CHAPTER IV. I LEAVE HOME FOR THE LAST TIME
I was thoroughly ripe for mischief of any kind; my scare had
driven away all desire for sleep. I looked at the window,
wondering if it would be best to go down my ladder again, to get
the ladder in the garden. I was about to do thus, when I
remembered the planks in the box-room. How splendid it would be,
I thought, if I could get a couple of those long planks across
the lane as a sort of bridge. They were strong, thick planks not
likely to sag in the middle if I could only get them across.
Getting them across was the difficulty; for though I was strong
for my age, I found the first plank very contrary. After blowing
out my candles I fixed one end of the board under my heavy
four-post bed, pointing the other end out through the window,
slanting upwards. Straddling across it, I very gingerly edged it
out, a hand's breadth at a time, till I had some ten feet wagging
about in the air over the lane. It was as much as I could do
unaided, to aim the thing. It seemed to have a wild, contrary
kind of life in it. Once or twice I came near to dropping it into
the lane, which would have been the end of everything. When I got
it across, the end caught on the window ledge for about ten
perilous minutes.
I was quite tired out before I got it properly across with two
feet of the end in the other house. I did not at all look forward
to the job of getting it back again after my trip. One plank was
hardly safe, I thought; so I slid a second over it, without much
trouble. It seemed firm enough then for anybody, no matter how
heavy. So carefully I straddled across it, hopping forward a
little at a time, as though I were playing leap-frog. When once I
had started, I was much too nervous to go back. My head was
strong enough. I was well used to being high up in trees. But the
danger of this adventure made me dizzy. At every hop the two
planks clacked together. I could feel the upper plank shaking out
behind me a little to one side of the other. Then a tired
waterman shambled slowly up from the river, carrying his oars. He
passed underneath me, while I was in mid-air. It was lucky for
me, I thought, that few people when walking look above their own
heads. He passed on without seeing me. I waited up aloft till he
had gone, feeling my head grow dizzier at each second. I was, I
trust, truly thankful when I was able to dive down over the
window-sill into the strange house. When I had rested for a
moment, I felt that it was not so difficult after all. "Going
back," I said to myself, "will be much less ticklish." Turning my
head, I saw the eyes of the devil-face glaring at me. They smelt
very strongly of kitchen tallow.
I was not in the least frightened. I crept cautiously along the
floor, on tip-toe, to examine the contrivance. A hollow shaft of
light wood, a sort of big wooden pipe, led down through the
floor, probably to the ground-floor or basement, much as a mast
goes down through a ship's decks into the hold. It was slowly
revolving, being worked by some simple, not very strong
mill-contrivance downstairs. A shelf had been fixed up inside the
pipe. On the shelf (as I could see by looking in) was a tallow
candle in a sconce. Two oval bits of red glass, let into the
wood, made the eyes of this lantern-devil. The mouth was a smear
of some gleaming stuff, evidently some chemical. This was all the
monster which had frightened me. The clacking noise was made by
the machine which moved it round. As for the owl, that was
probably painted with the same chemical. People were more
superstitious then than now. I have no doubt that an ignorant
person like Ephraim, who had lived all his life in London, had
been scared out of his wits by this machine. Like most ignorant
people, he probably reckoned the thing as devilish, merely
because he did not understand it. One or two neighbours, a
housemaid or so, perhaps, had seen it, too. On the strength of
their reports the house had gotten a bad name. The two unoccupied
floors had failed to get tenants, while Mr. Jermyn, the contriver
of the whole, had been ]eft alone, as no doubt he had planned. I
thought that Londoners must be a very foolish people to be so
easily misled. Now that I am older, I see that Londoners often
live in very narrow grooves. They are apt to be frightened at
anything to which they have not been accustomed; unless, of
course, it is a war, when they can scream about themselves so
loudly that they forget that they are screaming.
I examined the machine critically, by its own candle, which I
removed for the purpose. I meant to fix up one very like it in
Ephraim's bed-room as soon as I found an opportunity. Then I
looked about the room for some other toy, feeling in a fine state
of excitement with the success of my adventure. The room was
quite bare. But for this ghost-machine, there was nothing which
could interest me, except a curious drawing, done with a burnt
stick on the plaster of the wall, of a man-of-war under sail.
