Dead Men Tell No Tales

by E. W. Hornung

  CHAPTER XVIII. A MAN OF MANY MURDERS

  It was a good-sized wine-cellar, with very little wine in it; only onefull bin could I discover. The bins themselves lined but two of thewalls, and most of them were covered in with cobwebs, close-drawn likemosquito-curtains. The ceiling was all too low: torpid spiders hungin disreputable parlors, dead to the eye, but loathsomely alive at aninvoluntary touch. Rats scuttled when we entered, and I had not beenlong alone when they returned to bear me company. I am not a naturalhistorian, and had rather face a lion with the right rifle than a ratwith a stick. My jailers, however, had been kind enough to leave me alantern, which, set upon the ground (like my mattress), would afford awarning, if not a protection, against the worst; unless I slept; and asyet I had not lain down. The rascals had been considerate enough, moreespecially Santos, who had a new manner for me with his revised opinionof my character; it was a manner almost as courtly as that which hadembellished his relations with Eva Denison, and won him my early regardat sea. Moreover, it was at the suggestion of Santos that they haddetained me in the hall, for much-needed meat and drink, on the waydown. Thereafter they had conducted me through the book-lined door of myundoing, down stone stairs leading to three cellar doors, one of whichthey had double-locked upon me.

  As soon as I durst I was busy with this door; but to no purpose; it wasa slab of solid oak, hung on hinges as massive as its lock. It galledme to think that but two doors stood between me and the secret tunnel tothe sea: for one of the other two must lead to it. The first, however,was all beyond me, and I very soon gave it up. There was also avery small grating which let in a very little fresh air: the massivefoundations had been tunnelled in one place; a rude alcove was theresult, with this grating at the end and top of it, some seven feetabove the earth floor. Even had I been able to wrench away the bars, itwould have availed me nothing, since the aperture formed the segment ofa circle whose chord was but a very few inches long. I had neverthelessa fancy for seeing the stars once more and feeling the breath of heavenupon my bandaged temples, which impelled me to search for that whichshould add a cubit to my stature. And at a glance I descried twopacking-cases, rather small and squat, but the pair of them togetherthe very thing for me. To my amazement, however, I could at first moveneither one nor the other of these small boxes. Was it that I was weakas water, or that they were heavier than lead? At last I managed to getone of them in my arms--only to drop it with a thud. A side started;a thin sprinkling of yellow dust glittered on the earth. I fetched thelantern: it was gold-dust from Bendigo or from Ballarat.

  To me there was horror unspeakable, yet withal a morbid fascination,in the spectacle of the actual booty for which so many lives had beensacrificed before my eyes. Minute followed minute in which I looked atnothing, and could think of nothing, but the stolen bullion at my feet;then I gathered what of the dust I could, pocketed it in pinches to hidemy meddlesomeness, and blew the rest away. The box had dropped very muchwhere I had found it; it had exhausted my strength none the less, andI was glad at last to lie down on the mattress, and to wind my body inRattray's blankets.

  I shuddered at the thought of sleep: the rats became so lively themoment I lay still. One ventured so near as to sit up close to thelantern; the light showed its fat white belly, and the thing itself waslike a dog begging, as big to my disgusted eyes. And yet, in the midstof these horrors (to me as bad as any that had preceded them), natureovercame me, and for a space my torments ceased.

  "He is aslip," a soft voice said.

  "Don't wake the poor devil," said another.

  "But I weesh to spik with 'im. Senhor Cole! Senhor Cole!"

  I opened my eyes. Santos looked of uncanny stature in the low yellowlight, from my pillow close to the earth. Harris turned away at myglance; he carried a spade, and began digging near the boxes withoutmore ado, by the light of a second lantern set on one of them: his backwas to me from this time on. Santos shrugged a shoulder towards thecaptain as he opened a campstool, drew up his trousers, and seatedhimself with much deliberation at the foot of my mattress.

  "When you 'ave treasure," said he, "the better thing is to bury it,Senhor Cole. Our young friend upstairs begs to deefer; but he isslipping; it is peety he takes such quantity of brandy! It is leetlewikness of you Engleesh; we in Portugal never touch it, save as aliqueur; therefore we require less slip. Friend squire upstairs is atthis moment no better than a porker. Have I made mistake? I thought itwas the same word in both languages; but I am glad to see you smile,Senhor Cole; that is good sign. I was going to say, he is so fast aslipup there, that he would not hear us if we were to shoot each otherdead!"

  And he gave me his paternal smile, benevolent, humorous, reassuring; butI was no longer reassured; nor did I greatly care any more what happenedto me. There is a point of last, as well as one of least resistance, andI had reached both points at once.

  "Have you shot him dead?" I inquired, thinking that if he had, thiswould precipitate my turn. But he was far from angry; the parchmentface crumpled into tolerant smiles; the venerable head shook a playfulreproval, as he threw away the cigarette that I am tired of mentioning,and put the last touch to a fresh one with his tongue.

