Chapter V: A Wonderful Evening

There is no doubt at all that about this time, and for more than a year afterwards, old Antonio, as the village children called him, was _the_ most remarkable man in Fisherton, or in the regions around it.

But even now, after he had settled down in his strange romantic home, there were not wanting people who shook their heads and said--

“Ay, neighbour, but there is something mysterious about Antonio--something mysterious, and it will all come out one day. Ay, it will all come out! _Is_ he good or _is_ he bad, _is_ he false or _is_ he true? them’s the question, maties.”

“Neighbour,” might be the reply, “what you says is right, but what I says is right too. What I says I do say, and it’s this. A bad un may pretend love for children and for birds and beasts, but if he is bad, then take my word for it, lad, the children and the birds and the beasts won’t care for him. Birds and beasts always act the truth, and wouldn’t tell a lie even if they could talk.

“Now, neighbour, I’ve been up at the old windmill, and the hermit, as he is called, took me upstairs to his beautiful room. He told me to stand well back from the window and I’d maybe see a sight. It was just feedin’ time like, he told me!

“I did as I was told and watched.

“The balcony is very big and broad, you know, and trailed o’er with lovely flowers, neighbour.

“He went down below now, to the lower deck as it were, but soon he was up again, carrying five plates one on top of the other, and also a basket of broken food, suet, bread, and bits of meat.

“‘Sit as still now,’ he says to me, ‘as a plaster saint--don’t cough, don’t even wink, don’t make a movement loud enough to wake a weasel.’

“So there I sat as quiet’s a little prayin’ Sam’el.

“Then down went the dishes on the balcony, and the hermit of the old windmill took from the corner a pair of wings (white and big).

“They were mounted on top of a stick no bigger than a fiddle-bow.

“He leant over the balcony just for a moment looking east and west, and I could see him cross his breast, as Catholics do, then he uttered a loud and mournful cry. Whether whistle or shout, I couldn’t say, neighbour, but after repeating this several times he waved the wings.

“What I saw next almost frightened me. A vast multitude of sea-birds, and even rooks and cormorants, assembled round the balcony and alighted on it. I never saw gulls so near before, neighbour. Never knew they were so clean, and white, and beautiful, and with such wondering eyes. Neighbour, I ain’t ever going to shoot a sea-gull again.

“Well, the hermit was sitting cross-legged on the balcony, and more than a score alighted near him, to eat the bread from the soft food from the plates. Now and then a little quarrel would get up among these. But he gently lowered that winged stick and touched them, and peace was at once restored.

“The other birds, especially the cormorants, came alongside him, stood on his knees, on his shoulders and arms, and fed from his hands.

“Neighbour, it were a lovely sight.

“And he talked to them as he gently smoothed their bonnie heads with a little finger. I noticed it was always his little finger he used.

“Sometimes he bent down and kissed the bird nearest him on the poll.

“And more than that, neighbour, as he sat there feeding his pets, he sang sweet and low to them, a kind of unearthly chant, but mournful, and the birds seemed to like it, too.

“But the food was done at last, and the hermit slowly rose. Then away flew the flock. For a few minutes they circled and circled around the windmill, then directed their course seawards.

“I noticed a tear on the hermit’s cheek, but he dashed it off with his sleeve, as if ashamed of such weakness.

“‘Pardon me,’ he said, ‘but I must now allay my feelings.’

“And down he sat to the piano, and such wild, rampant music I never heard before. Not all rampant though, for it got low and mournful at times, and so touching, that I felt cold all along my spine, neighbour, and had to bite my lips to keep back the tears.

“He stopped all at once and came towards me.

“‘As a rule,’ he said, ‘people don’t like me owing to this ugly, erratic eye of mine, but what care I? Have I not solitude, and don’t all God’s creatures love me?’”

* * * * *

I make a slight digression here, reader, just to tell you that you would not think the above sketch one whit overdrawn if you but knew the tameness of the wild birds I myself feed in winter, at my wigwam window, or even in summer away in the woods. I boldly aver that the wild birds _do_ know who loves them, and that they can return that love with affection unalloyed. It is only because of the cruelty of man towards wild creatures that they suspect him of evil, and keep aloof from him.

Do you remember what Burns says in his address to the poor mouse, whose nest he had upturned with his ploughshare?

“I’m truly sorry man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor earthborn companion
An’ fellow mortal.”

Truer words were never spoken.

* * * * *

“Well, neighbour,” said the first speaker, “all that but increases the mystery, A good heart he must have in spite of that awful eye, but still I think he isn’t altogether human.”

* * * * *

In a week or two extraordinary packages began to arrive in lorries from the distant railway station, extraordinary in size and in shape.

These were safely conveyed into the under room or workshop of the old windmill.

