The Astonishing History of Troy Town Part 43

"'The heat,' answers Sam, moppin' his forehead; 'but I s'pose you'm a traveller, an' 'customed to heat.'

"'Why, iss,' says t'other, 'I do travel a purty pa.s.sel to an' fro 'pon th' earth. Few folks travels more'n me.'

"Well, et kep' gettin' hotter an' hotter; an' Sam cussed an' mopped, an' mopped an' cussed, an' all the time the stranger were cool an'

aisy. He kep' axin', too, 'bout th' ould Commodore an' hes past life, an' 'peared to take interes' in Sam, an' altogither seemed a proper gen'l'm'n. An' all the time et kep' gettin' hotter an'

hotter, till Sam were fairly runnin' to waste wi' sweatin'. At las'

he pops hes head out'n the windey for fresh air, an' cries out--

"'Hulloa! here's a stashun.'

"Well, the train pulls up, an' Sam says to the stranger--

"'Look 'ee here. Wud 'ee mind keepin' your eye 'pon th' ould man while I runs out to get a drink? I reckoned I knawed thirst afore this,' he says, 'but I were mistook.'

"The stranger was very willin', and away Sam goes.

"He warn't away more'n a minnit; but when he comes back an' takes a look at the platform, my! Sir! there warn't no trace of the train to be seen--not a vestment. You see, they don't blaw no whissle in Spain when the train goes; an' there was poor Sam left stranded.

"Well, he tellygrafs o' cou'se to the nex' stashun, an' in less 'n an hour back comes an answer to say as they searched the train when et stopped, an' there warn't no corpse there, nor chest, nor nuthin'.

An' ef you'll believe me, sir," concluded Caleb, bending forward and touching his master's knee, "th' ould Commodore ha'n't niver been found fro' that day to this. Et 'most broke Sam's heart; an', as he said to me wan time, 'For all I knaws 'twas the devil; and for all I knaws th' ould maaster be travellin' roun' Spain to this day; but ef so,' says he, 'I reckon by this time he's like Patty Ward's pig--no lavender.'"

"That's a very curious tale," said Mr. Fogo, as Caleb leant back in the window-seat and awaited its effect.

"'Tes so true, sir, as I'm here--or so Sam used to say. An' the moral goes agen talkin' lightly o' what a man don't understand," he added reflectively. "But forebodin' es so bad as witch-craf', an'

'tes more'n likely they won't come to-night; but if they does, 'tes on'y fair to ax mun who they be dree times afore firin'. What's fair for man es fair--"

He broke off and clutched his master by the arm.

"Look, sir--look!"

About the deck of the old schooner a shaft of light was dancing fitfully--now here, now there, up and down--and all without visible source or guidance.

The two watchers leapt to their feet and peered out at the window.

The strange brilliance flickered to and fro, falling even on the further bank, and threading with a line of yellow the silver-grey of the moonlight. Then it ceased suddenly.

Caleb and his master waited breathlessly. Half a minute pa.s.sed without further sign. Then they heard a light splash or two, and Mr.

Fogo pointed frantically at the line of the moon's reflection on the creek.

"There! Look--the boat!"

Caleb whipped the blunderbuss up to his shoulder and shouted--

"Who be 'ee? Darn 'ee, here goes--wan, two, dree, all to wanst!"

He pulled the trigger. A tongue of flame leapt forth and burst upon the night with a terrific explosion; and as Caleb fell backwards with the shock, the clumsy engine slipped from his fingers and fell with a clatter upon Mr. Fogo's instep.

When the pair recovered and looked forth again, the echoes had died away, and once more the night was tranquil.

Footnotes, Chapter XIX [1] A monotonous chant or burthen.

[2] A fiddler.

[3] Thick-set.

[4] Stout.

[5] Strength.

[6] Kin.

[7] A concealed compartment or drawer.

CHAPTER XX.

HOW CERTAIN CHARACTERS FOUND THEMSELVES, AT DEAD OF NIGHT, UPON THE FIVE LANES ROAD.

Panting, slipping, with aching sides, but terror at his heels, Sam Buzza tore up the hill. Lights danced before him, imaginary voices shouted after; but he never glanced behind. The portmanteau was monstrously heavy, and more than once he almost dropped it; but it was tightly packed, apparently, for nothing shook inside it.

Only the handles creaked in his grasp.

He gained the top, shifted the load to his left hand, and raced down the other side of the hill. How he reached the bottom he cannot clearly call to mind; but he dug his heels well into the turf, and arrived without a fall. At the foot of the slope a wire fence had to be crossed; next the railway line, then, across the embankment, another fence, which kept a shred of his clothing. A meadow followed, and then he dropped over the hedge into the high road.

Here he stopped, set down the portmanteau, and looked about him.

All was quiet. So vivid was the moonlight that as looking down the road he could mark every bush, every tuft of gra.s.s almost, on the illumined side. Not a soul was in sight.

The night was warm, and his flight had heated him intolerably.

He felt for his handkerchief to mop his brow, but s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand away.

His coat was burning. It was the lantern. Like a fool he had forgotten to blow it out, and an abominable smell of oil and burning cloth now arose from his pocket. He stifled the smouldering fire, pulled out the lantern, and looked at his watch.

It wanted twenty minutes to eleven.

He had plenty of time; so, having extinguished the lantern, and bestowed it in another pocket, he caught up his burden and began to walk up the road at a leisurely pace.

His terrors had cooled, but nevertheless he wished himself well out of the sc.r.a.pe. The report of the gun still rang in his ears and in fancy he could hear again the buzz of that bullet by his ear. More than once a shadow lying across the white road gave him a twinge of fear; and when a placid cow poked its nose over the hedge above him, and lowed confidentially, he leapt almost out of his skin.

The task before him, too, gave him no small anxiety. The directions in the letter were plain enough, but not so the intention of Mrs.

Goodwyn-Sandys. Did she mean him to elope with her? He did not care to face the question. The Admiral, though an indulgent father, was not extravagant; and Sam had but seven-and-sixpence in his pocket.

This was an excellent sum for long whist at threepenny points, but would hardly defray the cost of an elopement. Besides, he did not want to elope.

"No _words_ of mine will repay you." Now he came to consider, these words wore an awkward look. Good Heavens! he had a mind to drop the portmanteau and run home. What had he done to be tempted so?

And why had these people ever come to Troy?

Ah! Sam, that was the question we should have asked ourselves months ago. Some time before, at a concert in the Town Hall, I remember that Mr. Moggridge sang the line--

"Too late the balm when the heart is broke!"

And a Trojan voice at the back a.s.sented--