Produced by Al Haines. [Illustration: Cover] [Illustration: "THERE LOOMED OUT OF THE MIST A THREE-MASTED VESSEL." (_See page_ 175.)] THE ADVENTURES OF DICK TREVANION _A STORY OF EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND FOUR_ BY HERBERT STRANG _ILLUSTRATED BY W. RAINEY, R.I._ LONDON HENRY FROWDE HODDER & STOUGHTON 1911 BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE. CONTENTS CHAPTER THE FIRST THE VILLAGE AND THE TOWERS CHAPTER THE SECOND JOHN TREVANION RETURNS HOME CHAPTER THE THIRD THE BLOW FALLS CHAPTER THE FOURTH THE CAVE OF SEALS CHAPTER THE FIFTH ST. CUBYâS WELL CHAPTER THE SIXTH PENWARDEN DOES HIS DUTY CHAPTER THE SEVENTH THE BREACH WIDENS CHAPTER THE EIGHTH A LIGHT ON THE MOOR CHAPTER THE NINTH DOUBLEDICKâS MIDNIGHT GUESTS CHAPTER THE TENTH THE FIRE BELL AT THE TOWERS CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH SIR BEVIL INTERVENES CHAPTER THE TWELFTH PENWARDEN DISAPPEARS CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH CROSS-CURRENTS CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH DOUBLEDICK ON DUTY CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH ACROSS THE PIT CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH A PACKET FOR RUSCO CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH PETHERICK MAKES A DISCOVERY CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH A HIGH DIVE CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH A BARGAIN WITH THE REVENUE CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH THE LAST DEAL CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST THE ATTACK ON THE TOWERS CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND JOHN TREVANION IN THE TOILS CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD THE PRICE OF TREACHERY CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH PEACE AND GOODWILL LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "THERE LOOMED OUT OF THE MIST A THREE-MASTED VESSEL" . . . . . . _Frontispiece, see page_ 175 "âHALT, IN THE KINGâS NAME!â CRIED MR. MILDMAY" "âSTAND!â CRIED DICK, DASHING FORWARD. âLEAVE HIM, OR WEâLL FIREâ" "AS THE SEAL PLUNGED INTO THE SEA, SAM BROUGHT HIS HAMMER DOWN" "THERE WAS NO ONE TO HEAR THE SHORT DIALOGUE THAT ENSUED AT THE HEAD OF THE WELL" "DICK RUSHED LIKE A WHIRLWIND ON THE MAN" "PETHERICKâS HEAD APPEARED THROUGH THE HATCH" "DELAROUSSE RUSHED HEADLONG TOWARDS THE APPROACHING GROUP" CHAPTER THE FIRST The Village and the Towers The village of Polkerran lies snugly in a hollow between cliffs facing the Atlantic, at the head of a little bay that forms a natural harbour. The grey stone cottages rise from the sea-level in tiers, as in an amphitheatre, huddled together, with the narrowest and most tortuous of lanes between them. Through the midst a stream flows from the high ground behind, in summer a mere brook, in winter a swollen torrent that colours the sea far out with the soil it carries down. The bay is shaped like a horseshoe; at low tide its mouth is closed by a reef except at the northern end, where there is always a narrow fairway between the reef and the sharp point of land known as the Beal. Northward of this is another little inlet called Trevanion Bay, whence the coast winds north-east, a line of rugged, precipitous, and overhanging cliffs, unbroken until you come to St. Cubyâs Cove, where they reach a height of three hundred feet, and bulge out over the sea like a penthouse roof. One August evening, in the year 1804, a wide tubby boat lay in twelve feet of water, just outside the line of breakers beneath the cliffs, about a mile and a half from the village. The sun had been down some two hours, but there was enough of twilight to show to any one out at seaâthe boat being invisible from the landâthat it contained two lads, one a tall, slight, but muscular youth of seventeen or thereabouts, the other a thicker, sturdier boy, who looked older, but was, in fact, a year or more younger than his companion. "Well, Maister Dick," said the younger boy, "I reckon weâd better go home-along; it do seem as if the water be too clear to-night." "Theyâre not on the feed, Sam, thatâs certain," replied Dick Trevanion. "But I donât like going empty-handed. Iâm thinking of supper." "It do be queer, sure enough. âTis a hot night, and they mostly comes in close when âtis hot, and the biggest comes the closest. I âspect what us do want is a bit of a tumble, to stir up the bottom and muddy the water." Dick Trevanion had come out at sunset with his companion Sam Pollex to fish for salmon bass, which at this time of year were usually plentiful along the coast. For two hours they had had no luck. Every now and then a ripple and spirt on the smooth surface showed that fish were sporting beneath; but though they changed the bait, trying squid, pilchard, spider-crab in turn; varied the length of line and the weight of the lead; trailed the bait where they last saw the surface disturbedâthough they tried every device known to them to lure the fish, they had not as yet been rewarded with a single bite. It was exasperating. Dick knew that the larder at home was bare, and had set his heart on carrying back two or three fish for supper and next morningâs breakfast. "It will be high-water in half-an-hour," he said. "Weâll wait till then, and no longer." Baiting his hook with cuttle-fish, he got Sam to row slowly up the shore towards a spot where the sea broke gently over a yard or two of half-submerged rocks. The air was very still; there was no sound save the light rustle of the waves washing the foot of the cliff. As the sky darkened and the last faint radiance vanished from the west, the stars appeared and the shade beneath the cliff became deeper. Sam rowed up and