Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

was run between Jamaica and the Virginian coast. St. Thomas lies midway, and the innumerable creeks, inlets, and bays that indent its bush-lined shore may well have afforded shelter and concealment to Black Beard as well as to others of this trade. And certainly when attired in his favourite full-dress style, and with his

66

constructions that stand guard at the Our hero's short but glorious career entry of the Bosphorus or the quarantine bay of Trebizond. Through the thin embrasures of a decrepit parapet wall two rusty cannons protrude their muzzles, the one pointing at an angle of 45° to the heaven above, the other at a similar inclination to the waters beneath. Quite Turkish, both for appearance and efficacy. Nor do the five or six anti-beard (which we are assured covered his quated tubes of old iron that peer over whole face, eyes and nose probably exthe edges of the queer, red-painted fort cepted) twisted into a hundred curls, each walls of the harbour's base differ in any curl dandily tied up in a bow of red ribessential respect from the artillery sup- bon, and illuminated by twenty burning plied by the Topkhaneh of Constanti- matches stuck, ten of a side, under the nople to the imperial provinces. Strange- brim of his hat, the Captain must have ly, too, like the ruins that on almost every produced quite a sensation among the jutting rock of the Anatolian coast com- inhabitants · Carib, negro, Dutch, or memorate the days of semi-independent Dane of the little island. Indeed the Pashas and pugnacious Dereh-begs, are flaming ministers" of his toilet seem to the two round towers, massive and grey, have proved for West Indian fair ones that crown, the one "Government Hill," not less attractive than lighted tapers the easternmost of the three already men- commonly are for evening moths; and tioned as included in the town itself; the we read that fourteen wives successive other, an isolated rising ground near the or simultaneous, the story says not — base of the harbour. Nor is this resem- were drawn by their rays, and entangled blance one of outward form only, but of in the mazes of that ribboned beard. Unhistorical meaning; for, unlike every-fortunately the human butterflies seem to thing else in the island, these towers are dignified by having a tradition of their own; and in popular belief at least, if not in fact, they supply the "missing link" between the modern St. Thomas of sharp Yankeefied traders, and the old St. Thomas of bond fide pirates and buccaneers. One of these ruins bears the name of Blue Beard's, the other of Black Beard's Tower. This New World Blue Beard, however, unlike, so far, to his namesake of European or, as some say, of Asiatic celebrity, has left behind him no record by which he can be identified not so much as a fairy legend; no Sis-less worthy of a place in the Pantheon of ter Anne climbed to the top of his tower to proclaim to her hastening brothers the dark mystery within its walls; and we are free to conjecture not seven, but if we like, seventy decapitated wives, and horrors compared with which those of the famous blood-stained closet were gen-can bear it longest," said one day the galtle matrimonial endearments.

More, or perhaps less, fortunate in this respect, Black Beard has found authentic chroniclers of his deeds, private as well as public. A native of Bristol, Captain Trench-to give him the name by which he started in life was one of the many brave sea-ruling Britons who in the seventeenth century developed by a ready course of natural selection, and a pre-Darwinian struggle for life, from privateers into pirates.

have paid not less dearly for their folly than is ordinarily the case with their insect prototypes, since Black Beard, unless much maligned was a very Blue Beard in domestic life.

"A cross between Puck and Moloch " is the title given by the shrewd historical estimate of Macaulay to one of the pet monarch heroes of an eccentricity-loving writer of our own day. What the father of the Great Frederick was in his own family and Court, that and more was Captain Trench among his crew- a hero after Mr. Carlyle's own heart, and not

his worship than Friedrich Wilhelm or Governor Eyre himself. Indeed the choicest diversions of Potsdam or Morant Bay seem tame when compared with Black Beard's practical fun. "Let us make a little hell of our own, and try who

lant Captain, as he forced some choice spirits of his crew to descend with him into the ship's hold. When all were below, Black Beard carefully closed the hatches on the company and himself; and then proceeded to set on fire several pots which he had previously arranged, ready filled with shavings and sulphur. His companions, almost suffocated, soon cried out for mercy; but Black Beard's lungs, as well as his heart, were made of sterner stuff, and he did not let them out

