[Illustration: END OF VOYAGE (FRONTENAC, LAKE PEPIN).]
Beyond reasonable doubt, our party is the only one that ever pushed its way by boat up the entire course of the farther-most Mississippi. Beyond any question, our canoes were the first wooden boats that ever traversed those waters. Schoolcraft, in 1832, came all the way down the upper river without portages, but he had very high water and many helpers, in spite of which one of his birch canoes was wrecked. The correspondent of a New York newspaper claimed the complete trip in his canoe some five years ago, but his own guide and others told us that his Dolly Varden never was above Brainerd, and that his portages above were frequent. So we may well feel an honest pride in our Rushton-built Rob Roys and our hard knocks, and may remember with pardonable gratification that upon our own feet and keels we have penetrated the solitudes lying around the source of the world's most remarkable river, where no men live and where, probably, not more than two-score white men have ever been.—A.H. SIEGFRIED.
By the time Reuben May entered the little town of Looe he had come to a decision about his movements and how he should carry out his plan of getting back to London. Not by going with Captain Triggs, for the monotonous inaction of a sailing voyage would now be insupportable to him, but by walking as far as he could, and now and then, whenever it was possible, endeavoring to get a cheap lift on the road. His first step must therefore be to inform Triggs of his decision, and to do this he must get back to Plymouth, a distance from Looe of some fifteen or sixteen miles.
In going through Looe that morning he had stopped for a few minutes at a small inn which stood not far from the beach; and having now crossed the river which divides West from East Looe, he began looking about for this house, intending to get some refreshments, to rest for an hour or so, and then proceed on his journey.
Already the town-clock was striking six, and Reuben calculated that if he started between nine and ten he should have time to take another good rest on the road—which he had already once that day traversed—and reach Plymouth Barbican, where the Mary Jane lay, by daybreak.
The inn found, he ordered his meal and informed the landlady of his intention.
"Why, do 'ee stop here till mornin', then," exclaimed the large-hearted Cornish woman. "If 'tis the matter o' the money," she added, eying him critically, "that's hinderin' 'ee from it, it needn't to, for I'll see us don't have no quarrel 'bout the price o' the bed."
Reuben assured her that choice, not necessity, impelled his onward footsteps; and, thus satisfied, she bade him "Take and lie down on the settle there inside the bar-parlor; for," she added, "'less 'tis the sergeant over fra Liskeard 'tain't likely you'll be disturbed no ways; and I shall be in and out to see you'm all right."
Reuben stretched himself out, and, overcome by the excitement and fatigue of the day, was soon asleep and dreaming of those happier times when he and Eve had walked as friends together. Suddenly some one seemed to speak her name, and though the name at once wove itself into the movement of the dream, the external sound had aroused the sleeper, and he opened his eyes to see three men sitting near talking over their grog.
With just enough consciousness to allow of his noticing that one was a soldier and the other two were sailors, Reuben looked for a minute, then closed his eyes, and was again sinking back into sleep when the name of Eve was repeated, and this time with such effect that all Reuben's senses seemed to quicken into life, and, cautiously opening his eyes, so as to look without being observed, he saw that it was the soldier who was speaking.
"Young chap, thinks I," he was saying, "you little fancy there's one so near who's got your sweetheart's seal dangling to his fob;" and with an air of self-satisfied vanity he held out for inspection a curious little seal which Reuben at once recognized as the same which he himself had given to Eve.
The unexpected sight came upon him with such surprise that, had not the height of the little table served as a screen to shelter him from view, his sudden movement must have betrayed his wakefulness.
"He's a nice one for any woman to be tied to, he is!" replied the younger of the two sailors. "Why, the only time as I ever had what you may call a fair look at un was one night in to the King o' Proosia's, and there he was dealing out his soft sawder to little Nancy Lagassick as if he couldn't live a minute out o' her sight."
"That's about it," laughed the soldier. "He's one of your own sort there: you Jacks are all alike, with a wife in every port. However," he added—and as he spoke he gave a complacent stroke to his good-looking face—"he may thank his stars that a matter of seven miles or so lays between his pretty Eve and Captain Van Courtland's troop, or there'd have been a cutting-out expedition that, saving the presence of those I speak before"—and he gave a most exasperating wink—"might have proved a trifle more successful than such things have of late."
"Here, I say," said the sailor, flaming up at this ill-timed jocularity, "p'ra'ps you'll tell me what 'tis you're drivin' at; for I've got to hear of it if you, or any o' your cloth either, ever made a find yet. You're mighty 'cute 'bout other folks, though when the spirits was under yer very noses, and you searched the houses through 'twas knowed to be stowed in, you couldn't lay hold on a single cask. 'Tis true we mayn't have nabbed the men, but by jingo if 't has come to us bein' made fools of by the women!"
"There, now, stash it there!" said his older comrade, who had no wish to see a quarrel ensue. "So far as I can see, there's no cause for bounce 'twixt either o' us; though only you give us a chance of getting near to them, sergeant," he said, turning to the soldier, "and I'll promise you shall make it all square with this pretty lass you fancy while her lover's cutting capers under Tyburn tree."
"'A chance?'" repeated his companion, despondingly: "where's it to come from, and the only one we'd got cut away from under us by those Hart chaps?"
"How so? where's the Hart off to, then?" asked the sergeant.
"Off to Port Mellint," said the man addressed. "Nothing but a hoax, I fancy, but still she was bound to go;" and so saying he tossed off the remainder of his grog and began making a movement, saying, as he did so, to his somewhat quarrelsomely-disposed shipmate, "Here, I say, Bill, come 'long down to the rendezvoos with me, and if there's nothin' up for to-night what d'ye say to stepping round to Paddy Burke's? He's asked us to come ever so many times, you know."
"Paddy Burke?" said the sergeant. "What! do you know him? Why, if you're going there, I'll step so far with you."
"Well, we're bound for the rendezvoos first," said the sailor.
"All right! I can find plenty to do while you're in there."
"Then come along;" and, only stopping to exchange a few words in passing with the landlady, out they all went, and Reuben was left alone, a prey to the thoughts which now came crowding into his mind.
For a few minutes he sat with his arms resting on the table as if communing with himself: then, starting up as if filled with a sudden resolve, he went out and asked the landlady a few commonplace questions, and finally inquired whereabouts and in what direction did the rendezvous lie.