After examining this drawing, I listened carefully at the door
lest my faint footsteps should have roused someone below. I could
hear no one stirring; the house was silent. "I must be careful,"
I said to myself. "They all may have gone to bed." Understand, I
did not know then what I was doing. I was merely a wrong-headed
boy, up to a prank, begun in a moment of rebellion. When I paused
in the landing, outside the ghost-room, shading the candle with
my hand, I was not aware that I was doing wrong. I was only
thinking how fine it would be to find out about Mr. Jermyn,
before crawling back, over the plank, to my bed. I wanted to
steal about these deserted floors, like a conspirator; then,
having, perhaps, found out about the mystery, to go back home. It
did not enter my head that I might be shot as a burglar. My
original intention, you must remember, had only been to stop the
works of the ghost. It was later on that my intention became
criminal, instead of merely boyish, or, in other words,
crack-brained. As to stopping the ghost, I could not stop the
revolving pipe. I could do no more than take away the light from
the ghost-face. As for the owl on the lower floor, when I came to
it, could not do so much, for it was a great big picture on
board, done in some shining paint. I had nothing with which I
could smear it over, nor could I reach the head. As for stopping
the machine, that I dared not attempt to do, lest I should bring
someone up to me, from the works, wherever they were. Standing by
the ghost of the owl, hearing the chack-chack of the machine at
intervals below me, I became aware of voices in the room
downstairs. When the chack-chack stopped, I could hear men
talking. I could hear what they said, for they were talking in
the ordinary tone of conversation. There was an open space as it
happened, all around the great pipe, where it passed through the
floor. I could peep through this into the room below, getting a
good sight of what was going on. It was very wicked of me, for
there is nothing quite so contemptible as an eavesdropper, but I
could not resist the temptation to look down. When once I had
looked down I am ashamed to say that I listened to what the men
were saying. But first of all, I put out my candle, lest anyone
looking up should se the light through the open space.
At the head of the table, there was a very handsome man, dressed
all in black, as though in mourning. His beauty was so great that
afterwards it passed into a proverb. Later in the year, when I
saw this gentleman nearly every day, I noticed that people (even
those who did not know who he was) would look after him when he
passed them. I will say only this about his handsomeness. It was
a bodily kind of beauty, of colour rather than of form; there was
not much character in it. Had he lived, I daresay he would have
become ugly like the rest of his family, none of whom, except his
great-great-grandmother, was accounted much for looks.
Next to this handsome man, on the right, sat Mr. Jermyn, looking
fifteen years younger without his false beard. Then came a very
black-looking man, with a face all eyebrows. Then a soldier in
uniform. Then a little, wiry man, who jumped about as though
excited--I could only see him when he jumped: he had an
unpleasant, saturnine face, which frightened me. That, as far as
I could see, was the whole company. When I first began to listen,
the man in uniform was speaking to the handsome man at the head
of the table. I knew at once, when he said Your Majesty, that he
was talking to James, the Duke of Monmouth, of whom I had heard
that afternoon.
"No, your Majesty," he said. "No, your Majesty," he repeated, "I
can't answer for the army. If things had been different in
February" (he meant, "if you had been in England when Charles II
died") "there would have been another King in England. As it is,
I'm against a rising."
"Don't you think his Majesty could succeed by raising an army in
the West?" said Mr. Jermyn. "The present usurper (he meant James
II) is a great coward. The West is ripe to rebel. Any strong
demonstration there would paralyse him. Besides, the army
wouldn't fire on their own countrymen. We'd enough of that in the
Civil War. What do you think of a Western rising?"
The soldier smiled. "Ah no," he said. "No, your Majesty. Whatever
you do, Sire, don't do it with untrained men. A rising in the
West would only put you at the head of a mob. A regiment of
steady trained men in good discipline can destroy any mob in
twenty minutes. No, your Majesty. No. Don't try. it, Sire."
"Then what do you advise, Lane?" said the Duke.
"I would say wait, your Majesty. Wait till the usurper, the
poisoner, commits himself with the Papists. When he's made
himself thoroughly unpopular throughout the country, then sound a
few regiments. It's only a matter of a year or two. If you'll
wait for a year or two you'll see yourself invited over. Besides,
a sudden rising in the West must fail, sir. Your Majesty would be
in between two great garrisons, Bristol and Portsmouth. We can't
be sure that either would be true to us."
"Yes," the Duke answered. "Yes, Lane. But as I plan it, the army
will be tempted north. Argyle will make a strong feint in
Scotland, with the great clans, just when the Western gentry
declare for us."
"I take it," Lane answered, "that Argyle has sounded the clans.
He knows, I suppose, what force of drilled men will rally to him.
You know nothing, sir, about the West. You know that many men are
for you; but you know not how many nor how good. You will need
mounted men, sir, if you are to dash down upon London with any
speed. You cannot raise cavalry in a week. All that you will get
in the West will be squireens, or dashing young farmers, both
kinds unaccustomed to being ordered; both kinds totally unfitted
for war."
"Yes," said the saturnine little man. "But a rising in the West
would have this natural effect. Argyle will draw troops to the
north, as his Majesty has explained. Very well, then. Let Devon
declare for the King, the business will be done. The usurper will
not dare to send the few troops left to him out of the capital,
lest the town should rise on him."
"Very true. True. A good point," said the man with the eyebrows.