With the help of bold, strong Davie Drake and Barclay Stuart, Antonio undid these, and set them up, as he called it. There had already been arranged a bench, with loops of leather on the wall behind to hold the various sorts of carpenters’ and other stranger tools.

By the side of the bench a lathe was put up.

Other packages contained many different kinds of electric instruments, storage batteries, &c., and a miscellaneous and curious collection of instruments and tools, such as the boys had never seen before.

Those were each and all put in their respective places, and when everything was done, then Antonio sank into a chair with a sigh of relief, and surveyed his varied apparatus with a smile of great satisfaction.

“Of course, dearies,” he said to the boys as the glass eye took a sudden squint down at his nose, “you won’t know what all these things are for, but in time I’ll put you up to the ropes and teach you.”

“Thank you, captain,” said bold Barclay; but Davie Drake, powerful and strong though he was for a lad of his years, said nothing. It is awkward for a boy to be shy, but time and hard work soon banishes the failing.

* * * * *

Well, Barclay had been here with Captain Antonio not much over a week, when, one day early in May, a somewhat strange apparition appeared crossing the field towards the old windmill. He called Antonio’s attention to it. But _it_ was evidently a man, tall, erect, and dressed Indian fashion, in long garments of white, with a sash of crimson, sandals, and a huge turban above his brown-black face.

As he drew nearer, walking straight and soldierly, young Barclay could not help remarking how extremely handsome he was. No sculptor could have fashioned from black marble more comely chiselled features had he tried ever so much. He was young, perhaps not over twenty-five, and his long brown hair depended in ringlets almost to his waist.

The weird wee man rubbed his hands with glee.

“Ha!” he cried, “now is my establishment complete. Here comes Pandoo, my faithful man of Mahratta.”

He waved him a welcome from the balcony, and Pandoo looked up and smiled, showing as he did so two rows of teeth as white as those of a Norfolk spaniel. In a minute or two more Pandoo presented himself.

He had divested himself of his sandals, and he bowed low as he took his master’s hand and raised it till it touched his brow--a most graceful form of salutation, never seen in our rough-and-tumble haughty Briton.

“So you lib (live), sah?”

“Yes, Pandoo, and I’m hearty and hopeful.”

“And you still tink you go to sea in big ship and make you’ fortoon, sah?”

“Sure of it, Pandoo. Sure of it, lad. And, look here, you shall share it.”

“Pandoo’s heart do flutter wit’ joy and ’citement.”

“Well then, go below, and make yourself some coffee, and bring us some. This is young Mr. Barclay Stuart. He too will go with us when all is ready.”

Pandoo turned to Barclay and salaamed.

“I hope you is well, sah, and you’ vife?”

Barclay laughed outright.

Antonio hastened to explain that he was but a boy, and that boys didn’t marry in this country.

“You ’scuse me den,” said Pandoo, with another salaam, “but I am one much big fool. I go to make de coffee. I bling de poor chile some too.”

In a very short time Pandoo returned with a tray, with cups of coffee and fancy biscuits. But never before had Barclay, or “the dear child,” as Pandoo called him, tasted so delicious an infusion.

Pandoo himself squatted tailor-fashion at the other end of the room.

He conversed with Antonio, but in a language that Barclay could not understand one word of.

Sometimes the Indian’s face was lit up with smiles, but there were moments when dark lightning seemed to flash from his eyes as he spoke, and he motioned with his hand as if waving sword or dagger in the battlefield. At such times he looked as fierce as the wildest tiger ever encountered in Indian jungles.

When Pandoo looked fierce, his mood appeared to communicate itself to Antonio as well. His brows were lowered, his face sternly set, and the large glass eye rolled about in a manner that almost frightened poor Barclay Stuart.

But the mood would pass quickly off; then while they continued to jabber in Hindustani, they both laughed loud and clearly, so that Barclay was fain to join them, though he could not have told any one why on earth he did so.

Everything was settled at the old windmill in less than a week, and Antonio busy all forenoon with his experiments.

The good folks of Fisherton had certainly nothing to complain of as regards either Antonio or Pandoo, his servant. Both were civil and pleasant; they disbursed money freely, and took an interest in everything.

Although Barclay still spent an hour or two at the parson’s every morning, Antonio took him in hand also. In the forenoon he assisted the weird wee man in the laboratory, and much did he learn as to the science of electricity.

In the afternoon he was allowed to run home, and every fine evening they went out for a sail in a small, well-rigged sloop that Antonio had hired.

More about these little voyages in next chapter.

Meanwhile I want to say something about an entertainment, that Pandoo and he gave in the lower room of the old windmill.

Antonio’s fame had been noised abroad, and albeit the tickets for the entertainment were dear, the little hall was quite crowded with good people, even clergymen and their wives attended.

