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The Captain of the Polestar - A Literary Mosaic

1. Preface

2. The Captain of the "Pole-Star"

3. F. Habakuk Jephson's Statement

4. The Great Keinplatz Experiment

5. The Man from Archangel

6. That Little Square Box

7. John Huxford's Hiatus

8. A Literary Mosaic

9. John Barrington Cowles

10. The Parson of Jackman's Gulch

11. The Ring of Thoth







From my boyhood I have had an intense and overwhelming conviction
that my real vocation lay in the direction of literature. I have,
however, had a most unaccountable difficulty in getting any
responsible person to share my views. It is true that private
friends have sometimes, after listening to my effusions, gone the
length of remarking, "Really, Smith, that's not half bad!" or, "You
take my advice, old boy, and send that to some magazine!" but I
have never on these occasions had the moral courage to inform my
adviser that the article in question had been sent to well-nigh
every publisher in London, and had come back again with a rapidity
and precision which spoke well for the efficiency of our postal
arrangements.

Had my manuscripts been paper boomerangs they could not have
returned with greater accuracy to their unhappy dispatcher. Oh,
the vileness and utter degradation of the moment when the stale
little cylinder of closely written pages, which seemed so fresh and
full of promise a few days ago, is handed in by a remorseless
postman! And what moral depravity shines through the
editor's ridiculous plea of "want of space!" But the subject is a
painful one, and a digression from the plain statement of facts
which I originally contemplated.

From the age of seventeen to that of three-and-twenty I was a
literary volcano in a constant state of eruption. Poems and tales,
articles and reviews, nothing came amiss to my pen. From the great
sea-serpent to the nebular hypothesis, I was ready to write on
anything or everything, and I can safely say that I seldom handled
a subject without throwing new lights upon it. Poetry and romance,
however, had always the greatest attractions for me. How I have
wept over the pathos of my heroines, and laughed at the
comicalities of my buffoons! Alas! I could find no one to join me
in my appreciation, and solitary admiration for one's self, however
genuine, becomes satiating after a time. My father remonstrated
with me too on the score of expense and loss of time, so that I was
finally compelled to relinquish my dreams of literary independence
and to become a clerk in a wholesale mercantile firm connected with
the West African trade.

Even when condemned to the prosaic duties which fell to my lot in
the office, I continued faithful to my first love. I have
introduced pieces of word-painting into the most commonplace
business letters which have, I am told, considerably astonished the
recipients. My refined sarcasm has made defaulting creditors
writhe and wince. Occasionally, like the great Silas Wegg, I would
drop into poetry, and so raise the whole tone of the
correspondence. Thus what could be more elegant than my rendering
of the firm's instructions to the captain of one of their vessels.
It ran in this way :--

"From England, Captain, you must steer a
Course directly to Madeira,
Land the casks of salted beef,
Then away to Teneriffe.
Pray be careful, cool, and wary
With the merchants of Canary.
When you leave them make the most
Of the trade winds to the coast.
Down it you shall sail as far
As the land of Calabar,
And from there you'll onward go
To Bonny and Fernando Po"----


and so on for four pages. The captain, instead of treasuring up
this little gem, called at the office next day, and demanded with
quite unnecessary warmth what the thing meant, and I was compelled
to translate it all back into prose. On this, as on other similar
occasions, my employer took me severely to task--for he was, you
see, a man entirely devoid of all pretensions to literary taste!

All this, however, is a mere preamble, and leads up to the fact
that after ten years or so of drudgery I inherited a legacy which,
though small, was sufficient to satisfy my simple wants. Finding
myself independent, I rented a quiet house removed from the uproar
and bustle of London, and there I settled down with the
intention of producing some great work which should single me
out from the family of the Smiths, and render my name immortal. To
this end I laid in several quires of foolscap, a box of quill pens,
and a sixpenny bottle of ink, and having given my housekeeper
injunctions to deny me to all visitors, I proceeded to look round
for a suitable subject.

I was looking round for some weeks. At the end of that time I
found that I had by constant nibbling devoured a large number of
the quills, and had spread the ink out to such advantage, what with
blots, spills, and abortive commencements, that there appeared to
be some everywhere except in the bottle. As to the story itself,
however, the facility of my youth had deserted me completely, and
my mind remained a complete blank; nor could I, do what I would,
excite my sterile imagination to conjure up a single incident or
character.

