CHAPTERCXXXIX.SIR WILLIAM’S TALE—A MUSICAL MELANGE.“There was at the time I paid a visit to our American cousins,” said Sir William, “a sharp, clever fellow named Dixon. He had gained a considerable amount of reputation as a detective, and I believe he well deserved the encomiums passed upon him. Any way, as far as I could judge, he was a remarkably acute man, and he was in addition to this a civil and obliging officer.No.74.Illustration: MISS LOVEJOYCE AND THE PROFESSORMISS ARABELLA LOVEJOYCE AND THE PROFESSOR DELIGHT THE COMPANY.“The case which I am about to present to you does not, perhaps, possess what I may term the romantic interest of my friend Smythe’s story; but it has, nevertheless, something to recommend it, since it serves to show how quickly retribution followed the commission of a horrible crime.“My story is that of a dead traveller found in a train.“The train stopped at Dexham’s bleak depot long enough to permit a man to spring from the drizzling gloom upon the platform of the through coach, whose doors were locked. The conductor, ensconced from the rain in the express car, did not see the new acquisition to his list of passengers, and the man standing on the platform seemed to be congratulating himself on the success of what he wished to call secrecy.“When the train moved from the station, whose night-clerk slept in his dimly-lighted office, the unknown passenger quietly drew a brass key from his pocket, and unlocked the door of the coach. When he closed it again, himself inside, it was locked as before.“He found the car lighted by three lamps, and seemingly deserted. Not a head protruded above the seats, and the air of desolation filled the place. He heard the rain now falling in earnest, beating against the windows, beyond whose panes the blackness of darkness reigned.“Not far from the fireless stove the new passenger seated himself, and began to brush his hat with a handkerchief. He was in the midst of his work when something like a groan startled him, and he stopped. Leaning forward, he listened keenly, and at length rose and walked down the aisle.“He seemed satisfied that he had heard a human groan, for he looked into and between the seats, and it was near the forward door that he suddenly came to a halt.“He stood over a man whose head rested on the crimson cushions of the seat, but whose body lay on the floor.“From the white lips beneath the silent spectator had proceeded the startling groan, and the eyes moved once when they caught sight of him.“The unknown passenger regarded the scene for a moment before he stirred a limb. Then he bent over the recumbent man, and with no little difficulty assisted him to the seat.“‘I say it’s no use after your murderous blows,’ said the stricken one, seeming to regard the new passenger as his mortal enemy. ‘You need not strike me again.’“‘I never struck you,’ replied the passenger, with a faint smile. ‘My kind sir, you have mistaken the person. Will you not tell me how all this came about?’“It was quite evident that the wounded traveller was near unto death. One quiver after another passed over his frame, and once or twice after speaking he gasped for breath. The single spectator saw this and put his hand on his shoulder.“‘I will avenge you!’ he said, stooping over the dying traveller. ‘Tell me who did it; I am a detective.’“The deathly eyes fixed their stare upon him, and when he saw the white lips move he put his ear down to them.“‘Tell Natalie—Natalie—tell her that—God pity me!’“With the last word the traveller’s head fell back upon the detective’s hand, and the gurgle of death ran up his throat. Then he turned his face from the light, and the rain-drops that came through a hole in the pane fell upon a dead man’s brow.“‘Curse the stupid luck!’ said the detective, standing erect. ‘He would have told me, I am sure, and my case would not have been difficult. But let me see what I can find upon him by which to work, for I swear I will hunt to the death the man who killed the traveller.’“An examination of the dead man’s pockets revealed nothing concerning his identity, and the detective looked puzzled.“He found an empty pocket-book and a watch; but they did him no good.“The man had probably reached his thirtieth year; his hair and well-dressed beard were light, and his lifeless eyes a beautiful blue.“He was well dressed, but there was no show of ostentation about his garments.“After the search the detective unlocked the front door of the coach, and with another key which he drew from his pocket unlocked the express car.“Stepping boldly into it, he startled the messenger, whose hands flew to an inner pocket when he beheld the unsummoned intruder, but no pistol was drawn.“‘No shooting, Tobey,’ said the detective, and the messenger, recognising the voice, came forward with extended hands.“‘You take a fellow by surprise, Dixon. I might have shot you.’“‘Oh! I guess not,’ laughed the detective. ‘Where’s Golden?’“‘Asleep in yon corner.’“Dixon stepped forward, and waked a good-looking man, who had fallen asleep on several bales of gunny-cloth.“‘You’ve got a dead man on the train,’ Dixon said to the conductor, when he opened his eyes.“‘A dead man!’ cried the express messenger, before the conductor, recovering from his sleep, could utter a single ejaculation.“‘A man as dead as Chelsea! Come and see him.’“The messenger picked up a lantern, and the two left the car.“‘I recollect him,” said the conductor Golden, looking at the dead traveller. ‘He boarded the train at Monterey, and was my only through passenger. There’s two stabs in his left breast! You’ve noticed them, I suppose?’“‘Oh, yes—nothing ever escapes me,’ replied the detective, with a smile. ‘Do not either of you gentlemen know aught about him?’“The messenger shook his head without replying, and the conductor said—“‘I’ve met him once or twice before. I think his name is Hardesty. Concerning his home or his people, I know nothing.’“A few minutes later, on some sacks stretched on the floor of the express-car, lay the dead traveller. The lamplight fell over his pale face and rendered it ghastly, like the faces of corpses.“Conductor Golden said that the mystery of the passenger’s death puzzled him. He was sure that no other person tenanted the fatal coach when he locked it, after taking up the only through ticket, and giving the proper check.“The theory of suicide was discussed, but abandoned, as no weapons were found on the passenger’s person. The messenger recollected a certain robbery of the company’s car works several years prior to the fatal night, and stated that a number of coach keys were then taken.“In all probability some person in possession of one of those keys had entered the coach at some station, murdered the unknown passenger while the train was in motion, and made good his escape.“This theory satisfied messenger and conductor, but not the detective.“‘Gentlemen,’ he said, calmly, ‘this man was killed by an old enemy. His watch, worth at least two hundred dollars, remains on his person, but everything else has been removed. The murderer has carefully removed all traces of his identity, but his shrewdness shall avail him naught. For I tell you,’ the speaker’s cold but piercing eyes were fixed on Golden, ‘I tell you,’ he repeated, ‘that I will hunt him down and make him pay dearly for his terrible work.’“‘Your hand on that,’ said the conductor, putting forth his hand, and the men clasped.“‘Why, there’s blood on your hand!’ suddenly said Dixon, noting a crimson spot on Golden’s member. ‘I’ve a mind to arrest you,’ he added, with a smile.“‘Do so, and hunt no further for your man,’ returned the conductor. ‘I had my hand in the dead man’s bosom, hence the gore on my skin. But do you think you’ll ever catch the perpetrator of the deed?’“‘Catch him!” cried Dixon. ‘In my detective life I have never followed a man in vain. John Golden, you have heard of me in the capacity of a man-hunter, and I promise that you shall be present at the death of your passenger’s assassin.’“‘Good! I accept the invitation implied in your words; and Tobey—is he included?’“‘Certainly,’ answered Dixon, with a faint smile; and then the conversation was interrupted by the whistle of the engine.“‘We’re running into Dayton,’ said the messenger, taking up his book. ‘I put off a parcel here that is not entered on the books,’ and he glanced from the detective to the corpse.“The coroner’s inquest elicited no new facts concerning the dead passenger. The usual verdict that ‘the deceased had come to his death at the hands of some person or persons unknown to the jury’ appeared in the morning papers. During the day many people viewed the corpse in the coroner’s office, but it was not recognised.“Dixon, the detective, kept about the office the entire day. He scrutinised the face of each viewer of the corpse, and assisted to put the dead into the coffin after office hours. Many people wondered who that strange and commonplace man in the office was, never dreaming that he one was one of the keenest detectives in the United States.“He left the office at eleven o’clock and passed under the gaslight towards the Merchants’ Hotel. This resort was in a distant part of the city, and to gain it the detective would be obliged to traverse a portion of the metropolis infested with thieves, gamblers, debauchees, and wicked people generally. He had traversed it before, unarmed, and did not fear its denizens.“He set forth alone, and had gained the nearest and best portion of the infested district, when a hand was laid on his arm. He stopped and beheld a young girl looking up into his face.“‘Well, miss?’ he said, in a tone that reassured the person, for she came nearer.“‘I saw you in the coroner’s office; but I was afraid to come in,’ she said. ‘I looked in from the curb, and ran off when I thought you were looking at me. Sir, I would like to see him before they give him an unknown grave. He was my brother.’“Dixon started and turned full upon the pale, sorrowful girl.“‘Your brother?’ he cried. ‘What is your name?’“‘Natalie Green.’“‘Natalie!’“It was the last name pronounced by the murdered traveller; and the detective was startled at finding its possessor so soon.“‘Where do you live?’ he asked.“‘In a house two blocks down this street. Oh! sir, do not think me one of the sinning. I am not. He drew me from home, and I had not the hardihood to return. I could not face father, though I have not fallen, and brother George, the dead, has been hunting me ever since.’“‘Natalie, this is no place for conversation,’ said the detective. ‘In your home you must tell me the whole story. You know what I am, girl?’“‘Yes, a detective,’ she replied. ‘They don’t like such as you in these parts.’“‘I reckon not,’ he said, with a smile, and together they walked down the street.“What followed I need not detail here; thedenouementof my story will tell you.“One autumn night, three months later, a man boarded a train as it was leaving a country station.“The night was the counterpart of the one that witnessed the finding of the dying passenger in the coach, and the person who had nimbly leaped upon the platform unlocked the car with thesang froidof a privileged person.“He passed through the well-filled coach, and presently faced the messenger, who was at cards with the conductor. Both men started when they beheld the newcomer; but they soon recognised him and gave him a friendly hand.“‘No man yet,’ said Conductor Golden, with a light laugh, as he looked up into their visitor’s face. ‘The trail is long, and will in time, no doubt, grow tiresome.’“‘But I have reached the end of it!’ said the detective, seriously, and the conductor rose to his feet.“‘Good!’ he exclaimed. “Tobey, we will drink to Dixon’s success.’“‘You must drink soon, then,’ was the reply, and a revolver quietly slipped from the detective’s pocket.“‘John Golden,’ he continued, ‘I arrest you for the murder of George Green. You allured his sister, Natalie, from her home, and swore to kill him because he followed you. That vow you have kept: you met him in your through coach, the night was dark, and he your sole passenger. Then and there you imbrued your hands with blood, and removed from his person traces of his identity. Deny not the charges, for I am prepared to prove each and every one! Tobey, there are a brace of handcuffs in my pocket.’“The astonished messenger moved towards the detective, when with a cry of horror the conductor leaped to the half-open express door.“Dixon sprang forward to arrest him, but was too late.“The train struck a bridge as the form of the conductor disappeared, and messenger and detective gazed blankly into each other’s faces.“‘Dead?’ asked Dixon.“‘Dead!’ responded Tobey. ‘If he missed the beams he fell into the river eighty feet below us.’“‘Well, let him go!’ said the detective. ‘He is the assassin of the man from whose home he allured a sister.’“The body of John Golden was never found. Among his papers at his boarding-house in the city was found a memorandum book belonging to George Green, and other articles that Natalie identified.“Thus was the mystery that hung over the dead traveller cleared, and I have but to add that Natalie returned home, and after the lapse of two years, became the wife of no less a person than Jerome Dixon.”“It is very much to be regretted,” said theRev.Mr. Downbent, “that the detectives of this country are not able to unravel the many mysteries which of late have been presented to us in the metropolis. Indeed, to say the truth, they appear to be grossly at fault in this respect.”“We shall never do any good, sir,” observed Sir William, “till a better class of men are employed, and, I may add, prompter and more stringent measures are taken to check crimes of this nature. I have come to that conclusion years ago, and recent events have strengthened me in the opinion I have formed.”“It is a most melancholy state of affairs,” said Lady Marvlynn. “I don’t pretend to be a competent judge of such matters, but everyone must admit that it reflects no credit on a country which is perhaps the most opulent and civilised community in the whole world.”“You are right, my dear lady Marvlynn,” returned Sir William. “The number of murders committed of late in this country that we know of is bad enough, seeing that the perpetrators of these crimes are never discovered, even to say nothing about their being convicted; and then how many are there perpetrated which are never brought to light in any shape whatever?”