"Close down by the bridge, the first house after you pass the second turning. Why?" she said: "be 'ee wanting to see anybody there?"
"No," said Reuben: "I only heard the fellows that came in there talking about the rendezvous, and I wondered whether I'd passed it."
"Why, iss, o' course you did, comin' in. 'Tis the house with the flag stream-in' over the doorways."
Reuben waited for no further information. He said something about not knowing it was so late, bade the landlady a rather abrupt farewell, and went his way.
Down the narrow street he hurried, turned a corner, and found himself in front of the house indicated, outside which all was dark. Nobody near, and, with the exception of himself, not a soul to be seen. Inside, he could hear voices, and the more plainly from the top sash of the window being a little way open. By the help of the iron stanchion driven in to support the flagstaff he managed to get up, steady himself on the window-sill and take a survey of the room. Several men were in it, and among them the two he had already seen, one of whom was speaking to a person whom, from his uniform, Reuben took to be an officer.
The sight apparently decided what he had before hesitated about, and getting; down he took from his pocket a slip of paper—one he had provided in case he should want to leave a message for Eve—and rapidly wrote on it these words: "The Lottery is expected at Polperro tonight. They will land at Down End as soon as the tide will let them get near."
Folding this, he once more mounted the window-sill, tossed the paper into the room, lingered for but an instant to see that it was picked up, then jumped down, ran with all speed, and was soon lost amid the darkness which surrounded him.
As he hurried from the house an echo seemed to carry to his ears the shout which greeted this surprise—a surprise which set every one talking at once, each one speaking and no one listening. Some were for going, some for staying away, some for treating it as a serious matter, others for taking it as a joke.
At length the officer called "Silence!" and after a pause, addressing the men present in a few words, he said that however it might turn out he considered that he should only be doing his duty by ordering the boats to proceed to the place named and see what amount of truth there was in this somewhat mysterious manoeuvre. If it was nothing but a hoax they must bear to have the laugh once more turned against them; but should it turn out the truth! The buzz which greeted this bare supposition showed how favorably his decision was regarded, and the absent men were ordered to be summoned without delay. Everything was got ready as quickly as possible, and in a little over an hour two boats started, fully equipped and manned, to lie in ambush near the coast midway between Looe and Polperro.
While Fate, in the shape of Reuben May, had been hastening events toward a disastrous climax, the course of circumstances in Polperro had not gone altogether smoothly. To Eve's vexation, because of the impossibility of speaking of her late encounter with Reuben May, she found on her return home that during her absence Mrs. Tucker had arrived, with the rare and unappreciated announcement that she had come to stop and have her tea with them. The example set by Mrs. Tucker was followed by an invitation to two or three other elderly friends, so that between her hospitality and her excitement Joan had no opportunity of noticing any undue change in Eve's manner or appearance. Two or three remarks were made on her pale face and abstracted air, but this more by the way of teasing than anything else; while Joan, remembering the suppressed anxiety she was most probably trying to subdue, endeavored to come to her aid and assist in turning away this over-scrutiny of her tell-tale appearance.
The opportunity thus afforded by silence gave time for reflection, and Eve, who had never been quite straightforward or very explicit about herself and Reuben May, now began to hesitate. Perhaps, after all, it would be better to say nothing, for Joan was certain to ask questions which, without betraying the annoyance she had undergone, Eve hardly saw her way to answering. Again, it was not impossible but that Reuben's anger might relent, and if so he would most probably seek another interview, in which to beg her pardon.
In her heart Eve hoped and believed this would be the case; for, indignantly as she had defied Reuben's scorn and flung back his reproaches, they had been each a separate sting to her, and she longed for the chance to be afforded Reuben of seeing how immeasurably above the general run of men was the one she had chosen.
"Here, I say, Eve!" exclaimed Joan, as she came in-doors from bidding good-bye to the last departure: "come bear a hand and let's set the place all straight: I can't abide the men's coming home to find us all in a muddle."
Eve turned to with a good will, and the girls soon had the satisfaction of seeing the room look as bright and cheery as they desired.
"Let's see—ten minutes past 'leben," said Joan, looking at the clock. "I don't see how 'tis possible for 'em to venture in 'fore wan, 'less 'tis to Yallow Rock, and they'd hardly try that. What do 'ee say, Eve? Shall we run up out to cliff, top o' Talland lane, and see if us can see any signs of 'em?"
"Oh do, Joan!"
And, throwing their cloaks over them, off they set.
"Here, give me your hand," said Joan as they reached the gate and entered upon the path which Eve had last trod with Adam by her side. "I knaw the path better than you, and 'tis a bit narrow for a pitch-dark night like this. Take care: we'm come to the watter. That's right. Now up we goes till we get atop, and then we'll have a good look round us."
Thus instructed, Eve managed to get on, and, stumbling up by Joan's side, they quickly reached the narrow line of level which seemed to overhang the depths below.
"We couldn't see them if they were there," said Eve, turning to Joan, who was still peering into the darkness.
"No, 'tis blacker than I thought," said Joan cheerily: "that's ever so much help to 'em, and—Hooray! the fires is out! Do 'ee see, Eve? There ain't a spark o' nothin' nowheres. Ole Jonathan's hoaxed 'em fine this time: the gawpuses have sooked it all in, and, I'll be bound, raced off so fast as wind and tide 'ud carry 'em."
"Then they're sure to come now?" said Eve excitedly.
"Certain," said Joan. "They've seed the fires put out, and knaw it means the bait's swallowed and the cruiser is off. I shouldn't wonder a bit if they'm close in shore, only waitin' for the tide to give 'em a proper draw o' water, so that they may send the kegs over."
"Should we go on a bit farther," said Eve, "and get down the hill by the Warren stile? We might meet some of 'em, perhaps."
"Better not," said Joan. "To tell 'ee the truth, 'tis best to make our way home so quick as can, for I wudn't say us 'ull have 'em back quicker than I thought."
"Then let's make haste," exclaimed Eve, giving her hand to Joan, while she turned her head to take a farewell glance in the direction where it was probable the vessel was now waiting. "Oh, Joan! what's that?" For a fiery arrow had seemed to shoot along the darkness, and in quick succession came another and another.