In this strait I determined to devote my leisure to running rapidly
through the works of the leading English novelists, from Daniel
Defoe to the present day, in the hope of stimulating my latent
ideas and of getting a good grasp of the general tendency of
literature. For some time past I had avoided opening any work of
fiction because one of the greatest faults of my youth had been
that I invariably and unconsciously mimicked the style of the last
author whom I had happened to read. Now, however, I made up my
mind to seek safety in a multitude, and by consulting ALL the
English classics to avoid?? the danger of imitating any one too
closely. I had just accomplished the task of reading through
the majority of the standard novels at the time when my narrative
commences.

It was, then, about twenty minutes to ten on the night of the
fourth of June, eighteen hundred and eighty-six, that, after
disposing of a pint of beer and a Welsh rarebit for my supper, I
seated myself in my arm-chair, cocked my feet upon a stool, and lit
my pipe, as was my custom. Both my pulse and my temperature were,
as far as I know, normal at the time. I would give the state of
the barometer, but that unlucky instrument had experienced an
unprecedented fall of forty-two inches--from a nail to the ground--
and was not in a reliable condition. We live in a scientific age,
and I flatter myself that I move with the times.

Whilst in that comfortable lethargic condition which accompanies
both digestion and poisoning by nicotine, I suddenly became aware
of the extraordinary fact that my little drawing-room had elongated
into a great salon, and that my humble table had increased in
proportion. Round this colossal mahogany were seated a great
number of people who were talking earnestly together, and the
surface in front of them was strewn with books and pamphlets. I
could not help observing that these persons were dressed in a most
extraordinary mixture of costumes, for those at the end nearest to
me wore peruke wigs, swords, and all the fashions of two centuries
back; those about the centre had tight knee-breeches, high cravats,
and heavy bunches of seals; while among those at the far side
the majority were dressed in the most modern style, and among
them I saw, to my surprise, several eminent men of letters whom I
had the honour of knowing. There were two or three women in the
company. I should have risen to my feet to greet these unexpected
guests, but all power of motion appeared to have deserted me, and
I could only lie still and listen to their conversation, which I
soon perceived to be all about myself.

"Egad!" exclaimed a rough, weather-beaten man, who was smoking a
long churchwarden pipe at my end of the table, "my heart softens
for him. Why, gossips, we've been in the same straits ourselves.
Gadzooks, never did mother feel more concern for her eldest born
than I when Rory Random went out to make his own way in the world."

"Right, Tobias, right!" cried another man, seated at my very elbow.

"By my troth, I lost more flesh over poor Robin on his island, than
had I the sweating sickness twice told. The tale was well-nigh
done when in swaggers my Lord of Rochester--a merry gallant, and
one whose word in matters literary might make or mar. `How now,
Defoe,' quoth he, `hast a tale on hand?' `Even so, your lordship,'
I returned. `A right merry one, I trust,' quoth he. `Discourse
unto me concerning thy heroine, a comely lass, Dan, or I mistake.'
`Nay,' I replied, `there is no heroine in the matter.' `Split not
your phrases,' quoth he; `thou weighest every word like a scald
attorney. Speak to me of thy principal female character, be she
heroine or no.' `My lord,' I answered, `there is no female
character.' `Then out upon thyself and thy book too!' he cried.
`Thou hadst best burn it!'--and so out in great dudgeon, whilst I
fell to mourning over my poor romance, which was thus, as it were,
sentenced to death before its birth. Yet there are a thousand now
who have read of Robin and his man Friday, to one who has heard of
my Lord of Rochester."

"Very true, Defoe," said a genial-looking man in a red waistcoat,
who was sitting at the modern end of the table. "But all this
won't help our good friend Smith in making a start at his story,
which, I believe, was the reason why we assembled."

"The Dickens it is!" stammered a little man beside him, and
everybody laughed, especially the genial man, who cried out,
"Charley Lamb, Charley Lamb, you'll never alter. You would make a
pun if you were hanged for it."

"That would be a case of haltering," returned the other, on which
everybody laughed again.