of his imitation hell till they had almost | Alva and Pizarro, of Torquemada and the exchanged the trial for the reality. Think- Inquisition. It is "the glory, far above ing them, however, it seems, sufficiently all else on earth," of England to have prepared by this experiment for the latter, first pronounced their exorcism; the he soon after took measures for sending final consummation of that sentence on one or two of them there at short notice. the ill remnants of Cuba may, though deTo this end he invited his comrades one layed awhile, be yet executed by Engevening to a sociable merry-making in land's eldest child, the great American his cabin; and, while they sat drinking | Republic. The work is a good work: there, he suddenly blew out the light, honour to those who complete it, of crossed his hands, in each of which was whatever nationality they be !

a loaded and a ready-cocked pistol, and cheerfully fired across the table. Sad to say, his praiseworthy intentions were frustrated of their accomplishment; only wounds, and not death, following upon this "merry jest." But to do the bearded Captain justice, when not his own men, but prisoners from another ship, were before him, he seldom failed to take better aim. How much the unhanged survivors of his crew, not to mention his fourteen disconsolate widows, bewailed his loss, when Lieutenant Maynard, R. N., sailed into the harbour of Virginia with this worthy's head, beard, ribbons, matches, and all, suspended from his bowsprit, history has left unrecorded.

Whether Black Beard really built, and while on shore-taking refuge from his pursuers, or recruiting supplies for fresh exploits at sea-actually dwelt in the thick-walled round tower that now crowns the highly respectable summit of Government Hill, is, however, uncertain; here, as in the case of so many other heroic memorials, it is merely tradition versus want of evidence. Old ship-cannon have indeed been dug out of the neighbouring soil; and a huge oblong mass of brickwork, close by the tower itself, is said to cover alike the remains headless, I suppose and the ill-gotten riches of the pirate. But from one or other motive chiefly, perhaps, from the listless indiference that characterizes the white population of the West Indian settlements in general-nobody has taken the trouble to settle, by a few strokes of the mattock, the truth, or, more probably still, the falsehood of the legend.

W. G. PALGRAVE.

From Chambers' Journal.

THE MANOR-HOUSE AT MILFORD.

CHAPTER VI.

Come on, Sir Knave; have done your foolishness,
And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge.

THE dog-cart containing Sailor and Collop drove stealthily along in the gloom and falling snow, and by-and-by they reached Thornton Common. Here the darkness was still more intense. It was only possible to cross the common by trusting to the instinct of the horse, a strong, useful, hired hack, who had a tolerable notion of the direction of his stable. At the same time, in allowing him to select his road, it was necessary to permit him to choose his pace also, and his favourite pace was a slow walk. It became inexpressibly wearisome, this snail-like plodding through the darkness, vainly straining the eyes to make out some leading mark or feature of the landscape that might convey an assurance of being in the right track. Sailor bore it all tranquilly; his life had seasoned him to such patient waiting; but Collop fidgeted and fretted, and could hardly restrain his impatience.

When, as it seemed, they had got into the very middle of the common, the horse suddenly came to a full stop, put his nose to the ground, sniffed and snorted, but refused to proceed any farther; and in answer to the application of the whip, sidled, and began to back.