The room was very capacious, and it was prettily adorned with evergreens and flowers, and lit by crimson and white balls of electricity. At one end was a small platform, and behind this a huge sheet of glass, which formed the front of a shallow box.

The performance was not a long one, but it was certainly very strange. It commenced with a piano recital by Antonio. The audience were spell-bound. The music seemed magical. During the more slow and pathetic movements many ladies were seen to weep. Indeed, the whole piece seemed to tell a tale of war and love, and tell it too as distinctly as if it had been couched in words.

After this Pandoo, while Antonio played, gave a strange Indian dance, which was certainly far more natural and graceful than any of the stupid skirt-dances people are used to see at London music-halls.

Beautiful scenes from the Indian Ocean and the islands thereof were now depicted on a screen from the lantern, and this put the children present into ecstasies of delight. Then followed a strange but beautiful duet-song by both, and accompanied by the guitar. This was encored, and in answer Antonio himself gave a performance on the guitar, accompanied by a charming Indian song. The audience were too polite to encore again, although they would have sat all night to listen to sounds like these.

Pandoo, in the rich Indian dress his master had caused him to don, was greatly admired by the ladies.

But Pandoo astonished every one when he commenced his wonderful acts of jugglery. I cannot describe the half of these. It would be but waste of space; for unless my readers go out to India, they may never see, and could not be expected to believe, what these men can do. Nor will the best of them suffer themselves to be imported to this country to perform.

While Pandoo was acting, Antonio played strange uncanny music on his guitar.

But the audience stared aghast to see the Indian stand at the back of the stage, open his mouth, and apparently with some difficulty catch the end of a piece of tape. Then he commenced to draw it out.

The audience laughed, then they grew suddenly serious; for Pandoo was walking round and round the little stage, pulling and pulling at the tape, which he permitted to fall on the floor. There seemed no end to it. There appeared to be as much on the stage at last as would have sufficed to stuff a pillow.

Then at last it ended--in what, think you? why, in a beautiful little bird, that flew up to the roof and sat among the evergreens to twitter and sing.

And now Pandoo bowed.

And the audience were wild in their applause.

Your true Indian juggler despises such tricks as knife or sword swallowing. These are far beneath the dignity of a nation that has studied jugglery probably since the days of Moses and Aaron.

“I will show you now,” said Pandoo, “a common Angleese piece of de juggle, what de quack jugglers make you Angleese stare with at de halls of music.”

A boy brought a basket. Antonio submitted to have himself roped into a knot and squeezed into the basket. Then the basket was closed.

“I now proceed,” he said, “to kill my master with our dagger knife. Little child’en, you must not be afraid. It is all fun.”

“Say you prayah,” he shouted, “say you prayah. You is goin’ to die plenty quick. I give you tree minutes.”

Meanwhile Pandoo picked up Antonio’s guitar. “Ha, ha, ha,” he laughed right merrily. “This belong to me now. He not can take that with him. Guitar no good in de grave. De worms not care for moosic.

“Now I shall kill he plenty quick.”

It did appear dreadful to see Pandoo lift the dagger and stab the basket all round, while groans for some time issued therefrom and finally ceased, and blood ran in darkling rivulets along the stage.

Everybody looked very serious now, till presently up went the lid of the basket and out jumped Antonio.

Everybody laughed, but Pandoo pretended to be very angry.

“My maxim is,” he said, “always to make sure, and so de next time I shall use a Maxim gun.”

“Now, British ladies, gemlem, and child’en,” he added, “I show you how dis is done. De unroping is nothing. And at de slightest touch the blade of de dagger sinks back into the hilt. Master Barclay, show it round.”

Barclay was delighted to do so, after pretending to stab Davie Drake through the heart with it.

* * * * *

Pandoo’s next trick appeared miraculous. I have often seen myself tricks like it in India, but never could understand them. Nor would the jugglers explain.

A larger basket was procured and turned upside down on the stage.

“Will any little girl come under de basket?”

“Oh,” cried Barclay, “Phœbe won’t be afraid, I’m sure.”

Phœbe loved Pandoo, and could trust him thoroughly, so she appeared shyly on the stage with her left forefinger between her rosy lips.

Pandoo patted her, and whispered something in her ear, and as she sat down he covered her over with the basket.

“She is cooped,” said Pandoo, “like one boo’ful bantam hen.”

He then played an Indian march on the guitar.

“Now we will let the little bantam free,” he cried.

He lifted the basket.

There was no Phœbe there, but in her place a huge python or boa-constrictor. He took the guitar again, and while every one looked in fear and trembling, he played a strange wild air, chanting with his voice as he did so.

The boa raised its head slowly, and finally curled itself lovingly round Pandoo’s body. But he soon disengaged it, and once more placed it under; more music, and once more he lifted the basket. The snake was gone, but in its place grew a charming rose-bush.

