The Lord of the Sea by M. P. Shiel
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M. P. Shiel >> The Lord of the Sea
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20 Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreaders.
THE LORD OF THE SEA
By M. P. SHIEL
CONTENTS
I. THE EXODUS
II. THE FEZ
III. THE HUNTING-CROP
IV. THE SWOON
V. REID'S
VI. "PEARSON'S WEEKLY"
VII. THE ELM
VIII. THE METEOR
IX. HOGARTH'S GUNS
X. ISAAC
XI. WROXHAM BROAD
XII. THE ROSE
XIII. OUT OF THE WORLD
XIV. THE PRIEST
XV. MONSIGNOR
XVI. THE ROPE
XVII. OLD TOM'S LETTER
XVIII. CHLOROFORM
XIX. THE GREAT BELL
XX. THE INFIRMARY
XXI. IN THE DEEP
XXII. OLD TOM
XXIII. UNDER THE ELM
XXIV. FRANKL SEES THE METEORITE
XXV. CHURCH ARCHITECTURE
XXVI. FRANKL AND O'HARA
XXVII. THE BAG OF LIGHT
XXVIII. THE LETTER
XXIX. PRIORITY OF CLAIM
XXX. MR. BEECH
XXXI. THE HAMMERS
XXXII. WONDER
XXXIII. REEFS OF STEEL
XXXIV. THE "KAISER"
XXXV. THE CUP OF TREMBLING
XXXVI. THE "BOODAH" AND THE BATTLESHIPS
XXXVII. THE STRAITS
XXXVIII. THE MANIFESTO
XXXIX. THE "BOODAH'S" LOCK-UP
XL. THE WEDDING
XLI. THE VISIT
XLII. REBEKAH TELLS
XLIII. THE LAND BILL
XLIV. THE REGENCY
XLV. ESTRELLA, THE PROPHETESS
XLVI. THE ORDER IN COUNCIL
XLVII. THE EMIGRANTS
XLVIII. THE SEA-FORTS
XLIX. THE DEBACLE
L. THE DECISION
LI. THE MODEL
I
THE EXODUS
In the Calle Las Gabias--one of those by-streets of Lisbon below St.
Catherine--there occurred one New Year a little event in the
Synagogue there worth a mention in this history of Richard, Lord of
the Sea.
It was Kol Nidre, eve of the Day of Atonement, and the little Beth-
El, sweltering in a dingy air, was transacting the long-drawn
liturgy, when, behind the curtain where the women sat, an old dame
who had been gazing upward smote her palms together, and let slip a
little scream: "The Day is coming...!"
She then fainted, and till near ten lay on her bed, lit by the Yom
Kippur candle, with open eyes, but without speech, her sere face
still beautiful, on each temple a little pyramid of plaits, with
gold-and-coral ear-rings: a holy _belle._ About ten P.M. three women
watching heard her murmur: "My child, Rebekah...!"
She was childless, and whom she meant was not known. However, soon
afterwards there was a form at the amulet-guarded door, and Estrella
sat up, saying: "Rebekah, my child..."
A young lady of twenty-two ran in and embraced her, saying: "I have
been to Paris and Madrid with my father--just arrived, so flew to
see you. We leave for London to-night".
"No: I shall keep you seven days. Tell Frankl _I_ say so. What
jewels! You have grown into a rose of glory, the eyes are profounder
and blacker, and that brow was made for high purpose. Tell me--have
you a lover?"
"No, mamma Estrella".
"Then, why the blush?"
"It is nothing at all," Miss Frankl answered: "five years ago when
at school in Bristol I thrice saw through a grating a young man with
whom I was frivolous enough to speak. Happily, I do not know what
has become of him--a wild, divine kind of creature, of whom I am
well rid, and never likely to see again".
The old lady mused. "What was he?"
"A sailor".
"Not a common sailor?"
"I fancy so, mamma".
"What name?"
"Hogarth--Richard".
"A Jew?"
"An Englishman!"
She laughed, as the old lady's eyes opened in sacred horror, and as
she whispered: "Child!"
