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_ On the heights overlooking the harbor of Mogador, a seaport on
the west coast of Morocco, the missionary, in the coolness of the
late afternoon, is following the precept of Voltaire by
cultivating his garden. He is an elderly Scotchman, spiritually a
little weatherbeaten, as having to navigate his creed in strange
waters crowded with other craft but still a convinced son of the
Free Church and the North African Mission, with a faithful brown
eye, and a peaceful soul. Physically a wiry small-knit man, well
tanned, clean shaven, with delicate resolute features and a
twinkle of mild humor. He wears the sun helmet and pagri, the
neutral-tinted spectacles, and the white canvas Spanish sand
shoes of the modern Scotch missionary: but instead of a cheap
tourist's suit from Glasgow, a grey flannel shirt with white
collar, a green sailor knot tie with a cheap pin in it, he wears
a suit of clean white linen, acceptable in color, if not in cut,
to the Moorish mind.
The view from the garden includes much Atlantic Ocean and a long
stretch of sandy coast to the south, swept by the north east
trade wind, and scantily nourishing a few stunted pepper trees,
mangy palms, and tamarisks. The prospect ends, as far as the
land is concerned, in little hills that come nearly to the sea:
rudiments, these, of the Atlas Mountains. The missionary, having
had daily opportunities of looking at this seascape for thirty
years or so, pays no heed to it, being absorbed in trimming a
huge red geranium bush, to English eyes unnaturally big, which,
with a dusty smilax or two, is the sole product of his pet
flower-bed. He is sitting to his work on a Moorish stool. In the
middle of the garden there is a pleasant seat in the shade of a
tamarisk tree. The house is in the south west corner of the
garden, and the geranium bush in the north east corner.
At the garden-door of the house there appears presently a man who
is clearly no barbarian, being in fact a less agreeable product
peculiar to modern commercial civilization. His frame and flesh
are those of an ill-nourished lad of seventeen; but his age is
inscrutable: only the absence of any sign of grey in his mud
colored hair suggests that he is at all events probably under
forty, without prejudice to the possibility of his being under
twenty. A Londoner would recognize him at once as an extreme but
hardy specimen of the abortion produced by nature in a city slum.
His utterance, affectedly pumped and hearty, and naturally vulgar
and nasal, is ready and fluent: nature, a Board School education,
and some kerbstone practice having made him a bit of an orator.
His dialect, apart from its base nasal delivery, is not unlike
that of smart London society in its tendency to replace
diphthongs by vowels (sometimes rather prettily) and to shuffle
all the traditional vowel pronunciations. He pronounces ow as ah,
and i as aw, using the ordinary ow for o, i for a, a for u, and e
for a, with this reservation, that when any vowel is followed by
an r he signifies its presence, not by pronouncing the r, which
he never does under these circumstances, but by prolonging and
modifyinq the vowel, sometimes even to the extreme degree of
pronouncing it properly. As to his yol for l (a compendious
delivery of the provincial eh-al), and other metropolitan
refinements, amazing to all but cockneys, they cannot be
indicated, save in the above imperfect manner, without the aid
of a phonetic alphabet. He is dressed in somebody else's very
second best as a coast-guardsman, and gives himself the airs of
a stage tar with sufficient success to pass as a possible fish
porter of bad character in casual employment during busy times
at Billingsgate. His manner shows an earnest disposition to
ingratiate himself with the missionary, probably for some
dishonest purpose.
THE MAN. Awtenoon, Mr. Renkin. (The missionary sits up quickly,
and turns, resigning himself dutifully to the interruption.) Yr
honor's eolth.
RANKIN (reservedly). Good afternoon, Mr. Drinkwotter.
DRINKWATER. You're not best pleased to be hinterrupted in yr bit
o gawdnin bow the lawk o me, gavner.
RANKIN. A missionary knows nothing of leks of that soart, or of
disleks either, Mr. Drinkwotter. What can I do for ye?
DRINKWATER (heartily). Nathink, gavner. Awve brort noos fer yer.
RANKIN. Well, sit ye doon.
DRINKWATER. Aw thenk yr honor. (He sits down on the seat under
the tree and composes himself for conversation.) Hever ear o
Jadge Ellam?
RANKIN. Sir Howrrd Hallam?
DRINKWATER. Thet's im-enginest jadge in Hingland! --awlus gives
the ket wen it's robbry with voylence, bless is awt. Aw sy
nathink agin im: awm all fer lor mawseolf, AW em.
RANKIN. Well?
DRINKWATER. Hever ear of is sist-in-lor: Lidy Sisly Winefleet?
RANKIN. Do ye mean the celebrated Leddy--the traveller?
DRINKWATER. Yuss: should think aw doo. Walked acrost Harfricar
with nathink but a little dawg, and wrowt abaht it in the Dily
Mile (the Daily Mail, a popular London newspaper), she did.
RANKIN. Is she Sir Howrrd Hallam's sister-in-law?
DRINKWATER. Deeceased wawfe's sister: yuss: thet's wot SHE is.
RANKIN. Well, what about them?
DRINKWATER. Wot abaht them! Waw, they're EAH. Lannid aht of a
steam yacht in Mogador awber not twenty minnits agow. Gorn to the
British cornsl's. E'll send em orn to you: e ynt got naowheres to
put em. Sor em awr (hire) a Harab an two Krooboys to kerry their
laggige. Thort awd cam an teoll yer.
RANKIN. Thank you. It's verra kind of you, Mr. Drinkwotter.
