Story 10.New Light on an old Fable.Part I.A Discovery.What cannot one discover on an old bookstall? Who would have supposed I should have had the luck to pick up the extraordinary collection of newspaper-cuttings which are here presented to the reader?The extracts speak for themselves. They present in a moderately connected form the story of a famous epoch in English history, and shed a flood of light on transactions which have long since passed into the region of myth.Although the dates of months and days are given, the actual year to which the extracts refer is unfortunately left in obscurity. But from internal evidence, and certain references to current events, it is supposed that the date cannot have been later than the reign of King Arthur—or at any rate before the Saxon period.I may say that in reading over the present account and the mythological story of Jack the Giant Killer, I am struck by several discrepancies in the commonly received tradition, and in the account of the manners and customs of the times here revealed. I make no attempt to reconcile the two versions, though I am decidedly of opinion that of the two the present may be accepted by the reader as the more authentic.At any rate it is an editor’s duty to give his story as he receives it, and to leave his readers to form their own conclusions.The following, then, is an exact transcript of the newspaper extracts to which we have referred:From theStilly Gazette, June 30th.Despatches from the mainland report that the season is now in full swing. The charming seaside resorts on this attractive coast are crowded with visitors. It is remarked, as a singular indication of the uncertainties attending excursion traffic, that the proportion of arrivals is greatly in advance of the departures. This is particularly noticeable in the neighbourhood of Giants’ Bay, where the well-known hospitality of the residents appears to have an extraordinary fascination for visitors. It is rumoured that although fresh arrivals take place daily, and no departures are announced, the number of visitors remains comparatively stationary, and the place has at no time been inconveniently crowded. Altogether there seems to be every prospect of a prosperous season.From theGiants Bay Broadsheet, July 2nd.Fashionable Arrivals.—Giant Blunderbore’s Hotel: Sir Cap à Pie, Lady à Pie, the Misses à Pie, Master Hugh à Pie, and suite, from London; the Reverend Simon Cellarer, from Lincoln; Monsieur et Madame Froggi and infant, from Rouen, etcetera, etcetera.Giant Cormorants Hotel: Fifty members of the West Anglian Anthropomorphic Society, under the conduct of Professor Hardhide.Giant Galligantus’s Hotel: Eighty-two visitors have arrived within the last two days. There will be vacancies in a week.Notice.—The band will play daily in Blunderbore Park. Public receptions by the Giants in the pump-room every afternoon. Private “At Homes” every evening. Applications should be made early.Departure.—Since our last report one visitor has left Giants’ Bay. As he omitted to discharge his hotel bill, we forbear, pending proceedings, to publish his name.From theWest Anglian Anthropomorphism, July 1st.A party of fifty of our members, under the distinguished conduct of Professor Hardhide, our President, have gone to explore the natural and animal beauties of Giants’ Bay. It is expected that the excursion will result in much valuable information respecting the celebrated tall men of that famous resort. Our colleagues, we understand, are occupying Giant Cormoran’s commodious hotel, and are much delighted with the arrangements made by their genial host for their comfort. A meeting of the society is summoned for September 1st, to hear the report of their interesting investigations.From theRouen Weekly Supplement, July 1st.Nous avons l’honneur d’annoncer que nos concitoyens distingués, Monsieur Alphonse Froggi, avec sa charmante femme et jolie enfant sont partis hier par le paquet. On dit que leur destination est la Baie des Géantes, a l’Angleterre, où ils resteront à l’Hôtel Géant Blunderbore.From theLondon Times, July 1st.Major-General Sir Cap à Pie has been ordered for his health to the south coast, and leaves to-day, with family and suite, for Giant Blunderbore’s Hotel, Giants’ Bay.From theLincoln Daily Gossip, June 30th.After a season of unusual fatigue we are happy to be able to announce that our eloquent townsman, the Reverend Simon Cellarer, has at last decided to give himself a long-earned rest, and has left this day (Tuesday) for Cornwall, where he will spend a few weeks in seclusion at Giants’ Bay. The reverend gentleman has, we are glad to say, taken his tricycle with him.From theExcursionist’s Guide.Advertisement.—Cheap Daily Excursions. Special facilities. Return tickets at the price of single. Magnificent air. Sea bathing. Fine hotels—Blunderbore, Cormoran and Galligantus. Hundreds of visitors daily.From theScampingtonian(the Holiday Number of the Scampington School Magazine).The following from à Pie minor will be read with interest by our readers:—“Blunderbore’s, Giants’ Bay.“Dear Chappies,—I don’t think much of Cornwall. The gingerbeer’s beastly bad, and there’s not a single chap here can play tennis. The bathing’s only so so, and not a boat to be had except an old barge, which Blunderbore uses as a skiff. He’s a regular rum Johnny, old Blunderbore; stands about 18 feet in his stockings, 108 inches round the chest, and got a voice to match. He’s the boss of this place, and tries to be civil, people say. There’s a jolly mixed lot at this hotel. A French chap who doesn’t know his own language, at least he pretended not to when I talked to him and said, ‘Il regarde comme un mouille jour.’ Any ass would know what that meant; you would yourselves. Then there’s a lot of old fogies who belong to a society or something, and go and measure, old Blunderbore round the chest and biceps, and photograph him, and all sorts of tomfoolery. How’d they like it themselves? They say they’re working in the interests of science. I’d like to catch any one working in the interests of science on my biceps! Rather a rum go yesterday. The governor and mater were asked to an ‘At Home’ at Blunderbore’s private house. I was asked too, but backed out. They went in full toggery, and haven’t turned up again at the hotel. I asked Blunderbore, and he said he saw the last of them about eleven last night, and was very sorry when their visit came to an end. I suppose they’ve gone and lost themselves on the way home. I shall have to go and look for them. Blunderbore wants me to go to his next party, but I shall get out of it if I can. Ta, ta, chappies. It’s jolly slow here. The only lively chap is a parson from Lincoln with a tricycle; also a medical fellow just turned up called Jack, a sort of dark horse, who doesn’t talk to anybody.“Yours ever,—“Hugh à Pie.“‘P.S.—The fellow called Jack is a swell with the boxing-gloves. He doubled me up in two rounds, and it’s not everybody could do that.’”From theWest Anglian Anthropomorphist, July 10th. (A communication from the learned President.)I anticipate the more detailed account of this singular neighbourhood, which I hope to make when I address you at the meeting on September 1st, by a few preliminary notes on some most extraordinary anthropological discoveries which certain members of the society have recently made among the inhabitants of Giants’ Bay. At a very early period of the world’s history, midway, it is conjectured, between the glacial and basaltic epochs—that is to say, about 100,000 years before the creation of the world—there appears to have prevailed an unusual divergence in the normal stature of the mammal bipeds in the county of Cornwall.Fossil remains indicate the primeval existence of an undersized race whose average height has been ascertained to be 4 feet 8.30562 inches. This precise figure has been calculated by a member of this society, from the measurement of an apparently human footprint discovered in the chalk deposit thrown up in course of the erection of a public lamp, in the vicinity of the Assembly Room. As the heavy rains of the last few days have unfortunately obliterated this interesting impression, the society is to be congratulated on the prescience of the member who was energetic enough to measure it while still existent.In contrast to this diminutive race we have discovered traces of a gigantic race, still in existence. Three of these remarkable beings inhabit this locality, where they occupy high positions as proprietors of the leading hostelries of the place. Indeed, Imaysay that the members of the society at the present time at Giants’ Bay have the good fortune to be quartered on the premises of one of these singular specimens of a mammoth prehistoric civilisation. An opportunity is about to be given to each member singly to inspect the phenomenon thus opportunely brought under observation.It need hardly be stated that the collaboration of the individual reports which it is proposed to make promises to result in one of the most important contributions to anthropological science which has ever been placed on record. The preliminary inspection is to be made by the president to-morrow; and it is expected that the complete report will be ready for the public about the end of the month.From theGiants Bay Broadsheet, July 10th.Fashionable Arrival.—Blunderbore Hotel: John Smith, M.D.; no address.Announcement.—The band will play every evening in the hall of Blunderbore Hall, during the receptions. Applications for private interviews should be made at once. Owing to the unusual number desirous of an introduction, Giant Blunderbore will not be open to make any fresh appointment for a fortnight, when priority will be given to the first applicant.Departure.—A few visitors have already left the bay, including Major-General Sir Cap à Pie and lady, who, however, have left their family at the Blunderbore Hotel, and are expected to return. Monsieur and Madame Froggi also remain, but their infant has departed.From theStilly Gazette, July 15th.Our Giants’ Bay correspondent reports a steadily maintained influx of visitors. As a proof of the popularity of this Elysian spot, it may be remarked that only one visitor has left within the last fortnight.From theEvening Tell-Tale, London, July 15th.Mysterious Affair at a Seaside Watering-Place.—Disappearance of a Lincoln Clergyman.—A remarkable rumour reaches us from Giants’ Bay. Among the numerous visitors to this popular place of resort during the last fortnight was the Reverend Simon Cellarer, an eminent divine hailing from Lincoln. Mr Cellarer, who travelled to Giants’ Bay on his tricycle, and was staying at the Blunderbore Grand Hotel, has, it appears, been missing since the 8th inst., when he was seen in his usual good health and spirits exercising on his machine in the grounds of the hotel.As abrupt departures are not uncommon at seaside places of resort, no notice of his absence appears to have been taken for a day or two. On his failure to return, however, after three days, inquiries were at once instituted, and the reverend gentleman’s tricycle was found, apparently undamaged, in the grounds. Further search was rewarded by the discovery of his boots and spectacles in the vicinity: but up to the time of going to press we have no intelligence that the gentleman himself has come to light.From theLondon Times, July 18th.Advertisement.—Lost, strayed, or stolen, a father and mother, answering to the name of Sir Cap and Lady à Pie. Respectable, well-dressed, quiet manners. Last seen at Blunderbore Hotel, Giants’ Bay, July 8th. The former was in full armour. Any one giving information as to what they are up to will receive half a crown reward. If they return, all shall be forgiven.—Apply to Hugh à Pie, at the above address.From theGiants Bay Broadsheet, July 20th.Giant Blunderbore is, we regret to say, indisposed. He is suffering from a sharp attack of dyspepsia. For the present his receptions will be suspended. Giants Cormoran and Galligantus, though also to some extent sufferers from the same complaint, have very kindly undertaken to receive visitors daily from two till eight.Notice.—In future, no one in armour, or occupying the office of president of any learned society, will be admitted.From theEvening Tell-Tale, July 22th.The Giants’ Bay Mystery.—Alleged Further Disappearances.—Extraordinary Rumours.—Up to the present time no trace has been found of the missing clergyman at Giant’s Bay. Sinister rumours prevail of other persons being missing, including a distinguished military gentleman and his lady, and a foreign infant. The police we understand, do not attach much importance to this or any other rumour.From theLincoln Weekly Supplement, July 22th.Great gloom has fallen over this otherwise cheerful city in consequence of the rumoured disappearance of our esteemed and reverend townsman, the Reverend Simon Cellarer, from Giants’ Bay.With its usual enterprise, theSupplementhas despatched a special commissioner to the scene of the mystery, with instructions to interview the leading persons in the place, including the giants, and make a full report of the circumstances attending the abrupt disappearance of the reverend missing one.Full particulars may be expected in our next; which, to meet the demands of our numerous readers, will be charged twopence instead of a penny. It is proposed to reserve one sheet for advertisements. Applications for space should be made at once.From theAnthropomorphist, July 25th.We regret to say we are unable to publish a further instalment of the report of the deeply interesting investigations being made at the present time by our members in Giants’ Bay.Contrary to expectation, no communication has been received for several days. We shall endeavour to accommodate the extra matter which may be expected in our next by issuing a double number, which will be charged one shilling instead of sixpence. In response to numerous requests we beg to intimate that a limited number of advertisements will be inserted, for which application should be made at once.Part II.From theStilly Gazette, July 24th.We understand that the last arrival at Giants’ Bay has been our talented young fellow-islander Dr John Smith. Dr Smith has arrived at the Bay at an opportune time, as we hear that Giant Blunderbore is ill, and will doubtless avail himself of his guest’s well-known professional services.From theGiants’ Bay Broadsheet, July 27th.The following bulletin has been issued: “Giant Blunderbore is still suffering from the effects of his recent sharp attack of indigestion; but is better. His appetite is good; and he feels able to resume his receptions.”Later.