By this time I had begun to dimly realise in my confused brain the
enormous honour which had been done me. The greatest masters of
fiction in every age of English letters had apparently made a
rendezvous beneath my roof, in order to assist me in my
difficulties. There were many faces at the table whom I was unable
to identify; but when I looked hard at others I often found them to
be very familiar to me, whether from paintings or from mere
description. Thus between the first two speakers, who had betrayed
themselves as Defoe and Smollett, there sat a dark, saturnine
corpulent old man, with harsh prominent features, who I was sure
could be none other than the famous author of Gulliver. There were
several others of whom I was not so sure, sitting at the other side
of the table, but I conjecture that both Fielding and Richardson
were among them, and I could swear to the lantern-jaws and
cadaverous visage of Lawrence Sterne. Higher up I could see among
the crowd the high forehead of Sir Walter Scott, the masculine
features of George Eliott, and the flattened nose of Thackeray;
while amongst the living I recognised James Payn, Walter Besant,
the lady known as "Ouida," Robert Louis Stevenson, and several of
lesser note. Never before, probably, had such an assemblage of
choice spirits gathered under one roof.

"Well," said Sir Walter Scott, speaking with a pronounced accent,
"ye ken the auld proverb, sirs, `Ower mony cooks,' or as the Border
minstrel sang--

`Black Johnstone wi' his troopers ten
Might mak' the heart turn cauld,
But Johnstone when he's a' alane
Is waur ten thoosand fauld.'

The Johnstones were one of the Redesdale families, second cousins
of the Armstrongs, and connected by marriage to----"

"Perhaps, Sir Walter," interrupted Thackeray, "you would take the
responsibility off our hands by yourself dictating the commencement
of a story to this young literary aspirant."

"Na, na!" cried Sir Walter; "I'll do my share, but there's Chairlie
over there as full o' wut as a Radical's full o' treason. He's the
laddie to give a cheery opening to it."

Dickens was shaking his head, and apparently about to refuse the
honour, when a voice from among the moderns--I could not see who it
was for the crowd--said:

"Suppose we begin at the end of the table and work round, any one
contributing a little as the fancy seizes him?"

"Agreed! agreed!" cried the whole company; and every eye was turned
on Defoe, who seemed very uneasy, and filled his pipe from a great
tobacco-box in front of him.

"Nay, gossips," he said, "there are others more worthy----" But he
was interrupted by loud cries of "No! no!" from the whole table;
and Smollett shouted out, "Stand to it, Dan--stand to it! You and
I and the Dean here will make three short tacks just to fetch her
out of harbour, and then she may drift where she pleases." Thus
encouraged, Defoe cleared his throat, and began in this way,
talking between the puffs of his pipe:--

"My father was a well-to-do yeoman of Cheshire, named Cyprian
Overbeck, but, marrying about the year 1617, he assumed the name of
his wife's family, which was Wells; and thus I, their eldest son,
was named Cyprian Overbeck Wells. The farm was a very fertile one,
and contained some of the best grazing land in those parts, so
that my father was enabled to lay by money to the extent of a
thousand crowns, which he laid out in an adventure to the Indies
with such surprising success that in less than three years it had
increased fourfold. Thus encouraged, he bought a part share of the
trader, and, fitting her out once more with such commodities as
were most in demand (viz., old muskets, hangers and axes, besides
glasses, needles, and the like), he placed me on board as
supercargo to look after his interests, and despatched us upon our
voyage.

"We had a fair wind as far as Cape de Verde, and there, getting
into the north-west trade-winds, made good progress down the
African coast. Beyond sighting a Barbary rover once, whereat our
mariners were in sad distress, counting themselves already as
little better than slaves, we had good luck until we had come
within a hundred leagues of the Cape of Good Hope, when the wind
veered round to the southward and blew exceeding hard, while the
sea rose to such a height that the end of the mainyard dipped into
the water, and I heard the master say that though he had been at
sea for five-and-thirty years he had never seen the like of it, and
that he had little expectation of riding through it. On this I
fell to wringing my hands and bewailing myself, until the mast
going by the board with a crash, I thought that the ship had
struck, and swooned with terror, falling into the scuppers and
lying like one dead, which was the saving of me, as will appear in
the sequel. For the mariners, giving up all hope of saving the
ship, and being in momentary expectation that she would
founder, pushed off in the long-boat, whereby I fear that they met
the fate which they hoped to avoid, since I have never from that
day heard anything of them. For my own part, on recovering from
the swoon into which I had fallen, I found that, by the mercy of
Providence, the sea had gone down, and that I was alone in the
vessel. At which last discovery I was so terror-struck that I
could but stand wringing my hands and bewailing my sad fate, until
at last taking heart, I fell to comparing my lot with that of my
unhappy camerados, on which I became more cheerful, and descending
to the cabin, made a meal off such dainties as were in the
captain's locker."

