1937-05-21 — Page 31

THE CHINA MAIL FRIDAY SUPPLEMENT, MAY 21, 1987

THE HANDMAIDEN

(Continued from Page 1} will that by the prophet and me shall the Redeemer's self be born again on earth. It is a great honour and joy, but terrible hard to bear.""

My great-uncle Charles looked at me

so keenly that I was at a loss. Though from talk at school I understood what he meant, I did not know whether at home it might not be held a guilty and .precocious knowledge.

"The lecherous beast," he said. "It sent me raging to the farm- er, but he and his wife were fast in the snare. *Receive the light with holy jcy,' they said, 'for the Lord hath regarded the low es- tate of His handmaiden and, be- hold, from henceforth all genera- tious shall call her blessed." "Will he marry her?' I asked at the end of an angry argument. ‘Ans- wer me that.'

'Marriage," said Amos, is not for the Angel of the Lord, but you, do you reckon Joseph felt ashamed when he knew? When false religion comes in at the door' common sense flies out of the win- dow. I told them whatever blood ran in saint's veins mine was red and they called

+

me

Mil- "The

a blasphemer. It was ly herself who ended it. Lord has magnified me and I am blessed, she said. 'It's cruel hard, but so it must be, Charlie," and she dropped her head in her hands. They pushed me out and barred the door.

"Couldn't you

have run off with her like young Lochinvar, uncle?" I asked.

"She believed it all, dear soul,” he said. “She believed he was a holy man, ‘For all poor folk that grieve and suffer, I must do it,' she said. "But go away, my dear, and let us meet again in a year.” I bought ta pistol. It was the prophet I was after, but before I had made any plan everything was changed by the news the Lon- don coach brought clattering into the Sun yard with a tantivy fit to wake the dead. I jumped my counter and ran to see what was afoot. I mind that coach guard plain as I see you now, slim- waisted in his long pink coat, his silvery beaver all askew as he leaned upon his yard of brass coach-horn crying his tidings. Peter Meek, constable of Sele, going to take Anthony into cus- tody for non-payment of the Queen's taxes, had been shot dead by the prophet with a horse- pistol and left lying on the verge of the road covered with a horse blanket. "Boy," said my great- uncle, "never in your born days did you see the like of the stir it made. The mayor was called up. Job Masterman, the corn chandler he was, and Sheriff Payne and the new police Peelers, we called them-and all Canchester crowding like at No- vember hiring fair to the old Sun" yard. There was little trade in Canchester that forenoon="

The old man's story had warm- ed him. A little glow had crept into his waxed cheeks.

"Pretty soon," he went on, "we knew something strange was in the wind when a platoon in marching order came down the High Street and halted by the- George and Dragon where the library is now. Ensign Benedict, the same who's buried in nave, was in command, a standing gentleman whom none of us dreamed was marching to his death. He crossed the road into the Fleur de Lys while his

fine

the

· up-

sergeant passed down the files looking to see that the muskets were properly ordered. 'You'll not be plugging at the range to-day, my cocks,' he said. Soon enough the Ensign came out with the mayor and sheriff to read the Riot Act. He marched his men off and the rest of us tailed on, some in curricles and in Mr. Payne's mail cart, and I with the riff-raff, following all the way to Commissioners' Woods to the beat of the drum ahead."

My own pulse was quicker now. Never had any reminiscence of my great-uncle thrilled me as did this.

"Five miles out at the top of Beckton Hill they halted. It was like a fete, green leaf and blue road, colour and clatter and sky, hot summer and the dusty laughter, till the Ensign came from speech with the mayor to call his platoon to attention. "With ball, load!' he cried.

"We came on the prophet's folk in a clearing, the men in front with staves and pitchforks and here and there a yeomanry sword strapped over broadcloth and a fowling-piece or two. Anthony, that mad knave, stood in the mid- dle advanced from the rest, his long black cloak thrown around him, his pistol in his hand. The soldiers were on three sides of them before they knew. While the sheriff read the Riot Act the wo- men, who stood behind the men, sang a hymn, but their voices were thin and twittery, though they stood their ground like all therest when called on to dis- perse."

"Then did the soldiers shoot, uncle?" I asked, eager to hear of áctión.

"Soon enough, boy, soon enough. Arrest that man,' said the sheriff. -'Ensign, do your duty. The poor young fellow went forward with a file of men, their muckets at the ready. At five paces distance the prophet drew the pistol from his bosom and fired. The ensign flung up his arms and fell. It was Bed- lam let loose for a minute, but, cool as you please, the sergeant sang, Aiming at the prophet, present, firel Women screamed, and the Anthonites came on with their staves, but on both sides the military held them at point- blank range. Only the centre had fired at the prophet. I pushed through the throng and started across the clearing, looking for Milly. I had my pistol ready for the prophet, but him the soldiers had riddled. I looked at his body and laughed."

"Did you find her, uncle?" I asked. "What did you do?"

“Not much of a show for the gallant young tallyman," he said, as though he sneered at himself, “a farmer clouted me over the head with the butt of a shot gun, and when I came to I was lying on the ground with Doctor Salt's coat tails flapping over my nose

The while

did what little he could for poor Ensign Bene- dict.. I went back in a farm wag- on with the wounded, the soldiers with fixed bayonets marching alongside. The dead they left at the Coach and Horses for the coroner to sit on the officer, the prophet and a ploughman from Sele."

He started to refill his pipe. "Anthony they buried at Her- on Hill, but the doctor had his brain, took it home after the post- mortem hidden in his top hat.”

My great-uncle chuckled at

"And Milly Was His Daughter”-

that. "Hidden in his top hat, the prophet's brains," he repeat- ed.

"And Milly, uncle?" I asked. "Transported like the rest," said he in a harsh, jerky voice. "Australia."

He sat for a long time with his jaw fallen on to his chest, his red-rimmed eyes staring. The half-charged pipe had dropped to his knees, and his fingers no long- er tapped on the chair bosses. His hands, palms down, rested flat upon them, with fingers

stretched and pointing straight ahead. He had the look and poise. of a man who, having found fate a bully, surrendered with disdain.

“Died in childbirth somewhere near the Cape. Yet think, boy. Saint she was, and his words were the words of Gabriel to her, and though she feared,

"

He fell silent, eyeing me queerly,

After a time he roused himself with a shiver.

"Stir the fire, boy. I've gone ashy cold."

"Equal to a

fine liqueur

"I can tell

White Horse

blindfold! And to think that at one

time I used simply to ask for whisky-and-soda! White Horse is just like a fine liqueur!"

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