—Giant Blunderbore has had a slight relapse, and some anxiety is felt as to his condition. Dr Smith, of Scilly, at present resident in the hotel, has been called in, and a consultation is about to take place. Meanwhile Giants Cormoran and Galligantus are prepared to receive visitors daily at 3 and 8 p.m.From theEvening Tell-Tale, July 28th.The Missing Tourists.—Extraordinary Rumours.—No News of the Lincoln Clergyman.—Fifty Scientific Men Missing.—The most astonishing rumours continue to come in from Giants’ Bay. In addition to the disappearance recorded in a recent issue, we have received information that a whole congress of anthropomorphists has been missing for a week. They were quartered at Cormoran’s Hotel, where their personal effects still remain.Many conjectures are afloat, the most reasonable of which appears to point to the probability of the unfortunate tourists having been engulfed in the sands, which at certain states of the tide are said to be highly dangerous along this coast.Later.—At the Round Table to-night a question was asked as to the extraordinary disappearances reported from Giants’ Bay. The Home Secretary requested the hon, member to give notice of the question for this day week.From theGiants Bay Broadsheet, July 28th.The following bulletins have been issued:—12:30 p.m.—Giant Blunderbore is decidedly worse. Contrary to medical advice, he partook of a hearty meal last night. Dr Smith is still in attendance.4 p.m.—Giant Blunderbore lies in a hopeless state. He has again disregarded medical advice, and eaten solid food. Dr Smith is still in attendance.8 p.m.—It is with the deepest regret that we have to announce the death of our esteemed patron Giant Blunderbore, which took place suddenly this evening, after a somewhat painful operation. Details are not yet forthcoming; but we expect to issue an extra double number to-morrow, with a coloured photograph of the deceased. As only a limited number will be printed, copies should be ordered early. The attention of advertisers is drawn to the present unusual opportunity.Latest.—Just as we go to press we hear that Dr Smith has been summoned to attend Giant Cormoran, who is ailing of a complaint which presents symptoms similar to those of the late Giant Blunderbore.From theScampingtonian, July 27th.Dear Chappies,—No end of a go! Can’t find my people high or low. People been sloping off all round. Fancy I know why now. On Monday I saw Blunderbore’s door open as I passed, and I thought I’d pop in and see what he knew about it. He was sitting in his chair, looking jolly blue.“What’s up, Blundy?” I said.“I’m awfully hungry,” said he.“Why don’t you have some grub?” I said.“Doctors won’t let me,” said he. “You see, a week ago I happened to eat something that disagreed with me. Between me and you,” said he, “it was a knight in armour. I didn’t mind the knight, but the armour gave me a very bad turn.”“Do you know,” said I, “that was my governor?”“My dear boy,” said he, “I’m awfully sorry. I feel for you. I wish I hadn’t done it—sincerely. But a fellow must live. Really, I sympathise with you; let me grasp your hand.”“Not if I know it, you cad,” said I; “and where’s my mother?”“That’s another thing that troubles me,” said he. “Tell me, did she wear a brocaded silk gown with beads? Most unlucky for us both! Beads never did agree with me. It’s a warning to both of us to be more particular. Really, youmustlet me grasp your hand.”“Not much!” said I. “Look here, Blunderbore, I mean to show you up. I’ll let some of our fellows know about you, and you see if they don’t make you sit up before long.”“I feel much more like lying down,” said he. “Would you mind handing me that medicine bottle?”“Don’t you wishyoumay get it!” said I, and cut.I told Jack Smith about it, and he was no end riled. I must say, I feel riled myself. It’s specially awkward, because the mater had our return tickets in her pocket; and I can’t get away from here. I wish you’d send me a sov., some of you. I’ll square up after vac.Yours ever, Hugh à Pie.P.S.—Here’s a go! Old Blunderbore’s gone at last! Smith says it was the steel armour inside him that did it. Serves him jolly well right!From theGiants’ Bay Broadsheet, July 29th.It is with feelings almost akin to consternation that we announce the sudden and critical illness of our esteemed fellow-citizen Giant Cormoran. The regret with which we make this announcement will be shared by all those visitors to this charming retreat who during the last months have come into contact with the amiable and accommodating gentleman.Giant Cormoran is one of the old school of Englishmen whom we can ill afford to lose. Capacious in mind and body, with a large sense of humour, of strict personal integrity, and a hearty enjoyment of life, it is indeed sad to think of him at the present moment as lying on a bed of languishing, from which it is doubtful whether he will rise more. Very little news leaks out from the sick-chamber. Dr Smith is in regular attendance, and, according to a curt bulletin published an hour ago, reports his patient’s condition as exceedingly grave: “Giant Cormoran is in a state of collapse. There is a complete loss of nervous power. The patient has quite lost his head.”We have no doubt that the melancholy death of his comrade Giant Blunderbore has seriously affected his nerves. Happily, his condition spares him the additional pang of knowing that Giant Galligantus is also on the sick list, with what it is feared is a mild attack of the prevailing epidemic. Later.The following bulletins have just appeared: “The condition of Giant Cormoran remains unchanged.“John Smith, M.D.”“Giant Galligantus is suffering from a severe shock to the system, with complications. It is feared that the attack is of a similar nature to that of Giants Blunderbore and Cormoran.“John Smith, M.D.”Latest.—Giant Cormoran is no more. A memoir will appear in our next. Special space will be reserved for advertisements on the cover.From theEvening Tell-Tale, August 1st.The Giants’ Bay Mysteries.—The Plot Thickens.—Sudden Death of Giants.—Rumoured Government Intervention.—Further Wholesale Disappearances.—The plot thickens at Giants’ Bay. Two of the leading giants of the place, Giants Blunderbore and Cormoran, have died of what is apparently an acute gastric epidemic. Meanwhile hundreds of inquiries are pouring into the place respecting missing relatives and friends. It is stated that an entire learned society has disappeared.Owing to the urgent representations of theTell-Taleand other journals, the Government has at last awakened to a sense of the gravity of the situation. At the Round Table last night a commission was appointed to inquire into the matter. It will meet this day week, and after appointing president and secretary, adjourn till October.The police are reticent; but on inquiry at the head office we understand that search is being made in the atlas for Giants’ Bay. For the information of our readers, we give a map of the locality of the mysteries, and fancy portraits of the three giants. During the present excitement, and in the interests of our subscribers, it has been decided permanently to double the price of theTell-Tale.From theWest Anglian Anthropomorphist, August 2nd.In the continued unexplained absence of the president and members of the society, the usual meetings will not be held in August. We may point out for the benefit of advertisers that a considerable amount of additional space will thus be available for their announcements.From theGiants’ Bay Broadsheet, August 3rd.It is with feelings of unfeigned melancholy that we announce the demise of our excellent neighbour Giant Galligantus, after a brief illness. The lamented giant never rallied from the nervous shock which overtook him a few days since. Although details are still a-wanting, we understand that his head was seriously affected. Dr John Smith was in attendance to the last. Further particulars, with an extra supplement and portrait memoirs of the three giants, will be given in our next. In order not to disappoint our readers and advertisers, the prices in each department will be further doubled.Departure.—John Smith, Esquire, M.D., has left Giants’ Bay.From theHue and Cry, August 14th. Police Notice.Whereas several persons have recently disappeared from the neighbourhood of Giants’ Bay, in the county of Cornwall, a reward of One Pound will be offered to any person, not a principal, who shall give any information leading to the detection of the aforesaid.From theEvening Tell-Tale, August 6th.Our special correspondent at Giants’ Bay writes: “The excitement here is unabated. All sorts of conjectures are afloat. General opinion seems to connect the wholesale disappearance of tourists and the sudden death of the three giants as parts of the fiendish scheme of some person unknown. The miscreant is supposed to be interested in some other watering-place.“We have been fortunate enough to secure a personal interview with the celebrated Dr John Smith, whose remarks—in view of his recent close personal relations with the deceased giants—will be read with interest. We found the youthful doctor enjoying a fragrant weed in the verandah of his father’s bijou residence in Scilly.“‘A beautiful day, doctor,’ we said, taking the vacant seat beside him.“‘Is it?’ replied he, placing his two feet in a graceful attitude on the elaborately-polished balustrade of the balcony.“‘Heard of you at Giants’ Bay,’ we remarked, by way of leading up to the subject. There was a pause, and then the doctor replied, ‘Oh!’“‘A strange affair the sudden mortality in that place, doctor.’“‘What about it?’ was the unexpected rejoinder, as the man of physic slowly assumed a standing attitude.“He was dressed in a light check suit, which reflected considerable credit on the provincial tailor who made it.“‘That’s the question,’ we replied, with a touch of humour.“The doctor appeared to feel the heat, but presently recovered sufficiently to call our attention to the peculiar make of his boots. They were large, with flapped uppers and clumped soles, and could hardly have cost less than a guinea the pair. We congratulated him warmly upon his possession. Dr Smith was evidently proud of them.“‘See them?’ said he, pointing to the right foot.“We nodded a friendly assent, inwardly amused at our friend’s eccentricity.“‘Do you see that hill there?’ said he, abruptly pointing over our shoulder.“We turned to look. It was indeed a fine view which met our eyes—a view of which any native of Scilly might be proud. We were about to make an observation to the effect, when he interrupted us.“‘Feel them?’We certainly did feel something—not in front of us—and not being anxious to take up more of our friend’s valuable time, we thanked him for his courtesy and retired.From theRound Table Hansard, August 25th.Giants’ Bay Select Committee.—Lord Merlin was in the chair. The committee sat for a short time to draw up rules of procedure and arrange an adjournment. It was decided to prorogue the inquiry for six months, in order to allow witnesses to attend. A brief discussion ensued on the question of costs, and a short Bill was drafted, which it is proposed to add to the estimates.The Chairman expressed an opinion that an additional twopence on the income-tax would amply cover the costs of the commission; and it was agreed to await the passing of the Bill before fixing the date for the next meeting. The committee then adjourned.From theGiants’ Bay Broadsheet, September 10th.Preliminary Notice.—On the 1st of April next, at the Mart, will be sold those three eligible hotels—namely, Blunderbore Hotel, Cormoran Hotel, and Galligantus Hotel, pleasantly situated in Giants’ Bay, Cornwall, commanding fine views of the sea. These palatial houses, standing in their own grounds, are fitted with every comfort and replete with every convenience. Fixtures at a valuation. By order of the executors of the late Giants Blunderbore, Cormoran, and Galligantus.Catalogues and orders to view on application.From theArmy Gazetteer, December 1st.Captain Tom Thumb to be Major-General,viceSir Cap à Pie, deceased.From theLincoln Weekly Supplement, December 25th.The Reverend Friar Tucker has been appointed to the living lately held by the Reverend Simon Cellarer.From theWest Anglian Anthropomorphist, January 1st.At a meeting held last week it was decided to reorganise this society. A new president was elected. It was announced that an exhibition would be offered yearly, to be called the “Hardhide Exhibition,” for the best essay on the gigantic remains of south-west Britain.From theScampingtonian, January 25th.Term has begun. We are glad to say that our chum, à Pie—now Sir Hugh à Pie—has been unanimously elected captain of the football club.From theStilly Gazette, April 3rd.At the mart on Monday were sold the three Giant Hotels of Giants’ Bay. The bidding was very slack, but we understand the lots were eventually knocked down to a dealer in old bricks.Our respected fellow-islander, Dr John Smith, has had the honour of being presented at court, where his Majesty has been pleased to confer on him several stripes, and the order of the Giant Killer. A public reception is to be held in the market-place to welcome home Sir John Smith, G.K., M.D., on his return from London.From theGiants’ Bay Broadsheet, June 1st.The offices of this paper being now closed, subscribers are requested to forward outstanding accounts by return to Messrs Payup and Shellout, Solicitors, London.
