A Hero of Romance

by Richard Marsh

  Chapter XX

  EXIT CAPTAIN TOM

  When they returned to the deck the boat was preparing to continue herjourney. The fruit vendors--and with what delicious fruit the Guernseymen board the Jersey boats!--were preparing to take their leave, andthose passengers who had gone to stretch their legs with a saunter onthe jetty were returning to the steamer.

  The rest of the voyage was uneventful. Jersey is not very far awayfrom Guernsey, and for a considerable part of the distance thepassengers were in sight of land. The breeze began to freshen, and asthey steamed round Jersey towards St. Heliers it began to dawn uponnot a few that enough of this sort of thing was as good as a feast.There is such a very striking difference between steaming over atranquil sea and being tossed and tumbled among boisterous waves. Itwas fortunate they were so near their journey's end. Several of thetravellers were congratulating themselves that, when they reached dryland, they would be able to boast that they had voyaged fromSouthampton to Jersey without experiencing a single qualm. Had thejourney been prolonged much further, that boast would have beencruelly knocked on the head. When they drew up beside the pier at St.Heliers, coming events, as it were, had already cast their shadowsbefore. They were saved just in the nick of time.

  Bertie and the captain were among the first on shore; and, notunnaturally, the young gentleman supposed that their journeying was atan end. But he was wrong.

  "Step out! We have no time to lose! We have to catch another boat,which is due to start."

  Bertie stepped out. He wondered if the other boat was to take themback to England. Did the captain mean to pass the rest of his life invoyaging to and fro?

  The disappointed flymen, to whom the arrival of the mail-boat is thegreat event of the St. Heliers day, let them pass. The hotel andboarding-house touters touted, so far as they were concerned, in vain.The captain gave no heed to their solicitations. He evidently knew hisway about, for he walked quickly down the jetty, turned unhesitatinglyto the left when he reached the bottom, crossed the harbour, and downthe jetty again upon the other side. About half-way down was a fussylittle steamer which was making ready to start.

  "Here you are! Jump on board!"

  If Bertie did not exactly jump, he at any rate got on board.

  What the boat was Bertie knew not, nor whither it was going. Comparedto the _Ella_, which they had just quitted, it was so small a craftthat he scarcely thought it could be going back the way the mail hadcome.

  As a matter of fact it was not.

  Two or three times a week a fussy little steamer passes to and frobetween Jersey and France. The two French ports at which it touchesare St. Malo and St. Brieuc. One journey it takes to St. Malo, thenext to St. Brieuc. On this occasion it was about to voyage to St.Brieuc.

  St. Brieuc, as some people may not know, is the chief town of thedepartment of Cotes-du-Nord, in Brittany--about as unpretending achief town as one could find. That Captain Loftus had somepreconceived end in view, and had not started on a wild-goose chase,not, as might have at first appeared, going hither and thither as hisfancy swayed him, seemed plain.

  A more roundabout route to France he could scarcely have chosen. Hadhe simply desired to reach the Continent, fast steamers which passedfrom Southampton to Havre in little less than half the time which thejourney had already occupied, were at his disposal. Very many people,some of them constant travellers, are ignorant of the fact that alittle steamer is constantly plying between Jersey and Brittany. It isdependent on the tides for its time of departure. Only in the localpapers are the hours advertised. Captain Loftus must have been prettywell posted on the matter to have been aware that on this particularday the little steamer, _La Commerce_, would be starting for St.Brieuc about the time the mail-boat entered Jersey.

  He must have had some particular object in making for that remotecorner of Breton France. No sooner did the boat enter the littleharbour than he made a dash for the railway station.

  Bertie seemed to have passed into another world. He had not thefaintest notion where he was. He was not even sure that they hadreached Jersey. He heard strange tongues sounding in his ears; sawstrange costumes before his eyes. In his then state of bewilderment hewould have been quite ready to believe anybody who might have chosento tell him that he had arrived in Timbuctoo.

  Some light was thrown upon the subject when they reached the station.The captain took some money out of his pocket and held it out toBertie.

  "Go and ask for the tickets," he said.

  Bertie stared. If he had been told to go and ask the man in the moonfor a lock of his hair he could not have been more puzzled.

