Showing posts with label Rogue One. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rogue One. Show all posts

Monday 23 January 2017

Rogue One : The Maquis

Vive la France libre dans l’honneur et dans l’indépendance !



Jen - Come here.

Rememeber : whatever I do - I do to protect you.

Say you understand.


My love for her has never faded...

Jenna - my Stardust - I can't imagine what you think of me.

When I was taken, I faced some bitter truths.


I was told that soon enough Krennic would have you as well.

As time went on, I knew that you were either dead, or so well-hidden that he would never find you.

I knew, 
if I refused to work, if I took my own life, , it would only be a matter of time before Krennic realised that he no longer needed me to complete The Project.

So, I did the one thing which nobody expected -

I lied.

I learned to lie.

I played the part of a beaten man, resigned to the sanctuary of his work.  


I made myself indispensable.

And all the while, I lay the groundwork of my revenge... "


"The leaders who, for many years, were at the head of French armies, have formed a government. This government, alleging our armies to be undone, agreed with the enemy to stop fighting. Of course, we were subdued by the mechanical, ground and air forces of the enemy. Infinitely more than their number, it was the tanks, the airplanes, the tactics of the Germans which made us retreat. It was the tanks, the airplanes, the tactics of the Germans that surprised our leaders to the point to bring them there where they are today.

"But has the last word been said? 
Must hope disappear? 
Is defeat final? 
No!

"Believe me, I speak to you with full knowledge of the facts and tell you that nothing is lost for France. The same means that overcame us can bring us to a day of victory. 

For France is not alone! 
She is not alone! She is not alone! 
She has a vast Empire behind her. She can align with the British Empire that holds the sea and continues the fight. 

She can, like England, use without limit the immense industry of United States.

"This war is not limited to the unfortunate territory of our country.
 This war is not finished by the battle of France. 
This war is a world wide war. 

All the faults, all the delays, all the suffering, do not prevent there to be, in the world, all the necessary means to one day crush our enemies. Vanquished today by mechanical force, we will be able to overcome in the future by a superior mechanical force. The destiny of the world is here. 

I, General de Gaulle, currently in London, invite the officers and the French soldiers who are located in British territory or who would come there, with their weapons or without their weapons, I invite the engineers and the special workers of armament industries who are located in British territory or who would come there, to put themselves in contact with me.

Whatever happens, the flame of the French resistance not must not be extinguished and will not be extinguished.




De juin 1940 à août 1941, les hommes qui ont pris le pouvoir à Vichy mettent en place une politique de collaboration avec l'Allemagne. Pétain impose son idéologie réactionnaire pendant que Laval et Abetz, ambassadeur d'Allemagne en France, oeuvrent au rapprochement des deux pays. Après avoir évincé Laval, Pétain applique une politique xénophobe et antisémite, alignée sur celle de l'Allemagne nazie. A partir de l'hiver 1941, la collaboration s'intensifie. Laval, devenue président du Conseil, organise la répression policière pour lutter contre la Résistance et pour traquer réfractaires et juifs.

Appel du 21 mai 1940
Charles de Gaulle
21 mai 1940

C'est la guerre mécanique qui a commencé le 10 mai. En l'air et sur la terre, l'engin mécanique - avion ou char - est l'élément principal de la force.


L'ennemi a remporté sur nous un avantage initial. Pourquoi ? Uniquement parce qu'il a plus tôt et plus complètement que nous mis à profit cette vérité.


Ses succès lui viennent de ses divisions blindées et de son aviation de bombardement, pas d'autre chose ! Eh bien ? nos succès de demain et notre victoire - oui ! notre victoire - nous viendront un jour de nos divisions cuirassées et de notre aviation d'attaque. Il y a des signes précurseurs de cette victoire mécanique de la France.


Le chef qui vous parle a l'honneur de commander une division cuirassée française. Cette division vient de durement combattre ; eh bien ! on peut dire très simplement, très gravement - sans nulle vantardise - que cette division a dominé le champ de bataille de la première à la dernière heure du combat.


Tous ceux qui y servent, général aussi bien que le plus simple de ses troupiers, ont retiré de cette expérience une confiance absolue dans la puissance d'un tel instrument.


C'est cela qu'il nous faut pour vaincre. Grâce à cela, nous avons déjà vaincu sur un point de la ligne. Grâce à cela, un jour, nous vaincrons sur toute la ligne.