Part I.
What cannot one discover on an old bookstall? Who would have supposed I should have had the luck to pick up the extraordinary collection of newspaper-cuttings which are here presented to the reader?
The extracts speak for themselves. They present in a moderately connected form the story of a famous epoch in English history, and shed a flood of light on transactions which have long since passed into the region of myth.
Although the dates of months and days are given, the actual year to which the extracts refer is unfortunately left in obscurity. But from internal evidence, and certain references to current events, it is supposed that the date cannot have been later than the reign of King Arthur—or at any rate before the Saxon period.
I may say that in reading over the present account and the mythological story of Jack the Giant Killer, I am struck by several discrepancies in the commonly received tradition, and in the account of the manners and customs of the times here revealed. I make no attempt to reconcile the two versions, though I am decidedly of opinion that of the two the present may be accepted by the reader as the more authentic.
At any rate it is an editor’s duty to give his story as he receives it, and to leave his readers to form their own conclusions.
The following, then, is an exact transcript of the newspaper extracts to which we have referred:
From theStilly Gazette, June 30th.
Despatches from the mainland report that the season is now in full swing. The charming seaside resorts on this attractive coast are crowded with visitors. It is remarked, as a singular indication of the uncertainties attending excursion traffic, that the proportion of arrivals is greatly in advance of the departures. This is particularly noticeable in the neighbourhood of Giants’ Bay, where the well-known hospitality of the residents appears to have an extraordinary fascination for visitors. It is rumoured that although fresh arrivals take place daily, and no departures are announced, the number of visitors remains comparatively stationary, and the place has at no time been inconveniently crowded. Altogether there seems to be every prospect of a prosperous season.
From theGiants Bay Broadsheet, July 2nd.
Fashionable Arrivals.—Giant Blunderbore’s Hotel: Sir Cap à Pie, Lady à Pie, the Misses à Pie, Master Hugh à Pie, and suite, from London; the Reverend Simon Cellarer, from Lincoln; Monsieur et Madame Froggi and infant, from Rouen, etcetera, etcetera.
Giant Cormorants Hotel: Fifty members of the West Anglian Anthropomorphic Society, under the conduct of Professor Hardhide.
Giant Galligantus’s Hotel: Eighty-two visitors have arrived within the last two days. There will be vacancies in a week.
Notice.—The band will play daily in Blunderbore Park. Public receptions by the Giants in the pump-room every afternoon. Private “At Homes” every evening. Applications should be made early.
Departure.—Since our last report one visitor has left Giants’ Bay. As he omitted to discharge his hotel bill, we forbear, pending proceedings, to publish his name.
From theWest Anglian Anthropomorphism, July 1st.
A party of fifty of our members, under the distinguished conduct of Professor Hardhide, our President, have gone to explore the natural and animal beauties of Giants’ Bay. It is expected that the excursion will result in much valuable information respecting the celebrated tall men of that famous resort. Our colleagues, we understand, are occupying Giant Cormoran’s commodious hotel, and are much delighted with the arrangements made by their genial host for their comfort. A meeting of the society is summoned for September 1st, to hear the report of their interesting investigations.
From theRouen Weekly Supplement, July 1st.
Nous avons l’honneur d’annoncer que nos concitoyens distingués, Monsieur Alphonse Froggi, avec sa charmante femme et jolie enfant sont partis hier par le paquet. On dit que leur destination est la Baie des Géantes, a l’Angleterre, où ils resteront à l’Hôtel Géant Blunderbore.
From theLondon Times, July 1st.
Major-General Sir Cap à Pie has been ordered for his health to the south coast, and leaves to-day, with family and suite, for Giant Blunderbore’s Hotel, Giants’ Bay.
From theLincoln Daily Gossip, June 30th.
After a season of unusual fatigue we are happy to be able to announce that our eloquent townsman, the Reverend Simon Cellarer, has at last decided to give himself a long-earned rest, and has left this day (Tuesday) for Cornwall, where he will spend a few weeks in seclusion at Giants’ Bay. The reverend gentleman has, we are glad to say, taken his tricycle with him.
From theExcursionist’s Guide.
Advertisement.—Cheap Daily Excursions. Special facilities. Return tickets at the price of single. Magnificent air. Sea bathing. Fine hotels—Blunderbore, Cormoran and Galligantus. Hundreds of visitors daily.
From theScampingtonian(the Holiday Number of the Scampington School Magazine).
The following from à Pie minor will be read with interest by our readers:—
“Blunderbore’s, Giants’ Bay.
“Dear Chappies,—I don’t think much of Cornwall. The gingerbeer’s beastly bad, and there’s not a single chap here can play tennis. The bathing’s only so so, and not a boat to be had except an old barge, which Blunderbore uses as a skiff. He’s a regular rum Johnny, old Blunderbore; stands about 18 feet in his stockings, 108 inches round the chest, and got a voice to match. He’s the boss of this place, and tries to be civil, people say. There’s a jolly mixed lot at this hotel. A French chap who doesn’t know his own language, at least he pretended not to when I talked to him and said, ‘Il regarde comme un mouille jour.’ Any ass would know what that meant; you would yourselves. Then there’s a lot of old fogies who belong to a society or something, and go and measure, old Blunderbore round the chest and biceps, and photograph him, and all sorts of tomfoolery. How’d they like it themselves? They say they’re working in the interests of science. I’d like to catch any one working in the interests of science on my biceps! Rather a rum go yesterday. The governor and mater were asked to an ‘At Home’ at Blunderbore’s private house. I was asked too, but backed out. They went in full toggery, and haven’t turned up again at the hotel. I asked Blunderbore, and he said he saw the last of them about eleven last night, and was very sorry when their visit came to an end. I suppose they’ve gone and lost themselves on the way home. I shall have to go and look for them. Blunderbore wants me to go to his next party, but I shall get out of it if I can. Ta, ta, chappies. It’s jolly slow here. The only lively chap is a parson from Lincoln with a tricycle; also a medical fellow just turned up called Jack, a sort of dark horse, who doesn’t talk to anybody.
“Yours ever,—
“Hugh à Pie.
“‘P.S.—The fellow called Jack is a swell with the boxing-gloves. He doubled me up in two rounds, and it’s not everybody could do that.’”
From theWest Anglian Anthropomorphist, July 10th. (A communication from the learned President.)
I anticipate the more detailed account of this singular neighbourhood, which I hope to make when I address you at the meeting on September 1st, by a few preliminary notes on some most extraordinary anthropological discoveries which certain members of the society have recently made among the inhabitants of Giants’ Bay. At a very early period of the world’s history, midway, it is conjectured, between the glacial and basaltic epochs—that is to say, about 100,000 years before the creation of the world—there appears to have prevailed an unusual divergence in the normal stature of the mammal bipeds in the county of Cornwall.
Fossil remains indicate the primeval existence of an undersized race whose average height has been ascertained to be 4 feet 8.30562 inches. This precise figure has been calculated by a member of this society, from the measurement of an apparently human footprint discovered in the chalk deposit thrown up in course of the erection of a public lamp, in the vicinity of the Assembly Room. As the heavy rains of the last few days have unfortunately obliterated this interesting impression, the society is to be congratulated on the prescience of the member who was energetic enough to measure it while still existent.
In contrast to this diminutive race we have discovered traces of a gigantic race, still in existence. Three of these remarkable beings inhabit this locality, where they occupy high positions as proprietors of the leading hostelries of the place. Indeed, Imaysay that the members of the society at the present time at Giants’ Bay have the good fortune to be quartered on the premises of one of these singular specimens of a mammoth prehistoric civilisation. An opportunity is about to be given to each member singly to inspect the phenomenon thus opportunely brought under observation.