  "Do you hear what I say? Go and ask for the tickets."

  "Tickets? Where for?"

  The captain hesitated a moment, then said:

  "Two first-class tickets for Constantinople."

  He handed Bertie some silver coins.

  "Two first-class tickets for Constantinople."

  Bertie stammeringly repeated the words. Could the captain be inearnest?

  "I want to catch the train; look alive, or----"

  The captain touched the pocket where the revolver was.

  Bertie doubtfully advanced to the booking office, gazing behind him ashe went to make quite sure that the captain had meant what he said.There was an old lady taking tickets, so he waited his turn.

  "Two first-class tickets for Constantinople."

  "_Comment?_"

  He stared at the booking-clerk, and the booking-clerk stared at him,each in complete ignorance of what the other meant.

  "Do you mean to say you can't speak French?"

  The captain came to the rescue, speaking so gently that his words wereonly audible to Bertie's ears.

  "No--o."

  "Do you mean to say you don't know enough to be able to ask for twofirst-class tickets for Constantinople?"

  "No--o."

  "How much French do you know?"

  "No--one."

  The captain evidently knew a great deal, for he immediately addressedthe booking-clerk in fluent French--French which that officialunderstood, for two tickets were at once forthcoming. But whether theywere for Constantinople, or for Jericho, or for Kamtchatka, was morethan the boy could tell. He was in the pleasant position of not beingable to understand a word that was said; of being without the faintestnotion where he was, and of not having the least idea where he wasgoing to.

  It may be mentioned, however, that the captain had not asked fortickets for Constantinople--which at St. Brieuc he would haveexperienced some difficulty in getting--but for Brest.

  They had not long to wait before the through train from Paris enteredthe station. They got into a first-class carriage, which they had forthemselves, and in due time they were off.

  The state of Bertie's mind was easier imagined than described. He hadbeen in a dream since he had started on his journey to the Land ofGolden Dreams; and dreams have a tendency to become more and moreincoherent.

  His adventures up to the time of leaving London had been strangeenough, but he had at least known in what part of the world he was.Now he was not possessed of even that rudimentary knowledge. Thecontinued travelling towards an unknown destination, the unrestingonward rush, as though the captain meant, like the brook, to "go onfor ever"--and this in the case of a boy who had never travelled morethan twenty miles from home in his life--had in itself been enough toconfuse him; but the sudden discovery that he was in an unknowncountry, in which they spoke an unknown tongue, put the climax to hismental muddle. Had the captain, revolver in hand, then and thereinsisted on his informing him which part of his body as a rule wasuppermost, he would have been wholly at a loss to state whether it wason his head or heels he was accustomed to stand.

  Something strange, too, about the railway carriage, about the countrythrough which they passed, about the people and the very houses he sawthrough the carriage window made his muddle more.

  The names of the roadside station
s at which they stopped, which wereshouted out with stentorian lungs, were such oddities. They came toone where the word "Guingamp" was painted in huge letters on a largewhite board. Guingamp! What was the pronunciation of such a word asthat? And fancy living at a town with such a name! He was not awarethat, like a conjurer's trick, it was only a question of knowing howit was done, and Guingamp would come as glibly to his tongue as Sloughor Upton.

  And then Belle-Isle-en-Terre and Plouigneau--what names! Theeducational system which flourished at Mecklemburg House had tended tomake French an even stranger tongue than it need have done. He saw theletters on the boards, but he could no more pronounce the words whichthey were supposed to form than he could fly.

  Throughout the long journey--and it is a long journey from St. Brieucto Brest--not a word had been exchanged. The captain had scarcelymoved. He had stretched his legs out on the seat, and had taken up theeasiest position which was attainable under the circumstances; but hehad not closed his eyes. Bertie wondered if he never slept; if thosefierce black eyes remained always on the watch.

  The captain looked straight in front of him; and, although he seemedto pay no heed to what the boy was doing, Bertie was conscious that henever moved without the captain knowing it. What a life this man mustlead, to be ever on the watch; to be ever fearful that the time of theavenger had come at last; that the prison gates were about to close onhim, and, perhaps, this time for ever.

