The Lord of the Sea

  CONTENTS

  I. THE EXODUS

  II. THE FEZ

  III. THE HUNTING-CROP

  IV. THE SWOON

  V. REID'S

  VI. "PEARSON'S WEEKLY"

  VII. THE ELM

  VIII. THE METEOR

  IX. HOGARTH'S GUNS

  X. ISAAC

  XI. WROXHAM BROAD

  XII. THE ROSE

  XIII. OUT OF THE WORLD

  XIV. THE PRIEST

  XV. MONSIGNOR

  XVI. THE ROPE

  XVII. OLD TOM'S LETTER

  XVIII. CHLOROFORM

  XIX. THE GREAT BELL

  XX. THE INFIRMARY

  XXI. IN THE DEEP

  XXII. OLD TOM

  XXIII. UNDER THE ELM

  XXIV. FRANKL SEES THE METEORITE

  XXV. CHURCH ARCHITECTURE

  XXVI. FRANKL AND O'HARA

  XXVII. THE BAG OF LIGHT

  XXVIII. THE LETTER

  XXIX. PRIORITY OF CLAIM

  XXX. MR. BEECH

  XXXI. THE HAMMERS

  XXXII. WONDER

  XXXIII. REEFS OF STEEL

  XXXIV. THE "KAISER"

  XXXV. THE CUP OF TREMBLING

  XXXVI. THE "BOODAH" AND THE BATTLESHIPS

  XXXVII. THE STRAITS

  XXXVIII. THE MANIFESTO

  XXXIX. THE "BOODAH'S" LOCK-UP

  XL. THE WEDDING

  XLI. THE VISIT

  XLII. REBEKAH TELLS

  XLIII. THE LAND BILL

  XLIV. THE REGENCY

  XLV. ESTRELLA, THE PROPHETESS

  XLVI. THE ORDER IN COUNCIL

  XLVII. THE EMIGRANTS

  XLVIII. THE SEA-FORTS

  XLIX. THE DÉBACLE

  L. THE DECISION

  LI. THE MODEL

  I

  THE EXODUS

  In the Calle Las Gabias—one of those by-streets of Lisbon below St.

  Catherine—there occurred one New Year a little event in the

  Synagogue there worth a mention in this history of Richard, Lord of

  the Sea.

  It was Kol Nidrè, eve of the Day of Atonement, and the little Beth- El, sweltering in a dingy air, was transacting the long-drawn liturgy, when, behind the curtain where the women sat, an old dame who had been gazing upward smote her palms together, and let slip a little scream: "The Day is coming…!"

  She then fainted, and till near ten lay on her bed, lit by the Yom Kippur candle, with open eyes, but without speech, her sere face still beautiful, on each temple a little pyramid of plaits, with gold-and-coral ear-rings: a holy belle. About ten P.M. three women watching heard her murmur: "My child, Rebekah…!"

  She was childless, and whom she meant was not known. However, soon afterwards there was a form at the amulet-guarded door, and Estrella sat up, saying: "Rebekah, my child…"

  A young lady of twenty-two ran in and embraced her, saying: "I have been to Paris and Madrid with my father—just arrived, so flew to see you. We leave for London to-night".

  "No: I shall keep you seven days. Tell Frankl I say so. What jewels! You have grown into a rose of glory, the eyes are profounder and blacker, and that brow was made for high purpose. Tell me—have you a lover?"

  "No, mamma Estrella".

  "Then, why the blush?"

  "It is nothing at all," Miss Frankl answered: "five years ago when at school in Bristol I thrice saw through a grating a young man with whom I was frivolous enough to speak. Happily, I do not know what has become of him—a wild, divine kind of creature, of whom I am well rid, and never likely to see again".

  The old lady mused. "What was he?"

  "A sailor".

  "Not a common sailor?"

  "I fancy so, mamma".

  "What name?"

  "Hogarth—Richard".

  "A Jew?"

  "An Englishman!"

  She laughed, as the old lady's eyes opened in sacred horror, and as she whispered: "Child!"