Having got so far, Defoe remarked that he thought he had given them
a fair start, and handed over the story to Dean Swift, who, after
premising that he feared he would find himself as much at sea as
Master Cyprian Overbeck Wells, continued in this way:--

"For two days I drifted about in great distress, fearing that there
should be a return of the gale, and keeping an eager look-out for
my late companions. Upon the third day, towards evening, I
observed to my extreme surprise that the ship was under the
influence of a very powerful current, which ran to the north-east
with such violence that she was carried, now bows on, now stern on,
and occasionally drifting sideways like a crab, at a rate which I
cannot compute at less than twelve or fifteen knots an hour. For
several weeks I was borne away in this manner, until one morning,
to my inexpressible joy, I sighted an island upon the
starboard quarter. The current would, however, have carried me
past it had I not made shift, though single-handed, to set the
flying-jib so as to turn her bows, and then clapping on the sprit-
sail, studding-sail, and fore-sail, I clewed up the halliards upon
the port side, and put the wheel down hard a-starboard, the wind
being at the time north-east-half-east."

At the description of this nautical manoeuvre I observed that
Smollett grinned, and a gentleman who was sitting higher up the
table in the uniform of the Royal Navy, and who I guessed to be
Captain Marryat, became very uneasy and fidgeted in his seat.

"By this means I got clear of the current and was able to steer
within a quarter of a mile of the beach, which indeed I might have
approached still nearer by making another tack, but being an
excellent swimmer, I deemed it best to leave the vessel, which was
almost waterlogged, and to make the best of my way to the
shore.

"I had had my doubts hitherto as to whether this new-found country
was inhabited or no, but as I approached nearer to it, being on the
summit of a great wave, I perceived a number of figures on the
beach, engaged apparently in watching me and my vessel. My joy,
however, was considerably lessened when on reaching the land I
found that the figures consisted of a vast concourse of animals of
various sorts who were standing about in groups, and who hurried
down to the water's edge to meet me. I had scarce put my foot upon
the sand before I was surrounded by an eager crowd of deer,
dogs, wild boars, buffaloes, and other creatures, none of whom
showed the least fear either of me or of each other, but, on the
contrary, were animated by a common feeling of curiosity, as well
as, it would appear, by some degree of disgust."

"A second edition," whispered Lawrence Sterne to his neighbour;
"Gulliver served up cold."

"Did you speak, sir?" asked the Dean very sternly, having evidently
overheard the remark.

"My words were not addressed to you, sir," answered Sterne, looking
rather frightened.

"They were none the less insolent," roared the Dean. "Your
reverence would fain make a Sentimental Journey of the narrative,
I doubt not, and find pathos in a dead donkey--though faith, no man
can blame thee for mourning over thy own kith and kin."

"Better that than to wallow in all the filth of Yahoo-land,"
returned Sterne warmly, and a quarrel would certainly have ensued
but for the interposition of the remainder of the company. As it
was, the Dean refused indignantly to have any further hand in the
story, and Sterne also stood out of it, remarking with a sneer that
he was loth to fit a good blade on to a poor handle. Under these
circumstances some further unpleasantness might have occurred had
not Smollett rapidly taken up the narrative, continuing it in the
third person instead of the first:--

"Our hero, being considerably alarmed at this strange reception,
lost little time in plunging into the sea again and regaining
his vessel, being convinced that the worst which might befall him
from the elements would be as nothing compared to the dangers of
this mysterious island. It was as well that he took this course,
for before nightfall his ship was overhauled and he himself picked
up by a British man-of-war, the Lightning, then returning
from the West Indies, where it had formed part of the fleet under
the command of Admiral Benbow. Young Wells, being a likely lad
enough, well-spoken and high-spirited, was at once entered on the
books as officer's servant, in which capacity he both gained great
popularity on account of the freedom of his manners, and found an
opportunity for indulging in those practical pleasantries for which
he had all his life been famous.