down for some minutes, Dick hauling in his line once or twice to see that the hook was not fouled with sea-weed; but still there was no sign of fish. All at once, when he was on the point of giving up, he felt a slight tug at the line, which began immediately to slip through his fingers. "At last!" he whispered, jumping to his feet so hastily as to set the boat rocking. He held the line loosely until a dozen yards had run out, then tightened his grasp with a jerk. Meanwhile Sam had thrown the anchor overboard. "Heâs a whopper," said Dick, letting his line run again. "See; there he goes!" He pointed to a slight phosphorescent glow on the water about twenty yards away. The line was running out fast. It was only a hundred yards long, and he must check the rush of the fish, or he would lose line and all. Grasping the twine with both hands, he exerted a steady strain, at one moment being almost jerked out of the boat by the violent struggles of the fish. He set his feet against the gunwale and pulled again. With a suddenness that threw him backwards the tension relaxed. "Heâs gone, Sam! Heâs torn away the hook," he cried. "Scrounch un for a rebel!" said Sam indignantly. "Why couldnât he bide quiet!" Dick wound up his line rapidly, feeling no resistance until he had recovered about thirty yards of it. Then once more it began to slip away. "Heâs not gone yet, Sam, after all. Iâll have him, sure as Iâm alive." Steadily he worked the fish in. For a few moments he would draw in the line without resistance; then there was a jerk; it swerved to right, to left; and he could merely hold his own in the desperate struggle. But gradually, fight as the fish might, it was drawn nearer and nearer to the boat. At the broken water it spent its last energies; phosphorescent flashes showed where it was dashing to and fro in the vain effort to regain its liberty. Then, its strength exhausted, it suffered itself to be dragged slowly towards the boat. Sam was eagerly on the watch, bending over the gunwale to seize the fish as soon as it came alongside. Suddenly he flung out his hands, only to draw them back with a cry. He had pricked them against the fishâs sharp dorsal fin. Once more he stooped, and as Dick hauled hard on the line, Sam got his arms beneath the fish, and with a mighty heave cast it into the bottom, where it struggled for a moment and then lay still. "A beauty, sure enough," said Sam. "Worth waiting for," remarked Dick. "âTis getting late, and Mother will have given me up, so weâll go now. Heâs big enough to give us two meals at least." They bent down to disengage the hook and wind up the line. So intent had they been on the capture of the bass that neither had noticed, until that moment, a smack about three-quarters of a mile out at sea, sailing rapidly across the bay towards St. Cubyâs Cove. The moon was rising, faintly illuminating the vessel, but casting a deep shadow on the water immediately beneath the cliff, so that the boys were invisible from the smack. Familiar as they were with all the small craft belonging to Polkerran, they knew at the first glance, in spite of the dim light, that the smack was a stranger. "Sheâs not Cornish," said Dick, taking a long look at her. "Nor even English," added Sam. "Maybe a Frenchman from Rusco, though âtis early for the running to begin." "They wonât run a cargo at the Cove, surely. The path up the cliff is too steep, and Joe Penwardenâs cottage too near. I think sheâs a stranger that doesnât know the coast." They watched the smack until she rounded the headland between them and the Cove, and then began to row in the opposite direction. They had just reached the end of the promontory bounding Trevanion Bay on the north, and had swung round landward, when, their faces now being toward the open sea, they saw something that caused them to pause in mid-stroke. Perhaps a mile in the offing like a phantom barque in the quivering radiance of the moonlight, lay a large three-masted vessel with sails aback. Through the still air came the sound of creaking tackle, and the boys, resting on their oars, saw a boat lowered, and then another, which pulled off in the same direction as the smack. "This be some jiggery, Maister Dick," said Sam. "Do âee think, now, it be Boney come spying for a place to land?" Those were the days when the imminence of a French invasion kept the people of the southern counties in a constant state of alarm. "Boney wouldnât come to this coast," replied Dick. "He wouldnât risk his flat boats round the Lizard. No; heâll make some lonely quiet spot on the south coast; Boney wonât trouble us." "Well, daze me if I can make head or tail oât," said Sam. "Pull in a bit, so that we can see without being seen." From the shadowed headland they watched in silence. The boats had scarcely gone a third of a mile across the bay when a shrill whistle cleft the air. They at once put about, returned to the larger vessel, and were hoisted in, whereupon the ship made sail, and in the course of ten or fifteen minutes disappeared into the darkness. "There be queer things a-doing, I bâlieve," said Sam, while the vessel was still in sight. "Maybe," rejoined Dick, "but we donât know. Donât speak a word of it till I give you leave, Sam. âTis a matter for Mr. Mildmay if any one." "Zackly. I can keep a still tongue with any man; and now seems to I weâd best go home-along." He dipped the oars, and pulled, not towards the Beal, beyond which lay the village, but towards the head of Trevanion Bay. It was now high-water. Below the cliff only a narrow stretch of white sand was visible. Within ten yards of this beach Sam shipped oars, and the boat was carried along until its nose stuck in the sand. Both the