Prisoners of War

by Arthur Quiller-Couch

A REPORTED TALE OF ARDEVORAYou've heard tell, I dare say, about Landlord Cummins and BillyBosistow, and the great jealousy there was between them. No? Well, Isee you going about Ardevora, and making a study of us; and I know youcan read, because I've seen you doing it down to the Institute.But sometimes, when I ask you a simple little question like that, youforce me to wonder what you've been doing with yourself all these years.Why, it got into the Law Courts!I know all about it, being related to them both after a fashion, as youmight say. Landlord Cummins--he that used to keep the Welcome Home--married an aunt of mine on my mother's side, and that's part of thestory. The boys used to call him "Calves-in-front," because of his legsbeing put on in an unusual manner, which made him walk slow all hisdays, and that's another part of the story. And Billy Bosistow, orUncle Billy, was my father's father's' stepson. You needn't take anytrouble to get that clear in your mind, because our family never ownedhim after he came home from the French war prisons and took up with hisdrinking habits; and that comes into the story, too.As it happens, the occasion that took their quarrel into the Law Courtsis one of the first things I can remember. It was in the year'twenty-five. Landlord Cummins, by dint of marrying a woman with means(that was my aunt), and walking the paths of repute for eleven yearswith his funny-shaped calves, got himself elected Mayor of the Borough.You may suppose it was a proud day for him. In those times the boroughused to pay the mayor a hundred pounds a year to keep up appearances,and my mother had persuaded my father to hire a window for Election Dayopposite the Town Hall, so that she might have the satisfaction ofseeing so near a relative in his robes of dignity.Well, there in the window we were gathered on that July forenoon (forthe mayors in those back-a-long days weren't chosen in November as theyare now), and the sun--it was a bright day--slanting high down our sideof the street, and my mother holding me tight as we leaned out, for Iwas just rising five, and extraordinary heavy in the head. And out uponthe steps of the Town Hall stepped Landlord Cummins, Mayor, with thetown crier and maces before him, and his robes hanging handsomelyabout his calves, and his beaver hat and all the rest of theparaphernalia, prepared to march to church.While he stood there, bowing to a score of people, and looking as big asbull's beef, who should step out from the pavement under us but UncleBilly Bosistow! He was a ragged old scarecrow, turned a bit grey andlean with iniquitous living, but not more than half-drunk; and hestepped into the middle of the roadway and cut a low reverence to hisworship, flinging out his leg like a dancing-master. And says he, in ahigh cackle, very solemn but mocking:"I salute thee, O Mayor! Do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly beforethy God.""Put that dam fool in the stocks!" cried his worship, very red in thegills, and speaking vicious. And Uncle Billy was collared and marchedoff between two constables, while the procession formed up to lead thenew Mayor to church.Well, that, as it happened, wasn't a lucky start-off for Mr. Cummins'syear of office. For no sooner was Billy let out of the stocks than offhe went to Lawyer Mennear, who was a young man then just set up inpractice, and as keen for a job as a huer for pilchards; and betweenthem they patched up an action for false imprisonment--damages claimed,one hundred pounds.The case came on at Bodmin, and the Mayor was cast in damages,twenty-five pounds. He paid, of course, though with a very long face.But Billy's revenge didn't stop here. Instead of putting the money by,the old varmint laid it out in the best way he could to annoy his enemy.And the way he contrived it was this. Every free Saturday he'd put asovereign in his pocket, and start the round of the public-houses--always beginning with Cummins's own house, the Welcome Home. Cummins,you see, couldn't refuse to serve him: the law wouldn't allow it. Sohe'd pull out a brand new sovereign and slap it on the counter and eyeit. "Ah!" he'd say, "it was a dear friend gave me that there coin. Hisheart's in the right place, which is more'n can be said for his calves.Two-pennyworth of gin, please, your Worship." The Mayor's dignitywouldn't let him serve it, so, the first day, he called his wife down.Mrs. Cummins began by trying argument. "William," she said, "the Lordknows you wouldn't have this money if there was justice in England. Butgot it you have, and now be a sensible man and put it by for a rainyday." "Mrs. Mayor," answers Billy, slow and vicious, "if there was anychance of presentin' you with a silver cradle, I'd save it up andsubscribe." After that there was nothing more to say. It hurt the poorsoul terrible, and she went