within the tides-第23部分

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Parker's　Lively　Lumbago　Pills。　　Enormous　property！　　You　know　it；



all　the　world　knows　it。　　Every　second　man；　at　least；　on　this　globe



of　ours　has　tried　it。







〃Why！〃　I　cried；　〃they　missed　an　immense　fortune。〃







〃Yes；〃　he　mumbled；　〃by　the　price　of　a　revolver…shot。〃







He　told　me　also　that　eventually　Cloete　returned　to　the　States；



passenger　in　a　cargo…boat　from　Albert　Dock。　　The　night　before　he



sailed　he　met　him　wandering　about　the　quays；　and　took　him　home　for



a　drink。　　〃Funny　chap；　Cloete。　　We　sat　all　night　drinking　grogs；



till　it　was　time　for　him　to　go　on　board。〃







It　was　then　that　Cloete；　unembittered　but　weary；　told　him　this



story；　with　that　utterly　unconscious　frankness　of　a　patent…medicine



man　stranger　to　all　moral　standards。　　Cloete　concluded　by　remarking



that　he；　had　〃had　enough　of　the　old　country。〃　　George　Dunbar　had



turned　on　him；　too；　in　the　end。　　Cloete　was　clearly　somewhat



disillusioned。







As　to　Stafford；　he　died；　professed　loafer；　in　some　East　End



hospital　or　other；　and　on　his　last　day　clamoured　〃for　a　parson；〃



because　his　conscience　worried　him　for　killing　an　innocent　man。



〃Wanted　somebody　to　tell　him　it　was　all　right；〃　growled　my　old



ruffian；　contemptuously。　　〃He　told　the　parson　that　I　knew　this



Cloete　who　had　tried　to　murder　him；　and　so　the　parson　（he　worked



among　the　dock　labourers）　once　spoke　to　me　about　it。　　That　skunk　of



a　fellow　finding　himself　trapped　yelled　for　mercy。　。　。　Promised　to



be　good　and　so　on。　。　。　Then　he　went　crazy　。　。　。　screamed　and　threw



himself　about；　beat　his　head　against　the　bulkheads　。　。　。　you　can



guess　all　that　…　eh？　。　。　。　till　he　was　exhausted。　　Gave　up。　　Threw



himself　down；　shut　his　eyes；　and　wanted　to　pray。　　So　he　says。



Tried　to　think　of　some　prayer　for　a　quick　death　…　he　was　that



terrified。　　Thought　that　if　he　had　a　knife　or　something　he　would



cut　his　throat；　and　be　done　with　it。　　Then　he　thinks：　　No！　　Would



try　to　cut　away　the　wood　about　the　lock。　。　。　He　had　no　knife　in　his



pocket。　。　。　he　was　weeping　and　calling　on　God　to　send　him　a　tool　of



some　kind　when　suddenly　he　thinks：　　Axe！　　In　most　ships　there　is　a



spare　emergency　axe　kept　in　the　master's　room　in　some　locker　or



other。　。　。　Up　he　jumps。　。　。　Pitch　dark。　　〃Pulls　at　the　drawers　to



find　matches　and；　groping　for　them；　the　first　thing　he　comes　upon　…



Captain　Harry's　revolver。　　Loaded　too。　　He　goes　perfectly　quiet　all



over。　　Can　shoot　the　lock　to　pieces。　　See？　　Saved！　　God's



providence！　　There　are　boxes　of　matches　too。　　Thinks　he：　　I　may



just　as　well　see　what　I　am　about。







〃Strikes　a　light　and　sees　the　little　canvas　bag　tucked　away　at　the



back　of　the　drawer。　　Knew　at　once　what　that　was。　　Rams　it　into　his



pocket　quick。　　Aha！　says　he　to　himself：　　this　requires　more　light。



So　he　pitches　a　lot　of　paper　on　the　floor；　set　fire　to　it；　and



starts　in　a　hurry　rummaging　for　more　valuables。　　Did　you　ever？　　He



told　that　East…End　parson　that　the　devil　tempted　him。　　First　God's



mercy　…　then　devil's　work。　　Turn　and　turn　about。　。　。







〃Any　squirming　skunk　can　talk　like　that。　　He　was　so　busy　with　the



drawers　that　the　first　thing　he　heard　was　a　shout；　Great　Heavens。