DRINKWATER. Down't mention it, gavner. Lor bless yer, wawn't it
you as converted me? Wot was aw wen aw cam eah but a pore lorst
sinner? Down't aw ow y'a turn fer thet? Besawds, gavner, this
Lidy Sisly Winefleet mawt wor't to tike a walk crost Morocker--a
rawd inter the mahntns or sech lawk. Weoll, as you knaow, gavner,
thet cawn't be done eah withaht a hescort.
RANKIN. It's impoassible: th' would oall b' murrdered. Morocco is
not lek the rest of Africa.
DRINKWATER. No, gavner: these eah Moors ez their religion; an it
mikes em dinegerous. Hever convert a Moor, gavner?
RANKIN (with a rueful smile). No.
DRINKWATER (solemnly). Nor never will, gavner.
RANKIN. I have been at work here for twenty-five years, Mr.
Drinkwotter; and you are my first and only convert.
DRINKWATER. Down't seem naow good, do it, gavner?
RANKIN. I don't say that. I hope I have done some good. They come
to me for medicine when they are ill; and they call me the
Christian who is not a thief. THAT is something.
DRINKWATER. Their mawnds kennot rawse to Christiennity lawk hahrs
ken, gavner: thet's ah it is. Weoll, ez haw was syin, if a
hescort is wornted, there's maw friend and commawnder Kepn
Brarsbahnd of the schooner Thenksgivin, an is crew, incloodin
mawseolf, will see the lidy an Jadge Ellam through henny little
excursion in reason. Yr honor mawt mention it.
RANKIN. I will certainly not propose anything so dangerous as an
excursion.
DRINKWATER (virtuously). Naow, gavner, nor would I awst you to.
(Shaking his head.) Naow, naow: it IS dinegerous. But hall the
more call for a hescort if they should ev it hin their mawnds to
gow.
RANKIN. I hope they won't.
DRINKWATER. An sow aw do too, gavner.
RANKIN (pondering). 'Tis strange that they should come to
Mogador, of all places; and to my house! I once met Sir Howrrd
Hallam, years ago.
DRINKWATER (amazed). Naow! didger? Think o thet, gavner! Waw, sow
aw did too. But it were a misunnerstedin, thet wors. Lef the
court withaht a stine on maw kerrickter, aw did.
RANKIN (with some indignation). I hope you don't think I met Sir
Howrrd in that way.
DRINKWATER. Mawt yeppn to the honestest, best meanin pusson, aw
do assure yer, gavner.
RANKIN. I would have you to know that I met him privately, Mr.
Drinkwotter. His brother was a dear friend of mine. Years ago. He
went out to the West Indies.
DRINKWATER. The Wust Hindies! Jist acrost there, tather sawd thet
howcean (pointing seaward)! Dear me! We cams hin with vennity, an
we deepawts in dawkness. Down't we, gavner?
RANKIN (pricking up his ears). Eh? Have you been reading that
little book I gave you?
DRINKWATER. Aw hev, et odd tawms. Very camfitn, gavner. (He
rises, apprehensive lest further catechism should find him
unprepared.) Awll sy good awtenoon, gavner: you're busy hexpectin
o Sr Ahrd an Lidy Sisly, ynt yer? (About to go.)
RANKIN (stopping him). No, stop: we're oalways ready for
travellers here. I have something else to say--a question to ask
you.
DRINKWATR (with a misgiving, which he masks by exaggerating his
hearty sailor manner). An weollcome, yr honor.
RANKIN. Who is this Captain Brassbound?
DRINKWATER (guiltily). Kepn Brarsbahnd! E's-weoll, e's maw Kepn,
gavner.
RANKIN. Yes. Well?
DRINKWATER (feebly). Kepn of the schooner Thenksgivin, gavner.
RANKIN (searchingly). Have ye ever haird of a bad character in
these seas called Black Paquito?
DRINKWATER (with a sudden radiance of complete enlightenment).
Aoh, nar aw tikes yer wiv me, yr honor. Nah sammun es bin a
teolln you thet Kepn Brarsbahnd an Bleck Pakeetow is
hawdentically the sime pussn. Ynt thet sow?
RANKIN. That is so. (Drinkwater slaps his knee triumphantly. The
missionary proceeds determinedly) And the someone was a verra
honest, straightforward man, as far as I could judge.
DRINKWATER (embracing the implication). Course a wors, gavner: Ev
aw said a word agin him? Ev aw nah?
RANKIN. But is Captain Brassbound Black Paquito then?
DRINKWATER. Waw, it's the nime is blessed mather give im at er
knee, bless is little awt! Ther ynt naow awm in it. She ware a
Wust Hinjin--howver there agin, yer see (pointing seaward)--
leastwaws, naow she worn't: she were a Brazilian, aw think; an
Pakeetow's Brazilian for a bloomin little perrit--awskin yr pawdn
for the word. (Sentimentally) Lawk as a Hinglish lidy mawt call
er little boy Birdie.
RANKIN (not quite convinced). But why BLACK Paquito?
DRINKWATER (artlessly). Waw, the bird in its netral stite bein
green, an e evin bleck air, y' knaow--
RANKIN (cutting him short). I see. And now I will put ye another
question. WHAT is Captain Brassbound, or Paquito, or whatever he
calls himself?
DRINKWATER (officiously). Brarsbahnd, gavner. Awlus calls isseolf
Brarsbahnd.
RANKIN. Well. Brassbound, then. What is he?
DRINKWATER (fervently). You awsks me wot e is, gavner?
RANKIN (firmly). I do.
DRINKWATFR (with rising enthusiasm). An shll aw teoll yer wot e
is, yr honor?
RANKIN (not at all impressed). If ye will be so good, Mr.
Drinkwotter.
DRINKWATER (with overwhelming conviction). Then awll teoll you,
gavner, wot he is. Ee's a Paffick Genlmn: thet's wot e is.
