BOOK IV: UNDER THE FLAGSTAFF
RUPERT'S JOURNAL--Continued.
May 1, 1907.
For some days after the last adventure I was in truth in a half-dazed
condition, unable to think sensibly, hardly coherently. Indeed, it
was as much as I could do to preserve something of my habitual
appearance and manner. However, my first test happily came soon, and
when I was once through it I reacquired sufficient self-confidence to
go through with my purpose. Gradually the original phase of
stupefaction passed, and I was able to look the situation in the
face. I knew the worst now, at any rate; and when the lowest point
has been reached things must begin to mend. Still, I was wofully
sensitive regarding anything which might affect my Lady of the
Shroud, or even my opinion of her. I even began to dread Aunt
Janet's Second-Sight visions or dreams. These had a fatal habit of
coming so near to fact that they always made for a danger of
discovery. I had to realize now that the Lady of the Shroud might
indeed be a Vampire--one of that horrid race that survives death and
carries on a life-in-death existence eternally and only for evil.
Indeed, I began to EXPECT that Aunt Janet would ere long have some
prophetic insight to the matter. She had been so wonderfully correct
in her prophetic surmises with regard to both the visits to my room
that it was hardly possible that she could fail to take cognizance of
this last development.
But my dread was not justified; at any rate, I had no reason to
suspect that by any force or exercise of her occult gift she might
cause me concern by the discovery of my secret. Only once did I feel
that actual danger in that respect was close to me. That was when
she came early one morning and rapped at my door. When I called out,
"Who is that? What is it?" she said in an agitated way:
"Thank God, laddie, you are all right! Go to sleep again."
Later on, when we met at breakfast, she explained that she had had a
nightmare in the grey of the morning. She thought she had seen me in
the crypt of a great church close beside a stone coffin; and, knowing
that such was an ominous subject to dream about, came as soon as she
dared to see if I was all right. Her mind was evidently set on death
and burial, for she went on:
"By the way, Rupert, I am told that the great church on time top of
the cliff across the creek is St. Sava's, where the great people of
the country used to be buried. I want you to take me there some day.
We shall go over it, and look at the tombs and monuments together. I
really think I should be afraid to go alone, but it will be all right
if you are with me." This was getting really dangerous, so I turned
it aside:
Really, Aunt Janet, I'm afraid it won't do. If you go off to weird
old churches, and fill yourself up with a fresh supply of horrors, I
don't know what will happen. You'll be dreaming dreadful things
about me every night and neither you nor I shall get any sleep." It
went to my heart to oppose her in any wish; and also this kind of
chaffy opposition might pain her. But I had no alternative; the
matter was too serious to be allowed to proceed. Should Aunt Janet
go to the church, she would surely want to visit the crypt. Should
she do so, and there notice the glass-covered tomb--as she could not
help doing--the Lord only knew what would happen. She had already
Second-Sighted a woman being married to me, and before I myself knew
that I had such a hope. What might she not reveal did she know where
the woman came from? It may have been that her power of Second Sight
had to rest on some basis of knowledge or belief, and that her vision
was but some intuitive perception of my own subjective thought. But
whatever it was it should be stopped--at all hazards.
This whole episode set me thinking introspectively, and led me
gradually but imperatively to self-analysis--not of powers, but of
motives. I found myself before long examining myself as to what were
my real intentions. I thought at first that this intellectual
process was an exercise of pure reason; but soon discarded this as
inadequate--even impossible. Reason is a cold manifestation; this
feeling which swayed and dominated me is none other than passion,
which is quick, hot, and insistent.
