The Dynamiter

R >> Robert Louis Stevenson and Fanny van de Grift Stevenson >> The Dynamiter

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As he was thus moving forward past the National Gallery, in a
medium, it seemed, of greater rarity and quiet than ordinary air,
there slipped into his mind the recollection of a certain entry in
Whitcomb Street hard by, where he might perhaps lay down his tragic
cargo unremarked. Thither, then, he bent his steps, seeming, as he
went, to float above the pavement; and there, in the mouth of the
entry, he found a man in a sleeved waistcoat, gravely chewing a
straw. He passed him by, and twice patrolled the entry, scouting
for the barest chance; but the man had faced about and continued to
observe him curiously.

Another hope was gone. M'Guire reissued from the entry, still
followed by the wondering eyes of the man in the sleeved waistcoat.
He once more consulted his watch: there were but fourteen minutes
left to him. At that, it seemed as if a sudden, genial heat were
spread about his brain; for a second or two, he saw the world as
red as blood; and thereafter entered into a complete possession of
himself, with an incredible cheerfulness of spirits, prompting him
to sing and chuckle as he walked. And yet this mirth seemed to
belong to things external; and within, like a black and leaden-
heavy kernel, he was conscious of the weight upon his soul.

I care for nobody, no, not I,
And nobody cares for me,

he sang, and laughed at the appropriate burthen, so that the
passengers stared upon him on the street. And still the warmth
seemed to increase and to become more genial. What was life? he
considered, and what he, M'Guire? What even Erin, our green Erin?
All seemed so incalculably little that he smiled as he looked down
upon it. He would have given years, had he possessed them, for a
glass of spirits; but time failed, and he must deny himself this
last indulgence.

At the corner of the Haymarket, he very jauntily hailed a hansom
cab; jumped in; bade the fellow drive him to a part of the
Embankment, which he named; and as soon as the vehicle was in
motion, concealed the bag as completely as he could under the
vantage of the apron, and once more drew out his watch. So he rode
for five interminable minutes, his heart in his mouth at every
jolt, scarce able to possess his terrors, yet fearing to wake the
attention of the driver by too obvious a change of plan, and
willing, if possible, to leave him time to forget the Gladstone
bag.

At length, at the head of some stairs on the Embankment, he hailed;
the cab was stopped; and he alighted--with how glad a heart! He
thrust his hand into his pocket. All was now over; he had saved
his life; nor that alone, but he had engineered a striking act of
dynamite; for what could be more pictorial, what more effective,
than the explosion of a hansom cab, as it sped rapidly along the
streets of London. He felt in one pocket; then in another. The
most crushing seizure of despair descended on his soul; and struck
into abject dumbness, he stared upon the driver. He had not one
penny.

'Hillo,' said the driver, 'don't seem well.'

'Lost my money,' said M'Guire, in tones so faint and strange that
they surprised his hearing.

The man looked through the trap. 'I dessay,' said he: 'you've
left your bag.'

M'Guire half unconsciously fetched it out; and looking on that
black continent at arm's length, withered inwardly and felt his
features sharpen as with mortal sickness.

'This is not mine,' said he. 'Your last fare must have left it.
You had better take it to the station.'

'Now look here,' returned the cabman: 'are you off your chump? or
am I?'

'Well, then, I'll tell you what,' exclaimed M'Guire; 'you take it
for your fare!'

'Oh, I dessay,' replied the driver. 'Anything else? What's IN
your bag? Open it, and let me see.'

'No, no,' returned M'Guire. 'Oh no, not that. It's a surprise;
it's prepared expressly: a surprise for honest cabmen.'

'No, you don't,' said the man, alighting from his perch, and coming
very close to the unhappy patriot. 'You're either going to pay my
fare, or get in again and drive to the office.'