upstairs again and cried as she went. Billysat on and soaked, and the Mayor, across the counter, sat and watchedhis condition, quiet-like, till the time came for refusing any moreliquor and turning him out. When that happened the old sinner wouldgather up his change and make off for another public. And the end wasthat he'd be up before the Mayor on Monday morning, charged withdrunkenness. No use to fine him; he wouldn't pay, but went to gaolinstead. "Ten years was I in prison," he'd say, addressing the bench,"along with his Worship there. I don't know what 'twould appear to himwho came back and got the Welcome Home; but I didn't, and ten days don'tfrighten me."Landlord Cummins would listen to this, looking as unnatural as a bluechina cat in a thunderstorm. He fairly hated these appearances ofBilly, and they spoiled his term of office, I do believe. But all thesame he turned out a very passable Mayor. The townsfolk respected himso highly, I've heard my mother say, that they made him Ex-Mayor theyear following.Now you'll be wanting to know what made these two men hate each other,for friends they had been, as two men ought to be who had been takenprisoners together and spent ten years in captivity to the French, andcome home aboard the same ship like brothers. The bigger the love thebigger the hate, and no difficulty to guess there was a woman in thecase. So there was; but the way she came between them was curious, forall that.First of all, you must know, that up to the year 'three Abe Cummins andBill Bosistow hadn't known what it is to quarrel or miss meeting eachother every day. They went to school together, and then to the fishing,and afterwards they sailed together with the free-traders over toMount's Bay, and good seamen the both, though not a bit alike in looksand ways. Abe, the elder by a year, was a bit slow and heavy on hispins; given to reading, too, though he seemed to take it up for peaceand quietness more than for any show he made of his learning. Bill wassmarter altogether and better looking; a bit boastful, after the mannerof young chaps. He could read too, but never did much at it, thoughI've heard that on Saturday nights he was fond of ranting verses--stuffabout drink and such like--out of a book of Robert Burns's poetry he'dborrowed off Abe.You'd hardly have thought two young fellows so different in every waycould have hit it off as they did. But these were like two figures in apuzzle-block; their very differences seemed to make them fit.There never was such a pair since David and Jonathan, and I believe'twas partly this that kept them from running after girls. So far as Ican see, the most of the lads begin at seventeen; but these two held offsweethearting right along until Christmas of the year 'three when theycame home from Porthleven to spend a fortnight at Ardevora, and theyboth fell in love with Selina Johns.Selina Johns wasn't but just husband-high; turned sixteen and her haironly put up a week before, she having begged her mother's leave to twistit in plaits for the Christmas courants. And Abe and Billy each knewthe other's secret almost before he knew his own, for each, as you maysay, kept his heart like a window and looked into his friend's windowfirst.And what they did was to have it out like good fellows, and agree towait a couple of years, unless any third party should interfere. In twoyears' time, they agreed, Selina Johns would be wise enough to choose--and then let the best man win! No bad blood afterwards, and meanwhileno more talk than necessary--they shook hands upon that. That January,being tired of the free-trade, they shipped together on board a coasterfor the Thames, and re-shipped for the voyage homeward on board the brigHand and Glove, of London.The Hand and Glove, Uriah Wilcox, master, was bound for Devonport witha cargo of copper and flour for the dockyard there, and came to anchorin the Downs on March 24th to join convoy under the Spider gun-brig.On the 25th (a Sunday) it blew hard from north to west, and she let gosheet anchor. Next day the weather moderated a bit, and, heaving up hersheet anchor, she rode to her best bower. On the Tuesday, the windhaving fallen light, the master took off a new longboat from Deal.There was some hitch in delivering her, and she was scarcely broughtalongside by five the next morning when the Commodore signalled to getunder weigh.By reason of this delay, the Hand and Glove was taken unawares, andstarted well astern of the fleet, which numbered over twenty sail ofmerchantmen; and, being a sluggard in anything short of half a gale, shemade up precious little way in the light E.N.E. breeze.Soon after seven that evening, Beachy Head bearing N.W. by W. four milesand a half, Abe Cummins on the look-out forward spied a lugger comingtowards shore upon a wind. She crossed well ahead of the Hand andGlove, and close--as it looked--under the stem of an East