemed so much to live in the open air, that truly speaking, his visits were more to the cabin, than from the cabin to the planks. “it feels like going down into one’s tomb,”—he would mutter to himself—“for an old captain like me to be descending this narrow scuttle, to go to my grave-dug berth.”
so, almost every twenty-four hours, when the watches of the night were set, and the band on deck sentinelled the slumbers of the band below; and when if a rope was to be hauled upon the forecastle, the sailors flung it not rudely down, as by day, but with some cautiousness dropt it to its place for fear of disturbing their slumbering shipmates; when this sort of steady quietude would begin to prevail, habitually, the silent steersman would watch the cabin-scuttle; and ere long the old man would emerge, gripping at the iron banister, to help his crippled way. some considering touch of humanity was in him; for at times like these, he usually abstained from patrolling the quarter-deck; because to his wearied mates, seeking repose within six inches of his ivory heel, such would have been the reverberating crack and din of that bony step, that their dreams would have been on the crunching teeth of sharks. but once, the mood was on him too deep for common regardings; and as with heavy, lumber-like pace he was measuring the ship from taffrail to mainmast, stubb, the old second mate, came up from below, with a certain unassured, deprecating humorousness, hinted that if captain ahab was pleased to walk the planks, then, no one could say nay; but there might be some way of muffling the noise; hinting something indistinctly and hesitatingly about a globe of tow, and the insertion into it, of the ivory heel. ah! stubb, thou didst not know ahab then.
“am i a cannon-ball, stubb,” said ahab, “that thou wouldst wad me that fashion? but go thy ways; i had forgot. below to thy nightly grave; where such as ye sleep between shrouds, to use ye to the filling one at last.—down, dog, and kennel!”
starting at the unforseen concluding exclamation of the so suddenly scornful old man, stubb was speechless a moment; then said excitedly, “i am not used to be spoken to that way, sir; i do but less than half like it, sir.”
“avast! gritted ahab between his set teeth, and violently moving away, as if to avoid some passionate temptation.
“no, sir; not yet,” said stubb, emboldened, “i will not tamely be called a dog, sir.”
“then be called ten times a donkey, and a mule, and an ass, and begone, or i’ll clear the world of thee!”
as he said this, ahab advanced upon him with such overbearing terrors in his aspect, that stubb involuntarily retreated.
“i was never served so before without giving a hard blow for it,”
muttered stubb, as he found himself descending the cabin-scuttle. “it’s very queer. stop, stubb; somehow, now, i don’t well know whether to go back and strike him, or—what’s that?—down here on my knees and pray for him? yes, that was the thought coming up in me; but it would be the first time i ever did pray. it’s queer; very queer; and he’s queer too; aye, take him fore and aft, he’s about the queerest old man stubb ever sailed with. how he flashed at me!—his eyes like powder-pans! is he mad? anyway there’s something on his mind, as sure as there must be something on a deck when it cracks. he aint in his bed now, either, more than three hours out of the twenty-four; and he don’t sleep then.
didn’t that dough-boy, the steward, tell me that of a morning he always finds the old man’s hammock clothes all rumpled and tumbled, and the sheets down at the foot, and the coverlid almost tied into knots, and the pillow a sort of frightful hot, as though a baked brick had been on it? a hot old man! i guess he’s got what some folks ashore call a conscience; it’s a kind of tic-dolly-row they say—worse nor a toothache. well, well; i don’t know what it is, but the lord keep me from catching it. he’s full of riddles; i wonder what he goes into the after hold for, every night, as dough-boy tells me he suspects; what’s that for, i should like to know? who’s made appointments with him in the hold? ain’t that queer, now? but there’s no telling, it’s the old game—here goes for a snooze. damn me, it’s worth a fellow’s while to be born into the world, if only to fall right asleep. and now that i think of it, that’s about the first thing babies do, and that’s a sort of queer, too. damn me, but all things are queer, come to think of ’em.
but that’s against my principles. think not, is my eleventh commandment; and sleep when you can, is my twelfth—so here goes again.
but how’s that? didn’t he call me a dog? blazes! he called me ten times a donkey, and piled a lot of jackasses on top of that! he might as well have kicked me, and done with it. maybe he did kick me, and i didn’t observe it, i was so taken all aback with his brow, somehow. it flashed like a bleached bone. what the devil’s the matter with me? i don’t stand right on my legs. coming afoul of that old man has a sort of turned me wrong side out. by the lord, i must have been dreaming, though—how? how? how?—but the only way’s to stash it; so here goes to hammock again; and in the morning, i’ll see how this plaguey juggling thinks over by daylight.”
chapter 30. the pipe.
when stubb had departed, ahab stood for a while leaning over the bulwarks; and then, as had been usual with him of late, calling a sailor of the watch, he sent him below for his ivory stool, and also his pipe. lighting the pipe at the binnacle lamp and planting the stool on the weather side of the deck, he sat and smoked.
in old norse times, the thrones of the sea-loving danish kings were fabricated, saith tradition, of the tusks of the narwhale. how could one look at ahab then, seated on that tripod of bones, without bethinking him of the royalty it symbolized? for a khan of the plank, and a king of the sea, and a great lord of leviathans was ahab.
some moments passed, during which the thick vapor came from his mouth in quick and constant puffs, which blew back again into his face. “how now,” he soliloquized at last, withdrawing the tube, “this smoking no longer soothes. oh, my pipe! hard must it go with me if thy charm be gone! here have i been unconsciously toiling, not pleasuring—aye, and ignorantly smoking to windward all the while; to windward, and with such nervous whiffs, as if, like the dying whale, my final jets were the strongest and fullest of trouble. what business have i with this pipe? this thing that is meant for sereneness, to send up mild white vapors among mild white hairs, not among torn iron-grey locks like mine. i’ll smoke no more—”
he tossed the still lighted pipe into the sea. the fire hissed in the waves; the same instant the ship shot by the bubble the sinking pipe made. with slouched hat, ahab lurchingly paced the planks.
chapter 31. queen mab.
next morning stubb accosted flask.
“such a queer dream, king-post, i never had. you know the old man’s ivory leg, well i dreamed he kicked me with it; and when i tried to kick back, upon my soul, my little man, i kicked my leg right off! and then, presto! ahab seemed a pyramid, and i, like a blazing fool, kept kicking at it. but what was still more curious, flask—you know how curious all dreams are—through all this rage that i was in, i somehow seemed to be thinking to myself, that after all, it was not much of an insult, that kick from ahab. ‘why,’ thinks i, ‘what’s the row? it’s not a real leg, only a false leg.’ and there’s a mighty difference between a living thump and a dead thump. that’s what makes a blow from the hand, flask, fifty times more savage to bear than a blow from a cane.
the living member—that makes the living insult, my little man. and thinks i to myself all the while, mind, while i was stubbing my silly toes against that cursed pyramid—so confoundedly contradictory was it all, all the while, i say, i was thinking to myself, ‘what’s his leg now, but a cane—a whalebone cane. yes,’ thinks i, ‘it was only a playful cudgelling—in fact, only a whaleboning that he gave me—not a base kick. besides,’ thinks i, ‘look at it once; why, the end of it—the foot part—what a small sort of end it is; whereas, if a broad footed farmer kicked me, there’s a devilish broad insult. but this insult is whittled down to a point only.’ but now comes the greatest joke of the dream, flask. while i was battering away at the pyramid, a sort of badger-haired old merman, with a hump on his back, takes me by the shoulders, and slews me round. ‘what are you ’bout?’ says he. slid!
man, but i was frightened. such a phiz! but, somehow, next moment i was over the fright. ‘what am i about?’ says i at last. ‘and what business is that of yours, i should like to know, mr. humpback? do you want a kick?’ by the lord, flask, i had no sooner said that, than he turned round his stern to me, bent over, and dragging up a lot of seaweed he had for a clout—what do you think, i saw?—why thunder alive, man, his stern was stuck full of marlinspikes, with the points out. says i, on second thoughts, ‘i guess i won’t kick you, old fellow.’ ‘wise stubb,’
said he, ‘wise stubb;’ and kept muttering it all the time, a sort of eating of his own gums like a chimney hag. seeing he wasn’t going to stop saying over his ‘wise stubb, wise stubb,’ i thought i might as well fall to kicking the pyramid again. but i had only just lifted my foot for it, when he roared out, ‘stop that kicking!’ ‘halloa,’ says i, ‘what’s the matter now, old fellow?’ ‘look ye here,’ says he; ‘let’s argue the insult. captain ahab kicked ye, didn’t he?’ ‘yes, he did,’
says i—‘right here it was.’ ‘very good,’ says he—‘he used his ivory leg, didn’t he?’ ‘yes, he did,’ says i. ‘well then,’ says he, ‘wise stubb, what have you to complain of? didn’t he kick with right good will? it wasn’t a common pitch pine leg he kicked with, was it? no, you were kicked by a great man, and with a beautiful ivory leg, stubb. it’s an honor; i consider it an honor. listen, wise stubb. in old england the greatest lords think it great glory to be slapped by a queen, and made garter-knights of; but, be your boast, stubb, that ye were kicked by old ahab, and made a wise man of. remember what i say; be kicked by him; account his kicks honors; and on no account kick back; for you can’t help yourself, wise stubb. don’t you see that pyramid?’
with that, he all of a sudden seemed somehow, in some queer fashion, to swim off into the air. i snored; rolled over; and there i was in my hammock! now, what do you think of that dream, flask?”
“i don’t know; it seems a sort of foolish to me, tho.’”
“may be; may be. but it’s made a wise man of me, flask. d’ye see ahab standing there, sideways looking over the stern? well, the best thing you can do, flask, is to let the old man alone; never speak to him, whatever he says. halloa! what’s that he shouts? hark!”
“mast-head, there! look sharp, all of ye! there are whales hereabouts!
“if ye see a white one, split your lungs for him!
“what do you think of that now, flask? ain’t there a small drop of something queer about that, eh? a white whale—did ye mark that, man?
look ye—there’s something special in the wind. stand by for it, flask.
ahab has that that’s bloody on his mind. but, mum; he comes this way.”
chapter 32. cetology.
already we are boldly launched upon the deep; but soon we shall be lost in its unshored, harbourless immensities. ere that come to pass; ere the pequod’s weedy hull rolls side by side with the barnacled hulls of the leviathan; at the outset it is but well to attend to a matter almost indispensable to a thorough appreciative understanding of the more special leviathanic revelations and allusions of all sorts which are to follow.
it is some systematized exhibition of the whale in his broad genera, that i would now fain put before you. yet is it no easy task. the classification of the constituents of a chaos, nothing less is here essayed. listen to what the best and latest authorities have laid down.
“no branch of zoology is so much involved as that which is entitled cetology,” says captain scoresby, a.d. 1820.
“it is not my intention, were it in my power, to enter into the inquiry as to the true method of dividing the cetacea into groups and families.
* * * utter confusion exists among the historians of this animal”
(sperm whale), says surgeon beale, a.d. 1839.
“unfitness to pursue our research in the unfathomable waters.”
“impenetrable veil covering our knowledge of the cetacea.” “a field strewn with thorns.” “all these incomplete indications but serve to torture us naturalists.”
thus speak of the whale, the great cuvier, and john hunter, and lesson, those lights of zoology and anatomy. nevertheless, though of real knowledge there be little, yet of books there are a plenty; and so in some small degree, with cetology, or the science of whales. many are the men, small and great, old and new, landsmen and seamen, who have at large or in little, written of the whale. run over a few:—the authors of the bible; aristotle; pliny; aldrovandi; sir thomas browne; gesner; ray; linnæus; rondeletius; willoughby; green; artedi; sibbald; brisson; marten; lacépède; bonneterre; desmarest; baron cuvier; frederick cuvier; john hunter; owen; scoresby; beale; bennett; j. ross browne; the author of miriam coffin; olmstead; and the rev. t. cheever. but to what ultimate generalizing purpose all these have written, the above cited extracts will show.
of the names in this list of whale authors, only those following owen ever saw living whales; and but one of them was a real professional harpooneer and whaleman. i mean captain scoresby. on the separate subject of the greenland or right-whale, he is the best existing authority. but scoresby knew nothing and says nothing of the great sperm whale, compared with which the greenland whale is almost unworthy mentioning. and here be it said, that the greenland whale is an usurper upon the throne of the seas. he is not even by any means the largest of the whales. yet, owing to the long priority of his claims, and the profound ignorance which, till some seventy years back, invested the then fabulous or utterly unknown sperm-whale, and which ignorance to this present day still reigns in all but some few scientific retreats and whale-ports; this usurpation has been every way complete. reference to nearly all the leviathanic allusions in the great poets of past days, will satisfy you that the greenland whale, without one rival, was to them the monarch of the seas. but the time has at last come for a new proclamation. this is charing cross; hear ye! good people all,—the greenland whale is deposed,—the great sperm whale now reigneth!
there are only two books in being which at all pretend to put the living sperm whale before you, and at the same time, in the remotest degree succeed in the attempt. those books are beale’s and bennett’s; both in their time surgeons to english south-sea whale-ships, and both exact and reliable men. the original matter touching the sperm whale to be found in their volumes is necessarily small; but so far as it goes, it is of excellent quality, though mostly confined to scientific description. as yet, however, the sperm whale, scientific or poetic, lives not complete in any literature. far above all other hunted whales, his is an unwritten life.
now the various species of whales need some sort of popular comprehensive classification, if only an easy outline one for the present, hereafter to be filled in all its departments by subsequent laborers. as no better man advances to take this matter in hand, i hereupon offer my own poor endeavors. i promise nothing complete; because any human thing supposed to be complete, must for that very reason infallibly be faulty. i shall not pretend to a minute anatomical description of the various species, or—in this place at least—to much of any description. my object here is simply to project the draught of a systematization of cetology. i am the architect, not the builder.
but it is a ponderous task; no ordinary letter-sorter in the post-office is equal to it. to grope down into the bottom of the sea after them; to have one’s hands among the unspeakable foundations, ribs, and very pelvis of the world; this is a fearful thing. what am i that i should essay to hook the nose of this leviathan! the awful tauntings in job might well appal me. will he (the leviathan) make a covenant with thee? behold the hope of him is vain! but i have swam through libraries and sailed through oceans; i have had to do with whales with these visible hands; i am in earnest; and i will try. there are some preliminaries to settle.
first: the uncertain, unsettled condition of this science of cetology is in the very vestibule attested by the fact, that in some quarters it still remains a moot point whether a whale be a fish. in his system of nature, a.d. 1776, linnæus declares, “i hereby separate the whales from the fish.” but of my own knowledge, i know that down to the year 1850, sharks and shad, alewives and herring, against linnæus’s express edict, were still found dividing the possession of the same seas with the leviathan.
the grounds upon which linnæus would fain have banished the whales from the waters, he states as follows: “on account of their warm bilocular heart, their lungs, their movable eyelids, their hollow ears, penem intrantem feminam mammis lactantem,” and finally, “ex lege naturæ jure meritoque.” i submitted all this to my friends simeon macey and charley coffin, of nantucket, both messmates of mine in a certain voyage, and they united in the opinion that the reasons set forth were altogether insufficient. charley profanely hinted they were humbug.
be it known that, waiving all argument, i take the good old fashioned ground that the whale is a fish, and call upon holy jonah to back me.
this fundamental thing settled, the next point is, in what internal respect does the whale differ from other fish. above, linnæus has given you those items. but in brief, they are these: lungs and warm blood; whereas, all other fish are lungless and cold blooded.
next: how shall we define the whale, by his obvious externals, so as conspicuously to label him for all time to come? to be short, then, a whale is a spouting fish with a horizontal tail. there you have him.
however contracted, that definition is the result of expanded meditation. a walrus spouts much like a whale, but the walrus is not a fish, because he is amphibious. but the last term of the definition is still more cogent, as coupled with the first. almost any one must have noticed that all the fish familiar to landsmen have not a flat, but a vertical, or up-and-down tail. whereas, among spouting fish the tail, though it may be similarly shaped, invariably assumes a horizontal position.
by the above definition of what a whale is, i do by no means exclude from the leviathanic brotherhood any sea creature hitherto identified with the whale by the best informed nantucketers; nor, on the other hand, link with it any fish hitherto authoritatively regarded as alien.* hence, all the smaller, spouting, and horizontal tailed fish must be included in this ground-plan of cetology. now, then, come the grand divisions of the entire whale host.
*i am aware that down to the present time, the fish styled lamatins and dugongs (pig-fish and sow-fish of the coffins of nantucket) are included by many naturalists among the whales. but as these pig-fish are a noisy, contemptible set, mostly lurking in the mouths of rivers, and feeding on wet hay, and especially as they do not spout, i deny their credentials as whales; and have presented them with their passports to quit the kingdom of cetology.
first: according to magnitude i divide the whales into three primary books (subdivisible into chapters), and these shall comprehend them all, both small and large.
i. the folio whale; ii. the octavo whale; iii. the duodecimo whale.
as the type of the folio i present the sperm whale; of the octavo, the grampus; of the duodecimo, the porpoise.
folios. among these i here include the following chapters:—i. the sperm whale; ii. the right whale; iii. the fin-back whale; iv.
the hump-backed whale; v. the razor back whale; vi. the sulphur bottom whale.
book i. (folio), chapter i. (sperm whale).—this whale, among the english of old vaguely known as the trumpa whale, and the physeter whale, and the anvil headed whale, is the present cachalot of the french, and the pottsfich of the germans, and the macrocephalus of the long words. he is, without doubt, the largest inhabitant of the globe; the most formidable of all whales to encounter; the most majestic in aspect; and lastly, by far the most valuable in commerce; he being the only creature from which that valuable substance, spermaceti, is obtained. all his peculiarities will, in many other places, be enlarged upon. it is chiefly with his name that i now have to do. philologically considered, it is absurd. some centuries ago, when the sperm whale was almost wholly unknown in his own proper individuality, and when his oil was only accidentally obtained from the stranded fish; in those days spermaceti, it would seem, was popularly supposed to be derived from a creature identical with the one then known in england as the greenland or right whale. it was the idea also, that this same spermaceti was that quickening humor of the greenland whale which the first syllable of the word literally expresses. in those times, also, spermaceti was exceedingly scarce, not being used for light, but only as an ointment and medicament. it was only to be had from the druggists as you nowadays buy an ounce of rhubarb. when, as i opine, in the course of time, the true nature of spermaceti became known, its original name was still retained by the dealers; no doubt to enhance its value by a notion so strangely significant of its scarcity. and so the appellation must at last have come to be bestowed upon the whale from which this spermaceti was really derived.
book i. (folio), chapter ii. (right whale).—in one respect this is the most venerable of the leviathans, being the one first regularly hunted by man. it yields the article commonly known as whalebone or baleen; and the oil specially known as “whale oil,” an inferior article in commerce. among the fishermen, he is indiscriminately designated by all the following titles: the whale; the greenland whale; the black whale; the great whale; the true whale; the right whale. there is a deal of obscurity concerning the identity of the species thus multitudinously baptised. what then is the whale, which i include in the second species of my folios? it is the great mysticetus of the english naturalists; the greenland whale of the english whalemen; the baleine ordinaire of the french whalemen; the growlands walfish of the swedes. it is the whale which for more than two centuries past has been hunted by the dutch and english in the arctic seas; it is the whale which the american fishermen have long pursued in the indian ocean, on the brazil banks, on the nor’ west coast, and various other parts of the world, designated by them right whale cruising grounds.
some pretend to see a difference between the greenland whale of the english and the right whale of the americans. but they precisely agree in all their grand features; nor has there yet been presented a single determinate fact upon which to ground a radical distinction. it is by endless subdivisions based upon the most inconclusive differences, that some departments of natural history become so repellingly intricate.
the right whale will be elsewhere treated of at some length, with reference to elucidating the sperm whale.
book i. (folio), chapter iii. (fin-back).—under this head i reckon a monster which, by the various names of fin-back, tall-spout, and long-john, has been seen almost in every sea and is commonly the whale whose distant jet is so often descried by passengers crossing the atlantic, in the new york packet-tracks. in the length he attains, and in his baleen, the fin-back resembles the right whale, but is of a less portly girth, and a lighter colour, approaching to olive. his great lips present a cable-like aspect, formed by the intertwisting, slanting folds of large wrinkles. his grand distinguishing feature, the fin, from which he derives his name, is often a conspicuous object. this fin is some three or four feet long, growing vertically from the hinder part of the back, of an angular shape, and with a very sharp pointed end. even if not the slightest other part of the creature be visible, this isolated fin will, at times, be seen plainly projecting from the surface. when the sea is moderately calm, and slightly marked with spherical ripples, and this gnomon-like fin stands up and casts shadows upon the wrinkled surface, it may well be supposed that the watery circle surrounding it somewhat resembles a dial, with its style and wavy hour-lines graved on it. on that ahaz-dial the shadow often goes back. the fin-back is not gregarious. he seems a whale-hater, as some men are man-haters. very shy; always going solitary; unexpectedly rising to the surface in the remotest and most sullen waters; his straight and single lofty jet rising like a tall misanthropic spear upon a barren plain; gifted with such wondrous power and velocity in swimming, as to defy all present pursuit from man; this leviathan seems the banished and unconquerable cain of his race, bearing for his mark that style upon his back. from having the baleen in his mouth, the fin-back is sometimes included with the right whale, among a theoretic species denominated whalebone whales, that is, whales with baleen. of these so called whalebone whales, there would seem to be several varieties, most of which, however, are little known. broad-nosed whales and beaked whales; pike-headed whales; bunched whales; under-jawed whales and rostrated whales, are the fishermen’s names for a few sorts.
in connection with this appellative of “whalebone whales,” it is of great importance to mention, that however such a nomenclature may be convenient in facilitating allusions to some kind of whales, yet it is in vain to attempt a clear classification of the leviathan, founded upon either his baleen, or hump, or fin, or teeth; notwithstanding that those marked parts or features very obviously seem better adapted to afford the basis for a regular system of cetology than any other detached bodily distinctions, which the whale, in his kinds, presents.
how then? the baleen, hump, back-fin, and teeth; these are things whose peculiarities are indiscriminately dispersed among all sorts of whales, without any regard to what may be the nature of their structure in other and more essential particulars. thus, the sperm whale and the humpbacked whale, each has a hump; but there the similitude ceases.
then, this same humpbacked whale and the greenland whale, each of these has baleen; but there again the similitude ceases. and it is just the same with the other parts above mentioned. in various sorts of whales, they form such irregular combinations; or, in the case of any one of them detached, such an irregular isolation; as utterly to defy all general methodization formed upon such a basis. on this rock every one of the whale-naturalists has split.
but it may possibly be conceived that, in the internal parts of the whale, in his anatomy—there, at least, we shall be able to hit the right classification. nay; what thing, for example, is there in the greenland whale’s anatomy more striking than his baleen? yet we have seen that by his baleen it is impossible correctly to classify the greenland whale. and if you descend into the bowels of the various leviathans, why there you will not find distinctions a fiftieth part as available to the systematizer as those external ones already enumerated. what then remains? nothing but to take hold of the whales bodily, in their entire liberal volume, and boldly sort them that way.
and this is the bibliographical system here adopted; and it is the only one that can possibly succeed, for it alone is practicable. to proceed.
book i. (folio) chapter iv. (hump back).—this whale is often seen on the northern american coast. he has been frequently captured there, and towed into harbor. he has a great pack on him like a peddler; or you might call him the elephant and castle whale. at any rate, the popular name for him does not sufficiently distinguish him, since the sperm whale also has a hump though a smaller one. his oil is not very valuable. he has baleen. he is the most gamesome and light-hearted of all the whales, making more gay foam and white water generally than any other of them.
book i. (folio), chapter v. (razor back).—of this whale little is known but his name. i have seen him at a distance off cape horn. of a retiring nature, he eludes both hunters and philosophers. though no coward, he has never yet shown any part of him but his back, which rises in a long sharp ridge. let him go. i know little more of him, nor does anybody else.
book i. (folio), chapter vi. (sulphur bottom).—another retiring gentleman, with a brimstone belly, doubtless got by scraping along the tartarian tiles in some of his profounder divings. he is seldom seen; at least i have never seen him except in the remoter southern seas, and then always at too great a distance to study his countenance. he is never chased; he would run away with rope-walks of line. prodigies are told of him. adieu, sulphur bottom! i can say nothing more that is true of ye, nor can the oldest nantucketer.
thus ends book i. (folio), and now begins book ii. (octavo).
octavoes.*—these embrace the whales of middling magnitude, among which present may be numbered:—i., the grampus; ii., the black fish; iii., the narwhale; iv., the thrasher; v., the killer.
*why this book of whales is not denominated the quarto is very plain.
because, while the whales of this order, though smaller than those of the former order, nevertheless retain a proportionate likeness to them in figure, yet the bookbinder’s quarto volume in its dimensioned form does not preserve the shape of the folio volume, but the octavo volume does.
book ii. (octavo), chapter i. (grampus).—though this fish, whose loud sonorous breathing, or rather blowing, has furnished a proverb to landsmen, is so well known a denizen of the deep, yet is he not popularly classed among whales. but possessing all the grand distinctive features of the leviathan, most naturalists have recognised him for one. he is of moderate octavo size, varying from fifteen to twenty-five feet in length, and of corresponding dimensions round the waist. he swims in herds; he is never regularly hunted, though his oil is considerable in quantity, and pretty good for light. by some fishermen his approach is regarded as premonitory of the advance of the great sperm whale.
book ii. (octavo), chapter ii. (black fish).—i give the popular fishermen’s names for all these fish, for generally they are the best.
where any name happens to be vague or inexpressive, i shall say so, and suggest another. i do so now, touching the black fish, so-called, because blackness is the rule among almost all whales. so, call him the hyena whale, if you please. his voracity is well known, and from the circumstance that the inner angles of his lips are curved upwards, he carries an everlasting mephistophelean grin on his face. this whale averages some sixteen or eighteen feet in length. he is found in almost all latitudes. he has a peculiar way of showing his dorsal hooked fin in swimming, which looks something like a roman nose. when not more profitably employed, the sperm whale hunters sometimes capture the hyena whale, to keep up the supply of cheap oil for domestic employment—as some frugal housekeepers, in the absence of company, and quite alone by themselves, burn unsavory tallow instead of odorous wax.
though their blubber is very thin, some of these whales will yield you upwards of thirty gallons of oil.
book ii. (octavo), chapter iii. (narwhale), that is, nostril whale.—another instance of a curiously named whale, so named i suppose from his peculiar horn being originally mistaken for a peaked nose. the creature is some sixteen feet in length, while its horn averages five feet, though some exceed ten, and even attain to fifteen feet. strictly speaking, this horn is but a lengthened tusk, growing out from the jaw in a line a little depressed from the horizontal. but it is only found on the sinister side, which has an ill effect, giving its owner something analogous to the aspect of a clumsy left-handed man. what precise purpose this ivory horn or lance answers, it would be hard to say. it does not seem to be used like the blade of the sword-fish and bill-fish; though some sailors tell me that the narwhale employs it for a rake in turning over the bottom of the sea for food. charley coffin said it was used for an ice-piercer; for the narwhale, rising to the surface of the polar sea, and finding it sheeted with ice, thrusts his horn up, and so breaks through. but you cannot prove either of these surmises to be correct. my own opinion is, that however this one-sided horn may really be used by the narwhale—however that may be—it would certainly be very convenient to him for a folder in reading pamphlets.
the narwhale i have heard called the tusked whale, the horned whale, and the unicorn whale. he is certainly a curious example of the unicornism to be found in almost every kingdom of animated nature. from certain cloistered old authors i have gathered that this same sea-unicorn’s horn was in ancient days regarded as the great antidote against poison, and as such, preparations of it brought immense prices.
it was also distilled to a volatile salts for fainting ladies, the same way that the horns of the male deer are manufactured into hartshorn.
originally it was in itself accounted an object of great curiosity.
black letter tells me that sir martin frobisher on his return from that voyage, when queen bess did gallantly wave her jewelled hand to him from a window of greenwich palace, as his bold ship sailed down the thames; “when sir martin returned from that voyage,” saith black letter, “on bended knees he presented to her highness a prodigious long horn of the narwhale, which for a long period after hung in the castle at windsor.” an irish author avers that the earl of leicester, on bended knees, did likewise present to her highness another horn, pertaining to a land beast of the unicorn nature.
the narwhale has a very picturesque, leopard-like look, being of a milk-white ground colour, dotted with round and oblong spots of black.
his oil is very superior, clear and fine; but there is little of it, and he is seldom hunted. he is mostly found in the circumpolar seas.
book ii. (octavo), chapter iv. (killer).—of this whale little is precisely known to the nantucketer, and nothing at all to the professed naturalist. from what i have seen of him at a distance, i should say that he was about the bigness of a grampus. he is very savage—a sort of feegee fish. he sometimes takes the great folio whales by the lip, and hangs there like a leech, till the mighty brute is worried to death.
the killer is never hunted. i never heard what sort of oil he has.
exception might be taken to the name bestowed upon this whale, on the ground of its indistinctness. for we are all killers, on land and on sea; bonapartes and sharks included.
book ii. (octavo), chapter v. (thrasher).—this gentleman is famous for his tail, which he uses for a ferule in thrashing his foes. he mounts the folio whale’s back, and as he swims, he works his passage by flogging him; as some schoolmasters get along in the world by a similar process. still less is known of the thrasher than of the killer. both are outlaws, even in the lawless seas.
thus ends book ii. (octavo), and begins book iii. (duodecimo).
duodecimoes.—these include the smaller whales. i. the huzza porpoise.
ii. the algerine porpoise. iii. the mealy-mouthed porpoise.
to those who have not chanced specially to study the subject, it may possibly seem strange, that fishes not commonly exceeding four or five feet should be marshalled among whales—a word, which, in the popular sense, always conveys an idea of hugeness. but the creatures set down above as duodecimoes are infallibly whales, by the terms of my definition of what a whale is—i.e. a spouting fish, with a horizontal tail.
book iii. (duodecimo), chapter 1. (huzza porpoise).—this is the common porpoise found almost all over the globe. the name is of my own bestowal; for there are more than one sort of porpoises, and something must be done to distinguish them. i call him thus, because he always swims in hilarious shoals, which upon the broad sea keep tossing themselves to heaven like caps in a fourth-of-july crowd. their appearance is generally hailed with delight by the mariner. full of fine spirits, they invariably come from the breezy billows to windward.
they are the lads that always live before the wind. they are accounted a lucky omen. if you yourself can withstand three cheers at beholding these vivacious fish, then heaven help ye; the spirit of godly gamesomeness is not in ye. a well-fed, plump huzza porpoise will yield you one good gallon of good oil. but the fine and delicate fluid extracted from his jaws is exceedingly valuable. it is in request among jewellers and watchmakers. sailors put it on their hones. porpoise meat is good eating, you know. it may never have occurred to you that a porpoise spouts. indeed, his spout is so small that it is not very readily discernible. but the next time you have a chance, watch him; and you will then see the great sperm whale himself in miniature.
book iii. (duodecimo), chapter ii. (algerine porpoise).—a pirate.
very savage. he is only found, i think, in the pacific. he is somewhat larger than the huzza porpoise, but much of the same general make.
provoke him, and he will buckle to a shark. i have lowered for him many times, but never yet saw him captured.
book iii. (duodecimo), chapter iii. (mealy-mouthed porpoise).—the largest kind of porpoise; and only found in the pacific, so far as it is known. the only english name, by which he has hitherto been designated, is that of the fishers—right-whale porpoise, from the circumstance that he is chiefly found in the vicinity of that folio. in shape, he differs in some degree from the huzza porpoise, being of a less rotund and jolly girth; indeed, he is of quite a neat and gentleman-like figure. he has no fins on his back (most other porpoises have), he has a lovely tail, and sentimental indian eyes of a hazel hue. but his mealy-mouth spoils all. though his entire back down to his side fins is of a deep sable, yet a boundary line, distinct as the mark in a ship’s hull, called the “bright waist,” that line streaks him from stem to stern, with two separate colours, black above and white below.
the white comprises part of his head, and the whole of his mouth, which makes him look as if he had just escaped from a felonious visit to a meal-bag. a most mean and mealy aspect! his oil is much like that of the common porpoise.