Joan did not answer, but she seemed to catch her breath, and, clutching hold of Eve, she made a spring up on to the wall over which they had before been looking. And now a succession of sharp cracks were heard, then the tongues of fire darted through the air, and again all was gloom.
"O Lord!" groaned Joan, "I hope 'tain't nothin's gone wrong with 'em."
In an instant Eve had scrambled up by her side: "What can it be? what could go wrong, Joan?"
But Joan's whole attention seemed now centred on the opposite cliff, from where, a little below Hard Head, after a few minutes' watching, Eve saw a blue light burning: this was answered by another lower down, then a rocket was sent up, at sight of which Joan clasped her hands and cried, "Awn, 'tis they! 'tis they! Lord save 'em! Lord help 'em! They cursed hounds have surely played 'em false."
"What! not taken them, Joan?"
"They won't be taken," she said fiercely. "Do you think, unless 'twas over their dead bodies, they'd ever let king's men stand masters on the Lottery's deck?"
Eve's heart died within her, and with one rush every detail of the lawless life seemed to come before her.
"There they go again!" cried Joan; and this time, by the sound, she knew their position was altered to the westward and somewhat nearer to land. "Lord send they mayn't knaw their course!" she continued: "'tis but a point or two on, and they'll surely touch the Steeple Reef.—Awh, you blidthirsty cowards! I wish I'd the pitchin' of every man of 'ee overboards: 'tis precious little mercy you'd get from me. And the blessed sawls to be caught in yer snarin' traps close into home, anighst their very doors, too!—Eve, I must go and see what they means to do for 'em. They'll never suffer to see 'em butchered whilst there's a man in Polperro to go out and help 'em."
Forgetting in her terror all the difficulties she had before seen in the path, Eve managed to keep up with Joan, whose flying footsteps never stayed until she found herself in front of a long building close under shelter of the Peak which had been named as a sort of assembling-place in case of danger.
"'Tis they?" Joan called out in breathless agony, pushing her way through the crowd of men now hastening up from all directions toward the captain of the Cleopatra.
"I'm feared so;" and his grave face bespoke how fraught with anxiety his fears were.
"What can it be, d'ee think?"
"Can't tell noways. They who brought us word saw the Hart sail, and steady watch has been kept up, so that us knaws her ain't back."
"You manes to do somethin' for 'em?" said Joan.
"Never fear but us'll do what us can, though that's mighty little, I can tell 'ee, Joan."
Joan gave an impatient groan. Her thorough comprehension of their danger and its possible consequences lent activity to her distress, while Eve, with nothing more tangible than the knowledge that a terrible danger was near, seemed the prey to indefinite horrors which took away from her every sense but the sense of suffering.
By this time the whole place was astir, people running to this point and that, asking questions, listening to rumors, hazarding a hundred conjectures, each more wild than the other. A couple of boats had been manned, ready to row round by the cliff. One party had gone toward the Warren, another to Yellow Rock. All were filled with the keenest desire not only to aid their comrades, but to be revenged on those who had snared them into this cunningly-devised pitfall. But amid all this zeal arose the question, What could they do?
Absolutely nothing, for by this time the firing had ceased, the contest was apparently over, and around them impenetrable darkness again reigned supreme. To show any lights by which some point of land should be discovered might only serve as a beacon to the enemy. To send out a boat might be to run it into their very jaws, for surely, were assistance needed, those on board the Lottery would know that by this time trusty friends were anxiously watching, waiting for but the slightest signal to be given to risk life and limb in their service.
The wisest thing to be done was to put everything in order for a sudden call, and then sit down and patiently abide the result. This decision being put into effect, the excited crowd began to thin, and before long, with the exception of those who could render assistance, very few lookers-on remained. Joan had lingered till the last, and then, urged by the possibility that many of her house-comforts might be needed, she hurried home to join Eve, who had gone before her.
With their minds running upon all the varied accidents of a fight, the girls, without exchanging a word of their separate fears, got ready what each fancied might prove the best remedy, until, nothing more being left to do, they sat down, one on each side of the fire, and counted the minutes by which time dragged out this weary watching into hours.
"Couldn't 'ee say a few hymns or somethin', Eve?" Joan said at length, with a hope of breaking this dreadful monotony.
Eve shook her head.
"No?" said Joan disappointedly. "I thought you might ha' knowed o' some." Then, after another pause, struck by a happier suggestion, she said, "S'pose us was to get down the big Bible and read a bit, eh? What do 'ee say?"
But Eve only shook her head again. "No," she said, in a hard, dry voice: "I couldn't read the Bible now."
"Couldn't 'ee?" sighed Joan. "Then, after all, it don't seem that religion and that's much of a comfort. By what I'd heard," she added, "I thought 'twas made o' purpose for folks to lay hold on in times o' trouble."
It was close upon three o'clock: Joan had fallen into an uneasy doze and Eve was beginning to nod, when a rattle of the latch made them both start up.
"It can't be! Iss, it is, though!" screamed Joan, rushing forward to meet Adam, who caught both the girls in a close embrace.
"Uncle? uncle?" Joan cried.
"All safe," said Adam, releasing her while he strained Eve closer to his heart. "We're all back safe and sound, and, saving Tom Braddon and Israel Rickard, without a scratch 'pon any of us."
"Thank God!" sighed Eve, while Joan, verily jumping for joy, cried, "But where be they to, eh, Adam? I must rin, wherever 'tis, and see 'em, and make sure of it with my awn eyes."
"I left them down to quay with the rest: they're all together there," said Adam, unwilling to lose the opportunity of securing a few minutes alone with Eve, and yet unable to command his voice so that it should sound in its ordinary tone.
The jar in it caught Joan's quick ear, and, turning, she said, "Why, whatever have 'ee bin about, then? What's the manin' of it all? Did they play 'ee false, or how?"
Adam gave a puzzled shake of the head. "You know quite as much about it as I do," he said. "We started, and got on fair and right enough so far as Down End, and I was for at once dropping out the kegs, as had been agreed upon to do, at Sandy Bottom—"
"Well?" said Joan.
"Yes, 'twould ha' been well if we'd done it. Instead of which, no sooner was the fires seen to be out—meaning, as all thought, that the Hart was safe off—than nothing would do but we must go on to Yellow Rock, which meant waiting for over an hour till the tide served for it."
"But you never gived in to 'em, Adam?"