"Requiescat in pace," if peace there be for such, along with the great Captains "Hold hard a bit, there, Master ColKidd, Avory, Low, and other kindred sea- lop," quoth Sailor. "Perhaps there's heroes, "all of them fallen, slain by the something in the road. I'll jump down sword, who caused their terror in the and see." He suited the action to the land of the living." Hell-twins, piracy word, and felt cautiously all round with and slavery they have both, after cen- his feet. Presently he struck against turies of blood and crime, been well-nigh something soft and yielding - a snowexorcised from the New-World coasts, or only linger under the appropriate flags of Spain and Holy Church, the flags of

drift, it seemed, that had a core of some harder substance. A low smothered groan came from out this heap of snow

as Sailor tried to kick it away. It was a the village, waiting for the morning's

man, who was lying with his feet in the
ditch, and his body across the road.
"What cheer, my lad ?" cried Sailor,
diving into the middle of the drift, and
seizing the man by the waist.-"Here,
Mr. Collop, here's a craft as has grounded
here. Come and bear a hand to get him
off."

light to find his way home in safety. But now it was broad daylight, and he had not come. She felt sadly ill and worn; the baby was crying desperately, and would not be comforted. Surely she was altogether abandoned and deserted.

There was Sailor's voice, and another, gruffer, but not Tom's. No; she would never hear that voice again!

"Mrs. Rapley, Mrs. Rapley!" cried Sailor from below; "how are you getting on?"

By-and-by, she heard the soft sound of wheels, that ceased at the gate; and then The man was carried to the dog-cart; she sat up in bed, with fear and expectaand by the light of the lamp, Sailor tion. Yes, there it was, as she had in recognized his face- it was Tom Rap- her secret heart known it would be the ley. He was in a sort of trance, and it sound of many feet; they were carrying seemed at first as if it would be impossi-a burden — it was Tom, whom they had ble to arouse him. Sailor began vigor- brought home dead! ously to rub his hands and the back of his ears; and presently he opened his eyes, and tried to move. When he had revived a little, they hoisted him into the back of the dog-cart, covered him as warmly as they could with rugs and greatcoats, and started for Biscopham. It was a long, dreary drive: the way seemed interminable; but at last the first faint gleam of a distant gas-lamp shewed them that they had come through the dangerous part of their journey. Tom had recovered his senses a little on the way; and when the trap came to a standstill opposite Collop's shop, he was able to dismount with a little assistance. Emily was aroused, and Tom was put into a warm bed, and hot drinks given him. When he began to come to himself, he was in a great state of mind about his wife, who had been left alone all the But after the first burst of joy at seenight, and on whom the excitement anding her husband safe home, there came a suspense might have the very worst revulsion of feeling. Why had she been effect however, there was no help for made to suffer so poignantly; had she it. It would be impossible to cross the not had enough to bear other ways? common till daylight had come.

The morning after the snow-storm broke fine and cheery. The fields were covered with a white sparkling garment. The sun rose up from out a haze of violet and gold into a pure blue sky, pale and cold, but cheery.

They were going to break it to her gently, but she would know all at once. She sprang from the bed, and ran hastily to the door: "O Sailor, what have you done with him? Oh, tell me quick, the very worst; what has happened to Tom?"

The next moment, he held her in his arms, and his rough rimy beard was against her cheek. "What business have you out of bed, old woman? You go back directly, and lie quite still, while I talk to you, for I've got good news for you."

[ocr errors]

As she heard, however, of Tom's doings the night before of his extreme peril and marvellous escape, she forgot her own sufferings in the thought of what might so easily have been; and when he told her of the appointment that was vacant, and of the chance he had of getting it, the news seemed to be a very satisfactory equivalent for the miseries of the preceding night.

"He's down-stairs now," said Tom

The early sun made quite a bright and pleasant scene of Back Milford's. The yard was sparkling with flaky, untrodden snow; and the sunbeams were refracted into a myriad of rainbow jewels, in fes-"Frewen, I mean; that's how I contoons of glittering icicles. The privet hedge gleamed with prismatic colours, and the old wood-house looked like a fairy grotto in frosted silver.

trived to get back so early. He has driven us over, Sailor and me, in his phaeton. A pair of horses and everything grand. Oh, he's a regular gentleman, is Frewen! And he's come to look over the house. He's bound to do that once a year, by the will, and the year's just up since Aunt Betsy died."