“This reflection is a most painful one. Looking at the matter with an unprejudiced eye, we must confess that this country has not so much to boast of after all. It is true we put down the traffic in human flesh. We abolished slavery—that is something to our credit.”“Yes, but at what cost, Sir William?” cried Captain Crasher.“Never mind the cost. It was done—and effectually done.”“After much cost both in money and men,” said Crasher. “As we are all of us in what I may call an anecdotal or story-telling vein to-day, I will, if you please, tell you a story of the African slave trade.”“Oh, do; there’s a good, dear soul!” cried Lady Marvlynn.“By all means, madam, if our friends are agreeable.”Everybody declared that they would esteem it a favour if the captain would go ahead; so he at once rushed into the following narrative:—“Now I am going to tell you a story about ‘The Right of Search,’” said Crasher.“The events I am about to describe,” said he, “date back to a period twenty years ago, at which time I was but a newly-appointed midshipman—the youngster of the larboard steerage-mess of the ship of war ‘Excellent,’ Captain David Hodge.“As they relate to the right of search as applied to slavers, those of you who are familiar with the subject will pardon a word of explanation for the benefit of those who are not.“Slaving not being reckoned as piracy by the law of nations at the time to which I allude, no ship was permitted to search another, even though the latter were positively known to be loaded with negroes, unless the two vessels carried the same flag.“Consequently, any slaver when pursued, if aware of her pursuer’s nationality, might run up a foreign flag, and sail coolly away under its protection, her enemy being entirely powerless in the matter.“This was the state of affairs from the treaty for the mutual suppression of the African slave trade between Great Britain and the United States, in 1842, down to the treaty of 1862, which to some slight extent mended the matter.“The ‘Excellent’ had been cruising off the Guinean coast, particularly about the region between Cape Three Points and the Bight of Benin, for upwards of four months now, and nothing to speak of had come of it.“To be sure, we had all been ashore once or twice to call on the King of Dahomey, the best misrepresentative of royalty to be found on the western coast at that time, and he had dined us deliciously on shelled peanuts, and pledged our professional health in deep draughts of his villainoussego.“But of our legitimate business in that part of the world we had done little or nothing.“Nor was this exactly for lack of opportunity. We knew very well that the rascally old potentate was trading off his subjects at the rate of a thousand or so every two or three weeks.“We would even lie there sometimes and see a slaver go to sea, knowing that her decks below were crowded with miserable negroes. But if we made a movement to pursue, up would go a Spanish or French flag, and all we could do was to let her severely alone.“Once, indeed, we did circumvent one of them most beautifully.“We had followed her up when she put out of the river until she showed the stars and stripes, and then, as the breeze was light and the night a promising one, the old man ordered out the barge and sent an officer up to Elmina, ten miles above us, to inform a Yankee sloop of war which we knew to be there. We hung to the slaver all night with the ship, and just at day break, sure enough, there was the American making for her with all sail spread.When the fellow saw her, he thought to get out of it by running up a French flag, but at this—since change of flag is presumably evidence of fraud—we both pounced upon him, and in half an hour had his crew in irons.“But that wasn’t the story I started to tell. As I say, we were not always as fortunate as that, and after weeks and weeks of hot weather and no prizes, the whole ship’s company began to grow desperate.“One evening, just before twilight came on—or what would be twilight if they had such a thing in those latitudes—we were standing idly along up towards Coast Castle, when a sail was reported as seen over the land, the vessel being just about to emerge from a small bay that makes in just there. Captain Hodge was on deck at the time, and himself addressed the masthead.“‘Do you know her?’ was his first inquiry.“‘Can’t make her out just yet, sir, on account of the hill,’ answered the look-out. ‘I should judge, from the size of them tops’ils and the rake of her masts, that it is the big schooner we overhauled last week.’“A moment after, and the captain hailed again.“‘How is she now, my man?’“‘’Tisthe schooner, sir.’“‘All right. Keep an eye on her,’ and the captain went below a moment.“Fifteen minutes after we were in full sight of the slaver—for slaver we knew her to be. That low black hull and rakish build could belong to no respectable craft, even if the presence of such could be accounted for just there and then.“‘Now,’ cries the old man, again making his appearance on deck, and as much interested in the affair as was I, the most inexperienced youngster in the ship, ‘we’ll make her show her colours. If she don’t recognise us she may show a different flag from what she did before. If so, she is ours.’“But the stranger was not to be caught in any such way as that.“She did remember us perfectly well, probably had known precisely where we were every day for the last week, and when a gun was fired she ran up the French flag as innocently as could be.“Shortly after the sudden darkness of the tropics came on, the faltering sea-breeze died out entirely, and night set in with the two vessels within half a mile of each other, and hardly likely to change their relative positions before morning.“At daylight, quite contrary to his custom, the old man was on deck again and inquiring for the slaver. She was still in sight; but a slight land breeze had sprung up shortly before day broke, and she was cautiously edging off to the westward.“Although she might be perfectly safe according to the law’s letter, she did not feel easy in our vicinity any more than a thief does in the company of a policeman. And so the captain remarked to the officer of the watch.“‘Mr. Bright,’ said he, ‘the nigger doesn’t mean to stay by us long, even if we can’t touch him.’“The captain always called all slavers ‘niggers’ without discrimination or difference.“Mr. Bright was the second lieutenant, young for his rank, and a man who had won rapid promotion by his decision and intrepidity. His answer was characteristic.“‘And why can’t we touch him?’ he asked, in a meaning sort of way.The captain seemed to understand him perfectly well; but he shook his head gravely.“‘It wouldn’t do, Mr. Bright—it wouldn’t do.’“‘But nothing would ever come of it, sir. Suppose we should take the fellow with the French colours flying, do you really think any complaint would ever reach the French government?’“The captain still shook his head.“‘I don’t know about that, Mr. Bright,’ he said; ‘but I don’t like to do it. The thing would be unprecedented. It’s too bad, too, with the nigger right here in our hands, and we are not at liberty to take hold of him,’ and he strode off towards his cabin.“Yet the lieutenant’s idea seemed still to be working in his mind, for just as he was about to disappear he called out again, ‘Mr. Bright, you may as well shake out an extra rag or two and keep the scoundrel in sight.’ Then he vanished down the stairs muttering something about his extreme curiosity to behold a cursed ‘nigger’ who could get away from the ‘Excellent’ when her blood was up.“So we loitered along after the schooner with what little wind there was, and after breakfast we were surprised by an order coming into the steerage, summoning all the commissioned officers, even of lowest rank, to the captain’s cabin.“We went aft in a hurry and found all assembled around the cabin table, except Mr. Bright, who was still in charge of the deck. Captain Hodge stood at the head of the table. We waited for him to speak.“‘Gentlemen,’ he began, ‘please fill your glasses. And now here’s to the honour and success of the old “Excellent.”’“We drank the toast with great enthusiasm. Then he went on: ‘Gentlemen, it is too bad, it is outrageous, the way things are at present. Here have we been cruising up and down here all summer long and hardly a prize to show for it.“‘And now, here is another blamed nigger right before our face and eyes—we know his hold is full of slaves—we can almost see ’em, and if the wind would haul to west’rd a bit hang me if I don’t believe we could smell ’em—and yet, because the fellow has run up a French flag, we’ve got to lose him. Gentlemen, I repeat, it is outrageous!’“We all asserted clamorously that it was monstrous.“‘And something ought to be done about it,’ continued the old man, waxing warmer and more indignant. ‘Ordinarily, I can somehow manage to stand it, but this fellow has been dodging here for a week with a rascally lie at his peak, and this time I’mnotgoing to stand it.’“The captain paused and wiped his brow with his silk handkerchief.“‘Now, gentlemen,’ he again went on, ‘you all know it was rather duskish last night when we made the fellow show his colours. Are you all perfectly certain what flag it was he hoisted?’“We all kept silent with a puzzled air.“‘That is to say,’ he continued, ‘are you all perfectly certain it was the French flag? There was blue in it and red in it. Now, may there not have been white in it, too? In short, may it not have been the British Jack?’“The captain said this with a queer kind of smile that suddenly betrayed to us his meaning.“Probably he himself was the most scrupulous officer present—indeed, upon him must the whole responsibility rest.“If he chose to run the risk it was hardly probable that any of us would hesitate, especially at what we considered a perfectly justifiable piece of deception.“We had suffered enough already in consequence of this punctiliousness of the home Government about the right of search.“Up spoke little Bradford, of Southampton—“‘I was in the maintop at the time, sir, and my eyesight is very good indeed. I could almost swear it was British colours she showed.’“Several others of us made similar remarks in a jocular kind of way; but the captain interrupted us.“‘This is no joking matter, gentlemen. If we seize that schooner while she is under a foreign flag, we deliberately violate the law of nations, and without doubt run the risk of a national dispute. Yet I intend to seize her—on one condition.’“Here he paused, and looked around the circle of eager faces.“‘Please name it, sir,’ said the first lieutenant, seriously.“‘That each of you pledge me his honour that he will everywhere and under all circumstances, unless under oath, insist upon it that she showed the British flag last night.’“Every man of us immediately declared his willingness to promise this.“‘Mr. Hazleton,’ said the captain to me, ‘will you ask Mr. Bright to step to the companion-way?’“I went on deck and communicated to the second luff the captain’s request. As soon as he appeared, Captain Hodge called out to him—“‘Mr. Bright, are you sure the schooner showed the British flag last night?’“‘The British flag? Why, she—oh! yes, I am quite sure.’“‘Could you swear to it?’“‘I could do anything almost but swear to it.’“‘Very well, sir. Can you come down a moment? Gentlemen, let us once more drink to the honour of the old ship—and remember that that honour should be as dear to us as our own. And now, Mr. Bright, let us overhaul the nigger as soon as possible, for, by the Great Horn Spoon, we’ll have her now if she flies the flag of every nation in Christendom!’“All sail was immediately made on board the ‘Excellent,’ and the slaver, seeing that something was up, and that we evidently meant to overtake her, did her very best to prevent it. But, as the captain had said there were few slavers that could get away from the ‘Excellent’ when she was doing her best, and a light breeze abeam was her best point.“Slowly but surely we overhauled her, and at noon were almost within hailing distance.“The old man was on deck in person, and chose to assume the trumpet and negotiate the whole business himself. He had a powerful voice, and he used it as soon as there was the slightest possibility of its being heard.“‘Come into the wind,’ he cried, ‘or I’ll blow you out of the water.’“‘The stranger held straight on. He either did not or would not understand. But a round shot across his bow brought him to. As we drew nearer he called out in the best of English:“‘By what right do you stop a French vessel?’“‘Go to the pit with your French vessel. You were a British vessel last night. Stand by till we send a boat on board.’“‘Two cutters were manned, and under charge of Lieutenant Bright, dispatched to the schooner. Her papers were examined and her character as a British vessel by an American firm was positively established.“The slaver’s crew were put in irons, but left on board their own vessel. An unusually large prize crew was told off, and, to our surprise, Lieutenant Bright was put in charge of it. He was a favourite with the captain, and we had expected the third or fourth luff would go.“But the truth was, the captain was a trifle nervous about the affair after it was over with, and he was particular about the prize. The schooner’s captain had made a good deal of talk about the matter, swearing that the vessel was not English, and that his government would right the matter for him.“Before Mr. Bright left us for the last time to go on board his new command the captain took him below and had a long talk with him. Then the two came up together, shook hands affectionately, and Mr. Bright went over the side with a farewell nod to us all. Before night the schooner was out of sight to windward.“A year after, the ‘Excellent’ having by that time been ordered home, I learned that Bright took the slaver in all right, but reported that her officers and entire crew had, by some ingenious plan, escaped in the long boat before he got away from the African coast.“Very little had been said about the matter, however, at the navy department, and shortly afterwards Bright had received his promotion. I thought that altogether the thing looked rather strange and I straightway elaborated a theory of my own about the matter.“By Captain Hodge’s orders Bright had probably put the schooner’s company on shore before going to sea. The captain thought, I suppose, that they would be less likely to give any trouble about our ‘violation of the British flag,’ if left in Africa.