"Gived in?" he repeated bitterly. "After Jerrem had once put the thought into their heads you might so well have tried to turn stone walls as get either one to lay a finger on anything. They wanted to know what was the good o' taking the trouble to sink the kegs overboard when by just waitin' we could store all safe in the caves along there, under cliff."
"Most half drunk, I s'pose?" said Joan.
"By Jove! then they'd pretty soon something to make 'em sober," replied Adam grimly; "for in little more than half an hour we spied the two boats comin' up behind us, and 'fore they was well caught sight of they'd opened out fire."
"And had 'ee got to return it?" asked Joan.
"Not till they were close up we didn't, and then I b'lieve the sight of us would have been enough; only, as usual, Mr. Jerrem must be on the contrary, and let fly a shot that knocked down the bow-oar of the foremost boat like a nine-pin. That got up their blood a bit, and then at it our chaps went, tooth and nail—such a scrimmage as hasn't been seen hereabouts since the Happy-go-Lucky was took and Welland shot in her."
"Lord save us! However did 'ee manage to get off so well?" said Joan.
"Get off?" he said. "Why, we could have made a clean sweep of the whole lot, and all the cry against me now is that I kept 'em from doing it. The fools! not to see that our best chance is to do nothing more than defend ourselves, and not run our necks into a noose by taking life while there's any help for it!"
"Was the man shot dead that Jerrem fired at?" asked Eve.
"No, I hope not; or, if so, we haven't heard the last of it, for, depend on it, this new officer, Buller, he's an ugly customer to deal with, and won't take things quite so easy as old Ravens used to do."
"You'll be faintin' for somethin' to eat," said Joan, moving toward the kitchen.
"No, I ain't," said Adam, laying a detaining hand upon her. "I couldn't touch a thing: I want to be a bit quiet, that's all. My head seems all of a miz-maze like."
"Then I'll just run down and see uncle," said Joan, "and try and persuade un to come home alongs, shall I?"
Adam gave an expressive movement of his face. "You can try," he said, "but you haven't got much chance o' bringin' him, poor old chap! He thinks, like the rest of 'em, that they've done a fine night's work, and they must keep it up by drinking to blood and glory. I only hope it may end there, but if it doesn't, whatever comes, Jerrem's the one who's got to answer for it all."
While he was saying these words Adam was pulling off his jacket, and now went to the kitchen to find some water with which to remove the black and dirt from his begrimed face and hands.
Eve hastened to assist him, but not before Joan had managed, by laying her finger on her lip, to attract her attention. "For goodness gracious' sake," she whispered, "don't 'ee brathe no word 'bout the letter to un: there'd be worse than murder 'twixt 'em now."
Eve nodded an assurance of silence, and, opening the door, Joan went out into the street, already alive with people, most of them bent on the same errand as herself, anxious to hear the incidents of the fight confirmed by the testimony of the principal actors.
The gathering-point was the sail-house behind the Peak, and thither, in company with several friends, Joan made her way, and soon found herself hailed with delight by Uncle Zebedee and Jerrem, both of whom were by this time primed up to giving the most extraordinary and vivid accounts of the fight, every detail of which was entirely corroborated by those who had been present and those who had been absent; for the constant demand made on the keg of spirits which, in honor of the victory, old Zebedee had insisted on having broached there, was beginning to take effect, so that the greater portion of the listeners were now turned into talkers, and thus it was impossible to tell those who had seen from those who had heard; and the wrangling, laughter, disputes and congratulations made such a hubbub of confusion that the room seemed for the time turned into a very pandemonium.
Only one thing all gave hearty assent to: that was that Jerrem was the hero on whom the merit of triumph rested, for if he hadn't fired that first shot ten to one but they should have listened to somebody whom, in deference to Zebedee, they refrained from naming, and indicated by a nod in his direction, and let the white-livered scoundrels sneak off with the boast that the Polperro men were afraid to give fight to them. Afraid! Why, they were afraid of nothing, not they! They'd give chase to the Hart, board the Looe cutter, swamp the boats, and utterly rout and destroy the whole excise department: the more bloodthirsty the resolution proposed, the louder was it greeted.
The spirit of lawless riot seemed suddenly let loose among them, and men who were usually kind-hearted and—after their rough fashion—tenderly-disposed seemed turned into devils whose delight was in violence and whose pleasure was excess.
While this revelry was growing more fast and furious below Adam was still sitting quietly at home, with Eve by his side using her every art to dispel the gloom by which her lover's spirits were clouded—not so much on account of the recent fight, for Adam apprehended no such great score of danger on that head. It was true that of late such frays had been of rare occurrence, yet many had taken place before, and with disastrous results, and yet the chief actors in them still lived to tell the tale; so that it was not altogether that which disturbed him, although it greatly added to his former moodiness, which had originally sprung out of the growing distaste to the life he led.
The inaction of the time spent in dodging about, with nothing to occupy him, nothing to interest him, had turned Adam's thoughts inward, and made him determine to have done with these ventures, in which, except as far as the gain went, he really had nothing in common with the companions who took part in them. But, as he very well knew, it was far easier to take this resolution in thought than it was to put it into action. Once let the idea of his leaving them get abroad, and difficulties would confront him whichever way he turned: obstacles would block his path and suspicion dodge his footsteps.
His comrades, though not very far-seeing men, were quite sharp enough to estimate the danger of losing sight of one who was in possession of all their secrets, and who could at any moment lay his finger upon every hiding-place in their district.
Adam himself had often listened to—and, in company with others, silently commended—a story told of years gone by, when a brother of the owner of the Stamp and Go, one Herkles Johns, had been pressed into the king's service, and had there acquitted himself so gallantly that on his return a commission had been offered to him, which he, longing to take, accepted under condition of getting leave to see his native place again. With the foreboding that the change of circumstances would not be well received, he seized the opportunity occasioned by the joy of his return to speak of the commission as a reward offered to him, and asked the advice of those around as to whether he had not best accept it. Opposition met him on every side. "What!" they said, "of his own free will put himself in a place where some day he might be forced to seize his father's vessel or swear away the lives of those he had been born among?" The bare idea was inadmissible; and when, from asking advice, he grew into giving his opinion, and finally into announcing his decision, an ominous silence fell on those who heard him; and, though he was unmolested during his stay, and permitted to leave his former home, he was never known to reach his ship, aboard which his mysterious disappearance was much talked of, and inquiries set afloat to find out the reason of his absence; but among those whose name he bore, and whose confidence he had shared, he seemed to be utterly forgotten. His name was never mentioned nor his fate inquired into; and Adam, remembering that he had seen the justice of this treatment, felt the full force of its reasoning now applied to his own case, and his heart sank before the difficulties in which he found himself entangled.
