The Mystery of Joseph Laquedem

by Arthur Quiller-Couch

A Jew, unfortunately slain on the sands of Sheba Cove, in the parish ofRuan Lanihale, August 15, 1810: or so much of it as is hereby related bythe Rev. Endymion Trist, B.D., then vicar of that parish, in a letter toa friend.My dear J--,--You are right, to be sure, in supposing that I know morethan my neighbours in Ruan Lanihale concerning the unfortunate youngman, Joseph Laquedem, and more than I care to divulge; in particularconcerning his tragical relations with the girl Julia Constantine, orJuly, as she was commonly called. The vulgar knowledge amounts tolittle more than this--that Laquedem, a young Hebrew of extraordinarycommercial gifts, first came to our parish in 1807 and settled here asmanaging secretary of a privateering company at Porthlooe; that by hisaptitude and daring in this and the illicit trade he amassed arespectable fortune, and at length opened a private bank at Porthlooeand issued his own notes; that on August 15, 1810, a forced "run" which,against his custom, he was personally supervising, miscarried, and hemet his death by a carbine-shot on the sands of Sheba Cove; and, lastly,that his body was taken up and conveyed away by the girl JuliaConstantine, under the fire of the preventive men.The story has even in our time received what I may call some firesideembellishments; but these are the facts, and the parish knows littlebeyond them. I (as you conjecture) know a great deal more; and yetthere is a sense in which I know nothing more. You and I, my oldfriend, have come to an age when men do not care to juggle with themysteries of another world, but knowing that the time is near when allaccounts must be rendered, desire to take stock honestly of what theybelieve and what they do not. And here lies my difficulty. On the onehand I would not make public an experience which, however honestly setdown, might mislead others, and especially the young, into rash andmischievous speculations. On the other, I doubt if it be right to keeptotal silence and withhold from devout and initiated minds any glimpseof truth, or possible truth, vouchsafed to me. As the Greek said,"Plenty are the thyrsus-bearers, but few the illuminate"; and amongthese few I may surely count my old friend.It was in January 1807--the year of the abominable business of Tilsit--that my churchwarden, the late Mr. Ephraim Pollard, and I, in cleaningthe south wall of Lanihale Church for a fresh coat of whitewash,discovered the frescoes and charcoal drawings, as well as the brassplaque of which I sent you a tracing; and I think not above a fortnightlater that, on your suggestion, I set to work to decipher and copy outthe old churchwardens' accounts. On the Monday after Easter, at aboutnine o'clock P.M., I was seated in the Vicarage parlour, busilytranscribing, with a couple of candles before me, when my housekeeperFrances came in with a visiting-card, and the news that a strangerdesired to speak with me. I took the card and read "Mr. JosephLaquedem.""Show the gentleman in," said I.Now the fact is, I had just then a few guineas in my chest, and you knowwhat a price gold fetched in 1807. I dare say that for twelve monthstogether the most of my parishioners never set eyes on a piece, and anythat came along quickly found its way to the Jews. People said thatGovernment was buying up gold, through the Jews, to send to the armies.I know not the degree of truth in this, but I had some five and twentyguineas to dispose of, and had been put into correspondence with a Mr.Isaac Laquedem, a Jew residing by Plymouth Dock, whom I understood to beoffering 25s. 6d. per guinea, or a trifle above the price then current.I was fingering the card when the door opened again and admitted ayoung man in a caped overcoat and tall boots bemired high above theankles. He halted on the threshold and bowed."Mr.--?""Joseph Laquedem," said he in a pleasant voice."I guess your errand," said I, "though it was a Mr. Isaac Laquedem whomI expected.--Your father, perhaps?"He bowed again, and I left the room to fetch my bag of guineas."You have had a dirty ride," I began on my return."I have walked," he answered, lifting a muddy boot. "I beg you topardon these.""What, from Torpoint Ferry? And in this weather? My faith, sir, youmust be a famous pedestrian!"He made no reply to this, but bent over the guineas, fingering them,holding them up to the candlelight, testing their edges with histhumbnail, and finally poising them one by one on the tip of hisforefinger."I have a pair of scales," suggested I."Thank you, I too have a pair in my pocket. But I do not need them.The guineas are good weight, all but this one, which is possibly acouple of grains short.""Surely you cannot rely on your hand to tell you that?"His eyebrows went up as he felt in his pocket and produced a smallvelvet-lined case containing a pair of scales. He was a decidedlyhandsome young man, with dark intelligent eyes and a slightly scornful--or shall I say ironical?