boys then sprang out, and dragged their craft up to the base of the cliff beyond high-water mark. "âTis lucky tide be high," said Sam, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, "for âtis a hot night, and old boat be despârate heavy." "True, sheâs both heavy and old," said Dick, as he secured her to a post driven deep into the sand. "Sheâs a good deal older than you or I, Sam." "Ay, true, and Feyther have give her more knocks than heâve give me. You can see his marks on her, but you canât see âem on meâhee! hee!" Dick laughed. Many a time had the planks been repaired by old Reuben Pollex, the signs of whose rough and ready handiwork were easily discoverable. Carrying his tackle, Dick ordered Sam to bring the bass, and led the way along a steep path that zigzagged up the face of the cliff, being soon hidden from the sea by knobs and corners of rock. It was a toilsome climb; the cliff was two hundred feet high, but the windings made the path three times as long. When they reached the top, Sam found it necessary once more to wipe his brow; then followed his young master across a stretch of coarse bent towards a large building, mistily lit by the moonbeams, about a hundred yards distant. The Towers, at one time a manor house of no little importance, was now in the stage of decrepitude. It had been for centuries in the possession of the Trevanions, who, in the time of King Charles I., had been a family of great wealth and influence, owning estates, it was said, in three counties. But the squire of that time had sold part of his property to provide money for the King, whose cause he espoused with unselfish loyalty, and from that time the family fortunes had gradually declined, partly through the recklessness of certain of the owners, partly through sheer ill-luck. For many years wealth had been drawn from tin and copper mines beneath the surface, parts of whose apparatus, in the shape of ruined sheds, scaffoldings, pipes, conduits, broken chains, strewed the ground in desolate abandonment. In the early manhood of the present squire, Dickâs father, the lodes had shown signs of exhaustion, and Mr. Trevanion, wishing to keep the mines going as much for the sake of the miners as for his own interest, had spent large sums on opening up new workings, which proved unprofitable. He had mortgaged acre after acre in this fierce struggle with misfortune, having more than his share of the doggedness of his race; but all his efforts were fruitless; the mines were closed and the men dismissed; and the Squire himself at last had no property unencumbered except the land on which the Towers stood, and the barren cliff between the house and the end of the promontory, almost worthless save for the little grazing it afforded. To this he had clung with grim tenacity. He was often hard put to it to pay the interest on his mortgages as it became due; his little household, consisting now only of himself, his wife and son, and the two Pollexes, often had barely enough to eat; many a time he was tempted to raise money on the little remnant of his property; but for long years, as often as the temptation came, he had resisted it. Though he would not admit the fact, even to himself, superstition had a good deal to do with his determination. He scoffed at the country folksâ belief in omens and witches, and professed to think nothing of an old motto which had attached to his family for near a hundred and fifty years. In the reign of Charles II., when the Trevanions owned estates not only in Cornwall, but the adjoining counties, the spendthrift whose extravagance had been a partial cause of their ruin had, at some crisis in his affairs, consulted a wise woman who lived alone in a little cottage on the moor. He brought nothing from his interview with her but the couplet: Trevanion, whateâer thy fortune be, Hold fast the rock by the western sea. Like his forefathers, Roger Trevanion derided the witchâs counsel, but, like them, too, he had "held fast" until, a year before the opening of our story, he had been forced to relax his grip. Now every rood of the land, to the uttermost extremity of the Beal, was in the hands of mortgagees, and the dread of foreclosure weighed on the Squire like a nightmare. The Towers had been allowed to fall into decay. Only one wing was now inhabited; the remainder was ruinous, and for the most part roofless. In the south wing lived the Squire, now past fifty years of age, his wife, a few years younger, and Dick, their only son. Their sole attendants were Reuben Pollex, a widower, who had grown up from boyhood with the Squire, and steadily refused to leave him, and his boy Sam. These two did all the household work, grew vegetables, bred poultry and pigs, the sale of which, together with the small sums obtained by letting to neighbouring farmers the grazing rights of the cliff, was all that kept the family from abject poverty. Dick himself was, to a large extent, the family provider. With Samâs help he snared rabbits, shot wild fowl, and fished along the coast. His bronzed skin and hard flesh bespoke an active life in the open air, and as he went about in his jersey, rough breeches, and long boots, he would scarcely have been distinguishable from the fisher lads of the village but for a certain springiness of gait and a look of refinement and thoughtfulness. Dick and his companion hastened towards the south wing, where an unusually bright light in one of the lower rooms proclaimed that the Squire had company. While Sam took the fish, which turned out to be a fine fourteen-pounder, into the kitchen, Dick changed his boots, washed his hands, and entered the living-room. His father sat at the head of the table, his mother at