"Among the quartermasters of the Lightning there was one named
Jedediah Anchorstock, whose appearance was so remarkable that it
quickly attracted the attention of our hero. He was a man of about
fifty, dark with exposure to the weather, and so tall that as he
came along the 'tween decks he had to bend himself nearly double.
The most striking peculiarity of this individual was, however, that
in his boyhood some evil-minded person had tattooed eyes all over
his countenance with such marvellous skill that it was difficult at
a short distance to pick out his real ones among so many
counterfeits. On this strange personage Master Cyprian determined
to exercise his talents for mischief, the more so as he learned
that he was extremely superstitious, and also that he had left
behind him in Portsmouth a strong-minded spouse of whom he
stood in mortal terror. With this object he secured one of the
sheep which were kept on board for the officers' table, and pouring
a can of rumbo down its throat, reduced it to a state of utter
intoxication. He then conveyed it to Anchorstock's berth, and with
the assistance of some other imps, as mischievous as himself,
dressed it up in a high nightcap and gown, and covered it over with
the bedclothes.

"When the quartermaster came down from his watch our hero met him
at the door of his berth with an agitated face. `Mr. Anchorstock,'
said he, `can it be that your wife is on board?' `Wife!' roared
the astonished sailor. `Ye white-faced swab, what d'ye mean?' `If
she's not here in the ship it must be her ghost,' said Cyprian,
shaking his head gloomily. `In the ship! How in thunder could she
get into the ship? Why, master, I believe as how you're weak in
the upper works, d'ye see? to as much as think o' such a thing. My
Poll is moored head and starn, behind the point at Portsmouth,
more'n two thousand mile away.' `Upon my word,' said our hero,
very earnestly, `I saw a female look out of your cabin not five
minutes ago.' `Ay, ay, Mr. Anchorstock,' joined in several of the
conspirators. `We all saw her--a spanking-looking craft with a
dead-light mounted on one side.' `Sure enough,' said Anchorstock,
staggered by this accumulation of evidence, `my Polly's starboard
eye was doused for ever by long Sue Williams of the Hard. But if
so be as she be there I must see her, be she ghost or quick;'
with which the honest sailor, in much perturbation and trembling in
every limb, began to shuffle forward into the cabin, holding the
light well in front of him. It chanced, however, that the unhappy
sheep, which was quietly engaged in sleeping off the effects of its
unusual potations, was awakened by the noise of this approach, and
finding herself in such an unusual position, sprang out of the bed
and rushed furiously for the door, bleating wildly, and rolling
about like a brig in a tornado, partly from intoxication and partly
from the night-dress which impeded her movements. As Anchorstock
saw this extraordinary apparition bearing down upon him, he uttered
a yell and fell flat upon his face, convinced that he had to do
with a supernatural visitor, the more so as the confederates
heightened the effect by a chorus of most ghastly groans and cries.

The joke had nearly gone beyond what was originally intended, for
the quartermaster lay as one dead, and it was only with the
greatest difficulty that he could be brought to his senses. To the
end of the voyage he stoutly asserted that he had seen the distant
Mrs. Anchorstock, remarking with many oaths that though he was too
woundily scared to take much note of the features, there was no
mistaking the strong smell of rum which was characteristic of his
better half.

"It chanced shortly after this to be the king's birthday, an event
which was signalised aboard the Lightening by the death of the
commander under singular circumstances. This officer, who was a
real fair-weather Jack, hardly knowing the ship's keel from
her ensign, had obtained his position through parliamentary
interest, and used it with such tyranny and cruelty that he was
universally execrated. So unpopular was he that when a plot was
entered into by the whole crew to punish his misdeeds with death,
he had not a single friend among six hundred souls to warn him of
his danger. It was the custom on board the king's ships that upon
his birthday the entire ship's company should be drawn up upon
deck, and that at a signal they should discharge their muskets into
the air in honour of his Majesty. On this occasion word had been
secretly passed round for every man to slip a slug into his
firelock, instead of the blank cartridge provided. On the
boatswain blowing his whistle the men mustered upon deck and formed
line, whilst the captain, standing well in front of them, delivered
a few words to them. `When I give the word,' he concluded, `you
shall discharge your pieces, and by thunder, if any man is a second
before or a second after his fellows I shall trice him up to the
weather rigging!' With these words he roared `Fire!' on which
every man levelled his musket straight at his head and pulled the
trigger. So accurate was the aim and so short the distance, that
more than five hundred bullets struck him simultaneously, blowing
away his head and a large portion of his body. There were so many
concerned in this matter, and it was so hopeless to trace it to any
individual, that the officers were unable to punish any one for the
affair--the more readily as the captain's haughty ways and
heartless conduct had made him quite as hateful to them as to the
men whom they commanded.