--smile. I took particular note of thesteadiness of his hand as he adjusted the scales and weighed my guinea."To be precise," he announced, "1.898, or practically one andnine-tenths short.""I should have thought," said I, fairly astounded, "a lifetime toolittle for acquiring such delicacy of sense!"He seemed to ponder. "I dare say you are right, sir," he answered, andwas silent again until the business of payment was concluded.While folding the receipt he added, "I am a connoisseur of coins, sir,and not of their weight alone.""Antique, as well as modern?""Certainly.""In that case," said I, "you may be able to tell me something aboutthis": and going to my bureau I took out the brass plaque which Mr.Pollard had detached from the planks of the church wall. "To be sure,it scarcely comes within the province of numismatics."He took the plaque. His brows contracted, and presently he laid it onthe table, drew my chair towards him in an absent-minded fashion, and,sitting down, rested his brow on his open palms. I can recall theattitude plainly, and his bent head, and the rain still glistening inthe waves of his black hair."Where did you find this?" he asked, but without looking up.I told him. "The engraving upon it is singular. I thought thatpossibly--""Oh, that," said he, "is simplicity itself. An eagle displayed, withtwo heads, the legs resting on two gates, a crescent between, animperial crown surmounting--these are the arms of the Greek Empire, thetwo gates are Rome and Constantinople. The question is, how it camewhere you found it? It was covered with plaster, you say, and theplaster whitewashed? Did you discover anything near it?"Upon this I told him of the frescoes and charcoal drawings, and roughlydescribed them.His fingers began to drum upon the table."Have you any documents which might tell us when the wall was firstplastered?""The parish accounts go back to 1594--here they are: the Registers to1663 only. I keep them in the vestry. I can find no mention ofplastering, but the entries of expenditure on whitewashing occurperiodically, the first under the year 1633." I turned the old pagesand pointed to the entry "Ite paide to George mason for a dayes workabout the churche after the Jew had been, and white wassche is vjd.""A Jew? But a Jew had no business in England in those days. I wonderhow and why he came." My visitor took the old volume and ran his fingerdown the leaf, then up, then turned back a page. "Perhaps this mayexplain it," said he. "Ite deliued Mr. Beuill to make puision for thecompanie of a fforeste barke yt came ashoare iiis ivd." He broke off,with a finger on the entry, and rose. "Pray forgive me, sir; I hadtaken your chair.""Don't mention it," said I. "Indeed I was about to suggest that youdraw it to the fire while Frances brings in some supper."To be short, although he protested he must push on to the inn atPorthlooe, I persuaded him to stay the night; not so much, I confess,from desire of his company, as in the hope that if I took him to see thefrescoes next morning he might help me to elucidate their history.I remember now that during supper and afterwards my guest allowed memore than my share of the conversation. He made an admirable listener,quick, courteous, adaptable, yet with something in reserve (you may callit a facile tolerance, if you will) which ended by irritating me.Young men should be eager, fervid, sublimis cupidusque, as I wasbefore my beard grew stiff. But this young man had the air of aspectator at a play, composing himself to be amused. There was too muchwisdom in him and too little emotion. We did not, of course, touch uponany religious question--indeed, of his own opinions on any subject hedisclosed extraordinarily little: and yet as I reached my bedroom thatnight I told myself that here, behind a mask of good manners, was one ofthose perniciously modern young men who have run through all beliefs bythe age of twenty, and settled down to a polite but weary atheism.I fancy that under the shadow of this suspicion my own manner may havebeen cold to him next morning. Almost immediately after breakfast weset out for the church. The day was sunny and warm; the atmospherebrilliant after the night's rain. The hedges exhaled a scent of spring.And, as we entered the churchyard, I saw the girl Julia Constantineseated in her favourite angle between the porch and the south wall,threading a chain of daisies."What an amazingly handsome girl!" my guest exclaimed."Why, yes," said I, "she has her good looks, poor soul!""Why 'poor soul'?""She is an imbecile, or nearly so," said I, fitting the key in the lock.We entered the church. And here let me say that, although I furnishedyou at the time of their discovery with a description of the frescoesand the ruder drawings which overlay them, you can scarcely imagine thegrotesque and astonishing coup d'oeil presented by the two