RANKIN (gravely). Mr. Drinkwotter: pairfection is an attribute,
not of West Coast captains, but of thr Maaker. And there are
gentlemen and gentlemen in the world, espaecially in these
latitudes. Which sort of gentleman is he?
DRINKWATER. Hinglish genlmn, gavner. Hinglish speakin; Hinglish
fawther; West Hinjin plawnter; Hinglish true blue breed.
(Reflectively) Tech o brahn from the mather, preps, she bein
Brazilian.
RANKIN. Now on your faith as a Christian, Felix Drinkwotter, is
Captain Brassbound a slaver or not?
DRINKWATER (surprised into his natural cockney pertness). Naow e
ynt.
RANKIN. Are ye SURE?
DRINKWATER. Waw, a sliver is abaht the wanne thing in the wy of a
genlmn o fortn thet e YNT.
RANKIN. I've haird that expression "gentleman of fortune" before,
Mr. Drinkwotter. It means pirate. Do ye know that?
DRINKWATER. Bless y'r awt, y' cawnt be a pawrit naradys. Waw, the
aw seas is wuss pleest nor Piccadilly Suckus. If aw was to do orn
thet there Hetlentic Howcean the things aw did as a bwoy in the
Worterleoo Rowd, awd ev maw air cat afore aw could turn maw ed.
Pawrit be blaowed!--awskink yr pawdn, gavner. Nah, jest to shaow
you ah little thet there striteforard man y' mide mention on
knaowed wot e was atorkin abaht: oo would you spowse was the
marster to wich Kepn Brarsbahnd served apprentice, as yr mawt sy?
RANKIN. I don't know.
DRINKWATER. Gawdn, gavner, Gawdn. Gawdn o Kawtoom--stetcher
stends in Trifawlgr Square to this dy. Trined Bleck Pakeetow in
smawshin hap the slive riders, e did. Promist Gawdn e wouldn't
never smaggle slives nor gin, an (with suppressed aggravation)
WOWN'T, gavner, not if we gows dahn on ahr bloomin bended knees
to im to do it.
RANKIN (drily). And DO ye go down on your bended knees to him to
do it?
DRINKWATER (somewhat abashed). Some of huz is hanconverted men,
gavner; an they sy: You smaggles wanne thing, Kepn; waw not
hanather?
RANKIN. We've come to it at last. I thought so. Captain
Brassbound is a smuggler.
DRINKWATER. Weoll, waw not? Waw not, gavner? Ahrs is a Free Tride
nition. It gows agin us as Hinglishmen to see these bloomin
furriners settin ap their Castoms Ahses and spheres o hinfluence
and sich lawk hall owver Arfricar. Daown't Harfricar belong as
much to huz as to them? thet's wot we sy. Ennywys, there ynt naow
awm in ahr business. All we daz is hescort, tourist HOR
commercial. Cook's hexcursions to the Hatlas Mahntns: thet's hall
it is. Waw, it's spreadin civlawzytion, it is. Ynt it nah?
RANKIN. You think Captain Brassbound's crew sufficiently equipped
for that, do you?
DRINKWATER. Hee-quipped! Haw should think sow. Lawtnin rawfles,
twelve shots in the meggezine! Oo's to storp us?
RANKIN. The most dangerous chieftain in these parts, the Sheikh
Sidi el Assif, has a new American machine pistol which fires ten
bullets without loadin; and his rifle has sixteen shots in the
magazine.
DRINKWATER (indignantly). Yuss; an the people that sells sich
things into the ends o' them eathen bleck niggers calls
theirseolves Christians! It's a crool shime, sow it is.
RANKIN. If a man has the heart to pull the trigger, it matters
little what color his hand is, Mr. Drinkwotter. Have ye anything
else to say to me this afternoon?
DRINKWATER (rising). Nathink, gavner, cept to wishyer the bust o
yolth, and a many cornverts. Awtenoon, gavner.
RANKIN. Good afternoon to ye, Mr. Drinkwotter.
As Drinkwater turns to go, a Moorish porter comes from the house
with two Krooboys.
THE PORTER (at the door, addressing Rankin). Bikouros (Moroccan
for Epicurus, a general Moorish name for the missionaries, who
are supposed by the Moors to have chosen their calling through a
love of luxurious idleness): I have brought to your house a
Christian dog and his woman.
DRINKWATER. There's eathen menners fer yer! Calls Sr Ahrd Ellam
an Lidy Winefleet a Christian dorg and is woman! If ee ed you in
the dorck et the Centl Crimnal, you'd fawnd aht oo was the dorg
and oo was is marster, pretty quick, you would.
RANKIN. Have you broat their boxes?
THE PORTER. By Allah, two camel loads!
RANKIN. Have you been paid?
THE PORTER. Only one miserable dollar, Bikouros. I have brought
them to your house. They will pay you. Give me something for
bringing gold to your door.
DRINKWATER. Yah! You oughter bin bawn a Christian, you ought. You
knaow too mach.
RANKIN. You have broat onnly trouble and expense to my door,
Hassan; and you know it. Have I ever charged your wife and
children for my medicines?
HASSAN (philosophically). It is always permitted by the Prophet
to ask, Bikouros. (He goes cheerfully into the house with the
Krooboys.)
DRINKWATER. Jist thort eed trah it orn, a did. Hooman nitre is
the sime everywheres. Them eathens is jast lawk you an' me,
gavner.
A lady and gentleman, both English, come into the garden.
