Dead Man's Rock Part 11

"No, the letter was separate. I slipped it under the strap to keep it safe."

"It seems to me," said my uncle, adjusting his spectacles and unfolding the paper, "illegible, or almost so. It has evidently been thoroughly soaked with salt water. Come here and see if your young eyes can help me to decipher it."

We bent together over the blurred handwriting. The letter was evidently in a feminine hand; but the characters were rudely and inartistically formed, while every here and there a heavy down-stroke or flourish marred the beauty of the page. Wherever such thick lines occurred the ink had run and formed an illegible smear. Such as it was, with great difficulty, and after frequent trials, we spelt out the letter as follows:--

"The Welc . . . Home, Barbican, Plymo."

"My Deerest Jack,--This to hope it will find You quite well, as it leaves Me at present. Also to say that I hope this voyage . . . _new Leaf_ with Simon as Companny, who is a _Good Friend_, though, as you well know, I did not think . . . came _courting me_. But it is for the best, and . . . liquor . . .

which I pray to Heaven may begin happier Days. Trade is very poor, and I do not know . . . little Jenny, who is getting on _Famously_ with her Schooling. She keaps the Books already, which is a great saving . . . looks in often and sits in the parlour. He says as you have Done Well to be . . . _Wave_, but mis...o...b..s Simon, which I tell him must be wrong, for it was him that advised . . . the fuss and warned against liquor, which he never took Himself. Jenny is so Fond of her Books, and says she will _teech you to write_ when you come home, which will be a great _Comfort_, you being away so long and never a word. And I am doing wonders under her teaching, which I dare say she will let you know of it all in the letter she is writing to go along with this . . . Simon to write for you, who is a . . . scholar, which is natural . . . in the office. So that I wonder he left it, having no taste for the sea that ever I heard . . . be the making of you both. I forgot to tell . . . very strange when he left, but what with the hurry and bussle it _slipped my mind_ . . . wonderful to me to think of, my talking to you so natural . . . distance. And so no more at present from your loving wife,"

"LUCY RAILTON."

"Jenny says . . . will not alter, being more like as if it came from me. Munny is very scarce. I wish you could get . . ."

This was all, and small enough, as I thought, was the light it threw on the problem before us. Uncle Loveday read it over three or four times; then folded up the letter and looked at me over his spectacles.

"You say this cut-throat fellow--this Rhodojani, as he called himself--spoke English?"

"As well as we do. He and the other spoke English all the time."

"H'm! And he talked about a Jenny, did he?"

"He was saying something about 'Jenny not finding a husband' when John Railton struck him."

"Then it's clear as daylight that he's called Simon, and not Georgio.

Also if I ever bet (though far be it from me) I would bet my b.u.t.tons that his name is no more Rhodojani than mine is Methuselah."

He paused for a moment, absorbed in thought; then resumed--

"This Lucy Railton is John Railton's wife and keeps a public-house called the 'Welcome Home!' on the Barbican, Plymouth. Simon, that is to say Rhodojani, was in love with Lucy Railton, and his conduct, says she, was strange before leaving; but he pretended to be John Railton's friend, and, from what you say, must have had an astonis.h.i.+ng influence over the unhappy man. Simon, we learn, is a scholar," pursued my uncle, after again consulting the letter, "and I see the word 'office' here, which makes it likely that he was a clerk of some kind, who took to the sea for some purpose of his own, and induced Railton to go with him, perhaps for the same purpose, perhaps for another. Anyhow, it seems it was high time for Railton to go somewhere, for besides the references to liquor, which tally with Simon's words upon Dead Man's Rock, we also meet with the ominous words 'the fuss,' wherein, Jasper, I find the definite article not without meaning."

Uncle Loveday was beaming with conscious pride in his own powers of penetration. He acknowledged my admiring attention with a modest wave of the hand, and then proceeded to clear his throat ostentatiously, as one about to play a trump card.

