Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated)

by SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

  Science. Half-sister of Inspiration. Thank you, I have had quite enough of that family.

  Reason. You’d do her good — and she you.

  Science. Well, I must go and fix up this installation. Don’t forget that you are rather limited yourself. Here are some travellers coming. Where’s that voltmeter ? And the induction coil ? Thank you. Well, if you like to travel with me, come along ![Exeunt.

  [Enter a man and a woman]

  The Man. Thank heaven that we have shaken off the guides. They make my head ache with their chatter.

  The Woman. And yet, dear, they all point us upwards.

  The Man. Some of them seemed to me to be going downwards themselves.

  The Woman. We must go as they point.

  The Man. Yes, woman seems to need a guide.

  The Woman. We are lost without one. I like a guide and one who is sure of himself — one who has no doubt that he knows the way.

  The Man. Whether he really does or not ?

  The Woman. One can at least hope that what he says is truth.

  The Man. Well, I used to trust them. But they differed so much that I took to guiding myself with the little help that old Reason could give me. Let us rest by this well.

  The Woman. Yes, let us rest. Oh, it is a weary, weary journey.

  The Man. We have love to help us along — and that is more than many can say.

  The Woman. Yes, if love were not with us, I should indeed despair. Love has been our true helper.

  The Man. And yet, do you remember that pale sad-faced creature who has walked again and again so very close to us ?

  The Woman. You mean Sorrow.

  The Man. Exactly. Sorrow. I am not sure that she is not the best guide of all. We seem to have risen higher always when she has been our companion.

  The Woman. It is true. I shudder when I think of her, and yet she has surely helped us upon our way. How pale and weary the poor child is ! [Looks at child.]

  The Man. Put him here among the ferns.

  The Woman. He is worn out. Rest there, my darling!

  The Man. She was with us when our boy died.

  The Woman. And that night, as we sat together hand in hand, each thinking of the other’s grief, then and only then did we seem for one moment, as we looked upwards, to see some break in the clouds and to know that there was indeed something there which makes the long journey worth while.

  The Man. Yes, I felt that. I saw the City. Just for a moment I seemed to see the shining walls. [Looks at the boy.] Dear laddie, how weary he is ! Should we wake him and give him food ?

  The Woman. Let him rest. He can have food when he wakes. I am so very tired.

  The Man. Dear heart, what a comrade you have been! Poor little feet, worn out by tramping at my side.

  The Woman. But oh, it was worth it, my own man who never gave a thought to himself.

  The Man. How could I when —— Hullo, who are these ?

  [Three roisterers come singing down the path.]

  The Man. Heh, friends ! you are going the wrong way.

  A Roisterer. What d’you mean, the wrong way ? How the deuce do you know where we want to get to ?

  The Man. Surely you want to get up to the City Beautiful, like the rest of us.

  Roisterer. Not much. We’ve tried that game, and it won’t work. No, no, my friend, you can do the climbing and hunt for something which is up in the clouds of dreamland. Give us something solid.

  2nd Roisterer. That’s the idea. Something solid. What’s the use of talking about things that are far away. We want to enjoy ourselves here and now. One City of pleasure down in the plain is worth many City Beautifuls up on the hill-top. Come on, my lads !

  3RD Roisterer. You look tired out. No wonder, when you are climbing all the time. It’s much easier to go down hill with us.

  The Man. But you only have to come back again.

  Roisterer. Oh, bother the fellow. He’s a kill-joy. Come on, boys. We’ll have a rare time down there.

  The Man. No, no, don’t be foolish. You’ve got so far. You are bound sooner or later to get to the top. What is the use of going down when you will have all the climbing to do over again.

  Roisterer. That’s the future. Hang the future ! We’re in the present.

  2nd Roisterer. But there’s something in what the fellow says. We were not started on this journey for the purpose of having a good time, were we ? We were started that we might get to the top.

  3rd Roisterer. Well, I want some liquor, and I am going down for it. Come on, Jack, if you are coming.

  2nd Roisterer.. No, I think I’ll start up the hill again. I remember what my mother used to say Roisterer. Oh, bother your mother! Come on, Tom. Leave the milksop here, if he wants to stay.

  [The two go on down the hill. The other goes slowly up.]

  The Man. Poor souls! I’ve been down before now myself.

  The Woman. Yes, we have all done it and learned our lesson.

  [Enter Sorrow, who sits unobserved on rock at back.]

  The Man. Are you less weary now, dear ?

  The Woman. Yes, yes, if only the little fellow is rested we can soon go on.

  The Man. Do you remember, dear, that when we lost our way, and when it was so dark as we crossed the great marsh of Doubt, I told you that the best guide was our dear little dead lad whom I saw in front of us ?

  The Woman. Yes, I saw him too.

