IV
Sleepy Macao the day after the attempted assassination of Robert Adams was treated to a sensation such as had not been its experience since the memorable day in 1848 when the old Governor de Amaral lost his head at the Porta de Cerco. Murder, attempted or accomplished, could not have stirred them up to such an extent, for that was too common an occurrence, but the mystery of the event was the cause. Priscilla Harvey and her maid with one of Dom Amaral's most trusted men servants had disappeared as completely as though the earth had swallowed them.
Robert Adams, since the night of the attack had not recovered his senses, and lay in the house of Dom Amaral apparently between life and death. The surgeons from Sam Januarius hospital had decided that to save him, the amputation of his arm would be necessary, for the dagger which had cut it had been poisoned.
In the midst of this trouble, Priscilla's absence was discovered, and Macao was alarmed. Men were sent from the Governor's house in all directions to search the public houses, the fishing boats, and every possible place within the small territory. Word was sent to Taipa. While the officials were thus employed, private parties of searchers went over the entire peninsula looking among the rocks and copses of the Estrada and even the Parsee Tower of Silence was examined, but all in vain. The fan-tan house proprietor told of two unknown women with a Chinese servant who had visited his house, but when they had left he did not know. No more was learned though the search still continued, for large rewards were offered by Dom Amaral as well as by the Governor.
Dom Pedro directed the movements, taking greatest interest in all that seemed possible to form a clue, and did not rest for nearly forty-eight hours. Days soon formed a week but no news came, and Macao began to drowze again. Detectives from Hong Kong came, made the usual fuss and reached the usual conclusions of their kind, that it was a mysterious event.
Contrary to all predictions Robert Adams, having become convalescent and the surgical operation by which he had lost his arm having proved successful when having heard the awful news, did not have a relapse into the fever but seemed with a determination to become more rapidly strong, and in five weeks was able to be about. He, of all Priscilla's friends, was most hopeful. To his mind vividly came the scene at the Ruins of St. Paul and that last sound he had heard. Adams' first walk was to the scene of his attempted assassination and Madam de Amaral, who was much broken with grief at the terrible event, accompanied him in her chair, Dom Pedro going with them.
It was the month of May and the heat being oppressive Madam d'Amaral after viewing the scene was carried home and the two young men walked on to the Marcos garden. "I have a clue Dom Robert," said Dom Pedro as they seated themselves beneath a broad banyan tree from which a view of St. Paul's ruin could be had. "There began your troubles," he said pointing, "and there this morning I received a paper which will I hope lead to a solution of this mystery." He handed Adams a bit of Chinese paper on which was written in Portuguese, "Come to the Praca de Luiz de Camoens at 8 a.m. to-morrow; follow the guide who meets you, and the lady Priscilla will be found." "I do not trust anonymous communications," said Adams, "but we must clutch at a straw now." "Nor do I," replied Dom Pedro, "and I will go with you; we will go well armed." Adams glanced down at his own empty sleeve and a cruel smile passed over the face of Dom Pedro as he noticed his comrade's pain.
The 22nd of May will be long remembered in Macao and never forgotten by the family of de Amaral. Early in the morning Robert Adams was up and impatiently waiting for Dom Pedro, who appeared a little before eight o'clock and the two, after a hurried breakfast, went to the Praca de Luiz de Camoens where a Chinese sailor met them. They followed him to the shore where a sampan was waiting in which they seated themselves and were soon gliding rapidly toward a huge junk of fine build which lay at anchor some distance beyond the Portuguese man-of-war, in the direction of Taipa. The tide was very low and the vessel did not seem far from shore.
The Sampan reached and made fast to the junk, and Adams followed by Dom Pedro climbed upon the deck.
Quick as a flash Adams' arm was seized and bound to his side while Dom Pedro stepped before him. "Fool!" he cried, "you have stepped into the trap with little trouble. It was I who stabbed you, Dom Robert, it was I, who took the bride who rightfully belonged to me, as it is I who will use you for my own good till I may throw you away. You of Northern blood are fools."