series.To begin with the frescoes, or original series. One, as you know,represented the Crucifixion. The head of the Saviour bore a large crownof gilded thorns, and from the wound in His left side flowed acontinuous stream of red gouts of blood, extraordinarily intense incolour (and intensity of colour is no common quality infresco-painting). At the foot of the cross stood a Roman soldier, withtwo female figures in dark-coloured drapery a little to the right, andin the background a man clad in a loose dark upper coat, which reached alittle below the knees.The same man reappeared in the second picture, alone, but carrying atall staff or hunting spear, and advancing up a road, at the top ofwhich stood a circular building with an arched doorway and, within thedoorway, the head of a lion. The jaws of this beast were open anddepicted with the same intense red as the Saviour's blood.Close beside this, but further to the east, was a large ship, undersail, which from her slanting position appeared to be mounting over along swell of sea. This vessel had four masts; the two foremostfurnished with yards and square sails, the others with lateen-shapedsails, after the Greek fashion; her sides were decorated with six gailypainted bands or streaks, each separately charged with devices--a goldensaltire on a green ground, a white crescent on a blue, and so on; andeach masthead bore a crown with a flag or streamer fluttering beneath.Of the frescoes these alone were perfect, but fragments of others werescattered over the wall, and in particular I must mention a group ofdetached human limbs lying near the ship--a group rendered conspicuousby an isolated right hand and arm drawn on a larger scale than the rest.A gilded circlet adorned the arm, which was flexed at the elbow, thehand horizontally placed, the forefinger extended towards the west inthe direction of the picture of the Crucifixion, and the thumb shutwithin the palm beneath the other three fingers.So much for the frescoes. A thin coat of plaster had been laid overthem to receive the second series, which consisted of the mostdisgusting and fantastic images, traced in black. One of these drawingsrepresented Satan himself--an erect figure, with hairy paws clasped in asupplicating posture, thick black horns, and eyes which (for additionalhorror) the artist had painted red and edged with a circle of white.At his feet crawled the hindmost limb of a peculiarly loathsome monsterwith claws stuck in the soil. Close by a nun was figured, sitting in apensive attitude, her cheek resting on the back of her hand, her elbowsupported by a hideous dwarf, and at some distance a small house, orprison, with barred windows and a small doorway crossed with heavybolts.As I said, this upper series had been but partially scraped away, and asmy guest and I stood at a little distance, I leave you to imagine, ifyou can, the incongruous tableau; the Prince of Darkness almost touchingthe mourners beside the cross; the sorrowful nun and grinning dwarf sideby side with a ship in full sail, which again seemed to be forcing herway into a square and forbidding prison, etc.Mr. Laquedem conned all this for some while in silence, holding his chinwith finger and thumb."And it was here you discovered the plaque?" he asked at length.I pointed to the exact spot."H'm!" he mused, "and that ship must be Greek or Levantine by its rig.Compare the crowns on her masts, too, with that on the plaque . . ."He stepped to the wall and peered into the frescoes. "Now this hand andarm--""They belong to me," said a voice immediately behind me, and turning, Isaw that the poor girl had followed us into the church.The young Jew had turned also. "What do you mean by that?" he askedsharply."She means nothing," I began, and made as if to tap my foreheadsignificantly."Yes, I do mean something," she persisted. "They belong to me.I remember--""What do you remember?"Her expression, which for a moment had been thoughtful, wavered andchanged into a vague foolish smile. "I can't tell . . . something . . .it was sand, I think . . .""Who is she?" asked Mr. Laquedem."Her name is Julia Constantine. Her parents are dead; an aunt looksafter her--a sister of her mother's."He turned and appeared to be studying the frescoes. "JuliaConstantine--an odd name," he muttered. "Do you know anything of herparentage?""Nothing except that her father was a labourer at Sheba, the manor-farm.The family has belonged to this parish for generations. I believe Julyis the last of them."He faced round upon her again. "Sand, did you say? That's a strangething to remember. How does sand come into your mind? Think, now."She cast down her eyes; her fingers plucked at the daisy-chain. After awhile she shook her head. "I can't think," she answered, glancing uptimidly and pitifully."Surely we are wasting time," I suggested. To tell the truth Idisapproved of his worrying the poor girl.He took the daisy-chain from