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WIRELESS TELEGRAPHY
I did not sleep well that night. The incident of Fever Lurgy raised manyquestions in my mind. I felt as though I were the centre of somemystery--a mystery of which I was ignorant. I was more convinced than Ihad ever been that old Father Abraham was not dead. I believed, too,that he had a motive out of the ordinary in coming to this spot andbuilding the hut, and that the reason of his disappearance was not anordinary crime, as was generally supposed. I pieced together all theevents which had taken place since I had been in the neighborhood, andtried to see a meaning in them all, but I could not find any key thatwould unlock the door of the mystery. I knew nothing of Father Abraham'sdoings. I was simply a poor wretch who had come there to die, and yet,from the vehemence of Fever Lurgy's voice, it might seem as though therewere some plot against me--as though some one wished to do me harm.
Twelve months before I should have rejoiced at what seemed like anadventure. It would have added spice to life. I should have thrownmyself into the work of solving the mystery with avidity. Then I wasstrong and vigorous, scarcely knowing the meaning of weariness. While atschool I had been a boxer, a runner, and had got my school cap forRugger. At Oxford, too, while I had been a reading man I was looked uponas an athlete, and so could have held my own whatever took place; butnow all was different. While to outward appearances I was still a strongman, I knew that my flesh was wasting away, that the disease from whichI suffered was eating away the centres of my life. Still, with a kind ofstubbornness which had always characterized me, I resolved I would takeno notice of the warning I had received. Why should I go away? If I werein danger it was because something interesting existed at the back of mylife. I did not know what it was, but I would find out. To fear, in theordinary sense of the word, I was a stranger, and in spite of what FeverLurgy had said, I could not see how any one could wish to harm me.
Towards morning I fell asleep, and when I awoke it was to see the sunstreaming through the window of my little bedroom.
I felt very light-hearted, I remember, and in the light of that new day,instead of Fever Lurgy's warning causing me to be depressed, it gave mea new interest in life. Something was happening. A mystery surroundedme. Things were taking place in this very district which gave zest tolife. I jumped out of bed, and in spite of Simpson's repeated warningsagainst such madness, I plunged into the little pond of pure cold water,which burst out from the hill just above my house.
I had scarcely finished breakfast when young Prideaux came into theroom.
"By the way, Erskine," he said, "you mentioned last night that you wereinterested in wireless telegraphy. I have to go over to M---- thismorning, and remembering what you said last night, I came round this wayto ask you if you would go with me."
My interest in wireless telegraphy had been aroused because of the casewhich had won for me some notoriety. In fact, the secret of my successlay in the fact that I had swatted up the subject, and was able to putquestions which would never otherwise have occurred to me. I am afraid Idid not know much about the system, but, as every one knows, the successof a barrister lies largely in his power to assimilate knowledgequickly, to see the vital points of a case and to insist upon them.
It seems that Prideaux had remembered the case in which I had beeninterested, and in talking about it I had been led to confess that I hadgiven some attention to wireless telegraphy. This explains why he hadcome to me with the suggestion I have mentioned, and why I eagerlyaccepted his invitation to motor to M---- with him. Like every one else,I knew that Signor Marconi had erected a station in Cornwall, and thathe had thereby created a new epoch in the transmission of messages. I donot know that, under ordinary circumstances, I should have mentionedthis fact, but my visit to M---- that day was vitally connected withwhat happened afterwards.
I am by no means a scientist, and what brains I have never ran in thatdirection. Still, I have a schoolboy's knowledge of scientific subjects,and this went far in helping me to understand the things I saw.Presently, too, the wonder of the thing laid hold of me. The sending outof a mysterious current across the spaces, to be received hundreds ofmiles away, was like some fairy dream of childhood. Prideaux had afriend at the station, who was a great enthusiast, and who explained, asfar as it can be explained, the principle of the thing to us.
"Look!" he said presently, "I will show you the thing in miniature. Ican easily fix up a couple of these little machines here, and then youwill see how it is done."
Being an ingenious sort of fellow, he soon did as he had said, and erelong I was simply captivated. My interest in the subject, too, seemed toflatter the young fellow's pride in his work. It was not often, heaffirmed, that any one came to the station who picked up the thing soeasily.
After spending three hours with the young operator, we had lunchtogether, and being in a more communicative mood than usual, I told himwhy I had come to Cornwall, and why, in spite of the people's kindnessat St. Issey, my evenings were long and lonely.
"Why not take this up as a hobby?" he said.