  Within three months of that night, one midnight the people of Prague rose and massacred most of the Jewish residents; the next day the flame broke out in Buda-Pesth; and within a week had become a revolution.

  On the twelfth morning one of two men in a City bank said to the other: "Come, Frankl, you cannot fail a man in this crisis—I only want 80,000 on all Westring—"

  "No good to me, my lord," answered Frankl, who, though a man of only forty—short, with broad shoulders,—already had his skin divided up like a dry leaf; in spite of which, he was handsome, with a nose ruled straight and long, a black beard on his breast.

  But the telephone rattled and Frankl heard these words at the receiver: "Wire to hand from Wertheimer: Austrian Abgeordneten-haus passed a Resolution at noon virtually expelling Jewish Race…."

  When Frankl turned again he had already resolved to possess Westring

  Vale, and was saying to himself: "Within six months the value of

  English land should be—doubled".

  The bargain was soon made now: and within one week the foresight of

  Frankl began to be justified.

  Austria, during those days, was a nation of vengeful hearts: for the Jews had acquired half its land, and had mortgages on the other half: peasant, therefore, and nobleman flamed alike. And this fury was contagious: now Germany—now France had it—Anti-Semite laws— like the old May-Laws—but harsher still; and streaming they came, from the Leopoldstadt, from Bukowina, from the Sixteen Provinces, from all Galicia, from the Nicolas Colonies, from Lisbon, with wandering foot and weary breast—the Heines, Cohens, Oppenheimers— Sephardim, Aschkenasim. And Dover was the new Elim.

  With alarm Britain saw them come! but before she could do anything, the wave had overflowed it; and by the time it was finished there was no desire to do anything: for within eight months such a tide of prosperity was floating England as has hardly been known in a country.

  The reason of this was the increased number of hands—each making more things than its owner could consume himself, and so making every other richer.

  There came, however, a change—almost suddenly—due to the new demand for land, the "owners" determining to await still further rises, before letting. This checked industry: for now people, debarred from the land, had only air.

  In Westring Vale, as everywhere, times were hard. It was now the property of Baruch Frankl: for at the first failure of Lord Westring to meet terms, Frankl had struck.

  Now, one of the yeomen of Westring was a certain Richard Hogarth.

  II

  THE FEZ

  Frankl took up residence at Westring in September, and by November every ale-house, market, and hiring in Westring had become a scene of discussion.

  The cause was this: Frankl had sent out to his tenants a Circular containing the words:

  "…tenants to use for wear in the Vale a fez with tassel as the Livery of the Manor…the will of the Lord of the Manor…no exception…"

  But though intense, the excitement was not loud: for want was in many a home; though after three weeks there were still six farmers who resisted.

  And it happened one day that five of these at the Martinmas "Mop," or hiring, were discussing the matter, when they spied the sixth boring his way, and one exclaimed: "Yonder goes Hogarth! Let's hear what he's got to say!" and set to calling.

  Hogarth twisted, and came winning his way, taller than the crowd, with "What's up? Hullo, Clinton—not a moment to spare to-day—"

  "We were a-talking about that Circular—!" cried one.

  At that moment two other men joined the group: one a dark-skinned Jew of the Moghrabîm; the other a young man—an English author—on tour. And these two heard what passed.

  Hogarth stood suspended, finding no words, till one cried: "Do you mean to put the
cap on?"

  He laughed a little now. "I! The whip! The whip!"—he showed his hunting-crop, and was gone.

  His manner of speech was rapid, and he had a hoarse sort of voice, almost as of sore-throat.

  Of the two not farmers, one—the author—enquired as to his name, and farm; the other man—the Moghrabîm Jew-that evening recounted to Frankl the words which he had heard.

  * * * * * * *

  One afternoon, two weeks later, Loveday, the author, was leaning upon a stile, talking to Margaret Hogarth; and he said: "I love you! If you could deign—"

  "Truth is," she said, "you are in love with my brother, Dick, and you think it is me!"