It was at this supreme hour of his distress, that M'Guire spied the
stout figure of one Godall, a tobacconist of Rupert Street, drawing
near along the Embankment. The man was not unknown to him; he had
bought of his wares, and heard him quoted for the soul of
liberality; and such was now the nearness of his peril, that even
at such a straw of hope, he clutched with gratitude.

'Thank God!' he cried. 'Here comes a friend of mine. I'll
borrow.' And he dashed to meet the tradesman. 'Sir,' said he,
'Mr. Godall, I have dealt with you--you doubtless know my face--
calamities for which I cannot blame myself have overwhelmed me.
Oh, sir, for the love of innocence, for the sake of the bonds of
humanity, and as you hope for mercy at the throne of grace, lend me
two-and-six!'

'I do not recognise your face,' replied Mr. Godall; 'but I remember
the cut of your beard, which I have the misfortune to dislike.
Here, sir, is a sovereign; which I very willingly advance to you,
on the single condition that you shave your chin.'

M'Guire grasped the coin without a word; cast it to the cabman,
calling out to him to keep the change; bounded down the steps,
flung the bag far forth into the river, and fell headlong after it.
He was plucked from a watery grave, it is believed, by the hands of
Mr. Godall. Even as he was being hoisted dripping to the shore, a
dull and choked explosion shook the solid masonry of the
Embankment, and far out in the river a momentary fountain rose and
disappeared.

THE SUPERFLUOUS MANSION (Continued)

Somerset in vain strove to attach a meaning to these words. He
had, in the meanwhile, applied himself assiduously to the flagon;
the plotter began to melt in twain, and seemed to expand and hover
on his seat; and with a vague sense of nightmare, the young man
rose unsteadily to his feet, and, refusing the proffer of a third
grog, insisted that the hour was late and he must positively get to
bed.

'Dear me,' observed Zero, 'I find you very temperate. But I will
not be oppressive. Suffice it that we are now fast friends; and,
my dear landlord, au revoir!'

So saying the plotter once more shook hands; and with the politest
ceremonies, and some necessary guidance, conducted the bewildered
young gentleman to the top of the stair.

Precisely, how he got to bed, was a point on which Somerset
remained in utter darkness; but the next morning when, at a blow,
he started broad awake, there fell upon his mind a perfect
hurricane of horror and wonder. That he should have suffered
himself to be led into the semblance of intimacy with such a man as
his abominable lodger, appeared, in the cold light of day, a
mystery of human weakness. True, he was caught in a situation that
might have tested the aplomb of Talleyrand. That was perhaps a
palliation; but it was no excuse. For so wholesale a capitulation
of principle, for such a fall into criminal familiarity, no excuse
indeed was possible; nor any remedy, but to withdraw at once from
the relation.

As soon as he was dressed, he hurried upstairs, determined on a
rupture. Zero hailed him with the warmth of an old friend.

'Come in,' he cried, 'dear Mr. Somerset! Come in, sit down, and,
without ceremony, join me at my morning meal.'

'Sir,' said Somerset, 'you must permit me first to disengage my
honour. Last night, I was surprised into a certain appearance of
complicity; but once for all, let me inform you that I regard you
and your machinations with unmingled horror and disgust, and I will
leave no stone unturned to crush your vile conspiracy.'

'My dear fellow,' replied Zero, with an air of some complacency, 'I
am well accustomed to these human weaknesses. Disgust? I have
felt it myself; it speedily wears off. I think none the worse, I
think the more of you, for this engaging frankness. And in the
meanwhile, what are you to do? You find yourself, if I interpret
rightly, in very much the same situation as Charles the Second
(possibly the least degraded of your British sovereigns) when he
was taken into the confidence of the thief. To denounce me, is out
of the question; and what else can you attempt? No, dear Mr.
Somerset, your hands are tied; and you find yourself condemned,
under pain of behaving like a cad, to be that same charming and
intellectual companion who delighted me last night.'

'At least,' cried Somerset, 'I can, and do, order you to leave this
house.'