Indiamanwhich was then busy reefing topsails before night. For a while Abe lostsight of her under the dark of the land; but by-and-by the wheelman tooka glance over his shoulder, and there she was, creeping up close astern.His call fetched up Captain Wilcox, who ran aft and hailed, but got noreply. And so she came on, until, sheering close up under the Hand andGlove's port quarter, she was able to heave a grapnel on board andthrow twenty well-armed Johnnies into the old brig. The Englishmen--seven in all, and taken unprepared--were soon driven below and shutdown--four in the cabin, two in the steerage, and one in the forecastle,this last being Abe Cummins. After a while the sentry over the hatchwaycalled for him to come up and show where the leading ropes were, whichhe did at the point of a cutlass. And precious soon the Johnnies hadaltered the brig's course and stood away for the coast of France, thelugger keeping her company all night.Early next morning the two vessels were close off Dieppe Harbour; andthere, when the tide suited, they were taken inside, and the prisonersput ashore at nightfall and lodged for three days in a filthy roundtower, swarming with vermin. On April 1--Easter Sunday, I've heard itwas--they were told to get ready for marching, and handed over, makingtwenty-five in all, with the crews of two other vessels, both brigs--theLisbon Packet, bound from London to Falmouth with a general cargo, andthe Margaret, letter of marque of London, bound from Zante, laden withcurrants--to a lieutenant and a guard of foot soldiers. Not a man ofthem knew where they were bound. They set out through a main prettycountry, where the wheat stood nearabouts knee-high, but the roads wereheavy after the spring rains. Each man had seven shillings in hispocket, given him at parting by the captain of his vessel--the threecaptains had been left behind at Dieppe--and on they trudged for just afortnight on an allowance of 1 lb. of brown bread and twopence-halfpennyper man per day; the bread served out regular and the money, so to say,when they could get it. Mostly they came to a town for their night'shalt, and as often as not the townsfolk drummed them to jail with whatwe call the "Rogue's March," but in France I believe it's "Honours ofWar," or something that sounds politer than 'tis. But there were timeswhen they had to put up at a farm house by the road, and then the poorchaps slept on straw for a treat.Well, on the last day of the fortnight they reached their journey'send--a great fortress on a rock standing right over the river, with atown lying around the foot of the rock, and a smaller town, reached by abridge of boats, on the far side of the river. I can't call to mind thename of the river, but the towns were called Jivvy--Great and LittleJivvy. [1] The prison stood at the very top of the rock, on the edge ofa cliff that dropped a clean 300 feet to the river: not at all a prettyplace to get clear of, and none so cheerful to live in on a day'sallowance of one pound of brown bread, half a pound of bullock's offal,three-halfpence in money (paid weekly, and the most of it deducted forprison repairs, if you please!), and now and then a noggin of peas for atreat. They found half a dozen ships' companies already there, andenjoying themselves on this diet; the crew of the Minerva frigate, runashore off Cherbourg; the crew of the Hussar, wrecked outside Brest;and--so queerly things fall out in this world--among them a parcel ofpoor fellows from Ardevora, taken on board the privateer Recovery ofthis port.To keep to my story, though--which is about Abe Cummins and BillyBosistow. It was just in these unhappy conditions that the differencein the two men came out. Abe took his downfall very quiet from thefirst. He had managed to keep a book in his pocket--a book of voyagesit was--and carry it with him all the way from Dieppe, and it reallydidn't seem to matter to him that he was shut up, so long as he couldsit in a corner and read about other folks travelling. In the secondyear of their captivity an English clergyman, a Mr. Wolfe, came toJivvy, and got leave from the Commandant to fit up part of the prisongranary for a place of worship and preach to the prisoners. It had agood effect on the men in general, and Abe in particular turned veryreligious. Mr. Wolfe took a fancy to him, and lent him an old book on"Navigation"--Hamilton Moore's; and over that Abe would sit by the hour,with his room-mates drunk and fighting round him, and copy out tablesand work out sums. All his money went in pen and ink instead of theliquor which the jailors smuggled in.Billy Bosistow was a very different pair of shoes. Although no drinkerby habit, he fretted and wore himself down at times to a lowness ofspirits in which nothing seemed to serve him but drinking, and fiercedrinking. On his better days he was everybody's favourite; but when themood fell