  The Man. I asked old Science about it. He said it was impossible.

  The Woman. Yes, but when you asked him the second time, Science was not so sure about it. At first he thought Imagination had a hand in it. But when he learned that we both saw it, and that Imagination was not present at all, he was more serious about it.

  The Man. Yes, but since then I have seen our boy again and again. He is still living, and he is leading us to the City Beautiful, for he has found his own way there. [Looks round.] Who is that over there ?

  The Woman. It looks like Sorrow.

  The Man. I’m afraid of that woman. I wish she would not come with us.

  The Woman. But she did help us up. Let us ask her to the well.

  The Man. Won’t you come and join us at the well ?

  [Sorrow advances and sits down.]

  The Woman. Poor thing! You’ll reach the City some day, will you not ?

  Sorrow. No, there is no place for me there. I am stationed on the path. You will always find me there.

  The Woman. Every one avoids you, and is afraid of you.

  Sorrow. And yet those who have known me make better progress than those who have not.

  The Man. Yes, I have known some people who said that they had never met Sorrow, and they were not people whom I wish to travel with. Their hearts were hard to others for they could not understand. Now, dear, if you are rested, we must go on.

  The Woman. Yes, dear, we must go on. [Goes to the child.] Oh, John, John, our little boy is dead !

  The Man. My God ! Oh, my poor, poor wife !

  The Woman. John, dear John, it will break your great heart.

  [They embrace each other and weep.]

  [Sorrow blesses them and moves slowly away.]

  The Man. Well, it is the darkest pass of all. How black it looks above our heads !

  The Woman. But surely I see the upward path more clearly.

  The Man. Yes, yes, see how it winds over the shoulder of the hill. And see the Towers of the City. Never have we seen it so clearly. Come, while the way is open.

  The Woman. Can we leave our bairn ?

  The Man. Remember the other. He is ahead of us on the path. We have two guides, not one. Come, brave comrade, come !

  [They place their cloak over the child and turn to ascend the path.]

  The Poetry

  Conan Doyle’s family sightseeing in New York, 1922

  SONGS OF ACTION

  This book of poetry was first published in 1898.

  CONTENTS

  THE SONG OF THE BOW

  CREMONA

  THE STO
RMING PARTY

  THE FRONTIER LINE

  CORPORAL DICK’S PROMOTION A BALLAD OF ‘82

  A FORGOTTEN TALE

  PENNARBY MINE

  A ROVER CHANTY

  A BALLAD OF THE RANKS

  A LAY OF THE LINKS

  THE DYING WHIP

  MASTER

  H.M.S. ‘FOUDROYANT’

  THE FARNSHIRE CUP

  THE GROOM’S STORY

  WITH THE CHIDDINGFOLDS

  A HUNTING MORNING

  THE OLD GRAY FOX

  WARE HOLES

  THE HOME-COMING OF THE ‘EURYDICE’

  THE INNER ROOM

  THE IRISH COLONEL

  THE BLIND ARCHER

  A PARABLE

  A TRAGEDY

  THE PASSING

  THE FRANKLIN’S MAID

  THE OLD HUNTSMAN

  THE SONG OF THE BOW

  What of the bow?

  The bow was made in England:

  Of true wood, of yew-wood,

  The wood of English bows;

  So men who are free

  Love the old yew-tree

  And the land where the yew-tree grows.

  What of the cord?

  The cord was made in England:

  A rough cord, a tough cord,

  A cord that bowmen love;

  And so we will sing

  Of the hempen string

  And the land where the cord was wove.

  What of the shaft?

  The shaft was cut in England:

  A long shaft, a strong shaft,

  Barbed and trim and true;

  So we’ll drink all together

  To the grey goose-feather

  And the land where the grey goose flew.

  What of the mark?

  Ah, seek it not in England,

  A bold mark, our old mark

  Is waiting over-sea.

  When the strings harp in chorus,

  And the lion flag is o’er us,

  It is there that our mark will be.

  What of the men?

  The men were bred in England:

  The bowmen — the yeomen,

  The lads of dale and fell.

  Here’s to you — and to you!

  To the hearts that are true

  And the land where the true hearts dwell.

  CREMONA

  [The French Army, including a part of the Irish Brigade, under Marshal Villeroy, held the fortified town of Cremona during the winter of 1702. Prince Eugene, with the Imperial Army, surprised it one morning, and, owing to the treachery of a priest, occupied the whole city before the alarm was given. Villeroy was captured, together with many of the French garrison. The Irish, however, consisting of the regiments of Dillon and of Burke, held a fort commanding the river gate, and defended themselves all day, in spite of Prince Eugene’s efforts to win them over to his cause. Eventually Eugene, being unable to take the post, was compelled to withdraw from the city.]