As for myself, the self-analysis could lead to but one result--the
expression to myself of the reality and definiteness of an already-
formed though unconscious intention. I wished to do the woman good--
to serve her in some way--to secure her some benefit by any means, no
matter how difficult, which might be within my power. I knew that I
loved her--loved her most truly and fervently; there was no need for
self-analysis to tell me that. And, moreover, no self-analysis, or
any other mental process that I knew of, could help my one doubt:
whether she was an ordinary woman (or an extraordinary woman, for the
matter of that) in some sore and terrible straits; or else one who
lay under some dreadful condition, only partially alive, and not
mistress of herself or her acts. Whichever her condition might be,
there was in my own feeling a superfluity of affection for her. The
self-analysis taught me one thing, at any rate--that I had for her,
to start with, an infinite pity which had softened towards her my
whole being, and had already mastered merely selfish desire. Out of
it I began to find excuses for her every act. In the doing so I knew
now, though perhaps I did not at the time the process was going on,
that my view in its true inwardness was of her as a living woman--the
woman I loved.
In the forming of our ideas there are different methods of work, as
though the analogy with material life holds good. In the building of
a house, for instance, there are many persons employed; men of
different trades and occupations--architect, builder, masons,
carpenters, plumbers, and a host of others--and all these with the
officials of each guild or trade. So in the world of thought and
feelings: knowledge and understanding come through various agents,
each competent to its task.
How far pity reacted with love I knew not; I only knew that whatever
her state might be, were she living or dead, I could find in my heart
no blame for the Lady of the Shroud. It could not be that she was
dead in the real conventional way; for, after all, the Dead do not
walk the earth in corporal substance, even if there be spirits which
take the corporal form. This woman was of actual form and weight.
How could I doubt that, at all events--I, who had held her in my
arms? Might it not be that she was not quite dead, and that it had
been given to me to restore her to life again? Ah! that would be,
indeed, a privilege well worth the giving my life to accomplish.
That such a thing may be is possible. Surely the old myths were not
absolute inventions; they must have had a basis somewhere in fact.
May not the world-old story of Orpheus and Eurydice have been based
on some deep-lying principle or power of human nature? There is not
one of us but has wished at some time to bring back the dead. Ay,
and who has not felt that in himself or herself was power in the deep
love for our dead to make them quick again, did we but know the
secret of how it was to be done?
For myself, I have seen such mysteries that I am open to conviction
regarding things not yet explained. These have been, of course,
amongst savages or those old-world people who have brought unchecked
traditions and beliefs--ay, and powers too--down the ages from the
dim days when the world was young; when forces were elemental, and
Nature's handiwork was experimental rather than completed. Some of
these wonders may have been older still than the accepted period of
our own period of creation. May we not have to-day other wonders,
different only in method, but not more susceptible of belief? Obi-
ism and Fantee-ism have been exercised in my own presence, and their
results proved by the evidence of my own eyes and other senses. So,
too, have stranger rites, with the same object and the same success,
in the far Pacific Islands. So, too, in India and China, in Thibet
and in the Golden Chersonese. On all and each of these occasions
there was, on my own part, enough belief to set in motion the powers
of understanding; and there were no moral scruples to stand in the
way of realization. Those whose lives are so spent that they achieve
the reputation of not fearing man or God or devil are not deterred in
their doing or thwarted from a set purpose by things which might
deter others not so equipped for adventure. Whatever may be before
them--pleasant or painful, bitter or sweet, arduous or facile,
enjoyable or terrible, humorous or full of awe and horror--they must
accept, taking them in the onward course as a good athlete takes
hurdles in his stride. And there must be no hesitating, no looking
back. If the explorer or the adventurer has scruples, he had better
give up that special branch of effort and come himself to a more
level walk in life. Neither must there be regrets. There is no need
for such; savage life has this advantage: it begets a certain
toleration not to be found in conventional existence.
RUPERT'S JOURNAL--Continued.
May 2, 1907.