"I thought you my friend, Dom Pedro, and I thought you a man," was the only reply.
Every appointment of the junk was of exquisite finish, such as is seldom seen, and kept scrupulously clean. The men at work on deck, with usual Mongolian nonchalance, went about their business without giving the least notice to the events occurring. "The lady Priscilla waits you in the cabin," said Dom Pedro. "She knows my plans and though I shall not intrude upon you I have a Chinese on guard who will kill you if any attempt is made to free you. Enter." Adams stepped toward the cabin at the stern, where the usual shelf-like arrangements of a junk had been transformed into a cabin suited to European taste, with comfort and luxury. Adams entered and the door was closed. By it stood a guard with drawn sword; in the farther corner sat a woman at a table with her face buried in her hands.
"Robert, as you love me stay where you are. Do not move a step, but sit down where you are." Her voice was so full of pleading that Adams forgot his first impulse and obeyed her. "I know all that has occurred dear Robert, your sacrifice and pain and the pain of all my friends during these sad weeks. Do not move toward me or you will be killed. I will not look up, dare not look up. On that Sunday, which now seems so long ago, when I bid you good-night at the library door, when you and he went to the fan-tan house, I followed you with his valet and my maid, for I had been fearful of his intentions toward you, and when his valet told me that he had seen him secrete a dagger in his coat that morning, and when I found one missing from the case, I had my fears confirmed. We followed and sat in the floor above you and tried to call your attention. When I won at the table at last I put in a warning note and then overturned the basket. You did not see the paper but he did, and read it. For the rest, you were followed at once by him, and we as quickly as possible followed both, but only in time to see you fall and to be seized and carried away in a closed chair to the yellow house in the Marcos square where, till yesterday, I have been confined to the court and inner rooms, with only my maid as company and a daily visit from him at which I learned the news of your progress toward recovery. Last night we were removed to this vessel, and I have expected your arrival with hope and fear. His idea is to force a marriage with me by threats against your life, or to sail for Hainan or Formosa and accomplish his designs where law and justice for us are unknown."
Hurried cries from the deck and a call at the door in Chinese were heard and the guide sheathing his sword rushed from the cabin. In a moment the lovers were together. The bonds which held Adams' arm were cut and Priscilla pointing to the little window cried, "Robert, God is with us!" With his one arm encircling Priscilla they looked from the window. Apparently a strong gale had suddenly sprung up from the south east and rain was falling in torrents; the wind continued to increase though the rain passed by, but in the distance appeared a dark tower of water slowly moving toward Macao, rushing with bending, changing outline from water to sky. The gale became fiercer and the tumult on deck increased. Immediately from Taipa came the sound of cannon and it was answered by Macao with her heaviest ordnance as if a battle were raging, and, indeed it was a terrible battle, one between man and the elements, but man was victor and the water spout was broken. The force of the tornado however had yet to reach its climax and for fully five minutes swept over the terrified city and bay with fearful power. Sampans and junks were hurled like egg-shells upon the shore, where but for the low tide, thousands instead of hundreds of lives would have been sacrificed. The men-of-war and the river steamboats did good service, for the course of the tornado, was so restricted that though but a hundred yards from its limit of violence they were untouched. Dom Pedro's junk with others was torn from its moorings and overturned, but not before Adams and Priscilla had jumped from the deck. Even in the awful confusion and the terror of the first plunge which carried them below the surface of the angry waves, she kept her hand clasped upon the empty sleeve of her recovered protector. Being both good swimmers they assisted each other with that knowledge of the water and the trust which all coast born people have in the mother sea. A boat from one of the war vessels picked them up and in a short time they were both beneath the roof of good Dom d'Amaral, and rumor with unusual tread, but suited to Macao, slowly announced the fact of Priscilla's return.
