Part 2

As they drew back into the dark shadow, even Nora trembling and shivering a little at the tramp of so many naked feet, some of the negroes passed close beside them outside the fence on their way down from the piazza, where they had just been electrified into sudden quietness by the awful sight of Louis Delgado’s dead body. They were talking earnestly and low among themselves, not, as before, shrieking and yelling and gesticulating wildly, but conversing half below their breath in a solemn, mysterious, awe-struck fashion.

‘De Lard be praise for Mr Hawtorn!’ one of them said as he passed unseen close beside them. ‘Him de black man fren’. We got nobody like him. I no’ would hurt Mr Hawtorn, de blessed man, not for de life ob me.’

Marian’s heart beat fast within her, but she said never a word, and only pressed Nora’s hand, which she held convulsively within her own, harder and tighter than ever, in her mute suspense and agony.

Presently another group passed close by, and another voice said tremulously: ‘Louis Delgado dead—Louis Delgado dead! Mr Hawtorn is wonderful man for true! Who’d have tought it, me brudder, who’d have tought it?’

‘That’s Martin Luther,’ Nora cried almost aloud, unable any longer to restrain her curiosity. ‘I know him by his voice. He wouldn’t hurt me.—Martin, Martin! what’s that you’re saying? Has Mr Hawthorn shot Delgado?’ As she spoke, with a fierce anticipatory triumph in her voice, she stepped out from the shadow of the gate on to the main bridle-path, in her white dress and with her pale face, clearly visible under the faint moonlight.

Martin flung up his arms like one stabbed to the heart, and shouted wildly: ‘De missy, de missy! Dem done killed her on de piazza yonder, and her duppy comin’ now already to scare us and trouble us!’

Even in that moment of awe and alarm, Nora laughed a little laugh of haughty contempt for the strong, big-built, hulking negro’s superstitious terror. ‘Martin!’ she cried, darting after him quickly, as he ran away awe-struck, and catching him by the shoulder with her light but palpable human grasp, ‘don’t you know me? I’m no duppy. It’s me myself, Missy Nora, calling you. Here, feel my hand; you see I’m alive still; you see your people haven’t killed me yet, even if you’ve killed your poor old master.—Martin, tell me, what’s this you’re all saying about Mr Hawthorn having shot Delgado?’

Martin, shaking violently in every limb, turned round and reassured himself slowly that it was really Nora and not her ghost that stood bodily before him. ‘Ha, missy,’ he answered good-humouredly, showing his great row of big white teeth, though still quaking visibly with terror, ‘don’t you be ’fraid; we wouldn’t hurt you, not a man of us. But it doan’t Mr Hawtorn dat shot Delgado! It God Almighty! De Lard hab smitten him!’

‘What!’ Nora cried in surprise. ‘He fell dead! Apoplexy or something, I suppose. The old villain! he deserved it, Martin.—And Mr Hawthorn? How about Mr Hawthorn? Have they hurt him? Have they killed him?’

‘Mr Hawtorn up to de house, missy, an’ all de niggers pray de Lard for true him lib for ebber, de blessed creature.’

‘Why are you all coming away now, then?’ Nora asked anxiously. ‘Where are you going to?’

‘Mr Hawtorn send us home,’ Martin answered submissively; ‘an’ we all ’fraid, if we doan’t go straight when him tell us, we drop down dead wit Kora, Datan, an’ Abiram, an’ lyin’ Ananias, same like Delgado.’

‘Marian,’ Nora said decisively, ‘go back to your husband. You ought to be with him.—Martin, you come along with me, sir. Mr Noel’s dying. You’ve killed him, you people, as you’ve killed my father. I’ve got to go and fetch the doctor now to save him; and you’ve got to come with me and take care of me.’

‘Oh, darling,’ Marian interrupted nervously, ‘you mustn’t go alone amongst all these angry, excited negroes with nobody but him. Don’t, don’t; I’ll gladly go with you!’