It need hardly be stated that the collaboration of the individual reports which it is proposed to make promises to result in one of the most important contributions to anthropological science which has ever been placed on record. The preliminary inspection is to be made by the president to-morrow; and it is expected that the complete report will be ready for the public about the end of the month.
From theGiants Bay Broadsheet, July 10th.
Fashionable Arrival.—Blunderbore Hotel: John Smith, M.D.; no address.
Announcement.—The band will play every evening in the hall of Blunderbore Hall, during the receptions. Applications for private interviews should be made at once. Owing to the unusual number desirous of an introduction, Giant Blunderbore will not be open to make any fresh appointment for a fortnight, when priority will be given to the first applicant.
Departure.—A few visitors have already left the bay, including Major-General Sir Cap à Pie and lady, who, however, have left their family at the Blunderbore Hotel, and are expected to return. Monsieur and Madame Froggi also remain, but their infant has departed.
From theStilly Gazette, July 15th.
Our Giants’ Bay correspondent reports a steadily maintained influx of visitors. As a proof of the popularity of this Elysian spot, it may be remarked that only one visitor has left within the last fortnight.
From theEvening Tell-Tale, London, July 15th.
Mysterious Affair at a Seaside Watering-Place.—
Disappearance of a Lincoln Clergyman.—A remarkable rumour reaches us from Giants’ Bay. Among the numerous visitors to this popular place of resort during the last fortnight was the Reverend Simon Cellarer, an eminent divine hailing from Lincoln. Mr Cellarer, who travelled to Giants’ Bay on his tricycle, and was staying at the Blunderbore Grand Hotel, has, it appears, been missing since the 8th inst., when he was seen in his usual good health and spirits exercising on his machine in the grounds of the hotel.
As abrupt departures are not uncommon at seaside places of resort, no notice of his absence appears to have been taken for a day or two. On his failure to return, however, after three days, inquiries were at once instituted, and the reverend gentleman’s tricycle was found, apparently undamaged, in the grounds. Further search was rewarded by the discovery of his boots and spectacles in the vicinity: but up to the time of going to press we have no intelligence that the gentleman himself has come to light.
From theLondon Times, July 18th.
Advertisement.—Lost, strayed, or stolen, a father and mother, answering to the name of Sir Cap and Lady à Pie. Respectable, well-dressed, quiet manners. Last seen at Blunderbore Hotel, Giants’ Bay, July 8th. The former was in full armour. Any one giving information as to what they are up to will receive half a crown reward. If they return, all shall be forgiven.—Apply to Hugh à Pie, at the above address.
From theGiants Bay Broadsheet, July 20th.
Giant Blunderbore is, we regret to say, indisposed. He is suffering from a sharp attack of dyspepsia. For the present his receptions will be suspended. Giants Cormoran and Galligantus, though also to some extent sufferers from the same complaint, have very kindly undertaken to receive visitors daily from two till eight.
Notice.—In future, no one in armour, or occupying the office of president of any learned society, will be admitted.
From theEvening Tell-Tale, July 22th.
The Giants’ Bay Mystery.—
Alleged Further Disappearances.—
Extraordinary Rumours.—Up to the present time no trace has been found of the missing clergyman at Giant’s Bay. Sinister rumours prevail of other persons being missing, including a distinguished military gentleman and his lady, and a foreign infant. The police we understand, do not attach much importance to this or any other rumour.
From theLincoln Weekly Supplement, July 22th.
Great gloom has fallen over this otherwise cheerful city in consequence of the rumoured disappearance of our esteemed and reverend townsman, the Reverend Simon Cellarer, from Giants’ Bay.
With its usual enterprise, theSupplementhas despatched a special commissioner to the scene of the mystery, with instructions to interview the leading persons in the place, including the giants, and make a full report of the circumstances attending the abrupt disappearance of the reverend missing one.
Full particulars may be expected in our next; which, to meet the demands of our numerous readers, will be charged twopence instead of a penny. It is proposed to reserve one sheet for advertisements. Applications for space should be made at once.
From theAnthropomorphist, July 25th.
We regret to say we are unable to publish a further instalment of the report of the deeply interesting investigations being made at the present time by our members in Giants’ Bay.
Contrary to expectation, no communication has been received for several days. We shall endeavour to accommodate the extra matter which may be expected in our next by issuing a double number, which will be charged one shilling instead of sixpence. In response to numerous requests we beg to intimate that a limited number of advertisements will be inserted, for which application should be made at once.
Part II.
From theStilly Gazette, July 24th.
We understand that the last arrival at Giants’ Bay has been our talented young fellow-islander Dr John Smith. Dr Smith has arrived at the Bay at an opportune time, as we hear that Giant Blunderbore is ill, and will doubtless avail himself of his guest’s well-known professional services.
From theGiants’ Bay Broadsheet, July 27th.
The following bulletin has been issued: “Giant Blunderbore is still suffering from the effects of his recent sharp attack of indigestion; but is better. His appetite is good; and he feels able to resume his receptions.”
Later.—Giant Blunderbore has had a slight relapse, and some anxiety is felt as to his condition. Dr Smith, of Scilly, at present resident in the hotel, has been called in, and a consultation is about to take place. Meanwhile Giants Cormoran and Galligantus are prepared to receive visitors daily at 3 and 8 p.m.
From theEvening Tell-Tale, July 28th.
The Missing Tourists.—
Extraordinary Rumours.—No News of the Lincoln Clergyman.—
Fifty Scientific Men Missing.—The most astonishing rumours continue to come in from Giants’ Bay. In addition to the disappearance recorded in a recent issue, we have received information that a whole congress of anthropomorphists has been missing for a week. They were quartered at Cormoran’s Hotel, where their personal effects still remain.
Many conjectures are afloat, the most reasonable of which appears to point to the probability of the unfortunate tourists having been engulfed in the sands, which at certain states of the tide are said to be highly dangerous along this coast.
Later.—At the Round Table to-night a question was asked as to the extraordinary disappearances reported from Giants’ Bay. The Home Secretary requested the hon, member to give notice of the question for this day week.
From theGiants Bay Broadsheet, July 28th.
The following bulletins have been issued:—
12:30 p.m.—Giant Blunderbore is decidedly worse. Contrary to medical advice, he partook of a hearty meal last night. Dr Smith is still in attendance.
4 p.m.—Giant Blunderbore lies in a hopeless state. He has again disregarded medical advice, and eaten solid food. Dr Smith is still in attendance.
8 p.m.—It is with the deepest regret that we have to announce the death of our esteemed patron Giant Blunderbore, which took place suddenly this evening, after a somewhat painful operation. Details are not yet forthcoming; but we expect to issue an extra double number to-morrow, with a coloured photograph of the deceased. As only a limited number will be printed, copies should be ordered early. The attention of advertisers is drawn to the present unusual opportunity.
Latest.—Just as we go to press we hear that Dr Smith has been summoned to attend Giant Cormoran, who is ailing of a complaint which presents symptoms similar to those of the late Giant Blunderbore.
From theScampingtonian, July 27th.
Dear Chappies,—No end of a go! Can’t find my people high or low. People been sloping off all round. Fancy I know why now. On Monday I saw Blunderbore’s door open as I passed, and I thought I’d pop in and see what he knew about it. He was sitting in his chair, looking jolly blue.
“What’s up, Blundy?” I said.
“I’m awfully hungry,” said he.
“Why don’t you have some grub?” I said.
“Doctors won’t let me,” said he. “You see, a week ago I happened to eat something that disagreed with me. Between me and you,” said he, “it was a knight in armour. I didn’t mind the knight, but the armour gave me a very bad turn.”
“Do you know,” said I, “that was my governor?”
“My dear boy,” said he, “I’m awfully sorry. I feel for you. I wish I hadn’t done it—sincerely. But a fellow must live. Really, I sympathise with you; let me grasp your hand.”
“Not if I know it, you cad,” said I; “and where’s my mother?”
“That’s another thing that troubles me,” said he. “Tell me, did she wear a brocaded silk gown with beads? Most unlucky for us both! Beads never did agree with me. It’s a warning to both of us to be more particular. Really, youmustlet me grasp your hand.”
“Not much!” said I. “Look here, Blunderbore, I mean to show you up. I’ll let some of our fellows know about you, and you see if they don’t make you sit up before long.”
“I feel much more like lying down,” said he. “Would you mind handing me that medicine bottle?”
“Don’t you wishyoumay get it!” said I, and cut.
I told Jack Smith about it, and he was no end riled. I must say, I feel riled myself. It’s specially awkward, because the mater had our return tickets in her pocket; and I can’t get away from here. I wish you’d send me a sov., some of you. I’ll square up after vac.
Yours ever, Hugh à Pie.
P.S.—Here’s a go! Old Blunderbore’s gone at last! Smith says it was the steel armour inside him that did it. Serves him jolly well right!
From theGiants’ Bay Broadsheet, July 29th.
It is with feelings almost akin to consternation that we announce the sudden and critical illness of our esteemed fellow-citizen Giant Cormoran. The regret with which we make this announcement will be shared by all those visitors to this charming retreat who during the last months have come into contact with the amiable and accommodating gentleman.
Giant Cormoran is one of the old school of Englishmen whom we can ill afford to lose. Capacious in mind and body, with a large sense of humour, of strict personal integrity, and a hearty enjoyment of life, it is indeed sad to think of him at the present moment as lying on a bed of languishing, from which it is doubtful whether he will rise more. Very little news leaks out from the sick-chamber. Dr Smith is in regular attendance, and, according to a curt bulletin published an hour ago, reports his patient’s condition as exceedingly grave: “Giant Cormoran is in a state of collapse. There is a complete loss of nervous power. The patient has quite lost his head.”
We have no doubt that the melancholy death of his comrade Giant Blunderbore has seriously affected his nerves. Happily, his condition spares him the additional pang of knowing that Giant Galligantus is also on the sick list, with what it is feared is a mild attack of the prevailing epidemic. Later.
The following bulletins have just appeared: “The condition of Giant Cormoran remains unchanged.
“John Smith, M.D.”
“Giant Galligantus is suffering from a severe shock to the system, with complications. It is feared that the attack is of a similar nature to that of Giants Blunderbore and Cormoran.
“John Smith, M.D.”
Latest.—Giant Cormoran is no more. A memoir will appear in our next. Special space will be reserved for advertisements on the cover.
From theEvening Tell-Tale, August 1st.