Even to Eve he could not open out his mind clearly, for, unless to one born and bred among them, the dangers and interests of the free-traders were matters quite beyond comprehension; so that now, when Eve was pleading, with all her powers of persuasion, that for her sake Adam would give up this life of reckless daring, the seemingly deaf ear he turned to her entreaties was dulled through perplexity, and not, as she believed, from obstinacy.
Eve, in her turn, could not be thoroughly explicit. There was a skeleton cupboard, the key of which she was hiding from Adam's sight; for it was not entirely "for her sake" she desired him to abandon his present occupation: it was because, in the anxiety she had recently undergone, in the terror which had been forced upon her, the glaze of security had been roughly dispelled, and the life in all its lawlessness and violence had stood forth before her. The warnings and denunciations which only a few hours before, when Reuben May had uttered them, she had laughed to scorn as idle words, now rang in her ears like a fatal knell: the rope he had said would hang them all was then a sieve of unsown hemp, since sprung up, and now the fatal cord which dangled dangerously near.
The secret thoughts of each fell like a shadow between them: an invisible hand seemed to thrust them asunder, and, in spite of the love they both felt, both were equally conscious of a want of that entire sympathy which is the keystone to perfect union.
"You were very glad to see me come back to you, Eve?" Adam asked, as, tired of waiting for Joan, Eve at length decided to sit up no longer.
"Glad, Adam? Why do you ask?"
"I can't tell," he said, "I s'pose it's this confounded upset of everything that makes me feel as I do feel—as if," he added, passing his hand over his forehead, "I hadn't a bit of trust or hope or comfort in anything in the world."
"I know exactly," said Eve. "That's just as I felt when we were waiting for you to come back. Joan asked if we should read the Bible, but I said no, I couldn't: I felt too wicked for that."
"Wicked?" said Adam. "Why, what should make you feel wicked?"
Eve hesitated. Should she unburden her heart and confess to him all the fears and scruples which made it feel so heavy and ill at ease? A moment's indecision, and the opportunity lost, she said in a dejected tone, "Oh, I cannot tell; only that I suppose such thoughts come to all of us sometimes."
Adam looked at her, but Eve's eyes were averted; and, seeing how pale and troubled was the expression on her face, he said, "You are over-tired: all this turmoil has been too much for you. Go off now and try to get some sleep. Yes, don't stay up longer," he added, seeing that she hesitated. "I shall be glad of some rest myself, and to-morrow we shall find things looking better than they seem to do now."
Once alone, Adam reseated himself and sat gazing abstractedly into the fire: then with an effort he seemed to try and shake his senses together, to step out of himself and put his mind into a working order of thought, so that he might weigh and sift the occurrences of these recent events.
The first question which had flashed into everybody's mind was, What had led to this sudden attack? Had they been betrayed? and if so, Who had betrayed them? Could it be Jonathan? Though the thought was at once negatived, no other outsider knew of their intended movements. Of course the matter had been discussed—as all matters were discussed and voted for or against—among the crew; but to doubt either of them was to doubt one's self, and any fear of betrayal among themselves was unknown. The amount of baseness such a suspicion would imply was too great to be incurred even in thought. What, then, could have led to this surprise? Had their movements been watched, and this decoy of the cutter only swallowed with the view of throwing them off their guard?
Adam was lost in speculation, from which he was aroused by the door being softly opened and Joan coming in. "Why, Adam, I thought to find 'ee in bed," she said. "Come, now, you must be dreadful tired." Then, sitting down to loosen her hood, she added with a sigh, "I stayed down there so long as I could, till I saw 'twasn't no good, so I comed away home and left 'em. 'Tis best way, I b'lieve."
"I knew 'twas no good your going," said Adam hopelessly. "I saw before
I left 'em what they'd made up their minds to."
"Well, perhaps there's a little excuse this time," said Joan, not willing to blame those who were so dear to her; "but, Adam," she broke out, while her face bespoke her keen appreciation of his superiority, "why can't th' others be like you, awh, my dear? How different things 'ud be if they only was!"
Adam shook his head. "Oh, don't wish 'em like me," he said. "I often wish I could take my pleasure in the same things and in the same way that they do: I should be much happier, I b'lieve."
"No, now, don't 'ee say that."
"Why, what good has it done that I'm otherwise?"
"Why, ever so much—more than you'll ever know, by a good bit. I needn't go no further than my awnself to tell 'ee that. P'r'aps you mayn't think it, but I've bin kep' fra doin' ever so many things by the thought o' 'What'll Adam say?' and with the glass in my hand I've set it down untasted, thinkin' to myself, 'Now you'm actin' agen Adam's wish, you knaw.'"
Adam smiled as he gave her a little shake of the hand.
"That's how 'tis, you see," she continued: "you'm doin' good without knawin' of it." Then, turning her dark eyes wistfully upon him, she asked, "Do 'ee ever think a bit 'pon poor Joan while you'm away, Adam? Come, now, you mustn't shove off from me altogether, you knaw: you must leave me a dinkey little corner to squeeze into by."
Adam clasped her hand tighter. "Oh, Joan," he said, "I'd give the whole world to see my way clearer than I do now: I often wish that I could take you all off to some place far away and begin life over again."
"Awh!" said Joan in a tone of sympathy to which her heart did not very cordially respond, "that 'ud be a capital job, that would; but you ain't manin' away from Polperro?"
"Yes, far away. I've bin thinkin' about it for a good bit: don't you remember I said something o' the sort to father a little time back?"
"Iss, but I didn't knaw there was any more sense to your words than to threaten un, like. Awh, my dear!" she said with a decided shake of the head, "that 'ud never do: don't 'ee get hold o' such a thought as that. Turn your back upon the place? Why, whatever 'ud they be about to let 'ee do it?"
Joan's words only echoed Adam's own thoughts: still, he tried to combat them by saying, "I don't see why any one should try to interfere with what I might choose to do: what odds could it make to them?"
