BOOK IV: UNDER THE FLAGSTAFF
RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_.
_May_ 1, 1907.
For some days after the last adventure I was in truth in a half-dazedcondition, unable to think sensibly, hardly coherently. Indeed, it wasas much as I could do to preserve something of my habitual appearance andmanner. However, my first test happily came soon, and when I was oncethrough it I reacquired sufficient self-confidence to go through with mypurpose. Gradually the original phase of stupefaction passed, and I wasable to look the situation in the face. I knew the worst now, at anyrate; and when the lowest point has been reached things must begin tomend. Still, I was wofully sensitive regarding anything which mightaffect my Lady of the Shroud, or even my opinion of her. I even began todread Aunt Janet's Second-Sight visions or dreams. These had a fatalhabit of coming so near to fact that they always made for a danger ofdiscovery. I had to realize now that the Lady of the Shroud might indeedbe a Vampire--one of that horrid race that survives death and carries ona life-in-death existence eternally and only for evil. Indeed, I beganto _expect_ that Aunt Janet would ere long have some prophetic insight tothe matter. She had been so wonderfully correct in her propheticsurmises with regard to both the visits to my room that it was hardlypossible that she could fail to take cognizance of this last development.
But my dread was not justified; at any rate, I had no reason to suspectthat by any force or exercise of her occult gift she might cause meconcern by the discovery of my secret. Only once did I feel that actualdanger in that respect was close to me. That was when she came early onemorning and rapped at my door. When I called out, "Who is that? What isit?" she said in an agitated way:
"Thank God, laddie, you are all right! Go to sleep again."
Later on, when we met at breakfast, she explained that she had had anightmare in the grey of the morning. She thought she had seen me in thecrypt of a great church close beside a stone coffin; and, knowing thatsuch was an ominous subject to dream about, came as soon as she dared tosee if I was all right. Her mind was evidently set on death and burial,for she went on:
"By the way, Rupert, I am told that the great church on time top of thecliff across the creek is St. Sava's, where the great people of thecountry used to be buried. I want you to take me there some day. Weshall go over it, and look at the tombs and monuments together. I reallythink I should be afraid to go alone, but it will be all right if you arewith me." This was getting really dangerous, so I turned it aside:
"Really, Aunt Janet, I'm afraid it won't do. If you go off to weird oldchurches, and fill yourself up with a fresh supply of horrors, I don'tknow what will happen. You'll be dreaming dreadful things about me everynight and neither you nor I shall get any sleep." It went to my heart tooppose her in any wish; and also this kind of chaffy opposition mightpain her. But I had no alternative; the matter was too serious to beallowed to proceed. Should Aunt Janet go to the church, she would surelywant to visit the crypt. Should she do so, and there notice theglass-covered tomb--as she could not help doing--the Lord only knew whatwould happen. She had already Second-Sighted a woman being married tome, and before I myself knew that I had such a hope. What might she notreveal did she know where the woman came from? It may have been that herpower of Second Sight had to rest on some basis of knowledge or belief,and that her vision was but some intuitive perception of my ownsubjective thought. But whatever it was it should be stopped--at allhazards.
This whole episode set me thinking introspectively, and led me graduallybut imperatively to self-analysis--not of powers, but of motives. Ifound myself before long examining myself as to what were my realintentions. I thought at first that this intellectual process was anexercise of pure reason; but soon discarded this as inadequate--evenimpossible. Reason is a cold manifestation; this feeling which swayedand dominated me is none other than passion, which is quick, hot, andinsistent.
As for myself, the self-analysis could lead to but one result--theexpression to myself of the reality and definiteness of an already-formedthough unconscious intention. I wished to do the woman good--to serveher in some way--to secure her some benefit by any means, no matter howdifficult, which might be within my power. I knew that I lovedher--loved her most truly and fervently; there was no need forself-analysis to tell me that. And, moreover, no self-analysis, or anyother mental process that I knew of, could help my one doubt: whether shewas an ordinary woman (or an extraordinary woman, for the matter of that)in some sore and terrible straits; or else one who lay under somedreadful condition, only partially alive, and not mistress of herself orher acts. Whichever her condition might be, there was in my own feelinga superfluity of affection for her. The self-analysis taught me onething, at any rate--that I had for her, to start with, an infinite pitywhich had softened towards her my whole being, and had already masteredmerely selfish desire. Out of it I began to find excuses for her everyact. In the doing so I knew now, though perhaps I did not at the timethe process was going on, that my view in its true inwardness was of heras a living woman--the woman I loved.
In the forming of our ideas there are different methods of work, asthough the analogy with material life holds good. In the building of ahouse, for instance, there are many persons employed; men of differenttrades and occupations--architect, builder, masons, carpenters, plumbers,and a host of others--and all these with the officials of each guild ortrade. So in the world of thought and feelings: knowledge andunderstanding come through various agents, each competent to its task.