  She was a woman of twenty-five, large and buxom, though neat- waisted, her face beautifully fresh and wholesome, and he of middle- size, with a lazy ease of carriage, small eyes set far apart, a blue-velvet jacket, duck trousers very dirty, held up by a belt, a red shirt, an old cloth hat, a careless carle, greatly famed.

  "But it isn't of your brother, but of you, that I am wanting to speak! Tell me—"

  "No—I can't. I am a frivolous old woman to be talking to you about such things at all! But, since it is as you say, wait, perhaps I may be able—But I must be going now—"

  There was embarrassment in her now: and suddenly she walked away, going to meet—another man.

  She passed through stubble-wheat, disappeared in a pine-wood, and came out upon the Waveney towing-path. On the towing-path came Frankl to meet her.

  He took her hand, holding his head sideward with a cajoling fondness, wearing the flowing caftan, and a velvet cap which widened out a-top, with puckers.

  "Well, sweetheart…" he said.

  "But, you know, I begged you not to use such words to me!"—from her.

  "What, and I who am such a sweetheart of yours?"—his speech very foreign, yet slangily correct, being, in fact, all slang.

  "No," she said, "you spoke different at first, and that is why—But this must be the last, unless you say out clearly now what it is you mean—"

  "Now, you are too hard. You know I am wild in love with you. And so are you with me—"

  "I?"—with shrinking modesty in her under-looking eyes. "Oh, no— don't have any delusions like that about me, please! You said that you liked me: and as I am in the habit of speaking the truth myself, I thought that—perhaps—But my meeting you, to be frank with you, was for the sake of my brother".

  "Well, you are as candid as they make them," he said, eyeing her with his mild eye. "But what's the matter with your brother? Hard up?"

  "He's worried about something". "He must have some harvest-money put away?"

  "He has something in Reid's Bank at Yarmouth, I believe".

  "Well, shall I tell you what's the matter with him? He's afraid, your brother. He has refused to wear the cap, and he thinks that I shall be down upon him like a thousand of bricks…But suppose I exempt him, and you and I be friends? That's fair".

  "What do you mean?"

  "Give us one—"

  "Believe me, you talk—!"

  "Don't let your angry passions rise. I am going to have a kiss off those handsome lips—"

  Before she could stir he was in the act of the embrace; but it was never accomplished: for he saw her colour fade, heard crackling twigs, a step! as someone emerged from the wood ten yards away— Richard.

  The thought in Margaret's mind was this: "Father in Heaven, whatever will he think of me here with this Jew?"

  Hogarth stopped, staring at this couple; did not understand: Margaret should have been home from "class-meeting"…only, he observed her heaving bosom; then twisted about and went, his walk rapid, in his hand a hunting-crop, by which, with a very sure aim, he batted away pebbles from his path, stooping each time.

  III

  THE HUNTING-CROP

  Along the towing-path to the farmhouse. He did not look behind: was like a man who has received a wound, and wonders whence.

  A pallor lay under his brown skin, brown almost as an Oriental's, and he was called "the Black Hogarth"—the Hogarths being Saxon, on the mantel in the dining-room being a very simple coat—a Bull on Gules. But Richard was a startling exception. His hair grew away flat and sparse from his round brow; on his cheeks three moles, jet- black in their centre. Handsome one called his hairless face: the nose delicate, the lips negroid in their thick pout, the left eye red, streaked with bloodshot, the eyes' brown brightness very beautiful and strange, with a sideward stare wild as that sideward stare of the race-horse; and the lids had a way of lifting largely anon.

  He passed through Lagden Dip orchard into the old homestead, into the dining-room, where cowered the old Hogarth, smoking, his hair a mist of wool-white.

  He glanced up, but said nothing; and Richard said nothing, but walked about, his arms folded, frowning turbulently, while the twilight deepened, and Margaret did not come.

  Now he planted a chair near the old man, sat, and shouted: "Listen, sir!"

  Up went the old Hogarth's hand to push forward the inquiring ear, while Richard, who, till now, had guarded him from all knowledge of the Circular, snatched it from his breast-pocket, and loudly read.