I had heard long ago that Second Sight is a terrible gift, even to
its possessor. I am now inclined not only to believe, but to
understand it. Aunt Janet has made such a practice of it of late
that I go in constant dread of discovery of my secret. She seems to
parallel me all the time, whatever I may do. It is like a sort of
dual existence to her; for she is her dear old self all the time, and
yet some other person with a sort of intellectual kit of telescope
and notebook, which are eternally used on me. I know they are FOR
me, too--for what she considers my good. But all the same it makes
an embarrassment. Happily Second Sight cannot speak as clearly as it
sees, or, rather, as it understands. For the translation of the
vague beliefs which it inculcates is both nebulous and uncertain--a
sort of Delphic oracle which always says things which no one can make
out at the time, but which can be afterwards read in any one of
several ways. This is all right, for in my case it is a kind of
safety; but, then, Aunt Janet is a very clever woman, and some time
she herself may be able to understand. Then she may begin to put two
and two together. When she does that, it will not be long before she
knows more than I do of the facts of the whole affair. And her
reading of them and of the Lady of the Shroud, round whom they
circle, may not be the same as mine. Well, that will be all right
too. Aunt Janet loves me--God knows I have good reason to know that
all through these years--and whatever view she may take, her acts
will be all I could wish. But I shall come in for a good lot of
scolding, I am sure. By the way, I ought to think of that; if Aunt
Janet scolds me, it is a pretty good proof that I ought to be
scolded. I wonder if I dare tell her all. No! It is too strange.
She is only a woman, after all: and if she knew I loved . . . I wish
I knew her name, and thought--as I might myself do, only that I
resist it--that she is not alive at all. Well, what she would either
think or do beats me. I suppose she would want to slipper me as she
used to do when I was a wee kiddie--in a different way, of course.
May 3, 1907.
I really could not go on seriously last night. The idea of Aunt
Janet giving me a licking as in the dear old days made me laugh so
much that nothing in the world seemed serious then. Oh, Aunt Janet
is all right whatever comes. That I am sure of, so I needn't worry
over it. A good thing too; there will be plenty to worry about
without that. I shall not check her telling me of her visions,
however; I may learn something from them.
For the last four-and-twenty hours I have, whilst awake, been looking
over Aunt Janet's books, of which I brought a wheen down here. Gee
whizz! No wonder the old dear is superstitious, when she is filled
up to the back teeth with that sort of stuff! There may be some
truth in some of those yarns; those who wrote them may believe in
them, or some of them, at all events. But as to coherence or logic,
or any sort of reasonable or instructive deduction, they might as
well have been written by so many hens! These occult book-makers
seem to gather only a lot of bare, bald facts, which they put down in
the most uninteresting way possible. They go by quantity only. One
story of the kind, well examined and with logical comments, would be
more convincing to a third party than a whole hecatomb of them.
RUPERT'S JOURNAL--Continued.
May 4, 1907.
There is evidently something up in the country. The mountaineers are
more uneasy than they have been as yet. There is constant going to
and fro amongst them, mostly at night and in the grey of the morning.
I spend many hours in my room in the eastern tower, from which I can
watch the woods, and gather from signs the passing to and fro. But
with all this activity no one has said to me a word on the subject.
It is undoubtedly a disappointment to me. I had hoped that the
mountaineers had come to trust me; that gathering at which they
wanted to fire their guns for me gave me strong hopes. But now it is
apparent that they do not trust me in full--as yet, at all events.
Well, I must not complain. It is all only right and just. As yet I
have done nothing to prove to them the love and devotion that I feel
to the country. I know that such individuals as I have met trust me,
and I believe like me. But the trust of a nation is different. That
has to be won and tested; he who would win it must justify, and in a
way that only troublous times can allow. No nation will--can--give
full meed of honour to a stranger in times of peace. Why should it?
I must not forget that I am here a stranger in the land, and that to
the great mass of people even my name is unknown. Perhaps they will
know me better when Rooke comes back with that store of arms and
ammunition that he has bought, and the little warship he has got from
South America. When they see that I hand over the whole lot to the
nation without a string on them, they may begin to believe. In the
meantime all I can do is to wait. It will all come right in time, I
have no doubt. And if it doesn't come right, well, we can only die
once!
Is that so? What about my Lady of the Shroud? I must not think of
that or of her in this gallery. Love and war are separate, and may
not mix--cannot mix, if it comes to that. I must be wise in the
matter; and if I have got the hump in any degree whatever, must not
show it.