* * * * * *
beyond the duodecimo, this system does not proceed, inasmuch as the porpoise is the smallest of the whales. above, you have all the leviathans of note. but there are a rabble of uncertain, fugitive, half-fabulous whales, which, as an american whaleman, i know by reputation, but not personally. i shall enumerate them by their fore-castle appellations; for possibly such a list may be valuable to future investigators, who may complete what i have here but begun. if any of the following whales, shall hereafter be caught and marked, then he can readily be incorporated into this system, according to his folio, octavo, or duodecimo magnitude:—the bottle-nose whale; the junk whale; the pudding-headed whale; the cape whale; the leading whale; the cannon whale; the scragg whale; the coppered whale; the elephant whale; the iceberg whale; the quog whale; the blue whale; etc. from icelandic, dutch, and old english authorities, there might be quoted other lists of uncertain whales, blessed with all manner of uncouth names. but i omit them as altogether obsolete; and can hardly help suspecting them for mere sounds, full of leviathanism, but signifying nothing.
finally: it was stated at the outset, that this system would not be here, and at once, perfected. you cannot but plainly see that i have kept my word. but i now leave my cetological system standing thus unfinished, even as the great cathedral of cologne was left, with the crane still standing upon the top of the uncompleted tower. for small erections may be finished by their first architects; grand ones, true ones, ever leave the copestone to posterity. god keep me from ever completing anything. this whole book is but a draught—nay, but the draught of a draught. oh, time, strength, cash, and patience!
chapter 33. the specksnyder.
concerning the officers of the whale-craft, this seems as good a place as any to set down a little domestic peculiarity on ship-board, arising from the existence of the harpooneer class of officers, a class unknown of course in any other marine than the whale-fleet.
the large importance attached to the harpooneer’s vocation is evinced by the fact, that originally in the old dutch fishery, two centuries and more ago, the command of a whale ship was not wholly lodged in the person now called the captain, but was divided between him and an officer called the specksnyder. literally this word means fat-cutter; usage, however, in time made it equivalent to chief harpooneer. in those days, the captain’s authority was restricted to the navigation and general management of the vessel; while over the whale-hunting department and all its concerns, the specksnyder or chief harpooneer reigned supreme. in the british greenland fishery, under the corrupted title of specksioneer, this old dutch official is still retained, but his former dignity is sadly abridged. at present he ranks simply as senior harpooneer; and as such, is but one of the captain’s more inferior subalterns. nevertheless, as upon the good conduct of the harpooneers the success of a whaling voyage largely depends, and since in the american fishery he is not only an important officer in the boat, but under certain circumstances (night watches on a whaling ground) the command of the ship’s deck is also his; therefore the grand political maxim of the sea demands, that he should nominally live apart from the men before the mast, and be in some way distinguished as their professional superior; though always, by them, familiarly regarded as their social equal.
now, the grand distinction drawn between officer and man at sea, is this—the first lives aft, the last forward. hence, in whale-ships and merchantmen alike, the mates have their quarters with the captain; and so, too, in most of the american whalers the harpooneers are lodged in the after part of the ship. that is to say, they take their meals in the captain’s cabin, and sleep in a place indirectly communicating with it.
though the long period of a southern whaling voyage (by far the longest of all voyages now or ever made by man), the peculiar perils of it, and the community of interest prevailing among a company, all of whom, high or low, depend for their profits, not upon fixed wages, but upon their common luck, together with their common vigilance, intrepidity, and hard work; though all these things do in some cases tend to beget a less rigorous discipline than in merchantmen generally; yet, never mind how much like an old mesopotamian family these whalemen may, in some primitive instances, live together; for all that, the punctilious externals, at least, of the quarter-deck are seldom materially relaxed, and in no instance done away. indeed, many are the nantucket ships in which you will see the skipper parading his quarter-deck with an elated grandeur not surpassed in any military navy; nay, extorting almost as much outward homage as if he wore the imperial purple, and not the shabbiest of pilot-cloth.
and though of all men the moody captain of the pequod was the least given to that sort of shallowest assumption; and though the only homage he ever exacted, was implicit, instantaneous obedience; though he required no man to remove the shoes from his feet ere stepping upon the quarter-deck; and though there were times when, owing to peculiar circumstances connected with events hereafter to be detailed, he addressed them in unusual terms, whether of condescension or in terrorem, or otherwise; yet even captain ahab was by no means unobservant of the paramount forms and usages of the sea.
nor, perhaps, will it fail to be eventually perceived, that behind those forms and usages, as it were, he sometimes masked himself; incidentally making use of them for other and more private ends than they were legitimately intended to subserve. that certain sultanism of his brain, which had otherwise in a good degree remained unmanifested; through those forms that same sultanism became incarnate in an irresistible dictatorship. for be a man’s intellectual superiority what it will, it can never assume the practical, available supremacy over other men, without the aid of some sort of external arts and entrenchments, always, in themselves, more or less paltry and base.
this it is, that for ever keeps god’s true princes of the empire from the world’s hustings; and leaves the highest honors that this air can give, to those men who become famous more through their infinite inferiority to the choice hidden handful of the divine inert, than through their undoubted superiority over the dead level of the mass.
such large virtue lurks in these small things when extreme political superstitions invest them, that in some royal instances even to idiot imbecility they have imparted potency. but when, as in the case of nicholas the czar, the ringed crown of geographical empire encircles an imperial brain; then, the plebeian herds crouch abased before the tremendous centralization. nor, will the tragic dramatist who would depict mortal indomitableness in its fullest sweep and direct swing, ever forget a hint, incidentally so important in his art, as the one now alluded to.
but ahab, my captain, still moves before me in all his nantucket grimness and shagginess; and in this episode touching emperors and kings, i must not conceal that i have only to do with a poor old whale-hunter like him; and, therefore, all outward majestical trappings and housings are denied me. oh, ahab! what shall be grand in thee, it must needs be plucked at from the skies, and dived for in the deep, and featured in the unbodied air!
chapter 34. the cabin-table.
it is noon; and dough-boy, the steward, thrusting his pale loaf-of-bread face from the cabin-scuttle, announces dinner to his lord and master; who, sitting in the lee quarter-boat, has just been taking an observation of the sun; and is now mutely reckoning the latitude on the smooth, medallion-shaped tablet, reserved for that daily purpose on the upper part of his ivory leg. from his complete inattention to the tidings, you would think that moody ahab had not heard his menial. but presently, catching hold of the mizen shrouds, he swings himself to the deck, and in an even, unexhilarated voice, saying, “dinner, mr.
starbuck,” disappears into the cabin.
when the last echo of his sultan’s step has died away, and starbuck, the first emir, has every reason to suppose that he is seated, then starbuck rouses from his quietude, takes a few turns along the planks, and, after a grave peep into the binnacle, says, with some touch of pleasantness, “dinner, mr. stubb,” and descends the scuttle. the second emir lounges about the rigging awhile, and then slightly shaking the main brace, to see whether it will be all right with that important rope, he likewise takes up the old burden, and with a rapid “dinner, mr. flask,” follows after his predecessors.
but the third emir, now seeing himself all alone on the quarter-deck, seems to feel relieved from some curious restraint; for, tipping all sorts of knowing winks in all sorts of directions, and kicking off his shoes, he strikes into a sharp but noiseless squall of a hornpipe right over the grand turk’s head; and then, by a dexterous sleight, pitching his cap up into the mizentop for a shelf, he goes down rollicking so far at least as he remains visible from the deck, reversing all other processions, by bringing up the rear with music. but ere stepping into the cabin doorway below, he pauses, ships a new face altogether, and, then, independent, hilarious little flask enters king ahab’s presence, in the character of abjectus, or the slave.
it is not the least among the strange things bred by the intense artificialness of sea-usages, that while in the open air of the deck some officers will, upon provocation, bear themselves boldly and defyingly enough towards their commander; yet, ten to one, let those very officers the next moment go down to their customary dinner in that same commander’s cabin, and straightway their inoffensive, not to say deprecatory and humble air towards him, as he sits at the head of the table; this is marvellous, sometimes most comical. wherefore this difference? a problem? perhaps not. to have been belshazzar, king of babylon; and to have been belshazzar, not haughtily but courteously, therein certainly must have been some touch of mundane grandeur. but he who in the rightly regal and intelligent spirit presides over his own private dinner-table of invited guests, that man’s unchallenged power and dominion of individual influence for the time; that man’s royalty of state transcends belshazzar’s, for belshazzar was not the greatest.
who has but once dined his friends, has tasted what it is to be cæsar.
it is a witchery of social czarship which there is no withstanding.
now, if to this consideration you superadd the official supremacy of a ship-master, then, by inference, you will derive the cause of that peculiarity of sea-life just mentioned.
over his ivory-inlaid table, ahab presided like a mute, maned sea-lion on the white coral beach, surrounded by his warlike but still deferential cubs. in his own proper turn, each officer waited to be served. they were as little children before ahab; and yet, in ahab, there seemed not to lurk the smallest social arrogance. with one mind, their intent eyes all fastened upon the old man’s knife, as he carved the chief dish before him. i do not suppose that for the world they would have profaned that moment with the slightest observation, even upon so neutral a topic as the weather. no! and when reaching out his knife and fork, between which the slice of beef was locked, ahab thereby motioned starbuck’s plate towards him, the mate received his meat as though receiving alms; and cut it tenderly; and a little started if, perchance, the knife grazed against the plate; and chewed it noiselessly; and swallowed it, not without circumspection. for, like the coronation banquet at frankfort, where the german emperor profoundly dines with the seven imperial electors, so these cabin meals were somehow solemn meals, eaten in awful silence; and yet at table old ahab forbade not conversation; only he himself was dumb. what a relief it was to choking stubb, when a rat made a sudden racket in the hold below. and poor little flask, he was the youngest son, and little boy of this weary family party. his were the shinbones of the saline beef; his would have been the drumsticks. for flask to have presumed to help himself, this must have seemed to him tantamount to larceny in the first degree. had he helped himself at that table, doubtless, never more would he have been able to hold his head up in this honest world; nevertheless, strange to say, ahab never forbade him. and had flask helped himself, the chances were ahab had never so much as noticed it.
least of all, did flask presume to help himself to butter. whether he thought the owners of the ship denied it to him, on account of its clotting his clear, sunny complexion; or whether he deemed that, on so long a voyage in such marketless waters, butter was at a premium, and therefore was not for him, a subaltern; however it was, flask, alas!
was a butterless man!
another thing. flask was the last person down at the dinner, and flask is the first man up. consider! for hereby flask’s dinner was badly jammed in point of time. starbuck and stubb both had the start of him; and yet they also have the privilege of lounging in the rear. if stubb even, who is but a peg higher than flask, happens to have but a small appetite, and soon shows symptoms of concluding his repast, then flask must bestir himself, he will not get more than three mouthfuls that day; for it is against holy usage for stubb to precede flask to the deck. therefore it was that flask once admitted in private, that ever since he had arisen to the dignity of an officer, from that moment he had never known what it was to be otherwise than hungry, more or less.
for what he ate did not so much relieve his hunger, as keep it immortal in him. peace and satisfaction, thought flask, have for ever departed from my stomach. i am an officer; but, how i wish i could fish a bit of old-fashioned beef in the forecastle, as i used to when i was before the mast. there’s the fruits of promotion now; there’s the vanity of glory: there’s the insanity of life! besides, if it were so that any mere sailor of the pequod had a grudge against flask in flask’s official capacity, all that sailor had to do, in order to obtain ample vengeance, was to go aft at dinner-time, and get a peep at flask through the cabin sky-light, sitting silly and dumfoundered before awful ahab.
now, ahab and his three mates formed what may be called the first table in the pequod’s cabin. after their departure, taking place in inverted order to their arrival, the canvas cloth was cleared, or rather was restored to some hurried order by the pallid steward. and then the three harpooneers were bidden to the feast, they being its residuary legatees. they made a sort of temporary servants’ hall of the high and mighty cabin.
in strange contrast to the hardly tolerable constraint and nameless invisible domineerings of the captain’s table, was the entire care-free license and ease, the almost frantic democracy of those inferior fellows the harpooneers. while their masters, the mates, seemed afraid of the sound of the hinges of their own jaws, the harpooneers chewed their food with such a relish that there was a report to it. they dined like lords; they filled their bellies like indian ships all day loading with spices. such portentous appetites had queequeg and tashtego, that to fill out the vacancies made by the previous repast, often the pale dough-boy was fain to bring on a great baron of salt-junk, seemingly quarried out of the solid ox. and if he were not lively about it, if he did not go with a nimble hop-skip-and-jump, then tashtego had an ungentlemanly way of accelerating him by darting a fork at his back, harpoon-wise. and once daggoo, seized with a sudden humor, assisted dough-boy’s memory by snatching him up bodily, and thrusting his head into a great empty wooden trencher, while tashtego, knife in hand, began laying out the circle preliminary to scalping him. he was naturally a very nervous, shuddering sort of little fellow, this bread-faced steward; the progeny of a bankrupt baker and a hospital nurse. and what with the standing spectacle of the black terrific ahab, and the periodical tumultuous visitations of these three savages, dough-boy’s whole life was one continual lip-quiver. commonly, after seeing the harpooneers furnished with all things they demanded, he would escape from their clutches into his little pantry adjoining, and fearfully peep out at them through the blinds of its door, till all was over.
it was a sight to see queequeg seated over against tashtego, opposing his filed teeth to the indian’s: crosswise to them, daggoo seated on the floor, for a bench would have brought his hearse-plumed head to the low carlines; at every motion of his colossal limbs, making the low cabin framework to shake, as when an african elephant goes passenger in a ship. but for all this, the great negro was wonderfully abstemious, not to say dainty. it seemed hardly possible that by such comparatively small mouthfuls he could keep up the vitality diffused through so broad, baronial, and superb a person. but, doubtless, this noble savage fed strong and drank deep of the abounding element of air; and through his dilated nostrils snuffed in the sublime life of the worlds. not by beef or by bread, are giants made or nourished. but queequeg, he had a mortal, barbaric smack of the lip in eating—an ugly sound enough—so much so, that the trembling dough-boy almost looked to see whether any marks of teeth lurked in his own lean arms. and when he would hear tashtego singing out for him to produce himself, that his bones might be picked, the simple-witted steward all but shattered the crockery hanging round him in the pantry, by his sudden fits of the palsy. nor did the whetstone which the harpooneers carried in their pockets, for their lances and other weapons; and with which whetstones, at dinner, they would ostentatiously sharpen their knives; that grating sound did not at all tend to tranquillize poor dough-boy. how could he forget that in his island days, queequeg, for one, must certainly have been guilty of some murderous, convivial indiscretions. alas! dough-boy!
hard fares the white waiter who waits upon cannibals. not a napkin should he carry on his arm, but a buckler. in good time, though, to his great delight, the three salt-sea warriors would rise and depart; to his credulous, fable-mongering ears, all their martial bones jingling in them at every step, like moorish scimetars in scabbards.
but, though these barbarians dined in the cabin, and nominally lived there; still, being anything but sedentary in their habits, they were scarcely ever in it except at mealtimes, and just before sleeping-time, when they passed through it to their own peculiar quarters.
in this one matter, ahab seemed no exception to most american whale captains, who, as a set, rather incline to the opinion that by rights the ship’s cabin belongs to them; and that it is by courtesy alone that anybody else is, at any time, permitted there. so that, in real truth, the mates and harpooneers of the pequod might more properly be said to have lived out of the cabin than in it. for when they did enter it, it was something as a street-door enters a house; turning inwards for a moment, only to be turned out the next; and, as a permanent thing, residing in the open air. nor did they lose much hereby; in the cabin was no companionship; socially, ahab was inaccessible. though nominally included in the census of christendom, he was still an alien to it. he lived in the world, as the last of the grisly bears lived in settled missouri. and as when spring and summer had departed, that wild logan of the woods, burying himself in the hollow of a tree, lived out the winter there, sucking his own paws; so, in his inclement, howling old age, ahab’s soul, shut up in the caved trunk of his body, there fed upon the sullen paws of its gloom!
chapter 35. the mast-head.
it was during the more pleasant weather, that in due rotation with the other seamen my first mast-head came round.
in most american whalemen the mast-heads are manned almost simultaneously with the vessel’s leaving her port; even though she may have fifteen thousand miles, and more, to sail ere reaching her proper cruising ground. and if, after a three, four, or five years’ voyage she is drawing nigh home with anything empty in her—say, an empty vial even—then, her mast-heads are kept manned to the last; and not till her skysail-poles sail in among the spires of the port, does she altogether relinquish the hope of capturing one whale more.
now, as the business of standing mast-heads, ashore or afloat, is a very ancient and interesting one, let us in some measure expatiate here. i take it, that the earliest standers of mast-heads were the old egyptians; because, in all my researches, i find none prior to them.
for though their progenitors, the builders of babel, must doubtless, by their tower, have intended to rear the loftiest mast-head in all asia, or africa either; yet (ere the final truck was put to it) as that great stone mast of theirs may be said to have gone by the board, in the dread gale of god’s wrath; therefore, we cannot give these babel builders priority over the egyptians. and that the egyptians were a nation of mast-head standers, is an assertion based upon the general belief among archæologists, that the first pyramids were founded for astronomical purposes: a theory singularly supported by the peculiar stair-like formation of all four sides of those edifices; whereby, with prodigious long upliftings of their legs, those old astronomers were wont to mount to the apex, and sing out for new stars; even as the look-outs of a modern ship sing out for a sail, or a whale just bearing in sight. in saint stylites, the famous christian hermit of old times, who built him a lofty stone pillar in the desert and spent the whole latter portion of his life on its summit, hoisting his food from the ground with a tackle; in him we have a remarkable instance of a dauntless stander-of-mast-heads; who was not to be driven from his place by fogs or frosts, rain, hail, or sleet; but valiantly facing everything out to the last, literally died at his post. of modern standers-of-mast-heads we have but a lifeless set; mere stone, iron, and bronze men; who, though well capable of facing out a stiff gale, are still entirely incompetent to the business of singing out upon discovering any strange sight. there is napoleon; who, upon the top of the column of vendome, stands with arms folded, some one hundred and fifty feet in the air; careless, now, who rules the decks below; whether louis philippe, louis blanc, or louis the devil. great washington, too, stands high aloft on his towering main-mast in baltimore, and like one of hercules’ pillars, his column marks that point of human grandeur beyond which few mortals will go. admiral nelson, also, on a capstan of gun-metal, stands his mast-head in trafalgar square; and ever when most obscured by that london smoke, token is yet given that a hidden hero is there; for where there is smoke, must be fire. but neither great washington, nor napoleon, nor nelson, will answer a single hail from below, however madly invoked to befriend by their counsels the distracted decks upon which they gaze; however it may be surmised, that their spirits penetrate through the thick haze of the future, and descry what shoals and what rocks must be shunned.
it may seem unwarrantable to couple in any respect the mast-head standers of the land with those of the sea; but that in truth it is not so, is plainly evinced by an item for which obed macy, the sole historian of nantucket, stands accountable. the worthy obed tells us, that in the early times of the whale fishery, ere ships were regularly launched in pursuit of the game, the people of that island erected lofty spars along the sea-coast, to which the look-outs ascended by means of nailed cleats, something as fowls go upstairs in a hen-house.
a few years ago this same plan was adopted by the bay whalemen of new zealand, who, upon descrying the game, gave notice to the ready-manned boats nigh the beach. but this custom has now become obsolete; turn we then to the one proper mast-head, that of a whale-ship at sea. the three mast-heads are kept manned from sun-rise to sun-set; the seamen taking their regular turns (as at the helm), and relieving each other every two hours. in the serene weather of the tropics it is exceedingly pleasant the mast-head; nay, to a dreamy meditative man it is delightful. there you stand, a hundred feet above the silent decks, striding along the deep, as if the masts were gigantic stilts, while beneath you and between your legs, as it were, swim the hugest monsters of the sea, even as ships once sailed between the boots of the famous colossus at old rhodes. there you stand, lost in the infinite series of the sea, with nothing ruffled but the waves. the tranced ship indolently rolls; the drowsy trade winds blow; everything resolves you into languor. for the most part, in this tropic whaling life, a sublime uneventfulness invests you; you hear no news; read no gazettes; extras with startling accounts of commonplaces never delude you into unnecessary excitements; you hear of no domestic afflictions; bankrupt securities; fall of stocks; are never troubled with the thought of what you shall have for dinner—for all your meals for three years and more are snugly stowed in casks, and your bill of fare is immutable.
in one of those southern whalesmen, on a long three or four years’
voyage, as often happens, the sum of the various hours you spend at the mast-head would amount to several entire months. and it is much to be deplored that the place to which you devote so considerable a portion of the whole term of your natural life, should be so sadly destitute of anything approaching to a cosy inhabitiveness, or adapted to breed a comfortable localness of feeling, such as pertains to a bed, a hammock, a hearse, a sentry box, a pulpit, a coach, or any other of those small and snug contrivances in which men temporarily isolate themselves. your most usual point of perch is the head of the t’ gallant-mast, where you stand upon two thin parallel sticks (almost peculiar to whalemen)
called the t’ gallant cross-trees. here, tossed about by the sea, the beginner feels about as cosy as he would standing on a bull’s horns. to be sure, in cold weather you may carry your house aloft with you, in the shape of a watch-coat; but properly speaking the thickest watch-coat is no more of a house than the unclad body; for as the soul is glued inside of its fleshy tabernacle, and cannot freely move about in it, nor even move out of it, without running great risk of perishing (like an ignorant pilgrim crossing the snowy alps in winter); so a watch-coat is not so much of a house as it is a mere envelope, or additional skin encasing you. you cannot put a shelf or chest of drawers in your body, and no more can you make a convenient closet of your watch-coat.
concerning all this, it is much to be deplored that the mast-heads of a southern whale ship are unprovided with those enviable little tents or pulpits, called crow’s-nests, in which the look-outs of a greenland whaler are protected from the inclement weather of the frozen seas. in the fireside narrative of captain sleet, entitled “a voyage among the icebergs, in quest of the greenland whale, and incidentally for the re-discovery of the lost icelandic colonies of old greenland;” in this admirable volume, all standers of mast-heads are furnished with a charmingly circumstantial account of the then recently invented crow’s-nest of the glacier, which was the name of captain sleet’s good craft. he called it the sleet’s crow’s-nest, in honor of himself; he being the original inventor and patentee, and free from all ridiculous false delicacy, and holding that if we call our own children after our own names (we fathers being the original inventors and patentees), so likewise should we denominate after ourselves any other apparatus we may beget. in shape, the sleet’s crow’s-nest is something like a large tierce or pipe; it is open above, however, where it is furnished with a movable side-screen to keep to windward of your head in a hard gale. being fixed on the summit of the mast, you ascend into it through a little trap-hatch in the bottom. on the after side, or side next the stern of the ship, is a comfortable seat, with a locker underneath for umbrellas, comforters, and coats. in front is a leather rack, in which to keep your speaking trumpet, pipe, telescope, and other nautical conveniences. when captain sleet in person stood his mast-head in this crow’s-nest of his, he tells us that he always had a rifle with him (also fixed in the rack), together with a powder flask and shot, for the purpose of popping off the stray narwhales, or vagrant sea unicorns infesting those waters; for you cannot successfully shoot at them from the deck owing to the resistance of the water, but to shoot down upon them is a very different thing. now, it was plainly a labor of love for captain sleet to describe, as he does, all the little detailed conveniences of his crow’s-nest; but though he so enlarges upon many of these, and though he treats us to a very scientific account of his experiments in this crow’s-nest, with a small compass he kept there for the purpose of counteracting the errors resulting from what is called the “local attraction” of all binnacle magnets; an error ascribable to the horizontal vicinity of the iron in the ship’s planks, and in the glacier’s case, perhaps, to there having been so many broken-down blacksmiths among her crew; i say, that though the captain is very discreet and scientific here, yet, for all his learned “binnacle deviations,” “azimuth compass observations,” and “approximate errors,” he knows very well, captain sleet, that he was not so much immersed in those profound magnetic meditations, as to fail being attracted occasionally towards that well replenished little case-bottle, so nicely tucked in on one side of his crow’s nest, within easy reach of his hand. though, upon the whole, i greatly admire and even love the brave, the honest, and learned captain; yet i take it very ill of him that he should so utterly ignore that case-bottle, seeing what a faithful friend and comforter it must have been, while with mittened fingers and hooded head he was studying the mathematics aloft there in that bird’s nest within three or four perches of the pole.
but if we southern whale-fishers are not so snugly housed aloft as captain sleet and his greenlandmen were; yet that disadvantage is greatly counter-balanced by the widely contrasting serenity of those seductive seas in which we south fishers mostly float. for one, i used to lounge up the rigging very leisurely, resting in the top to have a chat with queequeg, or any one else off duty whom i might find there; then ascending a little way further, and throwing a lazy leg over the top-sail yard, take a preliminary view of the watery pastures, and so at last mount to my ultimate destination.
let me make a clean breast of it here, and frankly admit that i kept but sorry guard. with the problem of the universe revolving in me, how could i—being left completely to myself at such a thought-engendering altitude—how could i but lightly hold my obligations to observe all whale-ships’ standing orders, “keep your weather eye open, and sing out every time.”
and let me in this place movingly admonish you, ye ship-owners of nantucket! beware of enlisting in your vigilant fisheries any lad with lean brow and hollow eye; given to unseasonable meditativeness; and who offers to ship with the phædon instead of bowditch in his head. beware of such an one, i say; your whales must be seen before they can be killed; and this sunken-eyed young platonist will tow you ten wakes round the world, and never make you one pint of sperm the richer. nor are these monitions at all unneeded. for nowadays, the whale-fishery furnishes an asylum for many romantic, melancholy, and absent-minded young men, disgusted with the carking cares of earth, and seeking sentiment in tar and blubber. childe harold not unfrequently perches himself upon the mast-head of some luckless disappointed whale-ship, and in moody phrase ejaculates:—
“roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! ten thousand blubber-hunters sweep over thee in vain.”
very often do the captains of such ships take those absent-minded young philosophers to task, upbraiding them with not feeling sufficient “interest” in the voyage; half-hinting that they are so hopelessly lost to all honorable ambition, as that in their secret souls they would rather not see whales than otherwise. but all in vain; those young platonists have a notion that their vision is imperfect; they are short-sighted; what use, then, to strain the visual nerve? they have left their opera-glasses at home.