  "What question?" said he; "reely, Senhor Cole! But you are quite right:I would have shot him, or cut his troth" (and he shrugged indifferenceon the point), "if it had not been for you; and yet it would have beenyour fault! I nid not explain; the poseetion must have explained itselfalready; besides, it is past. With you two against us--but it is past.You see, I have no longer the excellent Jose. You broke his leg, badman. I fear it will be necessary to destroy 'im." Santos made a pause;then inquired if he shocked me.

  "Not a bit," said I, neither truly nor untruly; "you interest me." Andthat he did.

  "You see," he continued, "I have not the respect of you Engleesh for'uman life. We will not argue it. I have at least some respect forprejudice. In my youth I had myself such prejudices; but one loses themon the Zambesi. You cannot expect one to set any value upon the life ofa black nigger; and when you have keeled a great many Kaffirs, by thelash, with the crocodiles, or what-not, then a white man or two makesless deeference. I acknowledge there were too many on board that sheep;but what was one to do? You have your Engleesh proverb about the deadmen and the stories; it was necessary to make clin swip. You see theresult."

  He shrugged again towards the boxes; but this time, being remindedof them (I supposed), he rose and went over to see how Harris wasprogressing. The captain had never looked round; neither did he look atSantos. "A leetle dipper," I heard the latter say, "and, perhaps, a feweenches--" but I lost the last epithet. It followed a glance over theshoulder in my direction, and immediately preceded the return of Santosto his camp-stool.

  "Yes, it is always better to bury treasure," said he once more; but histone was altered; it was more contemplative; and many smoke-rings camefrom the shrunk lips before another word; but through them all, his darkeyes, dull with age, were fixed upon me.

  "You are a treasure!" he exclaimed at last, softly enough, but quicklyand emphatically for him, and with a sudden and most diabolical smile.

  "So you are going to bury me?"

  I had suspected it when first I saw the spade; then not; but since thevisit to the hole I had made up my mind to it.

  "Bury you? No, not alive," said Santos, in his playfully reprovingtone. "It would be necessary to deeg so dip!" he added through his fewremaining teeth.

  "Well," I said, "you'll swing for it. That's something."

  Santos smiled again, benignantly enough this time: in contemplationalso: as an artist smiles upon his work. I was his!

  "You live town," said he; "no one knows where you go. You come downhere; no one knows who you are. Your dear friend squire locks you upfor the night, but dreenks too much and goes to slip with the key in hispocket; it is there when he wakes; but the preesoner, where is he? He isgone, vanished, escaped in the night, and, like the base fabreec of yourown poet's veesion, he lives no trace--is it trace?--be'ind! A lee
tleearth is so easily bitten down; a leetle more is so easily carried upinto the garden; and a beet of nice strong wire might so easily befound in a cellar, and afterwards in the lock! No, Senhor Cole, I do notexpect to 'ang. My schims have seldom one seengle flaw. There was justone in the Lady Jermyn; there was--Senhor Cole! If there is one thistime, and you will be so kind as to point it out, I will--I will run thereesk of shooting you instead of--"

  A pinch of his baggy throat, between the fingers and thumbs of bothhands, foreshadowed a cleaner end; and yet I could look at him; nay, itwas more than I could do not to look upon that bloodless face, with thetwo dry blots upon the parchment, that were never withdrawn from mine.

  "No you won't, messmate! If it's him or us for it, let a bullet do it,and let it do it quick, you bloody Spaniard! You can't do the otherwithout me, and my part's done."

  Harris was my only hope. I had seen this from the first, but my appealI had been keeping to the very end. And now he was leaving me before aword would come! Santos had gone over to my grave, and there was Harrisat the door!

  "It is not dip enough," said the Portuguese.

  "It's as deep as I mean to make it, with you sittin' there talkin' aboutit."

  And the door stood open.

  "Captain!" I screamed. "For Christ's sake, captain!"

  He stood there, trembling, yet even now not looking my way.

  "Did you ever see a man hanged?" asked Santos, with a vile eye for eachof us. "I once hanged fifteen in a row; abominable thifs. And I oncepoisoned nearly a hundred at one banquet; an untrustworthy tribe; butthe hanging was the worse sight and the worse death. Heugh! There wasone man--he was no stouter than you are captain--"

  But the door slammed; we heard the captain on the stairs; there was arustle from the leaves outside, and then a silence that I shall notattempt to describe.

  And, indeed, I am done with this description: as I live to tell the tale(or spoil it, if I choose) I will make shorter work of this particularbusiness than I found it at the time. Perverse I may be in old age asin my youth; but on that my agony--my humiliating agony--I declineto dwell. I suffer it afresh as I write. There are the cobwebs on theceiling, a bloated spider crawling in one: a worse monster is gloatingover me: those dull eyes of his, and my own pistol-barrel, cover me inthe lamp-light. The crucifix pin is awry in his cravat; that is becausehe has offered it me to kiss. As a refinement (I feel sure) my revolveris not cocked; and the hammer goes up--up--

  He missed me because a lantern was flashed into his eyes through thegrating. He wasted the next ball in firing wildly at the light. Andthe last chamber's load became suddenly too precious for my person; forthere were many voices overhead; there were many feet upon the stairs.