"I think that disposes of your argument, Lane," said the Duke,
with a smile.
"It's a supposition, sir, against a certainty. I've told you of a
military danger. Falk, there, only tells you of a bare, military
possibility."
"But it's as certain as anything can be," said the man with the
eyebrows. "You can see. That's just what must happen."
"It is what may happen if you wait for a year or two, your
Majesty," Lane replied. "But a newly crowned King is always
popular. I doubt if you will find public opinion so much on your
side, your Majesty. No for a year or two, till he's made himself
disliked. They've settled down now to this usurper. They'll
resent an interruption. The trades-men will resent an
interruption."
"I think you over-rate the difficulties, Lane," said Mr. Jermyn.
"Yes," said the Duke, "I'm a great believer in putting a matter
to the test. Much must necessarily be left to chance. If we wait,
we may not find public opinion turning against our enemies. We
may even lose the good opinion of the West by waiting. Besides,
by waiting, Lane, we should lose the extraordinary: help of
Argyle's diversion in the north."
"Yes," the others said in chorus. "We mustn't lose that. A rising
this early summer, when the roads are good. A rising as soon as
Argyle is ready."
"Well, your Majesty," said Lane, shaking his head. "I see you're
resolved. You shall not find me backward when the time comes, for
all my doubts at this meeting. To your Majesty's happy success."
They all drank the toast; but I noticed that Mr. Lane looked
melancholy, as though he foresaw something of what actually
happened in that terrible June.
"Very good," said the Duke, "I thank you, gentlemen. Now, Jermyn.
We two shall have to be off to the Low Countries in another half
hour. How about messengers to the West? You, Lane, are tied here
to your regiment. Falk, how about you, Falk?"
"No, your Majesty," said Falk. "There's danger in sending me. I'm
suspected. I'm known to be in your interests."
"You, then, Candlish," said the Duke to the man with the
eyebrows.
"Not me, Sire," said Candlish. "I can't disguise myself. I'm
stamped by nature for the paths of virtue."
"It would be a good thing," said Falk, "if we could get some
Western carrier."
"The Western carriers are all watched," Lane replied. "They are
followed, wherever they go, as on as they arrive at their inns
here."
"Haven't you found some more gipsies, Falk?" Candlish asked. "The
last gipsy we had was very good."
"He was caught by a press-gang," said Falk, "Gipsies aren't to be
trusted, though. They would sell us at once if they had the
chance. Ramon was an exception."
Mr. Jermyn had risen at the Duke's last speech as though to put
on his coat, ready to leave the house.. The Duke was listening to
the conversation, making 'idle sketches, as he listened, on the
paper before him, I think I hardly realised, as I craned over the
open space, that I had been listening to a conversation which
would have condemned all present to death for treason. I repeated
to myself, in a dazed sort of way, that the West was ready to
rise. "King James is an usurper," I said softly. "These men are
going to rebel against him. There's going to be a civil war in
England about it." I had hardly repeated this to myself, when it
came over me with a shock that I was in terrible personal danger.
The men were just leaving the house. They would probably look up,
on leaving, to see what sort of a night it was. They would see my
wonderful bridge. It would be all over with me then. I was so I
could hardly stand up. I took a few cautious steps towards the
door, saying to myself that I would never again be disobedient if
I might escape this once. I was at the door, just about to open
it, when I heard a step upon the landing just outside, coming
towards me. I gave up hope then; but I had just sense enough to
step to my left, so that, when the door should open (if the
stranger entered) it might, possibly, screen me from him. Then I
heard the Duke's voice from down below calling to Mr. Jermyn.
"Jermyn," he called. "Bring down my books, will you. They're on
my bed. What are you doing up there?"
"Just seeing to the ghosts, your Majesty. I won't keep you
waiting."
"I'll come, too," he answered. "I'd like to see your ghosts
again." Then I heard Mr. Jermyn loitering at the stair-head while
the Duke left the council-room. My hair was rising on my scalp;
there was cold sweat on my forehead; it was as much as I could do
to keep my teeth from chattering. I heard the Duke's feet upon
the stairs; there were eleven stairs, I counted them. Presently I
heard him say, "Now, Jermyn." Then came Jermyn's answer of "This
way, your Majesty." He flung the door wide open, so that the Duke
might enter. The two men passed into the room to examine the
horrible owl. The Duke chuckled as the machine moved round to
him. "How bright he keeps," he said. "Yes," Jermyn answered. "He
won't need painting for a long while yet." "No," the Duke
answered, "I hear, Jermyn, he's given you a most uncanny
reputation." "Yes," said Jermyn, "the house has a bad name. What
in the world is this?" In walking round the owl his foot had
struck upon the unlucky tin candle-sconce which I had brought
from the room above. "Sounds like a tin candle-stick," said the
Duke. "Yes," said Mr. Jermyn, groping. "That's what it is. Now
how in the world did it get here? It's the candle-stick from the
dragon's head in the room above." "Are you sure, Jermyn?" the
Duke asked, in a voice which showed that he was agitated. "Yes,
sir. Quite sure. But no one's been up there." "There must be a
spy," said the Duke. The two voices spoke together for a moment
in whispers. I could not hear what they said; but a moment later
I heard the rasping, clinking noise of two swords being drawn.