"As I say, Jasper, this fellow must have had some purpose to drag him off to sea from an office stool--some strong purpose, and, from what we know of the man, some unG.o.dly purpose. Now, the question is, What was it? On the Rock, as you say, he charged John Railton with having a certain Will in his possession. Your father started from England with a Will in his possession. This is curious, to say the least--very curious; but I do not see how we are to connect this with the man Simon's sudden taste for the sea, for, you know, he could not possibly have heard of Amos Trenoweth's Will."

"You and aunt were the only people father told of it."

"Quite so; and your father (excuse me, Jasper) not being a born fool, naturally didn't cry his purpose about the streets of Plymouth when he took his pa.s.sage. Still, it's curious. Your father sailed from Plymouth and this pair of rascals sailed from Plymouth--not that there's anything in that; hundreds sail out of the Sound every week, and we have nothing to show when Simon and John started--it may have been before your father. But look here, Jasper, what do you make of that?"

I bent over the letter, and where my uncle's finger pointed, read, "He says as you have Done Well to be . . . _Wave_."

"Well, uncle?"

"Well, my boy; what do you make of it?"

"I can make nothing of it."

"No? You see that solitary word '_Wave_'?"

"Yes."

"What was the s.h.i.+p called in which your father sailed?"

"The _Golden Wave_."

"That's it, the _Golden Wave_. Now, what do you make of it?"

My uncle leaned back in his chair and looked at me over his spectacles, with the air of one who has played his trump card and watches for its effect. A certain consciousness of merit and expectancy of approbation animated his person; his reasoning staggered me, and he saw it, nor was wholly displeased.

After waiting some time for my reply, he added--

"Of course I may be wrong, but it's curious. I do not think I am wrong, when I mark what it proves. It proves, first, that these two ruffians--for ruffians they both were, as we must conclude, in spite of John Railton's melancholy end--it proves, I say, that these two sailed along with your father. They come home with him, are wrecked, and your father's body is found--murdered. Evidence, slight evidence, but still worthy of attention, points to them. Now, if it could be proved that they knew, at starting or before, of your father's purpose, it would help us; and, to my mind, this letter goes far to prove that wickedness of some sort was the cause of their going. What do you think?"

Uncle Loveday cleared his throat and looked at me again with professional pride in his diagnosis. There was a pause, broken only by Mrs. Busvargus splas.h.i.+ng in the back kitchen.

"Good heavens!" said my uncle, "is that woman taking headers?

Come, Jasper, what do you think?"

"I think," I replied, "we had better look at the tin box."

"Bless my soul! There's something in the boy, after all. I had clean forgotten it."

The box was about six inches by four, and some four inches in depth.

The tin was tarnished by the sea, but the cover had been tightly fastened down and secured with a hasp and pin. Uncle Loveday drew out the pin, and with some difficulty raised the lid. Inside lay a tightly-rolled bundle of papers, seemingly uninjured. These he drew out, smoothed, and carefully opened.

As his eyes met the writing, his hand dropped, and he sank back--a very picture of amazement--in his chair.

"My G.o.d!"

"What's the matter?"

"It's your father's handwriting!"

I looked at this last witness cast up by the sea and read, "The Journal of Ezekiel Trenoweth, of Lantrig."

CHAPTER VIII.

CONTAINS THE FIRST PART OF MY FATHER'S JOURNAL; SETTING FORTH HIS MEETING WITH MR. ELIHU SANDERSON, OF BOMBAY; AND MY GRANDFATHER'S Ma.n.u.sCRIPT.

It was indeed my father's Journal, thus miraculously preserved to us from the sea. As we sat and gazed at this inanimate witness, I doubt not the same awe of an all-seeing Providence possessed the hearts of both of us. Little more than twenty-four hours ago had my dead father crossed the threshold of his home, and now his voice had come from the silence of another world to declare the mystery of his death. It was some minutes before Uncle Loveday could so far control his speech as to read aloud this precious ma.n.u.script. And thus, in my father's simple language, embellished with no art, and tricked out in no niceties of expression, the surprising story ran:--