He　looks　up　and　there　was　the　door　open　（Cloete　had　left　the　key　in



the　lock）　and　Captain　Harry　holding　on；　well　above　him；　very　fierce



in　the　light　of　the　burning　papers。　　His　eyes　were　starting　out　of



his　head。　　Thieving；　he　thunders　at　him。　　A　sailor！　　An　officer！



No！　　A　wretch　like　you　deserves　no　better　than　to　be　left　here　to



drown。







〃This　Stafford　…　on　his　death…bed　…　told　the　parson　that　when　he



heard　these　words　he　went　crazy　again。　　He　snatched　his　hand　with



the　revolver　in　it　out　of　the　drawer；　and　fired　without　aiming。



Captain　Harry　fell　right　in　with　a　crash　like　a　stone　on　top　of　the



burning　papers；　putting　the　blaze　out。　　All　dark。　　Not　a　sound。　　He



listened　for　a　bit　then　dropped　the　revolver　and　scrambled　out　on



deck　like　mad。〃







The　old　fellow　struck　the　table　with　his　ponderous　fist。







〃What　makes　me　sick　is　to　hear　these　silly　boat…men　telling　people



the　captain　committed　suicide。　　Pah！　　Captain　Harry　was　a　man　that



could　face　his　Maker　any　time　up　there；　and　here　below；　too。　　He



wasn't　the　sort　to　slink　out　of　life。　　Not　he！　　He　was　a　good　man



down　to　the　ground。　　He　gave　me　my　first　job　as　stevedore　only



three　days　after　I　got　married。〃







As　the　vindication　of　Captain　Harry　from　the　charge　of　suicide



seemed　to　be　his　only　object；　I　did　not　thank　him　very　effusively



for　his　material。　　And　then　it　was　not　worth　many　thanks　in　any



case。







For　it　is　too　startling　even　to　think　of　such　things　happening　in



our　respectable　Channel　in　full　view；　so　to　speak；　of　the　luxurious



continental　traffic　to　Switzerland　and　Monte　Carlo。　　This　story　to



be　acceptable　should　have　been　transposed　to　somewhere　in　the　South



Seas。　　But　it　would　have　been　too　much　trouble　to　cook　it　for　the



consumption　of　magazine　readers。　　So　here　it　is　raw；　so　to　speak　…



just　as　it　was　told　to　me　…　but　unfortunately　robbed　of　the



striking　effect　of　the　narrator；　the　most　imposing　old　ruffian　that



ever　followed　the　unromantic　trade　of　master　stevedore　in　the　port



of　London。







Oct。　1910。



















THE　INN　OF　THE　TWO　WITCHES　…　A　FIND



















This　tale；　episode；　experience　…　call　it　how　you　will　…　was　related



in　the　fifties　of　the　last　century　by　a　man　who；　by　his　own



confession；　was　sixty　years　old　at　the　time。　　Sixty　is　not　a　bad



age　…　unless　in　perspective；　when　no　doubt　it　is　contemplated　by



the　majority　of　us　with　mixed　feelings。　　It　is　a　calm　age；　the　game



is　practically　over　by　then；　and　standing　aside　one　begins　to



remember　with　a　certain　vividness　what　a　fine　fellow　one　used　to



be。　　I　have　observed　that；　by　an　amiable　attention　of　Providence；



most　people　at　sixty　begin　to　take　a　romantic　view　of　themselves。



Their　very　failures　exhale　a　charm　of　peculiar　potency。　　And　indeed



the　hopes　of　the　future　are　a　fine　company　to　live　with；　exquisite



forms；　fascinating　if　you　like；　but　…　so　to　speak　…　naked；　stripped



for　a　run。　　The　robes　of　glamour　are　luckily　the　property　of　the



immovable　past　which；　without　them；　would　sit；　a　shivery　sort　of



thing；　under　the　gathering　shadows。







I　suppose　it　was　the　romanticism　of　growing　age　which　set　our　man



to　relate　his　experience　for　his　own　satisfaction　or　for　the　wonder



of　his　posterity。　　It　could　not　have　been　for　his　glory；　because