Dom Pedro weak, and with a broken arm, was also carried to the house of his father and none but the principal actors in the tragedy understood the mystery.
Priscilla had returned in the midst of the tornado, and that was all. The unfortunate young woman was completely prostrated by the terrible experiences through which she had lately passed and lay as if lifeless. The physicians dreaded an attack of fever would follow, and their worst fears were realized. Several weeks went by in anxious watching by the sick woman's bedside when at last the fever turned and she gradually grew better. Nothing was said of the occurrences which had brought the illness about, and Priscilla remembered nothing of them apparently, for she asked for no one and seemed happy and content to be left with her Chinese ama. When she had recovered strength enough to be carried into the court-yard it was with joyful expectancy that Adams went to greet her, yet his heart sank with sorrow when he saw the marks of the great suffering in her face and a terrible desire for revenge seized him, which became the dominant passion of his life.
The saddest part of this tale may be given in a few words. Priscilla Harvey never regained her reason, though she found pleasure in all the beauties of nature and her life was happy during the two years before her death. Dom Pedro went to Hong Kong and soon disappeared. Robert Adams remained in Macao taking charge of the d'Amaral foreign business. He was the daily companion of the unfortunate Priscilla in all her walks and it was but a year after her death, when I visited my uncle Robert in Macao, when the tragic event occurred which is narrated at the beginning of this history.
My uncle is near my own age and we are more like brothers and have been together, since the death of Dom Pedro at Camoen's Grotto. The Courts of Macao exonerated Adams and though the good Dom d'Amaral would willingly have had him remain in the house at Macao it was not pleasant to think, that, even justified as he was, he had killed the only son of his host.
It was early in the morning when we left the drowsy city; the sun had just touched the windows of Sam Januarius, and as the river boat dropped into the stream, the church of Our Lady of Guia received its morning salutation. The period had come to this story of love and loss, and the book closed.
Perhaps it is just as well not to work, or play, or read except in "the library of the grasshoppers" as do my own good, sleeping friends in Macao.
My Sapphire Ring.
Where have I seen the sapphire rimmed with gold?
When on the dark blue Carribbean sea,
Floating at sunset, dreaming lazily,
I saw the God of Day the world enfold;
There did my eyes the sapphire rare behold.
I saw the sapphire, when the day was young
In royal Venice, as I lay and gazed
Into the morning sky, and saw, amazed,
Its deep hued brilliance, ere a bird had sung,
Or Matin bells from San Stefano rung.
Once when my course, with myriad sea-flowers strewn,
Was o'er Formosa's waves of purple dulse,
Rising and falling like a fevered pulse,
Moved by the hot and southern born monsoon,
I saw the sapphire glow in tropic noon.
But in our home, beneath our own blue skies,
Before I knew these treasures of the Earth,
I saw the sapphire of far greater worth—
The first born friendship in your boyhood's eyes—
Of which this ring as token now I prize.
The Hen That Could Lay and Lie.
I had the following story from the bill of an old Spanish hen, an inveterate cackler, who used to fly over the neighbouring fence and wander, with happy, self-communing clucks about my vegetable garden.
"Yes young man you are young, you may feel bigger than I am, but you are not quite so tough, indeed toughness alone has saved me my life for a good many Christmas mornings. I am a tough old hen, I have seen the world; I have traveled. You know the island in the Napa River just above the railroad bridge? Well, I was wrecked there in my young days and it happened in this manner.