  Harris came first--head-first--saw me still living as he reeled--hurledhimself upon the boxes and one of these into the hole--all far quickerthan my pen can write it. The manoeuvre, being the captain's, explaineditself: on his heels trod Rattray, with one who brought me to my feetlike the call of silver trumpets.

  "The house is surrounded," says the squire, very quick and quiet; "isthis your doing, Cole?"

  "I wish it was," said I; "but I can't complain; it's saved my life."And I looked at Santos, standing dignified and alert, my still smokingpistol in his hand.

  "Two things to do," says Rattray--"I don't care which." He strode acrossthe cellar and pulled at the one full bin; something slid out, it was abinful of empty bottles, and this time they were allowed to crash uponthe floor; the squire stood pointing to a manhole at the back of thebin. "That's one alternative," said he; "but it will mean leaving thismuch stuff at least," pointing to the boxes, "and probably all the restat the other end. The other thing's to stop and fight!"

  "I fight," said Santos, stalking to the door. "Have you no moreammunition for me, friend Cole? Then I must live you alive; adios,senhor!"

  Harris cast a wistful look towards the manhole, not in cowardice, Ifancy, but in sudden longing for the sea, the longing of a poor devilof a sailor-man doomed to die ashore. I am still sorry to remember thatRattray judged him differently. "Come on, skipper," said he; "it's allor none aboard the lugger, and I think it will be none. Up you go; waita second in the room above, and I'll find you an old cutlass. I shan'tbe longer." He turned to me with a wry smile. "We're not half-armed," hesaid; "they've caught us fairly on the hop; it should be fun! Good-by,Cole; I wish you'd had another round for that revolver. Good-by, Eva!"

  And he held out his hand to our love, who had been watching him all thistime with eyes of stone; but now she turned her back upon him withouta word. His face changed; the stormlight of passion and remorse playedupon it for an instant; he made a step towards her, wheeled abruptly,and took me by the shoulder instead.

  "Take care of her, Cole," said he. "Whatever happens--take care of her."

  I caught him at the foot of the stairs. I do not defend what I did. ButI had more ammunition; a few wadded bullets, caps, and powder-charges,loose in a jacket pocket; and I thrust them into one of his, upon asudden impulse, not (as I think) altogether unaccountable, albeit (as Ihave said) so indefensible.

  My back was hardly turned an instant. I had left a statue of unforgivingcoldness. I started round to catch in my arms a half-fainting,grief-stricken form, shaken with sobs that it broke my heart to hear. Iplaced her on the camp-stool. I knelt down and comforted her as well asI could, stroking her hands, my arm about her heaving shoulders, withthe gold-brown hair streaming over them. Such hair as it was! So muchlonger than I had dreamt. So soft--so fine--my soul swam with the sightand touch of it. Well for me that there broke upon us from above sucha sudden din as turned my hot blood cold! A wild shout of surprise; anensuing roar of defiance; shrieks and curses; yells of rage and pain;and pistol-shot after pistol-shot as loud as cannon in the confinedspace.

  I know now that the battle in the hall was a very brief affair; whileit lasted I had no sense of time; minutes or moments, they were (Godforgive me!) some of the very happiest in all my life. My joy was asprofound as it was also selfish and incongruous. The villains were beingrouted; of that there could be no doubt or question. I hoped Rattraymight escape, but for the others no pity stirred in my heart, and evenmy sneaking sympathy with the squire could take nothing from the joythat was in my heart. Eva Denison was free. I was free. Our oppressorswould trouble us no more. We were both lonely; we were both young; wehad suffered together and for each other. And here she lay in my arms,her head upon my shoulder, her soft bosom heaving on my own! My bloodran hot and cold by turns. I forgot everything but our freedom and mylove. I forgot my sufferings, as I would have you all forget them. Iam not to be pitied. I have been in heaven on earth. I was there thatnight, in my great bodily weakness, and in the midst of blood-shed,death, and crime.

  "They have stopped!" cried Eva suddenly. "It is over! Oh, if he isdead!"

  And she sat upright, with bright eyes starting from a deathly face. I donot think she knew that she had been in my arms at all: any more than Iknew that the firing had ceased before she told me. Excited voices werestill raised overhead; but some sounded distant, yet more distinct,coming through the grating from the garden; and none were voices that weknew. One poor wretch, on the other hand, we heard plainly groaning tohis death; and we looked in each other's eyes with the same thought.

  "That's Harris," said I, with, I fear, but little compassion in my toneor in my heart just then.

  "Where are the others?" cried Eva piteously.

  "God knows," said I; "they may be done for, too."

  "If they are!"

  "It's better than the death they would have lived to die."

  "But only one of them was a wilful murderer! Oh, Mr. Cole--Mr. Cole--goand see what has happened; come back and tell me! I dare not come. Iwill stay here and pray for strength to bear whatever news you may bringme. Go quickly. I will--wait--and pray!"

  So I left the poor child on her knees in that vile cellar, white faceand straining hands uplifted to the foul ceiling, sweet lips quiveringwith prayer, eyel
ids reverently lowered, and the swift tears flowingfrom beneath them, all in the yellow light of the lantern that stoodburning by her side. How different a picture from that which awaited meoverhead!