the　experience　was　simply　that　of　an　abominable　fright　…　terror　he



calls　it。　　You　would　have　guessed　that　the　relation　alluded　to　in



the　very　first　lines　was　in　writing。







This　writing　constitutes　the　Find　declared　in　the　sub…title。　　The



title　itself　is　my　own　contrivance；　（can't　call　it　invention）；　and



has　the　merit　of　veracity。　　We　will　be　concerned　with　an　inn　here。



As　to　the　witches　that's　merely　a　conventional　expression；　and　we



must　take　our　man's　word　for　it　that　it　fits　the　case。







The　Find　was　made　in　a　box　of　books　bought　in　London；　in　a　street



which　no　longer　exists；　from　a　second…hand　bookseller　in　the　last



stage　of　decay。　　As　to　the　books　themselves　they　were　at　least



twentieth…hand；　and　on　inspection　turned　out　not　worth　the　very



small　sum　of　money　I　disbursed。　　It　might　have　been　some



premonition　of　that　fact　which　made　me　say：　　〃But　I　must　have　the



box　too。〃　　The　decayed　bookseller　assented　by　the　careless；　tragic



gesture　of　a　man　already　doomed　to　extinction。







A　litter　of　loose　pages　at　the　bottom　of　the　box　excited　my



curiosity　but　faintly。　　The　close；　neat；　regular　handwriting　was



not　attractive　at　first　sight。　　But　in　one　place　the　statement　that



in　A。D。　1813　the　writer　was　twenty…two　years　old　caught　my　eye。



Two　and　twenty　is　an　interesting　age　in　which　one　is　easily



reckless　and　easily　frightened；　the　faculty　of　reflection　being



weak　and　the　power　of　imagination　strong。







In　another　place　the　phrase：　　〃At　night　we　stood　in　again；〃



arrested　my　languid　attention；　because　it　was　a　sea　phrase。　　〃Let's



see　what　it　is　all　about；〃　I　thought；　without　excitement。







Oh！　but　it　was　a　dull…faced　MS。；　each　line　resembling　every　other



line　in　their　close…set　and　regular　order。　　It　was　like　the　drone



of　a　monotonous　voice。　　A　treatise　on　sugar…refining　（the　dreariest



subject　I　can　think　of）　could　have　been　given　a　more　lively



appearance。　　〃In　A。D。　1813；　I　was　twenty…two　years　old；〃　he　begins



earnestly　and　goes　on　with　every　appearance　of　calm；　horrible



industry。　　Don't　imagine；　however；　that　there　is　anything　archaic



in　my　find。　　Diabolic　ingenuity　in　invention　though　as　old　as　the



world　is　by　no　means　a　lost　art。　　Look　at　the　telephones　for



shattering　the　little　peace　of　mind　given　to　us　in　this　world；　or



at　the　machine　guns　for　letting　with　dispatch　life　out　of　our



bodies。　　Now…a…days　any　blear…eyed　old　witch　if　only　strong　enough



to　turn　an　insignificant　little　handle　could　lay　low　a　hundred



young　men　of　twenty　in　the　twinkling　of　an　eye。







If　this　isn't　progress！　。　。　。　Why　immense！　　We　have　moved　on；　and



so　you　must　expect　to　meet　here　a　certain　naiveness　of　contrivance



and　simplicity　of　aim　appertaining　to　the　remote　epoch。　　And　of



course　no　motoring　tourist　can　hope　to　find　such　an　inn　anywhere；



now。　　This　one；　the　one　of　the　title；　was　situated　in　Spain。　　That



much　I　discovered　only　from　internal　evidence；　because　a　good　many



pages　of　that　relation　were　missing　…　perhaps　not　a　great



misfortune　after　all。　　The　writer　seemed　to　have　entered　into　a



most　elaborate　detail　of　the　why　and　wherefore　of　his　presence　on



that　coast　…　presumably　the　north　coast　of　Spain。　　His　experience



has　noth