on him he grew teasy as a bear with a sore head, and fit toset his right hand quarrelling with his left. Then came the drinkingfit, and he'd wake out of that like a man dazed, sitting in a corner andbrooding for days together. What he brooded on, of course, was means ofescape. At first, like every other prisoner in Jivvy, he had kepthimself cheerful with hopes of exchange, but it seemed the folks home inArdevora had given up trying for a release, or else letters neverreached them. And yet they must have known something of the case theirpoor kinsmen were in, for in the second year the Commandant sent for Abeand Billy, and informed them that, by the kindness of a young Englishlady, a Miss Selina Johns, their allowance was increased by two sols aday. He showed them no letter, but the increase was paid regularly foreight months; after which a new Commandant came, and it ceased. Theycould never find out if the supply ceased, or into whose pocket it wentif it came.From that time Bosistow had two things to brood upon--escape and Selina.But confinement is the ruination of some natures, and as year after yearwent by and his wits broke themselves on a stone wall, he grew into avery different man from the handy lad the Johnnies had taken prisoner.One thing he never gave up, and that was his pluck; and he had plenty ofuse for it when, after seven years, his chance came.His first contrivance was to change names with an old American in thedepot. It so happened that the captain of a French privateer hadapplied to the prison for a crew of foreigners to man his ship, thenlying at Morlaix. The trick, by oiling the jailor's palm, was managedeasily enough, and away Bosistow was marched with twenty comrades of allnations. But at the first stage some recruiting officers stopped them,insisting that they were Irish and not Americans, and must be enlistedto serve with Bonaparty's army in Spain. The prisoners to a man refusedto hear of it, and the end was they were marched back to prison indisgrace, and, to cap everything, had their English allowance stopped onpretence that they had been in the French service. Yet this brought hima second chance, for being now declared an Irishman he managed to gethimself locked up with the Irish, who had their quarters on the handierside of the prison; and that same night broke out of window with twoother fellows, got over the prison wall, and hid in the woods beyond.But on the second day a party of wood-rangers attacked them with gunsand captured them; and back they went, and were condemned to six yearsin irons.This, as it turned out, didn't amount to much; for, while they werewaiting to be marched off to the galleys, their jailor came with newsthat a son was born to the Emperor, and they were pardoned in honour ofit. But instead of putting them back in their old quarters, he fixedthem up for a fortnight in a room by themselves, being fearful that suchbad characters would contaminate the other prisoners. This room was anupstairs one in a building on the edge of the ramparts, and after a fewnights they broke through the ceiling into an empty chamber, which had awindow looking on the roof. With a rope made of their bedclothes theylowered themselves clean over the ramparts on to the edge of theprecipice over the river; and along this they passed--having no daylightto make them giddy--and took their way northwards across the fields.Well, it doesn't come into my tale to tell you what they went through.Bosistow wrote out an account of it years after, and you shall read itfor yourself. At one place they had to cross a river, and Billy being,like the most of our fishermen, no swimmer, his mates stuck him on ahurdle and pushed him over while they swam behind. They steered by thePole Star (for, you understand, they could only travel by night) andalso by a fine comet which they guessed to be in the north-west quarter.You see the difference between these two fellows, and how littleProvidence made of it. Back in Jivvy, Abe Cummins was staring at thissame comet out of his prison windows, and doing his sums and thinking ofSelina Johns. And here was Bosistow following it up for freedom--withthe upshot that he made the coast and was taken like a lamb in theattempt to hire a passage, and marched in irons from one jail toanother, and then clean back the whole length of France, pretty well tothe Mediterranean Sea. And then he was shut up in a prison on the verytop of the Alps [2] and twice as far from home as he had been in Jivvy.That's a moral against folks in a hurry if ever there was one.Well, let alone that while he was here he received a free pardon fromthe Emperor, which his persecutors took no notice of, he broke out ofprison again, and was caught and brought back half-starving.And 'twasn't till Christmas of the year 'thirteen that orders came tomarch him right away north again, with all the prisoners, to a place inthe Netherlands; and no sooner arrived than away to go again threehundred and fifty miles west-sou'-west for Tours, on the Loire river.I've figured it out on the map, and even that is enough to make a manfeel sore in his feet. But what made Bosistow glad at the time, andvicious after, was that on his way he fell in with a draft of prisoners,and, among them, with Abe Cummins, who, so to say, had reached the sameplace by walking a tenth part of the distance. And, what's more, thougha man couldn't very well get sleek in Jivvy, Abe had kept his bonesfilled out somehow, and knew enough navigation by this time to set acourse to the Channel Fleet. 