The gentleman, more than elderly, is facing old age on
compulsion, not resignedly. He is clean shaven, and has a brainy
rectangular forehead, a resolute nose with strongly governed
nostrils, and a tightly fastened down mouth which has evidently
shut in much temper and anger in its time. He has a habit of
deliberately assumed authority and dignity, but is trying to
take life more genially and easily in his character of tourist,
which is further borne out by his white hat and summery
racecourse attire.
The lady is between thirty and forty, tall, very goodlooking,
sympathetic, intelligent, tender and humorous, dressed with
cunning simplicity not as a businesslike, tailor made, gaitered
tourist, but as if she lived at the next cottage and had dropped
in for tea in blouse and flowered straw hat. A woman of great
vitality and humanity, who begins a casual acquaintance at the
point usually attained by English people after thirty years
acquaintance when they are capable of reaching it at all. She
pounces genially on Drinkwater, who is smirking at her, hat in
hand, with an air of hearty welcome. The gentleman, on the other
hand, comes down the side of the garden next the house,
instinctively maintaining a distance between himself and the
others.
THE LADY (to Drinkwater). How dye do? Are you the missionary?
DRINKWATER (modestly). Naow, lidy, aw will not deceive you, thow
the mistike his but netral. Awm wanne of the missionary's good
works, lidy--is first cornvert, a umble British seaman--
countrymen o yours, lidy, and of is lawdship's. This eah is Mr.
Renkin, the bust worker in the wust cowst vawnyawd. (Introducing
the judge) Mr. Renkin: is lawdship Sr Ahrd Ellam. (He withdraws
discreetly into the house.)
SIR HOWARD (to Rankin). I am sorry to intrude on you, Mr. Rankin;
but in the absence of a hotel there seems to be no alternative.
LADY CICELY (beaming on him). Besides, we would so much RATHER
stay with you, if you will have us, Mr. Rankin.
SIR HOWARD (introducing her). My sister-in-law, Lady Cicely
Waynflete, Mr. Rankin.
RANKIN. I am glad to be of service to your leddyship. You will be
wishing to have some tea after your journey, I'm thinking.
LADY CICELY. Thoughtful man that you are, Mr. Rankin! But we've
had some already on board the yacht. And I've arranged everything
with your servants; so you must go on gardening just as if we
were not here.
SIR HOWARD. I am sorry to have to warn you, Mr. Rankin, that Lady
Cicely, from travelling in Africa, has acquired a habit of
walking into people's houses and behaving as if she were in her
own.
LADY CICELY. But, my dear Howard, I assure you the natives like
it.
RANKIN (gallantly). So do I.
LADY CICELY (delighted). Oh, that is so nice of you, Mr. Rankin.
This is a delicious country! And the people seem so good! They
have such nice faces! We had such a handsome Moor to carry our
luggage up! And two perfect pets of Krooboys! Did you notice
their faces, Howard?
SIR HOWARD. I did; and I can confidently say, after a long
experience of faces of the worst type looking at me from the
dock, that I have never seen so entirely villainous a trio as
that Moor and the two Krooboys, to whom you gave five dollars
when they would have been perfectly satisfied with one.
RANKIN (throwing up his hands). Five dollars! 'Tis easy to see
you are not Scotch, my leddy.
LADY CICELY. Oh, poor things, they must want it more than we do;
and you know, Howard, that Mahometans never spend money in drink.
RANKIN. Excuse me a moment, my leddy. I have a word in season to
say to that same Moor. (He goes into the house.)
LADY CICELY (walking about the garden, looking at the view and at
the flowers). I think this is a perfectly heavenly place.
Drinkwater returns from the house with a chair.
DRINKWATER (placing the chair for Sir Howard). Awskink yr pawdn
for the libbety, Sr Ahrd.
SIR HOWARD (looking a him). I have seen you before somewhere.
DRINKWATER. You ev, Sr Ahrd. But aw do assure yer it were hall a
mistike.
SIR HOWARD. As usual. (He sits down.) Wrongfully convicted, of
course.
DRINKWATER (with sly delight). Naow, gavner. (Half whispering,
with an ineffable grin) Wrorngfully hacquittid!
SIR HOWARD. Indeed! That's the first case of the kind I have ever
met.
DRINKWATER. Lawd, Sr Ahrd, wot jagginses them jurymen was! You an
me knaowed it too, didn't we?
SIR HOWARD. I daresay we did. I am sorry to say I forget the
exact nature of the difficulty you were in. Can you refresh my
memory?
DRINKWATER. Owny the aw sperrits o youth, y' lawdship. Worterleoo
Rowd kice. Wot they calls Ooliganism.
SIR HOWARD. Oh! You were a Hooligan, were you?
LADY CICELY (puzzled). A Hooligan!
DRINKWATER (deprecatingly). Nime giv huz pore thortless leds baw
a gent on the Dily Chrornicle, lidy. (Rankin returns. Drinkwater
immediately withdraws, stopping the missionary for a moment near
the threshold to say, touching his forelock) Awll eng abaht
within ile, gavner, hin kice aw should be wornted. (He goes into
the house with soft steps.)
Lady Cicely sits down on the bench under the tamarisk. Rankin
takes his stool from the flowerbed and sits down on her left, Sir
Howard being on her right.
LADY CICELY. What a pleasant face your sailor friend has, Mr.
Rankin! He has been so frank and truthful with us. You know I
don't think anybody can pay me a greater compliment than to be
quite sincere with me at first sight. It's the perfection of
natural good manners.
SIR HOWARD. You must not suppose, Mr. Rankin, that my
sister-in-law talks nonsense on purpose. She will continue to
believe in your friend until he steals her watch; and even then
she will find excuses for him.
RANKIN (drily changing the subject). And how have ye been, Sir
Howrrd, since our last meeting that morning nigh forty year ago
down at the docks in London?