“And, as I believe, Bright took home with him from the captain letters to the Secretary of the Admiralty (a personal friend of his) explaining the whole matter and recommending Bright for promotion. At any rate, he was promoted, and we never heard anything more from the captain of the slaver.”“Ah, those were times, sir,” said Sir William Leathbridge. “Happily for the world they have long since passed away.”“There are a few white slaves in this country, I believe,” said the captain, carelessly.“That may be; but they are not slaves in the sense we allude to. Many men are slaves to habit; indeed, most of us are, but that is very different to being bought and sold like beasts of burthen.”“Perhaps I have not duly considered the question,” returned the captain.“I do not say that for a moment; on the contrary, no man has had better opportunities than yourself to thoroughly understand the subject, and I take it we are not likely to disagree on its general bearings.”“I hope not, I am sure,” said Captain Crasher. “But the evil has passed away, and none of us here, I expect, would wish a return of the old times. Our American cousins have endorsed the opinion expressed by the people of this country, and it redounds to their credit that they have followed the excellent example set by the ‘Britishers,’ as they term them.”A desultory conversation followed, in which many of the company took part, and soon after this it was announced by the hostess that the concert was about to commence.Many of the guests had by this time betaken themselves to the apartment where the musical performances were to be given, and the remaining portion of the company rose from their seats and sauntered into the concert-room. They dispersed themselves in groups on the chairs and couches placed around for their reception.A young lady was conducted to the piano by Signor Marouski, who was, in addition to being one of the chief performers, also master of the ceremonies, or musical director.The young lady commenced with what might be termed a bombardment of the instrument. Then she ran over the keys with a rapidity which was perfectly electrifying.It was a show piece she was playing—its name, however, did not transpire. It had the effect of creating astonishment, and that was all she looked for.She was, of course, complimented, and then retired to give place to a young man with weak eyes and a pale face, who stepped forward to sing a tenor song.His voice appeared to be weak as well as his eyes, but its tone was sympathetic, and he sang correctly, and with a certain amount of feeling which went to the hearts of his hearers.A trio for the harp, violin, and piano followed. It was a little too long perhaps, but was very well executed—by artists who were, evidently, well up to their work.Lady Marvlynn’s protégée, Miss Arabella Lovejoyce, was now brought forward by Lord Fitzbogleton. She took her place by the piano, and her master, Signor Marouski, sat down to the instrument for the purpose of playing the accompaniment.He began by executing a prelude of a most difficult and elaborate nature, after which the vocalist commenced a bravura from one of the well-known operas.This she attacked with force and vigour, and it was difficult for anyone to determine exactly which to admire most, the signor or his pupil, for they were both so terribly in earnest.Lady Marvlynn was charmed. The fair Arabella, she afterwards declared, surpassed herself; anyway she did not let the grass grow under her feet, but poured forth roulade after roulade in a most energetic and earnest manner. Her voice was a little thin and sharp—censorious people might say even piercing—but that did not so much matter—she got through her piece creditably, and was, of course, highly complimented at its close.“By Jove,” said Lord Fitzbogleton, “you are weally quite as accomplished a singer as the vewy best professional. My dear Miss Lovejoyce, I am quite enchanted.”“Oh, pray don’t,” said the pretty pet; “how foolish you make me look, my lord!”“Foolish! What a remarkable observation! Foolish, indeed! You ought to be pwoud. I know I should be if I had a tithe of your ability.”“Oh, my lord, you are a flatterer, I do believe,” cried Lady Marvlynn, coming to the rescue; “but of course I know that anything my dear Arabella attempts to do is sure to please you.”“Indeed you are mistaken, Lady Marvlynn,” said the young nobleman; “I am a most wigid cwitic, I assure you.”The speaker conducted the fair Arabella to her seat, and Signor Marouski seated himself once more at the piano; he was about to favour the company with a long scena from a popular opera.He began by playing a long monotonous prelude of a weird-like character; to judge from the sounds produced the inference would very naturally be that some one was in a state of deep dejection, or it might be despair or agony.Presently he sang, in a sonorous voice, three prolonged notes. These were repeated several times, and were succeeded by a jerky, quick movement; this appeared to be a sort of recitative or prelude, for the notation was soon of a changed character—still, however, wailing and melancholy, or it might be said depressing.That clever entertainer, Frederick Maccabe, says, when performing the rôle of a street minstrel—“Why, lor bless you, there aint much occasion to hunderstand much about music wen you plays to a west-end audience; as long as you play somethink melancholy it’s sure to go down with the hupper classes.”Perhaps Signor Marouski was of the same opinion. Anyway, he acted in accordance with Maccabe’s instructions.It was a Wagnerian piece he was executing, and many present declared it to be grand and magnificent. Whether they were able to comprehend its precise meaning it would not be so easy to determine.However, the Italian professor sang on.He evidently threw his whole heart into his work. He was a sound musician and an admirable vocalist, but he was imbued with the notion that the “music of the future” was the right sort of thing.When he came to a conclusion many gave a suppressed sigh of relief, and many expressed their satisfaction by exclaiming, “Grand! splendid! remarkably fine!”“What think you, Sir Eric?” cried one, addressing himself to Aveline’s husband.“Oh, if you ask me my opinion,” cried the baronet, “I must tell you plainly that I consider all this fuss about Wagner is quite out of place.”“Oh, my dear Sir Eric,” said Lady Marvlynn, “you don’t know what you say, I’m sure.”“Don’t I, though?” returned he. “I most certainly do. I consider it humbug. I don’t profess to be an accomplished musician and am perhaps not a competent judge. Why, Lord bless us, I’m old enough to remember the time when this man’s music was laughed at and scouted in this country.”“That’s right enough,” observed Captain Smither Smythe. “What a thing is popularity—or becoming the fashion would perhaps be the better term! The English public are afflicted every now and then with a sort of mad infatuation for eccentricity, and are apt to applaud to the very echo things they do not understand. As a proof of this I have only to refer to thefurorefor the Italian actor, Salvini. They made a god of him for a season, and then left him to flicker out and return to his native country a sadder and a wiser man. Doubtless he was duly impressed with the fleeting nature of popularity. Now it is the fashion to have a craze for a composer whose works are incomprehensible to me, and whose beauties are effectually hidden, as far as I am individually concerned.”“Really, gentlemen,” said Lady Marvlynn, “you are paying Signor Marouski but a poor compliment.”“Pardon me,” said Sir William Leathbridge, “we owe and pay tribute to the talents of the professor. What we are discussing is the merits of Wagner.”Marouski now endeavoured to explain to the company what Wagner had endeavoured to express in the piece he had just executed, and wound up by declaring that the German composer was a great genius.“I admit my inability to appreciate his beauties,” said Sir Eric Batershall, “still I am not singular in the opinion I have formed. In an admirably-written article in a periodical a month or two ago the writer sets forth that, ‘Whereas Mozart’s opera music has been the delight of every concert goer since the day when it was first written—and this, irrespective of the scenes to which it belongs—Herr Wagner’s vocal phrases, detached from the pictures they illustrate, can only strike the ear as so much cacophonous jargon, in which every principle of nature and grace has been outraged, partly owing to poverty of invention and absence of all feeling for the beautiful—partly owing to the arrogant tyrany of a false and forced theory.”“These are strong expressions, I admit,” said the baronet; “but not a bit too strong, excepting for the fanatics who have set up the Wagnerian idol, and would coerce the rest of the world into the worship of the fantastic creed they have adopted, just the same as the craze for the pre-Raphaelite school of painting, as it was termed, was endeavoured to be forced on the art-loving world many years ago.”“That is true enough,” said Mr. Downbent; “it was a craze.”“A sort of epidemic,” returned the baronet; “but hear me for a moment or so. Speaking of Herr Wagner’s profuse musical dialogue, and particularly in relation to ‘Das Rheingold,’ the writer says, ‘The recitative in which the scenes are conducted is throughout dry, unvocal, and uncouth, but Glück might never have written to show how truth in declamation may be combined with beauty of form, variety of instrumental support, and advantageous presentiment of the actors who have to tell a story.’”“Ah, but you English cannot bear to listen to long descriptive recitative passages,” cried Marouski.“I admit that as a rule they don’t care about them. Still a great many persons who listen to Wagner’s operas will feel the force of the observations I have just quoted. His interminable dialogues, his annihilation of pleasant comprehensible form of music, and his systematic crushing out of melody from his compositions, must eventually cure the musical public, or the small section of it who are with him, of their unhealthy craze. In the meantime, his operas, ‘dry’ as they usually are, will be revived in the course of the operatic season, and among them ‘Tannhäuser’ is of course excepted. In this work there are long dreary passages to wade through, with little else by way of compensation than the gorgeousness of themise en scène. The professional march is truly an inspiration, and in the ‘Chant of the Pilgrims,’ Tannhäuser’s ‘Hymn to Venus,’ and the shepherds’ song, concessions are made to those who demand continuous understandable melody. For these indulgences we cannot be sufficiently grateful, and must congratulate ourselves that ‘Tannhäuser’ belongs to Wagner’s middle period, and not to his later style, from which tune is rigorously excluded.”Signor Marouski smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.“Ah,” said he, “it is always difficult for a grand original genius to make himself understood or to be fully appreciated by the public.”“There are a number of musical geniuses whose works have been popular in this country,” observed Smythe, “but I don’t expect we shall agree upon this subject; and we have to apologise to our kind hostess for thus interrupting the concert.”“I like to listen to discussions of this sort,” returned Marouski, “because I believe that the English people have a much greater love for good music than foreign nations give them credit for. However, as you don’t care about Wagner,” he added with a smile, “I will give you something from an opera by one of my own countrymen.”Marouski sat down to the piano once more, and sang a recitative air from one of Rossini’s operas. He executed it in a manner which was beyond all praise, and the contrast it afforded to his first performance was so powerful that his audience found it difficult to believe that it was the same singer they were listening to. The Italian professor was applauded most vociferously and was evidently well pleased with his success.“Now you must not tell me, signor, that the last piece is not a hundred per cent better than the first,” cried Sir Eric Batershall.“It all depends upon taste. Each is good in its own particular way.”Lady Batershall or Aveline, as we have been accustomed to call her, was now conducted to the piano.She sang a simple ballad with such pathos and with so much feeling that the assembled guests were deeply moved.After a few more pieces had been performed and songs sung, the musical entertainment was brought to a close.The conversation became general, the topics discussed were various, and a vast amount of knowledge was displayed by the speakers in what might with truth be termed a most delightful convivial discussion.Among the company was a learned professor—a great naturalist who had been in many parts of the world—he had been somewhat taciturn during the earlier portion of the day, but Captain Smithers Smythe, who had resided in India for some years, drew him out, and an animated conversation followed upon the great Indian Empire. Professor Mainwaring had a number of interesting anecdotes to tell, and finally concluded with the following narrative:—“You see,” said he, “it is a good many years ago now since I was lost in the forest, but every minute incident, captain, is green in my recollection, aye, as if it occurred but yesterday.”“I can readily understand that.”“Well, it was an oppressively hot day, in the very height of summer, when Carter and myself pitched our tent in a secluded forest tract of land, near the head waters of the Chenaub. I dare say you know the river?”“Oh, perfectly well,” returned Smythe. “You had some fellows with you, I suppose.”“Dear me, yes. Our party consisted of three native servants, besides coolies, who had been engaged at the last village to carry the baggage.”“And who would run away at the first approach of danger,” said Smythe.“They were men you could not place implicit trust in, I must confess. Well, our route lay along a rugged pathway by the side of the river, through dense forests of pine and cedar which clothed its banks to the water’s edge, and spread their great branches across its bosom until they nearly met in mid stream.“A more perfect solitude could scarcely be imagined; indeed, excepting a few birds and a solitary black bear I had slain, when busily engaged performing his toilette in a brook, not another large animal had been seen for several days since leaving the verdant mountain glades of Cashmere.