“why, thou monkey,” said a harpooneer to one of these lads, “we’ve been cruising now hard upon three years, and thou hast not raised a whale yet. whales are scarce as hen’s teeth whenever thou art up here.”
perhaps they were; or perhaps there might have been shoals of them in the far horizon; but lulled into such an opium-like listlessness of vacant, unconscious reverie is this absent-minded youth by the blending cadence of waves with thoughts, that at last he loses his identity; takes the mystic ocean at his feet for the visible image of that deep, blue, bottomless soul, pervading mankind and nature; and every strange, half-seen, gliding, beautiful thing that eludes him; every dimly-discovered, uprising fin of some undiscernible form, seems to him the embodiment of those elusive thoughts that only people the soul by continually flitting through it. in this enchanted mood, thy spirit ebbs away to whence it came; becomes diffused through time and space; like cranmer’s sprinkled pantheistic ashes, forming at last a part of every shore the round globe over.
there is no life in thee, now, except that rocking life imparted by a gently rolling ship; by her, borrowed from the sea; by the sea, from the inscrutable tides of god. but while this sleep, this dream is on ye, move your foot or hand an inch; slip your hold at all; and your identity comes back in horror. over descartian vortices you hover. and perhaps, at mid-day, in the fairest weather, with one half-throttled shriek you drop through that transparent air into the summer sea, no more to rise for ever. heed it well, ye pantheists!
chapter 36. the quarter-deck.
(enter ahab: then, all.)
it was not a great while after the affair of the pipe, that one morning shortly after breakfast, ahab, as was his wont, ascended the cabin-gangway to the deck. there most sea-captains usually walk at that hour, as country gentlemen, after the same meal, take a few turns in the garden.
soon his steady, ivory stride was heard, as to and fro he paced his old rounds, upon planks so familiar to his tread, that they were all over dented, like geological stones, with the peculiar mark of his walk. did you fixedly gaze, too, upon that ribbed and dented brow; there also, you would see still stranger foot-prints—the foot-prints of his one unsleeping, ever-pacing thought.
but on the occasion in question, those dents looked deeper, even as his nervous step that morning left a deeper mark. and, so full of his thought was ahab, that at every uniform turn that he made, now at the main-mast and now at the binnacle, you could almost see that thought turn in him as he turned, and pace in him as he paced; so completely possessing him, indeed, that it all but seemed the inward mould of every outer movement.
“d’ye mark him, flask?” whispered stubb; “the chick that’s in him pecks the shell. ’twill soon be out.”
the hours wore on;—ahab now shut up within his cabin; anon, pacing the deck, with the same intense bigotry of purpose in his aspect.
it drew near the close of day. suddenly he came to a halt by the bulwarks, and inserting his bone leg into the auger-hole there, and with one hand grasping a shroud, he ordered starbuck to send everybody aft.
“sir!” said the mate, astonished at an order seldom or never given on ship-board except in some extraordinary case.
“send everybody aft,” repeated ahab. “mast-heads, there! come down!”
when the entire ship’s company were assembled, and with curious and not wholly unapprehensive faces, were eyeing him, for he looked not unlike the weather horizon when a storm is coming up, ahab, after rapidly glancing over the bulwarks, and then darting his eyes among the crew, started from his standpoint; and as though not a soul were nigh him resumed his heavy turns upon the deck. with bent head and half-slouched hat he continued to pace, unmindful of the wondering whispering among the men; till stubb cautiously whispered to flask, that ahab must have summoned them there for the purpose of witnessing a pedestrian feat.
but this did not last long. vehemently pausing, he cried:—
“what do ye do when ye see a whale, men?”
“sing out for him!” was the impulsive rejoinder from a score of clubbed voices.
“good!” cried ahab, with a wild approval in his tones; observing the hearty animation into which his unexpected question had so magnetically thrown them.
“and what do ye next, men?”
“lower away, and after him!”
“and what tune is it ye pull to, men?”
“a dead whale or a stove boat!”
more and more strangely and fiercely glad and approving, grew the countenance of the old man at every shout; while the mariners began to gaze curiously at each other, as if marvelling how it was that they themselves became so excited at such seemingly purposeless questions.
but, they were all eagerness again, as ahab, now half-revolving in his pivot-hole, with one hand reaching high up a shroud, and tightly, almost convulsively grasping it, addressed them thus:—
“all ye mast-headers have before now heard me give orders about a white whale. look ye! d’ye see this spanish ounce of gold?”—holding up a broad bright coin to the sun—“it is a sixteen dollar piece, men. d’ye see it? mr. starbuck, hand me yon top-maul.”
while the mate was getting the hammer, ahab, without speaking, was slowly rubbing the gold piece against the skirts of his jacket, as if to heighten its lustre, and without using any words was meanwhile lowly humming to himself, producing a sound so strangely muffled and inarticulate that it seemed the mechanical humming of the wheels of his vitality in him.
receiving the top-maul from starbuck, he advanced towards the main-mast with the hammer uplifted in one hand, exhibiting the gold with the other, and with a high raised voice exclaiming: “whosoever of ye raises me a white-headed whale with a wrinkled brow and a crooked jaw; whosoever of ye raises me that white-headed whale, with three holes punctured in his starboard fluke—look ye, whosoever of ye raises me that same white whale, he shall have this gold ounce, my boys!”
“huzza! huzza!” cried the seamen, as with swinging tarpaulins they hailed the act of nailing the gold to the mast.
“it’s a white whale, i say,” resumed ahab, as he threw down the topmaul: “a white whale. skin your eyes for him, men; look sharp for white water; if ye see but a bubble, sing out.”
all this while tashtego, daggoo, and queequeg had looked on with even more intense interest and surprise than the rest, and at the mention of the wrinkled brow and crooked jaw they had started as if each was separately touched by some specific recollection.
“captain ahab,” said tashtego, “that white whale must be the same that some call moby dick.”
“moby dick?” shouted ahab. “do ye know the white whale then, tash?”
“does he fan-tail a little curious, sir, before he goes down?” said the gay-header deliberately.
“and has he a curious spout, too,” said daggoo, “very bushy, even for a parmacetty, and mighty quick, captain ahab?”
“and he have one, two, three—oh! good many iron in him hide, too, captain,” cried queequeg disjointedly, “all twiske-tee be-twisk, like him—him—” faltering hard for a word, and screwing his hand round and round as though uncorking a bottle—“like him—him—”
“corkscrew!” cried ahab, “aye, queequeg, the harpoons lie all twisted and wrenched in him; aye, daggoo, his spout is a big one, like a whole shock of wheat, and white as a pile of our nantucket wool after the great annual sheep-shearing; aye, tashtego, and he fan-tails like a split jib in a squall. death and devils! men, it is moby dick ye have seen—moby dick—moby dick!”
“captain ahab,” said starbuck, who, with stubb and flask, had thus far been eyeing his superior with increasing surprise, but at last seemed struck with a thought which somewhat explained all the wonder. “captain ahab, i have heard of moby dick—but it was not moby dick that took off thy leg?”
“who told thee that?” cried ahab; then pausing, “aye, starbuck; aye, my hearties all round; it was moby dick that dismasted me; moby dick that brought me to this dead stump i stand on now. aye, aye,” he shouted with a terrific, loud, animal sob, like that of a heart-stricken moose; “aye, aye! it was that accursed white whale that razed me; made a poor pegging lubber of me for ever and a day!” then tossing both arms, with measureless imprecations he shouted out: “aye, aye! and i’ll chase him round good hope, and round the horn, and round the norway maelstrom, and round perdition’s flames before i give him up. and this is what ye have shipped for, men! to chase that white whale on both sides of land, and over all sides of earth, till he spouts black blood and rolls fin out. what say ye, men, will ye splice hands on it, now? i think ye do look brave.”
“aye, aye!” shouted the harpooneers and seamen, running closer to the excited old man: “a sharp eye for the white whale; a sharp lance for moby dick!”
“god bless ye,” he seemed to half sob and half shout. “god bless ye, men. steward! go draw the great measure of grog. but what’s this long face about, mr. starbuck; wilt thou not chase the white whale? art not game for moby dick?”
“i am game for his crooked jaw, and for the jaws of death too, captain ahab, if it fairly comes in the way of the business we follow; but i came here to hunt whales, not my commander’s vengeance. how many barrels will thy vengeance yield thee even if thou gettest it, captain ahab? it will not fetch thee much in our nantucket market.”
“nantucket market! hoot! but come closer, starbuck; thou requirest a little lower layer. if money’s to be the measurer, man, and the accountants have computed their great counting-house the globe, by girdling it with guineas, one to every three parts of an inch; then, let me tell thee, that my vengeance will fetch a great premium here!”
“he smites his chest,” whispered stubb, “what’s that for? methinks it rings most vast, but hollow.”
“vengeance on a dumb brute!” cried starbuck, “that simply smote thee from blindest instinct! madness! to be enraged with a dumb thing, captain ahab, seems blasphemous.”
“hark ye yet again—the little lower layer. all visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. but in each event—in the living act, the undoubted deed—there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask. if man will strike, strike through the mask! how can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the wall? to me, the white whale is that wall, shoved near to me. sometimes i think there’s naught beyond.
but ’tis enough. he tasks me; he heaps me; i see in him outrageous strength, with an inscrutable malice sinewing it. that inscrutable thing is chiefly what i hate; and be the white whale agent, or be the white whale principal, i will wreak that hate upon him. talk not to me of blasphemy, man; i’d strike the sun if it insulted me. for could the sun do that, then could i do the other; since there is ever a sort of fair play herein, jealousy presiding over all creations. but not my master, man, is even that fair play. who’s over me? truth hath no confines. take off thine eye! more intolerable than fiends’ glarings is a doltish stare! so, so; thou reddenest and palest; my heat has melted thee to anger-glow. but look ye, starbuck, what is said in heat, that thing unsays itself. there are men from whom warm words are small indignity. i meant not to incense thee. let it go. look! see yonder turkish cheeks of spotted tawn—living, breathing pictures painted by the sun. the pagan leopards—the unrecking and unworshipping things, that live; and seek, and give no reasons for the torrid life they feel!
the crew, man, the crew! are they not one and all with ahab, in this matter of the whale? see stubb! he laughs! see yonder chilian! he snorts to think of it. stand up amid the general hurricane, thy one tost sapling cannot, starbuck! and what is it? reckon it. ’tis but to help strike a fin; no wondrous feat for starbuck. what is it more? from this one poor hunt, then, the best lance out of all nantucket, surely he will not hang back, when every foremast-hand has clutched a whetstone? ah! constrainings seize thee; i see! the billow lifts thee!
speak, but speak!—aye, aye! thy silence, then, that voices thee.
(aside) something shot from my dilated nostrils, he has inhaled it in his lungs. starbuck now is mine; cannot oppose me now, without rebellion.”
“god keep me!—keep us all!” murmured starbuck, lowly.
but in his joy at the enchanted, tacit acquiescence of the mate, ahab did not hear his foreboding invocation; nor yet the low laugh from the hold; nor yet the presaging vibrations of the winds in the cordage; nor yet the hollow flap of the sails against the masts, as for a moment their hearts sank in. for again starbuck’s downcast eyes lighted up with the stubbornness of life; the subterranean laugh died away; the winds blew on; the sails filled out; the ship heaved and rolled as before. ah, ye admonitions and warnings! why stay ye not when ye come?
but rather are ye predictions than warnings, ye shadows! yet not so much predictions from without, as verifications of the foregoing things within. for with little external to constrain us, the innermost necessities in our being, these still drive us on.
“the measure! the measure!” cried ahab.
receiving the brimming pewter, and turning to the harpooneers, he ordered them to produce their weapons. then ranging them before him near the capstan, with their harpoons in their hands, while his three mates stood at his side with their lances, and the rest of the ship’s company formed a circle round the group; he stood for an instant searchingly eyeing every man of his crew. but those wild eyes met his, as the bloodshot eyes of the prairie wolves meet the eye of their leader, ere he rushes on at their head in the trail of the bison; but, alas! only to fall into the hidden snare of the indian.
“drink and pass!” he cried, handing the heavy charged flagon to the nearest seaman. “the crew alone now drink. round with it, round! short draughts—long swallows, men; ’tis hot as satan’s hoof. so, so; it goes round excellently. it spiralizes in ye; forks out at the serpent-snapping eye. well done; almost drained. that way it went, this way it comes. hand it me—here’s a hollow! men, ye seem the years; so brimming life is gulped and gone. steward, refill!
“attend now, my braves. i have mustered ye all round this capstan; and ye mates, flank me with your lances; and ye harpooneers, stand there with your irons; and ye, stout mariners, ring me in, that i may in some sort revive a noble custom of my fisherman fathers before me. o men, you will yet see that—ha! boy, come back? bad pennies come not sooner.
hand it me. why, now, this pewter had run brimming again, wer’t not thou st. vitus’ imp—away, thou ague!
“advance, ye mates! cross your lances full before me. well done! let me touch the axis.” so saying, with extended arm, he grasped the three level, radiating lances at their crossed centre; while so doing, suddenly and nervously twitched them; meanwhile, glancing intently from starbuck to stubb; from stubb to flask. it seemed as though, by some nameless, interior volition, he would fain have shocked into them the same fiery emotion accumulated within the leyden jar of his own magnetic life. the three mates quailed before his strong, sustained, and mystic aspect. stubb and flask looked sideways from him; the honest eye of starbuck fell downright.
“in vain!” cried ahab; “but, maybe, ’tis well. for did ye three but once take the full-forced shock, then mine own electric thing, that had perhaps expired from out me. perchance, too, it would have dropped ye dead. perchance ye need it not. down lances! and now, ye mates, i do appoint ye three cupbearers to my three pagan kinsmen there—yon three most honorable gentlemen and noblemen, my valiant harpooneers. disdain the task? what, when the great pope washes the feet of beggars, using his tiara for ewer? oh, my sweet cardinals! your own condescension, that shall bend ye to it. i do not order ye; ye will it. cut your seizings and draw the poles, ye harpooneers!”
silently obeying the order, the three harpooneers now stood with the detached iron part of their harpoons, some three feet long, held, barbs up, before him.
“stab me not with that keen steel! cant them; cant them over! know ye not the goblet end? turn up the socket! so, so; now, ye cup-bearers, advance. the irons! take them; hold them while i fill!” forthwith, slowly going from one officer to the other, he brimmed the harpoon sockets with the fiery waters from the pewter.
“now, three to three, ye stand. commend the murderous chalices! bestow them, ye who are now made parties to this indissoluble league. ha!
starbuck! but the deed is done! yon ratifying sun now waits to sit upon it. drink, ye harpooneers! drink and swear, ye men that man the deathful whaleboat’s bow—death to moby dick! god hunt us all, if we do not hunt moby dick to his death!” the long, barbed steel goblets were lifted; and to cries and maledictions against the white whale, the spirits were simultaneously quaffed down with a hiss. starbuck paled, and turned, and shivered. once more, and finally, the replenished pewter went the rounds among the frantic crew; when, waving his free hand to them, they all dispersed; and ahab retired within his cabin.
chapter 37. sunset.
the cabin; by the stern windows; ahab sitting alone, and gazing out.
i leave a white and turbid wake; pale waters, paler cheeks, where’er i sail. the envious billows sidelong swell to whelm my track; let them; but first i pass.
yonder, by ever-brimming goblet’s rim, the warm waves blush like wine.
the gold brow plumbs the blue. the diver sun—slow dived from noon—goes down; my soul mounts up! she wearies with her endless hill. is, then, the crown too heavy that i wear? this iron crown of lombardy. yet is it bright with many a gem; i the wearer, see not its far flashings; but darkly feel that i wear that, that dazzlingly confounds. ’tis iron—that i know—not gold. ’tis split, too—that i feel; the jagged edge galls me so, my brain seems to beat against the solid metal; aye, steel skull, mine; the sort that needs no helmet in the most brain-battering fight!
dry heat upon my brow? oh! time was, when as the sunrise nobly spurred me, so the sunset soothed. no more. this lovely light, it lights not me; all loveliness is anguish to me, since i can ne’er enjoy. gifted with the high perception, i lack the low, enjoying power; damned, most subtly and most malignantly! damned in the midst of paradise! good night—good night! (waving his hand, he moves from the window.)
’twas not so hard a task. i thought to find one stubborn, at the least; but my one cogged circle fits into all their various wheels, and they revolve. or, if you will, like so many ant-hills of powder, they all stand before me; and i their match. oh, hard! that to fire others, the match itself must needs be wasting! what i’ve dared, i’ve willed; and what i’ve willed, i’ll do! they think me mad—starbuck does; but i’m demoniac, i am madness maddened! that wild madness that’s only calm to comprehend itself! the prophecy was that i should be dismembered; and—aye! i lost this leg. i now prophesy that i will dismember my dismemberer. now, then, be the prophet and the fulfiller one. that’s more than ye, ye great gods, ever were. i laugh and hoot at ye, ye cricket-players, ye pugilists, ye deaf burkes and blinded bendigoes! i will not say as schoolboys do to bullies—take some one of your own size; don’t pommel me! no, ye’ve knocked me down, and i am up again; but ye have run and hidden. come forth from behind your cotton bags!
i have no long gun to reach ye. come, ahab’s compliments to ye; come and see if ye can swerve me. swerve me? ye cannot swerve me, else ye swerve yourselves! man has ye there. swerve me? the path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, whereon my soul is grooved to run.
over unsounded gorges, through the rifled hearts of mountains, under torrents’ beds, unerringly i rush! naught’s an obstacle, naught’s an angle to the iron way!
chapter 38. dusk.
by the mainmast; starbuck leaning against it.
my soul is more than matched; she’s overmanned; and by a madman!
insufferable sting, that sanity should ground arms on such a field! but he drilled deep down, and blasted all my reason out of me! i think i see his impious end; but feel that i must help him to it. will i, nill i, the ineffable thing has tied me to him; tows me with a cable i have no knife to cut. horrible old man! who’s over him, he cries;—aye, he would be a democrat to all above; look, how he lords it over all below!
oh! i plainly see my miserable office,—to obey, rebelling; and worse yet, to hate with touch of pity! for in his eyes i read some lurid woe would shrivel me up, had i it. yet is there hope. time and tide flow wide. the hated whale has the round watery world to swim in, as the small gold-fish has its glassy globe. his heaven-insulting purpose, god may wedge aside. i would up heart, were it not like lead. but my whole clock’s run down; my heart the all-controlling weight, i have no key to lift again.
[a burst of revelry from the forecastle.]
oh, god! to sail with such a heathen crew that have small touch of human mothers in them! whelped somewhere by the sharkish sea. the white whale is their demigorgon. hark! the infernal orgies! that revelry is forward! mark the unfaltering silence aft! methinks it pictures life.
foremost through the sparkling sea shoots on the gay, embattled, bantering bow, but only to drag dark ahab after it, where he broods within his sternward cabin, builded over the dead water of the wake, and further on, hunted by its wolfish gurglings. the long howl thrills me through! peace! ye revellers, and set the watch! oh, life! ’tis in an hour like this, with soul beat down and held to knowledge,—as wild, untutored things are forced to feed—oh, life! ’tis now that i do feel the latent horror in thee! but ’tis not me! that horror’s out of me!
and with the soft feeling of the human in me, yet will i try to fight ye, ye grim, phantom futures! stand by me, hold me, bind me, o ye blessed influences!
chapter 39. first night-watch.
fore-top.
(stubb solus, and mending a brace.)
ha! ha! ha! ha! hem! clear my throat!—i’ve been thinking over it ever since, and that ha, ha’s the final consequence. why so? because a laugh’s the wisest, easiest answer to all that’s queer; and come what will, one comfort’s always left—that unfailing comfort is, it’s all predestinated. i heard not all his talk with starbuck; but to my poor eye starbuck then looked something as i the other evening felt. be sure the old mogul has fixed him, too. i twigged it, knew it; had had the gift, might readily have prophesied it—for when i clapped my eye upon his skull i saw it. well, stubb, wise stubb—that’s my title—well, stubb, what of it, stubb? here’s a carcase. i know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, i’ll go to it laughing. such a waggish leering as lurks in all your horribles! i feel funny. fa, la! lirra, skirra! what’s my juicy little pear at home doing now? crying its eyes out?—giving a party to the last arrived harpooneers, i dare say, gay as a frigate’s pennant, and so am i—fa, la! lirra, skirra! oh—
we’ll drink to-night with hearts as light, to love, as gay and fleeting as bubbles that swim, on the beaker’s brim, and break on the lips while meeting.
a brave stave that—who calls? mr. starbuck? aye, aye, sir—(aside)
he’s my superior, he has his too, if i’m not mistaken.—aye, aye, sir, just through with this job—coming.
chapter 40. midnight, forecastle.
harpooneers and sailors.
(foresail rises and discovers the watch standing, lounging, leaning, and lying in various attitudes, all singing in chorus.)
farewell and adieu to you, spanish ladies! farewell and adieu to you, ladies of spain! our captain’s commanded.—
1st nantucket sailor. oh, boys, don’t be sentimental; it’s bad for the digestion! take a tonic, follow me!
(sings, and all follow.)
our captain stood upon the deck, a spy-glass in his hand, a viewing of those gallant whales that blew at every strand. oh, your tubs in your boats, my boys, and by your braces stand, and we’ll have one of those fine whales, hand, boys, over hand! so, be cheery, my lads! may your hearts never fail! while the bold harpooner is striking the whale!
mate’s voice from the quarter-deck. eight bells there, forward!
2nd nantucket sailor. avast the chorus! eight bells there! d’ye hear, bell-boy? strike the bell eight, thou pip! thou blackling! and let me call the watch. i’ve the sort of mouth for that—the hogshead mouth. so, so, (thrusts his head down the scuttle,) star-bo-l-e-e-n-s, a-h-o-y!
eight bells there below! tumble up!
dutch sailor. grand snoozing to-night, maty; fat night for that. i mark this in our old mogul’s wine; it’s quite as deadening to some as filliping to others. we sing; they sleep—aye, lie down there, like ground-tier butts. at ’em again! there, take this copper-pump, and hail ’em through it. tell ’em to avast dreaming of their lasses. tell ’em it’s the resurrection; they must kiss their last, and come to judgment.
that’s the way—that’s it; thy throat ain’t spoiled with eating amsterdam butter.
french sailor. hist, boys! let’s have a jig or two before we ride to anchor in blanket bay. what say ye? there comes the other watch. stand by all legs! pip! little pip! hurrah with your tambourine!
pip. (sulky and sleepy.) don’t know where it is.
french sailor. beat thy belly, then, and wag thy ears. jig it, men, i say; merry’s the word; hurrah! damn me, won’t you dance? form, now, indian-file, and gallop into the double-shuffle? throw yourselves!
legs! legs!
iceland sailor. i don’t like your floor, maty; it’s too springy to my taste. i’m used to ice-floors. i’m sorry to throw cold water on the subject; but excuse me.
maltese sailor. me too; where’s your girls? who but a fool would take his left hand by his right, and say to himself, how d’ye do? partners!
i must have partners!
sicilian sailor. aye; girls and a green!—then i’ll hop with ye; yea, turn grasshopper!
long-island sailor. well, well, ye sulkies, there’s plenty more of us.
hoe corn when you may, say i. all legs go to harvest soon. ah! here comes the music; now for it!
azore sailor. (ascending, and pitching the tambourine up the scuttle.) here you are, pip; and there’s the windlass-bitts; up you mount! now, boys! (the half of them dance to the tambourine; some go below; some sleep or lie among the coils of rigging. oaths a-plenty.)
azore sailor. (dancing) go it, pip! bang it, bell-boy! rig it, dig it, stig it, quig it, bell-boy! make fire-flies; break the jinglers!
pip. jinglers, you say?—there goes another, dropped off; i pound it so.
china sailor. rattle thy teeth, then, and pound away; make a pagoda of thyself.
french sailor. merry-mad! hold up thy hoop, pip, till i jump through it! split jibs! tear yourselves!
tashtego. (quietly smoking.) that’s a white man; he calls that fun:
humph! i save my sweat.
old manx sailor. i wonder whether those jolly lads bethink them of what they are dancing over. i’ll dance over your grave, i will—that’s the bitterest threat of your night-women, that beat head-winds round corners. o christ! to think of the green navies and the green-skulled crews! well, well; belike the whole world’s a ball, as you scholars have it; and so ’tis right to make one ballroom of it. dance on, lads, you’re young; i was once.
3d nantucket sailor. spell oh!—whew! this is worse than pulling after whales in a calm—give us a whiff, tash.
(they cease dancing, and gather in clusters. meantime the sky darkens—the wind rises.)
lascar sailor. by brahma! boys, it’ll be douse sail soon. the sky-born, high-tide ganges turned to wind! thou showest thy black brow, seeva!
maltese sailor. (reclining and shaking his cap.) it’s the waves—the snow’s caps turn to jig it now. they’ll shake their tassels soon. now would all the waves were women, then i’d go drown, and chassee with them evermore! there’s naught so sweet on earth—heaven may not match it!—as those swift glances of warm, wild bosoms in the dance, when the over-arboring arms hide such ripe, bursting grapes.
sicilian sailor. (reclining.) tell me not of it! hark ye, lad—fleet interlacings of the limbs—lithe swayings—coyings—flutterings! lip!
heart! hip! all graze: unceasing touch and go! not taste, observe ye, else come satiety. eh, pagan? (nudging.)
tahitan sailor. (reclining on a mat.) hail, holy nakedness of our dancing girls!—the heeva-heeva! ah! low veiled, high palmed tahiti! i still rest me on thy mat, but the soft soil has slid! i saw thee woven in the wood, my mat! green the first day i brought ye thence; now worn and wilted quite. ah me!—not thou nor i can bear the change! how then, if so be transplanted to yon sky? hear i the roaring streams from pirohitee’s peak of spears, when they leap down the crags and drown the villages?—the blast! the blast! up, spine, and meet it! (leaps to his feet.)
portuguese sailor. how the sea rolls swashing ’gainst the side! stand by for reefing, hearties! the winds are just crossing swords, pell-mell they’ll go lunging presently.
danish sailor. crack, crack, old ship! so long as thou crackest, thou holdest! well done! the mate there holds ye to it stiffly. he’s no more afraid than the isle fort at cattegat, put there to fight the baltic with storm-lashed guns, on which the sea-salt cakes!
4th nantucket sailor. he has his orders, mind ye that. i heard old ahab tell him he must always kill a squall, something as they burst a waterspout with a pistol—fire your ship right into it!
english sailor. blood! but that old man’s a grand old cove! we are the lads to hunt him up his whale!
all. aye! aye!
old manx sailor. how the three pines shake! pines are the hardest sort of tree to live when shifted to any other soil, and here there’s none but the crew’s cursed clay. steady, helmsman! steady. this is the sort of weather when brave hearts snap ashore, and keeled hulls split at sea. our captain has his birthmark; look yonder, boys, there’s another in the sky—lurid-like, ye see, all else pitch black.
daggoo. what of that? who’s afraid of black’s afraid of me! i’m quarried out of it!
spanish sailor. (aside.) he wants to bully, ah!—the old grudge makes me touchy (advancing.) aye, harpooneer, thy race is the undeniable dark side of mankind—devilish dark at that. no offence.
daggoo (grimly). none.
st. jago’s sailor. that spaniard’s mad or drunk. but that can’t be, or else in his one case our old mogul’s fire-waters are somewhat long in working.