SIR HOWARD (greatly surprised, pulling himself together) Our last
meeting! Mr. Rankin: have I been unfortunate enough to forget an
old acquaintance?
RANKIN. Well, perhaps hardly an acquaintance, Sir Howrrd. But I
was a close friend of your brother Miles: and when he sailed for
Brazil I was one of the little party that saw him off. You were
one of the party also, if I'm not mistaken. I took particular
notice of you because you were Miles's brother and I had never
seen ye before. But ye had no call to take notice of me.
SIR HOWARD (reflecting). Yes: there was a young friend of my
brother's who might well be you. But the name, as I recollect it,
was Leslie.
RANKIN. That was me, sir. My name is Leslie Rankin; and your
brother and I were always Miles and Leslie to one another.
SIR HOWARD (pluming himself a little). Ah! that explains it. I
can trust my memory still, Mr. Rankin; though some people do
complain that I am growing old.
RANKIN. And where may Miles be now, Sir Howard?
SIR HOWARD (abruptly). Don't you know that he is dead?
RANKIN (much shocked). Never haird of it. Dear, dear: I shall
never see him again; and I can scarcely bring his face to mind
after all these years. (With moistening eyes, which at once touch
Lady Cicely's sympathy) I'm right sorry--right sorry.
SIR HOWARD (decorously subduing his voice). Yes: he did not live
long: indeed, he never came back to England. It must be nearly
thirty years ago now that he died in the West Indies on his
property there.
RANKIN (surprised). His proaperty! Miles with a proaperty!
SIR HOWARD. Yes: he became a planter, and did well out there, Mr.
Rankin. The history of that property is a very curious and
interesting one--at least it is so to a lawyer like myself.
RANKIN. I should be glad to hear it for Miles's sake, though I am
no lawyer, Sir Howrrd.
LADY CICELY. I never knew you had a brother, Howard.
SIR HOWARD (not pleased by this remark). Perhaps because you
never asked me. (Turning more blandly to Rankin) I will tell you
the story, Mr. Rankin. When Miles died, he left an estate in one
of the West Indian islands. It was in charge of an agent who was
a sharpish fellow, with all his wits about him. Now, sir, that
man did a thing which probably could hardly be done with impunity
even here in Morocco, under the most barbarous of surviving
civilizations. He quite simply took the estate for himself and
kept it.
RANKIN. But how about the law?
SIR HOWARD. The law, sir, in that island, consisted practically
of the Attorney General and the Solicitor General; and these
gentlemen were both retained by the agent. Consequently there was
no solicitor in the island to take up the case against him.
RANKIN. Is such a thing possible to-day in the British Empire?
SIR HOWARD (calmly). Oh, quite. Quite.
LADY CICELY. But could not a firstrate solicitor have been sent
out from London?
SIR HOWARD. No doubt, by paying him enough to compensate him for
giving up his London practice: that is, rather more than there
was any reasonable likelihood of the estate proving worth.
RANKIN. Then the estate was lost?
SIR HOWARD. Not permanently. It is in my hands at present.
RANKIN. Then how did ye get it back?
SIR HOWARD (with crafty enjoyment of his own cunning). By
hoisting the rogue with his own petard. I had to leave matters as
they were for many years; for I had my own position in the world
to make. But at last I made it. In the course of a holiday trip
to the West Indies, I found that this dishonest agent had left
the island, and placed the estate in the hands of an agent of his
own, whom he was foolish enough to pay very badly. I put the case
before that agent; and he decided to treat the estate as my
property. The robber now found himself in exactly the same
position he had formerly forced me into. Nobody in the island
would act against me, least of all the Attorney and Solicitor
General, who appreciated my influence at the Colonial Office. And
so I got the estate back. "The mills of the gods grind slowly,"
Mr. Rankin; "but they grind exceeding small."
LADY CICELY. Now I suppose if I'd done such a clever thing in
England, you'd have sent me to prison.
SIR HOWARD. Probably, unless you had taken care to keep outside
the law against conspiracy. Whenever you wish to do anything
against the law, Cicely, always consult a good solicitor first.
LADY CICELY. So I do. But suppose your agent takes it into his
head to give the estate back to his wicked old employer!
SIR HOWARD. I heartily wish he would.
RANKIN (openeyed). You wish he WOULD!!
SIR HOWARD. Yes. A few years ago the collapse of the West Indian
sugar industry converted the income of the estate into an annual
loss of about 150 pounds a year. If I can't sell it soon, I shall
simply abandon it--unless you, Mr. Rankin, would like to take it
as a present.
RANKIN (laughing). I thank your lordship: we have estates enough
of that sort in Scotland. You're setting with your back to the
sun, Leddy Ceecily, and losing something worth looking at. See
there. (He rises and points seaward, where the rapid twilight of
the latitude has begun.)
LADY CICELY (getting up to look and uttering a cry of
admiration). Oh, how lovely!
SIR HOWARD (also rising). What are those hills over there to the
southeast?
RANKIN. They are the outposts, so to speak, of the Atlas
Mountains.
LADY CICELY. The Atlas Mountains! Where Shelley's witch lived!
We'll make an excursion to them to-morrow, Howard.
RANKIN. That's impoassible, my leddy. The natives are verra
dangerous.
LADY CICELY. Why? Has any explorer been shooting them?
RANKIN. No. But every man of them believes he will go to heaven
if he kills an unbeliever.
LADY CICELY. Bless you, dear Mr. Rankin, the people in England
believe that they will go to heaven if they give all their
property to the poor. But they don't do it. I'm not a bit afraid
of that.
RANKIN. But they are not accustomed to see women going about
unveiled.
LADY CICELY. I always get on best with people when they can see
my face.