“Whilst my companion and servants were employed in pegging and stretching out the bear’s skin—an operation requiring to be performed when the hide is fresh, as otherwise it will shrivel up and become rotten—I took advantage of the delay, and seizing my gun, strolled through the forest in quest of novelties in the beast or bird line, being then engaged in making collections of the natural objects of the country.“I had not proceeded far before the fresh run of musk deer indicated the proximity of that animal, which, like the hare, is partial to localities, and may be often discovered by following its footprints.“I accordingly pushed further and further into the forest, in expectation of meeting a musk at any turn, and until it became evident that my hopes were not to be realised, when finally, getting tired of tracking, I gave up the pursuit, and set off in quest of rare birds.“Here and there the harsh screams of the speckled nutcracker and yellow grosbeak drew me away in opposite directions, until, after devious swervings to the right and left, it suddenly dawned on me that my pocket compass had been forgotten. What was to be done? In what direction lay the river? It was useless attempting to retrace my footsteps, for, what between the hard nature of the ground, and my soft grass shoes, anything like an impression was impossible.“I pulled out my watch to find it was four o’clock, thus leaving three hours of daylight. So now in which direction should I proceed? These and many anxious thoughts flashed across my mind, when, shouldering the gun, I stared about for a way more likely than another in the dismal gloom; but not one opening or indication seemed preferable to the rest.“How often I had changed front since starting could not be surmised; however, a conviction arose in my mind that the way back to camp did not lie in front of the position in which I stood at that moment, accordingly I wheeled about, and set off at full speed in an exactly opposite direction.“At first a straight ahead course seemed the proper one, but after a time it was apparent that I had been unconsciously bearing off too much to the left, and, as there was a gentle slope in that direction, a feeling kept constantly increasing that this was the watershed of the Chenaub, for the sound of whose troubled waters I stopped constantly to listen, but in vain.“Uneasiness now grew apace, with the cravings of hunger, whilst the sun declined, and finally the glare on the tree tops vanished, leaving an obscurity which was soon doomed to blacken into night.”No.75.Illustration: PEACE AND THE FOOTMAN FALLLINKED IN FIERCE STRUGGLE, PEACE AND THE FOOTMAN FALL FROM THE WINDOW.“What a position to be in!” cried Smythe. “Indian forests, as a rule, are not the safest places in the world for a man to put up at, or bivouac in for the night. Beasts of prey, to say nothing of snakes or serpents, are to be found there in abundance.”“Yes, that is true enough, but, luckily, I did not consider all these things. Still, I frankly confess, that the idea of being lost in a forest made my blood run cold. I could not discern any river, and the idea occurred to me that I might be walking away from it.”“How dreadful!” exclaimed an old lady in a turban, who was listening to the narrative. “Most dreadful, indeed.”“Yes, madam, it was not by any means agreeable, to say the least of it,” returned the professor. “Of course, I need not tell you that I did not know very well what to be at, or how to shape my course, since I was quite out of my reckoning. At length, being perplexed, and not knowing anything about the track I was following, I halted in front of a large cedar. This I determined to climb; my object in doing this was to see if I could, from the upper branches of the tree, discern any object in the distance which might serve as a guide to deliver me out of the labyrinth into which I had got entangled.”“And did you ascend the tree?” inquired the captain.“Most certainly I did; but I was no wiser; from its very highest branches I could only discern one unbroken forest, and so I descended with despair at my heart, and a foreboding of evil for the future, for by this time I must tell you, that I felt my physical strength giving way. What with fatigue, want of food, and the exertion of climbing the tree, I was pretty well done over.”“A gone coon.”“Precisely. Very much gone, and very despairing also.”“My situation was melancholy and desperate to the last degree. If I had had any companion, anybody to share my troubles, matters would not have been so bad, but I had not a living creature, not even a dog, for my companion, and the solitude was well-nigh insupportable.”“Oh, yes, the beauties of nature are all very well in their way,” said Smythe, “and I, for one, am a great admirer of them, but not alone. One wants company in cases of this sort. Enoch Arden felt that in his tropical island.”“As darkness drew near,” said the professor, “while seated on a rugged piece of stone, I counted every percussion cap, bullet, and charge of powder. An idea flashed across my brain that by firing off a few shots at intervals and following each report by loud shoutings it might just happen that my companion and the native ‘shikari’ would discover my whereabouts. Indeed, a presentiment clung to me all along that the camp could not be at any very great distance. How anxiously I listened for a response after every report, whilst my throat ached again with shouting, and how I kept hoping against hope, until all hope seemed to have vanished with the daylight, and now not even the noise of an insect or the murmur of the tree-tops broke the dismal stillness. I had been on my feet for upwards of twelve hours, without intermission, and seeing it was nearly midnight I determined to give up the fruitless struggle, so stretching out my wearied limbs on the hard ground, and placing the gun by my side, I settled down, tired, hungry, and anxious, but still anticipating that the morrow would bring my deliverance.”“My word, but it is a wonder you escaped with your life,” said Sir William.“It does seem a wonder, I confess; but it does not necessarily follow that beasts of prey were lurking about, as our friend remarked; and, indeed, such could not have been the case, or I should not have been here to tell the story.“Utterly exhausted, I fell into a sound sleep, which lasted several hours; when awaking I found day breaking, with the wind howling through the branches overhead.“To repair the grass sandals and load with buckshot was the work of a few minutes, when I was once more on my feet and off on the anxious journey.“Now pushing through underwood; now carefully treading over prostrate rotten stems; here getting foul of dependent branches; then brought to a standstill by a huge patriarch of the forest.“At length, after wandering for some time, the spoor of a musk deer was visible, and in a few minutes the little creature jumped up before me and fell dead with the contents of my gun in its side.“Soon a fire was made in the usual native way by see-sawing a slow match in a handful of dried grass or leaves, when, cutting steaks from, the haunch and stringing them together on a twig, I roasted and devoured my kabobs with avidity, for, considering that no food had crossed my lips since the previous morning, it would be doing small justice to my appetite to say that I felt other than ravenous.“However, the savoury repast made me feel wonderfully refreshed, and with a haunch of venison on my shoulder, I proceeded once more through the wilderness of pine trunks, looking intently in every direction for the slightest indication of a stream or a water parting.“The absence of animal life in the depths of the forest has been frequently observed, and may no doubt be owing to the want of subsistence for the majority of herbivorous quadrupeds.“However, as I trudged along from the denser to the more sparsely wooded parts, in expectation that a clearing would suddenly open out the country, and show the way towards the river, a musk deer would now and then spring out of some bush, and, in the intervals between its fantastic mode of jumping, would stop and turn round and stare at me in bewilderment, as if it had never seen a human being before.”“Well, I must confess,” observed Smythe, “that does appear to be most remarkable. I should have thought that ‘tree tigers,’ as we term them, would have been there in abundance.”“I saw none, and if there were any they did not trouble me.”“You were a most fortunate man.”“Possibly so. No doubt I was.“The time must now have been about mid-day, when I came to a gap in the forest, occasioned by the fall of several spruces. Here, whilst examining the spot, a horrible feeling came over me that I had passed the identical opening shortly before dark on the previous day, so that as I pushed along I could not help muttering to myself, ‘I am walking in a circle. This comes of always trending towards the left.’“I consequently started in an opposite direction, and soon found myself on an incline, and before another hour had gained a small torrent, the bed of which was choked up by tall bracken and wild balsams, from whence numbers of the gorgeously attired Monal pheasants rose and fled down the glen, with the metallic sheen of their gorgeous plumage glistening in the sunshine.“Here, virtually, my troubles seemed to have come to an end for ever. Since the stream was discovered, hopes grew stronger and stronger that if I could follow it up there would be an end to my anxieties.“At length the narrow gorge gave way to an open valley, and, listening now and then, I fancied I could catch the murmur of distant waters, until the sound finally ended in a continuous roar, and I found myself on a footpath, with the Chenaub rolling rapidly along its rocky bed.“One problem, however, remained unsolved, ‘Was my tent up or down stream?’ Now considering the sameness of the scenery, and very irregular, not to say eccentric, windings of mountain footpaths in general, and Himalayan foot-tracks in particular, it would have taken a greater experience of wilderness ways than I could then command to have recognised one object more than another, along the route I had trodden on the way from Cashmere.“Nevertheless, expecting that footprints might turn up on softer parts of the path, I searched for such indications of man, but without success, and the forest on either side gave no token of commanding positions from whence a survey could be made; consequently, only one of two alternatives remained, either to push up or down the river bank.“I selected the latter, and after devouring a portion of the venison and pitching the remainder into the river, I pushed down the pathway, in the belief that I must have struck the river above my camp, which might turn up at any minute.“In this expectation I was sadly deceived, inasmuch as hour succeeded hour, and no trace of my little canvas home became apparent.“The footpath, moreover, was not always safe; sometimes it ran across a beetling precipice, at others I had to wade streams; finally it led away from the river into the gloomy forest, where at dusk, after clambering up a ledge of rock, I found myself on the brink of a crag, with the river rushing furiously below.“To have proceeded further that night seemed only to risk one’s life, as every minute increased the inability to pick my way in the darkness; so once more all the pangs of hunger and disappointment came back in terrible reality, alloyed, however, with a consolation that I was at all events on the right track.“The venison I had thrown into the river now rose before my mind, as supperless and disappointed I lighted a fire and discharged my gun, following each report by prolonged outcries, such as the natives of these parts are wont to hail each other with from opposite sides of ravines.“But it happened that a sudden bend of the river a short distance above the eminence on which I stood broke the sounds, and sent them back in clear echoes one after another.”“And did no one come to your assistance, Mr. Mainwaring?” inquired Avaline, anxiously.“Not at that time, my dear lady; but of course my gun was the only means that I had of giving an indication of my whereabouts. I concluded, naturally enough, that my friends would be on the alert and institute a search for me. Carter, I knew, would never rest till he had ascertained what had become of me, and I need not tell you that the report of a discharged weapon carries much further than the most powerful human voice, but I made use of both, and soon got quite hoarse from continually shouting.“The shades of night had now gathered in, when, piling faggot upon faggot, I sat myself down by the blazing fire, and ruminated on what a new day might bring forth. At length, with blighted hopes, and fairly worn out, I once more hugged the gun, and, coiling myself up by the fireside, fell into a deep sleep.“I was suddenly awoke by some one exclaiming, ‘Sahib, Sahib!’ and, starting up, found my native hunter, Eli Shah, standing by my side. He had been wandering through the forest all day, and was returning to the tent when my fire attracted him.“‘O master,’ he exclaimed, ‘we all thought you were dead;’ and, untying his girdle, he handed me a parcel of sandwiches. ‘This all comes of your not taking your “magic watch” with you;’ the name by which he and my other hill servants designated the compass. When I came to reckon the distance between our encampment and the point where I had struck the river, it was found I had wandered upwards of five miles northwards of the former.“Thus ended a foolish adventure, which none but a tyro in wilderness wandering would have committed; nevertheless, it was not the last of similar mishaps that subsequently occurred to me in other and far-distant regions, when carried away by the excitement of the chase, and that wild enthusiasm in which the student of nature is prone to indulge.”
“There was at the time I paid a visit to our American cousins,” said Sir William, “a sharp, clever fellow named Dixon. He had gained a considerable amount of reputation as a detective, and I believe he well deserved the encomiums passed upon him. Any way, as far as I could judge, he was a remarkably acute man, and he was in addition to this a civil and obliging officer.
No.74.
Illustration: MISS LOVEJOYCE AND THE PROFESSORMISS ARABELLA LOVEJOYCE AND THE PROFESSOR DELIGHT THE COMPANY.