5th nantucket sailor. what’s that i saw—lightning? yes.
spanish sailor. no; daggoo showing his teeth.
daggoo (springing). swallow thine, mannikin! white skin, white liver!
spanish sailor (meeting him). knife thee heartily! big frame, small spirit!
all. a row! a row! a row!
tashtego (with a whiff). a row a’low, and a row aloft—gods and men—both brawlers! humph!
belfast sailor. a row! arrah a row! the virgin be blessed, a row!
plunge in with ye!
english sailor. fair play! snatch the spaniard’s knife! a ring, a ring!
old manx sailor. ready formed. there! the ringed horizon. in that ring cain struck abel. sweet work, right work! no? why then, god, mad’st thou the ring?
mate’s voice from the quarter-deck. hands by the halyards! in top-gallant sails! stand by to reef topsails!
all. the squall! the squall! jump, my jollies! (they scatter.)
pip (shrinking under the windlass). jollies? lord help such jollies!
crish, crash! there goes the jib-stay! blang-whang! god! duck lower, pip, here comes the royal yard! it’s worse than being in the whirled woods, the last day of the year! who’d go climbing after chestnuts now?
but there they go, all cursing, and here i don’t. fine prospects to ’em; they’re on the road to heaven. hold on hard! jimmini, what a squall! but those chaps there are worse yet—they are your white squalls, they. white squalls? white whale, shirr! shirr! here have i heard all their chat just now, and the white whale—shirr! shirr!—but spoken of once! and only this evening—it makes me jingle all over like my tambourine—that anaconda of an old man swore ’em in to hunt him! oh, thou big white god aloft there somewhere in yon darkness, have mercy on this small black boy down here; preserve him from all men that have no bowels to feel fear!
chapter 41. moby dick.
i, ishmael, was one of that crew; my shouts had gone up with the rest; my oath had been welded with theirs; and stronger i shouted, and more did i hammer and clinch my oath, because of the dread in my soul. a wild, mystical, sympathetical feeling was in me; ahab’s quenchless feud seemed mine. with greedy ears i learned the history of that murderous monster against whom i and all the others had taken our oaths of violence and revenge.
for some time past, though at intervals only, the unaccompanied, secluded white whale had haunted those uncivilized seas mostly frequented by the sperm whale fishermen. but not all of them knew of his existence; only a few of them, comparatively, had knowingly seen him; while the number who as yet had actually and knowingly given battle to him, was small indeed. for, owing to the large number of whale-cruisers; the disorderly way they were sprinkled over the entire watery circumference, many of them adventurously pushing their quest along solitary latitudes, so as seldom or never for a whole twelvemonth or more on a stretch, to encounter a single news-telling sail of any sort; the inordinate length of each separate voyage; the irregularity of the times of sailing from home; all these, with other circumstances, direct and indirect, long obstructed the spread through the whole world-wide whaling-fleet of the special individualizing tidings concerning moby dick. it was hardly to be doubted, that several vessels reported to have encountered, at such or such a time, or on such or such a meridian, a sperm whale of uncommon magnitude and malignity, which whale, after doing great mischief to his assailants, had completely escaped them; to some minds it was not an unfair presumption, i say, that the whale in question must have been no other than moby dick. yet as of late the sperm whale fishery had been marked by various and not unfrequent instances of great ferocity, cunning, and malice in the monster attacked; therefore it was, that those who by accident ignorantly gave battle to moby dick; such hunters, perhaps, for the most part, were content to ascribe the peculiar terror he bred, more, as it were, to the perils of the sperm whale fishery at large, than to the individual cause. in that way, mostly, the disastrous encounter between ahab and the whale had hitherto been popularly regarded.
and as for those who, previously hearing of the white whale, by chance caught sight of him; in the beginning of the thing they had every one of them, almost, as boldly and fearlessly lowered for him, as for any other whale of that species. but at length, such calamities did ensue in these assaults—not restricted to sprained wrists and ankles, broken limbs, or devouring amputations—but fatal to the last degree of fatality; those repeated disastrous repulses, all accumulating and piling their terrors upon moby dick; those things had gone far to shake the fortitude of many brave hunters, to whom the story of the white whale had eventually come.
nor did wild rumors of all sorts fail to exaggerate, and still the more horrify the true histories of these deadly encounters. for not only do fabulous rumors naturally grow out of the very body of all surprising terrible events,—as the smitten tree gives birth to its fungi; but, in maritime life, far more than in that of terra firma, wild rumors abound, wherever there is any adequate reality for them to cling to.
and as the sea surpasses the land in this matter, so the whale fishery surpasses every other sort of maritime life, in the wonderfulness and fearfulness of the rumors which sometimes circulate there. for not only are whalemen as a body unexempt from that ignorance and superstitiousness hereditary to all sailors; but of all sailors, they are by all odds the most directly brought into contact with whatever is appallingly astonishing in the sea; face to face they not only eye its greatest marvels, but, hand to jaw, give battle to them. alone, in such remotest waters, that though you sailed a thousand miles, and passed a thousand shores, you would not come to any chiseled hearth-stone, or aught hospitable beneath that part of the sun; in such latitudes and longitudes, pursuing too such a calling as he does, the whaleman is wrapped by influences all tending to make his fancy pregnant with many a mighty birth.
no wonder, then, that ever gathering volume from the mere transit over the widest watery spaces, the outblown rumors of the white whale did in the end incorporate with themselves all manner of morbid hints, and half-formed fœtal suggestions of supernatural agencies, which eventually invested moby dick with new terrors unborrowed from anything that visibly appears. so that in many cases such a panic did he finally strike, that few who by those rumors, at least, had heard of the white whale, few of those hunters were willing to encounter the perils of his jaw.
but there were still other and more vital practical influences at work.
not even at the present day has the original prestige of the sperm whale, as fearfully distinguished from all other species of the leviathan, died out of the minds of the whalemen as a body. there are those this day among them, who, though intelligent and courageous enough in offering battle to the greenland or right whale, would perhaps—either from professional inexperience, or incompetency, or timidity, decline a contest with the sperm whale; at any rate, there are plenty of whalemen, especially among those whaling nations not sailing under the american flag, who have never hostilely encountered the sperm whale, but whose sole knowledge of the leviathan is restricted to the ignoble monster primitively pursued in the north; seated on their hatches, these men will hearken with a childish fireside interest and awe, to the wild, strange tales of southern whaling. nor is the pre-eminent tremendousness of the great sperm whale anywhere more feelingly comprehended, than on board of those prows which stem him.
and as if the now tested reality of his might had in former legendary times thrown its shadow before it; we find some book naturalists—olassen and povelson—declaring the sperm whale not only to be a consternation to every other creature in the sea, but also to be so incredibly ferocious as continually to be athirst for human blood.
nor even down to so late a time as cuvier’s, were these or almost similar impressions effaced. for in his natural history, the baron himself affirms that at sight of the sperm whale, all fish (sharks included) are “struck with the most lively terrors,” and “often in the precipitancy of their flight dash themselves against the rocks with such violence as to cause instantaneous death.” and however the general experiences in the fishery may amend such reports as these; yet in their full terribleness, even to the bloodthirsty item of povelson, the superstitious belief in them is, in some vicissitudes of their vocation, revived in the minds of the hunters.
so that overawed by the rumors and portents concerning him, not a few of the fishermen recalled, in reference to moby dick, the earlier days of the sperm whale fishery, when it was oftentimes hard to induce long practised right whalemen to embark in the perils of this new and daring warfare; such men protesting that although other leviathans might be hopefully pursued, yet to chase and point lance at such an apparition as the sperm whale was not for mortal man. that to attempt it, would be inevitably to be torn into a quick eternity. on this head, there are some remarkable documents that may be consulted.
nevertheless, some there were, who even in the face of these things were ready to give chase to moby dick; and a still greater number who, chancing only to hear of him distantly and vaguely, without the specific details of any certain calamity, and without superstitious accompaniments, were sufficiently hardy not to flee from the battle if offered.
one of the wild suggestions referred to, as at last coming to be linked with the white whale in the minds of the superstitiously inclined, was the unearthly conceit that moby dick was ubiquitous; that he had actually been encountered in opposite latitudes at one and the same instant of time.
nor, credulous as such minds must have been, was this conceit altogether without some faint show of superstitious probability. for as the secrets of the currents in the seas have never yet been divulged, even to the most erudite research; so the hidden ways of the sperm whale when beneath the surface remain, in great part, unaccountable to his pursuers; and from time to time have originated the most curious and contradictory speculations regarding them, especially concerning the mystic modes whereby, after sounding to a great depth, he transports himself with such vast swiftness to the most widely distant points.
it is a thing well known to both american and english whale-ships, and as well a thing placed upon authoritative record years ago by scoresby, that some whales have been captured far north in the pacific, in whose bodies have been found the barbs of harpoons darted in the greenland seas. nor is it to be gainsaid, that in some of these instances it has been declared that the interval of time between the two assaults could not have exceeded very many days. hence, by inference, it has been believed by some whalemen, that the nor’ west passage, so long a problem to man, was never a problem to the whale. so that here, in the real living experience of living men, the prodigies related in old times of the inland strello mountain in portugal (near whose top there was said to be a lake in which the wrecks of ships floated up to the surface); and that still more wonderful story of the arethusa fountain near syracuse (whose waters were believed to have come from the holy land by an underground passage); these fabulous narrations are almost fully equalled by the realities of the whalemen.
forced into familiarity, then, with such prodigies as these; and knowing that after repeated, intrepid assaults, the white whale had escaped alive; it cannot be much matter of surprise that some whalemen should go still further in their superstitions; declaring moby dick not only ubiquitous, but immortal (for immortality is but ubiquity in time); that though groves of spears should be planted in his flanks, he would still swim away unharmed; or if indeed he should ever be made to spout thick blood, such a sight would be but a ghastly deception; for again in unensanguined billows hundreds of leagues away, his unsullied jet would once more be seen.
but even stripped of these supernatural surmisings, there was enough in the earthly make and incontestable character of the monster to strike the imagination with unwonted power. for, it was not so much his uncommon bulk that so much distinguished him from other sperm whales, but, as was elsewhere thrown out—a peculiar snow-white wrinkled forehead, and a high, pyramidical white hump. these were his prominent features; the tokens whereby, even in the limitless, uncharted seas, he revealed his identity, at a long distance, to those who knew him.
the rest of his body was so streaked, and spotted, and marbled with the same shrouded hue, that, in the end, he had gained his distinctive appellation of the white whale; a name, indeed, literally justified by his vivid aspect, when seen gliding at high noon through a dark blue sea, leaving a milky-way wake of creamy foam, all spangled with golden gleamings.
nor was it his unwonted magnitude, nor his remarkable hue, nor yet his deformed lower jaw, that so much invested the whale with natural terror, as that unexampled, intelligent malignity which, according to specific accounts, he had over and over again evinced in his assaults.
more than all, his treacherous retreats struck more of dismay than perhaps aught else. for, when swimming before his exulting pursuers, with every apparent symptom of alarm, he had several times been known to turn round suddenly, and, bearing down upon them, either stave their boats to splinters, or drive them back in consternation to their ship.
already several fatalities had attended his chase. but though similar disasters, however little bruited ashore, were by no means unusual in the fishery; yet, in most instances, such seemed the white whale’s infernal aforethought of ferocity, that every dismembering or death that he caused, was not wholly regarded as having been inflicted by an unintelligent agent.
judge, then, to what pitches of inflamed, distracted fury the minds of his more desperate hunters were impelled, when amid the chips of chewed boats, and the sinking limbs of torn comrades, they swam out of the white curds of the whale’s direful wrath into the serene, exasperating sunlight, that smiled on, as if at a birth or a bridal.
his three boats stove around him, and oars and men both whirling in the eddies; one captain, seizing the line-knife from his broken prow, had dashed at the whale, as an arkansas duellist at his foe, blindly seeking with a six inch blade to reach the fathom-deep life of the whale. that captain was ahab. and then it was, that suddenly sweeping his sickle-shaped lower jaw beneath him, moby dick had reaped away ahab’s leg, as a mower a blade of grass in the field. no turbaned turk, no hired venetian or malay, could have smote him with more seeming malice. small reason was there to doubt, then, that ever since that almost fatal encounter, ahab had cherished a wild vindictiveness against the whale, all the more fell for that in his frantic morbidness he at last came to identify with him, not only all his bodily woes, but all his intellectual and spiritual exasperations. the white whale swam before him as the monomaniac incarnation of all those malicious agencies which some deep men feel eating in them, till they are left living on with half a heart and half a lung. that intangible malignity which has been from the beginning; to whose dominion even the modern christians ascribe one-half of the worlds; which the ancient ophites of the east reverenced in their statue devil;—ahab did not fall down and worship it like them; but deliriously transferring its idea to the abhorred white whale, he pitted himself, all mutilated, against it. all that most maddens and torments; all that stirs up the lees of things; all truth with malice in it; all that cracks the sinews and cakes the brain; all the subtle demonisms of life and thought; all evil, to crazy ahab, were visibly personified, and made practically assailable in moby dick. he piled upon the whale’s white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from adam down; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it.
it is not probable that this monomania in him took its instant rise at the precise time of his bodily dismemberment. then, in darting at the monster, knife in hand, he had but given loose to a sudden, passionate, corporal animosity; and when he received the stroke that tore him, he probably but felt the agonizing bodily laceration, but nothing more.
yet, when by this collision forced to turn towards home, and for long months of days and weeks, ahab and anguish lay stretched together in one hammock, rounding in mid winter that dreary, howling patagonian cape; then it was, that his torn body and gashed soul bled into one another; and so interfusing, made him mad. that it was only then, on the homeward voyage, after the encounter, that the final monomania seized him, seems all but certain from the fact that, at intervals during the passage, he was a raving lunatic; and, though unlimbed of a leg, yet such vital strength yet lurked in his egyptian chest, and was moreover intensified by his delirium, that his mates were forced to lace him fast, even there, as he sailed, raving in his hammock. in a strait-jacket, he swung to the mad rockings of the gales. and, when running into more sufferable latitudes, the ship, with mild stun’sails spread, floated across the tranquil tropics, and, to all appearances, the old man’s delirium seemed left behind him with the cape horn swells, and he came forth from his dark den into the blessed light and air; even then, when he bore that firm, collected front, however pale, and issued his calm orders once again; and his mates thanked god the direful madness was now gone; even then, ahab, in his hidden self, raved on. human madness is oftentimes a cunning and most feline thing.
when you think it fled, it may have but become transfigured into some still subtler form. ahab’s full lunacy subsided not, but deepeningly contracted; like the unabated hudson, when that noble northman flows narrowly, but unfathomably through the highland gorge. but, as in his narrow-flowing monomania, not one jot of ahab’s broad madness had been left behind; so in that broad madness, not one jot of his great natural intellect had perished. that before living agent, now became the living instrument. if such a furious trope may stand, his special lunacy stormed his general sanity, and carried it, and turned all its concentred cannon upon its own mad mark; so that far from having lost his strength, ahab, to that one end, did now possess a thousand fold more potency than ever he had sanely brought to bear upon any one reasonable object.
this is much; yet ahab’s larger, darker, deeper part remains unhinted.
but vain to popularize profundities, and all truth is profound. winding far down from within the very heart of this spiked hotel de cluny where we here stand—however grand and wonderful, now quit it;—and take your way, ye nobler, sadder souls, to those vast roman halls of thermes; where far beneath the fantastic towers of man’s upper earth, his root of grandeur, his whole awful essence sits in bearded state; an antique buried beneath antiquities, and throned on torsoes! so with a broken throne, the great gods mock that captive king; so like a caryatid, he patient sits, upholding on his frozen brow the piled entablatures of ages. wind ye down there, ye prouder, sadder souls! question that proud, sad king! a family likeness! aye, he did beget ye, ye young exiled royalties; and from your grim sire only will the old state-secret come.
now, in his heart, ahab had some glimpse of this, namely: all my means are sane, my motive and my object mad. yet without power to kill, or change, or shun the fact; he likewise knew that to mankind he did long dissemble; in some sort, did still. but that thing of his dissembling was only subject to his perceptibility, not to his will determinate.
nevertheless, so well did he succeed in that dissembling, that when with ivory leg he stepped ashore at last, no nantucketer thought him otherwise than but naturally grieved, and that to the quick, with the terrible casualty which had overtaken him.
the report of his undeniable delirium at sea was likewise popularly ascribed to a kindred cause. and so too, all the added moodiness which always afterwards, to the very day of sailing in the pequod on the present voyage, sat brooding on his brow. nor is it so very unlikely, that far from distrusting his fitness for another whaling voyage, on account of such dark symptoms, the calculating people of that prudent isle were inclined to harbor the conceit, that for those very reasons he was all the better qualified and set on edge, for a pursuit so full of rage and wildness as the bloody hunt of whales. gnawed within and scorched without, with the infixed, unrelenting fangs of some incurable idea; such an one, could he be found, would seem the very man to dart his iron and lift his lance against the most appalling of all brutes.
or, if for any reason thought to be corporeally incapacitated for that, yet such an one would seem superlatively competent to cheer and howl on his underlings to the attack. but be all this as it may, certain it is, that with the mad secret of his unabated rage bolted up and keyed in him, ahab had purposely sailed upon the present voyage with the one only and all-engrossing object of hunting the white whale. had any one of his old acquaintances on shore but half dreamed of what was lurking in him then, how soon would their aghast and righteous souls have wrenched the ship from such a fiendish man! they were bent on profitable cruises, the profit to be counted down in dollars from the mint. he was intent on an audacious, immitigable, and supernatural revenge.
here, then, was this grey-headed, ungodly old man, chasing with curses a job’s whale round the world, at the head of a crew, too, chiefly made up of mongrel renegades, and castaways, and cannibals—morally enfeebled also, by the incompetence of mere unaided virtue or right-mindedness in starbuck, the invulnerable jollity of indifference and recklessness in stubb, and the pervading mediocrity in flask. such a crew, so officered, seemed specially picked and packed by some infernal fatality to help him to his monomaniac revenge. how it was that they so aboundingly responded to the old man’s ire—by what evil magic their souls were possessed, that at times his hate seemed almost theirs; the white whale as much their insufferable foe as his; how all this came to be—what the white whale was to them, or how to their unconscious understandings, also, in some dim, unsuspected way, he might have seemed the gliding great demon of the seas of life,—all this to explain, would be to dive deeper than ishmael can go. the subterranean miner that works in us all, how can one tell whither leads his shaft by the ever shifting, muffled sound of his pick? who does not feel the irresistible arm drag? what skiff in tow of a seventy-four can stand still? for one, i gave myself up to the abandonment of the time and the place; but while yet all a-rush to encounter the whale, could see naught in that brute but the deadliest ill.
chapter 42. the whiteness of the whale.
what the white whale was to ahab, has been hinted; what, at times, he was to me, as yet remains unsaid.
aside from those more obvious considerations touching moby dick, which could not but occasionally awaken in any man’s soul some alarm, there was another thought, or rather vague, nameless horror concerning him, which at times by its intensity completely overpowered all the rest; and yet so mystical and well nigh ineffable was it, that i almost despair of putting it in a comprehensible form. it was the whiteness of the whale that above all things appalled me. but how can i hope to explain myself here; and yet, in some dim, random way, explain myself i must, else all these chapters might be naught.
though in many natural objects, whiteness refiningly enhances beauty, as if imparting some special virtue of its own, as in marbles, japonicas, and pearls; and though various nations have in some way recognised a certain royal preeminence in this hue; even the barbaric, grand old kings of pegu placing the title “lord of the white elephants”
above all their other magniloquent ascriptions of dominion; and the modern kings of siam unfurling the same snow-white quadruped in the royal standard; and the hanoverian flag bearing the one figure of a snow-white charger; and the great austrian empire, cæsarian, heir to overlording rome, having for the imperial colour the same imperial hue; and though this pre-eminence in it applies to the human race itself, giving the white man ideal mastership over every dusky tribe; and though, besides, all this, whiteness has been even made significant of gladness, for among the romans a white stone marked a joyful day; and though in other mortal sympathies and symbolizings, this same hue is made the emblem of many touching, noble things—the innocence of brides, the benignity of age; though among the red men of america the giving of the white belt of wampum was the deepest pledge of honor; though in many climes, whiteness typifies the majesty of justice in the ermine of the judge, and contributes to the daily state of kings and queens drawn by milk-white steeds; though even in the higher mysteries of the most august religions it has been made the symbol of the divine spotlessness and power; by the persian fire worshippers, the white forked flame being held the holiest on the altar; and in the greek mythologies, great jove himself being made incarnate in a snow-white bull; and though to the noble iroquois, the midwinter sacrifice of the sacred white dog was by far the holiest festival of their theology, that spotless, faithful creature being held the purest envoy they could send to the great spirit with the annual tidings of their own fidelity; and though directly from the latin word for white, all christian priests derive the name of one part of their sacred vesture, the alb or tunic, worn beneath the cassock; and though among the holy pomps of the romish faith, white is specially employed in the celebration of the passion of our lord; though in the vision of st. john, white robes are given to the redeemed, and the four-and-twenty elders stand clothed in white before the great white throne, and the holy one that sitteth there white like wool; yet for all these accumulated associations, with whatever is sweet, and honorable, and sublime, there yet lurks an elusive something in the innermost idea of this hue, which strikes more of panic to the soul than that redness which affrights in blood.
this elusive quality it is, which causes the thought of whiteness, when divorced from more kindly associations, and coupled with any object terrible in itself, to heighten that terror to the furthest bounds.
witness the white bear of the poles, and the white shark of the tropics; what but their smooth, flaky whiteness makes them the transcendent horrors they are? that ghastly whiteness it is which imparts such an abhorrent mildness, even more loathsome than terrific, to the dumb gloating of their aspect. so that not the fierce-fanged tiger in his heraldic coat can so stagger courage as the white-shrouded bear or shark.*
*with reference to the polar bear, it may possibly be urged by him who would fain go still deeper into this matter, that it is not the whiteness, separately regarded, which heightens the intolerable hideousness of that brute; for, analysed, that heightened hideousness, it might be said, only rises from the circumstance, that the irresponsible ferociousness of the creature stands invested in the fleece of celestial innocence and love; and hence, by bringing together two such opposite emotions in our minds, the polar bear frightens us with so unnatural a contrast. but even assuming all this to be true; yet, were it not for the whiteness, you would not have that intensified terror.
as for the white shark, the white gliding ghostliness of repose in that creature, when beheld in his ordinary moods, strangely tallies with the same quality in the polar quadruped. this peculiarity is most vividly hit by the french in the name they bestow upon that fish. the romish mass for the dead begins with “requiem eternam” (eternal rest), whence requiem denominating the mass itself, and any other funeral music.
now, in allusion to the white, silent stillness of death in this shark, and the mild deadliness of his habits, the french call him requin.
bethink thee of the albatross, whence come those clouds of spiritual wonderment and pale dread, in which that white phantom sails in all imaginations? not coleridge first threw that spell; but god’s great, unflattering laureate, nature.*
*i remember the first albatross i ever saw. it was during a prolonged gale, in waters hard upon the antarctic seas. from my forenoon watch below, i ascended to the overclouded deck; and there, dashed upon the main hatches, i saw a regal, feathery thing of unspotted whiteness, and with a hooked, roman bill sublime. at intervals, it arched forth its vast archangel wings, as if to embrace some holy ark. wondrous flutterings and throbbings shook it. though bodily unharmed, it uttered cries, as some king’s ghost in supernatural distress. through its inexpressible, strange eyes, methought i peeped to secrets which took hold of god. as abraham before the angels, i bowed myself; the white thing was so white, its wings so wide, and in those for ever exiled waters, i had lost the miserable warping memories of traditions and of towns. long i gazed at that prodigy of plumage. i cannot tell, can only hint, the things that darted through me then. but at last i awoke; and turning, asked a sailor what bird was this. a goney, he replied. goney!
never had heard that name before; is it conceivable that this glorious thing is utterly unknown to men ashore! never! but some time after, i learned that goney was some seaman’s name for albatross. so that by no possibility could coleridge’s wild rhyme have had aught to do with those mystical impressions which were mine, when i saw that bird upon our deck. for neither had i then read the rhyme, nor knew the bird to be an albatross. yet, in saying this, i do but indirectly burnish a little brighter the noble merit of the poem and the poet.
i assert, then, that in the wondrous bodily whiteness of the bird chiefly lurks the secret of the spell; a truth the more evinced in this, that by a solecism of terms there are birds called grey albatrosses; and these i have frequently seen, but never with such emotions as when i beheld the antarctic fowl.
but how had the mystic thing been caught? whisper it not, and i will tell; with a treacherous hook and line, as the fowl floated on the sea.
at last the captain made a postman of it; tying a lettered, leathern tally round its neck, with the ship’s time and place; and then letting it escape. but i doubt not, that leathern tally, meant for man, was taken off in heaven, when the white fowl flew to join the wing-folding, the invoking, and adoring cherubim!
most famous in our western annals and indian traditions is that of the white steed of the prairies; a magnificent milk-white charger, large-eyed, small-headed, bluff-chested, and with the dignity of a thousand monarchs in his lofty, overscorning carriage. he was the elected xerxes of vast herds of wild horses, whose pastures in those days were only fenced by the rocky mountains and the alleghanies. at their flaming head he westward trooped it like that chosen star which every evening leads on the hosts of light. the flashing cascade of his mane, the curving comet of his tail, invested him with housings more resplendent than gold and silver-beaters could have furnished him. a most imperial and archangelical apparition of that unfallen, western world, which to the eyes of the old trappers and hunters revived the glories of those primeval times when adam walked majestic as a god, bluff-browed and fearless as this mighty steed. whether marching amid his aides and marshals in the van of countless cohorts that endlessly streamed it over the plains, like an ohio; or whether with his circumambient subjects browsing all around at the horizon, the white steed gallopingly reviewed them with warm nostrils reddening through his cool milkiness; in whatever aspect he presented himself, always to the bravest indians he was the object of trembling reverence and awe.
nor can it be questioned from what stands on legendary record of this noble horse, that it was his spiritual whiteness chiefly, which so clothed him with divineness; and that this divineness had that in it which, though commanding worship, at the same time enforced a certain nameless terror.
but there are other instances where this whiteness loses all that accessory and strange glory which invests it in the white steed and albatross.
what is it that in the albino man so peculiarly repels and often shocks the eye, as that sometimes he is loathed by his own kith and kin! it is that whiteness which invests him, a thing expressed by the name he bears. the albino is as well made as other men—has no substantive deformity—and yet this mere aspect of all-pervading whiteness makes him more strangely hideous than the ugliest abortion. why should this be so?
nor, in quite other aspects, does nature in her least palpable but not the less malicious agencies, fail to enlist among her forces this crowning attribute of the terrible. from its snowy aspect, the gauntleted ghost of the southern seas has been denominated the white squall. nor, in some historic instances, has the art of human malice omitted so potent an auxiliary. how wildly it heightens the effect of that passage in froissart, when, masked in the snowy symbol of their faction, the desperate white hoods of ghent murder their bailiff in the market-place!
nor, in some things, does the common, hereditary experience of all mankind fail to bear witness to the supernaturalism of this hue. it cannot well be doubted, that the one visible quality in the aspect of the dead which most appals the gazer, is the marble pallor lingering there; as if indeed that pallor were as much like the badge of consternation in the other world, as of mortal trepidation here. and from that pallor of the dead, we borrow the expressive hue of the shroud in which we wrap them. nor even in our superstitions do we fail to throw the same snowy mantle round our phantoms; all ghosts rising in a milk-white fog—yea, while these terrors seize us, let us add, that even the king of terrors, when personified by the evangelist, rides on his pallid horse.
therefore, in his other moods, symbolize whatever grand or gracious thing he will by whiteness, no man can deny that in its profoundest idealized significance it calls up a peculiar apparition to the soul.
but though without dissent this point be fixed, how is mortal man to account for it? to analyse it, would seem impossible. can we, then, by the citation of some of those instances wherein this thing of whiteness—though for the time either wholly or in great part stripped of all direct associations calculated to impart to it aught fearful, but nevertheless, is found to exert over us the same sorcery, however modified;—can we thus hope to light upon some chance clue to conduct us to the hidden cause we seek?
let us try. but in a matter like this, subtlety appeals to subtlety, and without imagination no man can follow another into these halls. and though, doubtless, some at least of the imaginative impressions about to be presented may have been shared by most men, yet few perhaps were entirely conscious of them at the time, and therefore may not be able to recall them now.
why to the man of untutored ideality, who happens to be but loosely acquainted with the peculiar character of the day, does the bare mention of whitsuntide marshal in the fancy such long, dreary, speechless processions of slow-pacing pilgrims, down-cast and hooded with new-fallen snow? or, to the unread, unsophisticated protestant of the middle american states, why does the passing mention of a white friar or a white nun, evoke such an eyeless statue in the soul?
or what is there apart from the traditions of dungeoned warriors and kings (which will not wholly account for it) that makes the white tower of london tell so much more strongly on the imagination of an untravelled american, than those other storied structures, its neighbors—the byward tower, or even the bloody? and those sublimer towers, the white mountains of new hampshire, whence, in peculiar moods, comes that gigantic ghostliness over the soul at the bare mention of that name, while the thought of virginia’s blue ridge is full of a soft, dewy, distant dreaminess? or why, irrespective of all latitudes and longitudes, does the name of the white sea exert such a spectralness over the fancy, while that of the yellow sea lulls us with mortal thoughts of long lacquered mild afternoons on the waves, followed by the gaudiest and yet sleepiest of sunsets? or, to choose a wholly unsubstantial instance, purely addressed to the fancy, why, in reading the old fairy tales of central europe, does “the tall pale man”
of the hartz forests, whose changeless pallor unrustlingly glides through the green of the groves—why is this phantom more terrible than all the whooping imps of the blocksburg?
nor is it, altogether, the remembrance of her cathedral-toppling earthquakes; nor the stampedoes of her frantic seas; nor the tearlessness of arid skies that never rain; nor the sight of her wide field of leaning spires, wrenched cope-stones, and crosses all adroop (like canted yards of anchored fleets); and her suburban avenues of house-walls lying over upon each other, as a tossed pack of cards;—it is not these things alone which make tearless lima, the strangest, saddest city thou can’st see. for lima has taken the white veil; and there is a higher horror in this whiteness of her woe. old as pizarro, this whiteness keeps her ruins for ever new; admits not the cheerful greenness of complete decay; spreads over her broken ramparts the rigid pallor of an apoplexy that fixes its own distortions.
i know that, to the common apprehension, this phenomenon of whiteness is not confessed to be the prime agent in exaggerating the terror of objects otherwise terrible; nor to the unimaginative mind is there aught of terror in those appearances whose awfulness to another mind almost solely consists in this one phenomenon, especially when exhibited under any form at all approaching to muteness or universality. what i mean by these two statements may perhaps be respectively elucidated by the following examples.
first: the mariner, when drawing nigh the coasts of foreign lands, if by night he hear the roar of breakers, starts to vigilance, and feels just enough of trepidation to sharpen all his faculties; but under precisely similar circumstances, let him be called from his hammock to view his ship sailing through a midnight sea of milky whiteness—as if from encircling headlands shoals of combed white bears were swimming round him, then he feels a silent, superstitious dread; the shrouded phantom of the whitened waters is horrible to him as a real ghost; in vain the lead assures him he is still off soundings; heart and helm they both go down; he never rests till blue water is under him again.
yet where is the mariner who will tell thee, “sir, it was not so much the fear of striking hidden rocks, as the fear of that hideous whiteness that so stirred me?”
second: to the native indian of peru, the continual sight of the snow-howdahed andes conveys naught of dread, except, perhaps, in the mere fancying of the eternal frosted desolateness reigning at such vast altitudes, and the natural conceit of what a fearfulness it would be to lose oneself in such inhuman solitudes. much the same is it with the backwoodsman of the west, who with comparative indifference views an unbounded prairie sheeted with driven snow, no shadow of tree or twig to break the fixed trance of whiteness. not so the sailor, beholding the scenery of the antarctic seas; where at times, by some infernal trick of legerdemain in the powers of frost and air, he, shivering and half shipwrecked, instead of rainbows speaking hope and solace to his misery, views what seems a boundless churchyard grinning upon him with its lean ice monuments and splintered crosses.
but thou sayest, methinks that white-lead chapter about whiteness is but a white flag hung out from a craven soul; thou surrenderest to a hypo, ishmael.
tell me, why this strong young colt, foaled in some peaceful valley of vermont, far removed from all beasts of prey—why is it that upon the sunniest day, if you but shake a fresh buffalo robe behind him, so that he cannot even see it, but only smells its wild animal muskiness—why will he start, snort, and with bursting eyes paw the ground in phrensies of affright? there is no remembrance in him of any gorings of wild creatures in his green northern home, so that the strange muskiness he smells cannot recall to him anything associated with the experience of former perils; for what knows he, this new england colt, of the black bisons of distant oregon?
no: but here thou beholdest even in a dumb brute, the instinct of the knowledge of the demonism in the world. though thousands of miles from oregon, still when he smells that savage musk, the rending, goring bison herds are as present as to the deserted wild foal of the prairies, which this instant they may be trampling into dust.
thus, then, the muffled rollings of a milky sea; the bleak rustlings of the festooned frosts of mountains; the desolate shiftings of the windrowed snows of prairies; all these, to ishmael, are as the shaking of that buffalo robe to the frightened colt!
though neither knows where lie the nameless things of which the mystic sign gives forth such hints; yet with me, as with the colt, somewhere those things must exist. though in many of its aspects this visible world seems formed in love, the invisible spheres were formed in fright.
but not yet have we solved the incantation of this whiteness, and learned why it appeals with such power to the soul; and more strange and far more portentous—why, as we have seen, it is at once the most meaning symbol of spiritual things, nay, the very veil of the christian’s deity; and yet should be as it is, the intensifying agent in things the most appalling to mankind.
is it that by its indefiniteness it shadows forth the heartless voids and immensities of the universe, and thus stabs us from behind with the thought of annihilation, when beholding the white depths of the milky way? or is it, that as in essence whiteness is not so much a colour as the visible absence of colour; and at the same time the concrete of all colours; is it for these reasons that there is such a dumb blankness, full of meaning, in a wide landscape of snows—a colourless, all-colour of atheism from which we shrink? and when we consider that other theory of the natural philosophers, that all other earthly hues—every stately or lovely emblazoning—the sweet tinges of sunset skies and woods; yea, and the gilded velvets of butterflies, and the butterfly cheeks of young girls; all these are but subtile deceits, not actually inherent in substances, but only laid on from without; so that all deified nature absolutely paints like the harlot, whose allurements cover nothing but the charnel-house within; and when we proceed further, and consider that the mystical cosmetic which produces every one of her hues, the great principle of light, for ever remains white or colorless in itself, and if operating without medium upon matter, would touch all objects, even tulips and roses, with its own blank tinge—pondering all this, the palsied universe lies before us a leper; and like wilful travellers in lapland, who refuse to wear coloured and colouring glasses upon their eyes, so the wretched infidel gazes himself blind at the monumental white shroud that wraps all the prospect around him. and of all these things the albino whale was the symbol. wonder ye then at the fiery hunt?
chapter 43. hark!
