"If it's out of a sermon," said Mr. Jope, "you may fire ahead.

But if, as you say, the man was taken for someone else, I thought it would be clearer to start by knowing who he _was_."

"It happened in this way. The Emperor Jovinian one sultry afternoon in summer was hunting--"

"What--foxes?"

"Keep quiet," put in Mr. Adams. "When he's telling you it happened in a sermon!"

"In the ardour of the chase he had left his retinue far behind; and finding himself by the sh.o.r.e of a lake, he alighted and refreshed himself with a swim in its cool waters. While he thus disported himself, a beggar stole his horse and his clothes."

Mr. Jope smote his leg. "Now I call that a thundering good yarn!

Short, sharp, and to the point."

"But you haven't heard the end."

"Eh? Is there any more of it?"

"Certainly. The Emperor, discovering the theft, was forced to creep naked and ashamed to the nearest castle."

"What was he ashamed of?"

"Why, of being naked."

"I see. Damme, it fits in like a puzzle!"

"But at the castle, sad to say, no one recognised the proud Jovinian.

'Avaunt!' said the porter, and threatened to have him whipped for his impudence. This distressing experience caused the Emperor to reflect on the vanity of human pretensions, seeing that he, of whom the world stood in awe, had, with the loss of a few clothes, forfeited the respect of a slave."

"I see," repeated Mr. Jope, as the narrator paused. "What became of the beggar?"

"I knew a worse case than that, even," said Bill Adams, turning his quid meditatively. "It happened to a Bristol man, once a shipmate of mine; by name Zekiel Philips, and not at all inclined to stoutness when I knew him."

"Why _should_ he be?"

"You wait. His wife kept a slop-shop at Bristol, near the foot of Christmas Stairs--if you know where that is?"

The Major, thus challenged, shook his head.

"Ah, well; you'll have heard of O-why-hee, anyway--where they barbecued Captain Cook? And likewise of Captain Bligh of the _Bounty_--Breadfruit Bligh, as they call him to this day?

Well, Bligh, as you know, took the _Bounty_ out to the Islands under Government orders to collect breadfruit, the notion being that it could be planted in the West Indies and grown at a profit. When he came to grief and Government lookedlike dropping the job, a party of Bristol merchants took the matter up, having interests of their own in the West Indies, and fitted out a vessel--a brig she was, as I remember--called the _Perseverance_. Whereby this here friend o'

mine, Zekiel Philips by name, shipped aboard of her. Whereby they made a good pa.s.sage and anch.o.r.ed off one of the islands--Otaheety or not, I won't say--and took aboard a cargo, being, as they supposed, ord'nary breadfruit; and stood away east-by-south for the Horn, meaning to work up to Kingston, Jamaica. But this particular breadfruit was of a fattening natur', whether eaten or, as you may say, ab-sorbed into the system through a part of it getting down to the bilge and fermenting, and the gas of it working up through the vessel. Whereby, the breeze holding steady and no sail to trim for some days, the crew took it easy below, with naught to warn 'em, unless, maybe, 'twas a tight'ning o' the b.u.t.tons. Whereby on the fifth day they ran a-foul of a cyclone; and the cry being for all hands on deck, half a dozen stuck in the hatchway and had to be sawed loose. Whereby, in the meantime, she carried away her mainm'st, and the wreckage knocked a hole in her starboard quarter. Likewise, her stern-post being rotten, she lost a pintle, and the helm began to look fifty ways for Sunday. All o' which caused the skipper to lay to, fix up a jury rudder and run up for the nearest island to caulk and repair. But meantime, and before he sighted land, this unfortunate crew kept puttin' on flesh--and the cause of it hid from them all the time--till there wasn't on the ship a pair of smallclothes but had refused duty. Whereby, coming to the island in question, they went ash.o.r.e, every man Jack in loin-cloths cut out o'

the stun-s'le, and the rest of 'em as bare as the back of my hand.

Whereby their appearance excited the natives to such a degree, being superst.i.tious, they was set upon and eaten to a man. The moral bein'," concluded Mr. Adams, "that a man lay be brought low by bein'

puffed up."

"Ay," said Mr. Jope after a pause. "I never had no great acquaintance with poetry, but I bought a pocket-handkercher once for tuppence with a verse on it:"

"'Ri fal de ral diddle, ri fal de ral dee, What ups and downs in the world there be!'