‘Do as I tell you!’ Nora cried in a tone of authority, with a firm stamp of her petulant little foot. ‘You ought to be with him. You mustn’t leave him.—That’s right, dear.—Now, then, Martin!’

‘I ’fraid, missy.’

‘Afraid! Nonsense. You’re a pack of cowards. Am _I_ afraid? and I’m a woman! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Come along with me at once, and do as I tell you.’

The terrified negro yielded grudgingly, and crept after her in the true crouching African fashion, compelled against his will to follow implicitly the mere bidding of the stronger and more imperious nature.

They wound down the zigzag path together, under the gaunt shadows of the overhanging bamboo clumps, waving weirdly to and fro with the breeze in the feeble moonlight—the strong man slouching along timorously, shaking and starting with terror at every rustle of Nora’s dress against the bracken and the tree ferns; the slight girl erect and fearless, walking a pace or two in front of her faint-hearted escort with proud self-reliance, and never pausing for a single second to cast a cautious glance to right or left among the tangled brushwood. The lights were now burning dimly in all the neighbouring negro cottages; and far away down in the distance, the long rows of gas lamps at Port-of-Spain gleamed double with elongated oblique reflections in the calm water of the sleepy harbour.

They had got half-way down the lonely gully without meeting or passing a single soul, when, at a turn of the road where the bridle-path swept aside to avoid a rainy-season torrent, a horse came quickly upon them from in front, and the rapid click of a cocked pistol warned Nora of approaching danger.

‘Who goes there?’ cried a sharp voice with a marked Scotch accent from the gloom before her. ‘Stop this minute, or I’ll fire at you, you nigger!’

With a thrill of delight, Nora recognised the longed-for voice—the very one she was seeking. It was Dr Macfarlane, from beyond the gully, roused, like half the island, by the red glare from the Orange Grove cane-houses, and spurring up as fast as his horse could carry him, armed and on the alert, to the scene of the supposed insurrection.

‘Don’t shoot,’ Nora answered coolly, holding her hand up in deprecation. ‘A friend!—It’s me, Dr Macfarlane—Nora Dupuy, coming to meet you.’

‘Miss Dupuy!’ the doctor cried in astonishment. ‘Then they’ll not have shot _you_, at anyrate, young leddy! But what are you doing out here alone at this time of night, I’m wondering? Have you had to run for your life from Orange Grove from these cowardly insurgent nigger fellows?’

‘Run from _them_!’ Nora echoed contemptuously. ‘Dr Macfarlane, I’d like to see it. No, no; I’m too much of a Dupuy ever to do that, I promise you, doctor. They can murder me, but they can’t frighten me. I was coming down to look for you, for poor Mr Noel, who’s lying dangerously wounded up at our house, with a wound on the arm and a terrible cut across the temple.’

‘Coming alone—just in the very midst of all this business—to fetch me to look after a wounded fellow!’ the doctor ejaculated half to himself, with mingled astonishment and admiration. He jumped down from his horse with a quick movement, not ungallantly, and lifted Nora up in his big arms without a word, seating her sideways, before she could remonstrate, on the awkward saddle. ‘Sit you there, Miss Dupuy,’ he said kindly. ‘You’re a brave lass, if ever there was one. I’ll hold his head, and run alongside with you. We’ll be up at the house again in ten minutes.’

‘They’ve killed my father,’ Nora said simply, beginning to break down at last, after her unnatural exaltation of bravery and endurance, and bursting into a sudden flood of tears. ‘He’s lying at home all hacked to pieces with their dreadful cutlasses; and Mr Noel’s almost dead too; perhaps he’ll be quite dead, doctor, before we can get there.’

(_To be continued._)

‘TELEGRAPHED.’