These early sunbeams aroused Mrs. Rapley to a full sense of her misery and desolation. Till now, she had hoped against her inward conviction, that Tom had been detained by the storm, and had "I'm off now, Rapley," cried Frewen's stayed for the night with some friend invoice from below. "I shan't disturb

your good wife. I suppose you haven't ing discussions on parochial matters at broken a hole through the wall up the Royal Oak, and speak with authority. there?" "No, indeed, sir," said Tom, coming down-stairs laughing. Good-bye, sir, and many thanks to you."

66

"Tom," said his wife, when he came up again, "you misled Mr. Frewen just now. Look there!" she cried, and pointed up at the hole in the wall.

"Good gracious!" cried Tom, turning pale. "Who did that? I must go and tell Frewen about it."

"Don't be silly, Tom; but sit still and listen, while I tell you how it happened." Tom listened incredulously to his wife's description of the noises of the night. He attributed them to his wife's imagination and fears. But when she told him of the thing that had jumped through the wall, he couldn't refuse to believe in that, for there was the patent fact of the hole to confirm his wife's narrative.

Tom got on a chair, and examined the break in the wall. Then he saw that there had once been a doorway here, with an open space over the door, which once might have been glazed, but was now only papered over. "It was the cat," cried Tom in a voice of derision; "the old black cat, that was mousing over her old hunting-grounds. She must have seen the light shining through the thin paper, and made a spring right through it. But how did the cat get into the house; and what could have frightened her?"

The strangeness of these occurrences, however, gradually faded from their minds, under the influence of newer and more powerful impressions. Sailor might have thrown some light upon the matter; but Sailor didn't choose to say anything about what he had witnessed that night in the old barn. He was a cautious old fellow; and he didn't care to make an enemy of his neighbour, Skim, who, he knew, bore him a grudge already.

People left off calling him Lord Tom, and saluted him respectfully as Mr. Rapley. He wouldn't, however, give up the rent-free house and the ten shillings a week from Mr. Frewen, notwithstanding that they were dreadfully cramped for room. What with the baby and little Bertie, and the cooking and the washing, and the chatter and noise that were always going on, Tom found it desperate hard work to get on with his accounts. And there was the big house lying empty and sealed up beside them.

Tom had got to make the new rate, and fill up all his receipts, before he could begin to collect; and although he tried hard and did the best he could, he was very much afraid that he should be behindhand with his work.

"Tell you what, Lizzie, I shall go clean distracted, and out of my mind, if this goes on," he cried one day, when the noise and confusion were worse than usual. "I'm making all kinds of mistakes, and I shall be all wrong with my accounts; and then, what will become of us?"

"Well, I don't see how I can manage any better, Tom," said Lizzie: "my hands are full enough -you ought to have a room to yourself, where you can work quietly without any bother."

"Ought stands for nothing," said Tom despairingly.

"Stop a bit!" cried Lizzie; "I've thought of something. Now, don't you bother me for a minute, Tom. Yes, I've got it." Lizzie ran up-stairs; and when she came down, she told Tom that he had better go for a walk till things were quiet, and that, if he liked, he might call at the Royal Oak, and talk to Aunt Booth. In fact, she kept him out of the house all day long, under one pretext or another; and when night came, and it was time to go to bed, Lizzie took him up-stairs with an air of pride and mystery, and shewed him a door opening out of their bedroom into the unused house.

"Now," said Lizzie, "you see what I have been doing all day long. Walk into your office, Mr. Overseer!"

Tom Rapley was soon plunged in all the excitement of a canvass and contest for the collectorship. It was a longprotracted affair, and there were many candidates, but Frewen's influence carried the day, and Tom was elected. It was midsummer, however, before he got his appointment, and Michaelmas before he could get to work, so that he had his hands full to get in the next rate by Christmas. Tom, nevertheless, was full of new-born zeal, and very pleased and proud. He was somebody in the parish now, and could take his part in the even-away a stick or two

"O Lizzie, how could you do such a thing! Why, Frewen will find it out, and then he'll turn us out of the house, and take away our allowance too."