'Ah!' cried the plotter, 'but there I fail to follow you. You may,
if you please, enact the part of Judas; but if, as I suppose, you
recoil from that extremity of meanness, I am, on my side, far too
intelligent to leave these lodgings, in which I please myself
exceedingly, and from which you lack the power to drive me. No,
no, dear sir; here I am, and here I propose to stay.'

'I repeat,' cried Somerset, beside himself with a sense of his own
weakness, 'I repeat that I give you warning. I am the master of
this house; and I emphatically give you warning.'

'A week's warning?' said the imperturbable conspirator. 'Very
well: we will talk of it a week from now. That is arranged; and
in the meanwhile, I observe my breakfast growing cold. Do, dear
Mr. Somerset, since you find yourself condemned, for a week at
least, to the society of a very interesting character, display some
of that open favour, some of that interest in life's obscurer
sides, which stamp the character of the true artist. Hang me, if
you will, to-morrow; but to-day show yourself divested of the
scruples of the burgess, and sit down pleasantly to share my meal.'

'Man!' cried Somerset, 'do you understand my sentiments?'

'Certainly,' replied Zero; 'and I respect them! Would you be
outdone in such a contest? will you alone be partial? and in this
nineteenth century, cannot two gentlemen of education agree to
differ on a point of politics? Come, sir: all your hard words
have left me smiling; judge then, which of us is the philosopher!'

Somerset was a young man of a very tolerant disposition and by
nature easily amenable to sophistry. He threw up his hands with a
gesture of despair, and took the seat to which the conspirator
invited him. The meal was excellent; the host not only affable,
but primed with curious information. He seemed, indeed, like one
who had too long endured the torture of silence, to exult in the
most wholesale disclosures. The interest of what he had to tell
was great; his character, besides, developed step by step; and
Somerset, as the time fled, not only outgrew some of the discomfort
of his false position, but began to regard the conspirator with a
familiarity that verged upon contempt. In any circumstances, he
had a singular inability to leave the society in which he found
himself; company, even if distasteful, held him captive like a
limed sparrow; and on this occasion, he suffered hour to follow
hour, was easily persuaded to sit down once more to table, and did
not even attempt to withdraw till, on the approach of evening,
Zero, with many apologies, dismissed his guest. His fellow-
conspirators, the dynamiter handsomely explained, as they were
unacquainted with the sterling qualities of the young man, would be
alarmed at the sight of a strange face.

As soon as he was alone, Somerset fell back upon the humour of the
morning. He raged at the thought of his facility; he paced the
dining-room, forming the sternest resolutions for the future; he
wrung the hand which had been dishonoured by the touch of an
assassin; and among all these whirling thoughts, there flashed in
from time to time, and ever with a chill of fear, the thought of
the confounded ingredients with which the house was stored. A
powder magazine seemed a secure smoking-room alongside of the
Superfluous Mansion.

He sought refuge in flight, in locomotion, in the flowing bowl. As
long as the bars were open, he travelled from one to another,
seeking light, safety, and the companionship of human faces; when
these resources failed him, he fell back on the belated baked-
potato man; and at length, still pacing the streets, he was goaded
to fraternise with the police. Alas, with what a sense of guilt he
conversed with these guardians of the law; how gladly had he wept
upon their ample bosoms; and how the secret fluttered to his lips
and was still denied an exit! Fatigue began at last to triumph
over remorse; and about the hour of the first milkman, he returned
to the door of the mansion; looked at it with a horrid expectation,
as though it should have burst that instant into flames; drew out
his key, and when his foot already rested on the steps, once more
lost heart and fled for repose to the grisly shelter of a coffee-
shop.