SIR HOWARD. Cicely: you are talking great nonsense and you know
it. These people have no laws to restrain them, which means, in
plain English, that they are habitual thieves and murderers.
RANKIN. Nay, nay: not exactly that,
LADY CICELY (indignantly). Of course not. You always think,
Howard, that nothing prevents people killing each other but the
fear of your hanging them for it. But what nonsense that is! And
how wicked! If these people weren't here for some good purpose,
they wouldn't have been made, would they, Mr. Rankin?
RANKIN. That is a point, certainly, Leddy Ceecily.
SIR HOWARD. Oh, if you are going to talk theology--
LADY CICELY. Well, why not? theology is as respectable as law, I
should think. Besides, I'm only talking commonsense. Why do
people get killed by savages? Because instead of being polite to
them, and saying Howdyedo? like me, people aim pistols at them.
I've been among savages--cannibals and all sorts. Everybody said
they'd kill me. But when I met them, I said Howdyedo? and they
were quite nice. The kings always wanted to marry me.
SIR HOWARD. That does not seem to me to make you any safer here,
Cicely. You shall certainly not stir a step beyond the protection
of the consul, if I can help it, without a strong escort.
LADY CICELY. I don't want an escort.
SIR HOWARD. I do. And I suppose you will expect me to accompany
you.
RANKIN. 'Tis not safe, Leddy Ceecily. Really and truly, 'tis not
safe. The tribes are verra fierce; and there are cities here that
no Christian has ever set foot in. If you go without being well
protected, the first chief you meet well seize you and send you
back again to prevent his followers murdering you.
LADY CICELY. Oh, how nice of him, Mr. Rankin!
RANKIN. He would not do it for your sake, Leddy Ceecily, but for
his own. The Sultan would get into trouble with England if you
were killed; and the Sultan would kill the chief to pacify the
English government.
LADY CICELY. But I always go everywhere. I KNOW the people here
won't touch me. They have such nice faces and such pretty
scenery.
SIR HOWARD (to Rankin, sitting down again resignedly). You can
imagine how much use there is in talking to a woman who admires
the faces of the ruffians who infest these ports, Mr. Rankin. Can
anything be done in the way of an escort?
RANKIN. There is a certain Captain Brassbound here who trades
along the coast, and occasionally escorts parties of merchants on
journeys into the interior. I understand that he served under
Gordon in the Soudan.
SIR HOWARD. That sounds promising. But I should like to know a
little more about him before I trust myself in his hands.
RANKIN. I quite agree with you, Sir Howrrd. I'll send Felix
Drinkwotter for him. (He claps his hands. An Arab boy appears at
the house door.) Muley: is sailor man here? (Muley nods.) Tell
sailor man bring captain. (Muley nods and goes.)
SIR HOWARD. Who is Drinkwater?
RANKIN. His agent, or mate: I don't rightly know which.
LADY CICELY. Oh, if he has a mate named Felix Drinkwater, it must
be quite a respectable crew. It is such a nice name.
RANKIN. You saw him here just now. He is a convert of mine.
LADY CICELY (delighted). That nice truthful sailor!
SIR HOWARD (horrified). What! The Hooligan!
RANKIN (puzzled). Hooligan? No, my lord: he is an Englishman.
SIR HOWARD. My dear Mr. Rankin, this man was tried before me on a
charge of street ruffianism.
RANKIN. So he told me. He was badly broat up, I am afraid. But he
is now a converted man.
LADY CICELY. Of course he is. His telling you so frankly proves
it. You know, really, Howard, all those poor people whom you try
are more sinned against than sinning. If you would only talk to
them in a friendly way instead of passing cruel sentences on
them, you would find them quite nice to you. (Indignantly) I
won't have this poor man trampled on merely because his mother
brought him up as a Hooligan. I am sure nobody could be nicer
than he was when he spoke to us.
SIR HOWARD. In short, we are to have an escort of Hooligans
commanded by a filibuster. Very well, very well. You will most
likely admire all their faces; and I have no doubt at all that
they will admire yours.
Drinkwater comes from the house with an Italian dressed in a much
worn suit of blue serge, a dilapidated Alpine hat, and boots
laced with scraps of twine. He remains near the door, whilst
Drinkwater comes forward between Sir Howard and Lady Cicely.
DRINKWATER. Yr honor's servant. (To the Italian) Mawtzow: is
lawdship Sr Ahrd Ellam. (Marzo touches his hat.) Er Lidyship Lidy
Winefleet. (Marzo touches his hat.) Hawtellian shipmite, lidy.
Hahr chef.
LADY CICELY (nodding affably to Marzo). Howdyedo? I love Italy.
What part of it were you born in?
DRINKWATER. Worn't bawn in Hitly at all, lidy. Bawn in Ettn Gawdn
(Hatton Garden). Hawce barrer an street pianner Hawtellian, lidy:
thet's wot e is. Kepn Brarsbahnd's respects to yr honors; an e
awites yr commawnds.
RANKIN. Shall we go indoors to see him?
SIR HOWARD. I think we had better have a look at him by daylight.
RANKIN. Then we must lose no time: the dark is soon down in this
latitude. (To Drinkwater) Will ye ask him to step out here to us,
Mr. Drinkwotter?
DRINKWATER. Rawt you aw, gavner. (He goes officiously into the
house.)
Lady Cicely and Rankin sit down as before to receive the Captain.
The light is by this time waning rapidly, the darkness creeping
west into the orange crimson.
LADY CICELY (whispering). Don't you feel rather creepy, Mr.
Rankin? I wonder what he'll be like.
RANKIN. I misdoubt me he will not answer, your leddyship.