  As the sense entered his head, up the old man shot his palms, shaking from them astonishment and deprecation, with nods; then, with opening arms, and an under-look at Richard: "Well, there is nothing to be said: the land is his…."

  Hogarth leapt up and walked out; he muttered: "The land is his, but he is mine…."

  The question at the bottom of his mind had been this: "Does Margaret, too, go with the land?" But he did not utter it even to himself: went out, fingering the crop, stalking toward the spot where he had left the man and the woman. But Margaret was then coming through the wood; Frankl had gone up to the Hall; and Hogarth crossed the bridge and went climbing toward the mansion.

  It was a Friday evening, and up at the Hall the Sabbath had commenced, two Sabbath-tapers shining now upon the Mezuzzah at the dining-room door, Frankl being of the Cohanîm, the priestly class—a Jew of Jews. As he had passed in, two Moghrabîm Jews had saluted him with: "Shabbath"; and mildly he had replied: "Shabbath".

  But swift upon his steps strode Hogarth: Hogarth was at the lodge- gates—was on the drive—was in the hall.

  But, since Frankl was just preparing to celebrate the kiddush, "He cannot be seen now", said a man in the hall.

  "He must", said Hogarth.

  As he brushed past, two men raised an outcry: but Hogarth continued his swift way, and had half traversed a salon hung with a chaos of cut-glass when from a side-door appeared the inquiring face of Frankl in pious skull-cap.

  "What is it?" he cried—"I cannot be seen—"

  He recognized the man of the towing-path, and on his face grew a look of scare, as he backed toward a study: but before he could slam the door, Hogarth, too, was within.

  "Who are you? What is it?" whined Frankl, who was both hard master and cringing slave.

  Hogarth produced the Circular: but of Margaret not a word.

  "Caps-and-tassels, you?"—flicking Frankl on the cheek with a fillip of his middle finger.

  "You dare assault me! Why, I swear, I meant no harm—"

  Down came the whip upon the Jew's shoulders, Frankl, as the stings penetrated his caftan, giving out one roar, and the next instant, seeing the two Jews at the doorway, groaned the mean whisper: "Oh, don't make a man look small before the servants", crying out immediately: "Help!"

  Soon five or six servants were at the door, and, of these, two Arab Jews rushed forward, one a tall fellow, the other an obese bulk with bright black eyes, the former holding a slender blade—the knife with which "shechita", or slaughtering, was done: and while the corpulent Jew threw himself upon Hogarth, the other drew this knife through the flesh of Hogarth's shoulder, at the same time happening to cut the heavy Arab across the wrist.

  Now, there was some quarrel between the two Arabs, and the injured

  Arab, forgetting Hogarth, turned fiercely upon his fellow
.

  Hogarth, meanwhile, had not let go Frankl, nor delivered the intended number of cuts: so he was again standing with uplifted whip, when his eye happened to fall upon the doorway.

  He saw there a sight which struck his arm paralysed: Rebekah Frankl.

  Two months had she been here at Westring—and he had not known it!

  There she stood peering, of a divine beauty in his eyes, like half- mythical queens of Egypt and Babylon, blinking in a rather barbarous superfluity of jewels: and, blinded and headlong, he was in flight.

  As for Frankl, he locked that door upon himself, and remained there, forgetting the sanctification of the Sabbath.

  The Hebrew's eyes blazed like a wild beast's. The words: "As the

  Lord liveth…" hissed in whispers from his lips.

  He took up a pinch of old ashes, and cast it into the air.

  As Shimei, the son of Gera, cursed David, so he cursed Richard Hogarth that night—again and again—with grave rites, with cancerous rancour.

  "I will blight him, as the Lord liveth; as the Lord liveth, I will blight him…" he said repeatedly, his draperied arms spread in pompous imprecation.

  As a beginning, he sat and wrote to Reid's Bank, requesting the payment in gold of £14,000—to produce a stoppage of payment at the little Bank in which were Richard's savings.

  Afterwards, with mild eyes he repaired to the dining-hall, and sanctified the Sabbath, blessing a cup of wine, dividing up two napkined loaves, and giving to Rebekah his benediction.