the foot; between them was a man of about the Squireâs age, dressed in a blue coat with brass buttons, with "seaman" written on every inch of him. The table was covered with a spotless but much-darned cloth; the only viands were a loaf of bread and half a cheese. A large brown jug contained ale brewed in the family brew-house by old Pollex. "Why, Dick, how late you are!" said his mother. "We are just going to begin supper." "Better put it off for a few minutes, Mother. Iâve brought home a fine bass. How dâye do, Mr. Mildmay?" "Ah, Dick, glad to see you, my boy! Good fishing to-night, eh?" "One catch after two hours, sir," replied Dick. "The weatherâs too fine, I suppose." "Shall we wait, Mr. Mildmay?" asked his hostess. "As you please, maâam." Mr. Mildmay, a naval lieutenant, now in command of a revenue cutter, knew very well by the expression of the ladyâs face that the postponement of the meal was welcome to her. He was an old friend of the Squireâsâa messmate indeed, for Mr. Trevanion had served for a few years in the Navy; and his acquaintance with the penury of the household had neither diminished his friendship nor damped the cordiality of the Squireâs welcome. In these days there were few visitors to the Towers, and those who came knew what they had to expect in the way of entertainment. Such as might have looked merely for the satisfaction of the inner man had long since ceased to call. Mr. Mildmay could have supped contentedly on bread and cheese. The meagreness of the fare would have troubled Mrs. Trevanion the most, and the look upon her face told Dick how welcome was his addition to it. Dick went into the kitchen to see how Sam was getting on, and soon returned with a portion of the fish broiled and garnished with herbs. "As fine a bit of fish as Iâve tasted," said Mr. Mildmay, "and well cooked, upon my word." "I am glad you like it," said Mrs. Trevanion, giving Dick privately an approving smile. "Youâll soon be hard at work, I suppose, sir," said Dick to the lieutenant. "Yes, no doubt I shall have a merry winter. But I wish the Commissioners would make better arrangements on land. What can I do, with miles of coast to keep an eye on? One riding-officer and a few old excisemen here and there! I canât be everywhere." "Why donât they, sir?" asked Dick. "Because every man of muscle is snapped up by the press-gang or the recruiters. Upon my word, I wish Boney would come, if he is coming. When he has had his walloping thereâll be a little time to attend to our proper concerns. As it is, with this eternal war going on, the free-traders play ducks and drakes with law and ordinances." The Squire said nothing. His attitude to smuggling was one of neutrality. His training in the Navy made him in general adverse to the contraband trade; but there was a time, not very long since, when the owners of the Towers were actively engaged in it, or at least accessory to it, and the landowners along the coast regarded it with sympathy, open or secret. Indeed, it is probable that the cask of brandy in Mr. Trevanionâs own cellar had never paid duty to the Crown, and old Reuben Pollex, who loved his "dish of tay," would certainly not have been able to enjoy it in that time of high prices unless he had known a little back room in Polkerran where it was easy to slip in and out secretly, and without the knowledge of the exciseman. "The smugglers are getting bolder and bolder, confound âem," Mr. Mildmay went on. "With the land force so weak, whatâs the result? If Iâm called to a spot, ten to one by a trick, I must leave the rest of the coast unguarded. As you know, the only man permanently in this neighbourhood is old Penwarden, who is zealous enough, but not so active as a younger man would be." "No, poor man," said Mrs. Trevanion. "He has often said to me that he fears the Government will replace him. He will cling to his duty as long as he can for the sake of his old sister. You know he supports her, in Truro, Mr. Mildmay." "I know it, and Iâm not the man to put him out of a job, though one of these days a Commissioner of Customs will make his appearance, and then Iâll get a wigging." All this while Dick had been considering whether he ought to tell the lieutenant about the strange vessels he had seen. He knew that smuggling was the only matter on which there was a certain constraint between his father and Mr. Mildmay. It was tacitly understood between them that the Squire would not round on the smugglers. On the other hand, the revenue officer knew that anything he told the Squire would be perfectly safe with him. He therefore discussed the subject quite openly with his old messmate, though, like a wise general, he never spoke about any plans that he had in view. Dick made up his mind to say nothing. The lieutenantâs cutter was lying in the little harbour, and if he mentioned what he had seen, Mr. Mildmay would certainly hurry away and sail in chase of the stranger. What the Squire would not do, his son could not. But he had scarcely come to this decision when matters took an unexpected turn. "By the way, Squire," said the lieutenant, "Iâve just heard from Plymouth that the _Aimable Vertu_âprecious fine name for a rascally privateerâis showing herself very active in the Channel. She made two captures last week, and was sighted two days ago off Falmouth, where a barque only just managed to escape her. Sheâs said to be a vessel of extraordinary speed. The Government would give a good deal to catch her and hang her captain, that daredevil Frenchman, Delarousse; but itâs with privateers as it is with smugglers: we canât be everywhere at once, and while weâre fighting the French on the high seas, I suppose our home waters must be left