Les chefs qui, depuis de nombreuses années, sont à la tête des armées françaises, ont formé un gouvernement. Ce gouvernement, alléguant la défaite de nos armées, s’est mis en rapport avec l’ennemi pour cesser le combat.

Certes, nous avons été, nous sommes, submergés par la force mécanique, terrestre et aérienne, de l’ennemi.

Infiniment plus que leur nombre, ce sont les chars, les avions, la tactique des Allemands qui nous font reculer. Ce sont les chars, les avions, la tactique des Allemands qui ont surpris nos chefs au point de les amener là où ils en sont aujourd’hui.

Mais le dernier mot est-il dit ? L’espérance doit-elle disparaître ? La défaite est-elle définitive ? Non !

Croyez-moi, moi qui vous parle en connaissance de cause et vous dis que rien n’est perdu pour la France. Les mêmes moyens qui nous ont vaincus peuvent faire venir un jour la victoire.

Car la France n’est pas seule ! Elle n’est pas seule ! Elle n’est pas seule ! Elle a un vaste Empire derrière elle. Elle peut faire bloc avec l’Empire britannique qui tient la mer et continue la lutte. Elle peut, comme l’Angleterre, utiliser sans limites l’immense industrie des États-Unis.

Cette guerre n’est pas limitée au territoire malheureux de notre pays. Cette guerre n’est pas tranchée par la bataille de France. Cette guerre est une guerre mondiale. Toutes les fautes, tous les retards, toutes les souffrances, n’empêchent pas qu’il y a, dans l’univers, tous les moyens nécessaires pour écraser un jour nos ennemis. Foudroyés aujourd’hui par la force mécanique, nous pourrons vaincre dans l’avenir par une force mécanique supérieure. Le destin du monde est là.

Moi, Général de Gaulle, actuellement à Londres, j’invite les officiers et les soldats français qui se trouvent en territoire britannique ou qui viendraient à s’y trouver, avec leurs armes ou sans leurs armes, j’invite les ingénieurs et les ouvriers spécialistes des industries d’armement qui se trouvent en territoire britannique ou qui viendraient à s’y trouver, à se mettre en rapport avec moi.

Quoi qu’il arrive, la flamme de la résistance française ne doit pas s’éteindre et ne s’éteindra pas.

Demain, comme aujourd’hui, je parlerai à la Radio de Londres.



Appel du 22 Juin

Charles de Gaulle
22 juin 1940


Le gouvernement français, après avoir demandé l’armistice, connaît maintenant les conditions dictées par l’ennemi.

Il résulte de ces conditions que les forces françaises de terre, de mer et de l’air seraient entièrement démobilisées, que nos armes seraient livrées, que le territoire français serait totalement occupé et que le Gouvernement français tomberait sous la dépendance de l’Allemagne et de l’Italie.

On peut donc dire que cet armistice serait, non seulement une capitulation, mais encore un asservissement.

Or, beaucoup de Français n’acceptent pas la capitulation ni la servitude, pour des raisons qui s’appellent l’honneur, le bon sens, l’intérêt supérieur de la Patrie.

Je dis l’honneur ! Car la France s’est engagée à ne déposer les armes que d’accord avec ses Alliés. Tant que ses Alliés continuent la guerre, son gouvernement n’a pas le droit de se rendre à l’ennemi. Le Gouvernement polonais, le Gouvernement norvégien, le Gouvernement hollandais, le Gouvernement belge, le Gouvernement luxembourgeois, quoique chassés de leur territoire, ont compris ainsi leur devoir.

Je dis le bon sens ! Car il est absurde de considérer la lutte comme perdue. Oui, nous avons subi une grande défaite. Un système militaire mauvais, les fautes commises dans la conduite des opérations, l’esprit d’abandon du Gouvernement pendant ces derniers combats, nous ont fait perdre la bataille de France. Mais il nous reste un vaste Empire, une flotte intacte, beaucoup d’or. Il nous reste des alliés, dont les ressources sont immenses et qui dominent les mers. Il nous reste les gigantesques possibilités de l’industrie américaine. Les mêmes conditions de la guerre qui nous ont fait battre par 5 000 avions et 6 000 chars peuvent nous donner, demain, la victoire par 20 000 chars et 20 000 avions.