How far pity reacted with love I knew not; I only knew that whatever herstate might be, were she living or dead, I could find in my heart noblame for the Lady of the Shroud. It could not be that she was dead inthe real conventional way; for, after all, the Dead do not walk the earthin corporal substance, even if there be spirits which take the corporalform. This woman was of actual form and weight. How could I doubt that,at all events--I, who had held her in my arms? Might it not be that shewas not quite dead, and that it had been given to me to restore her tolife again? Ah! that would be, indeed, a privilege well worth the givingmy life to accomplish. That such a thing may be is possible. Surely theold myths were not absolute inventions; they must have had a basissomewhere in fact. May not the world-old story of Orpheus and Eurydicehave been based on some deep-lying principle or power of human nature?There is not one of us but has wished at some time to bring back thedead. Ay, and who has not felt that in himself or herself was power inthe deep love for our dead to make them quick again, did we but know thesecret of how it was to be done?
For myself, I have seen such mysteries that I am open to convictionregarding things not yet explained. These have been, of course, amongstsavages or those old-world people who have brought unchecked traditionsand beliefs--ay, and powers too--down the ages from the dim days when theworld was young; when forces were elemental, and Nature's handiwork wasexperimental rather than completed. Some of these wonders may have beenolder still than the accepted period of our own period of creation. Maywe not have to-day other wonders, different only in method, but not moresusceptible of belief? Obi-ism and Fantee-ism have been exercised in myown presence, and their results proved by the evidence of my own eyes andother senses. So, too, have stranger rites, with the same object and thesame success, in the far Pacific Islands. So, too, in India and China,in Thibet and in the Golden Chersonese. On all and each of theseoccasions there was, on my own part, enough belief to set in motion thepowers of understanding; and there were no moral scruples to stand in theway of realization. Those whose lives are so spent that they achieve thereputation of not fearing man or God or devil are not deterred in theirdoing or thwarted from a set purpose by things which might deter othersnot so equipped for adventure. Whatever may be before them--pleasant orpainful, bitter or sweet, arduous or facile, enjoyable or terrible,humorous or full of awe and horror--they must accept, taking them in theonward course as a goo
d athlete takes hurdles in his stride. And theremust be no hesitating, no looking back. If the explorer or theadventurer has scruples, he had better give up that special branch ofeffort and come himself to a more level walk in life. Neither must therebe regrets. There is no need for such; savage life has this advantage:it begets a certain toleration not to be found in conventional existence.
RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_.
_May_ 2, 1907.
I had heard long ago that Second Sight is a terrible gift, even to itspossessor. I am now inclined not only to believe, but to understand it.Aunt Janet has made such a practice of it of late that I go in constantdread of discovery of my secret. She seems to parallel me all the time,whatever I may do. It is like a sort of dual existence to her; for sheis her dear old self all the time, and yet some other person with a sortof intellectual kit of telescope and notebook, which are eternally usedon me. I know they are _for_ me, too--for what she considers my good.But all the same it makes an embarrassment. Happily Second Sight cannotspeak as clearly as it sees, or, rather, as it understands. For thetranslation of the vague beliefs which it inculcates is both nebulous anduncertain--a sort of Delphic oracle which always says things which no onecan make out at the time, but which can be afterwards read in any one ofseveral ways. This is all right, for in my case it is a kind of safety;but, then, Aunt Janet is a very clever woman, and some time she herselfmay be able to understand. Then she may begin to put two and twotogether. When she does that, it will not be long before she knows morethan I do of the facts of the whole affair. And her reading of them andof the Lady of the Shroud, round whom they circle, may not be the same asmine. Well, that will be all right too. Aunt Janet loves me--God knowsI have good reason to know that all through these years--and whateverview she may take, her acts will be all I could wish. But I shall comein for a good lot of scolding, I am sure. By the way, I ought to thinkof that; if Aunt Janet scolds me, it is a pretty good proof that I oughtto be scolded. I wonder if I dare tell her all. No! It is too strange.She is only a woman, after all: and if she knew I loved . . . I wish Iknew her name, and thought--as I might myself do, only that I resistit--that she is not alive at all. Well, what she would either think ordo beats me. I suppose she would want to slipper me as she used to dowhen I was a wee kiddie--in a different way, of course.
_May_ 3, 1907.
I really could not go on seriously last night. The idea of Aunt Janetgiving me a licking as in the dear old days made me laugh so much thatnothing in the world seemed serious then. Oh, Aunt Janet is all rightwhatever comes. That I am sure of, so I needn't worry over it. A goodthing too; there will be plenty to worry about without that. I shall notcheck her telling me of her visions, however; I may learn something fromthem.