"Come out of that," said Mr. Jermyn's voice. I felt that I was
discovered; but I dared not stir from my covert. I heard the two
men walking swiftly to the door. A hand plucked it from in front
of me. I shrank back into the wall, covering my eyes with my
hands, so that I should not see the two long sword-blades
pointing at my throat. "Make no sound. Make no sound, now," said
the Duke, pressing his sword-point on my chest, so that I could
feel it thrust hard upon me, as though it needed very little
force to send it through. I made no sound.
"Who are you?" said Mr. Jermyn, backing to the opening in the
floor. "Kill him if he moves, sir. Candlish, Candlish. Bring a
light. Bring a light. We've caught a moth."
I tried to swallow, but my throat seemed choked with dust. I
heard the people downstairs bustling out of the room with
candles. I tried to speak; but I could not. I was too much
scared. I stood pressed hard against the wall, with the Duke's
sword-point still in place.
"Bring it in here, Candlish," said Mr. Jermyn. There came a
clattering noise from the window. Mr. Jermyn had released some
heavy rolled up curtain-blinds, which covered the whole window.
There was no chance, now, of being seen from the street, or from
my uncle's house. Candlish entered carrying a candle.
The others followed at his heels.
"A boy. Eh?" he said.
"What do you do here?" the Duke asked, staring hard at me.
"He's frightened out of his wits, sir," said Lane. "We aren't
going to hurt you, boy, if you'll only tell the truth."
"Why," said Mr. Jermyn. "It's Martin Hyde, nephew to old Hyde
across the way."
"But he's overheard us," put in Falk. "He's overheard us."
"Come on downstairs. Bring him with you," said the Duke. Lane
took me by one arm. Mr. Jermyn took me by the other. They marched
me downstairs to the council-room.
"Here, boy," said Candlish, not unkindly. "Drink this wine." He
made me swallow a glass of Burgundy, which certainly did me a
great deal of good. I was able to speak after drinking it.
"Now, Mr. Hyde," said Mr. Jermyn. "How do you come to be in this
house?"
"Take your time, boy," said Lane.
"He's not a London boy?" said the Duke to Mr. Jermyn.
"No, sir," he answered in a whisper. "Just come here from the
country."
"Please, your Majesty," I began.
"So you're a young rebel," said the Duke. "That shows he
overheard us," said Falk.
"Let him alone, Falk," the Duke said.
"He'll tell the truth. No use in frightening him."
"Please, your Majesty," I said again, "I was locked up in my room
for taking my uncle's boat this afternoon." One of two of them
smiled when I said this: it gave me confidence.
"But how did you get into this house?" Mr. Jermyn asked.
"Please, sir," I answered, "1 saw your upper window open. So I
laid a couple of planks across the lane from my window. Then I
just straddled across, sir."
"Are you used to burglary, may I ask?" said the Duke.
"No, your Majesty. But I saw the ghosts. I wanted to see how they
were made."
"Well. That's one for you, Jermyn," said Lane. "Your ghosts
haven't frightened this one."
"Sir," I answered. "They frightened me horribly. I wanted to be
revenged for that. But after a bit I was sure they were only
clockwork. I wanted to stop them. I did stop the devil upstairs,
sir."
"So you stopped the devil upstairs," the Duke said. "What did you
do then?"
"I came down to this room, sir. I looked at the owl. But I
couldn't see how to stop the owl, sir. I saw you all sitting
round the room. I'm afraid I listened, sir."
"That was not a gentlemanly thing to do," said Lane. "Was it
now?"
"No, sir."
"You understood all that was said. Eh, boy?" said Candlish.
"Yes, sir. I understood it all."
"Well, young man," said Falk. "You'll be sorry you did."
"Be quiet, Falk," said the Duke. "No one shall bully the boy.
What's your name, boy?"
"Martin Hyde, sir."
"A very smart lad too, sir," said Jermyn. "He saved my book of
cipher correspondence yesterday. We should have been in trouble
if that had got into the wrong hands."
"You understand," said the Duke, "that what you have heard might
get us all, perhaps many more besides ourselves, into very
terrible danger if repeated?"
"Yes, your Majesty, I understand," I answered. "Lock him into the
pantry, Jermyn," said the Duke, "while we decide what to do with
him. Go with Mr. Jermyn, boy. We sha'n't hurt you. Don't be
frightened. Give him some oranges, Jermyn."