There is a scuffling noise in the house; and Drinkwater shoots
out through the doorway across the garden with every appearance
of having been violently kicked. Marzo immediately hurries down
the garden on Sir Howard's right out of the neighborhood of the
doorway.
DRINKWATER (trying to put a cheerful air on much mortification and
bodily anguish). Narsty step to thet ere door tripped me hap, it
did. (Raising his voice and narrowly escaping a squeak of pain)
Kepn Brarsbahnd. (He gets as far from the house as possible, on
Rankin's left. Rankin rises to receive his guest.)
An olive complexioned man with dark southern eyes and hair comes
from the house. Age about 36. Handsome features, but joyless;
dark eyebrows drawn towards one another; mouth set grimly;
nostrils large and strained: a face set to one tragic purpose. A
man of few words, fewer gestures, and much significance. On the
whole, interesting, and even attractive, but not friendly. He
stands for a moment, saturnine in the ruddy light, to see who is
present, looking in a singular and rather deadly way at Sir
Howard; then with some surprise and uneasiness at Lady Cicely.
Finally he comes down into the middle of the garden, and
confronts Rankin, who has been glaring at him in consternation
from the moment of his entrance, and continues to do so in so
marked a way that the glow in Brassbound's eyes deepens as he
begins to take offence.
BRASSBOUND. Well, sir, have you stared your fill at me?
RANKIN (recovering himself with a start). I ask your pardon for
my bad manners, Captain Brassbound. Ye are extraordinair lek an
auld college friend of mine, whose face I said not ten minutes
gone that I could no longer bring to mind. It was as if he had
come from the grave to remind me of it.
BRASSBOUND. Why have you sent for me?
RANKIN. We have a matter of business with ye, Captain.
BRASSBOUND. Who are "we"?
RANKIN. This is Sir Howrrd Hallam, who will be well known to ye
as one of Her Majesty's judges.
BRASSBOUND (turning the singular look again on Sir Howard). The
friend of the widow! the protector of the fatherless!
SIR HOWARD (startled). I did not know I was so favorably spoken
of in these parts, Captain Brassbound. We want an escort for a
trip into the mountains.
BRASSBOUND (ignoring this announcement). Who is the lady?
RANKIN. Lady Ceecily Waynflete, his lordship's sister-in-law.
LADY CICELY. Howdyedo, Captain Brassbound? (He bows gravely.)
SIR HOWARD (a little impatient of these questions, which strike
him as somewhat impertinent). Let us come to business, if you
please. We are thinking of making a short excursion to see the
country about here. Can you provide us with an escort of
respectable, trustworthy men?
BRASSBOUND. No.
DRINKWATER (in strong remonstrance). Nah, nah, nah! Nah look eah,
Kepn, y'knaow--
BRASSBOUND (between his teeth). Hold your tongue.
DRINKWATER (abjectly). Yuss, Kepn.
RANKIN. I understood it was your business to provide escorts,
Captain Brassbound.
BRASSBOUND. You were rightly informed. That IS my business.
LADY CICELY. Then why won't you do it for us?
BRASSBOUND. You are not content with an escort. You want
respectable, trustworthy men. You should have brought a
division of London policemen with you. My men are neither
respectable nor trustworthy.
DRINKWATER (unable to contain himself). Nah, nah, look eah, Kepn.
If you want to be moddist, be moddist on your aown accahnt, nort
on mawn.
BRASSBOUND. You see what my men are like. That rascal (indicating
Marzo) would cut a throat for a dollar if he had courage enough.
MARZO. I not understand. I no spik Englis.
BRASSBOUND. This thing (pointing to Drinkwater) is the greatest
liar, thief, drunkard, and rapscallion on the west coast.
DRINKWATER (affecting an ironic indifference). Gow orn, Gow orn.
Sr Ahrd ez erd witnesses to maw kerrickter afoah. E knaows ah
mech to believe of em.
LADY CICELY. Captain Brassbound: I have heard all that before
about the blacks; and I found them very nice people when they
were properly treated.
DRINKWATER (chuckling: the Italian is also grinning). Nah, Kepn,
nah! Owp yr prahd o y'seolf nah.
BRASSBOUND. I quite understand the proper treatment for him,
madam. If he opens his mouth again without my leave, I will break
every bone in his skin.
LADY CICELY (in her most sunnily matter-of-fact way). Does
Captain Brassbound always treat you like this, Mr. Drinkwater?
Drinkwater hesitates, and looks apprehensively at the Captain.
BRASSBOUND. Answer, you dog, when the lady orders you. (To Lady
Cicely) Do not address him as Mr. Drinkwater, madam: he is
accustomed to be called Brandyfaced Jack.
DRINKWATER (indignantly). Eah, aw sy! nah look eah, Kepn: maw
nime is Drinkworter. You awsk em et Sin Jorn's in the Worterleoo
Rowd. Orn maw grenfawther's tombstown, it is.
BRASSBOUND. It will be on your own tombstone, presently, if you
cannot hold your tongue. (Turning to the others) Let us
understand one another, if you please. An escort here, or
anywhere where there are no regular disciplined forces, is what
its captain makes it. If I undertake this business, I shall be
your escort. I may require a dozen men, just as I may require a
dozen horses. Some of the horses will be vicious; so will all the
men. If either horse or man tries any of his viciousness on me,
so much the worse for him; but it will make no difference to you.
I will order my men to behave themselves before the lady; and
they shall obey their orders. But the lady will please understand
that I take my own way with them and suffer no interference.
LADY CICELY. Captain Brassbound: I don't want an escort at all.
It will simply get us all into danger; and I shall have the
trouble of getting it out again. That's what escorts always do.