  "Uncle Tom" seemed to be as much at home in Brest as he had beeneverywhere. The station was filled with the usual crowd. Portersadvanced to offer their services to carry the Gladstone bag and placeit on a cab, outside the cabmen hailed them in the hope of a fare; butthe captain, paying no heed to any of them, marched quickly on.

  Were they at their journey's end? Bertie wondered. Was thisConstantinople, or had they another stage to go? If notConstantinople, and he had a vague idea that Constantinople could notbe reached quite so quickly as they had come--what place was it?

  What struck him chiefly as they passed into the town was the number ofmen in uniform there seemed to be about. Every third person they metseemed to wear a uniform. He supposed they were soldiers, though hehad never seen soldiers dressed like these before; and then what anumber of them there were! Geography is not a strong point of theEnglish education system, and he had never been taught at MecklemburgHouse that Brest was to France much more than Portsmouth is toEngland, and that its population consists of four classes, soldiers,sailors, dockyard labourers--looking at all those, of whatever grade,who labour in the dockyard in the light of labourers--and, a long waybehind the other three, civilians: "civilians" being a generic namefor that--regarded from a Brest point of view--absolutelyinsignificant class who have no direct connection with war or makingready for war.

  On their arrival the day was well advanced, and as they went down theRue de Siam they met the men returning from the yards. Bertie hadnever seen such a sight before, not even in the course of his presentadventures. The Rue de Siam runs down the hill. The dockyards are atthe foot. From where they stood, as far as the eye could reach,advanced a dense mass of dirt-grimed men. They were the Governmentemployes, employed by France to make engines and ships of war, and asthe seemingly never-ending stream went past he actually moved closerto the captain with a vague idea that he might--think of it, yeheroes!--need _his_ protection; for it seemed to the lad that, takenin the mass, he had never seen a more repulsive-looking set ofgentlemen even in his dreams.

  The captain went straight down to the bridge; then he paused, seemingto hesitate a moment, then turned to the right, striking into whatseemed very much like a nest of rookeries. They came to an ancient,disreputable-looking inn. This they entered; and as they did soBertie's memory suddenly travelled back to the Kingston inn, intowhich he had been enticed by the Original Badger. The two houses wereabout on a par.

  Apparently the establishment was not accustomed to receive guests oftheir distinguished appearance--though Bertie was shabby enough--forthe aged crone who received them was evidently bent double by hersense of the honour which was paid to the house.

  She and the captain carried on a voluble conversation, though, for allthat Bertie understood of what they said, they might as well have heldtheir peace. He remained standing in the centre of the brick floor,shuffling from foot to foot, feeling and looking as much out of placeas though he had been suddenly dropped into the middle of China.Gabble, gabble went the old crone's tongue, wiggle-waggle went herpicturesque white cap--the only picturesque thing there was abouther--up and down went her arms and hands. She was the personificationof volubility, but unfortunately she might have been dumb for anymeaning which her words conveyed to Bertie.

  Yet, incomprehensible as her speech might be and was, he could not ridhimself of an impression, derived from her manner to the captain, andthe captain's manner to her, that they two had met before, and that,in fact, they knew each other very well indeed. But neither then norat any other time did he get beyond impression.

  Certainly her after-conduct was not of a kind to show that, even ifshe knew the gentleman, she had much faith in his integrity, unless,as was possible, the understanding between the two was of a very deepand subtle kind indeed.

  She showed the new arrivals up a flight of rickety stairs, into a roomin which there were two beds of a somewhat better sort than might havebeen expected. Some attempt had also been made to fit the room upafter the French fashion, so that it might serve as sitting-room aswell as bedroom. There was a table in the centre, and the apartmentalso contained two or three rush-bottomed chairs.

  The old crone, having shown them in, said something to the captain anddisappeared. The man and the boy were left alone. They had not spokento each other since they had left St. Brieuc, and there was not muchspoken now.

  "You can take your hat off and sit down. We shall sleep here to-night."

  So at any rate they had reached a temporary resting-place at last;their journey was not to be quite unceasing. It was only the nightbefore they had left London, but it seemed to Bertie that it was ayear ago.

  He did as he was bid--took his hat off and sat on a chair. The captainsat down also, seating himself on one chair and putting his feet uponanother. Not a word was spoken; they simply sat and waited, perhapstwenty minutes.