  The Grenadiers of Austria are proper men and tall;

  The Grenadiers of Austria have scaled the city wall;

  They have marched from far away

  Ere the dawning of the day,

  And the morning saw them masters of Cremona.

  There’s not a man to whisper, there’s not a horse to neigh;

  Of the footmen of Lorraine and the riders of Dupres,

  They have crept up every street,

  In the market-place they meet,

  They are holding every vantage in Cremona.

  The Marshal Villeroy he has started from his bed;

  The Marshal Villeroy has no wig upon his head;

  ’I have lost my men!’ quoth he,

  ’And my men they have lost me,

  And I sorely fear we both have lost Cremona.’

  Prince Eugene of Austria is in the market-place;

  Prince Eugene of Austria has smiles upon his face;

  Says he, ‘Our work is done,

  For the Citadel is won,

  And the black and yellow flag flies o’er Cremona.’

  Major Dan O’Mahony is in the barrack square,

  And just six hundred Irish lads are waiting for him there;

  Says he, ‘Come in your shirt,

  And you won’t take any hurt,

  For the morning air is pleasant in Cremona.’

  Major Dan O’Mahony is at the barrack gate,

  And just six hundred Irish lads will neither stay nor wait;

  There’s Dillon and there’s Burke,

  And there’ll be some bloody work

  Ere the Kaiserlics shall boast they hold Cremona.

  Major Dan O’Mahony has reached the river fort,

  And just six hundred Irish lads are joining in the sport;

  ’Come, take a hand!’ says he,

  ’And if you will stand by me,

  Then it’s glory to the man who takes Cremona!’

  Prince Eugene of Austria has frowns upon his face,

  And loud he calls his Galloper of Irish blood and race:

  ’MacDonnell, ride, I pray,

  To your countrymen, and say

  That only they are left in all Cremona!’

  MacDonnell he has reined his mare beside the river dyke,

  And he has tied the parley flag upon a sergeant’s pike;

  Six companies were there

  From Limerick and Clare,

  The last of all the guardians of Cremona.

  ‘Now, Major Dan O’Mahony, give up the river gate,

  Or, Major Dan O’Mahony, you’ll find it is too late;

  For when I gallop back

  ’Tis the signal for attack,

  And no quarter for the Irish in Cremona!’

  And Major Dan he laughed: ‘Faith, if what you say be true,

  And if they will not come until they hear again from you,

  Then there will be no attack,

  For you’re never going back,

  And we’ll keep you snug and safely in Cremona.’

  All the weary day the German stormers came,

  All the weary day they were faced by fire and flame,

  They have filled the ditch with dead,

  And the river’s running red;

  But they cannot win the gateway of Cremona.

  All the weary day, again, again, again,

  The horsemen of Dupres and the footmen of Lorraine,

  Taafe and Herberstein,

  And the riders of the Rhine;

  It’s a mighty price they’re paying for Cremona.

  Time and time they came with the deep-mouthed German roar,

  Time and time they broke like the wave upon the shore;

  For better men were there

  From Limerick and Clare,

  And who will take the gateway of Cremona?

  Prince Eugene has watched, and he gnaws his nether lip;

  Prince Eugene has cursed as he saw his chances slip:

  ’Call off! Call off!’ he cried,

  ’It is nearing eventide,

  And I fear our work is finished in Cremona.’

  Says Wauchop to McAulliffe, ‘Their fire is growing slack.’

  Says Major Dan O’Mahony, ‘It is their last attack;

  But who will stop the game

  While there’s light to play the same,

  And to walk a short way with them from Cremona?’

  And so they snarl behind them, and beg them turn and come,

  They have taken Neuberg’s standard, they have taken Diak’s drum;

  And along the winding Po,

  Beard on shoulder, stern and slow

  The Kaiserlics are riding from Cremona.

  Just two hundred Irish lads are shouting on the wall;

  Four hundred more are lying who can hear no slogan call;

  But what’s the odds of that,

  For it’s all the same to Pat

  If he pays his debt in Dublin or Cremona.

  Says General de Vaudray, ‘You’ve done a soldier’
s work!

  And every tongue in France shall talk of Dillon and of Burke!

  Ask what you will this day,

  And be it what it may,

  It is granted to the heroes of Cremona.’

  ‘Why, then,’ says Dan O’Mahony, ‘one favour we entreat,

  We were called a little early, and our toilet’s not complete.

  We’ve no quarrel with the shirt,

  But the breeches wouldn’t hurt,

  For the evening air is chilly in Cremona.’

  THE STORMING PARTY

  Said Paul Leroy to Barrow,

  ‘Though the breach is steep and narrow,

  If we only gain the summit

  Then it’s odds we hold the fort.

  I have ten and you have twenty,

  And the thirty should be plenty,

  With Henderson and Henty