"Odds?" repeated Joan. "Why, you'd hold all their lives in your wan hand. Only ax yourself the question, Where's either one of 'em you'd like to see take hisself off nobody knows why or where?"
Adam could find no satisfactory reply to this argument: he therefore changed the subject by saying, "I wish I could fathom this last business. 'Tis a good deal out o' the course o' plain sailing. So far as I know by, there wasn't a living soul but Jonathan who could have said what was up for to-night."
"Jonathan's right enough," said Joan decidedly. "I should feel a good deal more mistrust 'bout some of 'em lettin' their tongues rin too fast."
"There was nobody to let them run fast to," said Adam.
"Then there's the writin'," said Joan, trying to discover if Adam knew anything about Jerrem's letter.
Adam shook his head. "'Tisn't nothing o' that sort," he said. "I don't know that, beyond Jerrem and me, either o' the others know how to write; and I said particular that I should send no word by speech or letter, and the rest must do the same; and Jonathan would ha' told me if they'd broke through in any way, for I put the question to him 'fore he shoved off."
"Oh, did 'ee?" said Joan, turning her eyes away, while into her heart there crept a suspicion of Jonathan's perfect honesty. Was it possible that his love of money might have led him to betray his old friends? Joan's fears were aroused. "'Tis a poor job of it," she said, anxiously. "I wish to goodness 't had happened to any o' the rest, so long as you and uncle was out of it."
"And not Jerrem?" said Adam, with a feeble attempt at his old teasing.
"Awh, Jerrem's sure to fall 'pon his feet, throw un which way you will," said Joan. "Besides, if he didn't"—and she turned a look of reproach on Adam—"Jerrem ain't you, Adam, nor uncle neither. I don't deny that I don't love Jerrem dearly, 'cos I do"—and for an instant her voice seemed to wrestle with the rush of tears which streamed from her eyes as she sobbed—"but for you or uncle, why, I'd shed my heart's blood like watter—iss that I would, and not think 'twas any such great thing, neither."
"There's no need to tell me that," said Adam, whose heart, softened by his love for Eve, had grown very tender toward Joan. "Nobody knows you better than I do. There isn't another woman in the whole world I'd trust with the things I'd trust you with, Joan."
"There's a dear!" said Joan, recovering herself. "It does me good to hear 'ee spake like that. 'Tis such a time since I had a word with 'ee that I began to feel I don't know how-wise."
"Well, yes," said Adam, smiling, "'tis a bravish spell since you and me were together by our own two selves. But I declare your talk's done me more good than anything I've had to-day. I feel ever so much better now than I did before."
Joan was about to answer, when a sound made them both start and stand for a moment listening.
"'Tis gone, whatever it was," said Adam, taking a step forward. "I don't hear nothing now, do you?"
Joan pushed back the door leading to the stairs. "No," she said: "I reckon 'twas nothin' but the boards. Howiver, 'tis time I went, or I shall be wakin' up Eve. Her's a poor sleeper in general, but, what with wan thing and 'nother, I 'spects her's reg'lar wornout, poor sawl! to-night."
Wornout and tired as she felt when she went up stairs, Eve's mind was so excited by the day's adventures that she found it impossible to lull her sharpened senses into anything like repose, and after hearing Joan come in she lay tossing and restless, wondering why it was she did not come up, and what could possibly be the cause of her stopping so long below.
As time went on her impatience grew into anxiety, which in its turn became suspicion, until, unable longer to restrain herself, she got up, and, after listening with some evident surprise at the stair-head, cautiously stole down the stairs and peeped, through the chink left by the ill-fitting hinge of the door, into the room.
"There isn't another woman in the whole world I'd trust with the things I'd trust you with, Joan," Adam was saying. Eve bent a trifle farther forward. "You've done me more good than anything I've had to-day. I feel ever so much better now than I did before."
An involuntary movement, giving a different balance to her position, made the stairs creak, and to avoid detection Eve had to make a hasty retreat and hurry back, so that when Joan came up stairs it was to find her apparently in such a profound sleep that there was little reason to fear any sound she might make would arouse her; but long after Joan had sunk to rest, and even Adam had forgotten his troubles and anxieties, Eve nourished and fed the canker of jealousy which had crept into her heart—a jealousy not directed toward Joan, but turned upon Adam for recalling to her mind that old grievance of not giving her his full trust.
At another time these speeches would not have come with half the importance: it would have been merely a vexation which a few sharp words would have exploded and put an end to. But now, combined with the untoward circumstances of situation—for Eve could not confess herself a listener—was the fact that her nerves, her senses and her conscience seemed strained to a point which made each feather-weight appear a burden.
Filled with that smart of wounded love whose sweetest balm revenge seems to supply, Eve lay awake until the gray light of day had filled the room, and then, from sheer exhaustion, she fell into a doze which gradually deepened into a heavy sleep, so that when she again opened her eyes the sun was shining full and strong.
Starting up, she looked round for Joan, but Joan had been up for a couple of hours and more. She had arisen very stealthily, creeping about with the hope that Eve would not be disturbed by her movements, for Adam's great desire was that Eve's feelings should be in no way outraged by discovering either in Uncle Zebedee or in Jerrem traces of the previous night's debauch; and this, by Joan's help, was managed so well that when Eve made her appearance she was told that Uncle Zebedee, tired like herself, was not yet awake, while Jerrem, brisked up by several nips of raw spirit, was lounging about in a state of lassitude and depression which might very well be attributed to reaction and fatigue.
Perhaps if Eve could have known that Adam was not present she would have toned down the amount of cordiality she threw into her greeting of Jerrem—a greeting he accepted with such a happy adjustment of pleasure and gratitude that to have shown a difference on the score of Adam's absence would have been to step back into their former unpleasant footing.
"Adam's gone out," said Jerrem in answer to the inquiring look Eve was sending round the kitchen.
"Oh, I wasn't looking for Adam," said Eve, while the rush of vexed color denied the assertion: "I was wondering where Joan could be."
"She was in here a minute ago," said Jerrem, "telling me 'twas a shame to be idlin' about so."
"Why, are you still busy?" said Eve.