"By his pleasantries and the natural charm of his manners our hero
so far won the good wishes of the ship's company that they parted
with infinite regret upon their arrival in England. Filial duty,
however, urged him to return home and report himself to his father,
with which object he posted from Portsmouth to London, intending to
proceed thence to Shropshire. As it chanced, however, one of the
horses sprained his off foreleg while passing through Chichester,
and as no change could be obtained, Cyprian found himself compelled
to put up at the Crown and Bull for the night.

"Ods bodikins!" continued Smollett, laughing, "I never could pass
a comfortable hostel without stopping, and so, with your
permission, I'll e'en stop here, and whoever wills may lead friend
Cyprian to his further adventures. Do you, Sir Walter, give us a
touch of the Wizard of the North."

With these words Smollett produced a pipe, and filling it at
Defoe's tobacco-pot, waited patiently for the continuation of the
story.

"If I must, I must," remarked the illustrious Scotchman, taking a
pinch of snuff; "but I must beg leave to put Mr. Wells back a few
hundred years, for of all things I love the true mediaeval smack.
To proceed then:--

"Our hero, being anxious to continue his journey, and learning that
it would be some time before any conveyance would be ready,
determined to push on alone mounted on his gallant grey steed.
Travelling was particularly dangerous at that time, for besides the
usual perils which beset wayfarers, the southern parts of England
were in a lawless and disturbed state which bordered on
insurrection. The young man, however, having loosened his sword in
his sheath, so as to be ready for every eventuality, galloped
cheerily upon his way, guiding himself to the best of his ability
by the light of the rising moon.

"He had not gone far before he realised that the cautions which had
been impressed upon him by the landlord, and which he had been
inclined to look upon as self-interested advice, were only too well
justified. At a spot where the road was particularly rough, and
ran across some marsh land, he perceived a short distance from him
a dark shadow, which his practised eye detected at once as a body
of crouching men. Reining up his horse within a few yards of the
ambuscade, he wrapped his cloak round his bridle-arm and summoned
the party to stand forth.

"`What ho, my masters!' he cried. `Are beds so scarce, then, that
ye must hamper the high road of the king with your bodies? Now, by
St. Ursula of Alpuxerra, there be those who might think that birds
who fly o' nights were after higher game than the moorhen or the
woodcock!'

"`Blades and targets, comrades!' exclaimed a tall powerful man,
springing into the centre of the road with several companions, and
standing in front of the frightened horse. `Who is this
swashbuckler who summons his Majesty's lieges from their repose?
A very soldado, o' truth. Hark ye, sir, or my lord, or thy grace,
or whatsoever title your honour's honour may be pleased to approve,
thou must curb thy tongue play, or by the seven witches of
Gambleside thou may find thyself in but a sorry plight.'

"`I prythee, then, that thou wilt expound to me who and what ye
are,' quoth our hero, `and whether your purpose be such as an
honest man may approve of. As to your threats, they turn from my
mind as your caitiffly weapons would shiver upon my hauberk from
Milan.'

"`Nay, Allen,' interrupted one of the party, addressing him who
seemed to be their leader; `this is a lad of mettle, and such a one
as our honest Jack longs for. But we lure not hawks with empty
hands. Look ye, sir, there is game afoot which it may need such
bold hunters as thyself to follow. Come with us and take a firkin
of canary, and we will find better work for that glaive of thine
than getting its owner into broil and bloodshed; for, by my troth!
Milan or no Milan, if my curtel axe do but ring against that morion
of thine it will be an ill day for thy father's son.'

"For a moment our hero hesitated as to whether it would best become
his knightly traditions to hurl himself against his enemies, or
whether it might not be better to obey their requests. Prudence,
mingled with a large share of curiosity, eventually carried the
day, and dismounting from his horse, he intimated that he was ready
to follow his captors.

"`Spoken like a man!' cried he whom they addressed as Allen. `Jack
Cade will be right glad of such a recruit. Blood and carrion! but
thou hast the thews of a young ox; and I swear, by the haft of my
sword, that it might have gone ill with some of us hadst thou not
listened to reason!'

