Historical Novels & Novellas of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Arthur Conan Doyle
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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 out a black leather bag, which with a large blue coat was the only thing in the boat. It was locked, but Jim had it open in an instant. It was half full of gold pieces.
Neither of us had ever seen so much before—no, nor a tenth part of it. There must have been hundreds of them, all bright new British sovereigns. Indeed, so taken up were we that we had forgotten all about their owner until a groan took our thoughts back to him. His lips were bluer than ever, and his jaw had dropped. I can see his open mouth now, with its row of white wolfish teeth.
“My God, he’s off!” cried Jim. “Here, run to the burn. Jock, for a hatful of water. Quick, man, or he’s gone! I’ll loosen his things the while.” Away I tore, and was back in a minute with as much water as would Stay in my Glengarry. Jim had pulled open the man’s coat and shirt, and we doused the water over him, and forced some between his lips. It had a good effect; for after a gasp or two he sat up and rubbed his eyes slowly, like a man who is waking from a deep sleep. But neither Jim nor I were looking at his face now, for our eyes were fixed upon his uncovered chest.
There were two deep red puckers in it, one just below the collar bone, and the other about half-way down on the right side. The skin of his body was extremely white up to the brown line of his neck, and the angry crinkled spots looked the more vivid against it. From above I could see that there was a corresponding pucker in the back at one place, but not at the other. Inexperienced as I was, I could tell what that meant. Two bullets had pierced his chest; one had passed through it, and the other had remained inside.
But suddenly he staggered up to his feet, and pulled his shirt to, with a quick suspicious glance at us.
“What have I been doing?” he asked. “I’ve been off my head. Take no notice of anything I may have said. Have I been shouting?”
“You shouted just before you fell.”
“What did I shout?” sharply at us, and then he shrugged his shoulders.
I told him, though it bore little meaning to my mind. He looked
“It’s the words of a song,” said he. “Well, the question is, What am I water?”
to do now? I didn’t thought I was so weak. Where did you get the
I pointed towards the burn, and he staggered off to the bank. There he lay down upon his face, and he drank until I thought he would never have done. His long skinny neck was outstretched like a horse’s, and he made a loud supping noise with his lips. At last he got up with a long sigh, and wiped his moustache with his sleeve.
“That’s better,” said he. “Have you any food?”
I had crammed two bits of oat-cake into my pocket when I left home, and these he crushed into his mouth and swallowed. Then he squared his shoulders, puffed out his chest, and patted his ribs with the flat of his hands.
“I am sure that I owe you exceedingly well,” said he. “You have been very kind to a stranger. But I see that you have had occasion to open my bag.”
“We hoped that we might find wine or brandy there when you fainted.”
“Ah! I have nothing there but just a little—how do you say it?—my savings. They are not much, but I must live quietly upon them until I find something to do. Now one could live quietly here, I should say. I could not have come upon a more peaceful place, without perhaps so much as a gendarme nearer than that town.”
“You haven’t told us yet who you are, where you come from, nor what you have been,” said Jim bluntly.
The stranger looked him up and down with a critical eye:
“My word, but you would make a grenadier for a flank company,” said he. “As to what you ask, I might take offence at it from other lips; but you have a right to know, since you have received me with so great courtesy. My name is Bonaventure de Lapp. I am a soldier and a wanderer by trade, and I have come from Dunkirk, as you may see printed upon the boat.”
“I thought that you had been shipwrecked!” said I.
But he looked at me with the straight gaze of an honest man.
“That is right,” said he, “but the ship went from Dunkirk, and this is one of her boats. The crew got away in the long boat, and she went down so quickly that I had no time to put anything into her. That was on Monday.”
“And today’s Thursday. You have been three days without bite or sup.”
“It is too long,” said he. “Twice before I have been for two days, but never quite so long as this. Well, I shall leave my boat here, and see whether I can get lodgings in any of these little grey houses upon the hillsides. Why is that great fire burning over yonder?” rejoicing because peace has been declared.”
“It is one of our neighbours who has served against the French. He is
“Oh, you have a neighbour who has served then! I am glad; for I, too, have seen a little soldiering here and there.”
He did not look glad, but he drew his brows down over his keen eyes.
“You are French, are you not?” I asked, as we all walked up the hill together, he with his black bag in his hand and his long blue cloak slung over his shoulder.
“Well, I am of Alsace,” said he; “and, you know, they are more German than French. For myself, I have been in so many lands that I feel at home in all. I have been a great traveller; and where do you think that I might find a lodging?”
I can scarcely tell now, on looking back with the great gap of five-and-thirty years between, what impression this singular man had made upon me. I distrusted him, I think, and yet I was fascinated by him also; for there was something in his bearing, in his look, and his whole fashion of speech which was entirely unlike anything that I had ever seen. Jim Horscroft was a fine man, and Major Elliott was a brave one, but they both lacked something that this wanderer had. It was the quick alert look, the flash of the eye, the nameless distinction