It was on the stroke of noon when he awoke. Dismally searching in
his pockets, he found himself reduced to half-a-crown; and when he
had paid the price of his distasteful couch, saw himself obliged to
return to the Superfluous Mansion. He sneaked into the hall and
stole on tiptoe to the cupboard where he kept his money. Yet half
a minute, he told himself, and he would be free for days from his
obseding lodger, and might decide at leisure on the course he
should pursue. But fate had otherwise designed: there came a tap
at the door and Zero entered.

'Have I caught you?' he cried, with innocent gaiety. 'Dear fellow,
I was growing quite impatient.' And on the speaker's somewhat
stolid face, there came a glow of genuine affection. 'I am so long
unused to have a friend,' he continued, 'that I begin to be afraid
I may prove jealous.' And he wrung the hand of his landlord.

Somerset was, of all men, least fit to deal with such a greeting.
To reject these kind advances was beyond his strength. That he
could not return cordiality for cordiality, was already almost more
than he could carry. That inequality between kind sentiments
which, to generous characters, will always seem to be a sort of
guilt, oppressed him to the ground; and he stammered vague and
lying words.

'That is all right,' cried Zero--'that is as it should be--say no
more! I had a vague alarm; I feared you had deserted me; but I now
own that fear to have been unworthy, and apologise. To doubt of
your forgiveness were to repeat my sin. Come, then; dinner waits;
join me again and tell me your adventures of the night.'

Kindness still sealed the lips of Somerset; and he suffered himself
once more to be set down to table with his innocent and criminal
acquaintance. Once more, the plotter plunged up to the neck in
damaging disclosures: now it would be the name and biography of an
individual, now the address of some important centre, that rose, as
if by accident, upon his lips; and each word was like another turn
of the thumbscrew to his unhappy guest. Finally, the course of
Zero's bland monologue led him to the young lady of two days ago:
that young lady, who had flashed on Somerset for so brief a while
but with so conquering a charm; and whose engaging grace,
communicative eyes, and admirable conduct of the sweeping skirt,
remained imprinted on his memory.

'You saw her?' said Zero. 'Beautiful, is she not? She, too, is
one of ours: a true enthusiast: nervous, perhaps, in presence of
the chemicals; but in matters of intrigue, the very soul of skill
and daring. Lake, Fonblanque, de Marly, Valdevia, such are some of
the names that she employs; her true name--but there, perhaps, I go
too far. Suffice it, that it is to her I owe my present lodging,
and, dear Somerset, the pleasure of your acquaintance. It appears
she knew the house. You see dear fellow, I make no concealment:
all that you can care to hear, I tell you openly.'

'For God's sake,' cried the wretched Somerset, 'hold your tongue!
You cannot imagine how you torture me!'

A shade of serious discomposure crossed the open countenance of
Zero.

'There are times,' he said, 'when I begin to fancy that you do not
like me. Why, why, dear Somerset, this lack of cordiality? I am
depressed; the touchstone of my life draws near; and if I fail'--he
gloomily nodded--'from all the height of my ambitious schemes, I
fall, dear boy, into contempt. These are grave thoughts, and you
may judge my need of your delightful company. Innocent prattler,
you relieve the weight of my concerns. And yet . . . and yet . .
.' The speaker pushed away his plate, and rose from table.
'Follow me,' said he, 'follow me. My mood is on; I must have air,
I must behold the plain of battle.'

So saying, he led the way hurriedly to the top flat of the mansion,
and thence, by ladder and trap, to a certain leaded platform,
sheltered at one end by a great stalk of chimneys and occupying the
actual summit of the roof. On both sides, it bordered, without
parapet or rail, on the incline of slates; and, northward above
all, commanded an extensive view of housetops, and rising through
the smoke, the distant spires of churches.

'Here,' cried Zero, 'you behold this field of city, rich, crowded,
laughing with the spoil of continents; but soon, how soon, to be
laid low! Some day, some night, from this coign of vantage, you
shall perhaps be startled by the detonation of the judgment gun--
not sharp and empty like the crack of cannon, but deep-mouthed and
unctuously solemn. Instantly thereafter, you shall behold the
flames break forth. Ay,' he cried, stretching forth his hand, 'ay,
that will be a day of retribution. Then shall the pallid constable
flee side by side with the detected thief. Blaze!' he cried,
'blaze, derided city! Fall, flatulent monarchy, fall like Dagon!'