The Giants’ Bay Mysteries.—
The Plot Thickens.—
Sudden Death of Giants.—
Rumoured Government Intervention.—
Further Wholesale Disappearances.—The plot thickens at Giants’ Bay. Two of the leading giants of the place, Giants Blunderbore and Cormoran, have died of what is apparently an acute gastric epidemic. Meanwhile hundreds of inquiries are pouring into the place respecting missing relatives and friends. It is stated that an entire learned society has disappeared.
Owing to the urgent representations of theTell-Taleand other journals, the Government has at last awakened to a sense of the gravity of the situation. At the Round Table last night a commission was appointed to inquire into the matter. It will meet this day week, and after appointing president and secretary, adjourn till October.
The police are reticent; but on inquiry at the head office we understand that search is being made in the atlas for Giants’ Bay. For the information of our readers, we give a map of the locality of the mysteries, and fancy portraits of the three giants. During the present excitement, and in the interests of our subscribers, it has been decided permanently to double the price of theTell-Tale.
From theWest Anglian Anthropomorphist, August 2nd.
In the continued unexplained absence of the president and members of the society, the usual meetings will not be held in August. We may point out for the benefit of advertisers that a considerable amount of additional space will thus be available for their announcements.
From theGiants’ Bay Broadsheet, August 3rd.
It is with feelings of unfeigned melancholy that we announce the demise of our excellent neighbour Giant Galligantus, after a brief illness. The lamented giant never rallied from the nervous shock which overtook him a few days since. Although details are still a-wanting, we understand that his head was seriously affected. Dr John Smith was in attendance to the last. Further particulars, with an extra supplement and portrait memoirs of the three giants, will be given in our next. In order not to disappoint our readers and advertisers, the prices in each department will be further doubled.
Departure.—John Smith, Esquire, M.D., has left Giants’ Bay.
From theHue and Cry, August 14th. Police Notice.
Whereas several persons have recently disappeared from the neighbourhood of Giants’ Bay, in the county of Cornwall, a reward of One Pound will be offered to any person, not a principal, who shall give any information leading to the detection of the aforesaid.
From theEvening Tell-Tale, August 6th.
Our special correspondent at Giants’ Bay writes: “The excitement here is unabated. All sorts of conjectures are afloat. General opinion seems to connect the wholesale disappearance of tourists and the sudden death of the three giants as parts of the fiendish scheme of some person unknown. The miscreant is supposed to be interested in some other watering-place.
“We have been fortunate enough to secure a personal interview with the celebrated Dr John Smith, whose remarks—in view of his recent close personal relations with the deceased giants—will be read with interest. We found the youthful doctor enjoying a fragrant weed in the verandah of his father’s bijou residence in Scilly.
“‘A beautiful day, doctor,’ we said, taking the vacant seat beside him.
“‘Is it?’ replied he, placing his two feet in a graceful attitude on the elaborately-polished balustrade of the balcony.
“‘Heard of you at Giants’ Bay,’ we remarked, by way of leading up to the subject. There was a pause, and then the doctor replied, ‘Oh!’
“‘A strange affair the sudden mortality in that place, doctor.’
“‘What about it?’ was the unexpected rejoinder, as the man of physic slowly assumed a standing attitude.
“He was dressed in a light check suit, which reflected considerable credit on the provincial tailor who made it.
“‘That’s the question,’ we replied, with a touch of humour.
“The doctor appeared to feel the heat, but presently recovered sufficiently to call our attention to the peculiar make of his boots. They were large, with flapped uppers and clumped soles, and could hardly have cost less than a guinea the pair. We congratulated him warmly upon his possession. Dr Smith was evidently proud of them.
“‘See them?’ said he, pointing to the right foot.
“We nodded a friendly assent, inwardly amused at our friend’s eccentricity.
“‘Do you see that hill there?’ said he, abruptly pointing over our shoulder.
“We turned to look. It was indeed a fine view which met our eyes—a view of which any native of Scilly might be proud. We were about to make an observation to the effect, when he interrupted us.
“‘Feel them?’
We certainly did feel something—not in front of us—and not being anxious to take up more of our friend’s valuable time, we thanked him for his courtesy and retired.
From theRound Table Hansard, August 25th.
Giants’ Bay Select Committee.—Lord Merlin was in the chair. The committee sat for a short time to draw up rules of procedure and arrange an adjournment. It was decided to prorogue the inquiry for six months, in order to allow witnesses to attend. A brief discussion ensued on the question of costs, and a short Bill was drafted, which it is proposed to add to the estimates.
The Chairman expressed an opinion that an additional twopence on the income-tax would amply cover the costs of the commission; and it was agreed to await the passing of the Bill before fixing the date for the next meeting. The committee then adjourned.
From theGiants’ Bay Broadsheet, September 10th.
Preliminary Notice.—On the 1st of April next, at the Mart, will be sold those three eligible hotels—namely, Blunderbore Hotel, Cormoran Hotel, and Galligantus Hotel, pleasantly situated in Giants’ Bay, Cornwall, commanding fine views of the sea. These palatial houses, standing in their own grounds, are fitted with every comfort and replete with every convenience. Fixtures at a valuation. By order of the executors of the late Giants Blunderbore, Cormoran, and Galligantus.
Catalogues and orders to view on application.
From theArmy Gazetteer, December 1st.
Captain Tom Thumb to be Major-General,viceSir Cap à Pie, deceased.
From theLincoln Weekly Supplement, December 25th.
The Reverend Friar Tucker has been appointed to the living lately held by the Reverend Simon Cellarer.
From theWest Anglian Anthropomorphist, January 1st.
At a meeting held last week it was decided to reorganise this society. A new president was elected. It was announced that an exhibition would be offered yearly, to be called the “Hardhide Exhibition,” for the best essay on the gigantic remains of south-west Britain.
From theScampingtonian, January 25th.
Term has begun. We are glad to say that our chum, à Pie—now Sir Hugh à Pie—has been unanimously elected captain of the football club.
From theStilly Gazette, April 3rd.
At the mart on Monday were sold the three Giant Hotels of Giants’ Bay. The bidding was very slack, but we understand the lots were eventually knocked down to a dealer in old bricks.
Our respected fellow-islander, Dr John Smith, has had the honour of being presented at court, where his Majesty has been pleased to confer on him several stripes, and the order of the Giant Killer. A public reception is to be held in the market-place to welcome home Sir John Smith, G.K., M.D., on his return from London.
From theGiants’ Bay Broadsheet, June 1st.
The offices of this paper being now closed, subscribers are requested to forward outstanding accounts by return to Messrs Payup and Shellout, Solicitors, London.
Story 11.Chapter One.The Coastguardsman’s Yarn.A Legend of the Civil War.Several summers ago I happened to be spending a few weeks at W—, a small fishing village on the Welsh coast. A beautiful little place it was, nestling in a break of the cliffs which rose majestically above it on either side and stretched in gaunt rugged walls seaward.The beautiful bay, with its sunset lights behind the grand headland, with its deep caves and tumbled rocks, and above all its blue waters, lying sometimes calm and motionless, and at others dashing furiously at the foot of the cliffs, was enough to attract any lover of nature.And dull little place as it was, with its one tiny inn and its handful of natives, the time I spent there, with my easel and paint-brush, was one of the most enjoyable of my life.But beautiful as the view was from the land, I found the view from the sea still more attractive, and in order to gratify my tastes in this respect, I took pains to get myself into the good graces of one or two of the fishermen, a few of whom could speak English, and many times accompanied them on their fishing cruises in the bay, where, while they toiled at the nets, I sat and drank in the thousand beauties of the coast, or worked eagerly with my brush to commit them to canvas.The expedition I liked best was towards the southern headland of the bay, where the cliffs were tallest and steepest and where, to add to the other attractions of the view, stood, perched like an eagle’s nest on the edge of the crag, the ruins of an old castle.By old, I do not mean Roman or even Norman. Indeed in that sense it was comparatively modern; for the building, what was left of it, looked more like one of those Tudor manor-houses which dot the country still, than a fortress. And yet, that it had been fortified was plain enough even still. On the side towards the sea it needed no protection; indeed looking up at it from below, it seemed almost to overhang its precipitous foundation. But on the land side there remained traces of a moat, and loop-holes in the walls, and a massive gate.It was scarcely to be called a picturesque ruin, except inasmuch as every ruin is picturesque. Its bare walls rose gaunt and black out of the ground, not out of a heap of tumbled moss-grown masonry, or covered over with ivy. There were very few signs of decay about the place, ruinous as it was, and very little examination was enough to show that it had suffered not from old age, or from the cannon of an enemy, but from fire.No one about could tell me its story, and the mystery of the place only added to its charm. Indeed I was quite glad to discover that it had not even a name, and that the country folk would as soon have thought of crossing the old moat after nightfall as they would have done of stepping over the edge of the cliff. The only thing I could learn about it, in fact, was that it was haunted, and that the one little turret which still retained a roof, and over which the only ivy visible tried to creep, was railed the Lady Tower, and was the “most haunted” spot of all.I could not believe that the one corner of the old ruin where there still remained a sign of life and verdure, could be infested by any very terrible ghost. Still I am not quite sure whether I should have enjoyed a solitary night’s rest there, and to have suggested the thing to the natives of W— would have been enough to secure my incarceration as a raving lunatic. So I did not. But by daytime I added myself one more to the spirits that haunted the place, and yielded myself up completely to its fascination.One day towards the end of my visit I walked over to a coastguard station some miles along the shore for the sake of taking a last survey of the beautiful coast. When I reached it I found, to my pleasure, one of the W— fishing-boats just preparing to put out and sail round the headland back to the village. One of the coastguardsmen was on board, and I was glad to accept the invitation of my honest friend to form another of the party.I found the coastguardsman a most intelligent fellow—well informed on many subjects, and even professing to be something of an art critic. I showed him one or two of my pictures, and he was graciously pleased to approve of them, especially a sketch of the ruined castle from the south, with the Lady Tower in the foreground.The examination of this picture naturally turned the conversation on to the ruin, and I was delighted to find my companion seemed almost as interested in the subject as I was.“It’s a strange thing,” said I, “that the one thing wanting seems to be a story.”“Ah! that was burnt out by the fire, sir.”I was rude enough to laugh. He fancied I was lamenting the absence of the top storey!“I don’t mean that,” I said. “What I mean is, no one seems to know anything about the place or its history.”“Not they! What should they bother their heads about it for?”“But it must have a history of some sort,” said I.“Of course it has.”“Do you know it?”“Of course I do.”It was quite a shock to me to find any one knew anything about my ruin, and it was some time before I ventured to ask—“Would you tell it to me?”Instead of saying “Yes,” the coastguardsman laid down his telescope, pulled a plug of tobacco out of his pocket, and, cutting off a small quid, put it into his mouth, looked up at the sail, shifted himself once or twice in his seat, and then, looking to see if I was ready, began—“It’s not such a wonderful yarn after all, sir. You see, something like two hundred and fifty years ago, when our Civil Wars were going on—you’ve heard of them, I suppose?—yonder castle belonged to a stout Charles the First’s man called Fulke. He owned a good bit about this coast, I’m told, and the folk at the New Manor are sort of descendants. But direct descendants they can’t be, for Fulke only had one daughter, sir, and she never married. If it hadn’t been for those cruel wars she would have been married, though, for she was betrothed to a neighbour, young Morgan, who lived beyond that hill there, and mightily they loved one another too! Fulke, whose lands joined on Morgan’s, was pleased enough to have the two families united, and united they would have been to this day but for the Civil Wars. I’m no great hand at dates, sir, but it was somewheres about 1642 that things began to get unpleasant.“One day, not long before the wedding was to be, Fulke and his daughter went over to Morgan Hall; and while the young folk spent the day love-making in the garden the two old folk sat and discussed the affairs of the nation in the house. And it’s safe to say the two out of doors agreed far better than the two indoors. For Morgan went with the Parliament, and told Fulke the King had no right to try and arrest the five members, and that the Parliament had done a fine thing in protecting them, and that if he’d been there he’d have called out against the King as loud as any of them. At that Fulke—who was a hot-headed man at best of times, and who went mad to hear any one say a word against the King—got up in a rage, and, taking his hat, stalked out into the garden, and taking his daughter by the arm marched away from Morgan Hall with never a word.