But one thing is certain: something is up, and it must be the Turks.
From what the Vladika said at that meeting they have some intention
of an attack on the Blue Mountains. If that be so, we must be ready;
and perhaps I can help there. The forces must be organized; we must
have some method of communication. In this country, where are
neither roads nor railways nor telegraphs, we must establish a
signalling system of some sort. THAT I can begin at once. I can
make a code, or adapt one that I have used elsewhere already. I
shall rig up a semaphore on the top of the Castle which can be seen
for an enormous distance around. I shall train a number of men to be
facile in signalling. And then, should need come, I may be able to
show the mountaineers that I am fit to live in their hearts . . .
And all this work may prove an anodyne to pain of another kind. It
will help, at any rate, to keep my mind occupied whilst I am waiting
for another visit from my Lady of the Shroud.
RUPERT'S JOURNAL--Continued.
May 18, 1907.
The two weeks that have passed have been busy, and may, as time goes
on, prove eventful. I really think they have placed me in a
different position with the Blue Mountaineers--certainly so far as
those in this part of the country are concerned. They are no longer
suspicious of me--which is much; though they have not yet received me
into their confidence. I suppose this will come in time, but I must
not try to hustle them. Already they are willing, so far as I can
see, to use me to their own ends. They accepted the signalling idea
very readily, and are quite willing to drill as much as I like. This
can be (and I think is, in its way) a pleasure to them. They are
born soldiers, every man of them; and practice together is only a
realization of their own wishes and a further development of their
powers. I think I can understand the trend of their thoughts, and
what ideas of public policy lie behind them. In all that we have
attempted together as yet they are themselves in absolute power. It
rests with them to carry out any ideas I may suggest, so they do not
fear any assumption of power or governance on my part. Thus, so long
as they keep secret from me both their ideas of high policy and their
immediate intentions, I am powerless to do them ill, and I MAY be of
service should occasion arise. Well, all told, this is much.
Already they accept me as an individual, not merely one of the mass.
I am pretty sure that they are satisfied of my personal bona fides.
It is policy and not mistrust that hedges me in. Well, policy is a
matter of time. They are a splendid people, but if they knew a
little more than they do they would understand that the wisest of all
policies is trust--when it can be given. I must hold myself in
check, and never be betrayed into a harsh thought towards them. Poor
souls! with a thousand years behind them of Turkish aggression,
strenuously attempted by both force and fraud, no wonder they are
suspicious. Likewise every other nation with whom they have ever
come in contact--except one, my own--has deceived or betrayed them.
Anyhow, they are fine soldiers, and before long we shall have an army
that cannot be ignored. If I can get so that they trust me, I shall
ask Sir Colin to come out here. He would be a splendid head for
their army. His great military knowledge and tactical skill would
come in well. It makes me glow to think of what an army he would
turn out of this splendid material, and one especially adapted for
the style of fighting which would be necessary in this country.
If a mere amateur like myself, who has only had experience of
organizing the wildest kind of savages, has been able to advance or
compact their individual style of fighting into systematic effort, a
great soldier like MacKelpie will bring them to perfection as a
fighting machine. Our Highlanders, when they come out, will
foregather with them, as mountaineers always do with each other.
Then we shall have a force which can hold its own against any odds.
I only hope that Rooke will be returning soon. I want to see those
Ingis-Malbron rifles either safely stored in the Castle or, what is
better, divided up amongst the mountaineers--a thing which will be
done at the very earliest moment that I can accomplish it. I have a
conviction that when these men have received their arms and
ammunition from me they will understand me better, and not keep any
secrets from me.
All this fortnight when I was not drilling or going about amongst the
mountaineers, and teaching them the code which I have now got
perfected, I was exploring the side of the mountain nearest to here.
I could not bear to be still. It is torture to me to be idle in my
present condition of mind regarding my Lady of the Shroud . . .
Strange I do not mind mentioning the word to myself now. I used to
at first; but that bitterness has all gone away.