“hist! did you hear that noise, cabaco?”
it was the middle-watch: a fair moonlight; the seamen were standing in a cordon, extending from one of the fresh-water butts in the waist, to the scuttle-butt near the taffrail. in this manner, they passed the buckets to fill the scuttle-butt. standing, for the most part, on the hallowed precincts of the quarter-deck, they were careful not to speak or rustle their feet. from hand to hand, the buckets went in the deepest silence, only broken by the occasional flap of a sail, and the steady hum of the unceasingly advancing keel.
it was in the midst of this repose, that archy, one of the cordon, whose post was near the after-hatches, whispered to his neighbor, a cholo, the words above.
“hist! did you hear that noise, cabaco?”
“take the bucket, will ye, archy? what noise d’ye mean?”
“there it is again—under the hatches—don’t you hear it—a cough—it sounded like a cough.”
“cough be damned! pass along that return bucket.”
“there again—there it is!—it sounds like two or three sleepers turning over, now!”
“caramba! have done, shipmate, will ye? it’s the three soaked biscuits ye eat for supper turning over inside of ye—nothing else. look to the bucket!”
“say what ye will, shipmate; i’ve sharp ears.”
“aye, you are the chap, ain’t ye, that heard the hum of the old quakeress’s knitting-needles fifty miles at sea from nantucket; you’re the chap.”
“grin away; we’ll see what turns up. hark ye, cabaco, there is somebody down in the after-hold that has not yet been seen on deck; and i suspect our old mogul knows something of it too. i heard stubb tell flask, one morning watch, that there was something of that sort in the wind.”
“tish! the bucket!”
chapter 44. the chart.
had you followed captain ahab down into his cabin after the squall that took place on the night succeeding that wild ratification of his purpose with his crew, you would have seen him go to a locker in the transom, and bringing out a large wrinkled roll of yellowish sea charts, spread them before him on his screwed-down table. then seating himself before it, you would have seen him intently study the various lines and shadings which there met his eye; and with slow but steady pencil trace additional courses over spaces that before were blank. at intervals, he would refer to piles of old log-books beside him, wherein were set down the seasons and places in which, on various former voyages of various ships, sperm whales had been captured or seen.
while thus employed, the heavy pewter lamp suspended in chains over his head, continually rocked with the motion of the ship, and for ever threw shifting gleams and shadows of lines upon his wrinkled brow, till it almost seemed that while he himself was marking out lines and courses on the wrinkled charts, some invisible pencil was also tracing lines and courses upon the deeply marked chart of his forehead.
but it was not this night in particular that, in the solitude of his cabin, ahab thus pondered over his charts. almost every night they were brought out; almost every night some pencil marks were effaced, and others were substituted. for with the charts of all four oceans before him, ahab was threading a maze of currents and eddies, with a view to the more certain accomplishment of that monomaniac thought of his soul.
now, to any one not fully acquainted with the ways of the leviathans, it might seem an absurdly hopeless task thus to seek out one solitary creature in the unhooped oceans of this planet. but not so did it seem to ahab, who knew the sets of all tides and currents; and thereby calculating the driftings of the sperm whale’s food; and, also, calling to mind the regular, ascertained seasons for hunting him in particular latitudes; could arrive at reasonable surmises, almost approaching to certainties, concerning the timeliest day to be upon this or that ground in search of his prey.
so assured, indeed, is the fact concerning the periodicalness of the sperm whale’s resorting to given waters, that many hunters believe that, could he be closely observed and studied throughout the world; were the logs for one voyage of the entire whale fleet carefully collated, then the migrations of the sperm whale would be found to correspond in invariability to those of the herring-shoals or the flights of swallows. on this hint, attempts have been made to construct elaborate migratory charts of the sperm whale.*
*since the above was written, the statement is happily borne out by an official circular, issued by lieutenant maury, of the national observatory, washington, april 16th, 1851. by that circular, it appears that precisely such a chart is in course of completion; and portions of it are presented in the circular. “this chart divides the ocean into districts of five degrees of latitude by five degrees of longitude; perpendicularly through each of which districts are twelve columns for the twelve months; and horizontally through each of which districts are three lines; one to show the number of days that have been spent in each month in every district, and the two others to show the number of days in which whales, sperm or right, have been seen.”
besides, when making a passage from one feeding-ground to another, the sperm whales, guided by some infallible instinct—say, rather, secret intelligence from the deity—mostly swim in veins, as they are called; continuing their way along a given ocean-line with such undeviating exactitude, that no ship ever sailed her course, by any chart, with one tithe of such marvellous precision. though, in these cases, the direction taken by any one whale be straight as a surveyor’s parallel, and though the line of advance be strictly confined to its own unavoidable, straight wake, yet the arbitrary vein in which at these times he is said to swim, generally embraces some few miles in width (more or less, as the vein is presumed to expand or contract); but never exceeds the visual sweep from the whale-ship’s mast-heads, when circumspectly gliding along this magic zone. the sum is, that at particular seasons within that breadth and along that path, migrating whales may with great confidence be looked for.
and hence not only at substantiated times, upon well known separate feeding-grounds, could ahab hope to encounter his prey; but in crossing the widest expanses of water between those grounds he could, by his art, so place and time himself on his way, as even then not to be wholly without prospect of a meeting.
there was a circumstance which at first sight seemed to entangle his delirious but still methodical scheme. but not so in the reality, perhaps. though the gregarious sperm whales have their regular seasons for particular grounds, yet in general you cannot conclude that the herds which haunted such and such a latitude or longitude this year, say, will turn out to be identically the same with those that were found there the preceding season; though there are peculiar and unquestionable instances where the contrary of this has proved true. in general, the same remark, only within a less wide limit, applies to the solitaries and hermits among the matured, aged sperm whales. so that though moby dick had in a former year been seen, for example, on what is called the seychelle ground in the indian ocean, or volcano bay on the japanese coast; yet it did not follow, that were the pequod to visit either of those spots at any subsequent corresponding season, she would infallibly encounter him there. so, too, with some other feeding grounds, where he had at times revealed himself. but all these seemed only his casual stopping-places and ocean-inns, so to speak, not his places of prolonged abode. and where ahab’s chances of accomplishing his object have hitherto been spoken of, allusion has only been made to whatever way-side, antecedent, extra prospects were his, ere a particular set time or place were attained, when all possibilities would become probabilities, and, as ahab fondly thought, every possibility the next thing to a certainty. that particular set time and place were conjoined in the one technical phrase—the season-on-the-line. for there and then, for several consecutive years, moby dick had been periodically descried, lingering in those waters for awhile, as the sun, in its annual round, loiters for a predicted interval in any one sign of the zodiac. there it was, too, that most of the deadly encounters with the white whale had taken place; there the waves were storied with his deeds; there also was that tragic spot where the monomaniac old man had found the awful motive to his vengeance. but in the cautious comprehensiveness and unloitering vigilance with which ahab threw his brooding soul into this unfaltering hunt, he would not permit himself to rest all his hopes upon the one crowning fact above mentioned, however flattering it might be to those hopes; nor in the sleeplessness of his vow could he so tranquillize his unquiet heart as to postpone all intervening quest.
now, the pequod had sailed from nantucket at the very beginning of the season-on-the-line. no possible endeavor then could enable her commander to make the great passage southwards, double cape horn, and then running down sixty degrees of latitude arrive in the equatorial pacific in time to cruise there. therefore, he must wait for the next ensuing season. yet the premature hour of the pequod’s sailing had, perhaps, been correctly selected by ahab, with a view to this very complexion of things. because, an interval of three hundred and sixty-five days and nights was before him; an interval which, instead of impatiently enduring ashore, he would spend in a miscellaneous hunt; if by chance the white whale, spending his vacation in seas far remote from his periodical feeding-grounds, should turn up his wrinkled brow off the persian gulf, or in the bengal bay, or china seas, or in any other waters haunted by his race. so that monsoons, pampas, nor’-westers, harmattans, trades; any wind but the levanter and simoon, might blow moby dick into the devious zig-zag world-circle of the pequod’s circumnavigating wake.
but granting all this; yet, regarded discreetly and coolly, seems it not but a mad idea, this; that in the broad boundless ocean, one solitary whale, even if encountered, should be thought capable of individual recognition from his hunter, even as a white-bearded mufti in the thronged thoroughfares of constantinople? yes. for the peculiar snow-white brow of moby dick, and his snow-white hump, could not but be unmistakable. and have i not tallied the whale, ahab would mutter to himself, as after poring over his charts till long after midnight he would throw himself back in reveries—tallied him, and shall he escape?
his broad fins are bored, and scalloped out like a lost sheep’s ear!
and here, his mad mind would run on in a breathless race; till a weariness and faintness of pondering came over him; and in the open air of the deck he would seek to recover his strength. ah, god! what trances of torments does that man endure who is consumed with one unachieved revengeful desire. he sleeps with clenched hands; and wakes with his own bloody nails in his palms.
often, when forced from his hammock by exhausting and intolerably vivid dreams of the night, which, resuming his own intense thoughts through the day, carried them on amid a clashing of phrensies, and whirled them round and round and round in his blazing brain, till the very throbbing of his life-spot became insufferable anguish; and when, as was sometimes the case, these spiritual throes in him heaved his being up from its base, and a chasm seemed opening in him, from which forked flames and lightnings shot up, and accursed fiends beckoned him to leap down among them; when this hell in himself yawned beneath him, a wild cry would be heard through the ship; and with glaring eyes ahab would burst from his state room, as though escaping from a bed that was on fire. yet these, perhaps, instead of being the unsuppressable symptoms of some latent weakness, or fright at his own resolve, were but the plainest tokens of its intensity. for, at such times, crazy ahab, the scheming, unappeasedly steadfast hunter of the white whale; this ahab that had gone to his hammock, was not the agent that so caused him to burst from it in horror again. the latter was the eternal, living principle or soul in him; and in sleep, being for the time dissociated from the characterizing mind, which at other times employed it for its outer vehicle or agent, it spontaneously sought escape from the scorching contiguity of the frantic thing, of which, for the time, it was no longer an integral. but as the mind does not exist unless leagued with the soul, therefore it must have been that, in ahab’s case, yielding up all his thoughts and fancies to his one supreme purpose; that purpose, by its own sheer inveteracy of will, forced itself against gods and devils into a kind of self-assumed, independent being of its own. nay, could grimly live and burn, while the common vitality to which it was conjoined, fled horror-stricken from the unbidden and unfathered birth. therefore, the tormented spirit that glared out of bodily eyes, when what seemed ahab rushed from his room, was for the time but a vacated thing, a formless somnambulistic being, a ray of living light, to be sure, but without an object to colour, and therefore a blankness in itself. god help thee, old man, thy thoughts have created a creature in thee; and he whose intense thinking thus makes him a prometheus; a vulture feeds upon that heart for ever; that vulture the very creature he creates.
chapter 45. the affidavit.
so far as what there may be of a narrative in this book; and, indeed, as indirectly touching one or two very interesting and curious particulars in the habits of sperm whales, the foregoing chapter, in its earlier part, is as important a one as will be found in this volume; but the leading matter of it requires to be still further and more familiarly enlarged upon, in order to be adequately understood, and moreover to take away any incredulity which a profound ignorance of the entire subject may induce in some minds, as to the natural verity of the main points of this affair.
i care not to perform this part of my task methodically; but shall be content to produce the desired impression by separate citations of items, practically or reliably known to me as a whaleman; and from these citations, i take it—the conclusion aimed at will naturally follow of itself.
first: i have personally known three instances where a whale, after receiving a harpoon, has effected a complete escape; and, after an interval (in one instance of three years), has been again struck by the same hand, and slain; when the two irons, both marked by the same private cypher, have been taken from the body. in the instance where three years intervened between the flinging of the two harpoons; and i think it may have been something more than that; the man who darted them happening, in the interval, to go in a trading ship on a voyage to africa, went ashore there, joined a discovery party, and penetrated far into the interior, where he travelled for a period of nearly two years, often endangered by serpents, savages, tigers, poisonous miasmas, with all the other common perils incident to wandering in the heart of unknown regions. meanwhile, the whale he had struck must also have been on its travels; no doubt it had thrice circumnavigated the globe, brushing with its flanks all the coasts of africa; but to no purpose.
this man and this whale again came together, and the one vanquished the other. i say i, myself, have known three instances similar to this; that is in two of them i saw the whales struck; and, upon the second attack, saw the two irons with the respective marks cut in them, afterwards taken from the dead fish. in the three-year instance, it so fell out that i was in the boat both times, first and last, and the last time distinctly recognised a peculiar sort of huge mole under the whale’s eye, which i had observed there three years previous. i say three years, but i am pretty sure it was more than that. here are three instances, then, which i personally know the truth of; but i have heard of many other instances from persons whose veracity in the matter there is no good ground to impeach.
secondly: it is well known in the sperm whale fishery, however ignorant the world ashore may be of it, that there have been several memorable historical instances where a particular whale in the ocean has been at distant times and places popularly cognisable. why such a whale became thus marked was not altogether and originally owing to his bodily peculiarities as distinguished from other whales; for however peculiar in that respect any chance whale may be, they soon put an end to his peculiarities by killing him, and boiling him down into a peculiarly valuable oil. no: the reason was this: that from the fatal experiences of the fishery there hung a terrible prestige of perilousness about such a whale as there did about rinaldo rinaldini, insomuch that most fishermen were content to recognise him by merely touching their tarpaulins when he would be discovered lounging by them on the sea, without seeking to cultivate a more intimate acquaintance. like some poor devils ashore that happen to know an irascible great man, they make distant unobtrusive salutations to him in the street, lest if they pursued the acquaintance further, they might receive a summary thump for their presumption.
but not only did each of these famous whales enjoy great individual celebrity—nay, you may call it an ocean-wide renown; not only was he famous in life and now is immortal in forecastle stories after death, but he was admitted into all the rights, privileges, and distinctions of a name; had as much a name indeed as cambyses or cæsar. was it not so, o timor tom! thou famed leviathan, scarred like an iceberg, who so long did’st lurk in the oriental straits of that name, whose spout was oft seen from the palmy beach of ombay? was it not so, o new zealand jack! thou terror of all cruisers that crossed their wakes in the vicinity of the tattoo land? was it not so, o morquan! king of japan, whose lofty jet they say at times assumed the semblance of a snow-white cross against the sky? was it not so, o don miguel! thou chilian whale, marked like an old tortoise with mystic hieroglyphics upon the back! in plain prose, here are four whales as well known to the students of cetacean history as marius or sylla to the classic scholar.
but this is not all. new zealand tom and don miguel, after at various times creating great havoc among the boats of different vessels, were finally gone in quest of, systematically hunted out, chased and killed by valiant whaling captains, who heaved up their anchors with that express object as much in view, as in setting out through the narragansett woods, captain butler of old had it in his mind to capture that notorious murderous savage annawon, the headmost warrior of the indian king philip.
i do not know where i can find a better place than just here, to make mention of one or two other things, which to me seem important, as in printed form establishing in all respects the reasonableness of the whole story of the white whale, more especially the catastrophe. for this is one of those disheartening instances where truth requires full as much bolstering as error. so ignorant are most landsmen of some of the plainest and most palpable wonders of the world, that without some hints touching the plain facts, historical and otherwise, of the fishery, they might scout at moby dick as a monstrous fable, or still worse and more detestable, a hideous and intolerable allegory.
first: though most men have some vague flitting ideas of the general perils of the grand fishery, yet they have nothing like a fixed, vivid conception of those perils, and the frequency with which they recur.
one reason perhaps is, that not one in fifty of the actual disasters and deaths by casualties in the fishery, ever finds a public record at home, however transient and immediately forgotten that record. do you suppose that that poor fellow there, who this moment perhaps caught by the whale-line off the coast of new guinea, is being carried down to the bottom of the sea by the sounding leviathan—do you suppose that that poor fellow’s name will appear in the newspaper obituary you will read to-morrow at your breakfast? no: because the mails are very irregular between here and new guinea. in fact, did you ever hear what might be called regular news direct or indirect from new guinea? yet i tell you that upon one particular voyage which i made to the pacific, among many others we spoke thirty different ships, every one of which had had a death by a whale, some of them more than one, and three that had each lost a boat’s crew. for god’s sake, be economical with your lamps and candles! not a gallon you burn, but at least one drop of man’s blood was spilled for it.
secondly: people ashore have indeed some indefinite idea that a whale is an enormous creature of enormous power; but i have ever found that when narrating to them some specific example of this two-fold enormousness, they have significantly complimented me upon my facetiousness; when, i declare upon my soul, i had no more idea of being facetious than moses, when he wrote the history of the plagues of egypt.
but fortunately the special point i here seek can be established upon testimony entirely independent of my own. that point is this: the sperm whale is in some cases sufficiently powerful, knowing, and judiciously malicious, as with direct aforethought to stave in, utterly destroy, and sink a large ship; and what is more, the sperm whale has done it.
first: in the year 1820 the ship essex, captain pollard, of nantucket, was cruising in the pacific ocean. one day she saw spouts, lowered her boats, and gave chase to a shoal of sperm whales. ere long, several of the whales were wounded; when, suddenly, a very large whale escaping from the boats, issued from the shoal, and bore directly down upon the ship. dashing his forehead against her hull, he so stove her in, that in less than “ten minutes” she settled down and fell over. not a surviving plank of her has been seen since. after the severest exposure, part of the crew reached the land in their boats. being returned home at last, captain pollard once more sailed for the pacific in command of another ship, but the gods shipwrecked him again upon unknown rocks and breakers; for the second time his ship was utterly lost, and forthwith forswearing the sea, he has never tempted it since.
at this day captain pollard is a resident of nantucket. i have seen owen chace, who was chief mate of the essex at the time of the tragedy; i have read his plain and faithful narrative; i have conversed with his son; and all this within a few miles of the scene of the catastrophe.*
*the following are extracts from chace’s narrative: “every fact seemed to warrant me in concluding that it was anything but chance which directed his operations; he made two several attacks upon the ship, at a short interval between them, both of which, according to their direction, were calculated to do us the most injury, by being made ahead, and thereby combining the speed of the two objects for the shock; to effect which, the exact manœuvres which he made were necessary. his aspect was most horrible, and such as indicated resentment and fury. he came directly from the shoal which we had just before entered, and in which we had struck three of his companions, as if fired with revenge for their sufferings.” again: “at all events, the whole circumstances taken together, all happening before my own eyes, and producing, at the time, impressions in my mind of decided, calculating mischief, on the part of the whale (many of which impressions i cannot now recall), induce me to be satisfied that i am correct in my opinion.”
here are his reflections some time after quitting the ship, during a black night in an open boat, when almost despairing of reaching any hospitable shore. “the dark ocean and swelling waters were nothing; the fears of being swallowed up by some dreadful tempest, or dashed upon hidden rocks, with all the other ordinary subjects of fearful contemplation, seemed scarcely entitled to a moment’s thought; the dismal looking wreck, and the horrid aspect and revenge of the whale, wholly engrossed my reflections, until day again made its appearance.”
in another place—p. 45,—he speaks of “the mysterious and mortal attack of the animal.”
secondly: the ship union, also of nantucket, was in the year 1807 totally lost off the azores by a similar onset, but the authentic particulars of this catastrophe i have never chanced to encounter, though from the whale hunters i have now and then heard casual allusions to it.
thirdly: some eighteen or twenty years ago commodore j——, then commanding an american sloop-of-war of the first class, happened to be dining with a party of whaling captains, on board a nantucket ship in the harbor of oahu, sandwich islands. conversation turning upon whales, the commodore was pleased to be sceptical touching the amazing strength ascribed to them by the professional gentlemen present. he peremptorily denied for example, that any whale could so smite his stout sloop-of-war as to cause her to leak so much as a thimbleful. very good; but there is more coming. some weeks after, the commodore set sail in this impregnable craft for valparaiso. but he was stopped on the way by a portly sperm whale, that begged a few moments’
confidential business with him. that business consisted in fetching the commodore’s craft such a thwack, that with all his pumps going he made straight for the nearest port to heave down and repair. i am not superstitious, but i consider the commodore’s interview with that whale as providential. was not saul of tarsus converted from unbelief by a similar fright? i tell you, the sperm whale will stand no nonsense.
i will now refer you to langsdorff’s voyages for a little circumstance in point, peculiarly interesting to the writer hereof. langsdorff, you must know by the way, was attached to the russian admiral krusenstern’s famous discovery expedition in the beginning of the present century.
captain langsdorff thus begins his seventeenth chapter:
“by the thirteenth of may our ship was ready to sail, and the next day we were out in the open sea, on our way to ochotsh. the weather was very clear and fine, but so intolerably cold that we were obliged to keep on our fur clothing. for some days we had very little wind; it was not till the nineteenth that a brisk gale from the northwest sprang up.
an uncommon large whale, the body of which was larger than the ship itself, lay almost at the surface of the water, but was not perceived by any one on board till the moment when the ship, which was in full sail, was almost upon him, so that it was impossible to prevent its striking against him. we were thus placed in the most imminent danger, as this gigantic creature, setting up its back, raised the ship three feet at least out of the water. the masts reeled, and the sails fell altogether, while we who were below all sprang instantly upon the deck, concluding that we had struck upon some rock; instead of this we saw the monster sailing off with the utmost gravity and solemnity. captain d’wolf applied immediately to the pumps to examine whether or not the vessel had received any damage from the shock, but we found that very happily it had escaped entirely uninjured.”
now, the captain d’wolf here alluded to as commanding the ship in question, is a new englander, who, after a long life of unusual adventures as a sea-captain, this day resides in the village of dorchester near boston. i have the honor of being a nephew of his. i have particularly questioned him concerning this passage in langsdorff.
he substantiates every word. the ship, however, was by no means a large one: a russian craft built on the siberian coast, and purchased by my uncle after bartering away the vessel in which he sailed from home.
in that up and down manly book of old-fashioned adventure, so full, too, of honest wonders—the voyage of lionel wafer, one of ancient dampier’s old chums—i found a little matter set down so like that just quoted from langsdorff, that i cannot forbear inserting it here for a corroborative example, if such be needed.
lionel, it seems, was on his way to “john ferdinando,” as he calls the modern juan fernandes. “in our way thither,” he says, “about four o’clock in the morning, when we were about one hundred and fifty leagues from the main of america, our ship felt a terrible shock, which put our men in such consternation that they could hardly tell where they were or what to think; but every one began to prepare for death.
and, indeed, the shock was so sudden and violent, that we took it for granted the ship had struck against a rock; but when the amazement was a little over, we cast the lead, and sounded, but found no ground. * *
* * * the suddenness of the shock made the guns leap in their carriages, and several of the men were shaken out of their hammocks.
captain davis, who lay with his head on a gun, was thrown out of his cabin!” lionel then goes on to impute the shock to an earthquake, and seems to substantiate the imputation by stating that a great earthquake, somewhere about that time, did actually do great mischief along the spanish land. but i should not much wonder if, in the darkness of that early hour of the morning, the shock was after all caused by an unseen whale vertically bumping the hull from beneath.
i might proceed with several more examples, one way or another known to me, of the great power and malice at times of the sperm whale. in more than one instance, he has been known, not only to chase the assailing boats back to their ships, but to pursue the ship itself, and long withstand all the lances hurled at him from its decks. the english ship pusie hall can tell a story on that head; and, as for his strength, let me say, that there have been examples where the lines attached to a running sperm whale have, in a calm, been transferred to the ship, and secured there; the whale towing her great hull through the water, as a horse walks off with a cart. again, it is very often observed that, if the sperm whale, once struck, is allowed time to rally, he then acts, not so often with blind rage, as with wilful, deliberate designs of destruction to his pursuers; nor is it without conveying some eloquent indication of his character, that upon being attacked he will frequently open his mouth, and retain it in that dread expansion for several consecutive minutes. but i must be content with only one more and a concluding illustration; a remarkable and most significant one, by which you will not fail to see, that not only is the most marvellous event in this book corroborated by plain facts of the present day, but that these marvels (like all marvels) are mere repetitions of the ages; so that for the millionth time we say amen with solomon—verily there is nothing new under the sun.
in the sixth christian century lived procopius, a christian magistrate of constantinople, in the days when justinian was emperor and belisarius general. as many know, he wrote the history of his own times, a work every way of uncommon value. by the best authorities, he has always been considered a most trustworthy and unexaggerating historian, except in some one or two particulars, not at all affecting the matter presently to be mentioned.
now, in this history of his, procopius mentions that, during the term of his prefecture at constantinople, a great sea-monster was captured in the neighboring propontis, or sea of marmora, after having destroyed vessels at intervals in those waters for a period of more than fifty years. a fact thus set down in substantial history cannot easily be gainsaid. nor is there any reason it should be. of what precise species this sea-monster was, is not mentioned. but as he destroyed ships, as well as for other reasons, he must have been a whale; and i am strongly inclined to think a sperm whale. and i will tell you why. for a long time i fancied that the sperm whale had been always unknown in the mediterranean and the deep waters connecting with it. even now i am certain that those seas are not, and perhaps never can be, in the present constitution of things, a place for his habitual gregarious resort. but further investigations have recently proved to me, that in modern times there have been isolated instances of the presence of the sperm whale in the mediterranean. i am told, on good authority, that on the barbary coast, a commodore davis of the british navy found the skeleton of a sperm whale. now, as a vessel of war readily passes through the dardanelles, hence a sperm whale could, by the same route, pass out of the mediterranean into the propontis.
in the propontis, as far as i can learn, none of that peculiar substance called brit is to be found, the aliment of the right whale.
but i have every reason to believe that the food of the sperm whale—squid or cuttle-fish—lurks at the bottom of that sea, because large creatures, but by no means the largest of that sort, have been found at its surface. if, then, you properly put these statements together, and reason upon them a bit, you will clearly perceive that, according to all human reasoning, procopius’s sea-monster, that for half a century stove the ships of a roman emperor, must in all probability have been a sperm whale.
chapter 46. surmises.
though, consumed with the hot fire of his purpose, ahab in all his thoughts and actions ever had in view the ultimate capture of moby dick; though he seemed ready to sacrifice all mortal interests to that one passion; nevertheless it may have been that he was by nature and long habituation far too wedded to a fiery whaleman’s ways, altogether to abandon the collateral prosecution of the voyage. or at least if this were otherwise, there were not wanting other motives much more influential with him. it would be refining too much, perhaps, even considering his monomania, to hint that his vindictiveness towards the white whale might have possibly extended itself in some degree to all sperm whales, and that the more monsters he slew by so much the more he multiplied the chances that each subsequently encountered whale would prove to be the hated one he hunted. but if such an hypothesis be indeed exceptionable, there were still additional considerations which, though not so strictly according with the wildness of his ruling passion, yet were by no means incapable of swaying him.