‘Have you seen the Purple Sandpiper at Mr Walton’s, telegraphed near here?’ The above sentence in a friend’s letter, a keen ornithologist, set me thinking. How many species of birds do I know of that have been ‘telegraphed?’ or, in other words, killed by flying against the telegraph wires? On looking up notes which extend over several years’ observations, I found the list not a long one, but somewhat varied. As my own knowledge of this subject extends over only a small district, yet one thickly set with wires, and taking into consideration the destruction of birds by this peculiar means in this particular portion of the kingdom, and the thousands of miles of wires which extend over the rest of the British Islands, the thought crosses my mind that there must be an immense death-rate among birds through this modern invention, now a necessity of our present life.

But to return to our Purple Sandpiper (_Tringa maritima_). What brought it so far inland?—above twenty miles from its usual haunts by the shore, being purely a bird of the littoral. Was it merely a straggler lost or blown out of its course? Or was it accompanied by other Sandpipers, which escaped the fatal wires? on some line of autumnal migration which is certainly new to us, or, rather, only just suspected; and which will take some years of careful study and note-taking before being fully established.

One of the birds most commonly ‘telegraphed’ with us, both in its spring and autumn ‘flittings,’ is the Landrail (_Crex pratensis_), or perhaps better known as the Corncrake; indeed, in the spring migration I have known of its presence among us through this means, some time before its well-known call-note was heard; although, occasionally, individual birds stay all the winter with us. Lately, a new line of wires has been put across a common near us, to join others on one of the great north roads. These wires were put up to meet the increase of work which was expected through the introduction of the sixpenny telegrams. The first Sunday after these wires were stretched, I found a Corncrake which had met its death by them. But it had suffered considerably from the attentions, presumedly, paid to it by a pair of Carrion Crows (_Corvus corone_), which flopped away from its immediate neighbourhood on our approach. Shortly after, I picked up a fine cock Blackbird (_Turdus merula_) alive, but in sore condition. The skin of the breast, by the force of the blow, was rolled backward down to the thighs, one of which was broken. The contrast between the blackness of its plumage and the golden brown of the fallen beech-leaves on which it lay was something startling. I stood looking at it some time before attempting to lay hold of it, wondering what was the matter, as it lay perfectly still, looking at me with its fearless black eyes. It made no effort to get away when I laid hold of it, though it bit as well as it could. Blackbirds are common victims to this form of death: I have seen three in one week, and it is really difficult to explain why. The habit they have, might account for it, of flying about and alarming the neighbourhood by their warning note till nearly dark, long after most light-loving birds have gone to roost. A rare stranger was ‘telegraphed’ among us, Leach’s or the Fork-tailed Petrel (_Procellaria leucorrhoa_), just after the heavy gales near the end of last October. Most of the British specimens of this bird have been obtained inland, after heavy gales blown to us, I suppose, across the Atlantic, from the Banks of Newfoundland. Snipes, both the Common and Jack, often come into collision with the wires, thus showing that they also fly after dark. A very beautiful specimen of the Common Snipe, in full breeding plumage, was brought to a friend of mine on the last day of February by a tramp, who had picked it up by the roadside, ‘telegraphed.’ That Owls should meet with this fate, seems very curious, as they are so specially adapted for seeing in a dull light; but such is the case. I know of several, both Barn (_Strix flammea_) and Wood (_Strix stridula_) Owls, which have been picked up dead beneath the wires. One can only account for it on the supposition that they are intent on looking for prey beneath them, perhaps watching some particular mouse or shrew at the moment the fatal contact takes place.