Within three months of that night, one midnight the people of Prague
rose and massacred most of the Jewish residents; the next day the
flame broke out in Buda-Pesth; and within a week had become a
revolution.
On the twelfth morning one of two men in a City bank said to the
other: "Come, Frankl, you cannot fail a man in this crisis--I only
want 80,000 on all Westring--"
"No good to me, my lord," answered Frankl, who, though a man of only
forty--short, with broad shoulders,--already had his skin divided up
like a dry leaf; in spite of which, he was handsome, with a nose
ruled straight and long, a black beard on his breast.
But the telephone rattled and Frankl heard these words at the
receiver: "Wire to hand from Wertheimer: Austrian Abgeordneten-haus
passed a Resolution at noon virtually expelling Jewish Race...."
When Frankl turned again he had already resolved to possess Westring
Vale, and was saying to himself: "Within six months the value of
English land should be--doubled".
The bargain was soon made now: and within one week the foresight of
Frankl began to be justified.
Austria, during those days, was a nation of vengeful hearts: for the
Jews had acquired half its land, and had mortgages on the other
half: peasant, therefore, and nobleman flamed alike. And this fury
was contagious: now Germany--now France had it--Anti-Semite laws--
like the old May-Laws--but harsher still; and streaming they came,
from the Leopoldstadt, from Bukowina, from the Sixteen Provinces,
from all Galicia, from the Nicolas Colonies, from Lisbon, with
wandering foot and weary breast--the Heines, Cohens, Oppenheimers--
Sephardim, Aschkenasim. And Dover was the new Elim.
With alarm Britain saw them come! but before she could do anything,
the wave had overflowed it; and by the time it was finished there
was no desire to do anything: for within eight months such a tide of
prosperity was floating England as has hardly been known in a
country.
The reason of this was the increased number of hands--each making
more things than its owner could consume himself, and so making
every other richer.
There came, however, a change--almost suddenly--due to the new
demand for land, the "owners" determining to await still further
rises, before letting. This checked industry: for now people,
debarred from the land, had only air.
In Westring Vale, as everywhere, times were hard. It was now the
property of Baruch Frankl: for at the first failure of Lord Westring
to meet terms, Frankl had struck.
Now, one of the yeomen of Westring was a certain Richard Hogarth.
II
THE FEZ
Frankl took up residence at Westring in September, and by November
every ale-house, market, and hiring in Westring had become a scene
of discussion.
The cause was this: Frankl had sent out to his tenants a Circular
containing the words:
"...tenants to use for wear in the Vale a _fez with tassel_ as the
Livery of the Manor...the will of the Lord of the Manor...no
exception..."
But though intense, the excitement was not loud: for want was in
many a home; though after three weeks there were still six farmers
who resisted.
And it happened one day that five of these at the Martinmas "Mop,"
or hiring, were discussing the matter, when they spied the sixth
boring his way, and one exclaimed: "Yonder goes Hogarth! Let's hear
what _he's_ got to say!" and set to calling.
Hogarth twisted, and came winning his way, taller than the crowd,
with "What's up? Hullo, Clinton--not a moment to spare to-day--"
"We were a-talking about that Circular--!" cried one.
At that moment two other men joined the group: one a dark-skinned
Jew of the Moghrabim; the other a young man--an English author--on
tour. And these two heard what passed.
Hogarth stood suspended, finding no words, till one cried: "Do you
mean to put the cap on?"
He laughed a little now. "_I!_ The whip! The whip!"--he showed his
hunting-crop, and was gone.
His manner of speech was rapid, and he had a hoarse sort of voice,
almost as of sore-throat.
Of the two not farmers, one--the author--enquired as to his name,
and farm; the other man--the Moghrabim Jew-that evening recounted to
Frankl the words which he had heard.
* * * * * * *
One afternoon, two weeks later, Loveday, the author, was leaning
upon a stile, talking to Margaret Hogarth; and he said: "I love you!
If you could _deign_--"
"Truth is," she said, "you are in love with my brother, Dick, and
you think it is me!"