her, looking at me the while with somethingbetween a "by-your-leave" and a challenge. A smile played about thecorners of his mouth."Let us waste a little more." He held up the chain before her and beganto sway it gently to and fro. "Look at it, please, and stretch out yourarm; look steadily. Now your name is Julia Constantine, and you saythat the arm on the wall belongs to you. Why?""Because . . . if you please, sir, because of the mark.""What mark?""The mark on my arm."This answer seemed to discompose as well as to surprise him.He snatched at her wrist and rolled back her sleeve, somewhat roughly,as I thought. "Look here, sir!" he exclaimed, pointing to a thin redline encircling the flesh of the girl's upper arm, and from that to thearm and armlet in the fresco."She has been copying it," said I, "with a string or ribbon, which nodoubt she tied too tightly.""You are mistaken, sir; this is a birthmark. You have had it always?"he asked the girl.She nodded. Her eyes were fixed on his face with the gaze of one at thesame time startled and confiding; and for the moment he too seemed to bestartled. But his smile came back as he picked up the daisy-chain andbegan once more to sway it to and fro before her."And when that arm belonged to you, there was sand around you--eh!Tell us, how did the sand come there?"She was silent, staring at the pendulum-swing of the chain. "Tell us,"he repeated in a low coaxing tone.And in a tone just as low she began, "There was sand . . . red sand. . . it was below me . . . and something above . . . something like agreat tent." She faltered, paused and went on, "There were thousands ofpeople. . . ." She stopped."Yes, yes--there were thousands of people on the sand--""No, they were not on the sand. There were only two on the sand . . .the rest were around . . . under the tent . . . my arm was out . . .just like this. . . ."The young man put a hand to his forehead. "Good Lord!" I heard him say,"the amphitheatre!""Come, sir," I interrupted, "I think we have had enough of thisjugglery."But the girl's voice went on steadily as if repeating a lesson:--"And then you came--""I!" His voice rang sharply, and I saw a horror dawn in his eyes, andgrow. "I!""And then you came," she repeated, and broke off, her mind suddenly atfault. Automatically he began to sway the daisy-chain afresh. "We wereon board a ship . . . a funny ship . . . with a great high stern. . . .""Is this the same story?" he asked, lowering his voice almost to awhisper; and I could hear his breath going and coming."I don't know . . . one minute I see clear, and then it all gets mixedup again . . . we were up there, stretched on deck, near the tiller. . . another ship was chasing us . . . the men began to row, with longsweeps. . . .""But the sand," he insisted, "is the sand there?""The sand? . . . Yes, I see the sand again . . . we are standing upon it. . . we and the crew . . . the sea is close behind us . . . some menhave hold of me . . . they are trying to pull me away from you. . . .Ah!--"And I declare to you that with a sob the poor girl dropped on her knees,there in the aisle, and clasped the young man about the ankles, bowingher forehead upon the insteps of his high boots. As for him, I cannothope to describe his face to you. There was something more in it thanwonder--something more than dismay, even--at the success of hisunhallowed experiment. It was as though, having prepared himselflight-heartedly to witness a play, he was seized and terrified to findhimself the principal actor. I never saw ghastlier fear on humancheeks."For God's sake, sir," I cried, stamping my foot, "relax your cursedspells! Relax them and leave us! This is a house of prayer."He put a hand under the girl's chin, and, raising her face, made a passor two, still with the daisy-chain in his hand. She looked about her,shivered and stood erect. "Where am I?" she asked. "Did I fall?What are you doing with my chain?" She had relapsed into her habitualchildishness of look and speech.I hurried them from the church, resolutely locked the door, and marchedup the path without deigning a glance at the young man. But I had notgone fifty yards when he came running after."I entreat you, sir, to pardon me. I should have stopped the experimentbefore. But I was startled--thrown off my balance. I am telling youthe truth, sir!""Very likely," said I. "The like has happened to other rash meddlersbefore you.""I declare to you I had no thought--" he began. But I interrupted him:"'No thought,' indeed! I bring you here to resolve me, if you can, acurious puzzle in archaeology, and you fall to playing devil's pranksupon a half-witted child. 'No thought!'