'Deed, that's what he began talking abouton the first day's journey he and Billy trudged together after theirmeeting. And he began it after a spell of silence by asking, quietlike, "Have you been happening to think much about Selina Johns thislast year or two?""Most every day," answered Billy."So have I," said Abe, and seemed to be pondering to himself. "She'llbe a woman growed by this time," he went on."Turnin' twenty-seven," Billy agreed."That's of it," said Abe. "I've been thinking about her, constant.""Well, look'ee here," spoke up Billy, "our little agreement holds, don'tit?--that is, if we ever get out of this here mess, and Selina hasn'tgone and taken a husband. Play fair, leave it to the maid, and let thebest man win; that's what we shook hands over. If that holds, seemin'to me the rest can wait.""True, true," says Abe; but after a bit he asks rather sly-like:"And s'posin' you're the lucky one, how do'ee reckon you're going tomaintain her?""Why, on seaman's wages, I suppose; or else at the shoe-mending.I learnt a little of that trade in Jivvy, as you d'know.""Well," says Abe, "I was reckonin' to set up school and teachnavigation. Back in Ardevora I can make between seventy and eightypounds a year at that game easy."Bosistow scratched his head. "You've been making the most of your time.Now I've been busy in my way, too, but seemin' to me the only trade I'velearned is prison-breakin'. Not much to keep a wife on, as you say.Still, a bargain's a bargain.""Oh, sutt'nly," says Abe; "that is if your conscience allows it.""I reckon I'll risk that," answers Billy, and no more passed.From Tours the prisoners tramped south-east again, to a town calledRiou, in the middle of France, and reached it in a snowstorm on March 1.Here they were billeted for five weeks or so, and here, one night, theywere waked up and told that Bonaparty had gone scat, and they must comeforth and dance with the townspeople in honour of it. You may be surethey heeled and toed it that night, and no girl satisfied unless she hadan Englishman for a partner. But the next day it all turned out to belies, and off they were marched again. To be short, 'twasn't till theend of April that they came to the river opposite Bordeaux, and weretaken in charge by English red-coats, who told them they were free men.On the 28th of that month Abe and Billy, with forty others, were put onboard a sloop and dropped down the river to the Dartmouth frigate,from which they were drafted on to the Lord Wellington, and again onto the Suffolk transport. And on May 4 the Suffolk, with six othertransports, having about fifteen hundred released prisoners on board,weighed anchor under convoy for Plymouth before a fine breeze, S.E. byS.On Monday, May 9, at half-past two in the afternoon--the wind stillsteady in the same quarter, and blowing fresh--the Suffolk sightedland, making out St. Michael's Mount; and fetching up to MouseholeIsland, the captain hailed a mackerel boat to come alongside and takeashore some officers with despatches.Abe Cummins and Billy Bosistow were both on deck, you may be sure,watching the boat as the fishermen brought her alongside. Not a wordhad been said between them on the matter that lay closest to theirminds, but while they waited Billy fetched a look at the boat andanother at Abe. "The best man wins," he said to himself, and edged awaytowards the ladder.The breeze, as I said, was a fresh one, with a sea in the bay that keptthe Suffolk rolling like a porpoise. A heavier lurch than ordinarysent her main channels grinding down on the mackerel boat's gunwale,smashing her upper strakes and springing her mizzen mast as sherecovered herself."Be dashed," said one of the officers, "if I trust myself in a boatthat'll go down under us between this and land!"The rest seemed to be of his mind, too. But Billy, being quick as wellas eager, saw in a moment that the damaged strakes would be to windwardon the reach into Mousehole, and well out of harm's way in the wind thenblowing, and also that her mainsail alone would do the job easy.So just as she fell off and her crew ran aft to get the mizzen lugstowed he took a run past the officer and jumped aboard, with twofellows close on his heels--one a Penzance fellow whose name I'veforgot, and