Je dis l’intérêt supérieur de la Patrie ! Car cette guerre n’est pas une guerre franco-allemande qu’une bataille puisse décider. Cette guerre est une guerre mondiale. Nul ne peut prévoir si les peuples qui sont neutres aujourd’hui le resteront demain, même les alliés de l’Allemagne resteront-ils toujours ses alliés ? Si les forces de la liberté triomphent finalement de celles de la servitude, quel serait le destin d’une France qui se serait soumise à l’ennemi ?

L’honneur, le bon sens, l’intérêt supérieur de la Patrie, commandent à tous les Français libres de continuer le combat, là où ils seront et comme ils pourront.

Il est, par conséquent, nécessaire de grouper partout où cela se peut une force française aussi grande que possible. Tout ce qui peut être réuni, en fait d’éléments militaires français et de capacités françaises de production d’armement, doit être organisé partout où il y en a.

Moi, Général de Gaulle, j’entreprends ici, en Angleterre, cette tâche nationale.

J’invite tous les militaires français des armées de terre, de mer et de l’air, j’invite les ingénieurs et les ouvriers français spécialistes de l’armement qui se trouvent en territoire britannique ou qui pourraient y parvenir, à se réunir à moi.

J’invite les chefs, les soldats, les marins, les aviateurs des forces françaises de terre, de mer, de l’air, où qu’ils se trouvent actuellement, à se mettre en rapport avec moi.

J’invite tous les Français qui veulent rester libres à m’écouter et à me suivre.


Vive la France libre dans l’honneur et dans l’indépendance !


L’Affiche de Londres
.
À TOUS LES FRANÇAIS

La France a perdu une bataille !
Mais la France n’a pas perdu la guerre !

Des gouvernants de rencontre ont pu capituler, cédant à la panique, oubliant l’honneur, livrant le pays à la servitude. Cependant, rien n’est perdu !
Rien n’est perdu, parce que cette guerre est une guerre mondiale. Dans l’univers libre, des forces immenses n’ont pas encore donné. Un jour ces forces écraseront l’ennemi. Il faut que la France, ce jour-la, soit présente à la victoire. Alors, elle retrouvera sa liberté et sa grandeur. Tel est mon but, mon seul but !
Voila pourquoi je convie tous les Français, où qu’ils se trouvent, à s’unir à moi dans l’action, dans le sacrifice et dans l’espérance.
Notre patrie est en péril de mort.
Luttons tous pour la sauver !
VIVE LA FRANCE !

GÉNÉRAL DE GAULLE

QUARTIER GÉNÉRAL,
4, CARLTON GARDENS,
LONDON, S.W.I

Friday 20 January 2017

Rogue One : Rebellions are Built on Hope




"Comrades! 

The insurrection of five kulak districts should be pitilessly suppressed. The interests of the whole revolution require this because ‘the last decisive battle’ with the kulaks is now under way everywhere. 

An example must be demonstrated.

1. Hang (and make sure that the hanging takes place in full view of the people) no fewer than one hundred known landlords, rich men, bloodsuckers.

2. Publish their names.

3. Seize all their grain from them.

4. Designate hostages in accordance with yesterday’s telegram.

Do it in such a fashion that for hundreds of kilometres around the people might see, tremble, know, shout: “they are strangling, and will strangle to death, the bloodsucking kulaks”.

Telegraph receipt and implementation.

Yours, Lenin.

Find some truly hard people




KIRA
You're really not cut out for this, are you? 
Being a terrorist, I mean. 
You're not very good at it. 

RIKER
Really? 

KIRA
You're acting more like a Starfleet officer who's more interested in intelligence reports and Cardassian politics than in actually hurting Cardassians. You have one of the most powerful ships in this quadrant under your command. Why aren't you out attacking every Cardassian outpost along the border? 

RIKER
Because these stakes here are far greater than border outposts. 

KIRA:
Not for the Maquis, there're not, because the Maquis are terrorists and the only thing terrorists care about is attacking the enemy. 
I know. 
I was a terrorist. 
And if I'd had this ship then, I would've destroyed Deep Space Nine. 
I would've hit the Cardassians so hard they would have screamed for peace, but I certainly wouldn't have gone flying off into the middle of Cardassia on some wild goose chase. 

RIKER
I guess we're different kinds of terrorists. 

KIRA
No, you're trying to be a hero. 
Terrorists don't get to be heroes. 


RIKER
We'll see.

There are Heroes on Both Sides. Evil is Everywhere.

There are Heroes on Both Sides. 
Evil is Everywhere.