--I believe you, sir.""And yet," he muttered, "it is an amazing business: the sand--thevelarium--the outstretched arm and hand--pollice compresso--theexact gesture of the gladiatorial shows--""Are you telling me, pray, of gladiatorial shows under the EasternEmpire?" I demanded scornfully."Certainly not: and that," he mused, "only makes it the more amazing.""Now, look here," said I, halting in the middle of the road, "I'll hearno more of it. Here is my gate, and there lies the highroad, on toPorthlooe or back to Plymouth, as you please. I wish you good morning,sir; and if it be any consolation to you, you have spoiled my digestionfor a week."I am bound to say the young man took his dismissal with grace.He halted then and there and raised his hat; stood for a momentpondering; and, turning on his heel, walked quickly off towardsPorthlooe.It must have been a week before I learnt casually that he had obtainedemployment there as secretary to a small company owning the LordNelson and the Hand-in-hand privateers. His success, as you know,was rapid; and naturally in a gossiping parish I heard about it--alittle here, a little there--in all a great deal. He had bought theProvidence schooner; he had acted as freighter for Minards' men intheir last run with the Morning Star; he had slipped over to Cork andbrought home a Porthlooe prize illegally detained there; he was inLondon, fighting a salvage case in the Admiralty Court; . . . Withintwelve months he was accountant of every trading company in Porthlooe,and agent for receiving the moneys due to the Guernsey merchants.In 1809, as you know, he opened his bank and issued notes of his own.And a year later he acquired two of the best farms in the parish,Tresawl and Killifreeth, and held the fee simple of the harbour andquays.During the first two years of his prosperity I saw little of the man.We passed each other from time to time in the street of Porthlooe, andhe accosted me with a politeness to which, though distrusting him, Ifelt bound to respond. But he never offered conversation, and our nextinterview was wholly of my seeking.One evening towards the close of his second year at Porthlooe, and aboutthe date of his purchase of the Providence schooner, I happened to bewalking homewards from a visit to a sick parishioner, when at CoveBottom, by the miller's footbridge, I passed two figures--a man and awoman standing there and conversing in the dusk. I could not helprecognising them; and halfway up the hill I came to a sudden resolutionand turned back."Mr. Laquedem," said I, approaching them, "I put it to you, as a man ofeducation and decent feeling, is this quite honourable?""I believe, sir," he answered courteously enough, "I can convince youthat it is. But clearly this is neither the time nor the place.""You must excuse me," I went on, "but I have known Julia since she was achild."To this he made an extraordinary answer. "No longer?" he asked; andadded, with a change of tone, "Had you not forbidden me the vicarage,sir, I might have something to say to you.""If it concern the girl's spiritual welfare--or yours--I shall be happyto hear it.""In that case," said he, "I will do myself the pleasure of calling uponyou--shall we say to-morrow evening?"He was as good as his word. At nine o'clock next evening--about thehour of his former visit--Frances ushered him into my parlour.The similarity of circumstance may have suggested to me to draw thecomparison; at any rate I observed then for the first time that rapidageing of his features which afterwards became a matter of commonremark. The face was no longer that of the young man who had entered myparlour two years before; already some streaks of grey showed in hisblack locks, and he seemed even to move wearily."I fear you are unwell," said I, offering a chair."I have reason to believe," he answered, "that I am dying." And then,as I uttered some expression of dismay and concern, he cut me short."Oh, there will be no hurry about it! I mean, perhaps, no more than thatall men carry about with them the seeds of their mortality--so why notI? But I came to talk of Julia Constantine, not of myself.""You may guess, Mr. Laquedem, that as her vicar, and having known herand her affliction all her life, I take something of a fatherly interestin the girl.""And having known her so long, do you not begin to observe some changein her, of late?""Why, to be sure," said I, "she seems brighter."He nodded. "I have done that; or rather, love has done it.""Be careful, sir!" I cried. "Be careful of what you are going to tellme! If you have intended or wrought any harm to that girl, I tell yousolemnly--"But he held up a hand. "Ah, sir, be charitable! I tell you solemnlyour love is not of that kind. We who have loved, and lost, and soughteach other, and loved again through centuries, have outlearned thatrougher passion. When she was a princess of Rome and I a Christian Jewled forth to the lions--"I stood up, grasping the back of my chair and staring. At last I knew.This young man was stark mad.He read my conviction at once. "I think, sir," he went on, changinghis tone, "the learned antiquary to whom, as you told me, you weresending your tracing of the plaque, has by this time replied with someinformation about it."Relieved at this change of subject, I answered quietly (whileconsidering how best to get him out of the house), "My friend tells methat a similar design is found in Landulph Church, on the tomb ofTheodore Paleologus, who died in 1636.""Precisely; of Theodore Paleologus, descendant of the Constantines."I began to grasp his insane meaning. "The race, so far as we know, isextinct," said I."The race of the Constantines," said he slowly and composedly, "is neverextinct; and while it lasts, the soul of Julia Constantine will come tobirth again and know the soul of the Jew, until--"I waited."