But since Sir Howard prefers an escort, I think you had better
stay at home and let me take charge of it. I know your men will
get on perfectly well if they're properly treated.
DRINKWATER (with enthusiasm). Feed aht o yr and, lidy, we would.
BRASSBOUND (with sardonic assent). Good. I agree. (To Drinkwater)
You shall go without me.
DRINKWATER. (terrified). Eah! Wot are you a syin orn? We cawn't
gow withaht yer. (To Lady Cicely) Naow, lidy: it wouldn't be for
yr hown good. Yer cawn't hexpect a lot o poor honeddikited men
lawk huz to ran ahrseolvs into dineger withaht naow Kepn to teoll
us wot to do. Naow, lidy: hoonawted we stend: deevawdid we fall.
LADY CICELY. Oh, if you prefer your captain, have him by all
means. Do you LIKE to be treated as he treats you?
DAINKWATER (with a smile of vanity). Weoll, lidy: y cawn't deenaw
that e's a Paffick Genlmn. Bit hawbitrairy, preps; but hin a
genlmn you looks for sich. It tikes a hawbitrairy wanne to knock
aht them eathen Shikes, aw teoll yer.
BRASSBOUND. That's enough. Go.
DRINKWATER. Weoll, aw was hownly a teolln the lidy thet-- (A
threatening movement from Brassbound cuts him short. He flies for
his life into the house, followed by the Italian.)
BRASSBOUND. Your ladyship sees. These men serve me by their own
free choice. If they are dissatisfied, they go. If I am
dissatisfied, they go. They take care that I am not dissatisfied.
SIR HOWARD (who has listened with approval and growing
confidence). Captain Brassbound: you are the man I want. If your
terms are at all reasonable, I will accept your services if we
decide to make an excursion. You do not object, Cicely, I hope.
LADY CICELY. Oh no. After all, those men must really like you,
Captain Brassbound. I feel sure you have a kind heart. You have
such nice eyes.
SIR HOWARD (scandalized). My DEAR Cicely: you really must
restrain your expressions of confidence in people's eyes and
faces. (To Brassbound) Now, about terms, Captain?
BRASSBOUND. Where do you propose to go?
SIR HOWARD. I hardly know. Where CAN we go, Mr. Rankin?
RANKIN. Take my advice, Sir Howrrd. Don't go far.
BRASSBOUND. I can take you to Meskala, from which you can see the
Atlas Mountains. From Meskala I can take you to an ancient castle
in the hills, where you can put up as long as you please. The
customary charge is half a dollar a man per day and his food. I
charge double.
SIR HOWARD. I suppose you answer for your men being sturdy
fellows, who will stand to their guns if necessary.
BRASSBOUND. I can answer for their being more afraid of me than
of the Moors.
LADY CICELY. That doesn't matter in the least, Howard. The
important thing, Captain Brassbound, is: first, that we should
have as few men as possible, because men give such a lot of
trouble travelling. And then, they must have good lungs and not
be always catching cold. Above all, their clothes must be of good
wearing material. Otherwise I shall be nursing and stitching and
mending all the way; and it will be trouble enough, I assure you,
to keep them washed and fed without that.
BRASSBOUND (haughtily). My men, madam, are not children in the
nursery.
LADY CICELY (with unanswerable conviction). Captain Brassbound:
all men are children in the nursery. I see that you don't notice
things. That poor Italian had only one proper bootlace: the other
was a bit of string. And I am sure from Mr. Drinkwater's
complexion that he ought to have some medicine.
BRASSBOUND (outwardly determined not to be trifled with: inwardly
puzzled and rather daunted). Madam: if you want an escort, I can
provide you with an escort. If you want a Sunday School treat, I
can NOT provide it.
LADY CICELY (with sweet melancholy). Ah, don't you wish you
could, Captain? Oh, if I could only show you my children from
Waynflete Sunday School! The darlings would love this place, with
all the camels and black men. I'm sure you would enjoy having
them here, Captain Brassbound; and it would be such an education
for your men! (Brassbound stares at her with drying lips.)
SIR HOWARD. Cicely: when you have quite done talking nonsense to
Captain Brassbound, we can proceed to make some definite
arrangement with him.
LADY CICELY. But it's arranged already. We'll start at eight
o'clock to-morrow morning, if you please, Captain. Never mind
about the Italian: I have a big box of clothes with me for my
brother in Rome; and there are some bootlaces in it. Now go home
to bed and don't fuss yourself. All you have to do is to bring
your men round; and I'll see to the rest. Men are always so
nervous about moving. Goodnight. (She offers him her hand.
Surprised, he pulls off his cap for the first time. Some scruple
prevents him from taking her hand at once. He hesitates; then
turns to Sir Howard and addresses him with warning earnestness.)
BRASSBOUND. Sir Howard Hallam: I advise you not to attempt this
expedition.
SIR HOWARD. Indeed! Why?
BRASSBOUND. You are safe here. I warn you, in those hills there
is a justice that is not the justice of your courts in England.
If you have wronged a man, you may meet that man there. If you
have wronged a woman, you may meet her son there. The justice of
those hills is the justice of vengeance.
SIR HOWARD (faintly amused). You are superstitious, Captain. Most
sailors are, I notice. However, I have complete confidence in
your escort.
BRASSBOUND (almost threateningly). Take care. The avenger may be
one of the escort.
SIR HOWARD. I have already met the only member of your escort who
might have borne a grudge against me, Captain; and he was
acquitted.
BRASSBOUND. You are fated to come, then?
SIR HOWARD (smiling). It seems so.
BRASSBOUND. On your head be it! (To Lady Cicely, accepting her
hand at last) Goodnight.
He goes. It is by this time starry night. _
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