"What? Wireless telegraphy?"
"Yes. These things are easy enough to fix up. Any boy with a mechanicalturn of mind can manage it. I will give you all the material necessary,and you can make a hobby of it. Of course, it will be no advantage toyou, but it will help you to while away the time. When I first came hereI didn't care a fig about it, but now my work is a source ofever-increasing interest to me. I am always trying new experiments. Why,you and Prideaux could have all sorts of larks."
"How is that?"
"Why, if you got one of these things at your place, and Prideaux fixedone up at his, you could be sending messages to each other, and youcould bewilder people by telling them what is taking place at eachother's houses. Don't you see?" And the young fellow laughed boyishly atthe prospect which appeared before his mind. "Why, you can have a partyat your house and tell your guests how, by your gift of second sight,you know exactly what is going on at Prideaux's house, and thenPrideaux, when he comes over, could confirm all you say."
"But I should have to learn the code in order to do this?"
"Of course you would. That is easy enough. I have a book of codes. Achap with a good memory like you could learn everything in half anhour."
I could see that to him his work was at once a plaything and a wonder.He must have been over twenty, but he talked like a lad of fifteen.
"It is the most wonderful thing in the world," he went on. "See whatlives have been saved by the invention. You remember the burning of the_Volturno_? A man I know was on board that ship, and he told me what hefelt when it caught fire, and how, in spite of his danger, his heartthrilled with wonder when he saw the vessels which had been summoned bywireless to their aid. Every one would have died an awful death but forthis discovery. Besides, supposing we went to war, can't you see theadvantage of it?"
"I don't know," I said. "It seems to me that it might be a greatdisadvantage. Supposing, for example, we went to war with France, and wewanted to send a message to one of our ships, the French would receivethe message at one of their receiving stations, and they would know allour plans."
"I've made a special study of that," he said, with a laugh. "I daren'tlet you know how; it would be telling; but I believe I know the secretcodes of nearly all the countries. Look here, you get one of thesethings fixed up, and I will come over and see whether you have got itright. I can put you up to all sorts of dodges. You will never be lonelyif this thing really grips you."
I must confess that I caught some of the boy's enthusiasm, and when wereturned that evening I brought with me the material for fixing up akind of amateur installation. Although not scientifically inclined, thewonder of the thing appealed to me, and I reflected that during mylonely hours I could occupy myself with this marvellous discovery.Indeed, for many days afterwards I was engaged in carrying out what theboy had instructed me to do. I found what seemed to me a convenient spoton the cliff, close to my house, yet hidden from the gaze of anypasser-by, and he
re I almost forgot my troubles in perfecting it. Morethan once, too, young Martin--for that was the name of the lad--cameover to see me, and told me that I was getting on famously.
"I am afraid your affair is not powerful enough," he said; "but I willtry and send a message to you. It will be an awful lark, won't it?"
By the time young Martin and I had met three times we had become quitefriendly, and so eager was he about the work I was doing that he gave mea little book, which he himself had compiled, containing secret codes.
"I don't know whether I ought to do this," he laughed, "but really, youknow, it is so fine. It is so interesting, too, and it was by the purestchance that I picked them up."
By the end of a fortnight I boasted to myself that I knew practicallyall young Martin could tell me about wireless telegraphy, and that I hadassimilated all his boasted knowledge about codes. Although I was not ascientist, I had a voracious memory, and was not long in storing my mindwith what, a few weeks before, had but little meaning to me, but was nowfull of mystery and wonder.
By the end of that time one of my old attacks came on, and I was too illto care about anything. Indeed, when Prideaux and Lethbridge called onme I was too unwell to see either of them. For that matter, I had lostinterest in everything. Day followed day, and I opened neither newspapernor book, nor did I give a thought to what had so interested me since myfirst visit to that monument of Marconi's genius. What was going on inthe outside world I neither knew nor cared. Once or twice I thought theend had come, and that I should never leave Father Abraham's hut alive.
Presently, however, a turn came for the better, and in what seemed aremarkable way, health and strength returned to me. I knew it was onlytemporary, and that in a few weeks I should have another attack,possibly worse than this, but I drove the thought from my mind.
"Let me enjoy freedom from pain while I can," I said to myself. "As formorbid thoughts, I will have nothing to do with them."
That was why, when Hugh Lethbridge next came to see me and invited meover to Trecarrel, I accepted the invitation with eagerness. I wanted tolive while I was able, and the thought of another conversation withIsabella Lethbridge appealed to me.