to the enemy." This led to an exchange of reminiscences of privateer-hunting during the American war, when both were young in the service. Meanwhile Dick felt uncomfortable. What if the larger vessel he had lately seen was this very privateer, the _Aimable Vertu_? In that case it was no question of smuggling, but of piracy. He felt that he ought at least to mention the matter, yet hesitated to speak without consulting his father. By-and-by there came an opportunity of speaking to him privately. While Mr. Mildmay was conversing with Mrs. Trevanion, Dick slipped to the Squireâs side and told him in a sentence or two what he had seen. "Mildmay," cried the Squire, "hark to this. Dick tells me that an hour or more ago he saw a strange three-master in the bay. She lowered a couple of boats, but recalled âem, and sailed away westward. Dâye think sheâs the privateer?" "Dash my bones, Dick," cried the lieutenant, starting up, "why on earth didnât you speak before? Oh! I seeâI see; I wonât reproach you; but Iâll be as mad as a hatter if âtis the rascal and she gets away. Good night to you all; youâll excuse me, Mrs. Trevanion. Oh, you young dog!" He shook his fist at Dick, and hurried from the room. CHAPTER THE SECOND John Trevanion Returns Home About half-an-hour before Mr. Mildmay left the Squireâs supper-table so hurriedly, a man laboured up the last few feet of the winding path leading from the beach of St. Cubyâs Cove to the cliff-top, which he gained at a point rather more than half-a-mile from the spot where Dick and Sam had previously ascended. He was a tall man, his build and figure indicating a capacity for lithe and rapid movement, so that the heaviness of his gait was probably due solely to the size and weight of the leathern trunk he carried. Like Sam Pollex, he paused for a moment on reaching the top to recover his breath and mop his brow; then, shouldering his trunk, he struck into a narrow footpath that led over the cliff. It branched into two after a few yards, the right-hand branch going direct to the Towers, the left-hand running away from the sea to join a rough, ill-made road which led past the gate of the Towers to the village. On reaching the fork the pedestrian did not hesitate, as a stranger might have done, but took the left-hand path. After proceeding a few steps along it, however, he made a sudden half-turn, and stopped, looking across the open ground towards the Towers, where one room on the ground floor made a patch of light against the dark background of sky and sea. The man stood but a moment, then resumed his march along the path in the same direction as before. A smile wreathed his lips, and he muttered to himself. He went on at a smart pace over the level ground, turned to the right when he came to the road, passed the Towersâ gates, which he observed were broken, and walked for another quarter of a mile before he again halted. Then he set his burden down by the roadside, sat upon it, and wiped his heated face, where the smile had been replaced by a frown. "I daresay Iâm a fool," he muttered in a growling undertone. "Why did I chafe and gall myself with carrying this plaguey trunk? However, maybe âtis best." While he was still resting, he heard footsteps upon his right hand, and looked round quickly. The moon was up, and he saw a young fisherman rolling along a path that ran into the road a few paces distant. "Ahoy, there!" cried the traveller in a deep and mellow voice. The fisherman, who had not as yet perceived him, came to a sudden stop as the silence of the night was broken thus unexpectedly and so near at hand; then, catching sight of the figure on the trunk, he slipped off the path on to the grass and began to run. "Ahoy, there! What ails you?" cried the man. "Dâyou want to earn a groat?" Reassured, apparently, at the mention of so material a thing as a groat, the fisherman turned and came slowly towards the speaker. "Did you think I was a ghost?" the stranger went on with a laugh. "I want you to carry this trunk to the village, and Iâll give you a groat for your pains." "Iâll do it, maister," replied the fisher, shouldering the trunk. "But ye give me a fright, that ye did." "Why, you never saw a ghost with a brown face, and a black hat, and a blue coat, not to speak of brown breeches and long boots, did you?" "I wonât say I did, but the neighbours do say there be ghosteses up-along by St. Cubyâs Well. Maybe yer a furriner, maister?" "No, no; Iâm good Cornish like yourself," replied the man, who knew that to Cornishmen all who lived beyond the borders of the duchy were accounted foreigners. "Well, I can see plain ye be a high person, and jown me if I know why ye carry yer own bag and traipse afoot, instead oâ coming a-horseback, or in a poâchay." The traveller shot a glance at the lad. He saw a rugged profile, a brow on which thought had carved no furrows, a half-open mouth: the physiognomy of a simple countryman. Then, after a scarcely perceptible pause, he said: "Well, I hate close folks who make a secret of everything, so Iâll tell you. I got a lift in a travelling wagon from Newquay, but the wretch that drove it was bound for Truro, and point-blank refused to bring me farther than the cross-roads a couple of miles back. So now you know, my man, and I daresay you could tell a stranger what Iâve told you." "Sure and sartin. You be come from Newquay in a wagon, and when ye got to cross-roads driver said heâd be jowned if heâd carrâ âee a step furder." "You have it pat; and now step out; âtis getting latish." They proceeded along the silent road at a good pace toward the village, the traveller dropping a remark now and then from which the fisherman understood that he was not a complete