"`Nay, not so, good Allen--not so,' squeaked a very small man, who
had remained in the background while there was any prospect of a
fray, but who now came pushing to the front. `Hadst thou been
alone it might indeed have been so, perchance, but an expert
swordsman can disarm at pleasure such a one as this young knight.
Well I remember in the Palatinate how I clove to the chine even
such another--the Baron von Slogstaff. He struck at me, look ye,
so; but I, with buckler and blade, did, as one might say, deflect
it; and then, countering in carte, I returned in tierce, and so--
St. Agnes save us! who comes here?'

"The apparition which frightened the loquacious little man was
sufficiently strange to cause a qualm even in the bosom of the
knight. Through the darkness there loomed a figure which appeared
to be of gigantic size, and a hoarse voice, issuing apparently some
distance above the heads of the party, broke roughly on the silence
of the night.

"`Now out upon thee, Thomas Allen, and foul be thy fate if thou
hast abandoned thy post without good and sufficient cause. By St.
Anselm of the Holy Grove, thou hadst best have never been born than
rouse my spleen this night. Wherefore is it that you <224>and your
men are trailing over the moor like a flock of geese when
Michaelmas is near?'

"`Good captain,' said Allen, doffing his bonnet, an example
followed by others of the band, `we have captured a goodly youth
who was pricking it along the London road. Methought that some
word of thanks were meet reward for such service, rather than taunt
or threat.'

"`Nay, take it not to heart, bold Allen,' exclaimed their leader,
who was none other than the great Jack Cade himself. `Thou knowest
of old that my temper is somewhat choleric, and my tongue not
greased with that unguent which oils the mouths of the lip-serving
lords of the land. And you,' he continued, turning suddenly upon
our hero, `are you ready to join the great cause which will make
England what it was when the learned Alfred reigned in the land?
Zounds, man, speak out, and pick not your phrases.'

"`I am ready to do aught which may become a knight and a
gentleman,' said the soldier stoutly.

"`Taxes shall be swept away!' cried Cade excitedly--`the impost and
the anpost--the tithe and the hundred-tax. The poor man's salt-box
and flour-bin shall be as free as the nobleman's cellar. Ha! what
sayest thou?'

"`It is but just,' said our hero.

"`Ay, but they give us such justice as the falcon gives the
leveret!' roared the orator. `Down with them, I say--down with
every man of them! Noble and judge, priest and king, down with
them all!'

"`Nay,' said Sir Overbeck Wells, drawing himself up to his full
height, and laying his hand upon the hilt of his sword, `there I
cannot follow thee, but must rather defy thee as traitor and
faineant, seeing that thou art no true man, but one who would usurp
the rights of our master the king, whom may the Virgin protect!'

"At these bold words, and the defiance which they conveyed, the
rebels seemed for a moment utterly bewildered; but, encouraged by
the hoarse shout of their leader, they brandished their weapons and
prepared to fall upon the knight, who placed himself in a posture
for defence and awaited their attack.

"There now!" cried Sir Walter, rubbing his hands and chuckling,
"I've put the chiel in a pretty warm corner, and we'll see which of
you moderns can take him oot o't. Ne'er a word more will ye get
frae me to help him one way or the other."

"You try your hand, James," cried several voices, and the author in
question had got so far as to make an allusion to a solitary
horseman who was approaching, when he was interrupted by a tall
gentleman a little farther down with a slight stutter and a very
nervous manner.

"Excuse me," he said, "but I fancy that I may be able to do
something here. Some of my humble productions have been said to
excel Sir Walter at his best, and I was undoubtedly stronger all
round. I could picture modern society as well as ancient; and as
to my plays, why Shakespeare never came near `The <226>Lady of
Lyons' for popularity. There is this little thing----" (Here he
rummaged among a great pile of papers in front of him). "Ah!
that's a report of mine, when I was in India! Here it is. No,
this is one of my speeches in the House, and this is my criticism
on Tennyson. Didn't I warm him up? I can't find what I wanted,
but of course you have read them all--`Rienzi,' and `Harold,' and
`The Last of the Barons.' Every schoolboy knows them by heart, as
poor Macaulay would have said. Allow me to give you a sample:--

"In spite of the gallant knight's valiant resistance the combat was
too unequal to be sustained. His sword was broken by a slash from
a brown bill, and he was borne to the ground. He expected
immediate death, but such did not seem to be the intention of the
ruffians who had captured him. He was placed upon the back of his
own charger and borne, bound hand and foot, over the trackless
moor, in the fastnesses of which the rebels secreted themselves.