The Peewit or Green Plover (_Vanellus cristatus_) is another common victim to this form of death, sometimes in great numbers. Three winters ago, large flocks of plovers used to frequent particular fields at night-time, flying to and from the coast morning and night. In these daily migrations they had to pass, at one particular place, a perfect network of wires; and though odd birds had been got from time to time, yet great was the astonishment of the signalman at a box near at hand, when daylight broke one morning after a stormy night, to see the ground near his box strewn with Peewits. I should not like to say how many there were, but it took him at least twice to carry them to the nearest gamedealer’s. Golden Plovers (_Charadrius pluvialis_) occasionally fall victims to the same means; and I have seen a young bird of this species killed, while on its way to the coast, as early as the 9th of July, and many miles from the nearest breeding-ground. The Missel Thrush (_Turdus viscivorus_) in its short autumnal migrations often shares the same fate; and at the same period I once saw that hideling bird, the Spotted Crake (_Porzana maruetta_). I know of no instance of any of the hawks being done to death in this manner, though other observers may have been more fortunate as regards these birds. Instead, the Kestrel (_Falco tinnunculus_) often makes use of the wires as a post of observation, mice being very plentiful as a rule along railway sides; and in winter they often come out of their holes to feed on the horse-refuse on the highways. Wild-ducks also escape, as far as my knowledge goes, and we might naturally expect to see them occasionally; but that may be accounted for by their flying too high in their passage from coast to coast or to inland feeding-grounds.

Of the orthodox bird, as Sydney Smith called the Pheasant, it is in some places a very common victim. I think I could pick out one stretch of railway which at certain seasons of the year produces for the surfaceman who goes along it in early morning a never-failing supply of wounded and dead birds. On one side of the railway is a long belt of plantation, where the birds are turned into after being hand-reared, on the other side a river with cornfields stretching down to it; and it is in the passage from the covers to the cornfields, when the grain is ripe or standing in stook, that the accidents occur. Partridges also often fall victims to the wires, as also did the Red Grouse where the telegraph crossed their native heaths. In more than one instance have the wires been laid underground, where crossing grouse-moors, to prevent the birds killing themselves; but even when crossing these moors in the usual style from post to post, grouse after a time get to beware of them, and deaths through this cause get fewer and fewer. One instance of this peculiar adaptation of themselves to new circumstances came very forcibly under the writer’s notice. A wire-fence was put across a very good grouse-moor in Cumberland, dividing the fell into two allotments. For some time after this was done, dead or dying birds were picked up daily, until it was well known that whoever was first along the fence was sure of a grouse-pie. It was amusing to see the different stratagems employed by the shepherds and others to get along the fence without seeming to do so. Indeed, I have seen two farmers meet at the ‘Townfoot,’ and after a short gossip, separate, going in different directions and away from the fell; and an hour after, I have heard of them meeting about the middle of the fence, both intent on dead or wounded birds. While for some time this slaughter of grouse went on, another fellow put in his appearance, this time with four legs, and made a track by the side of the fence to replenish his larder; and Mr Stoat had even the temerity to dispute the claim in one instance with the two-legged hunter. But the grouse in time got to know the dangers of the fence, and now the victims, like angels’ visits, are few and far between.

The ‘vermin,’ as weasels and stoats are generally called, have often a regular track beneath the wires, for the purpose of looking for dead and wounded birds. The other day I found beneath the new wires I have already mentioned a lot of scattered feathers belonging to a Redwing (_Turdus iliacus_), but no bird. Thinking it might only be wounded, I set to look for it, and after some patient hunting, found a few more feathers farther on the common. These traces I followed diligently, finding them every four or five yards apart, till in a hedge-bank fifty yards from the wires I found them thick about a small hole—no doubt the burrow of a weasel, not an uncommon animal in that same old hedge. One would have liked to have seen the weasel carrying or dragging its prey, whichever it was, the former more likely, from the traces of the feathers being left at such regular intervals. A friend informs me that he has seen the Carrion Crow regularly hunting along the wires in his district.

Another victim has just come to hand in the shape of a young Guillemot (_Uria troile_) in its first year’s dress; and in the month of May I saw a Sanderling (_Calidris arenaria_) which had partially put on its nuptial garb, and was no doubt making north to the arctic regions as fast as wings could carry it, when arrested by the stretched wire.