“It was a sad business. The young folks begged and the old Morgan sent a letter; but no, Fulke wouldn’t listen to one of them, and forbade his daughter to leave the castle.“Whether the lovers saw one another after that I don’t know, but almost directly after the war blazed out and the whole country went mad. Morgan and his son had to leave these parts, and took arms under the Parliament, while Fulke brought guns and powder into his castle, and hoisted the flag of King Charles.“The young lady had a busy time of it sheltering and entertaining the Royalists who came this way. But she had no heart in it—not that she didn’t love the King, sir. Yet she loved young Morgan more.“So things went on for four or live years. The King, as you know, sir, got the worst of it, and was driven to his wits’ end. Most of his friends had fallen, and some had deserted. But so far no one had given Fulke much trouble. Either they had never heard of him, or saw there was not much to fear from him. So the Royal flag waved over the castle day and night, and the young lady did what her father bid her, and never went abroad or heard a word of young Morgan.“But at last the King, not knowing what to do, tried to bring over the Irish to help him. And then it was the troubles in these parts began. For every one that was suspected of aiding in this venture was doomed by the Parliament.“And Fulke was suspected. Rightly or wrongly I can’t say, but I’ve a notion there was something in it. Anyway, his castle commanded the bay, and the Parliament made up their minds to have it. Fulke had only time to get a score or so of men with arms and provender inside his gate, when a troop of roundheads came with their guns over the lulls and sat down before it.“The leader of the troop was a Colonel Frank, a cruel, ruffianly fellow, as you shall hear. And the second in command was no other than young Captain Morgan himself.“He had had plenty of rough work during the war, and had done it well. And it’s a pity, sir, all the Parliament’s officers weren’t of his sort, for he was as unlike Colonel Frank as a house-dog is to a wolf. When first ordered on this expedition he didn’t know where he was going, and you can fancy his horror at finding out that he was to lay siege to the very castle that held his lady-love. At first he would have held back, and even refused. But he was under iron rules, and besides, thought he, I might help my lady more by going than staying away.“So he came with the troop to the castle, and looked wistfully up at the little turret yonder, and prayed that she might never know that he was where he was.“Colonel Frank came expecting an easy task with this small out-of-the-way castle. But it was not so easy as he thought. On two sides, as you see, sir, no mortal man could get at it. And on the other two, Fulke had guarded himself so well that by the end of a fortnight the Roundheads were not an inch nearer getting the place than they had been when they began.“The rage of the colonel knew no bounds, and he vowed all sorts of vengeance. You may fancy one of his men did not join in his threats. Many a time that fortnight Captain Morgan wished a shot from the castle might find him out and end his misery. And yet whenever he was tempted to desert or quarrel with his colonel the thought of the lady left with no protector at the mercy of such a man held him to his post. All he could do was once or twice to urge the colonel to raise the siege, or come to terms with its master. But Frank was bent on vengeance, and at last poor Morgan had to desist for fear of getting suspected himself.“About three weeks after the siege had begun, when the Roundheads were beginning to lose spirit, and Morgan’s hopes were beginning to rise once more, a trooper rushed into the colonel’s tent to say he had found a small cave below the top of the cliff which seemed to run up under the castle. The colonel’s eyes blazed at the news, and he ordered the man to lead him instantly to the spot. Do you see a square grey patch on the face of the cliff up there, sir, nearly at the top, under the south corner?”“Yes; what is it?”“That’s the mouth of the cave. At least, it’s not a cave now, for it’s filled up. But it was there the trooper, under cover of night, led the colonel and the captain. They didn’t do more than mark the place then, for fear an alarm might be given by a sentinel within.“‘Now,’ says Colonel Frank, ‘the castle’s ours; and not a soul inside it shall be there by this time to-morrow.’“‘What shall you do?’ says Captain Morgan, pale, and with a shaky voice.“‘Do? Art thou a dunce, Morgan? Without doubt, at the end of that cave is a way up into the castle; and though the passage be too narrow for all my troop, three men and a captain will suffice to lay faggots and light them at the door. What say you, comrade?’“‘What!’ cries Morgan, ‘would you burn the place? No, no, colonel; we will capture it if we can, but it is no soldier’s work to burn men in their beds!’“‘Fool!’ exclaims the colonel, in a passion, ‘it is no captain’s work to read sermons to his colonel, sirrah! These rebels shall be smoked out like all other vermin!’“‘But,’ says the captain once more, and very pale—‘but I hear there is a lady in the castle, and—’“‘Peace, sir, on your peril!’ exclaims the colonel, ‘and hold yourself ready to obey orders when I shall give them.’It was no use saying more, young Morgan saw that. As it was, he knew his colonel half suspected him of some treachery, and for the rest of that day put a watch upon him. Twenty times that day he was on the point of risking all consequences and declaring to his officer’s face he would have no hand in this bad business. But the thought of how much worse that might be for the folk in the castle kept him to his post.“Well, sir, the day passed, and they kept up a show of besieging the place on the land side, and took care to keep all Fulke’s guns turned that way. But at nightfall Colonel Frank called Morgan to him and ordered him to take six men, whom he named, and try the passage.“‘If you find a sentinel at this end,’ says the colonel, ‘see he is overpowered and taken before an alarm can be given. Over the cliff will be the shortest way with him. The men you take know their business; and see you perform yours!’ he says, with a scowl. ‘I and the rest of the troop will be ready to storm the place as soon as we see the flames. Go now, lose no time; and, hark you, there is no quarter to-night for traitors!’“This last remark may have been meant for the captain, who knew that, at heart, he was a traitor to the Parliament that night; or it may have been meant for the inmates of the castle. Anyway, it sounded ugly enough, and it was all Morgan could do to hold his peace and make no reply.“He found the six men waiting for him without, and in the darkness they crept stealthily round to the edge of the cliff, where a narrow ledge led down to the end of the cave.“It was a perilous step down, especially to those unaccustomed to the way. But the spot had been carefully marked in the daytime, and presently the little band all stood there at the entrance. Morgan in his secret heart wished some sentinel of the besieged might have perceived them, and so given an alarm. But no; such was the security Fulke felt in the secrecy of his cave that it never entered his head to guard it.“The men entered one by one, with a man carrying a light in front. The passage was too narrow to allow of two abreast, and too low for any one to stand upright in it. So, single file, on hands and knees, they crawled forward.“At last, when they had gone some way, and the sound of the sea grew faint in the distance, Morgan halted his men.“‘Give me the light,’ says he, ‘and stay here while I go forward and see how the passage ends.’“He crawled forward to the front of the file and took the torch from the hands of the foremost man. But when he began to move forward he noticed that two of the band followed him at a short distance.“‘Did I not order you to remain with the rest?’ demands he, angrily.“‘Pardon, captain. The colonel bade us keep close to you,’ says one of the men, sourly.“Morgan’s blood ran cold in his veins, and his last hope of giving a friendly warning to those in the castle vanished. However, it was no time to quarrel, and he answered, with a forced laugh, ‘The colonel flatters me by his attention. But, as he is anxious for my welfare, come on, my men, and keep your eyes on me.’“The three went forward, till the cave became so narrow that they could scarcely drag themselves farther. In one place a little chink in the roof let in a faint ray of moonlight from above.“At length they could get no farther, and Morgan, turning his head, said, ‘It’s a false scent, after all; the cave leads nowhere!’“But at that moment over their heads they heard a sound of feet, and presently of voices. At first they could distinguish nothing, but after a while Morgan’s ears caught some words.“‘Pray, master, get you to bed for this one night. The scoundrels can do nothing till the morning.’“‘I need no rest, I tell you,’ said another voice, sternly. ‘How stands the provender, Peter?’“‘It will last three days, master; and the shot will hold out for two. The water, alas! is already exhausted.’“‘Ah! And my child—how is she?’“‘In good heart, master; she was sleeping like a child as I passed her room just now.’“Morgan could forbear no longer. He turned quickly to his men and said, in a loud voice, which might be heard by the unseen watchers overhead, ‘My torch has gone out. Crawl back, one of you, to the rest and bring another, for if the castle is to be fired to-night—’“There was a startled movement above, which told him his object had been gained. The voices grew silent, and the footsteps moved suddenly. For a moment his two companions did not comprehend what had happened. But it flashed on them soon enough, and they were ready for the emergency.“One of the two suddenly lit a small ball of hemp saturated in some inflammable substance, which he had carried with him, and, fixing it on to the point of his sword, held it up to the boards above, at the same time that the other drew his pistol and pointed it at Morgan’s head.“Not a word was said, and not one of the three stirred, until a sharp crackling of the wood above told its own tale. The soldier still held up his brand till the place was well alight. Then withdrawing it, and beckoning to his companion, he began to retreat towards the mouth of the cave, saying as he did so, with a mocking laugh—“‘Farewell, master traitor, I doubt not your business keeps you where you are. We shall miss your company.’“Morgan did not hear them. He sprang desperately towards the now blazing boards. But it was too late to stay the fire, and the heat and falling embers drove him back.“Still he could not go, but stayed there half suffocated, determined at least not to desert his post while a glimmer of hope remained.“In a few moments there was a crash and a shower of sparks at his feet. The trap-door had fallen in.“Heedless of the peril or the pain, he sprang once more at the opening, and this time, how he knew not, succeeded in lifting himself into the blazing apartment. Many a time had he been there before in happier days.“He rushed across to the door and out into the great hall of the castle. Not a man was there to stop him. He heard voices and shouts outside, but the castle seemed to have been left to its fate. There was yet time, thought he, before the flames reached so far, to rush up to his lady’s room and save her.“He sprang up the staircase. Halfway up he saw a figure before him, ascending too. He called, and the man turned suddenly. Morgan knew him in a moment. It was Fulke himself. The old Royalist, seeing himself pursued by a soldier in the dress of a Roundhead, concluded the enemy had already entered his castle, and with the fury of a desperate man, drew his sword and threw himself upon the stranger. Morgan had no time to hesitate. The delay of a moment might cost his lady her life.“With a rapid pass of his sword, he struck Fulke across the arm, and as the weapon dropped from the old soldier’s hand, Morgan rushed past, on towards the lady’s chamber.“Another obstacle still awaited him. This time it was a groom unarmed, who encountered him. He too, defenceless as he was, sprang wildly upon the intruder to dispute the passage. But Morgan put him by with the flat of his sword and crying—“‘Look to your master below. I will see to the lady,’ darted on.“After that it was all like a dream. He was dimly conscious of rushing down those steps shortly after, with a precious burden in his arms. How he struggled through the smoke and fire, or how he kept his feet on that tottering staircase, no one knows. It’s enough to say he struggled forward down the stairs and across the hall as far as the outer door, where some one snatched his unharmed burden from his arms and carried her to a place of safety, where already her father, tended by his faithful servant, was recovering consciousness.“The courtyard by this time was crowded with troopers, Royalist and Roundhead, and above the roar of the flames and the crashing of falling roofs there rose the report of guns and the clash of swords. Morgan, half stunned and like a man in a dream, was standing propped up against a tree a helpless spectator of the scene, when suddenly one of his own men rushed up to him and saluted.“‘The colonel, sir, is dead. He was under yonder wall as it fell. The men, sir, look to you for orders.’“Morgan sprang to his feet like one electrified.“‘Call the men off,’ he cried hoarsely, ‘instantly—without another blow, and bring the prisoners to the camp—to me. Lose not a moment, friend.’“The order was obeyed. The Roundheads were glad enough to get clear of the tottering walls without being too particular as to who escaped and who was captured.“Among the prisoners who next morning were reported to the captain as safe were Fulke, his daughter, and one manservant.“Morgan’s heart failed him. He could not, dared not see them. He ordered them to be kept in safe custody, and, meanwhile, summoned two of his most trusty soldiers to receive orders respecting them.“That night a small boat was brought round to the bottom of yonder cliff, where you see the little creak, sir. And in it Fulke and the young lady and their servant were rowed secretly to W—, where a fishing-boat waited to carry them to Ireland. That’s the story, sir.”“And what became of Morgan?” said I.“No one heard of him after this affair, sir. And they do say he was punished as a traitor. But whatever the end of him was, he never repented his night’s work at the burning of Fulke Castle.”