MISS ARABELLA LOVEJOYCE AND THE PROFESSOR DELIGHT THE COMPANY.
“The case which I am about to present to you does not, perhaps, possess what I may term the romantic interest of my friend Smythe’s story; but it has, nevertheless, something to recommend it, since it serves to show how quickly retribution followed the commission of a horrible crime.
“My story is that of a dead traveller found in a train.
“The train stopped at Dexham’s bleak depot long enough to permit a man to spring from the drizzling gloom upon the platform of the through coach, whose doors were locked. The conductor, ensconced from the rain in the express car, did not see the new acquisition to his list of passengers, and the man standing on the platform seemed to be congratulating himself on the success of what he wished to call secrecy.
“When the train moved from the station, whose night-clerk slept in his dimly-lighted office, the unknown passenger quietly drew a brass key from his pocket, and unlocked the door of the coach. When he closed it again, himself inside, it was locked as before.
“He found the car lighted by three lamps, and seemingly deserted. Not a head protruded above the seats, and the air of desolation filled the place. He heard the rain now falling in earnest, beating against the windows, beyond whose panes the blackness of darkness reigned.
“Not far from the fireless stove the new passenger seated himself, and began to brush his hat with a handkerchief. He was in the midst of his work when something like a groan startled him, and he stopped. Leaning forward, he listened keenly, and at length rose and walked down the aisle.
“He seemed satisfied that he had heard a human groan, for he looked into and between the seats, and it was near the forward door that he suddenly came to a halt.
“He stood over a man whose head rested on the crimson cushions of the seat, but whose body lay on the floor.
“From the white lips beneath the silent spectator had proceeded the startling groan, and the eyes moved once when they caught sight of him.
“The unknown passenger regarded the scene for a moment before he stirred a limb. Then he bent over the recumbent man, and with no little difficulty assisted him to the seat.
“‘I say it’s no use after your murderous blows,’ said the stricken one, seeming to regard the new passenger as his mortal enemy. ‘You need not strike me again.’
“‘I never struck you,’ replied the passenger, with a faint smile. ‘My kind sir, you have mistaken the person. Will you not tell me how all this came about?’
“It was quite evident that the wounded traveller was near unto death. One quiver after another passed over his frame, and once or twice after speaking he gasped for breath. The single spectator saw this and put his hand on his shoulder.
“‘I will avenge you!’ he said, stooping over the dying traveller. ‘Tell me who did it; I am a detective.’
“The deathly eyes fixed their stare upon him, and when he saw the white lips move he put his ear down to them.
“‘Tell Natalie—Natalie—tell her that—God pity me!’
“With the last word the traveller’s head fell back upon the detective’s hand, and the gurgle of death ran up his throat. Then he turned his face from the light, and the rain-drops that came through a hole in the pane fell upon a dead man’s brow.
“‘Curse the stupid luck!’ said the detective, standing erect. ‘He would have told me, I am sure, and my case would not have been difficult. But let me see what I can find upon him by which to work, for I swear I will hunt to the death the man who killed the traveller.’
“An examination of the dead man’s pockets revealed nothing concerning his identity, and the detective looked puzzled.
“He found an empty pocket-book and a watch; but they did him no good.
“The man had probably reached his thirtieth year; his hair and well-dressed beard were light, and his lifeless eyes a beautiful blue.
“He was well dressed, but there was no show of ostentation about his garments.
“After the search the detective unlocked the front door of the coach, and with another key which he drew from his pocket unlocked the express car.
“Stepping boldly into it, he startled the messenger, whose hands flew to an inner pocket when he beheld the unsummoned intruder, but no pistol was drawn.
“‘No shooting, Tobey,’ said the detective, and the messenger, recognising the voice, came forward with extended hands.
“‘You take a fellow by surprise, Dixon. I might have shot you.’
“‘Oh! I guess not,’ laughed the detective. ‘Where’s Golden?’
“‘Asleep in yon corner.’
“Dixon stepped forward, and waked a good-looking man, who had fallen asleep on several bales of gunny-cloth.
“‘You’ve got a dead man on the train,’ Dixon said to the conductor, when he opened his eyes.
“‘A dead man!’ cried the express messenger, before the conductor, recovering from his sleep, could utter a single ejaculation.
“‘A man as dead as Chelsea! Come and see him.’
“The messenger picked up a lantern, and the two left the car.
“‘I recollect him,” said the conductor Golden, looking at the dead traveller. ‘He boarded the train at Monterey, and was my only through passenger. There’s two stabs in his left breast! You’ve noticed them, I suppose?’
“‘Oh, yes—nothing ever escapes me,’ replied the detective, with a smile. ‘Do not either of you gentlemen know aught about him?’
“The messenger shook his head without replying, and the conductor said—
“‘I’ve met him once or twice before. I think his name is Hardesty. Concerning his home or his people, I know nothing.’
“A few minutes later, on some sacks stretched on the floor of the express-car, lay the dead traveller. The lamplight fell over his pale face and rendered it ghastly, like the faces of corpses.
“Conductor Golden said that the mystery of the passenger’s death puzzled him. He was sure that no other person tenanted the fatal coach when he locked it, after taking up the only through ticket, and giving the proper check.
“The theory of suicide was discussed, but abandoned, as no weapons were found on the passenger’s person. The messenger recollected a certain robbery of the company’s car works several years prior to the fatal night, and stated that a number of coach keys were then taken.
“In all probability some person in possession of one of those keys had entered the coach at some station, murdered the unknown passenger while the train was in motion, and made good his escape.
“This theory satisfied messenger and conductor, but not the detective.
“‘Gentlemen,’ he said, calmly, ‘this man was killed by an old enemy. His watch, worth at least two hundred dollars, remains on his person, but everything else has been removed. The murderer has carefully removed all traces of his identity, but his shrewdness shall avail him naught. For I tell you,’ the speaker’s cold but piercing eyes were fixed on Golden, ‘I tell you,’ he repeated, ‘that I will hunt him down and make him pay dearly for his terrible work.’
“‘Your hand on that,’ said the conductor, putting forth his hand, and the men clasped.
“‘Why, there’s blood on your hand!’ suddenly said Dixon, noting a crimson spot on Golden’s member. ‘I’ve a mind to arrest you,’ he added, with a smile.
“‘Do so, and hunt no further for your man,’ returned the conductor. ‘I had my hand in the dead man’s bosom, hence the gore on my skin. But do you think you’ll ever catch the perpetrator of the deed?’
“‘Catch him!” cried Dixon. ‘In my detective life I have never followed a man in vain. John Golden, you have heard of me in the capacity of a man-hunter, and I promise that you shall be present at the death of your passenger’s assassin.’
“‘Good! I accept the invitation implied in your words; and Tobey—is he included?’
“‘Certainly,’ answered Dixon, with a faint smile; and then the conversation was interrupted by the whistle of the engine.
“‘We’re running into Dayton,’ said the messenger, taking up his book. ‘I put off a parcel here that is not entered on the books,’ and he glanced from the detective to the corpse.
“The coroner’s inquest elicited no new facts concerning the dead passenger. The usual verdict that ‘the deceased had come to his death at the hands of some person or persons unknown to the jury’ appeared in the morning papers. During the day many people viewed the corpse in the coroner’s office, but it was not recognised.
“Dixon, the detective, kept about the office the entire day. He scrutinised the face of each viewer of the corpse, and assisted to put the dead into the coffin after office hours. Many people wondered who that strange and commonplace man in the office was, never dreaming that he one was one of the keenest detectives in the United States.
“He left the office at eleven o’clock and passed under the gaslight towards the Merchants’ Hotel. This resort was in a distant part of the city, and to gain it the detective would be obliged to traverse a portion of the metropolis infested with thieves, gamblers, debauchees, and wicked people generally. He had traversed it before, unarmed, and did not fear its denizens.
“He set forth alone, and had gained the nearest and best portion of the infested district, when a hand was laid on his arm. He stopped and beheld a young girl looking up into his face.
“‘Well, miss?’ he said, in a tone that reassured the person, for she came nearer.
“‘I saw you in the coroner’s office; but I was afraid to come in,’ she said. ‘I looked in from the curb, and ran off when I thought you were looking at me. Sir, I would like to see him before they give him an unknown grave. He was my brother.’
“Dixon started and turned full upon the pale, sorrowful girl.
“‘Your brother?’ he cried. ‘What is your name?’
“‘Natalie Green.’
“‘Natalie!’
“It was the last name pronounced by the murdered traveller; and the detective was startled at finding its possessor so soon.
“‘Where do you live?’ he asked.
“‘In a house two blocks down this street. Oh! sir, do not think me one of the sinning. I am not. He drew me from home, and I had not the hardihood to return. I could not face father, though I have not fallen, and brother George, the dead, has been hunting me ever since.’
“‘Natalie, this is no place for conversation,’ said the detective. ‘In your home you must tell me the whole story. You know what I am, girl?’
“‘Yes, a detective,’ she replied. ‘They don’t like such as you in these parts.’
“‘I reckon not,’ he said, with a smile, and together they walked down the street.
“What followed I need not detail here; thedenouementof my story will tell you.
“One autumn night, three months later, a man boarded a train as it was leaving a country station.
“The night was the counterpart of the one that witnessed the finding of the dying passenger in the coach, and the person who had nimbly leaped upon the platform unlocked the car with thesang froidof a privileged person.
“He passed through the well-filled coach, and presently faced the messenger, who was at cards with the conductor. Both men started when they beheld the newcomer; but they soon recognised him and gave him a friendly hand.
“‘No man yet,’ said Conductor Golden, with a light laugh, as he looked up into their visitor’s face. ‘The trail is long, and will in time, no doubt, grow tiresome.’
“‘But I have reached the end of it!’ said the detective, seriously, and the conductor rose to his feet.
“‘Good!’ he exclaimed. “Tobey, we will drink to Dixon’s success.’
“‘You must drink soon, then,’ was the reply, and a revolver quietly slipped from the detective’s pocket.
“‘John Golden,’ he continued, ‘I arrest you for the murder of George Green. You allured his sister, Natalie, from her home, and swore to kill him because he followed you. That vow you have kept: you met him in your through coach, the night was dark, and he your sole passenger. Then and there you imbrued your hands with blood, and removed from his person traces of his identity. Deny not the charges, for I am prepared to prove each and every one! Tobey, there are a brace of handcuffs in my pocket.’
“The astonished messenger moved towards the detective, when with a cry of horror the conductor leaped to the half-open express door.
“Dixon sprang forward to arrest him, but was too late.
“The train struck a bridge as the form of the conductor disappeared, and messenger and detective gazed blankly into each other’s faces.
“‘Dead?’ asked Dixon.
“‘Dead!’ responded Tobey. ‘If he missed the beams he fell into the river eighty feet below us.’
“‘Well, let him go!’ said the detective. ‘He is the assassin of the man from whose home he allured a sister.’
“The body of John Golden was never found. Among his papers at his boarding-house in the city was found a memorandum book belonging to George Green, and other articles that Natalie identified.
“Thus was the mystery that hung over the dead traveller cleared, and I have but to add that Natalie returned home, and after the lapse of two years, became the wife of no less a person than Jerome Dixon.”
“It is very much to be regretted,” said theRev.Mr. Downbent, “that the detectives of this country are not able to unravel the many mysteries which of late have been presented to us in the metropolis. Indeed, to say the truth, they appear to be grossly at fault in this respect.”
“We shall never do any good, sir,” observed Sir William, “till a better class of men are employed, and, I may add, prompter and more stringent measures are taken to check crimes of this nature. I have come to that conclusion years ago, and recent events have strengthened me in the opinion I have formed.”
“It is a most melancholy state of affairs,” said Lady Marvlynn. “I don’t pretend to be a competent judge of such matters, but everyone must admit that it reflects no credit on a country which is perhaps the most opulent and civilised community in the whole world.”