She was a woman of twenty-five, large and buxom, though neat-
waisted, her face beautifully fresh and wholesome, and he of middle-
size, with a lazy ease of carriage, small eyes set far apart, a
blue-velvet jacket, duck trousers very dirty, held up by a belt, a
red shirt, an old cloth hat, a careless carle, greatly famed.
"But it isn't of your brother, but of _you_, that I am wanting to
speak! Tell me--"
"No--I can't. I am a frivolous old woman to be talking to you about
such things at all! But, since it is as you say, wait, perhaps I may
be able--But I must be going now--"
There was embarrassment in her now: and suddenly she walked away,
going to meet--another man.
She passed through stubble-wheat, disappeared in a pine-wood, and
came out upon the Waveney towing-path. On the towing-path came
Frankl to meet her.
He took her hand, holding his head sideward with a cajoling
fondness, wearing the flowing caftan, and a velvet cap which widened
out a-top, with puckers.
"Well, sweetheart..." he said.
"But, you know, I begged you not to use such words to me!"--from
her.
"What, and I who am such a sweetheart of yours?"--his speech very
foreign, yet slangily correct, being, in fact, _all_ slang.
"No," she said, "you spoke different at first, and that is why--But
this must be the last, unless you say out clearly now what it is you
mean--"
"Now, you are too hard. You know I am wild in love with you. And so
are you with me--"
"_I_?"--with shrinking modesty in her under-looking eyes. "Oh, no--
don't have any delusions like that about me, please! You said that
you liked me: and as I am in the habit of speaking the truth myself,
I thought that--perhaps--But my meeting you, to be frank with you,
was for the sake of my brother".
"Well, you are as candid as they make them," he said, eyeing her
with his mild eye. "But what's the matter with your brother? Hard
up?"
"He's worried about something". "He must have some harvest-money put
away?"
"He has something in Reid's Bank at Yarmouth, I believe".
"Well, shall I tell you what's the matter with him? He's _afraid_,
your brother. He has refused to wear the cap, and he thinks that I
shall be down upon him like a thousand of bricks...But suppose I
exempt him, and you and I be friends? That's fair".
"What _do_ you mean?"
"Give us _one_--"
"Believe me, you talk--!"
"Don't let your angry passions rise. I am going to have a kiss off
those handsome lips--"
Before she could stir he was in the act of the embrace; but it was
never accomplished: for he saw her colour fade, heard crackling
twigs, a step! as someone emerged from the wood ten yards away--
Richard.
The thought in Margaret's mind was this: "Father in Heaven, whatever
will he think of me here with this Jew?"
Hogarth stopped, staring at this couple; did not understand:
Margaret should have been home from "class-meeting"...only, he
observed her heaving bosom; then twisted about and went, his walk
rapid, in his hand a hunting-crop, by which, with a very sure aim,
he batted away pebbles from his path, stooping each time.
III
THE HUNTING-CROP
Along the towing-path to the farmhouse. He did not look behind: was
like a man who has received a wound, and wonders whence.
A pallor lay under his brown skin, brown almost as an Oriental's,
and he was called "the Black Hogarth"--the Hogarths being Saxon, on
the mantel in the dining-room being a very simple coat--a Bull on
Gules. But Richard was a startling exception. His hair grew away
flat and sparse from his round brow; on his cheeks three moles, jet-
black in their centre. Handsome one called his hairless face: the
nose delicate, the lips negroid in their thick pout, the left eye
red, streaked with bloodshot, the eyes' brown brightness very
beautiful and strange, with a sideward stare wild as that sideward
stare of the race-horse; and the lids had a way of lifting largely
anon.
He passed through Lagden Dip orchard into the old homestead, into
the dining-room, where cowered the old Hogarth, smoking, his hair a
mist of wool-white.
He glanced up, but said nothing; and Richard said nothing, but
walked about, his arms folded, frowning turbulently, while the
twilight deepened, and Margaret did not come.
Now he planted a chair near the old man, sat, and shouted: "Listen,
sir!"