For the last four-and-twenty hours I have, whilst awake, been lookingover Aunt Janet's books, of which I brought a wheen down here. Geewhizz! No wonder the old dear is superstitious, when she is filled up tothe back teeth with that sort of stuff! There may be some truth in someof those yarns; those who wrote them may believe in them, or some ofthem, at all events. But as to coherence or logic, or any sort ofreasonable or instructive deduction, they might as well have been writtenby so many hens! These occult book-makers seem to gather only a lot ofbare, bald facts, which they put down in the most uninteresting waypossible. They go by quantity only. One story of the kind, wellexamined and with logical comments, would be more convincing to a thirdparty than a whole hecatomb of them.
RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_.
_May_ 4, 1907.
There is evidently something up in the country. The mountaineers aremore uneasy than they have been as yet. There is constant going to andfro amongst them, mostly at night and in the grey of the morning. Ispend many hours in my room in the eastern tower, from which I can watchthe woods, and gather from signs the passing to and fro. But with allthis activity no one has said to me a word on the subject. It isundoubtedly a disappointment to me. I had hoped that the mountaineershad come to trust me; that gathering at which they wanted to fire theirguns for me gave me strong hopes. But now it is apparent that they donot trust me in full--as yet, at all events. Well, I must not complain.It is all only right and just. As yet I have done nothing to prove tothem the love and devotion that I feel to the country. I know that suchindividuals as I have met trust me, and I believe like me. But the trustof a nation is different. That has to be won and tested; he who wouldwin it must justify, and in a way that only troublous times can allow.No nation will--can--give full meed of honour to a stranger in times ofpeace. Why should it? I must not forget that I am here a stranger inthe land, and that to the great mass of people even my name is unknown.Perhaps they will know me better when Rooke comes back with that store ofarms and ammunition that he has bought, and the little warship he has gotfrom South America. When they see that I hand over the whole lot to thenation without a string on them, they may begin to believe. In themeantime all I can do is to wait. It will all come right in time, I haveno doubt. And if it doesn't come right, well, we can only die once!
Is that so? What about my Lady of the Shroud? I must not think of thator of her in this gallery. Love and war are separate, and may notmix--cannot mix, if it comes to that. I must be wise in the matter; andif I have got the hump in any degree whatever, must not show it.
But one thing is certain: something is up, and it must be the Turks.From what the Vladika said at that meeting they have some intention of anattack on the Blue Mountains. If that be so, we must be ready; andperhaps I can help there. The forces must be organized; we must havesome method of communication. In this country, where are neither roadsnor railways nor telegraphs, we must establish a signalling system ofsome sort. _That_ I can begin at once. I can make a code, or adapt onethat I have used elsewhere already. I shall rig up a semaphore on thetop of the Castle which can be seen for an enormous distance around. Ishall train a number of men to be facile in signalling. And then, shouldneed come, I may be able to show the mountaineers that I am fit to livein their hearts . . .
And all this work may prove an anodyne to pain of another kind. It willhelp, at any rate, to keep my mind occupied whilst I am waiting foranother visit from my Lady of the Shroud.
RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_.
_May_ 18, 1907.
The two weeks that have passed have been busy, and may, as time goes on,prove eventful. I really think they have placed me in a differentposition with the Blue Mountaineers--certainly so far as those in thispart of the country are concerned. They are no longer suspicious ofme--which is much; though they have not yet received me into theirconfidence. I suppose this will come in time, but I must not try tohustle them. Already they are willing, so far as I can see, to use me totheir own ends. They accepted the signalling idea very readily, and arequite willing to drill as much as I like. This can be (and I think is,in its way) a pleasure to them. They are born soldiers, every man ofthem; and practice together is only a realization of their own wishes anda further development of their powers. I think I can understand thetrend of their thoughts, and what ideas of public policy lie behind them.In all that we have attempted together as yet they are themselves inabsolute power. It rests with them to carry out any ideas I may suggest,so they do not fear any assumption of power or governance on my part.Thus, so long as they keep secret from me both their ideas of high policyand their immediate intentions, I am powerless to do them ill, and I_may_ be of service should occasion arise. Well, all told, this is much.Already they accept me as an individual, not merely one of the mass. Iam pretty sure that they are satisfied of my personal _bona fides_. Itis policy and not mistrust that hedges me in. Well, policy is a matterof time. They are a splendid people, but if they knew a little more thanthey do they would understand that the wisest of all policies istrust--when it can be given. I must hold myself in check, and never bebetrayed into a harsh thought towards them. Poor souls! with a thousandyears behind them of Turkish aggression, strenuously attempted by bothforce and fraud, no wonder they are suspicious. Likewise every othernation with whom they have ever come in contact--except one, my own--hasdeceived or betrayed them. Anyhow, they are fine soldiers, and beforelong we shall have an army that cannot be ignored. If I can get so thatthey trust me, I shall ask Sir Colin to come out here. He would be asplendid head for their army. His great military knowledge and tacticalskill would come in well. It makes me glow to think of what an army hewould turn out of this splendid material, and one especially adapted forthe style of fighting which would be necessary in this country.