“You are right, my dear lady Marvlynn,” returned Sir William. “The number of murders committed of late in this country that we know of is bad enough, seeing that the perpetrators of these crimes are never discovered, even to say nothing about their being convicted; and then how many are there perpetrated which are never brought to light in any shape whatever?”
“This reflection is a most painful one. Looking at the matter with an unprejudiced eye, we must confess that this country has not so much to boast of after all. It is true we put down the traffic in human flesh. We abolished slavery—that is something to our credit.”
“Yes, but at what cost, Sir William?” cried Captain Crasher.
“Never mind the cost. It was done—and effectually done.”
“After much cost both in money and men,” said Crasher. “As we are all of us in what I may call an anecdotal or story-telling vein to-day, I will, if you please, tell you a story of the African slave trade.”
“Oh, do; there’s a good, dear soul!” cried Lady Marvlynn.
“By all means, madam, if our friends are agreeable.”
Everybody declared that they would esteem it a favour if the captain would go ahead; so he at once rushed into the following narrative:—
“Now I am going to tell you a story about ‘The Right of Search,’” said Crasher.
“The events I am about to describe,” said he, “date back to a period twenty years ago, at which time I was but a newly-appointed midshipman—the youngster of the larboard steerage-mess of the ship of war ‘Excellent,’ Captain David Hodge.
“As they relate to the right of search as applied to slavers, those of you who are familiar with the subject will pardon a word of explanation for the benefit of those who are not.
“Slaving not being reckoned as piracy by the law of nations at the time to which I allude, no ship was permitted to search another, even though the latter were positively known to be loaded with negroes, unless the two vessels carried the same flag.
“Consequently, any slaver when pursued, if aware of her pursuer’s nationality, might run up a foreign flag, and sail coolly away under its protection, her enemy being entirely powerless in the matter.
“This was the state of affairs from the treaty for the mutual suppression of the African slave trade between Great Britain and the United States, in 1842, down to the treaty of 1862, which to some slight extent mended the matter.
“The ‘Excellent’ had been cruising off the Guinean coast, particularly about the region between Cape Three Points and the Bight of Benin, for upwards of four months now, and nothing to speak of had come of it.
“To be sure, we had all been ashore once or twice to call on the King of Dahomey, the best misrepresentative of royalty to be found on the western coast at that time, and he had dined us deliciously on shelled peanuts, and pledged our professional health in deep draughts of his villainoussego.
“But of our legitimate business in that part of the world we had done little or nothing.
“Nor was this exactly for lack of opportunity. We knew very well that the rascally old potentate was trading off his subjects at the rate of a thousand or so every two or three weeks.
“We would even lie there sometimes and see a slaver go to sea, knowing that her decks below were crowded with miserable negroes. But if we made a movement to pursue, up would go a Spanish or French flag, and all we could do was to let her severely alone.
“Once, indeed, we did circumvent one of them most beautifully.
“We had followed her up when she put out of the river until she showed the stars and stripes, and then, as the breeze was light and the night a promising one, the old man ordered out the barge and sent an officer up to Elmina, ten miles above us, to inform a Yankee sloop of war which we knew to be there. We hung to the slaver all night with the ship, and just at day break, sure enough, there was the American making for her with all sail spread.
When the fellow saw her, he thought to get out of it by running up a French flag, but at this—since change of flag is presumably evidence of fraud—we both pounced upon him, and in half an hour had his crew in irons.
“But that wasn’t the story I started to tell. As I say, we were not always as fortunate as that, and after weeks and weeks of hot weather and no prizes, the whole ship’s company began to grow desperate.
“One evening, just before twilight came on—or what would be twilight if they had such a thing in those latitudes—we were standing idly along up towards Coast Castle, when a sail was reported as seen over the land, the vessel being just about to emerge from a small bay that makes in just there. Captain Hodge was on deck at the time, and himself addressed the masthead.
“‘Do you know her?’ was his first inquiry.
“‘Can’t make her out just yet, sir, on account of the hill,’ answered the look-out. ‘I should judge, from the size of them tops’ils and the rake of her masts, that it is the big schooner we overhauled last week.’
“A moment after, and the captain hailed again.
“‘How is she now, my man?’
“‘’Tisthe schooner, sir.’
“‘All right. Keep an eye on her,’ and the captain went below a moment.
“Fifteen minutes after we were in full sight of the slaver—for slaver we knew her to be. That low black hull and rakish build could belong to no respectable craft, even if the presence of such could be accounted for just there and then.
“‘Now,’ cries the old man, again making his appearance on deck, and as much interested in the affair as was I, the most inexperienced youngster in the ship, ‘we’ll make her show her colours. If she don’t recognise us she may show a different flag from what she did before. If so, she is ours.’
“But the stranger was not to be caught in any such way as that.
“She did remember us perfectly well, probably had known precisely where we were every day for the last week, and when a gun was fired she ran up the French flag as innocently as could be.
“Shortly after the sudden darkness of the tropics came on, the faltering sea-breeze died out entirely, and night set in with the two vessels within half a mile of each other, and hardly likely to change their relative positions before morning.
“At daylight, quite contrary to his custom, the old man was on deck again and inquiring for the slaver. She was still in sight; but a slight land breeze had sprung up shortly before day broke, and she was cautiously edging off to the westward.
“Although she might be perfectly safe according to the law’s letter, she did not feel easy in our vicinity any more than a thief does in the company of a policeman. And so the captain remarked to the officer of the watch.
“‘Mr. Bright,’ said he, ‘the nigger doesn’t mean to stay by us long, even if we can’t touch him.’
“The captain always called all slavers ‘niggers’ without discrimination or difference.
“Mr. Bright was the second lieutenant, young for his rank, and a man who had won rapid promotion by his decision and intrepidity. His answer was characteristic.
“‘And why can’t we touch him?’ he asked, in a meaning sort of way.
The captain seemed to understand him perfectly well; but he shook his head gravely.
“‘It wouldn’t do, Mr. Bright—it wouldn’t do.’
“‘But nothing would ever come of it, sir. Suppose we should take the fellow with the French colours flying, do you really think any complaint would ever reach the French government?’
“The captain still shook his head.
“‘I don’t know about that, Mr. Bright,’ he said; ‘but I don’t like to do it. The thing would be unprecedented. It’s too bad, too, with the nigger right here in our hands, and we are not at liberty to take hold of him,’ and he strode off towards his cabin.
“Yet the lieutenant’s idea seemed still to be working in his mind, for just as he was about to disappear he called out again, ‘Mr. Bright, you may as well shake out an extra rag or two and keep the scoundrel in sight.’ Then he vanished down the stairs muttering something about his extreme curiosity to behold a cursed ‘nigger’ who could get away from the ‘Excellent’ when her blood was up.
“So we loitered along after the schooner with what little wind there was, and after breakfast we were surprised by an order coming into the steerage, summoning all the commissioned officers, even of lowest rank, to the captain’s cabin.
“We went aft in a hurry and found all assembled around the cabin table, except Mr. Bright, who was still in charge of the deck. Captain Hodge stood at the head of the table. We waited for him to speak.
“‘Gentlemen,’ he began, ‘please fill your glasses. And now here’s to the honour and success of the old “Excellent.”’
“We drank the toast with great enthusiasm. Then he went on: ‘Gentlemen, it is too bad, it is outrageous, the way things are at present. Here have we been cruising up and down here all summer long and hardly a prize to show for it.
“‘And now, here is another blamed nigger right before our face and eyes—we know his hold is full of slaves—we can almost see ’em, and if the wind would haul to west’rd a bit hang me if I don’t believe we could smell ’em—and yet, because the fellow has run up a French flag, we’ve got to lose him. Gentlemen, I repeat, it is outrageous!’
“We all asserted clamorously that it was monstrous.
“‘And something ought to be done about it,’ continued the old man, waxing warmer and more indignant. ‘Ordinarily, I can somehow manage to stand it, but this fellow has been dodging here for a week with a rascally lie at his peak, and this time I’mnotgoing to stand it.’
“The captain paused and wiped his brow with his silk handkerchief.
“‘Now, gentlemen,’ he again went on, ‘you all know it was rather duskish last night when we made the fellow show his colours. Are you all perfectly certain what flag it was he hoisted?’
“We all kept silent with a puzzled air.
“‘That is to say,’ he continued, ‘are you all perfectly certain it was the French flag? There was blue in it and red in it. Now, may there not have been white in it, too? In short, may it not have been the British Jack?’
“The captain said this with a queer kind of smile that suddenly betrayed to us his meaning.
“Probably he himself was the most scrupulous officer present—indeed, upon him must the whole responsibility rest.
“If he chose to run the risk it was hardly probable that any of us would hesitate, especially at what we considered a perfectly justifiable piece of deception.
“We had suffered enough already in consequence of this punctiliousness of the home Government about the right of search.
“Up spoke little Bradford, of Southampton—
“‘I was in the maintop at the time, sir, and my eyesight is very good indeed. I could almost swear it was British colours she showed.’
“Several others of us made similar remarks in a jocular kind of way; but the captain interrupted us.
“‘This is no joking matter, gentlemen. If we seize that schooner while she is under a foreign flag, we deliberately violate the law of nations, and without doubt run the risk of a national dispute. Yet I intend to seize her—on one condition.’
“Here he paused, and looked around the circle of eager faces.
“‘Please name it, sir,’ said the first lieutenant, seriously.
“‘That each of you pledge me his honour that he will everywhere and under all circumstances, unless under oath, insist upon it that she showed the British flag last night.’
“Every man of us immediately declared his willingness to promise this.
“‘Mr. Hazleton,’ said the captain to me, ‘will you ask Mr. Bright to step to the companion-way?’
“I went on deck and communicated to the second luff the captain’s request. As soon as he appeared, Captain Hodge called out to him—
“‘Mr. Bright, are you sure the schooner showed the British flag last night?’
“‘The British flag? Why, she—oh! yes, I am quite sure.’
“‘Could you swear to it?’
“‘I could do anything almost but swear to it.’
“‘Very well, sir. Can you come down a moment? Gentlemen, let us once more drink to the honour of the old ship—and remember that that honour should be as dear to us as our own. And now, Mr. Bright, let us overhaul the nigger as soon as possible, for, by the Great Horn Spoon, we’ll have her now if she flies the flag of every nation in Christendom!’
“All sail was immediately made on board the ‘Excellent,’ and the slaver, seeing that something was up, and that we evidently meant to overtake her, did her very best to prevent it. But, as the captain had said there were few slavers that could get away from the ‘Excellent’ when she was doing her best, and a light breeze abeam was her best point.
“Slowly but surely we overhauled her, and at noon were almost within hailing distance.
“The old man was on deck in person, and chose to assume the trumpet and negotiate the whole business himself. He had a powerful voice, and he used it as soon as there was the slightest possibility of its being heard.
“‘Come into the wind,’ he cried, ‘or I’ll blow you out of the water.’
“‘The stranger held straight on. He either did not or would not understand. But a round shot across his bow brought him to. As we drew nearer he called out in the best of English:
“‘By what right do you stop a French vessel?’
“‘Go to the pit with your French vessel. You were a British vessel last night. Stand by till we send a boat on board.’
“‘Two cutters were manned, and under charge of Lieutenant Bright, dispatched to the schooner. Her papers were examined and her character as a British vessel by an American firm was positively established.
“The slaver’s crew were put in irons, but left on board their own vessel. An unusually large prize crew was told off, and, to our surprise, Lieutenant Bright was put in charge of it. He was a favourite with the captain, and we had expected the third or fourth luff would go.
“But the truth was, the captain was a trifle nervous about the affair after it was over with, and he was particular about the prize. The schooner’s captain had made a good deal of talk about the matter, swearing that the vessel was not English, and that his government would right the matter for him.
“Before Mr. Bright left us for the last time to go on board his new command the captain took him below and had a long talk with him. Then the two came up together, shook hands affectionately, and Mr. Bright went over the side with a farewell nod to us all. Before night the schooner was out of sight to windward.