66

Why, Tom, I've only taken out some nails, and pulled down some laths, and knocked away some plaster, and sawn that's all !"

"You've only broken into Aunt Betsy's | nervous ahout his responsibility; but he house that's all!" muttered Tom.

"But come in and look," said Lizzie coaxingly, "how nicely I've managed everything." She opened the door, and revealed a neatly furnished room with a carpet on the floor, and in the middle a mahogany table, with Tom's books and inkstand and blotting-paper, laid out in a neat and orderly manner. "There's light, too, from the skylight in the daytime; they never blocked that up at all." "Yes, it's all very nice," said Tom · "very nice indeed; only, I'm afraid old Frewen will not be pleased."

"Pooh!" cried Lizzie. "As for Frewen, I should like to see him coming prying into my bedroom — I'd send him out in a hurry.'

[ocr errors]

"But it's in the will, dear, that it's to be done," said Tom solemnly.

"Then it's in my will that it shan't be done, and surely one woman's will is as good as another's."

On the whole, Tom didn't refuse, next morning, to avail himself of his new office; and he got on so well with his work, that he began to be quite reconciled to the arrangement, and owned to Lizzie that he thought the risk of Frewen's finding them out was very small.

Tom Rapley got on very well indeed with his first collection; very well, that is, as far as getting the money went, for people were inclined to grumble at him, as being far more strict and exacting than his predecessor Patch. "I'd never a voted for you, Tom Rapley, if I'd known you'd be as sharp as this upon us," was the remark of more than one of his former supporters. Some people, too, were uncommonly spiteful. One old lady, who lived in a cottage by herself, and who had given Tom a deal of trouble before she would pay at all, put the money in coppers upon the window-sill, and bade him take what he wanted. He found, when he came to handle them, that they were pretty nearly red-hot, and he was obliged to drop them more quickly than he took them up, However, he got the money in one way or other; but the next matter that troubled him was, how to dispose of it.

He had the money all in gold. He wouldn't take cheques; Frewen had advised him not to do it. He couldn't be always running over to Biscopham to present cheques; and Frewen told him that any delay in presentation might make him liable to the parish, if any should not be duly paid. Tom was very

thought he wouldn't be wrong if he had the money all in good golden sovereigns. As the money grew in amount, however, Tom became more and more uneasy. He had over five hundred pounds in the house. The premises were lightly built and badly secured; many people knew of the money that was lodged at Tom's house, and there were several men in the village whose characters were none of the best — among others, Skim; and, unluckily, Skim had looked in one day when Tom was counting his money, and had seen the sovereigns tumbling one over another on the table; whereat his face had lighted up with a gleam that made Tom shudder. Most people in Tom's situation would have banked the money; but there was no bank nearer than Biscopham, and to take it there involved losing a day, and the expense of hiring a conveyance, unless he went in on marketday and by a carrier's cart. Besides, Tom was nervous about banks also they broke sometimes. Now, as long as he had got the money in gold under his hands, he was safe; and yet, when he looked at his bag of coin, it struck him how easy it would be for anybody to make off with it, and how useless to try to trace the money, once gone. There was this advantage about gold, however

he could hide it wherever he pleased, and it would take no harm. He might put it down the well, for instance, or bury it in the garden. And yet, he would never know a moment's peace if he left the gold hidden outside the house: he would be always imagining that somebody had watched him, and was now possessing himself of the treasure.

After much thought, Tom made up his mind to hide the money, and hide it in the empty house. That was guarded and secured at every point, and was further protected by the superstitious fears of the villagers. The house, shut up and abandoned, had acquired the reputation of being haunted; all sorts of tales were told about the place — of lights seen, and sounds heard in the dead of night; and few of the inhabitants of Milford would willingly pass the place after dark.

The arrangements of the old house were all familiar enough to Tom. The room he occupied as an office was over the large front-kitchen, which occupied the whole of the ground floor of that wing. The landing of the back staircase leading to the kitchen was just outside Tom's office-door, and that door once

« ПредишнаНапред »