Pandoo was delighted. He plucked the charmed roses, and tossed them among the audience.

Again the basket was placed over the rose-bush, and he commenced to play a merry air, but lo! as he still played, the basket seemed to lift itself, and out popped Phœbe herself, as rosy and bright as the month of June, and laughing so merrily, that every one in the audience clapped their hands and cheered.

Dr. Parker now rose and said quietly--

“I think, ladies and gentlemen, that trick is done through the medium of a trap-door.”

“Would the good doctor step up and examine the stage?”

The good doctor would.

There was not the slightest trace of a trap-door, and the doctor looked considerably confused.

Now I myself believe that in tricks of this sort in India--and if in India, why not in Britain?--hypnotism probably plays a conspicuous part.

I cannot say how, and it seems to me incredible that a whole audience could be hypnotised; but still it should be remembered that, in our country, this science is as yet only in its infancy.

Lest my young reader should dream of these mysterious performances, I must conclude this chapter by briefly describing the prettiest scene of all. I may mention at once that it was not conducted with the lantern, though in part that may have been used.

The effects were visible _inside_ the immense glass framework at the back of the stage, and every effect was accompanied by appropriate music.

Antonio had seated himself at the piano, and as Pandoo had disappeared, it was evident that he was “wire-puller.”

The electric light was extinguished in the hall, but the beautiful fairy lights, that shone among flowers and foliage, gave a dim but beautiful radiance.

Looking into that huge glass case was like gazing through a mirror into Elfinland.

The first scene was morning just breaking over the sea, on which was a ship, far away in the distance, bobbing and curtseying to the waves. Ladies who had opera-glasses declared they could see the sailors at work on the deck, but this might have been but female fancy.

On the horizon were rolling grey clouds, higher above in the sky strips or lines of crimson cloud; then slowly the lower clouds turned to purple and bronze, the sun was rising, and soon his red gleams escaped from a low-down rift in the sky, and a triangle of blood red--its broadest part furthest off--fringed the sea, and the sails of the ship became a charming pink.

As it rose higher and higher, the cloud scenery became still more lovely.

The ship too altered her course as if by magic, and bore away on the other tack. It was soon broad daylight on that wondrous ocean, and every wave and wavelet sparkled and shone in the silvery rays of the sun.

The ship had sailed now two-thirds across the sea, and the audience felt sorry to think it must soon disappear.

But now a calm ensued. Though the waves continued high, they were oily and smooth. The ship rolled continuously, and the sails shivered and flapped. Some said afterwards they could hear the flapping, but this was mere imagination.

Dark blue, almost black, clouds are now seen rapidly banking up on the horizon, and spreading up and up till the whole sky is overcast, and the sea beneath is darkling, grey and gloomy. Sail is being rapidly taken in on board that phantom ship; it is reduced to a storm-jib, a mainsail, and close-reefed fore-topsail.

None too soon; a vivid flash of lightning darts athwart the sky, and in a few seconds thunder, that seems to shake the windmill to its foundation, follows.

The thunder-storm, while it lasted, was terribly realistic; the lightning most vivid--indeed, it seemed to set the sea on fire. But winds began to ruffle the waves, and the storm retired, though muttering thunders were still heard. A squall came on, white horses on breaking waves were everywhere visible. The barque flew on before it, and finally dashed out from this splendid _tableau-vivant_, and was seen no more. Strange cloud effects followed. Then once more the hall was lit up with a blaze of electric light, and all was over.

Antonio advanced to the footlights. For once in a way the glass eye remained stationary, or followed the movements of the other, so that he did not look so weird and uncanny.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “my little performance is at an end. I thank you all for the comfort of your attendance, and hope to see you again another night.” (Cheers.)

“Meanwhile,” he added, as Pandoo placed a bag in his hand, “this is the offering, the price of your tickets. I desire to place it in the hands of the good parson, Mr. Grahame. No applause, please; I am nervous and shy. I do not require the money; I am in the position of the freebooters of old, who used to rob the rich and give it to the poor. I do not pretend to be rich, but I have inventions on hand that I hope will, before many years go by, make me so, and the probability is, that if I am spared to return from sea, I will build me a house in the woods and settle down among you good people.”

There was applause now, that he tried in vain to stem, and many ladies of the nervous diathesis were seen to put their handkerchiefs to their eyes.

“Phœbe dearie, come here.”

Phœbe, all smiles, ran up and on to the stage.

“Carry this bag, dearie, to your good clergyman, and tell him he is to expend every sixpence of it in buying warm things for the poorest children in the village.”

Without waiting for a reply from Mr. Grahame, the queer wee weird man waved his hand, and next minute had disappeared up the iron winding staircase into his own drawing-room.

So ended a truly wonderful evening.