“A year after, the ‘Excellent’ having by that time been ordered home, I learned that Bright took the slaver in all right, but reported that her officers and entire crew had, by some ingenious plan, escaped in the long boat before he got away from the African coast.
“Very little had been said about the matter, however, at the navy department, and shortly afterwards Bright had received his promotion. I thought that altogether the thing looked rather strange and I straightway elaborated a theory of my own about the matter.
“By Captain Hodge’s orders Bright had probably put the schooner’s company on shore before going to sea. The captain thought, I suppose, that they would be less likely to give any trouble about our ‘violation of the British flag,’ if left in Africa.
“And, as I believe, Bright took home with him from the captain letters to the Secretary of the Admiralty (a personal friend of his) explaining the whole matter and recommending Bright for promotion. At any rate, he was promoted, and we never heard anything more from the captain of the slaver.”
“Ah, those were times, sir,” said Sir William Leathbridge. “Happily for the world they have long since passed away.”
“There are a few white slaves in this country, I believe,” said the captain, carelessly.
“That may be; but they are not slaves in the sense we allude to. Many men are slaves to habit; indeed, most of us are, but that is very different to being bought and sold like beasts of burthen.”
“Perhaps I have not duly considered the question,” returned the captain.
“I do not say that for a moment; on the contrary, no man has had better opportunities than yourself to thoroughly understand the subject, and I take it we are not likely to disagree on its general bearings.”
“I hope not, I am sure,” said Captain Crasher. “But the evil has passed away, and none of us here, I expect, would wish a return of the old times. Our American cousins have endorsed the opinion expressed by the people of this country, and it redounds to their credit that they have followed the excellent example set by the ‘Britishers,’ as they term them.”
A desultory conversation followed, in which many of the company took part, and soon after this it was announced by the hostess that the concert was about to commence.
Many of the guests had by this time betaken themselves to the apartment where the musical performances were to be given, and the remaining portion of the company rose from their seats and sauntered into the concert-room. They dispersed themselves in groups on the chairs and couches placed around for their reception.
A young lady was conducted to the piano by Signor Marouski, who was, in addition to being one of the chief performers, also master of the ceremonies, or musical director.
The young lady commenced with what might be termed a bombardment of the instrument. Then she ran over the keys with a rapidity which was perfectly electrifying.
It was a show piece she was playing—its name, however, did not transpire. It had the effect of creating astonishment, and that was all she looked for.
She was, of course, complimented, and then retired to give place to a young man with weak eyes and a pale face, who stepped forward to sing a tenor song.
His voice appeared to be weak as well as his eyes, but its tone was sympathetic, and he sang correctly, and with a certain amount of feeling which went to the hearts of his hearers.
A trio for the harp, violin, and piano followed. It was a little too long perhaps, but was very well executed—by artists who were, evidently, well up to their work.
Lady Marvlynn’s protégée, Miss Arabella Lovejoyce, was now brought forward by Lord Fitzbogleton. She took her place by the piano, and her master, Signor Marouski, sat down to the instrument for the purpose of playing the accompaniment.
He began by executing a prelude of a most difficult and elaborate nature, after which the vocalist commenced a bravura from one of the well-known operas.
This she attacked with force and vigour, and it was difficult for anyone to determine exactly which to admire most, the signor or his pupil, for they were both so terribly in earnest.
Lady Marvlynn was charmed. The fair Arabella, she afterwards declared, surpassed herself; anyway she did not let the grass grow under her feet, but poured forth roulade after roulade in a most energetic and earnest manner. Her voice was a little thin and sharp—censorious people might say even piercing—but that did not so much matter—she got through her piece creditably, and was, of course, highly complimented at its close.
“By Jove,” said Lord Fitzbogleton, “you are weally quite as accomplished a singer as the vewy best professional. My dear Miss Lovejoyce, I am quite enchanted.”
“Oh, pray don’t,” said the pretty pet; “how foolish you make me look, my lord!”
“Foolish! What a remarkable observation! Foolish, indeed! You ought to be pwoud. I know I should be if I had a tithe of your ability.”
“Oh, my lord, you are a flatterer, I do believe,” cried Lady Marvlynn, coming to the rescue; “but of course I know that anything my dear Arabella attempts to do is sure to please you.”
“Indeed you are mistaken, Lady Marvlynn,” said the young nobleman; “I am a most wigid cwitic, I assure you.”
The speaker conducted the fair Arabella to her seat, and Signor Marouski seated himself once more at the piano; he was about to favour the company with a long scena from a popular opera.
He began by playing a long monotonous prelude of a weird-like character; to judge from the sounds produced the inference would very naturally be that some one was in a state of deep dejection, or it might be despair or agony.
Presently he sang, in a sonorous voice, three prolonged notes. These were repeated several times, and were succeeded by a jerky, quick movement; this appeared to be a sort of recitative or prelude, for the notation was soon of a changed character—still, however, wailing and melancholy, or it might be said depressing.
That clever entertainer, Frederick Maccabe, says, when performing the rôle of a street minstrel—
“Why, lor bless you, there aint much occasion to hunderstand much about music wen you plays to a west-end audience; as long as you play somethink melancholy it’s sure to go down with the hupper classes.”
Perhaps Signor Marouski was of the same opinion. Anyway, he acted in accordance with Maccabe’s instructions.
It was a Wagnerian piece he was executing, and many present declared it to be grand and magnificent. Whether they were able to comprehend its precise meaning it would not be so easy to determine.
However, the Italian professor sang on.
He evidently threw his whole heart into his work. He was a sound musician and an admirable vocalist, but he was imbued with the notion that the “music of the future” was the right sort of thing.
When he came to a conclusion many gave a suppressed sigh of relief, and many expressed their satisfaction by exclaiming, “Grand! splendid! remarkably fine!”
“What think you, Sir Eric?” cried one, addressing himself to Aveline’s husband.
“Oh, if you ask me my opinion,” cried the baronet, “I must tell you plainly that I consider all this fuss about Wagner is quite out of place.”
“Oh, my dear Sir Eric,” said Lady Marvlynn, “you don’t know what you say, I’m sure.”
“Don’t I, though?” returned he. “I most certainly do. I consider it humbug. I don’t profess to be an accomplished musician and am perhaps not a competent judge. Why, Lord bless us, I’m old enough to remember the time when this man’s music was laughed at and scouted in this country.”
“That’s right enough,” observed Captain Smither Smythe. “What a thing is popularity—or becoming the fashion would perhaps be the better term! The English public are afflicted every now and then with a sort of mad infatuation for eccentricity, and are apt to applaud to the very echo things they do not understand. As a proof of this I have only to refer to thefurorefor the Italian actor, Salvini. They made a god of him for a season, and then left him to flicker out and return to his native country a sadder and a wiser man. Doubtless he was duly impressed with the fleeting nature of popularity. Now it is the fashion to have a craze for a composer whose works are incomprehensible to me, and whose beauties are effectually hidden, as far as I am individually concerned.”
“Really, gentlemen,” said Lady Marvlynn, “you are paying Signor Marouski but a poor compliment.”
“Pardon me,” said Sir William Leathbridge, “we owe and pay tribute to the talents of the professor. What we are discussing is the merits of Wagner.”
Marouski now endeavoured to explain to the company what Wagner had endeavoured to express in the piece he had just executed, and wound up by declaring that the German composer was a great genius.
“I admit my inability to appreciate his beauties,” said Sir Eric Batershall, “still I am not singular in the opinion I have formed. In an admirably-written article in a periodical a month or two ago the writer sets forth that, ‘Whereas Mozart’s opera music has been the delight of every concert goer since the day when it was first written—and this, irrespective of the scenes to which it belongs—Herr Wagner’s vocal phrases, detached from the pictures they illustrate, can only strike the ear as so much cacophonous jargon, in which every principle of nature and grace has been outraged, partly owing to poverty of invention and absence of all feeling for the beautiful—partly owing to the arrogant tyrany of a false and forced theory.”
“These are strong expressions, I admit,” said the baronet; “but not a bit too strong, excepting for the fanatics who have set up the Wagnerian idol, and would coerce the rest of the world into the worship of the fantastic creed they have adopted, just the same as the craze for the pre-Raphaelite school of painting, as it was termed, was endeavoured to be forced on the art-loving world many years ago.”
“That is true enough,” said Mr. Downbent; “it was a craze.”
“A sort of epidemic,” returned the baronet; “but hear me for a moment or so. Speaking of Herr Wagner’s profuse musical dialogue, and particularly in relation to ‘Das Rheingold,’ the writer says, ‘The recitative in which the scenes are conducted is throughout dry, unvocal, and uncouth, but Glück might never have written to show how truth in declamation may be combined with beauty of form, variety of instrumental support, and advantageous presentiment of the actors who have to tell a story.’”
“Ah, but you English cannot bear to listen to long descriptive recitative passages,” cried Marouski.
“I admit that as a rule they don’t care about them. Still a great many persons who listen to Wagner’s operas will feel the force of the observations I have just quoted. His interminable dialogues, his annihilation of pleasant comprehensible form of music, and his systematic crushing out of melody from his compositions, must eventually cure the musical public, or the small section of it who are with him, of their unhealthy craze. In the meantime, his operas, ‘dry’ as they usually are, will be revived in the course of the operatic season, and among them ‘Tannhäuser’ is of course excepted. In this work there are long dreary passages to wade through, with little else by way of compensation than the gorgeousness of themise en scène. The professional march is truly an inspiration, and in the ‘Chant of the Pilgrims,’ Tannhäuser’s ‘Hymn to Venus,’ and the shepherds’ song, concessions are made to those who demand continuous understandable melody. For these indulgences we cannot be sufficiently grateful, and must congratulate ourselves that ‘Tannhäuser’ belongs to Wagner’s middle period, and not to his later style, from which tune is rigorously excluded.”
Signor Marouski smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.
“Ah,” said he, “it is always difficult for a grand original genius to make himself understood or to be fully appreciated by the public.”
“There are a number of musical geniuses whose works have been popular in this country,” observed Smythe, “but I don’t expect we shall agree upon this subject; and we have to apologise to our kind hostess for thus interrupting the concert.”
“I like to listen to discussions of this sort,” returned Marouski, “because I believe that the English people have a much greater love for good music than foreign nations give them credit for. However, as you don’t care about Wagner,” he added with a smile, “I will give you something from an opera by one of my own countrymen.”
Marouski sat down to the piano once more, and sang a recitative air from one of Rossini’s operas. He executed it in a manner which was beyond all praise, and the contrast it afforded to his first performance was so powerful that his audience found it difficult to believe that it was the same singer they were listening to. The Italian professor was applauded most vociferously and was evidently well pleased with his success.
“Now you must not tell me, signor, that the last piece is not a hundred per cent better than the first,” cried Sir Eric Batershall.
“It all depends upon taste. Each is good in its own particular way.”
Lady Batershall or Aveline, as we have been accustomed to call her, was now conducted to the piano.
She sang a simple ballad with such pathos and with so much feeling that the assembled guests were deeply moved.
After a few more pieces had been performed and songs sung, the musical entertainment was brought to a close.
The conversation became general, the topics discussed were various, and a vast amount of knowledge was displayed by the speakers in what might with truth be termed a most delightful convivial discussion.
Among the company was a learned professor—a great naturalist who had been in many parts of the world—he had been somewhat taciturn during the earlier portion of the day, but Captain Smithers Smythe, who had resided in India for some years, drew him out, and an animated conversation followed upon the great Indian Empire. Professor Mainwaring had a number of interesting anecdotes to tell, and finally concluded with the following narrative:—
“You see,” said he, “it is a good many years ago now since I was lost in the forest, but every minute incident, captain, is green in my recollection, aye, as if it occurred but yesterday.”
“I can readily understand that.”
“Well, it was an oppressively hot day, in the very height of summer, when Carter and myself pitched our tent in a secluded forest tract of land, near the head waters of the Chenaub. I dare say you know the river?”
“Oh, perfectly well,” returned Smythe. “You had some fellows with you, I suppose.”