Up went the old Hogarth's hand to push forward the inquiring ear,
while Richard, who, till now, had guarded him from all knowledge of
the Circular, snatched it from his breast-pocket, and loudly read.
As the sense entered his head, up the old man shot his palms,
shaking from them astonishment and deprecation, with nods; then,
with opening arms, and an under-look at Richard: "Well, there is
nothing to be said: the land is his...."
Hogarth leapt up and walked out; he muttered: "The land is his, but
he is mine...."
The question at the bottom of his mind had been this: "Does
_Margaret_, too, go with the land?" But he did not utter it even to
himself: went out, fingering the crop, stalking toward the spot
where he had left the man and the woman. But Margaret was then
coming through the wood; Frankl had gone up to the Hall; and Hogarth
crossed the bridge and went climbing toward the mansion.
It was a Friday evening, and up at the Hall the Sabbath had
commenced, two Sabbath-tapers shining now upon the Mezuzzah at the
dining-room door, Frankl being of the Cohanim, the priestly class--a
Jew of Jews. As he had passed in, two Moghrabim Jews had saluted him
with: "Shabbath"; and mildly he had replied: "Shabbath".
But swift upon his steps strode Hogarth: Hogarth was at the lodge-
gates--was on the drive--was in the hall.
But, since Frankl was just preparing to celebrate the _kiddush_, "He
cannot be seen now", said a man in the hall.
"He must", said Hogarth.
As he brushed past, two men raised an outcry: but Hogarth continued
his swift way, and had half traversed a _salon_ hung with a chaos of
cut-glass when from a side-door appeared the inquiring face of
Frankl in pious skull-cap.
"What is it?" he cried--"I cannot be seen--"
He recognized the man of the towing-path, and on his face grew a
look of scare, as he backed toward a study: but before he could slam
the door, Hogarth, too, was within.
"Who are you? What is it?" whined Frankl, who was both hard master
and cringing slave.
Hogarth produced the Circular: but of Margaret not a word.
"Caps-and-tassels, you?"--flicking Frankl on the cheek with a fillip
of his middle finger.
"You dare assault me! Why, I swear, I meant no harm--"
Down came the whip upon the Jew's shoulders, Frankl, as the stings
penetrated his caftan, giving out one roar, and the next instant,
seeing the two Jews at the doorway, groaned the mean whisper: "Oh,
don't make a man look small before the servants", crying out
immediately: "Help!"
Soon five or six servants were at the door, and, of these, two Arab
Jews rushed forward, one a tall fellow, the other an obese bulk with
bright black eyes, the former holding a slender blade--the knife
with which "shechita", or slaughtering, was done: and while the
corpulent Jew threw himself upon Hogarth, the other drew this knife
through the flesh of Hogarth's shoulder, at the same time happening
to cut the heavy Arab across the wrist.
Now, there was some quarrel between the two Arabs, and the injured
Arab, forgetting Hogarth, turned fiercely upon his fellow.
Hogarth, meanwhile, had not let go Frankl, nor delivered the
intended number of cuts: so he was again standing with uplifted
whip, when his eye happened to fall upon the doorway.
He saw there a sight which struck his arm paralysed: Rebekah Frankl.
Two months had she been here at Westring--and he had not known it!
There she stood peering, of a divine beauty in his eyes, like half-
mythical queens of Egypt and Babylon, blinking in a rather barbarous
superfluity of jewels: and, blinded and headlong, he was in flight.
As for Frankl, he locked that door upon himself, and remained there,
forgetting the sanctification of the Sabbath.
The Hebrew's eyes blazed like a wild beast's. The words: "As the
Lord liveth..." hissed in whispers from his lips.
He took up a pinch of old ashes, and cast it into the air.
As Shimei, the son of Gera, cursed David, so he cursed Richard
Hogarth that night--again and again--with grave rites, with
cancerous rancour.
"I will blight him, as the Lord liveth; as the Lord liveth, I will
blight him..." he said repeatedly, his draperied arms spread in
pompous imprecation.