"The Techno Union Army eeeeng ooooogn uuuuuugn iiiiing eeeeng is at your disposal Count"

"The Banking Clan will sign your treaty" 



He is The Chosen One.

He will bring Balance.


SISKO : 
Do you know what The Trouble is? 

KIRA
….no. 

SISKO
The Trouble is Earth

KIRA
Really? 

SISKO
On Earth there is no poverty
no crime, no war
You look out the window 
of Starfleet Headquarters 
and You see Paradise
Well, it's easy to be A Saint in Paradise, 
but The Maquis Do Not Live in Paradise. 
Out there in The Demilitarised Zone, 
all the problems haven't been solved yet. 

Out there, there are no saints, just people
Angry, scared, determined people 
who are going to do 
whatever it takes to survive 
whether it meets with 
Federation approval or not

KIRA
Makes sense to me. 

SISKO
I'm glad someone understands. 




SISKO:
 Mister Eddington. I have just one question. Why? 

EDDINGTON [on monitor]: 
Will knowing my personal motivation change anything at this point? 

SISKO: 
No, I don't suppose it will. 

EDDINGTON [on monitor]: 
Then let's table that for now. The only reason I've contacted you is to ask you to leave us alone. Our quarrel is with the Cardassians, not the Federation. Leave us alone and I can promise you you'll never hear from the Maquis again. 

SISKO: 
Unless you see another shipment you want to hijack. 

EDDINGTON [on monitor]: 
You keep sending replicators to Cardassia and you're going to have a lot more to worry about than hijackings. 

SISKO: 
I don't respond well to threats. I thought you would know that by now. But I'm beginning to see that you don't know me at all. 

EDDINGTON 
[on monitor]: 
I know you. 
I was like you once, but then I opened my eyes. 
Open your eyes, Captain. 

Why is the Federation so obsessed about the Maquis? 
We've never harmed you, and yet we're constantly arrested and charged with terrorism. 
Starships chase us through the Badlands and our supporters are harassed and ridiculed. 

Why?



 Because we've left the Federation, and that's the one thing you can't accept. 

Nobody leaves paradise. 

Everyone should want to be in the Federation. 

Hell, you even want the Cardassians to join. 

You're only sending them replicators because one day they can take their rightful place on the Federation Council. You know, in some ways you're worse than the Borg. At least they tell you about their plans for assimilation. You're more insidious. You assimilate people and they don't even know it. 

SISKO: 
You know what, Mister Eddington? 
I don't give a damn what you think of the Federation, the Maquis, or anything else. 

All I know is that you betrayed your oath, your duty, and me. 

And if it takes me the rest of my life, I will see you standing before a court-martial that'll break you and send you to a penal colony, where you will spend the rest of your days growing old and wondering whether a ship full of replicators was really worth it.




DAX:
Les Miserables.

SISKO:
You know it?

DAX:
I can't stand Victor Hugo. 
I tried reading The Hunchback of Notre Dame, but I couldn't get through it. 
It was so melodramatic and his heroines are so two dimensional.

SISKO:
Eddington compares me to one of the characters, Inspector Javert. A policeman who relentlessly pursues a man named Valjean, guilty of a trivial offence, and in the end Javert's own inflexibility destroys him. He commits suicide.

DAX:
You can't believe that description fits you. Eddington is just trying to get under your skin.

SISKO:
He did that eight months ago. What strikes me about this book is that Eddington said that it's one of his favourites.

DAX:
There's no accounting for taste.

SISKO:
Let's think about it.
A Starfleet security officer is fascinated by a nineteenth century French melodrama, and now he's a leader of the Maquis, a resistance group fighting the noble battle against the evil Cardassians.

DAX:
It sounds like he's living out his own fantasy.

SISKO:
Exactly. And you know what?
 Les Miserables isn't about the policeman.
It's about Valjean, the victim of a monstrous injustice who spends his entire life helping people, making noble sacrifices for others. That's how Eddington sees himself. He's Valjean, he's Robin Hood, he's a romantic, dashing figure, fighting the good fight against insurmountable odds.

DAX:
The secret life of Michael Eddington.
How does it help us?

SISKO:
Eddington is the hero of his own story. That makes me the villain. And what is it that every hero wants to do?

DAX:
Kill the bad guy.

SISKO:
That's part of it. 
Heroes only kill when they have to.
Eddington could have killed me back in the refugee camp or when he disabled the Defiant, but in the best melodramas the villain creates a situation where the hero is forced to sacrifice himself for the people, for the cause. 
One final grand gesture.