Several summers ago I happened to be spending a few weeks at W—, a small fishing village on the Welsh coast. A beautiful little place it was, nestling in a break of the cliffs which rose majestically above it on either side and stretched in gaunt rugged walls seaward.
The beautiful bay, with its sunset lights behind the grand headland, with its deep caves and tumbled rocks, and above all its blue waters, lying sometimes calm and motionless, and at others dashing furiously at the foot of the cliffs, was enough to attract any lover of nature.
And dull little place as it was, with its one tiny inn and its handful of natives, the time I spent there, with my easel and paint-brush, was one of the most enjoyable of my life.
But beautiful as the view was from the land, I found the view from the sea still more attractive, and in order to gratify my tastes in this respect, I took pains to get myself into the good graces of one or two of the fishermen, a few of whom could speak English, and many times accompanied them on their fishing cruises in the bay, where, while they toiled at the nets, I sat and drank in the thousand beauties of the coast, or worked eagerly with my brush to commit them to canvas.
The expedition I liked best was towards the southern headland of the bay, where the cliffs were tallest and steepest and where, to add to the other attractions of the view, stood, perched like an eagle’s nest on the edge of the crag, the ruins of an old castle.
By old, I do not mean Roman or even Norman. Indeed in that sense it was comparatively modern; for the building, what was left of it, looked more like one of those Tudor manor-houses which dot the country still, than a fortress. And yet, that it had been fortified was plain enough even still. On the side towards the sea it needed no protection; indeed looking up at it from below, it seemed almost to overhang its precipitous foundation. But on the land side there remained traces of a moat, and loop-holes in the walls, and a massive gate.
It was scarcely to be called a picturesque ruin, except inasmuch as every ruin is picturesque. Its bare walls rose gaunt and black out of the ground, not out of a heap of tumbled moss-grown masonry, or covered over with ivy. There were very few signs of decay about the place, ruinous as it was, and very little examination was enough to show that it had suffered not from old age, or from the cannon of an enemy, but from fire.
No one about could tell me its story, and the mystery of the place only added to its charm. Indeed I was quite glad to discover that it had not even a name, and that the country folk would as soon have thought of crossing the old moat after nightfall as they would have done of stepping over the edge of the cliff. The only thing I could learn about it, in fact, was that it was haunted, and that the one little turret which still retained a roof, and over which the only ivy visible tried to creep, was railed the Lady Tower, and was the “most haunted” spot of all.
I could not believe that the one corner of the old ruin where there still remained a sign of life and verdure, could be infested by any very terrible ghost. Still I am not quite sure whether I should have enjoyed a solitary night’s rest there, and to have suggested the thing to the natives of W— would have been enough to secure my incarceration as a raving lunatic. So I did not. But by daytime I added myself one more to the spirits that haunted the place, and yielded myself up completely to its fascination.
One day towards the end of my visit I walked over to a coastguard station some miles along the shore for the sake of taking a last survey of the beautiful coast. When I reached it I found, to my pleasure, one of the W— fishing-boats just preparing to put out and sail round the headland back to the village. One of the coastguardsmen was on board, and I was glad to accept the invitation of my honest friend to form another of the party.
I found the coastguardsman a most intelligent fellow—well informed on many subjects, and even professing to be something of an art critic. I showed him one or two of my pictures, and he was graciously pleased to approve of them, especially a sketch of the ruined castle from the south, with the Lady Tower in the foreground.
The examination of this picture naturally turned the conversation on to the ruin, and I was delighted to find my companion seemed almost as interested in the subject as I was.
“It’s a strange thing,” said I, “that the one thing wanting seems to be a story.”
“Ah! that was burnt out by the fire, sir.”
I was rude enough to laugh. He fancied I was lamenting the absence of the top storey!
“I don’t mean that,” I said. “What I mean is, no one seems to know anything about the place or its history.”
“Not they! What should they bother their heads about it for?”
“But it must have a history of some sort,” said I.
“Of course it has.”
“Do you know it?”
“Of course I do.”
It was quite a shock to me to find any one knew anything about my ruin, and it was some time before I ventured to ask—
“Would you tell it to me?”
Instead of saying “Yes,” the coastguardsman laid down his telescope, pulled a plug of tobacco out of his pocket, and, cutting off a small quid, put it into his mouth, looked up at the sail, shifted himself once or twice in his seat, and then, looking to see if I was ready, began—
“It’s not such a wonderful yarn after all, sir. You see, something like two hundred and fifty years ago, when our Civil Wars were going on—you’ve heard of them, I suppose?—yonder castle belonged to a stout Charles the First’s man called Fulke. He owned a good bit about this coast, I’m told, and the folk at the New Manor are sort of descendants. But direct descendants they can’t be, for Fulke only had one daughter, sir, and she never married. If it hadn’t been for those cruel wars she would have been married, though, for she was betrothed to a neighbour, young Morgan, who lived beyond that hill there, and mightily they loved one another too! Fulke, whose lands joined on Morgan’s, was pleased enough to have the two families united, and united they would have been to this day but for the Civil Wars. I’m no great hand at dates, sir, but it was somewheres about 1642 that things began to get unpleasant.
“One day, not long before the wedding was to be, Fulke and his daughter went over to Morgan Hall; and while the young folk spent the day love-making in the garden the two old folk sat and discussed the affairs of the nation in the house. And it’s safe to say the two out of doors agreed far better than the two indoors. For Morgan went with the Parliament, and told Fulke the King had no right to try and arrest the five members, and that the Parliament had done a fine thing in protecting them, and that if he’d been there he’d have called out against the King as loud as any of them. At that Fulke—who was a hot-headed man at best of times, and who went mad to hear any one say a word against the King—got up in a rage, and, taking his hat, stalked out into the garden, and taking his daughter by the arm marched away from Morgan Hall with never a word.
“It was a sad business. The young folks begged and the old Morgan sent a letter; but no, Fulke wouldn’t listen to one of them, and forbade his daughter to leave the castle.
“Whether the lovers saw one another after that I don’t know, but almost directly after the war blazed out and the whole country went mad. Morgan and his son had to leave these parts, and took arms under the Parliament, while Fulke brought guns and powder into his castle, and hoisted the flag of King Charles.
“The young lady had a busy time of it sheltering and entertaining the Royalists who came this way. But she had no heart in it—not that she didn’t love the King, sir. Yet she loved young Morgan more.
“So things went on for four or live years. The King, as you know, sir, got the worst of it, and was driven to his wits’ end. Most of his friends had fallen, and some had deserted. But so far no one had given Fulke much trouble. Either they had never heard of him, or saw there was not much to fear from him. So the Royal flag waved over the castle day and night, and the young lady did what her father bid her, and never went abroad or heard a word of young Morgan.
“But at last the King, not knowing what to do, tried to bring over the Irish to help him. And then it was the troubles in these parts began. For every one that was suspected of aiding in this venture was doomed by the Parliament.
“And Fulke was suspected. Rightly or wrongly I can’t say, but I’ve a notion there was something in it. Anyway, his castle commanded the bay, and the Parliament made up their minds to have it. Fulke had only time to get a score or so of men with arms and provender inside his gate, when a troop of roundheads came with their guns over the lulls and sat down before it.
“The leader of the troop was a Colonel Frank, a cruel, ruffianly fellow, as you shall hear. And the second in command was no other than young Captain Morgan himself.