At Hugh's request, I went early. I engaged a kind of phaeton to meet meat the end of the copse and take me over. I still felt weak and languidafter my lengthened attack, but was much stronger than I had hoped. Thethought of strange faces, too, added a new interest to my life, and Ilooked forward with eagerness to a pleasant evening. As the carriageentered the lodge gates and passed under a fine avenue of trees, I couldnot help reflecting what a fine old place Trecarrel was. It had beenbuilt hundreds of years before by the family of Trecarrels, which, likemany other old families, had become poor, and had to sell the ancestralacres. Mr. Lethbridge had the good sense to leave the house practicallyas he found it, and had not attempted to modernize it in any way. It istrue he had, as he told me, brought the sanitary arrangements and thefireplaces up to date, but the building, as a whole, remained prettymuch as it had been at the time of the Trecarrels. From the frontentrance it commanded a fine view of rugged tors, beyond which shone thesea, on the one hand, and of wooded dells and rich meadows on the other.It was a place to rejoice in--a place of which the possessor could sayproudly, "This is my home."
It wanted half an hour to dinner when I entered the house, but I foundIsabella Lethbridge already dressed, as if awaiting me. She gave me awarm welcome, and, as I thought, seemed pleased to see me. I had not nowseen her for some weeks, and I imagined that the feelings she hadawakened in my heart, when we last met, were a thing of the past. Now,however, I knew it was not so. In a way I could not understand sheexercised a strange influence over me. I found myself eager to talk toher, anxious to be thought well of by her. I remembered what had beensaid about her, and I believed it to be true; yet at this time I carednothing about it. What, after all, did it matter?
If any one should read this, I imagine he will say that I had fallen inlove with her, but such was not the case. I realized the barriersbetween us, that, much as I delighted in her beauty--for she wasbeautiful that night--that much as I rejoiced in being with her, I feltno love for her. That is, love as I understand it. I knew that sherepelled me, even while she fascinated me. That she had a vigorousintelligence, I could not deny. That she possessed a strange charm wasjust as evident, but something kept Isabella Lethbridge from making thatappeal to me which caused me to be what the world calls "in love."
Perhaps this was because I knew my days were numbered. How could a man,who a few weeks before had been given a year to live, think of marriageand giving in marriage? No, no, Isabella Lethbridge was still only aproblem to me, and yet I could not understand the strange interest I hadin her.
"I hear you have got to know Mr. Ned Prideaux?" she said to me, after wehad been talking for a few minutes.
"Yes, I met him one night up at Mr. Trelaske's. Do you know him?"
"I have met him two or three times," was her reply. "What do you thinkof him?"
"He struck me as a fine specimen of a young Cornishman."
"Have you seen him since that night at the Vicarage?"
"Yes, two or three times; we have become rather friendly."
"He said all sorts of things about me, I expect?" and she looked at mequestioningly.
"About you! Why should he?"
"Don't try to deceive me, Mr. Erskine. You cannot succeed in doing it,although you are a lawyer. I can see that he talked to you about me.What did he say?"
"What could he say?" I laughed, "except that you are very beautiful andvery fascinating, and all that sort of thing."
I know it was very clumsy, and that had I been gifted with a ready wit Ishould have evaded her question with a greater appearance of ease.
"That will not do, Mr. Erskine, and it is not worthy of you. What did hetell you?" There was a look in her eyes, half of curiosity, half ofanger, as she spoke. It appeared that she was interested in whatPrideaux thought of her, yet angry that he should speak of her.
"What could he tell me?" I asked.
She reflected for a few seconds, then said suddenly:
"Do you believe that any one should be tied down to conventionalmorality, Mr. Erskine?"
"Conventional morality?" I asked. "I am not sure that I understand."
"Don't you think," she said, "that one has a right to pick the flowersthat lie in one's pathway? Rather, don't you think it is one's duty todo so?"
"The question is rather too abstract for me," was my reply; "one has toget down to concrete instances."
Again she reflected for a few seconds.
"I am glad you have come up early," she said. "Glad to have thisopportunity of talking with you alone. You have come from a world ofideas. You have met with people who are determined to live their livesat all costs."
"I have met with people, certainly, who have claimed to do this," was myreply; "but, on the whole, the so-called unconventional people, as faras my experience goes, are the most discontented. After all, lifedoesn't admit of many experiments, and those who make them, as a rule,have to pay very dearly for them."