If it were possible to get authentic statistics of all the different species and numbers of birds ‘telegraphed,’ we should have a mass of information which no doubt would greatly assist our ornithologists in their study of the migration of the feathered tribes. This, I am afraid, is impossible, as birds mostly fall during the hours of darkness or semi-light; and there are others, both quadrupeds and birds, which have the advantage of the genus _homo_ in hunting propensities, and who are at work before he is out of bed. They are not in search of information; their hunting is prompted by something keener than even a search for knowledge. The cravings of an empty stomach must be satisfied if possible, and who can tell how many a rare bird—which an ornithologist would have tramped miles to see—has formed a breakfast dish for a lot of hungry young weasels, or swelled out the crop of some gaunt carrion crow!

Any one living near a line of wires will find something to interest him, if he is an early riser, by searching underneath the wires in his morning walk. And when a specimen is found, a note should be taken of its name, the date, direction of wind during night, and weather; and thus in time a quantity of information would be gathered which would materially assist our migration committees. The death-rate through being ‘telegraphed’ is generally greatest during the spring and autumn migrations.

A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY.

CHAPTER IV.—THE BURGLARY.

The noise of the disturbance in the library had already attracted the attention of the Squire and his guests, who had just then reached the door of the drawing-room. When Parker announced that Major Dawkins was arrested for burglary, there was a general exclamation of incredulity; but the mention of the handcuffs elicited a little scream from Miss Euphemia and an exclamation of indignation from the Squire.

‘This is too absurd. It is some rascal’s practical joke; but it is one that I shall punish, for it is a disgrace to me that such a thing should be perpetrated on a guest of mine.—Friends, come with me.’ He led the way to the library; and the ladies, unable to restrain their curiosity, followed the gentlemen. Perhaps they also felt some timidity at the idea of being left alone; for the numerous burglaries committed of late during the dinner hour at country-houses were trying the nerves of everybody who had property to lose.

‘What is the meaning of this outrage in my house?’ exclaimed the Squire. ‘Release this gentleman at once. He is my guest.’

‘I told you so,’ ejaculated the Major, still too angry to realise fully the humiliating as well as ludicrous position in which he stood.

The detective answered the Squire respectfully and firmly: ‘This is my card, sir; my name is Kidman. I am a police officer, and was sent down here to watch the movements of a man known to the police under various aliases. This is the person I have been seeking. He is pretty well disguised with his dyed hair’ (the Major shuddered: the thunderbolt had fallen at last!); ‘but his height and figure correspond precisely with this photograph.’ He displayed the portrait of a man whose figure was certainly like the Major’s, and, allowing for the effect of disguise, there might even be discovered some resemblance in the features.

‘I tell you this is preposterous,’ the Squire said impatiently. ‘I will be responsible to you for this gentleman.’

‘Well, sir, of course the affair must be disagreeable to you, only you are not the first gentleman he has taken in.’

‘I say, release him at once. If you refuse, it will be at your peril. I am a justice of the peace.’

‘So much the better, sir; and in that case you will permit me to tell you the circumstances under which I arrest this—gentleman. I have been on the lookout for him; and from information received that an attack was to be made upon your house, I came here this evening to watch. I posted myself in the shrubbery; and not half an hour ago, whilst you were at dinner, I saw him look from that window to spy if the coast was clear’——

‘I was looking for you, Squire,’ interrupted the Major.

‘I couldn’t guess how he had got in without me seeing him, but that is explained by his being a guest of yours. I knew he was at work, and so stepped quietly in after him. I found him so busy at one of the drawers of this table that I managed to slip these ornaments on his wrists before he could turn round.’

‘At the drawers of the table!’ ejaculated several voices, whilst all looked in amazed horror at the culprit.

‘Yes,’ continued Mr Kidman complacently, finding that he had at last made an impression; ‘and this sort of thing’ (holding up the jemmy) ‘is not exactly what you would expect to find in a gentleman’s dressing-case. I found it here on the table, and the middle drawer has been forced open with it.’

‘The drawer forced open?’ muttered the Squire doubtingly.

‘You will find it so, and done by an experienced hand too. Will you oblige me by examining the contents of the drawer and letting me know what has been abstracted?’

‘This is horrible!’ said the Major, becoming calmer as the situation became more serious.