"No, nothin' to speak of but what 'ull wait—and fit it should—till I'd spoken to you, Eve. I ain't like one who's got the chance o' comin' when he's minded to," he added, "or the grass wouldn't ha' had much chance o' growin' under my feet after once they felt the shore. No, now, don't look put out with me: I ain't goin' to ask ye to listen to nothin' you don't want to hear. I've tried to see the folly o' that while I've bin away, and 'tis all done with and pitched overboard; and that's what made me write that letter, 'cos I wanted us two to be like what we used to be, you know."
"I wish you hadn't written that letter, though," said Eve, only half inclined to credit Jerrem's assertions.
"Well, as things have turned out, so do I," said Jerrem, who, although he did not confess it to himself, would have given all he possessed to feel quite certain Eve would keep his secret. "You see, it's so awkard like, when everybody's tryin' to ferret out how this affair came about. You didn't happen to mention it to nobody, I s'pose?" and he turned a keen glance of inquiry toward Eve.
"Me mention it?" said Eve: "I should think not! Joan can tell you how angry we both were, for of course we knew that unless Adam had some good cause he wouldn't have wished it kept so secret."
"And do you think I should have quitted a word to any livin' soul but yourself?" exclaimed Jerrem. "I haven't much sense in your eyes, I know, Eve, but you might give me credit o' knowing who's to be trusted and who isn't."
"What's that about trustin'?" said Joan, who now made her appearance. "I tell 'ee what 'tis, Mr. Jerrem, you'm not to be trusted anyhows. Why, what could 'ee ha' bin thinkin' of to go sendin' that letter you did, after Adam had spoke to 'ee all? There'd be a purty set-out of it, you knaw, Jerrem, if the thing was to get winded about. I, for wan, shouldn't thank 'ee, I can tell 'ee, for gettin' my name mixed up with it, and me made nothin' better than a cat's-paw of."
"Who's goin' to wind it about?" said Jerrem, throwing his arm round her and drawing her coaxingly toward him. "You ain't, and I ain't, and I'll answer for it Eve ain't; and so long as we three keep our tongues atween our teeth, who'll be the wiser—eh?"
"Awh, that's all very fine," returned Joan, far from mollified, "but there's a somebody hasn't a-kept their tongues silent; and who it can be beats me to tell. Did Jonathan knaw for certain 'bout the landin'? or was it only guess-work with un?"
"I ain't sure; but Jonathan's safe enough," said Jerrem, "and so's the rest too. 'Twarn't through no blabbin', take my word for that: 'twas a reg'lar right-down set scheme from beginnin' to end, and that's why I should ha' liked to ha' give 'em a payin'-out that they wouldn't ha' forgot in a hurry. I'd ha' scored their reckonin' for 'em, I can tell *'eel"
"Awh! iss, I dare say," said Joan with scornful contempt: "you allays think you knaws better than they you'm bound to listen to. Howsomedever, when all's said and done, I shall finish with the same I began with—that you'd no right to send that letter."
"Well, you've told me that afore," said Jerrem sullenly.
"Iss, and now I tells 'ee behind," retorted Joan, "and to front and to back, and round all the sides—so there!"
"Oh, all right!" said Jerrem: "have your talk out: it don't matter to me;" and he threw himself down on the settle with apparent unconcern, taking from his breast-pocket a letter which he carefully unfolded.—"Did you know that I'd got a letter gived me to Guernsey, Eve," he said—"one they'd ha' kept waitin' there for months for me?"
Eve looked up, and, to her vexation, saw Jerrem reading the letter which on her first arrival she had written: the back of it was turned toward her, so as to ostentatiously display the two splotches of red sealing-wax.
"Why, you doan't mane to say you've a-got he?" exclaimed Joan, her anger completely giving way to her amazement. "Well, I never! after all this long whiles, and us a-tryin' to stop un, too!—Eve, do 'ee see he's got the letter you writ, kisses and all?"
"Joan!" exclaimed Eve in a tone of mingled reproof and annoyance, while Jerrem made a feint of pressing the impressions to his lips, casting the while a look in Eve's direction, which Joan intercepting, she said, "Awh! iss I would, seeing they'm so much mine as Eve's, and you doan't know t'other from which."
"That's all you can tell," said Jerrem.
"Iss, and all you can tell, too," replied Joan; adding, as the frown on his face betokened rising anger, "There, my dear, you'd best step inside wi' me and get a drop more o' your mornin's physic, I reckon."
"Physic?" growled Jerrem. "I don't want no physic—leastwise, no more than I've had from you already."
"Glad to hear it," said Joan. "When you change your mind—which, depend on it, 'ull be afore long—you'll find me close to hand.—I must make up a few somethin's for this evenin'," she said, addressing Eve, "in case any of 'em drops in. Adam's gone off," she added, "I don't know where, nor he neither till his work's done."
"Might just as well have saved hisself the trouble," growled Jerrem.
"No, now, he mightn't," replied Joan. "There's spurrits enough to wan place and t'other to float a Injyman in, and the sooner 'tis got the rids of the better, for 'twill be more by luck than good management if all they kegs is got away unseen."
"Oh, of course Adam's perfect," sneered Jerrem. Then, catching sight of Eve's face as he watched Joan go into the kitchen, he added with a desponding sigh, "I only wish I was; but the world's made for some: I s'pose the more they have the more they get."
Eve did not answer: perhaps she had not heard, as she was just now engaged in shifting her position so as to escape the dazzling rays of the sun, which came pouring down on her head. The movement seemed to awaken her to a sense of the day's unusual brightness, and, getting up, she went to the window and looked out. "Isn't it like summer?" she said, speaking more to herself than to Jerrem. "I really must say I should like to have gone somewhere for a walk."
The words, simple in themselves, flung in their tone a whole volume of reproach at Adam, for to Eve's exacting mind there could be no necessity urgent enough to take Adam away without ever seeing her or leaving a message for her.
"Well, come out with me," said Jerrem: "there's nothin' I should like better than a bit of a stroll. I'd got it in my head before you spoke."
Eve hesitated.
"P'r'aps you'm thinkin' Adam 'ud blame 'ee for it?"
"Oh dear, no, I'm not: I'm not quite such a slave to Adam's opinion as that. Besides," she added, feeling she was speaking, with undue asperity, "surely everybody may go for a walk without being blamed by anybody for it: at all events, I mean to go."
"That's right," said Jerrem.—"Here, I say, Joan, me and Eve's goin' out for a little."
"Goin' out? Where to?" said Joan, coming forward toward the door, to which he had advanced.
