Part 14 (2/2)
”Take a drink, my comrade, and while you are slaking your thirst I will spin you a drinking story.”
Then I recounted to him the story of Count Tilly of Brabant, and the Holy Prior. How, during one of Tilly's numerous campaigns, a certain town held out far too long for the general's liking, but at last it was forced to surrender. Tilly had six of the chief men brought before him, and commanded, as the town had laughed at his terms, that they should die, to expiate the rest of the citizens. All kinds of conditions were laid before him to avoid the doom of these unfortunate men, but they were of no avail with him; he was implacable. One, Prior Hirsch, sought him and tried to melt his adamantine heart, and being a man of experience with human foibles, concluded to try the effect of some of the good old wine for which the country is famous, and his own monastery in particular. A huge flagon being introduced, filled with some of the very ”A1” of the district, Tilly was induced to try some.
”Very good wine indeed,” exclaimed the General, ”but it is no use your trying to get round me in that way to pardon your burgesses, for I can no more turn from my word than you can empty this goodly flagon at a draught.”
”Is the case indeed so hopeless?” said the priest.
”Yes, indeed,” said the Count rising, ”Drink me the contents of this flagon at a draught, and your citizens are free; else at noon they swing,” and with a mocking smile on his lips he was about to stride out of the room, when the priest arrested his steps with,
”One moment, good Count, and I will e'en essay the task.”
Then, taking up the flagon, which held _thirteen pints_, he emptied it to the very dregs, and fell back into his townsmen's arms.
Tilly was as good as his word, and released his captives.
”Whew!” whistled Alec; ”where's the salt box? Thirteen pints at a draught--thirteen pints! Why, your old priest would make a good second to our maire's cat!”
”What did his cat do?” queried I, innocently.
”Oh, I thought everyone had heard of Curat's cat,” premised Alec. ”You must know that his cat was growing old and spiteful, so he determined to kill it; but although he tried various means, and got very near accomplis.h.i.+ng his end on several occasions the cat would always appear again to trouble him. One evening, as a final effort in a.s.sa.s.sination, before retiring to bed, he tied a heavy piece of iron round the cat's neck, and dropped it into a water-b.u.t.t which stood in his garden. Next morning he was down betimes, and standing on the tiptoe both of expectation and of his boots, he peeped over the edge of the tub, when lo! there, on the bottom of the b.u.t.t sat the cat looking up at him with tears in her eyes, for she was too heavily anch.o.r.ed to climb out.”
But I broke in, ”Where was the water?”
”Well, you see,” said Alec, ”being her only means of escape, _she had swallowed it_, as your priest did the wine, which accounted for her swollen condition. So now, Mr. Thirteen Pints, I think we are about quits.”
We were; Alec scored a point.
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CHAPTER XVII.
THE WILL AGAIN--SEARCHING FOR A CLUE TO THE PAPER--BARBE ROUGE'S WILL--A PROBABLE CLUE--HOPES AND DOUBTS--PERPLEXED--A MEMORABLE TRAWL BY MOONLIGHT--A REAL CLUE AT LAST--THE PLACE OF THE SKULL FOUND.
As soon as I was able I went out walking each day, and so rapid was my convalescence that in ten days I was quite myself again. Alec had during my enforced idleness been extra busy, and had made both house and garden look very trim. He had not been able to go far away, for fear I might want him, and thus had spent his time near home.
From joking in the first instance we had now become quite familiar with our new appellations; thus I was Crusoe, and Alec was Monday, that being the day on which I saved him. For the sake of being as near like the hero of Juan Fernandez as possible, I should have liked to call him Friday; in fact, Good Friday, but as he came on the wrong day, Monday had to be his name.
As I write these pages, I can, in fancy, hear his voice shouting to me on the island,
”Crusoe! Crusoe! where are you? Rob--in--son Cru--soe, ahoy!”
Being August, the fruit was ripe and very plentiful; in fact, it seemed a sin to see it hang on the bushes and trees till it dropped upon the ground, simply to serve the purpose of manure. To obviate this we made a whole copper full of jam, and in making it we got into a pretty pickle, both of us being up to our elbows in stickiness, but the jam _was_ prime!
Whatever I did, or wherever I went, the paper I had found in the old leathern cup always haunted me. Moreover, when it did not haunt _me_, I haunted _it_; for I took it to various parts of the island, and taking my stand in a certain place, would represent the spot shewn by the skull in the drawing. Then Monday would measure in various directions to see if he could get the measurements correct to certain rocks or tree stumps, to see if they tallied with the paper, but it was no use, nothing would coincide with that faded paper.
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