“He had had plenty of rough work during the war, and had done it well. And it’s a pity, sir, all the Parliament’s officers weren’t of his sort, for he was as unlike Colonel Frank as a house-dog is to a wolf. When first ordered on this expedition he didn’t know where he was going, and you can fancy his horror at finding out that he was to lay siege to the very castle that held his lady-love. At first he would have held back, and even refused. But he was under iron rules, and besides, thought he, I might help my lady more by going than staying away.
“So he came with the troop to the castle, and looked wistfully up at the little turret yonder, and prayed that she might never know that he was where he was.
“Colonel Frank came expecting an easy task with this small out-of-the-way castle. But it was not so easy as he thought. On two sides, as you see, sir, no mortal man could get at it. And on the other two, Fulke had guarded himself so well that by the end of a fortnight the Roundheads were not an inch nearer getting the place than they had been when they began.
“The rage of the colonel knew no bounds, and he vowed all sorts of vengeance. You may fancy one of his men did not join in his threats. Many a time that fortnight Captain Morgan wished a shot from the castle might find him out and end his misery. And yet whenever he was tempted to desert or quarrel with his colonel the thought of the lady left with no protector at the mercy of such a man held him to his post. All he could do was once or twice to urge the colonel to raise the siege, or come to terms with its master. But Frank was bent on vengeance, and at last poor Morgan had to desist for fear of getting suspected himself.
“About three weeks after the siege had begun, when the Roundheads were beginning to lose spirit, and Morgan’s hopes were beginning to rise once more, a trooper rushed into the colonel’s tent to say he had found a small cave below the top of the cliff which seemed to run up under the castle. The colonel’s eyes blazed at the news, and he ordered the man to lead him instantly to the spot. Do you see a square grey patch on the face of the cliff up there, sir, nearly at the top, under the south corner?”
“Yes; what is it?”
“That’s the mouth of the cave. At least, it’s not a cave now, for it’s filled up. But it was there the trooper, under cover of night, led the colonel and the captain. They didn’t do more than mark the place then, for fear an alarm might be given by a sentinel within.
“‘Now,’ says Colonel Frank, ‘the castle’s ours; and not a soul inside it shall be there by this time to-morrow.’
“‘What shall you do?’ says Captain Morgan, pale, and with a shaky voice.
“‘Do? Art thou a dunce, Morgan? Without doubt, at the end of that cave is a way up into the castle; and though the passage be too narrow for all my troop, three men and a captain will suffice to lay faggots and light them at the door. What say you, comrade?’
“‘What!’ cries Morgan, ‘would you burn the place? No, no, colonel; we will capture it if we can, but it is no soldier’s work to burn men in their beds!’
“‘Fool!’ exclaims the colonel, in a passion, ‘it is no captain’s work to read sermons to his colonel, sirrah! These rebels shall be smoked out like all other vermin!’
“‘But,’ says the captain once more, and very pale—‘but I hear there is a lady in the castle, and—’
“‘Peace, sir, on your peril!’ exclaims the colonel, ‘and hold yourself ready to obey orders when I shall give them.’
It was no use saying more, young Morgan saw that. As it was, he knew his colonel half suspected him of some treachery, and for the rest of that day put a watch upon him. Twenty times that day he was on the point of risking all consequences and declaring to his officer’s face he would have no hand in this bad business. But the thought of how much worse that might be for the folk in the castle kept him to his post.
“Well, sir, the day passed, and they kept up a show of besieging the place on the land side, and took care to keep all Fulke’s guns turned that way. But at nightfall Colonel Frank called Morgan to him and ordered him to take six men, whom he named, and try the passage.
“‘If you find a sentinel at this end,’ says the colonel, ‘see he is overpowered and taken before an alarm can be given. Over the cliff will be the shortest way with him. The men you take know their business; and see you perform yours!’ he says, with a scowl. ‘I and the rest of the troop will be ready to storm the place as soon as we see the flames. Go now, lose no time; and, hark you, there is no quarter to-night for traitors!’
“This last remark may have been meant for the captain, who knew that, at heart, he was a traitor to the Parliament that night; or it may have been meant for the inmates of the castle. Anyway, it sounded ugly enough, and it was all Morgan could do to hold his peace and make no reply.
“He found the six men waiting for him without, and in the darkness they crept stealthily round to the edge of the cliff, where a narrow ledge led down to the end of the cave.
“It was a perilous step down, especially to those unaccustomed to the way. But the spot had been carefully marked in the daytime, and presently the little band all stood there at the entrance. Morgan in his secret heart wished some sentinel of the besieged might have perceived them, and so given an alarm. But no; such was the security Fulke felt in the secrecy of his cave that it never entered his head to guard it.
“The men entered one by one, with a man carrying a light in front. The passage was too narrow to allow of two abreast, and too low for any one to stand upright in it. So, single file, on hands and knees, they crawled forward.
“At last, when they had gone some way, and the sound of the sea grew faint in the distance, Morgan halted his men.
“‘Give me the light,’ says he, ‘and stay here while I go forward and see how the passage ends.’
“He crawled forward to the front of the file and took the torch from the hands of the foremost man. But when he began to move forward he noticed that two of the band followed him at a short distance.
“‘Did I not order you to remain with the rest?’ demands he, angrily.
“‘Pardon, captain. The colonel bade us keep close to you,’ says one of the men, sourly.
“Morgan’s blood ran cold in his veins, and his last hope of giving a friendly warning to those in the castle vanished. However, it was no time to quarrel, and he answered, with a forced laugh, ‘The colonel flatters me by his attention. But, as he is anxious for my welfare, come on, my men, and keep your eyes on me.’
“The three went forward, till the cave became so narrow that they could scarcely drag themselves farther. In one place a little chink in the roof let in a faint ray of moonlight from above.
“At length they could get no farther, and Morgan, turning his head, said, ‘It’s a false scent, after all; the cave leads nowhere!’
“But at that moment over their heads they heard a sound of feet, and presently of voices. At first they could distinguish nothing, but after a while Morgan’s ears caught some words.
“‘Pray, master, get you to bed for this one night. The scoundrels can do nothing till the morning.’
“‘I need no rest, I tell you,’ said another voice, sternly. ‘How stands the provender, Peter?’
“‘It will last three days, master; and the shot will hold out for two. The water, alas! is already exhausted.’
“‘Ah! And my child—how is she?’
“‘In good heart, master; she was sleeping like a child as I passed her room just now.’
“Morgan could forbear no longer. He turned quickly to his men and said, in a loud voice, which might be heard by the unseen watchers overhead, ‘My torch has gone out. Crawl back, one of you, to the rest and bring another, for if the castle is to be fired to-night—’
“There was a startled movement above, which told him his object had been gained. The voices grew silent, and the footsteps moved suddenly. For a moment his two companions did not comprehend what had happened. But it flashed on them soon enough, and they were ready for the emergency.
“One of the two suddenly lit a small ball of hemp saturated in some inflammable substance, which he had carried with him, and, fixing it on to the point of his sword, held it up to the boards above, at the same time that the other drew his pistol and pointed it at Morgan’s head.
“Not a word was said, and not one of the three stirred, until a sharp crackling of the wood above told its own tale. The soldier still held up his brand till the place was well alight. Then withdrawing it, and beckoning to his companion, he began to retreat towards the mouth of the cave, saying as he did so, with a mocking laugh—
“‘Farewell, master traitor, I doubt not your business keeps you where you are. We shall miss your company.’
“Morgan did not hear them. He sprang desperately towards the now blazing boards. But it was too late to stay the fire, and the heat and falling embers drove him back.
“Still he could not go, but stayed there half suffocated, determined at least not to desert his post while a glimmer of hope remained.
“In a few moments there was a crash and a shower of sparks at his feet. The trap-door had fallen in.
“Heedless of the peril or the pain, he sprang once more at the opening, and this time, how he knew not, succeeded in lifting himself into the blazing apartment. Many a time had he been there before in happier days.
“He rushed across to the door and out into the great hall of the castle. Not a man was there to stop him. He heard voices and shouts outside, but the castle seemed to have been left to its fate. There was yet time, thought he, before the flames reached so far, to rush up to his lady’s room and save her.
“He sprang up the staircase. Halfway up he saw a figure before him, ascending too. He called, and the man turned suddenly. Morgan knew him in a moment. It was Fulke himself. The old Royalist, seeing himself pursued by a soldier in the dress of a Roundhead, concluded the enemy had already entered his castle, and with the fury of a desperate man, drew his sword and threw himself upon the stranger. Morgan had no time to hesitate. The delay of a moment might cost his lady her life.
“With a rapid pass of his sword, he struck Fulke across the arm, and as the weapon dropped from the old soldier’s hand, Morgan rushed past, on towards the lady’s chamber.
“Another obstacle still awaited him. This time it was a groom unarmed, who encountered him. He too, defenceless as he was, sprang wildly upon the intruder to dispute the passage. But Morgan put him by with the flat of his sword and crying—
“‘Look to your master below. I will see to the lady,’ darted on.
“After that it was all like a dream. He was dimly conscious of rushing down those steps shortly after, with a precious burden in his arms. How he struggled through the smoke and fire, or how he kept his feet on that tottering staircase, no one knows. It’s enough to say he struggled forward down the stairs and across the hall as far as the outer door, where some one snatched his unharmed burden from his arms and carried her to a place of safety, where already her father, tended by his faithful servant, was recovering consciousness.
“The courtyard by this time was crowded with troopers, Royalist and Roundhead, and above the roar of the flames and the crashing of falling roofs there rose the report of guns and the clash of swords. Morgan, half stunned and like a man in a dream, was standing propped up against a tree a helpless spectator of the scene, when suddenly one of his own men rushed up to him and saluted.
“‘The colonel, sir, is dead. He was under yonder wall as it fell. The men, sir, look to you for orders.’
“Morgan sprang to his feet like one electrified.
“‘Call the men off,’ he cried hoarsely, ‘instantly—without another blow, and bring the prisoners to the camp—to me. Lose not a moment, friend.’
“The order was obeyed. The Roundheads were glad enough to get clear of the tottering walls without being too particular as to who escaped and who was captured.
“Among the prisoners who next morning were reported to the captain as safe were Fulke, his daughter, and one manservant.
“Morgan’s heart failed him. He could not, dared not see them. He ordered them to be kept in safe custody, and, meanwhile, summoned two of his most trusty soldiers to receive orders respecting them.
“That night a small boat was brought round to the bottom of yonder cliff, where you see the little creak, sir. And in it Fulke and the young lady and their servant were rowed secretly to W—, where a fishing-boat waited to carry them to Ireland. That’s the story, sir.”
“And what became of Morgan?” said I.
“No one heard of him after this affair, sir. And they do say he was punished as a traitor. But whatever the end of him was, he never repented his night’s work at the burning of Fulke Castle.”