to accomplish his object ahab must use tools; and of all tools used in the shadow of the moon, men are most apt to get out of order. he knew, for example, that however magnetic his ascendency in some respects was over starbuck, yet that ascendency did not cover the complete spiritual man any more than mere corporeal superiority involves intellectual mastership; for to the purely spiritual, the intellectual but stand in a sort of corporeal relation. starbuck’s body and starbuck’s coerced will were ahab’s, so long as ahab kept his magnet at starbuck’s brain; still he knew that for all this the chief mate, in his soul, abhorred his captain’s quest, and could he, would joyfully disintegrate himself from it, or even frustrate it. it might be that a long interval would elapse ere the white whale was seen. during that long interval starbuck would ever be apt to fall into open relapses of rebellion against his captain’s leadership, unless some ordinary, prudential, circumstantial influences were brought to bear upon him. not only that, but the subtle insanity of ahab respecting moby dick was noways more significantly manifested than in his superlative sense and shrewdness in foreseeing that, for the present, the hunt should in some way be stripped of that strange imaginative impiousness which naturally invested it; that the full terror of the voyage must be kept withdrawn into the obscure background (for few men’s courage is proof against protracted meditation unrelieved by action); that when they stood their long night watches, his officers and men must have some nearer things to think of than moby dick. for however eagerly and impetuously the savage crew had hailed the announcement of his quest; yet all sailors of all sorts are more or less capricious and unreliable—they live in the varying outer weather, and they inhale its fickleness—and when retained for any object remote and blank in the pursuit, however promissory of life and passion in the end, it is above all things requisite that temporary interests and employments should intervene and hold them healthily suspended for the final dash.
nor was ahab unmindful of another thing. in times of strong emotion mankind disdain all base considerations; but such times are evanescent.
the permanent constitutional condition of the manufactured man, thought ahab, is sordidness. granting that the white whale fully incites the hearts of this my savage crew, and playing round their savageness even breeds a certain generous knight-errantism in them, still, while for the love of it they give chase to moby dick, they must also have food for their more common, daily appetites. for even the high lifted and chivalric crusaders of old times were not content to traverse two thousand miles of land to fight for their holy sepulchre, without committing burglaries, picking pockets, and gaining other pious perquisites by the way. had they been strictly held to their one final and romantic object—that final and romantic object, too many would have turned from in disgust. i will not strip these men, thought ahab, of all hopes of cash—aye, cash. they may scorn cash now; but let some months go by, and no perspective promise of it to them, and then this same quiescent cash all at once mutinying in them, this same cash would soon cashier ahab.
nor was there wanting still another precautionary motive more related to ahab personally. having impulsively, it is probable, and perhaps somewhat prematurely revealed the prime but private purpose of the pequod’s voyage, ahab was now entirely conscious that, in so doing, he had indirectly laid himself open to the unanswerable charge of usurpation; and with perfect impunity, both moral and legal, his crew if so disposed, and to that end competent, could refuse all further obedience to him, and even violently wrest from him the command. from even the barely hinted imputation of usurpation, and the possible consequences of such a suppressed impression gaining ground, ahab must of course have been most anxious to protect himself. that protection could only consist in his own predominating brain and heart and hand, backed by a heedful, closely calculating attention to every minute atmospheric influence which it was possible for his crew to be subjected to.
for all these reasons then, and others perhaps too analytic to be verbally developed here, ahab plainly saw that he must still in a good degree continue true to the natural, nominal purpose of the pequod’s voyage; observe all customary usages; and not only that, but force himself to evince all his well known passionate interest in the general pursuit of his profession.
be all this as it may, his voice was now often heard hailing the three mast-heads and admonishing them to keep a bright look-out, and not omit reporting even a porpoise. this vigilance was not long without reward.
chapter 47. the mat-maker.
it was a cloudy, sultry afternoon; the seamen were lazily lounging about the decks, or vacantly gazing over into the lead-coloured waters.
queequeg and i were mildly employed weaving what is called a sword-mat, for an additional lashing to our boat. so still and subdued and yet somehow preluding was all the scene, and such an incantation of reverie lurked in the air, that each silent sailor seemed resolved into his own invisible self.
i was the attendant or page of queequeg, while busy at the mat. as i kept passing and repassing the filling or woof of marline between the long yarns of the warp, using my own hand for the shuttle, and as queequeg, standing sideways, ever and anon slid his heavy oaken sword between the threads, and idly looking off upon the water, carelessly and unthinkingly drove home every yarn: i say so strange a dreaminess did there then reign all over the ship and all over the sea, only broken by the intermitting dull sound of the sword, that it seemed as if this were the loom of time, and i myself were a shuttle mechanically weaving and weaving away at the fates. there lay the fixed threads of the warp subject to but one single, ever returning, unchanging vibration, and that vibration merely enough to admit of the crosswise interblending of other threads with its own. this warp seemed necessity; and here, thought i, with my own hand i ply my own shuttle and weave my own destiny into these unalterable threads. meantime, queequeg’s impulsive, indifferent sword, sometimes hitting the woof slantingly, or crookedly, or strongly, or weakly, as the case might be; and by this difference in the concluding blow producing a corresponding contrast in the final aspect of the completed fabric; this savage’s sword, thought i, which thus finally shapes and fashions both warp and woof; this easy, indifferent sword must be chance—aye, chance, free will, and necessity—nowise incompatible—all interweavingly working together. the straight warp of necessity, not to be swerved from its ultimate course—its every alternating vibration, indeed, only tending to that; free will still free to ply her shuttle between given threads; and chance, though restrained in its play within the right lines of necessity, and sideways in its motions directed by free will, though thus prescribed to by both, chance by turns rules either, and has the last featuring blow at events.
thus we were weaving and weaving away when i started at a sound so strange, long drawn, and musically wild and unearthly, that the ball of free will dropped from my hand, and i stood gazing up at the clouds whence that voice dropped like a wing. high aloft in the cross-trees was that mad gay-header, tashtego. his body was reaching eagerly forward, his hand stretched out like a wand, and at brief sudden intervals he continued his cries. to be sure the same sound was that very moment perhaps being heard all over the seas, from hundreds of whalemen’s look-outs perched as high in the air; but from few of those lungs could that accustomed old cry have derived such a marvellous cadence as from tashtego the indian’s.
as he stood hovering over you half suspended in air, so wildly and eagerly peering towards the horizon, you would have thought him some prophet or seer beholding the shadows of fate, and by those wild cries announcing their coming.
“there she blows! there! there! there! she blows! she blows!”
“where-away?”
“on the lee-beam, about two miles off! a school of them!”
instantly all was commotion.
the sperm whale blows as a clock ticks, with the same undeviating and reliable uniformity. and thereby whalemen distinguish this fish from other tribes of his genus.
“there go flukes!” was now the cry from tashtego; and the whales disappeared.
“quick, steward!” cried ahab. “time! time!”
dough-boy hurried below, glanced at the watch, and reported the exact minute to ahab.
the ship was now kept away from the wind, and she went gently rolling before it. tashtego reporting that the whales had gone down heading to leeward, we confidently looked to see them again directly in advance of our bows. for that singular craft at times evinced by the sperm whale when, sounding with his head in one direction, he nevertheless, while concealed beneath the surface, mills round, and swiftly swims off in the opposite quarter—this deceitfulness of his could not now be in action; for there was no reason to suppose that the fish seen by tashtego had been in any way alarmed, or indeed knew at all of our vicinity. one of the men selected for shipkeepers—that is, those not appointed to the boats, by this time relieved the indian at the main-mast head. the sailors at the fore and mizzen had come down; the line tubs were fixed in their places; the cranes were thrust out; the mainyard was backed, and the three boats swung over the sea like three samphire baskets over high cliffs. outside of the bulwarks their eager crews with one hand clung to the rail, while one foot was expectantly poised on the gunwale. so look the long line of man-of-war’s men about to throw themselves on board an enemy’s ship.
but at this critical instant a sudden exclamation was heard that took every eye from the whale. with a start all glared at dark ahab, who was surrounded by five dusky phantoms that seemed fresh formed out of air.
chapter 48. the first lowering.
the phantoms, for so they then seemed, were flitting on the other side of the deck, and, with a noiseless celerity, were casting loose the tackles and bands of the boat which swung there. this boat had always been deemed one of the spare boats, though technically called the captain’s, on account of its hanging from the starboard quarter. the figure that now stood by its bows was tall and swart, with one white tooth evilly protruding from its steel-like lips. a rumpled chinese jacket of black cotton funereally invested him, with wide black trowsers of the same dark stuff. but strangely crowning this ebonness was a glistening white plaited turban, the living hair braided and coiled round and round upon his head. less swart in aspect, the companions of this figure were of that vivid, tiger-yellow complexion peculiar to some of the aboriginal natives of the manillas;—a race notorious for a certain diabolism of subtilty, and by some honest white mariners supposed to be the paid spies and secret confidential agents on the water of the devil, their lord, whose counting-room they suppose to be elsewhere.
while yet the wondering ship’s company were gazing upon these strangers, ahab cried out to the white-turbaned old man at their head, “all ready there, fedallah?”
“ready,” was the half-hissed reply.
“lower away then; d’ye hear?” shouting across the deck. “lower away there, i say.”
such was the thunder of his voice, that spite of their amazement the men sprang over the rail; the sheaves whirled round in the blocks; with a wallow, the three boats dropped into the sea; while, with a dexterous, off-handed daring, unknown in any other vocation, the sailors, goat-like, leaped down the rolling ship’s side into the tossed boats below.
hardly had they pulled out from under the ship’s lee, when a fourth keel, coming from the windward side, pulled round under the stern, and showed the five strangers rowing ahab, who, standing erect in the stern, loudly hailed starbuck, stubb, and flask, to spread themselves widely, so as to cover a large expanse of water. but with all their eyes again riveted upon the swart fedallah and his crew, the inmates of the other boats obeyed not the command.
“captain ahab?—” said starbuck.
“spread yourselves,” cried ahab; “give way, all four boats. thou, flask, pull out more to leeward!”
“aye, aye, sir,” cheerily cried little king-post, sweeping round his great steering oar. “lay back!” addressing his crew.
“there!—there!—there again! there she blows right ahead, boys!—lay back!”
“never heed yonder yellow boys, archy.”
“oh, i don’t mind ’em, sir,” said archy; “i knew it all before now.
didn’t i hear ’em in the hold? and didn’t i tell cabaco here of it?
what say ye, cabaco? they are stowaways, mr. flask.”
“pull, pull, my fine hearts-alive; pull, my children; pull, my little ones,” drawlingly and soothingly sighed stubb to his crew, some of whom still showed signs of uneasiness. “why don’t you break your backbones, my boys? what is it you stare at? those chaps in yonder boat? tut! they are only five more hands come to help us—never mind from where—the more the merrier. pull, then, do pull; never mind the brimstone—devils are good fellows enough. so, so; there you are now; that’s the stroke for a thousand pounds; that’s the stroke to sweep the stakes! hurrah for the gold cup of sperm oil, my heroes! three cheers, men—all hearts alive!
easy, easy; don’t be in a hurry—don’t be in a hurry. why don’t you snap your oars, you rascals? bite something, you dogs! so, so, so, then:—softly, softly! that’s it—that’s it! long and strong. give way there, give way! the devil fetch ye, ye ragamuffin rapscallions; ye are all asleep. stop snoring, ye sleepers, and pull. pull, will ye? pull, can’t ye? pull, won’t ye? why in the name of gudgeons and ginger-cakes don’t ye pull?—pull and break something! pull, and start your eyes out!
here!” whipping out the sharp knife from his girdle; “every mother’s son of ye draw his knife, and pull with the blade between his teeth.
that’s it—that’s it. now ye do something; that looks like it, my steel-bits. start her—start her, my silver-spoons! start her, marling-spikes!”
stubb’s exordium to his crew is given here at large, because he had rather a peculiar way of talking to them in general, and especially in inculcating the religion of rowing. but you must not suppose from this specimen of his sermonizings that he ever flew into downright passions with his congregation. not at all; and therein consisted his chief peculiarity. he would say the most terrific things to his crew, in a tone so strangely compounded of fun and fury, and the fury seemed so calculated merely as a spice to the fun, that no oarsman could hear such queer invocations without pulling for dear life, and yet pulling for the mere joke of the thing. besides he all the time looked so easy and indolent himself, so loungingly managed his steering-oar, and so broadly gaped—open-mouthed at times—that the mere sight of such a yawning commander, by sheer force of contrast, acted like a charm upon the crew. then again, stubb was one of those odd sort of humorists, whose jollity is sometimes so curiously ambiguous, as to put all inferiors on their guard in the matter of obeying them.
in obedience to a sign from ahab, starbuck was now pulling obliquely across stubb’s bow; and when for a minute or so the two boats were pretty near to each other, stubb hailed the mate.
“mr. starbuck! larboard boat there, ahoy! a word with ye, sir, if ye please!”
“halloa!” returned starbuck, turning round not a single inch as he spoke; still earnestly but whisperingly urging his crew; his face set like a flint from stubb’s.
“what think ye of those yellow boys, sir!”
“smuggled on board, somehow, before the ship sailed. (strong, strong, boys!)” in a whisper to his crew, then speaking out loud again: “a sad business, mr. stubb! (seethe her, seethe her, my lads!) but never mind, mr. stubb, all for the best. let all your crew pull strong, come what will. (spring, my men, spring!) there’s hogsheads of sperm ahead, mr.
stubb, and that’s what ye came for. (pull, my boys!) sperm, sperm’s the play! this at least is duty; duty and profit hand in hand.”
“aye, aye, i thought as much,” soliloquized stubb, when the boats diverged, “as soon as i clapt eye on ’em, i thought so. aye, and that’s what he went into the after hold for, so often, as dough-boy long suspected. they were hidden down there. the white whale’s at the bottom of it. well, well, so be it! can’t be helped! all right! give way, men!
it ain’t the white whale to-day! give way!”
now the advent of these outlandish strangers at such a critical instant as the lowering of the boats from the deck, this had not unreasonably awakened a sort of superstitious amazement in some of the ship’s company; but archy’s fancied discovery having some time previous got abroad among them, though indeed not credited then, this had in some small measure prepared them for the event. it took off the extreme edge of their wonder; and so what with all this and stubb’s confident way of accounting for their appearance, they were for the time freed from superstitious surmisings; though the affair still left abundant room for all manner of wild conjectures as to dark ahab’s precise agency in the matter from the beginning. for me, i silently recalled the mysterious shadows i had seen creeping on board the pequod during the dim nantucket dawn, as well as the enigmatical hintings of the unaccountable elijah.
meantime, ahab, out of hearing of his officers, having sided the furthest to windward, was still ranging ahead of the other boats; a circumstance bespeaking how potent a crew was pulling him. those tiger yellow creatures of his seemed all steel and whalebone; like five trip-hammers they rose and fell with regular strokes of strength, which periodically started the boat along the water like a horizontal burst boiler out of a mississippi steamer. as for fedallah, who was seen pulling the harpooneer oar, he had thrown aside his black jacket, and displayed his naked chest with the whole part of his body above the gunwale, clearly cut against the alternating depressions of the watery horizon; while at the other end of the boat ahab, with one arm, like a fencer’s, thrown half backward into the air, as if to counterbalance any tendency to trip; ahab was seen steadily managing his steering oar as in a thousand boat lowerings ere the white whale had torn him. all at once the outstretched arm gave a peculiar motion and then remained fixed, while the boat’s five oars were seen simultaneously peaked. boat and crew sat motionless on the sea. instantly the three spread boats in the rear paused on their way. the whales had irregularly settled bodily down into the blue, thus giving no distantly discernible token of the movement, though from his closer vicinity ahab had observed it.
“every man look out along his oars!” cried starbuck. “thou, queequeg, stand up!”
nimbly springing up on the triangular raised box in the bow, the savage stood erect there, and with intensely eager eyes gazed off towards the spot where the chase had last been descried. likewise upon the extreme stern of the boat where it was also triangularly platformed level with the gunwale, starbuck himself was seen coolly and adroitly balancing himself to the jerking tossings of his chip of a craft, and silently eyeing the vast blue eye of the sea.
not very far distant flask’s boat was also lying breathlessly still; its commander recklessly standing upon the top of the loggerhead, a stout sort of post rooted in the keel, and rising some two feet above the level of the stern platform. it is used for catching turns with the whale line. its top is not more spacious than the palm of a man’s hand, and standing upon such a base as that, flask seemed perched at the mast-head of some ship which had sunk to all but her trucks. but little king-post was small and short, and at the same time little king-post was full of a large and tall ambition, so that this loggerhead stand-point of his did by no means satisfy king-post.
“i can’t see three seas off; tip us up an oar there, and let me on to that.”
upon this, daggoo, with either hand upon the gunwale to steady his way, swiftly slid aft, and then erecting himself volunteered his lofty shoulders for a pedestal.
“good a mast-head as any, sir. will you mount?”
“that i will, and thank ye very much, my fine fellow; only i wish you fifty feet taller.”
whereupon planting his feet firmly against two opposite planks of the boat, the gigantic negro, stooping a little, presented his flat palm to flask’s foot, and then putting flask’s hand on his hearse-plumed head and bidding him spring as he himself should toss, with one dexterous fling landed the little man high and dry on his shoulders. and here was flask now standing, daggoo with one lifted arm furnishing him with a breastband to lean against and steady himself by.
at any time it is a strange sight to the tyro to see with what wondrous habitude of unconscious skill the whaleman will maintain an erect posture in his boat, even when pitched about by the most riotously perverse and cross-running seas. still more strange to see him giddily perched upon the loggerhead itself, under such circumstances. but the sight of little flask mounted upon gigantic daggoo was yet more curious; for sustaining himself with a cool, indifferent, easy, unthought of, barbaric majesty, the noble negro to every roll of the sea harmoniously rolled his fine form. on his broad back, flaxen-haired flask seemed a snow-flake. the bearer looked nobler than the rider.
though truly vivacious, tumultuous, ostentatious little flask would now and then stamp with impatience; but not one added heave did he thereby give to the negro’s lordly chest. so have i seen passion and vanity stamping the living magnanimous earth, but the earth did not alter her tides and her seasons for that.
meanwhile stubb, the third mate, betrayed no such far-gazing solicitudes. the whales might have made one of their regular soundings, not a temporary dive from mere fright; and if that were the case, stubb, as his wont in such cases, it seems, was resolved to solace the languishing interval with his pipe. he withdrew it from his hatband, where he always wore it aslant like a feather. he loaded it, and rammed home the loading with his thumb-end; but hardly had he ignited his match across the rough sandpaper of his hand, when tashtego, his harpooneer, whose eyes had been setting to windward like two fixed stars, suddenly dropped like light from his erect attitude to his seat, crying out in a quick phrensy of hurry, “down, down all, and give way!—there they are!”
to a landsman, no whale, nor any sign of a herring, would have been visible at that moment; nothing but a troubled bit of greenish white water, and thin scattered puffs of vapor hovering over it, and suffusingly blowing off to leeward, like the confused scud from white rolling billows. the air around suddenly vibrated and tingled, as it were, like the air over intensely heated plates of iron. beneath this atmospheric waving and curling, and partially beneath a thin layer of water, also, the whales were swimming. seen in advance of all the other indications, the puffs of vapor they spouted, seemed their forerunning couriers and detached flying outriders.
all four boats were now in keen pursuit of that one spot of troubled water and air. but it bade fair to outstrip them; it flew on and on, as a mass of interblending bubbles borne down a rapid stream from the hills.
“pull, pull, my good boys,” said starbuck, in the lowest possible but intensest concentrated whisper to his men; while the sharp fixed glance from his eyes darted straight ahead of the bow, almost seemed as two visible needles in two unerring binnacle compasses. he did not say much to his crew, though, nor did his crew say anything to him. only the silence of the boat was at intervals startlingly pierced by one of his peculiar whispers, now harsh with command, now soft with entreaty.
how different the loud little king-post. “sing out and say something, my hearties. roar and pull, my thunderbolts! beach me, beach me on their black backs, boys; only do that for me, and i’ll sign over to you my martha’s vineyard plantation, boys; including wife and children, boys. lay me on—lay me on! o lord, lord! but i shall go stark, staring mad! see! see that white water!” and so shouting, he pulled his hat from his head, and stamped up and down on it; then picking it up, flirted it far off upon the sea; and finally fell to rearing and plunging in the boat’s stern like a crazed colt from the prairie.
“look at that chap now,” philosophically drawled stubb, who, with his unlighted short pipe, mechanically retained between his teeth, at a short distance, followed after—“he’s got fits, that flask has. fits?
yes, give him fits—that’s the very word—pitch fits into ’em. merrily, merrily, hearts-alive. pudding for supper, you know;—merry’s the word.
pull, babes—pull, sucklings—pull, all. but what the devil are you hurrying about? softly, softly, and steadily, my men. only pull, and keep pulling; nothing more. crack all your backbones, and bite your knives in two—that’s all. take it easy—why don’t ye take it easy, i say, and burst all your livers and lungs!”
but what it was that inscrutable ahab said to that tiger-yellow crew of his—these were words best omitted here; for you live under the blessed light of the evangelical land. only the infidel sharks in the audacious seas may give ear to such words, when, with tornado brow, and eyes of red murder, and foam-glued lips, ahab leaped after his prey.
meanwhile, all the boats tore on. the repeated specific allusions of flask to “that whale,” as he called the fictitious monster which he declared to be incessantly tantalizing his boat’s bow with its tail—these allusions of his were at times so vivid and life-like, that they would cause some one or two of his men to snatch a fearful look over the shoulder. but this was against all rule; for the oarsmen must put out their eyes, and ram a skewer through their necks; usage pronouncing that they must have no organs but ears, and no limbs but arms, in these critical moments.
it was a sight full of quick wonder and awe! the vast swells of the omnipotent sea; the surging, hollow roar they made, as they rolled along the eight gunwales, like gigantic bowls in a boundless bowling-green; the brief suspended agony of the boat, as it would tip for an instant on the knife-like edge of the sharper waves, that almost seemed threatening to cut it in two; the sudden profound dip into the watery glens and hollows; the keen spurrings and goadings to gain the top of the opposite hill; the headlong, sled-like slide down its other side;—all these, with the cries of the headsmen and harpooneers, and the shuddering gasps of the oarsmen, with the wondrous sight of the ivory pequod bearing down upon her boats with outstretched sails, like a wild hen after her screaming brood;—all this was thrilling.
not the raw recruit, marching from the bosom of his wife into the fever heat of his first battle; not the dead man’s ghost encountering the first unknown phantom in the other world;—neither of these can feel stranger and stronger emotions than that man does, who for the first time finds himself pulling into the charmed, churned circle of the hunted sperm whale.
the dancing white water made by the chase was now becoming more and more visible, owing to the increasing darkness of the dun cloud-shadows flung upon the sea. the jets of vapor no longer blended, but tilted everywhere to right and left; the whales seemed separating their wakes.
the boats were pulled more apart; starbuck giving chase to three whales running dead to leeward. our sail was now set, and, with the still rising wind, we rushed along; the boat going with such madness through the water, that the lee oars could scarcely be worked rapidly enough to escape being torn from the row-locks.
soon we were running through a suffusing wide veil of mist; neither ship nor boat to be seen.
“give way, men,” whispered starbuck, drawing still further aft the sheet of his sail; “there is time to kill a fish yet before the squall comes. there’s white water again!—close to! spring!”
soon after, two cries in quick succession on each side of us denoted that the other boats had got fast; but hardly were they overheard, when with a lightning-like hurtling whisper starbuck said: “stand up!” and queequeg, harpoon in hand, sprang to his feet.
though not one of the oarsmen was then facing the life and death peril so close to them ahead, yet with their eyes on the intense countenance of the mate in the stern of the boat, they knew that the imminent instant had come; they heard, too, an enormous wallowing sound as of fifty elephants stirring in their litter. meanwhile the boat was still booming through the mist, the waves curling and hissing around us like the erected crests of enraged serpents.
“that’s his hump. there, there, give it to him!” whispered starbuck.
a short rushing sound leaped out of the boat; it was the darted iron of queequeg. then all in one welded commotion came an invisible push from astern, while forward the boat seemed striking on a ledge; the sail collapsed and exploded; a gush of scalding vapor shot up near by; something rolled and tumbled like an earthquake beneath us. the whole crew were half suffocated as they were tossed helter-skelter into the white curdling cream of the squall. squall, whale, and harpoon had all blended together; and the whale, merely grazed by the iron, escaped.
though completely swamped, the boat was nearly unharmed. swimming round it we picked up the floating oars, and lashing them across the gunwale, tumbled back to our places. there we sat up to our knees in the sea, the water covering every rib and plank, so that to our downward gazing eyes the suspended craft seemed a coral boat grown up to us from the bottom of the ocean.
the wind increased to a howl; the waves dashed their bucklers together; the whole squall roared, forked, and crackled around us like a white fire upon the prairie, in which, unconsumed, we were burning; immortal in these jaws of death! in vain we hailed the other boats; as well roar to the live coals down the chimney of a flaming furnace as hail those boats in that storm. meanwhile the driving scud, rack, and mist, grew darker with the shadows of night; no sign of the ship could be seen.
the rising sea forbade all attempts to bale out the boat. the oars were useless as propellers, performing now the office of life-preservers.
so, cutting the lashing of the waterproof match keg, after many failures starbuck contrived to ignite the lamp in the lantern; then stretching it on a waif pole, handed it to queequeg as the standard-bearer of this forlorn hope. there, then, he sat, holding up that imbecile candle in the heart of that almighty forlornness. there, then, he sat, the sign and symbol of a man without faith, hopelessly holding up hope in the midst of despair.
wet, drenched through, and shivering cold, despairing of ship or boat, we lifted up our eyes as the dawn came on. the mist still spread over the sea, the empty lantern lay crushed in the bottom of the boat.
suddenly queequeg started to his feet, hollowing his hand to his ear.
we all heard a faint creaking, as of ropes and yards hitherto muffled by the storm. the sound came nearer and nearer; the thick mists were dimly parted by a huge, vague form. affrighted, we all sprang into the sea as the ship at last loomed into view, bearing right down upon us within a distance of not much more than its length.
floating on the waves we saw the abandoned boat, as for one instant it tossed and gaped beneath the ship’s bows like a chip at the base of a cataract; and then the vast hull rolled over it, and it was seen no more till it came up weltering astern. again we swam for it, were dashed against it by the seas, and were at last taken up and safely landed on board. ere the squall came close to, the other boats had cut loose from their fish and returned to the ship in good time. the ship had given us up, but was still cruising, if haply it might light upon some token of our perishing,—an oar or a lance pole.
chapter 49. the hyena.
there are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke, though the wit thereof he but dimly discerns, and more than suspects that the joke is at nobody’s expense but his own.
however, nothing dispirits, and nothing seems worth while disputing. he bolts down all events, all creeds, and beliefs, and persuasions, all hard things visible and invisible, never mind how knobby; as an ostrich of potent digestion gobbles down bullets and gun flints. and as for small difficulties and worryings, prospects of sudden disaster, peril of life and limb; all these, and death itself, seem to him only sly, good-natured hits, and jolly punches in the side bestowed by the unseen and unaccountable old joker. that odd sort of wayward mood i am speaking of, comes over a man only in some time of extreme tribulation; it comes in the very midst of his earnestness, so that what just before might have seemed to him a thing most momentous, now seems but a part of the general joke. there is nothing like the perils of whaling to breed this free and easy sort of genial, desperado philosophy; and with it i now regarded this whole voyage of the pequod, and the great white whale its object.
“queequeg,” said i, when they had dragged me, the last man, to the deck, and i was still shaking myself in my jacket to fling off the water; “queequeg, my fine friend, does this sort of thing often happen?” without much emotion, though soaked through just like me, he gave me to understand that such things did often happen.
“mr. stubb,” said i, turning to that worthy, who, buttoned up in his oil-jacket, was now calmly smoking his pipe in the rain; “mr. stubb, i think i have heard you say that of all whalemen you ever met, our chief mate, mr. starbuck, is by far the most careful and prudent. i suppose then, that going plump on a flying whale with your sail set in a foggy squall is the height of a whaleman’s discretion?”
“certain. i’ve lowered for whales from a leaking ship in a gale off cape horn.”
“mr. flask,” said i, turning to little king-post, who was standing close by; “you are experienced in these things, and i am not. will you tell me whether it is an unalterable law in this fishery, mr. flask, for an oarsman to break his own back pulling himself back-foremost into death’s jaws?”
“can’t you twist that smaller?” said flask. “yes, that’s the law. i should like to see a boat’s crew backing water up to a whale face foremost. ha, ha! the whale would give them squint for squint, mind that!”
here then, from three impartial witnesses, i had a deliberate statement of the entire case. considering, therefore, that squalls and capsizings in the water and consequent bivouacks on the deep, were matters of common occurrence in this kind of life; considering that at the superlatively critical instant of going on to the whale i must resign my life into the hands of him who steered the boat—oftentimes a fellow who at that very moment is in his impetuousness upon the point of scuttling the craft with his own frantic stampings; considering that the particular disaster to our own particular boat was chiefly to be imputed to starbuck’s driving on to his whale almost in the teeth of a squall, and considering that starbuck, notwithstanding, was famous for his great heedfulness in the fishery; considering that i belonged to this uncommonly prudent starbuck’s boat; and finally considering in what a devil’s chase i was implicated, touching the white whale: taking all things together, i say, i thought i might as well go below and make a rough draft of my will. “queequeg,” said i, “come along, you shall be my lawyer, executor, and legatee.”
it may seem strange that of all men sailors should be tinkering at their last wills and testaments, but there are no people in the world more fond of that diversion. this was the fourth time in my nautical life that i had done the same thing. after the ceremony was concluded upon the present occasion, i felt all the easier; a stone was rolled away from my heart. besides, all the days i should now live would be as good as the days that lazarus lived after his resurrection; a supplementary clean gain of so many months or weeks as the case might be. i survived myself; my death and burial were locked up in my chest.
i looked round me tranquilly and contentedly, like a quiet ghost with a clean conscience sitting inside the bars of a snug family vault.
now then, thought i, unconsciously rolling up the sleeves of my frock, here goes for a cool, collected dive at death and destruction, and the devil fetch the hindmost.
chapter 50. ahab’s boat and crew. fedallah.