--Until their love lifts the curse, and the Jew can die.""This is mere madness," said I, my tongue blurting it out at length."I expected you to say no less. Now look you, sir--in a few minutes Ileave you, I walk home and spend an hour or two before bedtime in addingfigures, balancing accounts; to-morrow I rise and go about my dailybusiness cheerfully, methodically, always successfully. I am thelong-headed man, making money because I know how to make it, respectedby all, with no trace of madness in me. You, if you meet me to-morrow,shall recognise none. Just now you are forced to believe me mad.Believe it then; but listen while I tell you this:--When Rome was, Iwas; when Constantinople was, I was. I was that Jew rescued from thelions. It was I who sailed from the Bosphorus in that ship, with Juliabeside me; I from whom the Moorish pirates tore her, on the beach besideTetuan; I who, centuries after, drew those obscene figures on the wallof your church--the devil, the nun, and the barred convent--when Julia,another Julia but the same soul, was denied to me and forced into anunnery. For the frescoes, too, tell my history. I was that figurein the dark habit, standing a little back from the cross. Tell me, sir,did you never hear of Joseph Kartophilus, Pilate's porter?"I saw that I must humour him. "I have heard his legend," said I;[1]"and have understood that in time he became a Christian."He smiled wearily. "He has travelled through many creeds; but he hasnever travelled beyond Love. And if that love can be purified of allpassion such as you suspect, he has not travelled beyond forgiveness.Many times I have known her who shall save me in the end; and now in theend I have found her and shall be able, at length, to die; have foundher, and with her all my dead loves, in the body of a girl whom you callhalf-witted--and shall be able, at length, to die."And with this he bent over the table, and, resting his face on his arms,sobbed aloud. I let him sob there for a while, and then touched hisshoulder gently.He raised his head. "Ah," said he, in a voice which answered thegentleness of my touch, "you remind me!" And with that he deliberatelyslipped his coat off his left arm and, rolling up the shirt sleeve,bared the arm almost to the shoulder. "I want you close," he added withhalf a smile; for I have to confess that during the process I had backeda couple of paces towards the door. He took up a candle, and held itwhile I bent and examined the thin red line which ran like a circletaround the flesh of the upper arm just below the apex of the deltoidmuscle. When I looked up I met his eyes challenging mine across theflame."Mr. Laquedem," I said, "my conviction is that you are possessed and arebeing misled by a grievous hallucination. At the same time I am notfool enough to deny that the union of flesh and spirit, so passingmysterious in everyday life (when we pause to think of it), may easilyhold mysteries deeper yet. The Church Catholic, whose servant I am, hasnever to my knowledge denied this; yet has providentially made a rule ofSt. Paul's advice to the Colossians against intruding into those thingswhich she hath not seen. In the matter of this extraordinary belief ofyours I can give you no such comfort as one honest man should offer toanother: for I do not share it. But in the more practical matter ofyour conduct towards July Constantine, it may help you to know that Ihave accepted your word and propose henceforward to trust you as agentleman.""I thank you, sir," he said, as he slipped on his coat. "May I haveyour hand on that?""With pleasure," I answered, and, having shaken hands, conducted him tothe door.From that day the affection between Joseph Laquedem and JulyConstantine, and their frequent companionship, were open and avowed.Scandal there was, to be sure; but as it blazed up like straw, so itdied down. Even the women feared to sharpen their tongues openly onLaquedem, who by this time held the purse of the district, and to offendwhom might mean an empty skivet on Saturday night. July, to be sure,was more tempting game; and one day her lover found her in the centreof a knot of women fringed by a dozen children with open mouths andears. He stepped forward. "Ladies," said he, "the difficulty whichvexes you cannot, I feel sure, be altogether