  Bertie wondered what they were waiting for, but the reappearance ofthe crone with a coarse white tablecloth shed light upon the matter.They had been waiting while a meal was being prepared.

  The prospect revived his spirits. He had not tasted food since theyhad left the _Ella_, and his appetite was always hale and hearty. Buthe was thrown into the deepest agitation by a remark which the croneaddressed to him. He had not the faintest notion what it was she said;but the mere fact of being addressed in a foreign and thereforeunknown tongue made him feel quite ill.

  The captain did not improve the matter.

  "Why don't you answer the woman?"

  "I don't know what she says."

  "Are you acting, or is it real?"

  Bertie only wished that he had been acting, and that his ignorance hadnot been real. At Mecklemburg House the idea of learning French hadseemed to him absurd, an altogether frivolous waste of time. Whatwould he not have given then--and still more, what would he not havegiven a little later on--to have made better use of his opportunitieswhen he had them? Circumstances alter cases.

  The captain looked at him for a moment or two with his fierce blackeyes; then he said something to the old woman which made her laugh.Not a pleasant laugh by any means, and it did not add to Bertie'ssense of comfort that such a laugh was being laughed at him.

  "Sit up to the table!"

  The old woman had laid the table, and had then disappeared to fetchthe food to put before her guests. Bertie sat up. The meal appeared.Not by any means a bad one--better, like the room itself, than mighthave been expected.

  When they had finished, and the old crone had cleared the things away,the captain stood up and lighted a cigar.

  "Now, m
y lad, you'd better tumble into bed. I've a strong belief inthe virtue of early hours. There's nothing like sleep for boys, evenfor those with a turn for humour."

  Bertie had not himself a taste for early hours as a rule--it may beeven questioned if the captain had--but he was ready enough for bedjust then, and he had scarcely got between the sheets before he wasasleep. But what surprised him was to see the captain prepare himselffor bed as well. Bertie had one bed, the captain the other. The lightswere put out; and at an unusually early hour silence reigned.

  Perhaps the journey had fatigued the man as much as the boy. It isbeyond question that the captain was asleep almost as soon as Bertiewas.

  But he did not sleep quite so long.

  While it was yet dark he got up, and, having lit a candle, looked athis watch. Then he dressed very quietly, making not the slightestnoise. He took his revolver from underneath his pillow, and replacedit in the top pocket of his overcoat. He also took from underneath hispillow a leathern case. He opened it. It contained a necklace ofwondrous beauty, formed of diamonds of uncommon brilliancy and size.His great black eyes sparkled at the precious stones, and the preciousstones sparkled back at him.

  It was that necklace which had once belonged to the Countess ofFerndale, and which, according to Mr. Rosenheim, had cost more thantwenty thousand pounds. The captain reclosed the leathern case, andput it in the same pocket which contained his revolver.

  Then, being fully dressed, even to his hat and boots, he crossed theroom and looked at Bertie. The boy was fast asleep.

  "The young beggar's smiling again."

  The young beggar was; perhaps he was again dreaming of his mother.

  The captain took his Gladstone bag and crept on tiptoe down thestairs. Curiously enough the front door was unbarred, so that it wasnot long before he was standing in the street. Then, having lighted,not a cigar this time, but a pipe, he started at a pace considerablyover four miles an hour, straight off through the country lanes, toLanderneau. He must have had a complete knowledge of the country tohave performed that feat, for Landerneau is at a distance of not lessthan fifteen miles from Brest; and in spite of the darkness whichprevailed, at any rate when he started, he turned aside from the highroad, and selected those by-paths which only a native of the countryas a rule knows well.

  Landerneau is a junction on the line which runs to Nantes. He caughtthe first train to that great seaport, and that afternoon he boarded,at St. Nazaire, a steamer which was bound for the United States ofAmerica, and by night he was far away on the high seas.

  Henceforward he disappears from the pages of this story. He had laidhis plans well. He had destroyed the trail, and the only witness ofhis crime whom he had any cause to fear he had left penniless in themost rabid town in France, where any Englishman who is penniless, andunable to speak any language but his own, was not likely to receivemuch consideration from the inhabitants.