stranger to the district. Just as they reached a spot where the road dipped somewhat steeply, there were sounds of rapid footsteps behind them, and in a few moments two men came up, one Mr. Mildmay, the revenue officer, the other an old weather-beaten fellow in seamanâs clothes. He wore a black shade over his right eye, and the unnaturally short distance between his nose and the tip of his chin showed that he had lost his teeth. This was Joe Penwarden, the veteran exciseman who had been mentioned at Squire Trevanionâs supper-table. On leaving the Towers, Mr. Mildmay had gone first to the right, and fetched Penwarden from his little cottage on the cliff, and then retraced his steps through the Squireâs grounds. Had he been a few minutes earlier, he could hardly have failed to see the pedestrian trudging with his trunk on his shoulder along the path that ran a score of yards from Penwardenâs cottage. "Halt, in the Kingâs name!" cried Mr. Mildmay, as he overtook the two men who had preceded him along the road. [Illustration: "âHALT, IN THE KINGâS NAME!â CRIED MR. MILDMAY"] "Iâll halt if âee bid me in the Kingâs name," said the fisher, recognising the revenue officer, whom he, like the population of Polkerran generally, held in detestation mingled with unwilling respect, "but I beanât doinâ nowt agen the law, I tell âee, carrâinâ a genelâumâs traps for a groat." "A gentleman, is it?" said Mr. Mildmay, turning to the traveller. "I must ask you to tell me your business." "And you shall have an answer. I come from Newquay, and am going to seek a nightâs lodging at the Five Pilchards, if you have no objection, captain." Mr. Mildmay looked suspiciously at the speaker, whose accent was that of an educated man. He was not the type of person to meet afoot with his trunk on the high road. Old Penwardenâs single eye also was fixed on the strangerâs swarthy, bearded face. "No more objection, my dear sir, than you will have to my taking a look at the inside of that trunk of yours. In the Kingâs name!" "With all the pleasure in life. Amos, or whatever your name is, set down the trunk for the inspection of this exceedingly zealous officer of His Majestyâs." The trunk was opened, and Penwarden turned over its contents, Mr. Mildmay looking on. He found articles of apparel, a sword, some bundles of papers, a bag of money, a large leather-bound book, a brace of pistols, and sundry insignificant articles, none of which was chargeable with duty. "Thank you, sir," said Mr. Mildmay, when the inspection was concluded. "I am sorry to have detained you, but in these timesââ" "Quite so, captain," interrupted the other. "In these times one cannot be too particular. I bid you good-night, and better luck at your next examination." Mr. Mildmay hurried on with Penwarden, and was soon lost to sight. "Whoâs that popinjay?" said the traveller, when the lieutenant was out of hearing. "That be Maister Mildmay, the preventive officer, and a dratted furriner," replied the fisher. "Heâve been in these parts two years now, and a meddlesome feller he be too. Hee! hee! He got nowt for his pains this time, maister, and if thereâs one thing I do like to see, âtis the preventives fooled. Hee! hee!" "Old Penwarden looks the same as ever, except for the shade over his eye." "Do âee know him, maister?" "I used to, years ago." "Iss, old Joe be a decent good soul of his trade, and we was vexed, trewly, when âa got his eye put out in a fight by Lunnan Cove. But there, he shouldnâ meddle with honest free-traders. Lawk-a-massy! I be speakinâ free." "Oh, youâre quite safe with me. Iâm a bit of a free-trader myself, in my way." They went on, and in a few minutes came to an inn at the lower end of the village near the beach. This was the Five Pilchards. The village boasted another inn, a hundred yards away, called the Three Jolly Mariners; but it belied its name, being frequented mainly by farm labourers. The traveller paid and dismissed the fisher, and rapped at the closed door. It was opened by the innkeeper himself, a podgy, red-nosed, blear-eyed fellow, with an underhung lip, and a chin like a dewlap. A small candle-lamp hung above in the doorway, showing a dim yellow ray upon the smiling face of the visitor. The innkeeper started back. "I startled you, eh?" said the visitor. "Yes, it is I myselfâJohn Trevanion come home again. I am getting on in years, Doubledick, and I felt I should like to die among my friends." "Ha, ha! Ho, ho!" laughed the innkeeper. "âTis Maister John, for sure, come home with his little jokes. Come along in, maister, come in; daze me if I beanât as pleased as pigs to see âee." "Take me to a room, Doubledick, and get some clean sheets, will you? And send me up something passable to eat and drink; Iâll sup alone." "Iss, sure. Iâll give âee the best Iâve got in the house. What do âee say, now, to collops and fried taties, or a nice bit oâ bass, or a dish oâ pickled pilchurs, and some real oldâyou know what, Maister John? Hee, hee!" "Whatever you like, Doubledick, only be quick about it." The innkeeper led his visitor along a passage past the open door of the bar-parlour. John Trevanion glanced in as he went by. A number of rough fishermen in various garments sat drinking on settles along the wall. The most noticeable among them was a man of vast breadth, brawny and muscular, his strong features tanned copper-colour by years of sea-faring, his thick hair and beard the hue of ebony. The sleeves of his scarlet jersey were turned up, revealing brown and hairy forearms that would have befitted a Hercules. "Tonkin is still flourishing, I see," said Trevanion in an undertone to the innkeeper as he passed. "Iss, Zacky Tonkin be as great a man as ever he wer, and a tarrible plague oâ life to the preventives. Mr. Curgenvenâye mind of him, Maister John?