DAX:
What are you getting at, Benjamin?

SISKO:
I think it's time for me to become the villain.



There are Heroes on Both Sides. 
Evil is Everywhere.


EDDINGTON
But think about those people you saw in the caves, huddled and starving. 
They didn't attack the Malinche.

SISKO
You should have thought about that before you attacked a Federation starship. 

(Sisko turns his back on the Eddington hologram



(Transmission ends)


Captain's log, supplemental. 

Resettlement efforts in the DMZ are underway. The Cardassian and Maquis colonists who were forced to abandon their homes will make new lives for themselves on the planets their counterparts evacuated. 

The balance in the region will be restored, though the situation remains far from stable.




He is The Chosen One.

He will bring Balance.


SISKO: 
Are you all right? 

EZRI: 
I talked with Worf.
 He doesn't want to have anything to do with me. 

SISKO: 
Perhaps I should have a talk with him. 

EZRI: 
Absolutely not. You intimidate him. 

SISKO: 
Me? 

EZRI: 
Don't tell him I told you. 

SISKO: 
I intimidate Worf, huh? 

EZRI: 
You like that, don't you? 

SISKO: 
Of course not. 

EZRI: 
Come on. I've been a man, I know. 

Thursday 19 January 2017

Rogue One : Go Down, Moses

"You'll be Free, or Die!"
- Harriet "Moses" Tubman

"Sistah knew enough to hurt the ones who got Cold Feet and tried to give themselves up and risk giving away the rest of the group...."
- Bro. Steve Cokely


Go down, Moses
’Way down in Egypt land,
Tell ole Pharaoh,
To let my people go.

When Israel was in Egypt’s land;
Let my people go,
Oppressed so hard they could not stand,
Let my people go.

“Thus spoke the Lord,” bold Moses said;
Let my people go,
If not I’ll smite your first born dead,
Let my people go.

Harriet Tubman Leading The Way

Tubman returned to the Eastern Shore again and again throughout the 1850s. She devised clever techniques that helped make sure her trips were successful, including using a master's horse and buggy for the first leg of the journey; leaving on a Saturday night, since runaway notices could not be placed in newspapers until Monday morning; turning about and heading south if she encountered possible slave hunters; and carrying a drug to silence a baby if its crying might put the fugitives in danger.

Tubman returned to the Eastern Shore again and again throughout the 1850s. She devised clever techniques that helped make sure her trips were successful, including using a master's horse and buggy for the first leg of the journey; leaving on a Saturday night, since runaway notices could not be placed in newspapers until Monday morning; turning about and heading south if she encountered possible slave hunters; and carrying a drug to silence a baby if its crying might put the fugitives in danger.

In 1850 the dynamics of escaping slavery changed with the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law, which stated that escaped slaves could be captured in the North and returned to slavery in the South, leading to the abduction of former slaves and free blacks living in Free States. Law enforcement officials in the North were compelled to aid in the capture of slaves, regardless of their personal principles.

In response to the law, Tubman re-routed the Underground Railroad to Canada, which prohibited slavery. She began relocating fugitives and members of her own family to St. Catharines, Ontario. While there she worked at various jobs and saved her earnings to finance her activities as a Conductor. North Street in St. Catharines remained her base of operations until 1857.

our nation's largest monument to the Underground Railroad
Image: This 28-foot long, 14-foot high bronze statue depicts Harriet Tubman (right) and local conductors Erastus and Sarah Hussey as they lead a group of runaway slaves to safety. Near the Kellogg House in downtown Battle Creek, Michigan, it was designed by sculptor Ed Dwight.

Tubman soon became a legendary conductor on the Underground Railroad. She worked by night in secret, silence and stealth, navigating by the North Star and the light of the moon. She let it be known she carried a gun for protection, but she also used it to threaten the runaways if they became too tired or decided to turn back, telling them, "You'll be free or die a slave." She knew that if anyone turned back, it would put her and the others in danger of discovery, capture or death.

By 1856, a $40,000 reward was offered for her capture. On one occasion, she overheard some men reading her wanted poster, which stated that she was illiterate. She promptly grabbed a newspaper and pretended to read it. The ploy worked. The slave catchers never caught her, their most wanted fugitive.



Underground Railroad Secret Codes

Supporters of the Underground Railroad used words railroad conductors employed everyday to create their own code as secret language in order to help slaves escape. 