"And I don't believe you could use a truer text for the purpose, no matter what you paid."

The Major sighed. He was a high-spirited man, as the reader knows, and I believe that, but for one cruel memory, he might have learnt even to taste some humour in his situation. Thanks to Mr. Jope and Mr. Adams, who had taken a genuine fancy to him, he found life on board the _Vesuvius_ cheerful if not comfortable. The fare was Spartan, indeed, but, for a short holiday, tolerable. The prospect of seeing some real fighting excited him pleasurably, for he was no coward. Here, before his eyes, lay the coast of France; the actual forts and guns with which his imagination had so often played.

What a tale he would have to tell on his return! And, by the way, how his poor Trojans must be suffering in his absence, without news of him! He pictured that return. . . . Yes, indeed, it was at the expense of Troy that Fortune had conceived this practical joke.

He could even smile, as yet, at the thought of the Baskets' dismay as they searched the house for him. He wondered if Mr. Basket had forwarded his letter to Miss Marty, at the same time announcing his disappearance. Well, well, he would dry her tears. . . .

But upon this came the recollection of those cruel words:

"_What a dam funny-looking little man!_"

He might--he a.s.suredly would--keep them a secret in his own breast.

But they echoed there.

His vanity was robust. Again and again it a.s.serted its health in his day-dreams, expelling, or all but expelling, that poisonous memory.

Only at night, in his hammock, it awoke again--sinister, premonitory.

But as yet the man continued cheerfully incredulous. Fate was playing, less on him than through him, a rare practical joke--no more.

On the eighth of June, at about nine o'clock in the evening, it occurred to Admiral Lord Keith that the wind and weather afforded an excellent opportunity of testing the _Vesuvius's_ far-famed catamaran against the shipping moored off Boulogne pier. He signalled accordingly; and at nine-thirty, under the eyes of the squadron, a boat from the bomb-ship started to tow the infernal machine towards the harbour. By leave of Bill Adams, commanding, our Major made one of the crew of twelve.

In less than a quarter of an hour their approach was signalled by the enemy's vedettes to the forts ash.o.r.e, which promptly opened fire.

Mr. Adams, having towed the catamaran within its proper range, with his own hand pulled the plug releasing the clockwork, and gave the order to cast off, leaving wind and tide to do the rest; which they doubtless would have done had not a gun from one of the French batteries plumped a shot accurately into the catamaran.

The catamaran exploded with a terrific report, and the wave of the explosion caught the retreating boat, lifted her seven feet, capsized her, and brought her accurately down, bottom upwards.

A score of boats put out to the rescue, picked up the exhausted swimmers, and attempted to right and recover the boat, but abandoned this attempt on the approach of an overwhelming force of French.

These, coming up, seized on the boat and gallantly, under a short-dropping fire from our squadron, proceeded to right their prize; and, righting her, discovered Major Hymen, clinging to a thwart, trapped as an earwig is trapped beneath an inverted flower-pot.

CHAPTER XVII.

MISSING!

Miss Marty had just finished watering her sweet-peas and mignonette; had inspected each of the four standard roses beside the front gate in search of green-fly; had caught a snail sallying forth to dine late upon her larkspurs, and called to Cai Tamblyn to destroy it; had, in short, performed all her ritual for the cool of the day; and was removing her gardening gloves when a vehement knocking agitated the front door, and Scipio hurried to announce that a caller--a Mr. Basket--desired to see her on important business.

"Mr. Basket?" she echoed apprehensively, and made at once for the parlour, where she found her visitor mopping his brow. Despite the heat, he was pale. In his left hand he held a letter.

"You will pardon me," he began in a flutter. "Am I addressing Miss Martha Hymen?"

"You are, sir." Miss Marty clasped her hands in alarm at his demeanour. "Oh, tell me what has happened!"

"All the way from Plymouth on purpose," answered Mr. Basket.

"Most mysterious occurrence . . . ate a good dinner and retired to his room apparently in the best of health and spirits. On our return from the theatre he was gone."

"Gone?"

"Disappeared, vanished! We searched the house. His watch and pocket-book lay on the bed, together with a certain amount of loose change. His wig, too . . . you were aware?"