With these words his foot slipped upon the lead; and but for
Somerset's quickness, he had been instantly precipitated into
space. Pale as a sheet, and limp as a pocket-handkerchief, he was
dragged from the edge of downfall by one arm; helped, or rather
carried, down the ladder; and deposited in safety on the attic
landing. Here he began to come to himself, wiped his brow, and at
length, seizing Somerset's hand in both of his, began to utter his
acknowledgments.

'This seals it,' said he. 'Ours is a life and death connection.
You have plucked me from the jaws of death; and if I were before
attracted by your character, judge now of the ardour of my
gratitude and love! But I perceive I am still greatly shaken.
Lend me, I beseech you, lend me your arm as far as my apartment.'

A dram of spirits restored the plotter to something of his
customary self-possession; and he was standing, glass in hand and
genially convalescent, when his eye was attracted by the dejection
of the unfortunate young man.

'Good heavens, dear Somerset,' he cried, 'what ails you? Let me
offer you a touch of spirits.'

But Somerset had fallen below the reach of this material comfort.

'Let me be,' he said. 'I am lost; you have caught me in the toils.
Up to this moment, I have lived all my life in the most reckless
manner, and done exactly what I pleased, with the most perfect
innocence. And now--what am I? Are you so blind and wooden that
you do not see the loathing you inspire me with? Is it possible
you can suppose me willing to continue to exist upon such terms?
To think,' he cried, 'that a young man, guilty of no fault on earth
but amiability, should find himself involved in such a damned
imbroglio!' And placing his knuckles in his eyes, Somerset rolled
upon the sofa.

'My God,' said Zero, 'is this possible? And I so filled with
tenderness and interest! Can it be, dear Somerset, that you are
under the empire of these out-worn scruples? or that you judge a
patriot by the morality of the religious tract? I thought you were
a good agnostic.'

'Mr. Jones,' said Somerset, 'it is in vain to argue. I boast
myself a total disbeliever, not only in revealed religion, but in
the data, method, and conclusions of the whole of ethics. Well!
what matters it? what signifies a form of words? I regard you as a
reptile, whom I would rejoice, whom I long, to stamp under my heel.
You would blow up others? Well then, understand: I want, with
every circumstance of infamy and agony, to blow up you!'

'Somerset, Somerset!' said Zero, turning very pale, 'this is wrong;
this is very wrong. You pain, you wound me, Somerset.'

'Give me a match!' cried Somerset wildly. 'Let me set fire to this
incomparable monster! Let me perish with him in his fall!'

'For God's sake,' cried Zero, clutching hold of the young man, 'for
God's sake command yourself! We stand upon the brink; death yawns
around us; a man--a stranger in this foreign land--one whom you
have called your friend--'

'Silence!' cried Somerset, 'you are no friend, no friend of mine.
I look on you with loathing, like a toad: my flesh creeps with
physical repulsion; my soul revolts against the sight of you.'

Zero burst into tears. 'Alas!' he sobbed, 'this snaps the last
link that bound me to humanity. My friend disowns--he insults me.
I am indeed accurst.'