“Dear me, yes. Our party consisted of three native servants, besides coolies, who had been engaged at the last village to carry the baggage.”
“And who would run away at the first approach of danger,” said Smythe.
“They were men you could not place implicit trust in, I must confess. Well, our route lay along a rugged pathway by the side of the river, through dense forests of pine and cedar which clothed its banks to the water’s edge, and spread their great branches across its bosom until they nearly met in mid stream.
“A more perfect solitude could scarcely be imagined; indeed, excepting a few birds and a solitary black bear I had slain, when busily engaged performing his toilette in a brook, not another large animal had been seen for several days since leaving the verdant mountain glades of Cashmere.
“Whilst my companion and servants were employed in pegging and stretching out the bear’s skin—an operation requiring to be performed when the hide is fresh, as otherwise it will shrivel up and become rotten—I took advantage of the delay, and seizing my gun, strolled through the forest in quest of novelties in the beast or bird line, being then engaged in making collections of the natural objects of the country.
“I had not proceeded far before the fresh run of musk deer indicated the proximity of that animal, which, like the hare, is partial to localities, and may be often discovered by following its footprints.
“I accordingly pushed further and further into the forest, in expectation of meeting a musk at any turn, and until it became evident that my hopes were not to be realised, when finally, getting tired of tracking, I gave up the pursuit, and set off in quest of rare birds.
“Here and there the harsh screams of the speckled nutcracker and yellow grosbeak drew me away in opposite directions, until, after devious swervings to the right and left, it suddenly dawned on me that my pocket compass had been forgotten. What was to be done? In what direction lay the river? It was useless attempting to retrace my footsteps, for, what between the hard nature of the ground, and my soft grass shoes, anything like an impression was impossible.
“I pulled out my watch to find it was four o’clock, thus leaving three hours of daylight. So now in which direction should I proceed? These and many anxious thoughts flashed across my mind, when, shouldering the gun, I stared about for a way more likely than another in the dismal gloom; but not one opening or indication seemed preferable to the rest.
“How often I had changed front since starting could not be surmised; however, a conviction arose in my mind that the way back to camp did not lie in front of the position in which I stood at that moment, accordingly I wheeled about, and set off at full speed in an exactly opposite direction.
“At first a straight ahead course seemed the proper one, but after a time it was apparent that I had been unconsciously bearing off too much to the left, and, as there was a gentle slope in that direction, a feeling kept constantly increasing that this was the watershed of the Chenaub, for the sound of whose troubled waters I stopped constantly to listen, but in vain.
“Uneasiness now grew apace, with the cravings of hunger, whilst the sun declined, and finally the glare on the tree tops vanished, leaving an obscurity which was soon doomed to blacken into night.”
No.75.
Illustration: PEACE AND THE FOOTMAN FALLLINKED IN FIERCE STRUGGLE, PEACE AND THE FOOTMAN FALL FROM THE WINDOW.
LINKED IN FIERCE STRUGGLE, PEACE AND THE FOOTMAN FALL FROM THE WINDOW.
“What a position to be in!” cried Smythe. “Indian forests, as a rule, are not the safest places in the world for a man to put up at, or bivouac in for the night. Beasts of prey, to say nothing of snakes or serpents, are to be found there in abundance.”
“Yes, that is true enough, but, luckily, I did not consider all these things. Still, I frankly confess, that the idea of being lost in a forest made my blood run cold. I could not discern any river, and the idea occurred to me that I might be walking away from it.”
“How dreadful!” exclaimed an old lady in a turban, who was listening to the narrative. “Most dreadful, indeed.”
“Yes, madam, it was not by any means agreeable, to say the least of it,” returned the professor. “Of course, I need not tell you that I did not know very well what to be at, or how to shape my course, since I was quite out of my reckoning. At length, being perplexed, and not knowing anything about the track I was following, I halted in front of a large cedar. This I determined to climb; my object in doing this was to see if I could, from the upper branches of the tree, discern any object in the distance which might serve as a guide to deliver me out of the labyrinth into which I had got entangled.”
“And did you ascend the tree?” inquired the captain.
“Most certainly I did; but I was no wiser; from its very highest branches I could only discern one unbroken forest, and so I descended with despair at my heart, and a foreboding of evil for the future, for by this time I must tell you, that I felt my physical strength giving way. What with fatigue, want of food, and the exertion of climbing the tree, I was pretty well done over.”
“A gone coon.”
“Precisely. Very much gone, and very despairing also.”
“My situation was melancholy and desperate to the last degree. If I had had any companion, anybody to share my troubles, matters would not have been so bad, but I had not a living creature, not even a dog, for my companion, and the solitude was well-nigh insupportable.”
“Oh, yes, the beauties of nature are all very well in their way,” said Smythe, “and I, for one, am a great admirer of them, but not alone. One wants company in cases of this sort. Enoch Arden felt that in his tropical island.”
“As darkness drew near,” said the professor, “while seated on a rugged piece of stone, I counted every percussion cap, bullet, and charge of powder. An idea flashed across my brain that by firing off a few shots at intervals and following each report by loud shoutings it might just happen that my companion and the native ‘shikari’ would discover my whereabouts. Indeed, a presentiment clung to me all along that the camp could not be at any very great distance. How anxiously I listened for a response after every report, whilst my throat ached again with shouting, and how I kept hoping against hope, until all hope seemed to have vanished with the daylight, and now not even the noise of an insect or the murmur of the tree-tops broke the dismal stillness. I had been on my feet for upwards of twelve hours, without intermission, and seeing it was nearly midnight I determined to give up the fruitless struggle, so stretching out my wearied limbs on the hard ground, and placing the gun by my side, I settled down, tired, hungry, and anxious, but still anticipating that the morrow would bring my deliverance.”
“My word, but it is a wonder you escaped with your life,” said Sir William.
“It does seem a wonder, I confess; but it does not necessarily follow that beasts of prey were lurking about, as our friend remarked; and, indeed, such could not have been the case, or I should not have been here to tell the story.
“Utterly exhausted, I fell into a sound sleep, which lasted several hours; when awaking I found day breaking, with the wind howling through the branches overhead.
“To repair the grass sandals and load with buckshot was the work of a few minutes, when I was once more on my feet and off on the anxious journey.
“Now pushing through underwood; now carefully treading over prostrate rotten stems; here getting foul of dependent branches; then brought to a standstill by a huge patriarch of the forest.
“At length, after wandering for some time, the spoor of a musk deer was visible, and in a few minutes the little creature jumped up before me and fell dead with the contents of my gun in its side.
“Soon a fire was made in the usual native way by see-sawing a slow match in a handful of dried grass or leaves, when, cutting steaks from, the haunch and stringing them together on a twig, I roasted and devoured my kabobs with avidity, for, considering that no food had crossed my lips since the previous morning, it would be doing small justice to my appetite to say that I felt other than ravenous.
“However, the savoury repast made me feel wonderfully refreshed, and with a haunch of venison on my shoulder, I proceeded once more through the wilderness of pine trunks, looking intently in every direction for the slightest indication of a stream or a water parting.
“The absence of animal life in the depths of the forest has been frequently observed, and may no doubt be owing to the want of subsistence for the majority of herbivorous quadrupeds.
“However, as I trudged along from the denser to the more sparsely wooded parts, in expectation that a clearing would suddenly open out the country, and show the way towards the river, a musk deer would now and then spring out of some bush, and, in the intervals between its fantastic mode of jumping, would stop and turn round and stare at me in bewilderment, as if it had never seen a human being before.”
“Well, I must confess,” observed Smythe, “that does appear to be most remarkable. I should have thought that ‘tree tigers,’ as we term them, would have been there in abundance.”
“I saw none, and if there were any they did not trouble me.”
“You were a most fortunate man.”
“Possibly so. No doubt I was.
“The time must now have been about mid-day, when I came to a gap in the forest, occasioned by the fall of several spruces. Here, whilst examining the spot, a horrible feeling came over me that I had passed the identical opening shortly before dark on the previous day, so that as I pushed along I could not help muttering to myself, ‘I am walking in a circle. This comes of always trending towards the left.’
“I consequently started in an opposite direction, and soon found myself on an incline, and before another hour had gained a small torrent, the bed of which was choked up by tall bracken and wild balsams, from whence numbers of the gorgeously attired Monal pheasants rose and fled down the glen, with the metallic sheen of their gorgeous plumage glistening in the sunshine.
“Here, virtually, my troubles seemed to have come to an end for ever. Since the stream was discovered, hopes grew stronger and stronger that if I could follow it up there would be an end to my anxieties.
“At length the narrow gorge gave way to an open valley, and, listening now and then, I fancied I could catch the murmur of distant waters, until the sound finally ended in a continuous roar, and I found myself on a footpath, with the Chenaub rolling rapidly along its rocky bed.
“One problem, however, remained unsolved, ‘Was my tent up or down stream?’ Now considering the sameness of the scenery, and very irregular, not to say eccentric, windings of mountain footpaths in general, and Himalayan foot-tracks in particular, it would have taken a greater experience of wilderness ways than I could then command to have recognised one object more than another, along the route I had trodden on the way from Cashmere.
“Nevertheless, expecting that footprints might turn up on softer parts of the path, I searched for such indications of man, but without success, and the forest on either side gave no token of commanding positions from whence a survey could be made; consequently, only one of two alternatives remained, either to push up or down the river bank.
“I selected the latter, and after devouring a portion of the venison and pitching the remainder into the river, I pushed down the pathway, in the belief that I must have struck the river above my camp, which might turn up at any minute.
“In this expectation I was sadly deceived, inasmuch as hour succeeded hour, and no trace of my little canvas home became apparent.
“The footpath, moreover, was not always safe; sometimes it ran across a beetling precipice, at others I had to wade streams; finally it led away from the river into the gloomy forest, where at dusk, after clambering up a ledge of rock, I found myself on the brink of a crag, with the river rushing furiously below.
“To have proceeded further that night seemed only to risk one’s life, as every minute increased the inability to pick my way in the darkness; so once more all the pangs of hunger and disappointment came back in terrible reality, alloyed, however, with a consolation that I was at all events on the right track.
“The venison I had thrown into the river now rose before my mind, as supperless and disappointed I lighted a fire and discharged my gun, following each report by prolonged outcries, such as the natives of these parts are wont to hail each other with from opposite sides of ravines.
“But it happened that a sudden bend of the river a short distance above the eminence on which I stood broke the sounds, and sent them back in clear echoes one after another.”
“And did no one come to your assistance, Mr. Mainwaring?” inquired Avaline, anxiously.
“Not at that time, my dear lady; but of course my gun was the only means that I had of giving an indication of my whereabouts. I concluded, naturally enough, that my friends would be on the alert and institute a search for me. Carter, I knew, would never rest till he had ascertained what had become of me, and I need not tell you that the report of a discharged weapon carries much further than the most powerful human voice, but I made use of both, and soon got quite hoarse from continually shouting.
“The shades of night had now gathered in, when, piling faggot upon faggot, I sat myself down by the blazing fire, and ruminated on what a new day might bring forth. At length, with blighted hopes, and fairly worn out, I once more hugged the gun, and, coiling myself up by the fireside, fell into a deep sleep.
“I was suddenly awoke by some one exclaiming, ‘Sahib, Sahib!’ and, starting up, found my native hunter, Eli Shah, standing by my side. He had been wandering through the forest all day, and was returning to the tent when my fire attracted him.
“‘O master,’ he exclaimed, ‘we all thought you were dead;’ and, untying his girdle, he handed me a parcel of sandwiches. ‘This all comes of your not taking your “magic watch” with you;’ the name by which he and my other hill servants designated the compass. When I came to reckon the distance between our encampment and the point where I had struck the river, it was found I had wandered upwards of five miles northwards of the former.
“Thus ended a foolish adventure, which none but a tyro in wilderness wandering would have committed; nevertheless, it was not the last of similar mishaps that subsequently occurred to me in other and far-distant regions, when carried away by the excitement of the chase, and that wild enthusiasm in which the student of nature is prone to indulge.”