“who would have thought it, flask!” cried stubb; “if i had but one leg you would not catch me in a boat, unless maybe to stop the plug-hole with my timber toe. oh! he’s a wonderful old man!”
“i don’t think it so strange, after all, on that account,” said flask.
“if his leg were off at the hip, now, it would be a different thing.
that would disable him; but he has one knee, and good part of the other left, you know.”
“i don’t know that, my little man; i never yet saw him kneel.”
among whale-wise people it has often been argued whether, considering the paramount importance of his life to the success of the voyage, it is right for a whaling captain to jeopardize that life in the active perils of the chase. so tamerlane’s soldiers often argued with tears in their eyes, whether that invaluable life of his ought to be carried into the thickest of the fight.
but with ahab the question assumed a modified aspect. considering that with two legs man is but a hobbling wight in all times of danger; considering that the pursuit of whales is always under great and extraordinary difficulties; that every individual moment, indeed, then comprises a peril; under these circumstances is it wise for any maimed man to enter a whale-boat in the hunt? as a general thing, the joint-owners of the pequod must have plainly thought not.
ahab well knew that although his friends at home would think little of his entering a boat in certain comparatively harmless vicissitudes of the chase, for the sake of being near the scene of action and giving his orders in person, yet for captain ahab to have a boat actually apportioned to him as a regular headsman in the hunt—above all for captain ahab to be supplied with five extra men, as that same boat’s crew, he well knew that such generous conceits never entered the heads of the owners of the pequod. therefore he had not solicited a boat’s crew from them, nor had he in any way hinted his desires on that head.
nevertheless he had taken private measures of his own touching all that matter. until cabaco’s published discovery, the sailors had little foreseen it, though to be sure when, after being a little while out of port, all hands had concluded the customary business of fitting the whaleboats for service; when some time after this ahab was now and then found bestirring himself in the matter of making thole-pins with his own hands for what was thought to be one of the spare boats, and even solicitously cutting the small wooden skewers, which when the line is running out are pinned over the groove in the bow: when all this was observed in him, and particularly his solicitude in having an extra coat of sheathing in the bottom of the boat, as if to make it better withstand the pointed pressure of his ivory limb; and also the anxiety he evinced in exactly shaping the thigh board, or clumsy cleat, as it is sometimes called, the horizontal piece in the boat’s bow for bracing the knee against in darting or stabbing at the whale; when it was observed how often he stood up in that boat with his solitary knee fixed in the semi-circular depression in the cleat, and with the carpenter’s chisel gouged out a little here and straightened it a little there; all these things, i say, had awakened much interest and curiosity at the time. but almost everybody supposed that this particular preparative heedfulness in ahab must only be with a view to the ultimate chase of moby dick; for he had already revealed his intention to hunt that mortal monster in person. but such a supposition did by no means involve the remotest suspicion as to any boat’s crew being assigned to that boat.
now, with the subordinate phantoms, what wonder remained soon waned away; for in a whaler wonders soon wane. besides, now and then such unaccountable odds and ends of strange nations come up from the unknown nooks and ash-holes of the earth to man these floating outlaws of whalers; and the ships themselves often pick up such queer castaway creatures found tossing about the open sea on planks, bits of wreck, oars, whaleboats, canoes, blown-off japanese junks, and what not; that beelzebub himself might climb up the side and step down into the cabin to chat with the captain, and it would not create any unsubduable excitement in the forecastle.
but be all this as it may, certain it is that while the subordinate phantoms soon found their place among the crew, though still as it were somehow distinct from them, yet that hair-turbaned fedallah remained a muffled mystery to the last. whence he came in a mannerly world like this, by what sort of unaccountable tie he soon evinced himself to be linked with ahab’s peculiar fortunes; nay, so far as to have some sort of a half-hinted influence; heaven knows, but it might have been even authority over him; all this none knew. but one cannot sustain an indifferent air concerning fedallah. he was such a creature as civilized, domestic people in the temperate zone only see in their dreams, and that but dimly; but the like of whom now and then glide among the unchanging asiatic communities, especially the oriental isles to the east of the continent—those insulated, immemorial, unalterable countries, which even in these modern days still preserve much of the ghostly aboriginalness of earth’s primal generations, when the memory of the first man was a distinct recollection, and all men his descendants, unknowing whence he came, eyed each other as real phantoms, and asked of the sun and the moon why they were created and to what end; when though, according to genesis, the angels indeed consorted with the daughters of men, the devils also, add the uncanonical rabbins, indulged in mundane amours.
chapter 51. the spirit-spout.
days, weeks passed, and under easy sail, the ivory pequod had slowly swept across four several cruising-grounds; that off the azores; off the cape de verdes; on the plate (so called), being off the mouth of the rio de la plata; and the carrol ground, an unstaked, watery locality, southerly from st. helena.
it was while gliding through these latter waters that one serene and moonlight night, when all the waves rolled by like scrolls of silver; and, by their soft, suffusing seethings, made what seemed a silvery silence, not a solitude; on such a silent night a silvery jet was seen far in advance of the white bubbles at the bow. lit up by the moon, it looked celestial; seemed some plumed and glittering god uprising from the sea. fedallah first descried this jet. for of these moonlight nights, it was his wont to mount to the main-mast head, and stand a look-out there, with the same precision as if it had been day. and yet, though herds of whales were seen by night, not one whaleman in a hundred would venture a lowering for them. you may think with what emotions, then, the seamen beheld this old oriental perched aloft at such unusual hours; his turban and the moon, companions in one sky. but when, after spending his uniform interval there for several successive nights without uttering a single sound; when, after all this silence, his unearthly voice was heard announcing that silvery, moon-lit jet, every reclining mariner started to his feet as if some winged spirit had lighted in the rigging, and hailed the mortal crew. “there she blows!” had the trump of judgment blown, they could not have quivered more; yet still they felt no terror; rather pleasure. for though it was a most unwonted hour, yet so impressive was the cry, and so deliriously exciting, that almost every soul on board instinctively desired a lowering.
walking the deck with quick, side-lunging strides, ahab commanded the t’gallant sails and royals to be set, and every stunsail spread. the best man in the ship must take the helm. then, with every mast-head manned, the piled-up craft rolled down before the wind. the strange, upheaving, lifting tendency of the taffrail breeze filling the hollows of so many sails, made the buoyant, hovering deck to feel like air beneath the feet; while still she rushed along, as if two antagonistic influences were struggling in her—one to mount direct to heaven, the other to drive yawingly to some horizontal goal. and had you watched ahab’s face that night, you would have thought that in him also two different things were warring. while his one live leg made lively echoes along the deck, every stroke of his dead limb sounded like a coffin-tap. on life and death this old man walked. but though the ship so swiftly sped, and though from every eye, like arrows, the eager glances shot, yet the silvery jet was no more seen that night. every sailor swore he saw it once, but not a second time.
this midnight-spout had almost grown a forgotten thing, when, some days after, lo! at the same silent hour, it was again announced: again it was descried by all; but upon making sail to overtake it, once more it disappeared as if it had never been. and so it served us night after night, till no one heeded it but to wonder at it. mysteriously jetted into the clear moonlight, or starlight, as the case might be; disappearing again for one whole day, or two days, or three; and somehow seeming at every distinct repetition to be advancing still further and further in our van, this solitary jet seemed for ever alluring us on.
nor with the immemorial superstition of their race, and in accordance with the preternaturalness, as it seemed, which in many things invested the pequod, were there wanting some of the seamen who swore that whenever and wherever descried; at however remote times, or in however far apart latitudes and longitudes, that unnearable spout was cast by one self-same whale; and that whale, moby dick. for a time, there reigned, too, a sense of peculiar dread at this flitting apparition, as if it were treacherously beckoning us on and on, in order that the monster might turn round upon us, and rend us at last in the remotest and most savage seas.
these temporary apprehensions, so vague but so awful, derived a wondrous potency from the contrasting serenity of the weather, in which, beneath all its blue blandness, some thought there lurked a devilish charm, as for days and days we voyaged along, through seas so wearily, lonesomely mild, that all space, in repugnance to our vengeful errand, seemed vacating itself of life before our urn-like prow.
but, at last, when turning to the eastward, the cape winds began howling around us, and we rose and fell upon the long, troubled seas that are there; when the ivory-tusked pequod sharply bowed to the blast, and gored the dark waves in her madness, till, like showers of silver chips, the foam-flakes flew over her bulwarks; then all this desolate vacuity of life went away, but gave place to sights more dismal than before.
close to our bows, strange forms in the water darted hither and thither before us; while thick in our rear flew the inscrutable sea-ravens. and every morning, perched on our stays, rows of these birds were seen; and spite of our hootings, for a long time obstinately clung to the hemp, as though they deemed our ship some drifting, uninhabited craft; a thing appointed to desolation, and therefore fit roosting-place for their homeless selves. and heaved and heaved, still unrestingly heaved the black sea, as if its vast tides were a conscience; and the great mundane soul were in anguish and remorse for the long sin and suffering it had bred.
cape of good hope, do they call ye? rather cape tormentoso, as called of yore; for long allured by the perfidious silences that before had attended us, we found ourselves launched into this tormented sea, where guilty beings transformed into those fowls and these fish, seemed condemned to swim on everlastingly without any haven in store, or beat that black air without any horizon. but calm, snow-white, and unvarying; still directing its fountain of feathers to the sky; still beckoning us on from before, the solitary jet would at times be descried.
during all this blackness of the elements, ahab, though assuming for the time the almost continual command of the drenched and dangerous deck, manifested the gloomiest reserve; and more seldom than ever addressed his mates. in tempestuous times like these, after everything above and aloft has been secured, nothing more can be done but passively to await the issue of the gale. then captain and crew become practical fatalists. so, with his ivory leg inserted into its accustomed hole, and with one hand firmly grasping a shroud, ahab for hours and hours would stand gazing dead to windward, while an occasional squall of sleet or snow would all but congeal his very eyelashes together. meantime, the crew driven from the forward part of the ship by the perilous seas that burstingly broke over its bows, stood in a line along the bulwarks in the waist; and the better to guard against the leaping waves, each man had slipped himself into a sort of bowline secured to the rail, in which he swung as in a loosened belt. few or no words were spoken; and the silent ship, as if manned by painted sailors in wax, day after day tore on through all the swift madness and gladness of the demoniac waves. by night the same muteness of humanity before the shrieks of the ocean prevailed; still in silence the men swung in the bowlines; still wordless ahab stood up to the blast. even when wearied nature seemed demanding repose he would not seek that repose in his hammock. never could starbuck forget the old man’s aspect, when one night going down into the cabin to mark how the barometer stood, he saw him with closed eyes sitting straight in his floor-screwed chair; the rain and half-melted sleet of the storm from which he had some time before emerged, still slowly dripping from the unremoved hat and coat. on the table beside him lay unrolled one of those charts of tides and currents which have previously been spoken of. his lantern swung from his tightly clenched hand. though the body was erect, the head was thrown back so that the closed eyes were pointed towards the needle of the tell-tale that swung from a beam in the ceiling.*
*the cabin-compass is called the tell-tale, because without going to the compass at the helm, the captain, while below, can inform himself of the course of the ship.
terrible old man! thought starbuck with a shudder, sleeping in this gale, still thou steadfastly eyest thy purpose.
chapter 52. the albatross.
south-eastward from the cape, off the distant crozetts, a good cruising ground for right whalemen, a sail loomed ahead, the goney (albatross)
by name. as she slowly drew nigh, from my lofty perch at the fore-mast-head, i had a good view of that sight so remarkable to a tyro in the far ocean fisheries—a whaler at sea, and long absent from home.
as if the waves had been fullers, this craft was bleached like the skeleton of a stranded walrus. all down her sides, this spectral appearance was traced with long channels of reddened rust, while all her spars and her rigging were like the thick branches of trees furred over with hoar-frost. only her lower sails were set. a wild sight it was to see her long-bearded look-outs at those three mast-heads. they seemed clad in the skins of beasts, so torn and bepatched the raiment that had survived nearly four years of cruising. standing in iron hoops nailed to the mast, they swayed and swung over a fathomless sea; and though, when the ship slowly glided close under our stern, we six men in the air came so nigh to each other that we might almost have leaped from the mast-heads of one ship to those of the other; yet, those forlorn-looking fishermen, mildly eyeing us as they passed, said not one word to our own look-outs, while the quarter-deck hail was being heard from below.
“ship ahoy! have ye seen the white whale?”
but as the strange captain, leaning over the pallid bulwarks, was in the act of putting his trumpet to his mouth, it somehow fell from his hand into the sea; and the wind now rising amain, he in vain strove to make himself heard without it. meantime his ship was still increasing the distance between. while in various silent ways the seamen of the pequod were evincing their observance of this ominous incident at the first mere mention of the white whale’s name to another ship, ahab for a moment paused; it almost seemed as though he would have lowered a boat to board the stranger, had not the threatening wind forbade. but taking advantage of his windward position, he again seized his trumpet, and knowing by her aspect that the stranger vessel was a nantucketer and shortly bound home, he loudly hailed—“ahoy there! this is the pequod, bound round the world! tell them to address all future letters to the pacific ocean! and this time three years, if i am not at home, tell them to address them to ——”
at that moment the two wakes were fairly crossed, and instantly, then, in accordance with their singular ways, shoals of small harmless fish, that for some days before had been placidly swimming by our side, darted away with what seemed shuddering fins, and ranged themselves fore and aft with the stranger’s flanks. though in the course of his continual voyagings ahab must often before have noticed a similar sight, yet, to any monomaniac man, the veriest trifles capriciously carry meanings.
“swim away from me, do ye?” murmured ahab, gazing over into the water.
there seemed but little in the words, but the tone conveyed more of deep helpless sadness than the insane old man had ever before evinced.
but turning to the steersman, who thus far had been holding the ship in the wind to diminish her headway, he cried out in his old lion voice,—“up helm! keep her off round the world!”
round the world! there is much in that sound to inspire proud feelings; but whereto does all that circumnavigation conduct? only through numberless perils to the very point whence we started, where those that we left behind secure, were all the time before us.
were this world an endless plain, and by sailing eastward we could for ever reach new distances, and discover sights more sweet and strange than any cyclades or islands of king solomon, then there were promise in the voyage. but in pursuit of those far mysteries we dream of, or in tormented chase of that demon phantom that, some time or other, swims before all human hearts; while chasing such over this round globe, they either lead us on in barren mazes or midway leave us whelmed.
chapter 53. the gam.
the ostensible reason why ahab did not go on board of the whaler we had spoken was this: the wind and sea betokened storms. but even had this not been the case, he would not after all, perhaps, have boarded her—judging by his subsequent conduct on similar occasions—if so it had been that, by the process of hailing, he had obtained a negative answer to the question he put. for, as it eventually turned out, he cared not to consort, even for five minutes, with any stranger captain, except he could contribute some of that information he so absorbingly sought. but all this might remain inadequately estimated, were not something said here of the peculiar usages of whaling-vessels when meeting each other in foreign seas, and especially on a common cruising-ground.
if two strangers crossing the pine barrens in new york state, or the equally desolate salisbury plain in england; if casually encountering each other in such inhospitable wilds, these twain, for the life of them, cannot well avoid a mutual salutation; and stopping for a moment to interchange the news; and, perhaps, sitting down for a while and resting in concert: then, how much more natural that upon the illimitable pine barrens and salisbury plains of the sea, two whaling vessels descrying each other at the ends of the earth—off lone fanning’s island, or the far away king’s mills; how much more natural, i say, that under such circumstances these ships should not only interchange hails, but come into still closer, more friendly and sociable contact. and especially would this seem to be a matter of course, in the case of vessels owned in one seaport, and whose captains, officers, and not a few of the men are personally known to each other; and consequently, have all sorts of dear domestic things to talk about.
for the long absent ship, the outward-bounder, perhaps, has letters on board; at any rate, she will be sure to let her have some papers of a date a year or two later than the last one on her blurred and thumb-worn files. and in return for that courtesy, the outward-bound ship would receive the latest whaling intelligence from the cruising-ground to which she may be destined, a thing of the utmost importance to her. and in degree, all this will hold true concerning whaling vessels crossing each other’s track on the cruising-ground itself, even though they are equally long absent from home. for one of them may have received a transfer of letters from some third, and now far remote vessel; and some of those letters may be for the people of the ship she now meets. besides, they would exchange the whaling news, and have an agreeable chat. for not only would they meet with all the sympathies of sailors, but likewise with all the peculiar congenialities arising from a common pursuit and mutually shared privations and perils.
nor would difference of country make any very essential difference; that is, so long as both parties speak one language, as is the case with americans and english. though, to be sure, from the small number of english whalers, such meetings do not very often occur, and when they do occur there is too apt to be a sort of shyness between them; for your englishman is rather reserved, and your yankee, he does not fancy that sort of thing in anybody but himself. besides, the english whalers sometimes affect a kind of metropolitan superiority over the american whalers; regarding the long, lean nantucketer, with his nondescript provincialisms, as a sort of sea-peasant. but where this superiority in the english whalemen does really consist, it would be hard to say, seeing that the yankees in one day, collectively, kill more whales than all the english, collectively, in ten years. but this is a harmless little foible in the english whale-hunters, which the nantucketer does not take much to heart; probably, because he knows that he has a few foibles himself.
so, then, we see that of all ships separately sailing the sea, the whalers have most reason to be sociable—and they are so. whereas, some merchant ships crossing each other’s wake in the mid-atlantic, will oftentimes pass on without so much as a single word of recognition, mutually cutting each other on the high seas, like a brace of dandies in broadway; and all the time indulging, perhaps, in finical criticism upon each other’s rig. as for men-of-war, when they chance to meet at sea, they first go through such a string of silly bowings and scrapings, such a ducking of ensigns, that there does not seem to be much right-down hearty good-will and brotherly love about it at all. as touching slave-ships meeting, why, they are in such a prodigious hurry, they run away from each other as soon as possible. and as for pirates, when they chance to cross each other’s cross-bones, the first hail is—“how many skulls?”—the same way that whalers hail—“how many barrels?” and that question once answered, pirates straightway steer apart, for they are infernal villains on both sides, and don’t like to see overmuch of each other’s villanous likenesses.
but look at the godly, honest, unostentatious, hospitable, sociable, free-and-easy whaler! what does the whaler do when she meets another whaler in any sort of decent weather? she has a “gam,” a thing so utterly unknown to all other ships that they never heard of the name even; and if by chance they should hear of it, they only grin at it, and repeat gamesome stuff about “spouters” and “blubber-boilers,” and such like pretty exclamations. why it is that all merchant-seamen, and also all pirates and man-of-war’s men, and slave-ship sailors, cherish such a scornful feeling towards whale-ships; this is a question it would be hard to answer. because, in the case of pirates, say, i should like to know whether that profession of theirs has any peculiar glory about it. it sometimes ends in uncommon elevation, indeed; but only at the gallows. and besides, when a man is elevated in that odd fashion, he has no proper foundation for his superior altitude. hence, i conclude, that in boasting himself to be high lifted above a whaleman, in that assertion the pirate has no solid basis to stand on.
but what is a gam? you might wear out your index-finger running up and down the columns of dictionaries, and never find the word. dr.
johnson never attained to that erudition; noah webster’s ark does not hold it. nevertheless, this same expressive word has now for many years been in constant use among some fifteen thousand true born yankees.
certainly, it needs a definition, and should be incorporated into the lexicon. with that view, let me learnedly define it.
gam. noun—a social meeting of two (or more) whaleships, generally on a cruising-ground; when, after exchanging hails, they exchange visits by boats’ crews: the two captains remaining, for the time, on board of one ship, and the two chief mates on the other.
there is another little item about gamming which must not be forgotten here. all professions have their own little peculiarities of detail; so has the whale fishery. in a pirate, man-of-war, or slave ship, when the captain is rowed anywhere in his boat, he always sits in the stern sheets on a comfortable, sometimes cushioned seat there, and often steers himself with a pretty little milliner’s tiller decorated with gay cords and ribbons. but the whale-boat has no seat astern, no sofa of that sort whatever, and no tiller at all. high times indeed, if whaling captains were wheeled about the water on castors like gouty old aldermen in patent chairs. and as for a tiller, the whale-boat never admits of any such effeminacy; and therefore as in gamming a complete boat’s crew must leave the ship, and hence as the boat steerer or harpooneer is of the number, that subordinate is the steersman upon the occasion, and the captain, having no place to sit in, is pulled off to his visit all standing like a pine tree. and often you will notice that being conscious of the eyes of the whole visible world resting on him from the sides of the two ships, this standing captain is all alive to the importance of sustaining his dignity by maintaining his legs. nor is this any very easy matter; for in his rear is the immense projecting steering oar hitting him now and then in the small of his back, the after-oar reciprocating by rapping his knees in front. he is thus completely wedged before and behind, and can only expand himself sideways by settling down on his stretched legs; but a sudden, violent pitch of the boat will often go far to topple him, because length of foundation is nothing without corresponding breadth. merely make a spread angle of two poles, and you cannot stand them up. then, again, it would never do in plain sight of the world’s riveted eyes, it would never do, i say, for this straddling captain to be seen steadying himself the slightest particle by catching hold of anything with his hands; indeed, as token of his entire, buoyant self-command, he generally carries his hands in his trowsers’ pockets; but perhaps being generally very large, heavy hands, he carries them there for ballast.
nevertheless there have occurred instances, well authenticated ones too, where the captain has been known for an uncommonly critical moment or two, in a sudden squall say—to seize hold of the nearest oarsman’s hair, and hold on there like grim death.
chapter 54. the town-ho’s story.
(as told at the golden inn.)
the cape of good hope, and all the watery region round about there, is much like some noted four corners of a great highway, where you meet more travellers than in any other part.
it was not very long after speaking the goney that another homeward-bound whaleman, the town-ho,* was encountered. she was manned almost wholly by polynesians. in the short gam that ensued she gave us strong news of moby dick. to some the general interest in the white whale was now wildly heightened by a circumstance of the town-ho’s story, which seemed obscurely to involve with the whale a certain wondrous, inverted visitation of one of those so called judgments of god which at times are said to overtake some men. this latter circumstance, with its own particular accompaniments, forming what may be called the secret part of the tragedy about to be narrated, never reached the ears of captain ahab or his mates. for that secret part of the story was unknown to the captain of the town-ho himself. it was the private property of three confederate white seamen of that ship, one of whom, it seems, communicated it to tashtego with romish injunctions of secrecy, but the following night tashtego rambled in his sleep, and revealed so much of it in that way, that when he was wakened he could not well withhold the rest. nevertheless, so potent an influence did this thing have on those seamen in the pequod who came to the full knowledge of it, and by such a strange delicacy, to call it so, were they governed in this matter, that they kept the secret among themselves so that it never transpired abaft the pequod’s main-mast.
interweaving in its proper place this darker thread with the story as publicly narrated on the ship, the whole of this strange affair i now proceed to put on lasting record.
*the ancient whale-cry upon first sighting a whale from the mast-head, still used by whalemen in hunting the famous gallipagos terrapin.
for my humor’s sake, i shall preserve the style in which i once narrated it at lima, to a lounging circle of my spanish friends, one saint’s eve, smoking upon the thick-gilt tiled piazza of the golden inn. of those fine cavaliers, the young dons, pedro and sebastian, were on the closer terms with me; and hence the interluding questions they occasionally put, and which are duly answered at the time.
“some two years prior to my first learning the events which i am about rehearsing to you, gentlemen, the town-ho, sperm whaler of nantucket, was cruising in your pacific here, not very many days’ sail eastward from the eaves of this good golden inn. she was somewhere to the northward of the line. one morning upon handling the pumps, according to daily usage, it was observed that she made more water in her hold than common. they supposed a sword-fish had stabbed her, gentlemen. but the captain, having some unusual reason for believing that rare good luck awaited him in those latitudes; and therefore being very averse to quit them, and the leak not being then considered at all dangerous, though, indeed, they could not find it after searching the hold as low down as was possible in rather heavy weather, the ship still continued her cruisings, the mariners working at the pumps at wide and easy intervals; but no good luck came; more days went by, and not only was the leak yet undiscovered, but it sensibly increased. so much so, that now taking some alarm, the captain, making all sail, stood away for the nearest harbor among the islands, there to have his hull hove out and repaired.
“though no small passage was before her, yet, if the commonest chance favoured, he did not at all fear that his ship would founder by the way, because his pumps were of the best, and being periodically relieved at them, those six-and-thirty men of his could easily keep the ship free; never mind if the leak should double on her. in truth, well nigh the whole of this passage being attended by very prosperous breezes, the town-ho had all but certainly arrived in perfect safety at her port without the occurrence of the least fatality, had it not been for the brutal overbearing of radney, the mate, a vineyarder, and the bitterly provoked vengeance of steelkilt, a lakeman and desperado from buffalo.
“‘lakeman!—buffalo! pray, what is a lakeman, and where is buffalo?’
said don sebastian, rising in his swinging mat of grass.
“on the eastern shore of our lake erie, don; but—i crave your courtesy—may be, you shall soon hear further of all that. now, gentlemen, in square-sail brigs and three-masted ships, well-nigh as large and stout as any that ever sailed out of your old callao to far manilla; this lakeman, in the land-locked heart of our america, had yet been nurtured by all those agrarian freebooting impressions popularly connected with the open ocean. for in their interflowing aggregate, those grand fresh-water seas of ours,—erie, and ontario, and huron, and superior, and michigan,—possess an ocean-like expansiveness, with many of the ocean’s noblest traits; with many of its rimmed varieties of races and of climes. they contain round archipelagoes of romantic isles, even as the polynesian waters do; in large part, are shored by two great contrasting nations, as the atlantic is; they furnish long maritime approaches to our numerous territorial colonies from the east, dotted all round their banks; here and there are frowned upon by batteries, and by the goat-like craggy guns of lofty mackinaw; they have heard the fleet thunderings of naval victories; at intervals, they yield their beaches to wild barbarians, whose red painted faces flash from out their peltry wigwams; for leagues and leagues are flanked by ancient and unentered forests, where the gaunt pines stand like serried lines of kings in gothic genealogies; those same woods harboring wild afric beasts of prey, and silken creatures whose exported furs give robes to tartar emperors; they mirror the paved capitals of buffalo and cleveland, as well as winnebago villages; they float alike the full-rigged merchant ship, the armed cruiser of the state, the steamer, and the beech canoe; they are swept by borean and dismasting blasts as direful as any that lash the salted wave; they know what shipwrecks are, for out of sight of land, however inland, they have drowned full many a midnight ship with all its shrieking crew. thus, gentlemen, though an inlander, steelkilt was wild-ocean born, and wild-ocean nurtured; as much of an audacious mariner as any. and for radney, though in his infancy he may have laid him down on the lone nantucket beach, to nurse at his maternal sea; though in after life he had long followed our austere atlantic and your contemplative pacific; yet was he quite as vengeful and full of social quarrel as the backwoods seaman, fresh from the latitudes of buck-horn handled bowie-knives. yet was this nantucketer a man with some good-hearted traits; and this lakeman, a mariner, who though a sort of devil indeed, might yet by inflexible firmness, only tempered by that common decency of human recognition which is the meanest slave’s right; thus treated, this steelkilt had long been retained harmless and docile. at all events, he had proved so thus far; but radney was doomed and made mad, and steelkilt—but, gentlemen, you shall hear.
“it was not more than a day or two at the furthest after pointing her prow for her island haven, that the town-ho’s leak seemed again increasing, but only so as to require an hour or more at the pumps every day. you must know that in a settled and civilized ocean like our atlantic, for example, some skippers think little of pumping their whole way across it; though of a still, sleepy night, should the officer of the deck happen to forget his duty in that respect, the probability would be that he and his shipmates would never again remember it, on account of all hands gently subsiding to the bottom.
nor in the solitary and savage seas far from you to the westward, gentlemen, is it altogether unusual for ships to keep clanging at their pump-handles in full chorus even for a voyage of considerable length; that is, if it lie along a tolerably accessible coast, or if any other reasonable retreat is afforded them. it is only when a leaky vessel is in some very out of the way part of those waters, some really landless latitude, that her captain begins to feel a little anxious.
“much this way had it been with the town-ho; so when her leak was found gaining once more, there was in truth some small concern manifested by several of her company; especially by radney the mate. he commanded the upper sails to be well hoisted, sheeted home anew, and every way expanded to the breeze. now this radney, i suppose, was as little of a coward, and as little inclined to any sort of nervous apprehensiveness touching his own person as any fearless, unthinking creature on land or on sea that you can conveniently imagine, gentlemen. therefore when he betrayed this solicitude about the safety of the ship, some of the seamen declared that it was only on account of his being a part owner in her. so when they were working that evening at the pumps, there was on this head no small gamesomeness slily going on among them, as they stood with their feet continually overflowed by the rippling clear water; clear as any mountain spring, gentlemen—that bubbling from the pumps ran across the deck, and poured itself out in steady spouts at the lee scupper-holes.
