The Black Box: A Tale of Monmouth's RebellionCooke, W. Bourne
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The Black Box: A Tale of Monmouth's Rebellion
Cooke, W. Bourne
Monmouth's Rebellion, 1685 -- Juvenile fiction; Monmouth, James Scott, Duke of, 1649-1685 -- Juvenile fiction
But what, I think, surprised me most was that although he must have
heard me, he took no heed whatever--his lips and eyelids went on
fluttering as though the road were empty.
All this was so unlikely and amazing that, on coming level with the
fellow, I pulled up to look at him; yet, notwithstanding that I fairly
blocked his view, he gave no sign of seeing me, but went on jabbering
like the apes which sailors bring ashore. Verily, it seemed he must be
either deaf and blind, or daft; therefore,
"What ails thee, friend?" I cried. To my no small astonishment he
sprang up as one shot, and for a moment stood there staring at me in a
lost, dazed manner; then, raising both hands to his egg-shaped head, he
murmured:
"Save us! So I was not out there among the Indies?"
He pointed with a long, thin finger seaward.
"Nay, friend," I answered soothingly, for indeed I now made certain he
was daft. "Thou wast sitting on a tussock in a Dorset lane, three miles
from Lyme."
"Lyme!" he muttered. "King’s Lyme! Lyme Regis, say you?"
"The same," said I.
"Ah! then Heaven be thanked!" says he, shuddering as he hugged his slim,
gaunt body. "For, look you, methought for certain I was out among the
blacks again. Wast ever in the Indies, friend, among the man-eaters?"
he added, glancing swiftly up at me with slit-like eyes.
"Nay," I answered, laughing. "I was never nearer them than Portland,
yonder."
"Then have you much to give thanks for," said he, raising his fingers
tip to tip, as priests do. "Yea, verily, ye cannot be too thankful that
the heathen are unknown to you. I, who have witnessed their
abominations, tell ye so. For, look you, friend, two long accursed
years I lived among the savages, and was partaker, willy-nilly, in their
wickedness. It fell out thus. I and eight others were wrecked upon a
little island in the far South Seas. Perchance ’twas a judgment on us,
for our captain was a buccaneer who spared not anyone. Howsoever that
may be, ’tis certain we were wrecked, and out of six-and-twenty souls
but nine of us reached land, nor was the captain one of these. That
island, friend, was glorious to behold; a Paradise of beauty. Methinks
I see it now" (he shut his eyes)--"its waving palms, its many-coloured
birds and flowers. Aye, truly, it was, as I said before, a Paradise!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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