As a beginning, he sat and wrote to Reid's Bank, requesting the
payment in gold of L14,000--to produce a stoppage of payment at the
little Bank in which were Richard's savings.
Afterwards, with mild eyes he repaired to the dining-hall, and
sanctified the Sabbath, blessing a cup of wine, dividing up two
napkined loaves, and giving to Rebekah his benediction.
IV
THE SWOON
Hogarth went moodily down the hillside to the Waveney, across the
bridge, and home, his sleeve stained with blood.
In the dining-room, he threw himself into an easy-chair in a gloom
lit only by the fireglow, in the room above mourning a little
harmonium which Margaret was playing, mixed with the sound of
Loveday's voice.
The old man said: "Richard, my boy..."
Hogarth did not answer.
"Richard, I have somewhat to say to you--are ye hearkening?"
Richard, losing blood, moaned a drowsy "Yes".
And the old Hogarth, all deaf and bedimmed, said: "I had to say it
to you, and this night let it be: Richard, you are no son of mine".
At this point Hogarth's head dropped forward: but many a time,
during long years, he remembered a dream in which he had heard those
words: "Richard, you are no son of mine..."
The old Hogarth continued to ears that did not hear:
"I have kept it from you--for I'm under a bargain with a firm of
solicitors in London; but, Dick, it doesn't strike me as I am long
for this world: a queer feeling I've had in this left side the last
hour or two; and there's that Circular--I never heard of such a
thing in all my born days. But what can we do? You'll have to wear
the cap--or be turned out. Always I've said to myself, from a young
man: 'Get hold of a bit of land someways as your own God's own': but
I never did; the days went by and by, and it all seems no longer
than an after-dinner nap in a barn on a hot harvest-day. But a bit
of land--the man who has that can make all the rest work to keep
him. And if they turn me out, I couldn't live, lad: the old house
has got into my bones, somehow. Anyhow, I think the time is come to
tell you in my own way how the thing was. No son are you of mine,
Richard. Your mother, Rachel, who was a Londoner, served me an ill
turn while we were sweethearting, hankering after another man--a Jew
millionaire he was, she being a governess in his house; but,
Richard, I couldn't give her up: I married her three months before
you were born; and not a living creature knows, except, perhaps,
one--perhaps one: a priest he was, called O'Hara. But that's how it
was. Your father was a Jew, and your mother was a Jew, and you are a
Jew, and in the under-bottom of the old grey trunk you will find a
roll of papers. Are you hearkening? And don't you be ashamed of
being a Jew, boy--_they_ are the people who've got the money; and
money buys land, Richard. Nor your father did not do so badly by
you, either: his name was Spinoza--Sir Solomon Spinoza--"
At that point Margaret, bearing a lamp, entered, followed by
Loveday, and at the sight of Richard uttered a cry.
V
REID'S
By noon Hogarth knew the news: his hundred and fifty at Reid's were
gone; and he owed for the Michaelmas quarter--twenty-one pounds
five, his only chattels of value being the thresher, not yet paid
for, half a rick, seed, manure, and "the furniture". If he could
realize enough for rent, he would lack capital for wages and
cultivation, for Reid's had been his credit-bank.
After dinner he stood long at a window, then twisted away, and
walked to Thring, where he captained in a football match, Loveday
watching his rage, his twisting waist, and then accompanying him
home: but in the dining-room they found the lord-of-the-manor's
bailiff; and Loveday, divining something embarrassing, took himself
away.
The same evening there were two appraisers in the house, and the
bailiff, on their judgment, took possession of the chattels on the
holding except some furniture, and some agricultural "fixtures". The
sale was arranged for the sixth day.
From the old Hogarth the truth could no longer be hidden...
Two days he continued quiet in the old nook by the hearth,
apparently in a kind of dotage doze; but on the third, he began to
poke about, hobbled into the dairy, peered into the churn, touched
the skimmer.
"You'll have to wear the cap", Margaret heard him mutter--"or be
turned out".