the t'other a chap from Ludgvan, Harry Cornish by name.I reckon the sight of the old shores just made them mazed as sheep, andlike sheep they followed his lead. The officers ran to stop any morefrom copying such foolishness; and if they hadn't, I believe the boatwould have been swamped there and then. As 'twas, she re-hoisted herbig lug and away-to-go for Mousehole, the three passengers sitting downto leeward with their sterns in and out of the water to help keep herdamaged side above mischief.So on Mousehole Quay these three stepped ashore, and the first man toshake hands with them was Capen Josiah Penny, of the Perseverancetrading ketch, then lying snug in Mousehole Harbour. Being a hearty manhe invited them down to his cabin to take a drop of rum. The Penzancefellow, having only a short way to trudge, said "No, thank'ee," andstarted for home with a small crowd after him. But Bosistow and Cornishagreed 'twould be more neighbourly to accept, and, to tell the truth,they didn't quite know how to behave with so many eyes upon them.Cornish had on a soldier's red jacket with white facings, and a pair ofblue trousers out at the knees, while Bosistow's trousers were of whitecloth, and he carried a japanned knapsack at the back of his red shirt:and with a white-painted straw hat apiece, you may guess they feltthemselves looking like two figures of fun.So down they went to the Perseverance's cabin, and Capen Penny mixedthem a stiff glass of rum and called them fine fellows, and mixed themtwo more glasses while they talked; and when the time came to say"so long," Billy was quite sure he didn't care for appearances one snapof his fingers.They linked arms on the quay, where they found a crowd waiting for them,and many with questions to ask about absent friends, so that fromMousehole to Penzance it was a regular procession. And then they had togo to the hotel and tell the whole story over again, and answer athousand and one questions about Penzance boys imprisoned at Jivvy.And all this meant more rum, of course.It was seven in the evening, and day closing in, before they took theroad again. Billy had fallen into a boastful mood, and felt his heartso warm towards Cornish that nothing would do but they must tramp ittogether so far as Nancledrea, which was a goodish bit out of Cornish'sroad to Ludgvan. By the time they reached Nancledrea Billy was sheddingtears and begging Cornish to come along to Ardevora. "I'll make a manof 'ee there," he promised: "I will sure 'nough!" But Cornish weighedthe offer, and decided that his mother at Ludgvan would be going to bedbefore long. So coming to a house with red blinds and lights withinthey determined to have a drink before parting.In the tap-room they found a dozen fellows or so drinking their beer andsmoking solemn, and an upstanding woman in a black gown attending onthem. "Hullo!" says one of the men looking up, "What's this?Geezy-dancers?" [3]"I'll soon tell 'ee about Geezy-dancers," says Billy. "Here, Missus--apot of ale all round, and let 'em drink to two Cornish boys home fromfesterin' in French war prisons, while they've a'been diggin' taties!"There was no resisting a sociable offer like this, and in two two's, asyou might say, Billy was boasting ahead for all he was worth, and thecompany with their mouths open--all but the landlady, who was openingher eyes instead, and wider and wider."There isn' none present that remembers me, I dare say. My name'sBosistow--Billy Bosistow--from Ardevora parish. And back there I'mgoing this very night, and why? you ask. I ben't one of yourtaty-diggin' slowheads--I ben't. I've broke out of prison threetimes, and now--" He nodded at the company, whose faces by this time hecouldn't very well pick out of a heap--"do any of 'ee know a maid therecalled Selina Johns? Because if so I warn 'ee of her. 'Why?' says you.Because that's the maid I'm goin' to marry, and I'm off to Ardevora todo it straight. Another pot of beer, please, missus.""You've had a plenty, sir, seemin' to me," answered up the landlady,while the company tittered."And is this the way"--Billy stood up very dignified--"is this the wayto welcome home a man who bled for his country? Is this yourgratitude to a man who's spent ten o' the best years of his life inslavery while you've been diggin' taties?" I can't tell you whypotatoes ran so much in the poor fellow's head; but they did, and heseemed to see the hoeing of them almost in the light of a personalinjury. He spat on the floor. "And as for you, madam, these here bootsof mine have tramped thousands of miles, and I shake off their dust uponyou," he says."I wish you'd confine yourself to that, with your dirty habits!" thelandlady answered up again, but Billy marched out with great dignitywhich was only spoiled by his mistaking the shadow across the doorwayfor a raised step. He didn't forget to slam the door after him; but hedid forget