"The spring of the year 18— was a wet one; snow fell in the foothills and when it melted, the waters rushed down through the cañons and filled the river. Our coop, (I say ours as I had a husband then,) stood near the bank, and the rising water carried it away. I shall never forget the night. It was Billy's last night on earth; Billy was my better half, and a handsome, young cock he was, all the young pullets in the yard had yellow combs, from envy, the day we were married. Old Partlett with her brood of twelve ducks tried her best to get him, but Billy said he didn't think it was quite the most moral thing in the world for a hen of her age to hatch out ducks and it set a bad example to the young 'broilers' who were growing up about us, so he declined her proposals with thanks and sent her off with her ugly-mouthed off-spring. Well, as I was saying, our coop was carried down the stream, Billy and I balancing ourselves on the upper roost and speaking words of comfort to cheer up each other's fast fainting gizzards. We hens have a proverb which says, 'A life without hope is an egg without a yolk, a gizzard without gravel,' and that night proved the words to be true. Suddenly down went Billy into the roaring flood. I can see his yellow spurs as he went under, and his clutching claws, those beautiful, shining claws that only walked the path of virtue, as far as I knew. Alas how I fluttered, I tried to crow for help but it was useless, I could no more do it than the hens of your genus can whistle. Billy went out forever.
"How I remember his kindness now; how he would find the best worms and grasshoppers and always call me to see them before he ate them, not as that old beast Cochin China does, who not even lets his wife look at the delicious morsels he swallows.
"Billy is gone, so I will not regret him for he is probably chief crower in St. Peter's hennery now. How Peter must blush when he hears Billy crow, if he has any shame for his past sins. They say St. Peter has to keep all the dead cocks as a sort of punishment and reminder.
"That night I pulled all the yellow feathers out of my tail, (I have Cochin blood in my veins,) and I have gone in black Spanish costume ever since out of respect for Billy.
"By morning I was cast with the coop upon a deserted island; there was nothing but a coarse grass that was eatable, but I was almost dead with hunger, and was about giving up in despair when a happy thought struck me, and, I laid an egg, which with a little grass made me a good meal. Each day I laid an egg and ate it, feeling that my life at least could be saved, though I must be forever without society, yet I thanked heaven that hens were made with such resources. Alas! I began to notice that the eggs grew smaller each day and I felt starvation again taking me by the wattles. To die without friends on a desert island, horrible! Alone! Why? Can I not hatch these eggs, can I not raise a brood of little pullets who shall lay eggs for themselves and me? Time passed and I brought from the shells eight little chicks, but alas they were all cocks; poor me. What are they good for on a desert island? They cannot even keep themselves. Perhaps I had thought too much of Billy during the setting and that influenced the eggs. But my complaint was punished, for all of the brood were caught one day in the current and carried away. Poor, little, posthumous chicks, how your father Billy would have loved you and taught you to crow. Again I tried; this time with more success and brought from the eggs six little, fluffy pullets. All lived and we took turns, off and on, supplying the family with eggs, till one day men passing in a row boat, saw us and took us aboard. We had been on the island for two months. All my six pullets lived and married, and are now in the yard over the fence."
All this time I had been so interested in the story, that I had not noticed the narrator who was in the midst of my lettuce bed busily pulling up the young plants.
"Shew there! What are you doing?" I cried. Off she flew with a cackle of derision.
Looking after her in astonishment and at my poor lettuce bed, I caught the eye of an old turkey, roosting in an apple tree; he was smiling grimly.
"So you have been taken in too," he said, with a suppressed gobble. "You needn't believe a word of that tale, and if you knew anything about raising poultry you would have seen the weak point in her story. It was only to play on your sympathy while she made a meal of your lettuce. That old hen is one of the toughest confidence operators in the yard, and if you take my advice, (and I have lived over four Thanksgivings,) you will keep an eye open for all black Spanish hens who have lost a husband."
I thanked the old fellow and came into the house, and since then have kept on the guard against widows of every genus, with better success than Mr. Weller the elder attained.
"Oceanic" at Sea.
What shall I sing of thee, my ship,
Lone center of this orb of blue,
Horizoned by the rosy light
Of peeping dawn, and sleeping evening too?
Thou art the pupil, ship of mine,
Which lights this round and azure eye,
Rimmed by the rosy lids of dawn,
And lost in sleep when evening rules the sky.