Somerset stood for an instant staggered by this sudden change of
front. The next moment, with a despairing gesture, he fled from
the room and from the house. The first dash of his escape carried
him hard upon half-way to the next police-office: but presently
began to droop; and before he reached the house of lawful
intervention, he fell once more among doubtful counsels. Was he an
agnostic? had he a right to act? Away with such nonsense, and let
Zero perish! ran his thoughts. And then again: had he not
promised, had he not shaken hands and broken bread? and that with
open eyes? and if so how could he take action, and not forfeit
honour? But honour? what was honour? A figment, which, in the hot
pursuit of crime, he ought to dash aside. Ay, but crime? A
figment, too, which his enfranchised intellect discarded. All day,
he wandered in the parks, a prey to whirling thoughts; all night,
patrolled the city; and at the peep of day he sat down by the
wayside in the neighbourhood of Peckham and bitterly wept. His
gods had fallen. He who had chosen the broad, daylit, unencumbered
paths of universal scepticism, found himself still the bondslave of
honour. He who had accepted life from a point of view as lofty as
the predatory eagle's, though with no design to prey; he who had
clearly recognised the common moral basis of war, of commercial
competition, and of crime; he who was prepared to help the escaping
murderer or to embrace the impenitent thief, found, to the
overthrow of all his logic, that he objected to the use of
dynamite. The dawn crept among the sleeping villas and over the
smokeless fields of city; and still the unfortunate sceptic sobbed
over his fall from consistency.

At length, he rose and took the rising sun to witness. 'There is
no question as to fact,' he cried; 'right and wrong are but
figments and the shadow of a word; but for all that, there are
certain things that I cannot do, and there are certain others that
I will not stand.' Thereupon he decided to return to make one last
effort of persuasion, and, if he could not prevail on Zero to
desist from his infernal trade, throw delicacy to the winds, give
the plotter an hour's start, and denounce him to the police. Fast
as he went, being winged by this resolution, it was already well on
in the morning when he came in sight of the Superfluous Mansion.
Tripping down the steps, was the young lady of the various aliases;
and he was surprised to see upon her countenance the marks of anger
and concern.

'Madam,' he began, yielding to impulse and with no clear knowledge
of what he was to add.

But at the sound of his voice she seemed to experience a shock of
fear or horror; started back; lowered her veil with a sudden
movement; and fled, without turning, from the square.

Here then, we step aside a moment from following the fortunes of
Somerset, and proceed to relate the strange and romantic episode of
THE BROWN BOX.

DESBOROUGH'S ADVENTURE: THE BROWN BOX

Mr. Harry Desborough lodged in the fine and grave old quarter of
Bloomsbury, roared about on every side by the high tides of London,
but itself rejoicing in romantic silences and city peace. It was
in Queen Square that he had pitched his tent, next door to the
Children's Hospital, on your left hand as you go north: Queen
Square, sacred to humane and liberal arts, whence homes were made
beautiful, where the poor were taught, where the sparrows were
plentiful and loud, and where groups of patient little ones would
hover all day long before the hospital, if by chance they might
kiss their hand or speak a word to their sick brother at the
window. Desborough's room was on the first floor and fronted to
the square; but he enjoyed besides, a right by which he often
profited, to sit and smoke upon a terrace at the back, which looked
down upon a fine forest of back gardens, and was in turn commanded
by the windows of an empty room.

On the afternoon of a warm day, Desborough sauntered forth upon
this terrace, somewhat out of hope and heart, for he had been now
some weeks on the vain quest of situations, and prepared for
melancholy and tobacco. Here, at least, he told himself that he
would be alone; for, like most youths, who are neither rich, nor
witty, nor successful, he rather shunned than courted the society
of other men. Even as he expressed the thought, his eye alighted
on the window of the room that looked upon the terrace; and to his
surprise and annoyance, he beheld it curtained with a silken
hanging. It was like his luck, he thought; his privacy was gone,
he could no longer brood and sigh unwatched, he could no longer
suffer his discouragement to find a vent in words or soothe himself
with sentimental whistling; and in the irritation of the moment, he
struck his pipe upon the rail with unnecessary force. It was an
old, sweet, seasoned briar-root, glossy and dark with long
employment, and justly dear to his fancy. What, then, was his
chagrin, when the head snapped from the stem, leaped airily in
space, and fell and disappeared among the lilacs of the garden?

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