good for your small sonsand daughters. Let me put an end to it." He bent forward andreverently took July's hand. "My dear, it appears that the depth of myrespect for you will not be credited by these ladies unless I offer youmarriage. And as I am proud of it, so forgive me if I put it beyondtheir doubt. Will you marry me?" July, blushing scarlet, covered herface with her hands, but shook her head. There was no mistaking thegesture: all the women saw it. "Condole with me, ladies!" saidLaquedem, lifting his hat and including them in an ironical bow; andplacing July's arm in his, escorted her away.I need not follow the history of their intimacy, of which I saw, indeed,no more than my neighbours. On two points all accounts of it agree: therapid ageing of the man during this period and the improvement in thepoor girl's intellect. Some profess to have remarked an equallyvehement heightening of her beauty; but, as my recollection serves me,she had always been a handsome maid; and I set down thetransfiguration--if such it was--entirely to the dawn and growth of herreason. To this I can add a curious scrap of evidence. I was walkingalong the cliff track, one afternoon, between Porthlooe and Lanihalechurch-town, when, a few yards ahead, I heard a man's voice declaimingin monotone some sentences which I could not catch; and rounding thecorner, came upon Laquedem and July. She was seated on a rock; and he,on a patch of turf at her feet, held open a small volume which he laidface downwards as he rose to greet me. I glanced at the back of thebook and saw it was a volume of Euripides. I made no comment, however,on this small discovery; and whether he had indeed taught the girl someGreek, or whether she merely listened for the sake of hearing his voice,I am unable to say.Let me come then to the last scene, of which I was one among manyspectators.On the morning of August 15th, 1810, and just about daybreak, I wasawakened by the sound of horses' hoofs coming down the road beyond thevicarage gate. My ear told me at once that they were many riders andmoving at a trot; and a minute later the jingle of metal gave me aninkling of the truth. I hurried to the window and pulled up the blind.Day was breaking on a grey drizzle of fog which drove up from seaward,and through this drizzle I caught sight of the last five or six scarletplumes of a troop of dragoons jogging down the hill past my bank oflaurels.Now our parish had stood for some weeks in apprehension of a visit fromthese gentry. The riding-officer, Mr. Luke, had threatened us with themmore than once. I knew, moreover, that a run of goods was contemplated:and without questions of mine--it did not become a parish priest inthose days to know too much--it had reached my ears that Laquedem washimself in Roscoff bargaining for the freight. But we had all learntconfidence in him by this time--his increasing bodily weakness neverseemed to affect his cleverness and resource--and no doubt occurred tome that he would contrive to checkmate this new move of theriding-officer's. Nevertheless, and partly I dare say out of curiosity,to have a good look at the soldiers, I slipped on my clothes and hurrieddownstairs and across the garden.My hand was on the gate when I heard footsteps, and July Constantinecame running down the hill, her red cloak flapping and her hair powderedwith mist."Hullo!" said I, "nothing wrong, I hope?" She turned a white,distraught face to me in the dawn."Yes, yes! All is wrong! I saw the soldiers coming--I heard them amile away, and sent up the rocket from the church-tower. But the luggerstood in--they must have seen!--she stood in, and is right under ShebaPoint now--and he--"I whistled. "This is serious. Let us run out towards the point; we--you, I mean--may be in time to warn them yet."So we set off running together. The morning breeze had a cold edge onit, but already the sun had begun to wrestle with the bank of sea-fog.While we hurried along the cliffs the shoreward fringe of it was rippedand rolled back like a tent-cloth, and through the rent I saw a broadpatch of the cove below; the sands (for the tide was at low ebb) shininglike silver; the dragoons with their greatcoats thrown back from theirscarlet breasts and their accoutrements flashing against the level rays.Seaward, the lugger loomed through the weather; but there was a crowd ofmen and black boats--half a score of them--by the water's edge, and itwas clear to me at once that a forced run had been at least attempted.I had pulled up, panting, on the verge of the cliff, when July caught meby the arm."The sand!"She pointed; and well I remember the gesture--the very gesture of thehand in the fresco--the forefinger extended, the thumb shut within thepalm. "The sand . . . he told me . . ."Her eyes were wide and fixed. She spoke, not excitedly at all, butrather as one musing, much as she had answered Laquedem on the morningwhen he waved the daisy-chain before