"In the depths of these wilds there stood a stone building which
had once been a farm-house, but having been for some reason
abandoned had fallen into ruin, and had now become the headquarters
of Cade and his men. A large cowhouse near the farm had been
utilised as sleeping quarters, and some rough attempts had been
made to shield the principal room of the main building from the
weather by stopping up the gaping apertures in the walls. In this
apartment was spread out a rough meal for the returning rebels, and
our hero was thrown, still bound, into an empty outhouse,
there to await his fate."

Sir Walter had been listening with the greatest impatience to
Bulwer Lytton's narrative, but when it had reached this point he
broke in impatiently.

"We want a touch of your own style, man," he said. "The animal-
magnetico-electro-hysterical-biological-mysterious sort of story is
all your own, but at present you are just a poor copy of myself,
and nothing more."

There was a murmur of assent from the company, and Defoe remarked,
"Truly, Master Lytton, there is a plaguey resemblance in the style,
which may indeed be but a chance, and yet methinks it is
sufficiently marked to warrant such words as our friend hath used."

"Perhaps you will think that this is an imitation also," said
Lytton bitterly, and leaning back in his chair with a morose
countenance, he continued the narrative in this way:--

"Our unfortunate hero had hardly stretched himself upon the straw
with which his dungeon was littered, when a secret door opened in
the wall and a venerable old man swept majestically into the
apartment. The prisoner gazed upon him with astonishment not
unmixed with awe, for on his broad brow was printed the seal of
much knowledge--such knowledge as it is not granted to the son of
man to know. He was clad in a long white robe, crossed and
chequered with mystic devices in the Arabic character, while a high
scarlet tiara marked with the square and circle enhanced his
venerable appearance. `My son,' he said, turning his piercing
and yet dreamy gaze upon Sir Overbeck, `all things lead to nothing,
and nothing is the foundation of all things. Cosmos is
impenetrable. Why then should we exist?'

"Astounded at this weighty query, and at the philosophic demeanour
of his visitor, our hero made shift to bid him welcome and to
demand his name and quality. As the old man answered him his voice
rose and fell in musical cadences, like the sighing of the east
wind, while an ethereal and aromatic vapour pervaded the apartment.

"`I am the eternal non-ego,' he answered. "I am the concentrated
negative--the everlasting essence of nothing. You see in me that
which existed before the beginning of matter many years before the
commencement of time. I am the algebraic _x_ which represents the
infinite divisibility of a finite particle.'

"Sir Overbeck felt a shudder as though an ice-cold hand had been
placed upon his brow. `What is your message?' he whispered,
falling prostrate before his mysterious visitor.

"`To tell you that the eternities beget chaos, and that the
immensities are at the mercy of the divine ananke. Infinitude
crouches before a personality. The mercurial essence is the prime
mover in spirituality, and the thinker is powerless before the
pulsating inanity. The cosmical procession is terminated only by
the unknowable and unpronounceable'----

"May I ask, Mr. Smollett, what you find to laugh at?"

"Gad zooks, master," cried Smollett, who had been sniggering for
some time back. "It seems to me that there is little danger of any
one venturing to dispute that style with you."

"It's all your own," murmured Sir Walter.

"And very pretty, too," quoth Lawrence Sterne, with a malignant
grin. "Pray sir, what language do you call it?"

Lytton was so enraged at these remarks, and at the favour with
which they appeared to be received, that he endeavoured to stutter
out some reply, and then, losing control of himself completely,
picked up all his loose papers and strode out of the room, dropping
pamphlets and speeches at every step. This incident amused the
company so much that they laughed for several minutes without
cessation. Gradually the sound of their laughter sounded more and
more harshly in my ears, the lights on the table grew dim and the
company more misty, until they and their symposium vanished away
altogether. I was sitting before the embers of what had been a
roaring fire, but was now little more than a heap of grey ashes,
and the merry laughter of the august company had changed to the
recriminations of my wife, who was shaking me violently by the
shoulder and exhorting me to choose some more seasonable spot for
my slumbers. So ended the wondrous adventures of Master Cyprian
Overbeck Wells, but I still live in the hopes that in some future
dream the great masters may themselves finish that which they have
begun.




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