âdied two year back, and they sent a furrin feller, Mildmay by name, to look arter us mortalsâhee! hee! He be a good feller at his job, a sight better than Curgenven, who loved an easy life, as âee could remember; but Zacky do know how to deal wiâ un, he do so. Oh, âtis a rare deceivinâ game he plays wiâ un. Heâs up-along and down-along, and this Mildmay feller atraipsinâ arter un, by sea and land, âtis all one to Zacky. Hereâs yer room, Maister John. Do âee set yerself down and Iâll bring âee up a supper fit for a lord in no time." He looked at his visitor doubtfully for a moment. "Iâd axe âee one thing," he said. "Be I to let âem know down below as you be in house?" "To be sure, Doubledick, thereâs nothing to conceal. You might remember to say that Iâve come from Londonâno, hang me, I am forgetting; from Newquay directly, from London ultimately. You understand?" "Iss, I understand. No matter where âee come from, if âtwere from old Nick hisself, theyâll be glad to see âee, that they will." John Trevanion kept to his room until the morning. At nine oâclock he left the inn and made his way through the village by back lanes, to escape the notice of such fishermen as might remember him, and proceeded at a quick pace along the road to the Towers. He was dressed this morning in a black hat turned up at one side with a rosette, a bottle-green frock coat, white kerseymere breeches, and long boots. "He looks summat older and nearer graveyard, as must we all," remarked Doubledick to a crony as he watched him depart, "but heâs a fine figure of a man still." Arriving at the Towers, John Trevanion lifted the latch of the door leading to the inhabited portion, and entered with the freedom of one of the family. The Squire was at breakfast with his wife and son. "Come in," he shouted, in answer to a tap on the door, and rose from his chair as the well-dressed visitor entered, thinking, as might have been gathered from his manner, that it was one of the few friends who had the freedom of the house. But at a second glance his demeanour altered. "You have made a mistake, I think," he said stiffly, resting both hands on the table. His fine face was flushed, and Dick, looking on in wonderment, noticed that the riband that bound his queue of grey hair was quivering. "Surely, Cousin Roger, youâll let bygones be bygones," said John Trevanion suavely. "âTis nowâI donât know how many years ago." "When I last saw you, sir, I bade you never enter my door again. I do not call back my words, and see no reason to do so. You will oblige me by relieving me of your presence." The words came sternly from his trembling lips. Dick felt himself go hot and cold. "Is there no word repentance in your dictionary, Roger Trevanion?" said his cousin bitterly. "Youâre a good Christian, I supposeâgo to church and say the Commandments, âlove your neighbour,â and all that; but youâll harden your heart against one of your own kin that had the ill-luck to offend youââ" "Stop!" thundered the Squire. "The offence to me I make nothing of; you have shamed your name and put yourself beyond the pale of honest men. âIll-luck,â you call it! âTwas no ill-luckâthough we Trevanions have enough of that, God knows!âbut the act and nature of a scoundrel. I am ashamed you bear my name. I disown you. Take yourself out of my sight." His wife laid a gentle hand on his arm. "A pretty welcome, on my soul, for a man who has lived down the faults of his youth," said John Trevanion. "I tell you, Roger Trevanion, I will not put up with such usageâI will not! I donât want your forgiveness; a fig for your friendship! But I demand decent treatment from you, andââ" "By the Lord that made me," cried the Squire, "if you do not instantly remove yourself from this house I will have you thrown out. Do you hear me, sir?" John Trevanionâs eyes glittered as he returned his cousinâs wrathful look. He half opened his mouth, closed it with a snap; then an inscrutable smile stole upon his face. He shrugged, turned on his heel, and went silently from the room. The Squire sank into his chair. The flush had vanished from his face, leaving it ashy pale. His hands trembled with excess of indignation. "My dear, calm yourself," said his wife soothingly. "He is gone." He made no reply. Dick sat silent, every nerve tingling with excitement. In a minute his father rose, leaving his coffee half finished, and strode heavily from the room. "Mother, what does it mean?" asked Dick breathlessly. "Was that cousin John?" "Yes, my dear. Do not name him to your father. I will go to him; I fear he will be ill. Finish your breakfast, Dick, and go to the Parsonage. You had better stay there all day; Mr. Carlyon will give you some dinner." She followed her husband, leaving Dick to his breakfast and his wondering thoughts. He faintly remembered his cousin John Trevanion, who ten years before had lived in the now empty Dower House, between the Towers and the village, as his father had done before him. John Trevanion had then been a gay, careless, happy-go-lucky young man of thirty, who lived on the Squireâs bounty, riding his horse among the county yeomanry, hunting with his neighbours, roistering it with the most rakish young blades of the adjacent manors, joining in daredevil escapades with the smugglers. His antics and riotings became a byword in the country-side, and Dick remembered how, when a young boy, he had witnessed several violent scenes between his father and John after some particularly outrageous exploit. Old Pollex had told him that the Squire had threatened many times that unless John reformed he would no longer be allowed to