“now, as you well know, it is not seldom the case in this conventional world of ours—watery or otherwise; that when a person placed in command over his fellow-men finds one of them to be very significantly his superior in general pride of manhood, straightway against that man he conceives an unconquerable dislike and bitterness; and if he have a chance he will pull down and pulverize that subaltern’s tower, and make a little heap of dust of it. be this conceit of mine as it may, gentlemen, at all events steelkilt was a tall and noble animal with a head like a roman, and a flowing golden beard like the tasseled housings of your last viceroy’s snorting charger; and a brain, and a heart, and a soul in him, gentlemen, which had made steelkilt charlemagne, had he been born son to charlemagne’s father. but radney, the mate, was ugly as a mule; yet as hardy, as stubborn, as malicious.
he did not love steelkilt, and steelkilt knew it.
“espying the mate drawing near as he was toiling at the pump with the rest, the lakeman affected not to notice him, but unawed, went on with his gay banterings.
“‘aye, aye, my merry lads, it’s a lively leak this; hold a cannikin, one of ye, and let’s have a taste. by the lord, it’s worth bottling! i tell ye what, men, old rad’s investment must go for it! he had best cut away his part of the hull and tow it home. the fact is, boys, that sword-fish only began the job; he’s come back again with a gang of ship-carpenters, saw-fish, and file-fish, and what not; and the whole posse of ’em are now hard at work cutting and slashing at the bottom; making improvements, i suppose. if old rad were here now, i’d tell him to jump overboard and scatter ’em. they’re playing the devil with his estate, i can tell him. but he’s a simple old soul,—rad, and a beauty too. boys, they say the rest of his property is invested in looking-glasses. i wonder if he’d give a poor devil like me the model of his nose.’
“‘damn your eyes! what’s that pump stopping for?’ roared radney, pretending not to have heard the sailors’ talk. ‘thunder away at it!’
“‘aye, aye, sir,’ said steelkilt, merry as a cricket. ‘lively, boys, lively, now!’ and with that the pump clanged like fifty fire-engines; the men tossed their hats off to it, and ere long that peculiar gasping of the lungs was heard which denotes the fullest tension of life’s utmost energies.
“quitting the pump at last, with the rest of his band, the lakeman went forward all panting, and sat himself down on the windlass; his face fiery red, his eyes bloodshot, and wiping the profuse sweat from his brow. now what cozening fiend it was, gentlemen, that possessed radney to meddle with such a man in that corporeally exasperated state, i know not; but so it happened. intolerably striding along the deck, the mate commanded him to get a broom and sweep down the planks, and also a shovel, and remove some offensive matters consequent upon allowing a pig to run at large.
“now, gentlemen, sweeping a ship’s deck at sea is a piece of household work which in all times but raging gales is regularly attended to every evening; it has been known to be done in the case of ships actually foundering at the time. such, gentlemen, is the inflexibility of sea-usages and the instinctive love of neatness in seamen; some of whom would not willingly drown without first washing their faces. but in all vessels this broom business is the prescriptive province of the boys, if boys there be aboard. besides, it was the stronger men in the town-ho that had been divided into gangs, taking turns at the pumps; and being the most athletic seaman of them all, steelkilt had been regularly assigned captain of one of the gangs; consequently he should have been freed from any trivial business not connected with truly nautical duties, such being the case with his comrades. i mention all these particulars so that you may understand exactly how this affair stood between the two men.
“but there was more than this: the order about the shovel was almost as plainly meant to sting and insult steelkilt, as though radney had spat in his face. any man who has gone sailor in a whale-ship will understand this; and all this and doubtless much more, the lakeman fully comprehended when the mate uttered his command. but as he sat still for a moment, and as he steadfastly looked into the mate’s malignant eye and perceived the stacks of powder-casks heaped up in him and the slow-match silently burning along towards them; as he instinctively saw all this, that strange forbearance and unwillingness to stir up the deeper passionateness in any already ireful being—a repugnance most felt, when felt at all, by really valiant men even when aggrieved—this nameless phantom feeling, gentlemen, stole over steelkilt.
“therefore, in his ordinary tone, only a little broken by the bodily exhaustion he was temporarily in, he answered him saying that sweeping the deck was not his business, and he would not do it. and then, without at all alluding to the shovel, he pointed to three lads as the customary sweepers; who, not being billeted at the pumps, had done little or nothing all day. to this, radney replied with an oath, in a most domineering and outrageous manner unconditionally reiterating his command; meanwhile advancing upon the still seated lakeman, with an uplifted cooper’s club hammer which he had snatched from a cask near by.
“heated and irritated as he was by his spasmodic toil at the pumps, for all his first nameless feeling of forbearance the sweating steelkilt could but ill brook this bearing in the mate; but somehow still smothering the conflagration within him, without speaking he remained doggedly rooted to his seat, till at last the incensed radney shook the hammer within a few inches of his face, furiously commanding him to do his bidding.
“steelkilt rose, and slowly retreating round the windlass, steadily followed by the mate with his menacing hammer, deliberately repeated his intention not to obey. seeing, however, that his forbearance had not the slightest effect, by an awful and unspeakable intimation with his twisted hand he warned off the foolish and infatuated man; but it was to no purpose. and in this way the two went once slowly round the windlass; when, resolved at last no longer to retreat, bethinking him that he had now forborne as much as comported with his humor, the lakeman paused on the hatches and thus spoke to the officer:
“‘mr. radney, i will not obey you. take that hammer away, or look to yourself.’ but the predestinated mate coming still closer to him, where the lakeman stood fixed, now shook the heavy hammer within an inch of his teeth; meanwhile repeating a string of insufferable maledictions.
retreating not the thousandth part of an inch; stabbing him in the eye with the unflinching poniard of his glance, steelkilt, clenching his right hand behind him and creepingly drawing it back, told his persecutor that if the hammer but grazed his cheek he (steelkilt) would murder him. but, gentlemen, the fool had been branded for the slaughter by the gods. immediately the hammer touched the cheek; the next instant the lower jaw of the mate was stove in his head; he fell on the hatch spouting blood like a whale.
“ere the cry could go aft steelkilt was shaking one of the backstays leading far aloft to where two of his comrades were standing their mastheads. they were both canallers.
“‘canallers!’ cried don pedro. ‘we have seen many whale-ships in our harbours, but never heard of your canallers. pardon: who and what are they?’
“‘canallers, don, are the boatmen belonging to our grand erie canal.
you must have heard of it.’
“‘nay, senor; hereabouts in this dull, warm, most lazy, and hereditary land, we know but little of your vigorous north.’
“‘aye? well then, don, refill my cup. your chicha’s very fine; and ere proceeding further i will tell ye what our canallers are; for such information may throw side-light upon my story.’
“for three hundred and sixty miles, gentlemen, through the entire breadth of the state of new york; through numerous populous cities and most thriving villages; through long, dismal, uninhabited swamps, and affluent, cultivated fields, unrivalled for fertility; by billiard-room and bar-room; through the holy-of-holies of great forests; on roman arches over indian rivers; through sun and shade; by happy hearts or broken; through all the wide contrasting scenery of those noble mohawk counties; and especially, by rows of snow-white chapels, whose spires stand almost like milestones, flows one continual stream of venetianly corrupt and often lawless life. there’s your true ashantee, gentlemen; there howl your pagans; where you ever find them, next door to you; under the long-flung shadow, and the snug patronising lee of churches.
for by some curious fatality, as it is often noted of your metropolitan freebooters that they ever encamp around the halls of justice, so sinners, gentlemen, most abound in holiest vicinities.
“‘is that a friar passing?’ said don pedro, looking downwards into the crowded plazza, with humorous concern.
“‘well for our northern friend, dame isabella’s inquisition wanes in lima,’ laughed don sebastian. ‘proceed, senor.’
“‘a moment! pardon!’ cried another of the company. ‘in the name of all us limeese, i but desire to express to you, sir sailor, that we have by no means overlooked your delicacy in not substituting present lima for distant venice in your corrupt comparison. oh! do not bow and look surprised; you know the proverb all along this coast—“corrupt as lima.”
it but bears out your saying, too; churches more plentiful than billiard-tables, and for ever open—and “corrupt as lima.” so, too, venice; i have been there; the holy city of the blessed evangelist, st.
mark!—st. dominic, purge it! your cup! thanks: here i refill; now, you pour out again.’
“freely depicted in his own vocation, gentlemen, the canaller would make a fine dramatic hero, so abundantly and picturesquely wicked is he. like mark antony, for days and days along his green-turfed, flowery nile, he indolently floats, openly toying with his red-cheeked cleopatra, ripening his apricot thigh upon the sunny deck. but ashore, all this effeminacy is dashed. the brigandish guise which the canaller so proudly sports; his slouched and gaily-ribboned hat betoken his grand features. a terror to the smiling innocence of the villages through which he floats; his swart visage and bold swagger are not unshunned in cities. once a vagabond on his own canal, i have received good turns from one of these canallers; i thank him heartily; would fain be not ungrateful; but it is often one of the prime redeeming qualities of your man of violence, that at times he has as stiff an arm to back a poor stranger in a strait, as to plunder a wealthy one. in sum, gentlemen, what the wildness of this canal life is, is emphatically evinced by this; that our wild whale-fishery contains so many of its most finished graduates, and that scarce any race of mankind, except sydney men, are so much distrusted by our whaling captains. nor does it at all diminish the curiousness of this matter, that to many thousands of our rural boys and young men born along its line, the probationary life of the grand canal furnishes the sole transition between quietly reaping in a christian corn-field, and recklessly ploughing the waters of the most barbaric seas.
“‘i see! i see!’ impetuously exclaimed don pedro, spilling his chicha upon his silvery ruffles. ‘no need to travel! the world’s one lima. i had thought, now, that at your temperate north the generations were cold and holy as the hills.—but the story.’
“i left off, gentlemen, where the lakeman shook the backstay. hardly had he done so, when he was surrounded by the three junior mates and the four harpooneers, who all crowded him to the deck. but sliding down the ropes like baleful comets, the two canallers rushed into the uproar, and sought to drag their man out of it towards the forecastle.
others of the sailors joined with them in this attempt, and a twisted turmoil ensued; while standing out of harm’s way, the valiant captain danced up and down with a whale-pike, calling upon his officers to manhandle that atrocious scoundrel, and smoke him along to the quarter-deck. at intervals, he ran close up to the revolving border of the confusion, and prying into the heart of it with his pike, sought to prick out the object of his resentment. but steelkilt and his desperadoes were too much for them all; they succeeded in gaining the forecastle deck, where, hastily slewing about three or four large casks in a line with the windlass, these sea-parisians entrenched themselves behind the barricade.
“‘come out of that, ye pirates!’ roared the captain, now menacing them with a pistol in each hand, just brought to him by the steward. ‘come out of that, ye cut-throats!’
“steelkilt leaped on the barricade, and striding up and down there, defied the worst the pistols could do; but gave the captain to understand distinctly, that his (steelkilt’s) death would be the signal for a murderous mutiny on the part of all hands. fearing in his heart lest this might prove but too true, the captain a little desisted, but still commanded the insurgents instantly to return to their duty.
“‘will you promise not to touch us, if we do?’ demanded their ringleader.
“‘turn to! turn to!—i make no promise;—to your duty! do you want to sink the ship, by knocking off at a time like this? turn to!’ and he once more raised a pistol.
“‘sink the ship?’ cried steelkilt. ‘aye, let her sink. not a man of us turns to, unless you swear not to raise a rope-yarn against us. what say ye, men?’ turning to his comrades. a fierce cheer was their response.
“the lakeman now patrolled the barricade, all the while keeping his eye on the captain, and jerking out such sentences as these:—‘it’s not our fault; we didn’t want it; i told him to take his hammer away; it was boy’s business; he might have known me before this; i told him not to prick the buffalo; i believe i have broken a finger here against his cursed jaw; ain’t those mincing knives down in the forecastle there, men? look to those handspikes, my hearties. captain, by god, look to yourself; say the word; don’t be a fool; forget it all; we are ready to turn to; treat us decently, and we’re your men; but we won’t be flogged.’
“‘turn to! i make no promises, turn to, i say!’
“‘look ye, now,’ cried the lakeman, flinging out his arm towards him, ‘there are a few of us here (and i am one of them) who have shipped for the cruise, d’ye see; now as you well know, sir, we can claim our discharge as soon as the anchor is down; so we don’t want a row; it’s not our interest; we want to be peaceable; we are ready to work, but we won’t be flogged.’
“‘turn to!’ roared the captain.
“steelkilt glanced round him a moment, and then said:—‘i tell you what it is now, captain, rather than kill ye, and be hung for such a shabby rascal, we won’t lift a hand against ye unless ye attack us; but till you say the word about not flogging us, we don’t do a hand’s turn.’
“‘down into the forecastle then, down with ye, i’ll keep ye there till ye’re sick of it. down ye go.’
“‘shall we?’ cried the ringleader to his men. most of them were against it; but at length, in obedience to steelkilt, they preceded him down into their dark den, growlingly disappearing, like bears into a cave.
“as the lakeman’s bare head was just level with the planks, the captain and his posse leaped the barricade, and rapidly drawing over the slide of the scuttle, planted their group of hands upon it, and loudly called for the steward to bring the heavy brass padlock belonging to the companionway. then opening the slide a little, the captain whispered something down the crack, closed it, and turned the key upon them—ten in number—leaving on deck some twenty or more, who thus far had remained neutral.
“all night a wide-awake watch was kept by all the officers, forward and aft, especially about the forecastle scuttle and fore hatchway; at which last place it was feared the insurgents might emerge, after breaking through the bulkhead below. but the hours of darkness passed in peace; the men who still remained at their duty toiling hard at the pumps, whose clinking and clanking at intervals through the dreary night dismally resounded through the ship.
“at sunrise the captain went forward, and knocking on the deck, summoned the prisoners to work; but with a yell they refused. water was then lowered down to them, and a couple of handfuls of biscuit were tossed after it; when again turning the key upon them and pocketing it, the captain returned to the quarter-deck. twice every day for three days this was repeated; but on the fourth morning a confused wrangling, and then a scuffling was heard, as the customary summons was delivered; and suddenly four men burst up from the forecastle, saying they were ready to turn to. the fetid closeness of the air, and a famishing diet, united perhaps to some fears of ultimate retribution, had constrained them to surrender at discretion. emboldened by this, the captain reiterated his demand to the rest, but steelkilt shouted up to him a terrific hint to stop his babbling and betake himself where he belonged. on the fifth morning three others of the mutineers bolted up into the air from the desperate arms below that sought to restrain them. only three were left.
“‘better turn to, now?’ said the captain with a heartless jeer.
“‘shut us up again, will ye!’ cried steelkilt.
“‘oh certainly,’ said the captain, and the key clicked.
“it was at this point, gentlemen, that enraged by the defection of seven of his former associates, and stung by the mocking voice that had last hailed him, and maddened by his long entombment in a place as black as the bowels of despair; it was then that steelkilt proposed to the two canallers, thus far apparently of one mind with him, to burst out of their hole at the next summoning of the garrison; and armed with their keen mincing knives (long, crescentic, heavy implements with a handle at each end) run amuck from the bowsprit to the taffrail; and if by any devilishness of desperation possible, seize the ship. for himself, he would do this, he said, whether they joined him or not.
that was the last night he should spend in that den. but the scheme met with no opposition on the part of the other two; they swore they were ready for that, or for any other mad thing, for anything in short but a surrender. and what was more, they each insisted upon being the first man on deck, when the time to make the rush should come. but to this their leader as fiercely objected, reserving that priority for himself; particularly as his two comrades would not yield, the one to the other, in the matter; and both of them could not be first, for the ladder would but admit one man at a time. and here, gentlemen, the foul play of these miscreants must come out.
“upon hearing the frantic project of their leader, each in his own separate soul had suddenly lighted, it would seem, upon the same piece of treachery, namely: to be foremost in breaking out, in order to be the first of the three, though the last of the ten, to surrender; and thereby secure whatever small chance of pardon such conduct might merit. but when steelkilt made known his determination still to lead them to the last, they in some way, by some subtle chemistry of villany, mixed their before secret treacheries together; and when their leader fell into a doze, verbally opened their souls to each other in three sentences; and bound the sleeper with cords, and gagged him with cords; and shrieked out for the captain at midnight.
“thinking murder at hand, and smelling in the dark for the blood, he and all his armed mates and harpooneers rushed for the forecastle. in a few minutes the scuttle was opened, and, bound hand and foot, the still struggling ringleader was shoved up into the air by his perfidious allies, who at once claimed the honor of securing a man who had been fully ripe for murder. but all these were collared, and dragged along the deck like dead cattle; and, side by side, were seized up into the mizzen rigging, like three quarters of meat, and there they hung till morning. ‘damn ye,’ cried the captain, pacing to and fro before them, ‘the vultures would not touch ye, ye villains!’
“at sunrise he summoned all hands; and separating those who had rebelled from those who had taken no part in the mutiny, he told the former that he had a good mind to flog them all round—thought, upon the whole, he would do so—he ought to—justice demanded it; but for the present, considering their timely surrender, he would let them go with a reprimand, which he accordingly administered in the vernacular.
“‘but as for you, ye carrion rogues,’ turning to the three men in the rigging—‘for you, i mean to mince ye up for the try-pots;’ and, seizing a rope, he applied it with all his might to the backs of the two traitors, till they yelled no more, but lifelessly hung their heads sideways, as the two crucified thieves are drawn.
“‘my wrist is sprained with ye!’ he cried, at last; ‘but there is still rope enough left for you, my fine bantam, that wouldn’t give up. take that gag from his mouth, and let us hear what he can say for himself.’
“for a moment the exhausted mutineer made a tremulous motion of his cramped jaws, and then painfully twisting round his head, said in a sort of hiss, ‘what i say is this—and mind it well—if you flog me, i murder you!’
“‘say ye so? then see how ye frighten me’—and the captain drew off with the rope to strike.
“‘best not,’ hissed the lakeman.
“‘but i must,’—and the rope was once more drawn back for the stroke.
“steelkilt here hissed out something, inaudible to all but the captain; who, to the amazement of all hands, started back, paced the deck rapidly two or three times, and then suddenly throwing down his rope, said, ‘i won’t do it—let him go—cut him down: d’ye hear?’
“but as the junior mates were hurrying to execute the order, a pale man, with a bandaged head, arrested them—radney the chief mate. ever since the blow, he had lain in his berth; but that morning, hearing the tumult on the deck, he had crept out, and thus far had watched the whole scene. such was the state of his mouth, that he could hardly speak; but mumbling something about his being willing and able to do what the captain dared not attempt, he snatched the rope and advanced to his pinioned foe.
“‘you are a coward!’ hissed the lakeman.
“‘so i am, but take that.’ the mate was in the very act of striking, when another hiss stayed his uplifted arm. he paused: and then pausing no more, made good his word, spite of steelkilt’s threat, whatever that might have been. the three men were then cut down, all hands were turned to, and, sullenly worked by the moody seamen, the iron pumps clanged as before.
“just after dark that day, when one watch had retired below, a clamor was heard in the forecastle; and the two trembling traitors running up, besieged the cabin door, saying they durst not consort with the crew.
entreaties, cuffs, and kicks could not drive them back, so at their own instance they were put down in the ship’s run for salvation. still, no sign of mutiny reappeared among the rest. on the contrary, it seemed, that mainly at steelkilt’s instigation, they had resolved to maintain the strictest peacefulness, obey all orders to the last, and, when the ship reached port, desert her in a body. but in order to insure the speediest end to the voyage, they all agreed to another thing—namely, not to sing out for whales, in case any should be discovered. for, spite of her leak, and spite of all her other perils, the town-ho still maintained her mast-heads, and her captain was just as willing to lower for a fish that moment, as on the day his craft first struck the cruising ground; and radney the mate was quite as ready to change his berth for a boat, and with his bandaged mouth seek to gag in death the vital jaw of the whale.
“but though the lakeman had induced the seamen to adopt this sort of passiveness in their conduct, he kept his own counsel (at least till all was over) concerning his own proper and private revenge upon the man who had stung him in the ventricles of his heart. he was in radney the chief mate’s watch; and as if the infatuated man sought to run more than half way to meet his doom, after the scene at the rigging, he insisted, against the express counsel of the captain, upon resuming the head of his watch at night. upon this, and one or two other circumstances, steelkilt systematically built the plan of his revenge.
“during the night, radney had an unseamanlike way of sitting on the bulwarks of the quarter-deck, and leaning his arm upon the gunwale of the boat which was hoisted up there, a little above the ship’s side. in this attitude, it was well known, he sometimes dozed. there was a considerable vacancy between the boat and the ship, and down between this was the sea. steelkilt calculated his time, and found that his next trick at the helm would come round at two o’clock, in the morning of the third day from that in which he had been betrayed. at his leisure, he employed the interval in braiding something very carefully in his watches below.
“‘what are you making there?’ said a shipmate.
“‘what do you think? what does it look like?’
“‘like a lanyard for your bag; but it’s an odd one, seems to me.’
“‘yes, rather oddish,’ said the lakeman, holding it at arm’s length before him; ‘but i think it will answer. shipmate, i haven’t enough twine,—have you any?’
“but there was none in the forecastle.
“‘then i must get some from old rad;’ and he rose to go aft.
“‘you don’t mean to go a begging to him!’ said a sailor.
“‘why not? do you think he won’t do me a turn, when it’s to help himself in the end, shipmate?’ and going to the mate, he looked at him quietly, and asked him for some twine to mend his hammock. it was given him—neither twine nor lanyard were seen again; but the next night an iron ball, closely netted, partly rolled from the pocket of the lakeman’s monkey jacket, as he was tucking the coat into his hammock for a pillow. twenty-four hours after, his trick at the silent helm—nigh to the man who was apt to doze over the grave always ready dug to the seaman’s hand—that fatal hour was then to come; and in the fore-ordaining soul of steelkilt, the mate was already stark and stretched as a corpse, with his forehead crushed in.
“but, gentlemen, a fool saved the would-be murderer from the bloody deed he had planned. yet complete revenge he had, and without being the avenger. for by a mysterious fatality, heaven itself seemed to step in to take out of his hands into its own the damning thing he would have done.
“it was just between daybreak and sunrise of the morning of the second day, when they were washing down the decks, that a stupid teneriffe man, drawing water in the main-chains, all at once shouted out, ‘there she rolls! there she rolls!’ jesu, what a whale! it was moby dick.
“‘moby dick!’ cried don sebastian; ‘st. dominic! sir sailor, but do whales have christenings? whom call you moby dick?’
“‘a very white, and famous, and most deadly immortal monster, don;—but that would be too long a story.’
“‘how? how?’ cried all the young spaniards, crowding.
“‘nay, dons, dons—nay, nay! i cannot rehearse that now. let me get more into the air, sirs.’
“‘the chicha! the chicha!’ cried don pedro; ‘our vigorous friend looks faint;—fill up his empty glass!’
“no need, gentlemen; one moment, and i proceed.—now, gentlemen, so suddenly perceiving the snowy whale within fifty yards of the ship—forgetful of the compact among the crew—in the excitement of the moment, the teneriffe man had instinctively and involuntarily lifted his voice for the monster, though for some little time past it had been plainly beheld from the three sullen mast-heads. all was now a phrensy.
‘the white whale—the white whale!’ was the cry from captain, mates, and harpooneers, who, undeterred by fearful rumours, were all anxious to capture so famous and precious a fish; while the dogged crew eyed askance, and with curses, the appalling beauty of the vast milky mass, that lit up by a horizontal spangling sun, shifted and glistened like a living opal in the blue morning sea. gentlemen, a strange fatality pervades the whole career of these events, as if verily mapped out before the world itself was charted. the mutineer was the bowsman of the mate, and when fast to a fish, it was his duty to sit next him, while radney stood up with his lance in the prow, and haul in or slacken the line, at the word of command. moreover, when the four boats were lowered, the mate’s got the start; and none howled more fiercely with delight than did steelkilt, as he strained at his oar. after a stiff pull, their harpooneer got fast, and, spear in hand, radney sprang to the bow. he was always a furious man, it seems, in a boat.
and now his bandaged cry was, to beach him on the whale’s topmost back.
nothing loath, his bowsman hauled him up and up, through a blinding foam that blent two whitenesses together; till of a sudden the boat struck as against a sunken ledge, and keeling over, spilled out the standing mate. that instant, as he fell on the whale’s slippery back, the boat righted, and was dashed aside by the swell, while radney was tossed over into the sea, on the other flank of the whale. he struck out through the spray, and, for an instant, was dimly seen through that veil, wildly seeking to remove himself from the eye of moby dick. but the whale rushed round in a sudden maelstrom; seized the swimmer between his jaws; and rearing high up with him, plunged headlong again, and went down.
“meantime, at the first tap of the boat’s bottom, the lakeman had slackened the line, so as to drop astern from the whirlpool; calmly looking on, he thought his own thoughts. but a sudden, terrific, downward jerking of the boat, quickly brought his knife to the line. he cut it; and the whale was free. but, at some distance, moby dick rose again, with some tatters of radney’s red woollen shirt, caught in the teeth that had destroyed him. all four boats gave chase again; but the whale eluded them, and finally wholly disappeared.
“in good time, the town-ho reached her port—a savage, solitary place—where no civilized creature resided. there, headed by the lakeman, all but five or six of the foremastmen deliberately deserted among the palms; eventually, as it turned out, seizing a large double war-canoe of the savages, and setting sail for some other harbor.
“the ship’s company being reduced to but a handful, the captain called upon the islanders to assist him in the laborious business of heaving down the ship to stop the leak. but to such unresting vigilance over their dangerous allies was this small band of whites necessitated, both by night and by day, and so extreme was the hard work they underwent, that upon the vessel being ready again for sea, they were in such a weakened condition that the captain durst not put off with them in so heavy a vessel. after taking counsel with his officers, he anchored the ship as far off shore as possible; loaded and ran out his two cannon from the bows; stacked his muskets on the poop; and warning the islanders not to approach the ship at their peril, took one man with him, and setting the sail of his best whale-boat, steered straight before the wind for tahiti, five hundred miles distant, to procure a reinforcement to his crew.
“on the fourth day of the sail, a large canoe was descried, which seemed to have touched at a low isle of corals. he steered away from it; but the savage craft bore down on him; and soon the voice of steelkilt hailed him to heave to, or he would run him under water. the captain presented a pistol. with one foot on each prow of the yoked war-canoes, the lakeman laughed him to scorn; assuring him that if the pistol so much as clicked in the lock, he would bury him in bubbles and foam.
“‘what do you want of me?’ cried the captain.
“‘where are you bound? and for what are you bound?’ demanded steelkilt; ‘no lies.’
“‘i am bound to tahiti for more men.’
“‘very good. let me board you a moment—i come in peace.’ with that he leaped from the canoe, swam to the boat; and climbing the gunwale, stood face to face with the captain.
“‘cross your arms, sir; throw back your head. now, repeat after me. as soon as steelkilt leaves me, i swear to beach this boat on yonder island, and remain there six days. if i do not, may lightnings strike me!’
“‘a pretty scholar,’ laughed the lakeman. ‘adios, senor!’ and leaping into the sea, he swam back to his comrades.
“watching the boat till it was fairly beached, and drawn up to the roots of the cocoa-nut trees, steelkilt made sail again, and in due time arrived at tahiti, his own place of destination. there, luck befriended him; two ships were about to sail for france, and were providentially in want of precisely that number of men which the sailor headed. they embarked; and so for ever got the start of their former captain, had he been at all minded to work them legal retribution.
“some ten days after the french ships sailed, the whale-boat arrived, and the captain was forced to enlist some of the more civilized tahitians, who had been somewhat used to the sea. chartering a small native schooner, he returned with them to his vessel; and finding all right there, again resumed his cruisings.
“where steelkilt now is, gentlemen, none know; but upon the island of nantucket, the widow of radney still turns to the sea which refuses to give up its dead; still in dreams sees the awful white whale that destroyed him. * * * *
“‘are you through?’ said don sebastian, quietly.
“‘i am, don.’
“‘then i entreat you, tell me if to the best of your own convictions, this your story is in substance really true? it is so passing wonderful! did you get it from an unquestionable source? bear with me if i seem to press.’
“‘also bear with all of us, sir sailor; for we all join in don sebastian’s suit,’ cried the company, with exceeding interest.
“‘is there a copy of the holy evangelists in the golden inn, gentlemen?’
“‘nay,’ said don sebastian; ‘but i know a worthy priest near by, who will quickly procure one for me. i go for it; but are you well advised?
this may grow too serious.’
“‘will you be so good as to bring the priest also, don?’
“‘though there are no auto-da-fés in lima now,’ said one of the company to another; ‘i fear our sailor friend runs risk of the archiepiscopacy.
let us withdraw more out of the moonlight. i see no need of this.’
“‘excuse me for running after you, don sebastian; but may i also beg that you will be particular in procuring the largest sized evangelists you can.’
* * * * * *
“‘this is the priest, he brings you the evangelists,’ said don sebastian, gravely, returning with a tall and solemn figure.
“‘let me remove my hat. now, venerable priest, further into the light, and hold the holy book before me that i may touch it.
“‘so help me heaven, and on my honor the story i have told ye, gentlemen, is in substance and its great items, true. i know it to be true; it happened on this ball; i trod the ship; i knew the crew; i have seen and talked with steelkilt since the death of radney.’”
chapter 55. of the monstrous pictures of whales.
i shall ere long paint to you as well as one can without canvas, something like the true form of the whale as he actually appears to the eye of the whaleman when in his own absolute body the whale is moored alongside the whale-ship so that he can be fairly stepped upon there.