to take leave of Harry Cornish, who had walked so far out ofhis way in pure friendliness.For the first mile or so, what with his anger and the fresh air, Billyhad a to-do to keep his pins and fix his mind on the road.But by-and-by his brain cleared a bit, and when he reached the hill overArdevora, and saw the lights of the town below him, his mood changed,and he sat down on the turf of the slope with tears in his eyes."There you be," said he, talking to the lights, "and here be I; andsomewheres down amongst you is the dear maid I've come to marry.Not much welcome for me in Ardevora, I b'law, though I do love everystone of her streets. But there's one there that didn' forget me in mycaptivity, and won't despise me in these here rags. I wish I'd seenAbe's face when I jumped aboard the boat. Poor old Abe!--but all's fairin love and war, I reckon. He can't be here till to-morrow at earliest,so let's have a pipe o' baccy on it."He lit up and sucked away at his pipe, still considering the lights inthe valley. Somehow they put him in mind of Abe, and how in the olddays he and Abe used to come on them shining just so on their way homeon Saturday nights from Bessie's Cove. Poor old mate!--first of all hepictured Abe's chap-fallen face, and chuckled; then he began to wonderif Abe would call it fair play. But all was fair in love and war: hekept saying this over to himself, and then lit another pipe to think itout.Well, he couldn't; and so, after a third pipe, he pulled an old Frenchcloak out of his knapsack and wrapped himself in it and huddled himselfto sleep there on the slope of the hillside.When he woke up the sun was shining and the smoke coming up towards himfrom the chimneys, and all about him the larks a-singing just as they'dcarried on every fine morning since he'd left Ardevora. And somehow,though he had dropped asleep in a puzzle of mind, he woke up with not adoubt to trouble him. He hunted out a crust from his knapsack and madehis breakfast, and then he lit his pipe again and turned towardsPenzance. He was going to play fair.On he went in this frame of mind, feeling like a man almost too virtuousto go to church, until by-and-by he came in sight of Nancledrea and theinn he'd left in such a hurry over night. And who should be sitting inthe porchway, and looking into the bottom of a pint pot, but AbeCummins!"Why, however on earth did you come here?" asked Billy."Cap'en landed us between four and five this morning," said Abe."Well," said Billy, "I'm right glad to meet you, anyway, for--tell 'eethe truth--you're the very man I was looking for.""Really?" says Abe, like one interested."You and no other. I don't mind telling 'ee I've been through a fire oftemptation. You know why I jumped into that boat: it vexed you a bit, Idare say. And strickly speakin', mind you"--Billy took his friend bythe button-hole--"strickly speakin' I'd the right on my side. 'Let thebest man win' was our agreement. But you needn' to fret yourself: Iben't the man to take an advantage of an old friend, fair though it be.Man, I ha'n't been to Ardevora--I turned back. So finish your beer andcome'st along with me, and we'll walk down to Selina Johns together andask her which of us she'll choose, fair and square."Abe set down his mug and looked up, studying the signboard over thedoor."Well," says he, "'tis a real relief to my mind to know you've played sofair. For man and boy, Bill, I always thought it of you.""Yes, indeed," says Billy, "man and boy, it always was my motto.""But as consarnin' Selina Johns," Abe went on, "there ain't no suchwoman.""You don't tell me she's dead!""No; 'tis her first husband that's dead. She's Selina Widlake now.""How long have 'ee knowed that?""Maybe an hour, maybe only three-quarters. Her name's Selina Widlake,and she owns this here public. What's more, her name isn't going to beSelina Widlake, but Selina Cummins. We've fixed it up, and she's toleave Nancledrea and take the Welcome Home over to Ardevora."Billy Bosistow took a turn across the road, and, coming back, stuck hishands in his pockets and stared up at the sign overhead."Well! And I, that was too honourable--" he began."So you was," agreed Abe, pulling out his pipe. "You can't think what acomfort that is to me. But, as it turns out, 'twouldn't have made nodifference. For she see'd you last evenin', and she was tellin' me justnow that prison hadn't improved you. In fact she didn't like eitheryour looks or your behaviour."I've heard that he was just in time to pop inside and bolt the doorafter him. And now you know why Billy Bosistow and Abe Cummins couldnever bear the sight of each other from that day. But there! you can'tbe first and last too, as the saying is.[1] Givet in the Ardennes. The river, of course, is the Meuse.[2] Probably Briancon in the Hautes Alpes.[3] Performers in a Christmas Play.

Previous Authors："Once Aboard the Lugger" Next Authors：Psyche