The Bondman: A New Saga

"Dear me! dear me! What does it all mean?"

"It means that the despatch is on its way from Reykjavik, and will be here to-day. Ha! ha! ha!"

"To-day? God save us! And do you intend – no, it cannot be – and yet —do you intend to die instead of him?"

"Well, and what of that? It's nothing to you, is it? And as for myself, there are old scores against me, and if death had not come to me soon, I should have gone to it."

"I'll not stand by and witness it."

"You will, you shall, you must. And listen – here is a letter. It is for him. Address it to her by the first ship to the Shetlands. The Thora, Shetlands – that will do. And now bring me some more of your brenni-vin, you good old soul, for I am going to take a sleep at last – a long sleep – a long, long sleep at last."

"God pity you! God help you! God bless you!"

"Ay, ay, pray to your God. But I'll not pray to him. He doesn't make His world for wretches like me. I'm a pagan, am I? So be it! Good-night, you dear old mole! Good-night! I'll keep to my bargain, never fear. Good-night. Never mind your brenni-vin, I'll sleep without it. Good-night! Good-night!"

Saying this, amid broken peals of unearthly laughter, Jason reeled back into the room, and clashed the door after him. The old priest, left alone in the passage, dropped the foolish candle, and wrung his hands. Then he listened at the door a moment. The unearthly laughter ceased and a burst of weeping followed it.

VI

It was on the day after that the evil work was done. The despatch had arrived, a day's warning had been given, and four sailors, armed with muskets, had come ashore.

It was early morning, and not a soul in Grimsey who had known Michael Sunlocks was there to see. Only Sir Sigfus knew the secret, and he dare not speak. To save Jason from the death that waited for him would be to put himself in Jason's place.

The sailors drew up in a line on a piece of flat ground in front of the house whereon the snow was trodden hard. Jason came out looking strong and content. His step was firm, and his face was defiant. Fate had dogged him all his days. Only in one place, only in one hour, could he meet and beat it. This was that place, and this was that hour. He was solemn enough at last.

By his side the old priest walked, with his white head bent and his nervous hands clasped together. He was mumbling the prayers for the dying in a voice that trembled and broke. The morning was clear and cold, and all the world around was white and peaceful.

Jason took up his stand, and folded his arms behind him. As he did so the sun broke through the clouds and lit up his uplifted face and his long red hair like blood.

The sailors fired and he fell. He took their shots into his heart, the biggest heart for good or ill that ever beat in the breast of man.

VII

Within an hour there was a great commotion on that quiet spot. Jorgen Jorgensen had come, but come too late. One glance told him everything. His order had been executed, but Sunlocks was gone and Jason was dead. Where were his miserable fears now? Where was his petty hate? Both his enemies had escaped him, and his little soul shrivelled up at sight of the wreck of their mighty passions.

"What does this mean?" he asked, looking stupidly around him.

And the old priest, transformed in one instant from the poor, timid thing he had been, turned upon him with the courage of a lion.

"It means," he said, face to face with him, "that I am a wretched coward and you are a damned tyrant."

While they stood together so, the report of a cannon came from the bay. It was a loud detonation, that seemed to heave the sea and shake the island. Jorgen knew what it meant. It meant that the English man-of-war had come.

The Danish sloop struck her colors, and Adam Fairbrother came ashore. He heard what had happened, and gathered with the others where Jason lay with his calm face towards the sky. And going down on his knees he whispered into the deaf ear, "My brave lad, your troubled life is over, your stormy soul is in its rest. Sleep on, sleep well, sleep in peace. God will not forget you."

Then rising to his feet he looked around and said, "If any man thinks that this world is not founded in justice, let him come here and see: There stands the man who is called the Governor of Iceland, and here lies his only kinsman in all the wide wilderness of men. The one is alive, the other is dead; the one is living in power and plenty, the other died like a hunted beast. But which do you choose to be: The man who has the world at his feet or the man who lies at the feet of the world?"

Jorgen Jorgensen only dropped his head while old Adam's lash fell over him. And turning upon him with heat of voice, old Adam cried, "Away with you! Go back to the place of your power. There is no one now to take it from you. But carry this word with you for your warning: Heap up your gold like the mire of the streets, grown mighty and powerful beyond any man living, and when all is done you shall be an execration and a curse and a reproach, and the poorest outcast on life's highway shall cry with me, 'Any fate, oh, merciful heaven, but not that! not that!' Away with you, away! Take your wicked feet away, for this is holy ground!"

And Jorgen Jorgensen turned about on the instant and went off hurriedly, with his face to the earth, like a whipped dog.

VIII

They buried Jason in a piece of untouched ground over against the little wooden church. Sir Sigfus dug the grave with his own hands. It was a bed of solid lava, and in that pit of old fire they laid that young heart of flame. The sky was blue, and the sun shone on the snow so white and beautiful. It had been a dark midnight when Jason came into the world, but it was a glorious morning when he went out of it.

The good priest learning the truth from old Adam, that Jason had loved Greeba, bethought him of a way to remember the dead man's life secret at the last. He got twelve Iceland maidens and taught them an English hymn. They could not understand the words of it, but they learned to sing them to an English tune. And, clad in white, they stood round the grave of Jason, and sang these words in the tongue he loved the best:

Time, like an ever rolling stream
Bears all its sons away;
They fly forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the opening day.

On the island rock of old Grimsey, close to the margin of the Arctic seas, there is a pyramid of lava blocks, now honey-combed and moss-covered, over Jason's rest. And to this day the place of it is called "The place of Red Jason."

THE END