occupy the Dower House, and had forgiven him over and over again. At last a day came when John disappeared. Dick had never learnt the true reason; the Squire never mentioned his cousin; Pollex, when questioned, shook his head and pursed up his lips, and said that John Trevanion was a villain; and Dick had formed the conclusion from stray hints that the neâer-do-well cousin had been driven out of the country by some criminal act. For ten years he had not been heard of, and he had wholly slipped from Dickâs thoughts. Having finished his breakfast, Dick took his cap and set off for his two-mile walk to the Parsonage, where he went daily to receive lessons in classics and literature from Mr. Carlyon, the vicar. He had never been to school, his fatherâs resources being incapable of bearing the expense. A few years before this time the Squire had been seriously disturbed about his sonâs education. He was himself a sufficiently competent tutor in mathematics, but what classics he ever had had wholly left him, and he was miserable in the thought that the boy was growing up without the elements of the education of a gentleman. At this point the vicar stepped in with a proposal. He was a liberal-minded, genial man, a fellow of his college, a student of his countyâs antiquities, and in his âvarsity days had been a notable athlete. Now, though well on in years, he would often, on a Sunday afternoon after church, lend his countenance to wrestling bouts and games of baseball among the village youths. He rode to hounds, and judged at coursing matches, these and similar avocations probably accounting for the fact that a history of the parish, which he had commenced twenty years before, was still unfinished. One day he suggested to the Squire that he should give Dick lessons in Latin and Greek, to keep himself from rusting, as the worthy man delicately put it, but really to make good the deficiency due to his friendâs straitened means. Mr. Trevanion gladly accepted the offer, and Dick had now been for five years under the parsonâs capable tuition. When Dick returned home in the evening he was met by Sam Pollex in a state of considerable excitement. "I say, Maister Dick," he said, "this be a fine mossel oâ news. Yer cousin Johnâa rare bad âun he beâhave come home-along." "I know," replied Dick. "Iâve seen him." "Have âee, for sure? I hainât seed un, but I heerd tell on un in village. Ike Pendry were goinâ along road last night when up comes my genelâum and axed un to carrâ his bundle for a groat. He wer traipsinâ along from St. Cubyâs Cove way, about an hour, it do seem, arter we come up from fishinâ." "Where had he come from?" "Newquay, âa said; but âtis my belief he come out oâ the smack we seed, and clomb the cliff, same as we." "Thatâs nonsense. He wouldnât come in a smack, and if he did he wouldnât land at the Cove. He has made no secret of his return, and thereâs no reason why he shouldnât land at the jetty." "Ah, well, things be as they be; but I reckon he come in the smack, all the same." "What is he doing in the village?" "He beanât there no longer. This arternoon he packed up his traps and rid off on one of Doubledickâs hosses to Trura. Feyther seed un go. âA called to un as he rid by. âHoy, Reuben!â says he, ââtis a cold country, this!â That just âmazed Feyther, âcos it was a frizzlinâ day. âSpect heâve been in furrin parts, wheer whatâs bilinâ to we is nawthinâ but chill-off to they. So âtis, to be sure." At this piece of news Dick felt much relieved. He hoped that Polkerran had seen the last of John Trevanion. But it turned out that the return of the native was only the first scene in a series of strange happenings that were to be long remembered in the village, and were vitally to affect the fortunes of the family at the Towers. CHAPTER THE THIRD The Blow Falls For some days after the event just related, life at Polkerran and the neighbourhood flowed on its customary sluggish tide. The fishermen were idle, waiting for pilchards to appear off the coast. The harvest had been gathered in from the fields. There was little for the village folk to do except to gossip. Men gathered in knots on the jetty and at the inn-doors, chatting about the return of John Trevanion, the strange vessels that had been seen, and the revenue cutterâs failure to catch them, the appearance of a ghost at St. Cubyâs Well, the prospects of the fishing season, the chances of making good "runs," and besting Mr. Mildmay and the excisemen. At the Towers there was nothing to show that anything had happened to disturb the placid surface of existence, except that the Squire was more silent than usual, and went about with a pale face and a preoccupied and troubled look. One afternoon, after the lapse of about a week, Dick, leaving the Parsonage after his daily lessons, was surprised to see his father approaching across the glebe. The Squire was on foot: his last horse had been sold long ago. "Ha, Dick!" he said, as he met his son, "you have finished with Greeks and Romans for the day, then. I have come for a word with the parson. Shall be home to supper." Dick went on, and his father entered the house. "Ah, Trevanion, I am glad to see you," said Mr. Carlyon, cordially, his keen eyes not failing to note a certain gravity in his old friendâs expression. "I want your advice, Carlyon," said Mr. Trevanion abruptly. "And you shall have the best I can give, as you know well. Come into the garden and smoke a pipe with me. Good, honest tobacco, even if âtis contrabandâand I canât swear to thatâwill do no harm to you or me."
{'title': 'The Adventures of Dick Trevanion: A Story of Eighteen Hundred and Four by Strang', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}