As if taking farewell, he would get up, as at a sudden thought, to
go to visit something. He kept murmuring: "I always said, Get a bit
of land as your own, but I never did; the days went by and by...."
Margaret, meantime, was busy, binding beds with sheets, making
bundles, preparing for the flitting, with a heaving breast; till, on
the fifth day, a van stood loaded with their things at the hall-
door, and she, with untidy hair, was helping heave the last trunk
upon the backboard, when the carman said: "Mrs. Mackenzie says, mum,
the things mustn't be took to the cottage, except you pay in
advance".
Now Margaret stood at a loss; but in a minute went bustling,
deciding to go to Loveday, not without twinges of reluctance: for
Loveday, with instinctive delicacy, had lately kept from the farm;
and to Margaret, whose point of view was different, the words "false
friends" had occurred.
Passing through an alley of the forest, she was met by a man--a
park-keeper of Frankl's--a German Jew, who had once handed her a
note from Frankl. And he, on seeing her, said: "Here have I a letter
for your brother".
"Who from?" she asked.
"That may I not say".
When he handed her an envelope rather stuffed with papers, she went
on her flurried way; and soon Loveday was bowing before her in his
sitting-room at Priddlestone.
"You will be surprised to see me, Mr. Loveday," said she, panting.
"A little surprised, but most awfully glad, too. Is all well?"
"Oh, far from that, I'm afraid. But I haven't got any time--and, oh
my, I don't know how to say it,--but to be frank with you--could you
lend Richard two pounds--?"
Loveday coloured to the roots of his hair.
He could not tell her: "Open that envelope in your hand", for that
would have meant that it was he who had sent the L50 it contained;
and he had now only one sixpence in Priddlestone.
"That is", she said--"if it is not an inconvenience to you--"
He could find no words. Some fifteen minutes before, having enclosed
the notes, he had descended to the bar to get mine host to find him
a messenger, and direct the envelope--for Hogarth knew his
handwriting. Mine host was not there--his wife could not write: but
she had pointed out the Jewish park-keeper sipping beer; so Loveday
had had the man upstairs, had made him write the address, and had
bribed him to deliver the envelope with a mum tongue.
"I'm afraid I've taken a great liberty--" she said, shrinking at his
silence.
Then he spoke: "Oh, liberty!--but--really--I'm quite broke myself--!"
"Then, good-afternoon to you", said she: "I am very sorry--but you
will excuse the liberty, won't you--?"
In the forest she began to cry, covering her eyes, moaning: "Why,
how could he be so _mean_? And I who loved that young man with all
my heart, God knows--!"
Her eyes searched the ground for two sovereigns. Then she happened
to look at the envelope: and instantly was interested. "Why, it is
the Jew's hand!" she thought, for the letters were angular in the
German manner, making a general similarity with Frankl's writing.
Curiosity overcame her: she opened, and saw...
"Oh, well, this is _generous_ though, after all!" she exclaimed.
And now she ran, coming out from mossy path upon wide forest-road:
and there, taking promenade, was Frankl, quite near, with
phylacteried left arm.
"Why, sweetheart..." said he.
She stopped before him. "Well, you can call me what you like for the
time being", said she, laughing rather hysterically; "for I am most
grateful to you for your generous present to my brother, Mr.
Frankl!"
She had still no suspicion of Richard's visit of chastisement to the
Hall!
"Now, what do you mean?" said Frankl.
"Why, you might guess that I know your handwriting by this time!"
she said coquettishly, and held out the notes and the envelope.
His eyes twinkled; he meditated; he had, more than ever, need of
her; and he said: "Well, you are as 'cute as they make them!"
"But instead of sending us this, which I am not at all sure that
Richard will touch, why couldn't you pay it to yourself, and not
turn us out--"
"I let business take its course: and afterwards I do my charity. But
it wasn't for your brother, you know, that I sent it--but for
_you_".
"I must be running--"
When she reached the farm, she gave the carman a secret glimpse of
the notes, while Hogarth, who was now there, went to seek the old
Hogarth, for whom a nest had been made among the furniture in the
cart.
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