"Yes, but they have been happy while they have been making them," washer reply. "You confess to that, don't you?"
"I am not sure. For example, I know a man who was determined to do asyou say. He said he would live his life untrammelled by conventionalideas, that he would experiment, that he would pick the flowers thatgrew at his feet, no matter to whom they belonged."
"Yes," she replied eagerly, "and what then?"
"He did what he said he would do," I said, "and the result was misery.Lives were wrecked, and he obtained no satisfaction for himself."
"But did he not confess that he had happiness while he was making theexperiments?"
"Perhaps he did, until his deeds bore fruit," was my reply.
"Ah yes, that is it," and her voice was eager. "After all, what is theuse of a humdrum existence? Some people," and she spoke almost bitterly,"are born handicapped. I think with y
ou that, for most people, ourpresent mode of life is the outcome of a long period of evolution.Customs have become laws, and these laws have hardened until, if onebreaks them, he, or she, is banned--condemned. All the same, they areartificial and they should not apply to exceptional circumstances. Doyou believe there is a God, Mr. Erskine?"
"There seems to be a consensus of opinion that there is," was my reply.
"If there is, do you think He intends us to be happy? Do you think Hewould condemn us for snatching at our only means of happiness?"
I tried to understand the drift of her mind, but could not.
"I don't know whether there is a God or not," she said. "Even allfeeling of Him is kept from me. Neither do I believe there is a futurelife. Do you?"
I was silent, for she had touched upon a sore spot.
"We have only this little life, and that being so, ought we not tosnatch, as a matter of duty, anything that will make this life happy?Let me put a common case to you. I knew a lad who was doomed to diebetween twenty and thirty. He was the victim of an hereditary disease. Ayear before he died, and knowing that he would die, he married the girlhe loved. People called it a crime, but to me it was his only chance ofhappiness, and he seized it. Was he not right?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Some people are handicapped, Mr. Erskine. They are born into the worldwith limitations, kinks in their characters, and a host of wildlongings--things which make life a tragedy. They cannot obtain happinessin the way ordinary people do. Why, then, is it wrong for them to tryand snatch at the happiness they can get?"
"That sounds all right," I said, "only I doubt the happiness."
"Napoleon broke through conventional barriers," she urged. "He said hecould not be governed by ordinary laws."
"Exactly," I replied. "But then, for one thing, Napoleon was a genius,and, for another, his great career ended in a fiasco."
"Yes; but if being a genius justifies breaking away from the establishedorder of things, do not peculiar limitations also justify it? Do notabnormalities of any sort justify extraordinary measures? If there is aGod, Mr. Erskine, we are as God made us, and surely He does not give uslife to mock us?"
"The worst of it is that facts laugh at us. As far as I can discover,nearly all these experiments end in bitter failure. It is by abiding bythe common laws of life that we find what measure of happiness thereis."
"If I were sure there was a God and a future life I think I could agreewith you," was her reply.
"And you are not?"
"How can one be?" she replied. "It all seems so unreal, so utterlyunconvincing. My father sticks by his Chapel, but does he believe whathe hears there? Most people accept for granted what isn't proved. Theysay they believe, but they have no convictions. No one is certain.Sometimes I go to hear Mr. Trelaske, and it is just the same at theParish Church. If religion were true, it should be triumphant; but thereseems nothing triumphant about it. Everything is on the surface. Againand again I have asked so-called Christians if they believe in a futurelife, and when one goes to the depths of things they can only say theyhope so. Were not the old Greeks right when they said, 'Let us eat,drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die'?"
"You are in rather a curious mood for a young lady," I said, with alaugh. "Here you are, situated in this lovely home, with health andbeauty and all that makes life worth living, and yet you talk likethis."
"What is the good of anything, everything, if you are forever yearningfor something which you never realize, when you find that at the end ofevery road of desire is a great blank wall: when the things youpassionately long for only end in disappointment?"
"Surely that is not your condition, Miss Lethbridge?"
"I don't know," she replied, and there was a touch of impatience in hervoice. "One doesn't know anything. We are all so comfortable. Every oneseems to have enough to eat and to drink; we have houses to live in; weare, in our way, very prosperous, and, superficially, we are content.But life is so little, so piteously mean and little, and no one seems toknow of anything to make it great. We never seem to overstep thebarriers which keep us from entering a greater and brighter world. Isthere a greater and better world?"
At that moment Mr. Lethbridge senior entered the room, and ourconversation ended.
The Passion for Life Page 10