her.I heard an order shouted, high up the beach, and the dragoons camecharging down across the sand. There was a scuffle close by the water'sedge; then, as the soldiers broke through the mob of free-traders andwheeled their horses round, fetlock deep in the tide, I saw a figurebreak from the crowd and run, but presently check himself and walkcomposedly towards the cliff up which climbed the footpath leading toPorthlooe. And above the hubbub of oaths and shouting, I heard a voicecrying distinctly, "Run, man! Tis after thee they are! Man, gofaster!"Even then, had he gained the cliff-track, he might have escaped; for upthere no horseman could follow. But as a trooper came galloping inpursuit, he turned deliberately. There was no defiance in his attitude;of that I am sure. What followed must have been mere blunderingferocity. I saw a jet of smoke, heard the sharp crack of a firearm, andJoseph Laquedem flung up his arms and pitched forward at full length onthe sand.The report woke the girl as with the stab of a knife. Her cry--itpierces through my dreams at times--rang back with the echoes from therocks, and before they ceased she was halfway down the cliffside,springing as surely as a goat, and, where she found no foothold,clutching the grass, the rooted samphires and sea pinks, and sliding.While my head swam with the sight of it, she was running across thesands, was kneeling beside the body, had risen, and was staggering underthe weight of it down to the water's edge."Stop her!" shouted Luke, the riding-officer. "We must have the man!Dead or alive, we must have'n!"She gained the nearest boat, the free-traders forming up around her, andhustling the dragoons. It was old Solomon Tweedy's boat, and he,prudent man, had taken advantage of the skirmish to ease her off, sothat a push would set her afloat. He asserts that as July came up tohim she never uttered a word, but the look on her face said "Push meoff," and though he was at that moment meditating his own escape, heobeyed and pushed the boat off "like a mazed man." I may add that hespent three months in Bodmin Gaol for it.She dropped with her burden against the stern sheets, but leapt upinstantly and had the oars between the thole-pins almost as the boatfloated. She pulled a dozen strokes, and hoisted the main-sail, pulleda hundred or so, sprang forward and ran up the jib. All this while thepreventive men were straining to get off two boats in pursuit; but, asyou may guess, the free-traders did nothing to help and a great deal toimpede. And first the crews tumbled in too hurriedly, and had to climbout again (looking very foolish) and push afresh, and then one of theboats had mysteriously lost her plug and sank in half a fathom of water.July had gained a full hundred yards' offing before the pursuit began inearnest, and this meant a good deal. Once clear of the point the smallcutter could defy their rowing and reach away to the eastward with thewind just behind her beam. The riding-officer saw this, and ordered hismen to fire. They assert, and we must believe, that their object wasmerely to disable the boat by cutting up her canvas.Their first desultory volley did no damage. I stood there, high on thecliff, and watched the boat, making a spy-glass of my hands. She hadfetched in close under the point, and gone about on the port tack--thenext would clear--when the first shot struck her, cutting a hole throughher jib, and I expected the wind to rip the sail up immediately; yet itstood. The breeze being dead on-shore, the little boat heeled towardsus, her mainsail hiding the steerswoman.It was a minute later, perhaps, that I began to suspect that July washit, for she allowed the jib to shake and seemed to be running right upinto the wind. The stern swung round and I strained my eyes to catch aglimpse of her. At that moment a third volley rattled out, a bulletshore through the peak halliards, and the mainsail came down with a run.It was all over.The preventive men cheered and pulled with a will. I saw them runalongside, clamber into the cutter, and lift the fallen sail.And that was all. There was no one on board, alive or dead. Whilst thecanvas hid her, in the swift two minutes between the boat's puttingabout and her running up into the wind, July Constantine must havelifted her lover's body overboard and followed it to the bottom of thesea, There is no other explanation; and of the bond that knit these twotogether there is, when I ask myself candidly, no explanation at all,unless I give more credence than I have any wish to give to the wildtale which Joseph Laquedem told me. I have told you the facts, myfriend, and leave them to your judgment.[1] The legend is that as Christ left the judgment hall on His way toCalvary, Kartophilus smote Him, saying, "Man, go quicker!" and wasanswered, "I indeed go quickly; but thou shalt tarry till I come again."

Previous Authors：The Mayor of Gantick Next Authors：The Omnibus