Historical Novels & Novellas of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Arthur Conan Doyle

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       The Man from the Sea

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      Well, I was never one to sit groaning over a cracked pot. If it could not be mended, then it is the part of a man to say no more of it. For weeks I had an aching heart; indeed, it is a little sore now, after all these years and a happy marriage, when I think of it. But I kept a brave face on me; and, above all, I did as I had promised that day on the hillside. I was as a brother to her, and no more: though there were times when I had to put a hard curb upon myself; for even now she would come to me with her coaxing ways, and with tales about how rough Jim was, and how happy she had been when I was kind to her; for it was in her blood to speak like that, and she could not help it.

      But for the most part Jim and she were happy enough. It was all over the countryside that they were to be married when he had passed his degree, and he would come up to West Inch four nights a week to sit with us. My folk were pleased about it, and I tried to be pleased too.

      Maybe at first there was a little coolness between him and me: there was not quite the old schoolboy trust between us. But then, when the first smart was passed, it seemed to me that he had acted openly, and that I had no just cause for complaint against him. So we were friendly, in a way; and as for her, he had forgotten all his anger, and would have kissed the print of her shoe in the mud. We used to take long rambles together, he and I; and it is about one of these that I now want to tell you.

      We had passed over Bramston Heath and round the clump of firs which screens the house of Major Elliott from the sea wind. It was spring now, and the year was a forward one, so that the trees were well leaved by the end of April. It was as warm as a summer day, and we were the more surprised when we saw a huge fire roaring upon the grass-plot before the Major’s door. There was half a fir-tree in it, and the flames were spouting up as high as the bedroom windows. Jim and I stood staring, but we stared the more when out came the Major, with a great quart pot in his hand, and at his heels his old sister who kept house for him, and two of the maids, and all four began capering about round the fire. He was a douce, quiet man, as all the country knew, and here he was like old Nick at the carlin’s dance, hobbling around and waving his drink above his head. We both set off running, and he waved the more when he saw us coming.

      “Peace!” he roared. “Huzza, boys! Peace!”

      And at that we both fell to dancing and shouting too; for it had been such a weary war as far back as we could remember, and the shadow had lain so long over us, that it was wondrous to feel that it was lifted. Indeed it was too much to believe, but the Major laughed our doubts to scorn.

      “Aye, aye, it is true,” he cried, stopping with his hand to his side. “The Allies have got Paris, Boney has thrown up the sponge, and his people are all swearing allegiance to Louis XVIII.”

      “And the Emperor?” I asked. “Will they spare him?”

      “There’s talk of sending him to Elba, where he’ll be out of mischief’s way. But his officers, there are some of them who will not get off so lightly. Deeds have been done during these last twenty years that have not been forgotten. There are a few old scores to be settled. But it’s Peace! Peace!”

      And away he went once more with his great tankard hopping round his bonfire.

      Well, we stayed some time with the Major, and then away we went down to the beach, Jim and I, talking about this great news, and all that would come of it. He knew a little, and I knew less, but we pieced it all together and talked about how the prices would come down, how our brave fellows would return home, how the ships could go where they would in peace, and how we could pull all the coast beacons down, for there was no enemy now to fear. So we chatted as we walked along the clean, hard sand, and looked out at the old North Sea. How little did Jim know at that moment, as he strode along by my side so full of health and of spirits, that he had reached the extreme summit of his life, and that from that hour all would, in truth, be upon the downward slope!

      There was a little haze out to sea; for it had been very misty in the early morning, though the sun had thinned it. As we looked seawards we suddenly saw the sail of a small boat break out through the fog, and come bobbing along towards the land. A single man was seated in the sheets, and she yawed about as she ran, as though he were of two minds whether to beach her or no. At last, determined it may be by our presence, he made straight for us, and her keel grated upon the shingle at our very feet. He dropped his sail, sprang out, and pulled her bows up on the beach.

      “Great Britain, I believe?” said he, turning briskly round and facing us.

      He was a man somewhat above middle height, but exceedingly thin. His eyes were piercing and set close together, a long sharp nose jutted out from between them, and beneath them was a bristle of brown moustache as wiry and stiff as a cat’s whiskers. He was well dressed in a suit of brown with brass buttons, and he wore high boots which were all roughened and dulled by the sea water. His face and hands were so dark that he might have been a Spaniard, but as he raised his hat to us we saw that the upper part of his brow was quite white and that it was from without that he had his swarthiness. He looked from one to the other of us, and his grey eyes had something in them which I had never seen before. You could read the question; but there seemed to be a menace at the back of it, as if the answer were a right and not a favour.

      “Great Britain?” he asked again, with a quick tap of his foot on the shingle.

      “Yes,” said I, while Jim burst out laughing.

      “England? Scotland?”

      “Scotland. But it’s England past yonder trees.”

      “Bon! I know where I am now. I’ve been in a fog without a compass for nearly three days, and I didn’t thought I was ever to see land again.”

      He spoke English glibly enough, but with some strange turn of speech from time to time.

      “Where did you come from then?” asked Jim.

      “I was in a ship that was wrecked,” said he shortly. “What is the town down yonder?”

      “It is Berwick.”

      “Ah! well, I must get stronger before I can go further.”

      He turned towards the boat, and as he did so he gave a lurch, and would have fallen had he not caught the prow. On this he seated himself and looked round with a face that was flushed, and two eyes that blazed like a wild beast’s.

      “Voltigeurs de la Garde,” he roared in a voice like a trumpet call, and then again “Voltigeurs de la Garde!”

      He waved his hat above is head, and suddenly pitching forwards upon his face on the sand, he lay all huddled into a little brown heap.

      Jim Horscroft and I stood and stared at each other. The coming of the man had been so strange, and his questions, and now this sudden turn. We took him by a shoulder each and turned him upon his back. There he lay with his jutting nose and his cat’s whiskers, but his lips were bloodless, and his breath would scarce shake a feather.

      “He’s dying, Jim!” I cried.

      “Aye, for want of food and water. There’s not a drop or crumb in the boat. Maybe there’s something in the bag.”

      He sprang and brought СКАЧАТЬ