"Oh, round about for a bit—by Chapel Rock and out that ways."
"Well, if you goes with her, mind you comes back with her. D'ee hear, now?—Don't 'ee trust un out o' yer sight, Eve, my dear—not further than you can see un, nor so far if you can help it."
"You mind yer own business," said Jerrem.
"If you was to do that you'd stay at home, then," said Joan, dropping her voice; "but that's you all over, tryin' to put your finger into somebody's else's pie.—I doubt whether 'twill over-please Adam either," she added, coming back from watching them down the street; "but, there! if he and Eve's to sail in one boat, the sooner he learns 'twon't always be his turn to handle the tiller the better."
* * * * *
It was getting on for three o'clock when Adam, having completed all the business he could accomplish on that day, was returning home. He had been to the few gentlemen's houses near, had visited most of the large farms around, and had found a good many customers ready to relieve him of a considerable portion of the spirit which, by reason of their living so near at hand, would thus evade much of the danger attendant on a more distant transfer.
Every one had heard of the recent attack on the Lottery, and much sympathy was expressed and many congratulations were tendered on account of their happy escape.
Adam was a general favorite, looked up to and respected as an honest, straight-forward fellow; and so little condemnation was felt against the trade carried on that the very magistrate consented to take a portion of the goods, and saw no breach of his office in the admonition he gave to keep a sharp lookout against these new-comers, who seemed somewhat over-inclined to show their teeth.
Adam spoke freely of the anxiety he felt as to the result of the encounter, but very few seemed to share it. Most of them considered that, having escaped, with the exception of strengthened vigilance no further notice would be taken, so that his mind was considerably relieved about the matter, and his heart felt lighter and his pace more brisk in returning than when in the morning he had set out on his errand.
His last visit had been to Lizzen, and thence, instead of going back by the road, he struck across to the cliff by a narrow path known to him, and which would save him some considerable distance.
The day was perfect—the sky cloudless, the sea tranquil: the young verdure of the crag-crowned cliffs lay bathed in soft sunshine. For a moment Adam paused, struck by the air of quiet calm which overspread everything around. Not a breath of wind seemed abroad, not a sail in sight, not a sound to be heard. A few scattered sheep were lazily feeding near; below them a man was tilling a fresh-cleared patch of ground; far away beyond two figures were standing side by side.
Involuntarily, Adam's eyes rested on these two, and while he gazed upon them there sprang up into his heart the wish that Eve was here. He wanted her—wanted to remind her of the promise she had given him before they parted, the promise that on his return she would no longer delay, but tell him the day on which he might claim her for his wife. A minute more, and with all speed he was making a straight cut across the *cliff-side. Disregarding the path, he scrambled over the projections of rock and trampled down the furze, with only one thought in his mind—how soon he could reach home.
"Where's Eve, Joan?" he asked as, having looked through two of the rooms, he came, still in breathless haste, into the outer kitchen, where Joan was now busily engaged in baking her cakes.
"Ain't her outside nowheres?" said Joan, wiping her face with her apron to conceal its expression.
"No, I can't see her."
"Awh, then, I reckon they'm not come in yet;" and by this time she had recovered herself sufficiently to turn round and answer with indifference.
"Who's they?" said Adam quickly.
"Why, her went out for a bit of a stroll with Jerrem. They—"
But Adam interrupted her. "Jerrem?" he exclaimed. "Why should she go out with Jerrem?"
"Awh, he's right enough now," said Joan. "He's so sober as a judge, or I wouldn't ha' suffered 'en anighst her. Eve thought she should like a bit of a walk, and he offered to go with her; and I was very glad of it too, for Tabithy wanted to sandy the floors, so their room was better for we than their company."
"'Tis very strange," said Adam, "that Eve can't see how she puts me out by goin' off any way like this with Jerrem. I won't have it," he added, with rising anger, "and if she's to be my wife she sha'n't do it, either; so she'd best choose between us before things go too far."
"Awh, don't 'ee take it like that," said Joan soothingly. "'Twasn't done with no manin' in it. Her hadn't any more thought o' vexin' 'ee than a babby; nor I neither, so far as that goes, or I should ha' put a stopper on it, you may be sure. Why, go and meet 'em. They'm only out by Chapel Rock: they left word where they was goin' a-purpose."
A little mollified by this, Adam said, "I don't tell Eve everything, but Jerrem and I haven't pulled together for a long time, and the more we see o' one another the worse it is, and the less I want him to have anything to say to Eve. He's always carryin' on some game or 'nother. When we were at Guernsey he made a reg'lar set-out of it 'bout some letter that came there to him. Well, who could that have been from? Nobody we know anything about, or he'd have said so. Besides, who should want to write to him, or what business had he to go blabbin' about which place we were bound for? I haven't seen all the soundings o' that affair clear yet, but I mean to. I ain't goin' to be 'jammed in a clench like Jackson' for Jerrem nor nobody else."
Joan made no answer. She seemed to be engaged in turning her crock round, and while bending down she said, "Well, I should go after 'em if I was you. They'm sure not to be very far off, and I'll get tea ready while you'm gone."
Adam moved away. Somewhat reluctant to go, he lingered about the rooms for some time, making up his mind what he should do. He could not help being haunted by an idea that the two people he had seen standing were Eve and Jerrem. It was a suspicion which angered him beyond measure, and after once letting it come before him it rankled so sorely that he determined to satisfy himself, and therefore started off down the street, past the quay and up by the steps.
"Here, where be goin' to?" called out a voice behind him.
Without stopping Adam turned his head. "Oh, Poll, is that you?" he said.
"Iss."
"Have ye seen Eve pass this way? I think she'd got Jerrem with her."
"S'pose if I have?" said Poll, with whom Adam was no favorite: "they doesn't want you. You stay where you be now. I hates to see anybody a-spilin' sport like that."
With no very pleasant remark on the old woman Adam turned to go on.
"Awh, you may rin," she cried, "but you woan't catch up they. They was bound for Nolan Point, and they's past there long afore now."
Then the two he had seen were they! An indescribable feeling of jealousy stung Adam, and, giving way to his temper in a volley of oaths against old Poll, he turned back, repassed her and went toward home, while she stood enjoying his discomfiture, laughing heartily at it as she called out, "I hears 'ee. Swear away! I don't mind yer cusses, not I. Better hear they than be deef."