"May 23rd, 1848.--Having, in obedience to the instructions of my father's Will, waited upon Mr. Elihu Sanderson, of the East India Company's Service, in their chief office at Bombay, and having from him received a somewhat singular communication in my father's handwriting, I have thought fit briefly to put together some record of the same, as well as of the more important events of my voyage, not only to refresh my own memory hereafter, if I am spared to end my days in peace at Lantrig, but also being impelled thereto by certain strange hints conveyed in this same communication. These hints, though I myself can see no ground for them, would seem to point towards some grave bodily or spiritual peril; and therefore it is my plain duty, seeing that I leave a beloved wife and young son at home, to make such provision that, in case of misadventure or disaster, Divine Providence may at least have at my hands some means whereby to inform them of my fate. For this reason I regret the want of foresight which prevented my beginning some such record at the outset; but as far as I can reasonably judge, my voyage has. .h.i.therto been prosperous and without event. Nevertheless, I will shortly set down what I can remember as worthy of remark before I landed at this city of Bombay, and trust that nothing of importance has slipped my notice.

"On the 3rd of February last I left my home at Lantrig, travelling by coach to Plymouth, where I slept at the 'One and All' in Old Town Street, being attracted thither by the name, which is our Cornish motto. The following day I took pa.s.sage for Bombay in the _Golden Wave_, East Indiaman, Captain Jack Carey, which, as I learnt, was due to sail in two days. It had been my intention, had no suitable vessel been found at Plymouth, to proceed to Bristol, where the trade is much greater; but on the Barbican--a most evil-smelling neighbourhood--it was my luck to fall in with a very entertaining stranger, who, on hearing my case, immediately declared it to be a most fortunate meeting, as he himself had been making inquiries to the same purpose, and had found a s.h.i.+p which would start almost immediately. He had been, it appeared, a lawyer's clerk, but on the death of his old employer (whose name escapes my memory), finding his successor a man of difficult temper, and having saved sufficient money to be idle for a year or two, had conceived the wish to travel, and chosen Bombay, partly from a desire to behold the wonders of the Indies, and partly to see his brother, who held a post there in the East India Company's service. Having at the time much leisure, he kindly offered to show me the vessel, protesting that should I find it to my taste he was anxious for the sake of the company to secure a pa.s.sage for himself. So very agreeable was his conversation that I embraced the opportunity which fortune thus threw in my way.

The s.h.i.+p, on inspection, proved much to our liking, and Captain Carey of so honest a countenance, that the bargain was struck without more ado. I was for returning to the 'One and All,' but first thought it right to acquaint myself with the name of this new friend. He was called Simon Colliver, and lived, as he told me, in Stoke, whither he had to go to make preparation for this somewhat hasty departure, but first advised me to move my luggage from the 'One and All' (the comfort of which fell indeed short of the promise of so fair a name) to the 'Welcome Home,' a small but orderly house of entertainment in the Barbican, where, he said, I should be within easy distance of the _Golden Wave_. The walk to Old Town Street was not far in itself, but a good step when traversed five or six times a day; and, moreover, I was led to make the change on hearing that the landlord of the 'Welcome Home' was also intending to sail as seaman in this same s.h.i.+p. My new acquaintance led me to the house, an ill-favoured-looking den, but clean inside, and after a short consultation with John Railton, the landlord, arranged for my entertainment until the _Golden Wave_ should weigh anchor.

This done, and a friendly gla.s.s taken to seal the engagement, he departed, congratulating himself warmly on his good fortune in finding a fellow-traveller so much, as he protested, to his taste.

"I must own I was not over-pleased with John Railton, who seemed a sulky sort of man, and too much given to liquor. But I saw little of him after he brought my box from the 'One and All.' His wife waited upon me--a singularly sweet woman, though sorely vexed, as I could perceive, with her husband's infirmity. She loved him nevertheless, as a woman will sometimes love a brute, and was sorry to lose him.

Indeed, when I noticed that evening that her eyes were red with weeping, and said a word about her husband's departure, she stared at me for a moment in amazement, and could not guess how I came to hear of it, 'for,' said she, 'the resolution had been so suddenly taken that even she could scarce account for it.' She admitted, however, that it was for the best, and added that 'Jack was a good seaman, and she always expected that he would leave her some day.' Her chief anxiety was for her little daughter, aged seven, whom it was hard to have exposed to the rough language and manners of a public-house.