Railroad language was chosen because the railroad was an emerging form of transportation and its communication language was not widespread. 

Code words would be used in letters to “agents” so that if they were intercepted they could not be caught. Underground Railroad code was also used in songs sung by slaves to communicate among each other without their masters being aware.

These are the most commonly used code words and their meanings:

Agent
Coordinator, who plotted courses of escape and made contacts.

Baggage
Fugitive slaves carried by Underground Railroad workers.

Bundles of wood
Fugitives that were expected.

Canaan
Canada

Conductor
Person who directly transported slaves

Drinking Gourd
Big Dipper and the North Star

Flying bondsmen
The number of escaping slaves

Forwarding
Taking slaves from station to station

Freedom train
The Underground Railroad

French leave
Sudden departure

Gospel train
The Underground Railroad

Heaven
Canada, freedom

Stockholder
Those who donated money, food, clothing.

Load of potatoes
Escaping slaves hidden under farm produce in a wagon

Moses
Harriet Tubman

Operator
Person who helped freedom seekers as a conductor or agent

Parcel
Fugitives that were expected

Patter roller
Bounty hunter hired to capture slaves

Preachers
Leaders of and spokespersons for the Underground Railroad

Promised Land
Canada

River Jordan
Ohio River

Shepherds
People who encouraged slaves to escape and escorted them

Station
Place of safety and temporary refuge, a safe house

Station master
Keeper or owner of a safe house





Songs of the Underground Railroad
Songs were used in everyday life by African slaves. Singing was tradition brought from Africa by the first slaves; sometimes their songs are called spirituals. Singing served many purposes such as providing repetitive rhythm for repetitive manual work, inspiration and motivation. Singing was also use to express their values and solidarity with each other and during celebrations. Songs were used as tools to remember and communicate since the majority of slaves could not read.

Harriet Tubman and other slaves used songs as a strategy to communicate with slaves in their struggle for freedom. Coded songs contained words giving directions on how to escape also known as signal songs or where to meet known as map songs. 

Songs used Biblical references and analogies of Biblical people, places and stories, comparing them to their own history of slavery. For example, “being bound for the land of Canaan” for a white person could mean ready to die and go to heaven; but to a slave it meant ready to go to Canada.

These are the lyrics of some songs that have been passed along for generations.

In Wade in the Water

Tubman used “Wade in the Water” to tell slaves to get into the water to avoid being seen and make it through. This is an example of a map song, where directions are coded into the lyrics

These are the lyrics to “Wade in the Water”

Chorus: Wade in the Water, wade in the water children.

Wade in the Water. God’s gonna trouble the water.
Who are those children all dressed in Red?
God’s gonna trouble the water.
Must be the ones that Moses led.
God’s gonna trouble the water.

Chorus

Who are those children all dressed in White?
God’s gonna trouble the water.
Must be the ones of the Israelites.
God’s gonna trouble the water.

Chorus

Who are those children all dressed in Blue?
God’s gonna trouble the water.
Must be the ones that made it through.
God’s gonna trouble the water.

Chorus


Steal Away

This song communicates that the person singing it is planning to escape.

Chorus: steal away, steal away!

Steal away to Jesus?
Steal away, steal away home!
I ain’t got long to stay here!

My Lord calls me!
He calls me by the thunder!
The trumpet sound it in my soul!
I ain’t got long to stay here!

Chorus

My Lord calls me!
He calls me by the lighting!
The trumpet sound it in my soul!
I ain’t got long to stay here!

Chorus.


Sweet Chariot

If a slave heard this song he would know he had to be ready to escape, a band of angels are coming to take him to freedom. 

The Underground Railroad (sweet chariot) is coming south (swing low) to take the slave to the north or freedom (carry me home). 

This was one of Tubman’s favorite songs according to Sarah Hopkins Bradford’s biography, Scenes in the Life of Harriet Tubman.

Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home,
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.

I looked over Jordan and what did I see
Coming for to carry me home,
A band of angels coming after me,
Coming for to carry me home.

I you get there before I do,
Coming for to carry me home,
Tell all my friends that I’m coming, too,
Coming for to carry me home.


Follow the Drinking Gourd

This song suggests escaping in the spring as the days get longer. It also refers to quails which start calling each other in April. The drinking gourd is a water dipper which is a code name for the Big Dipper which points to the Pole Star towards the north. Moss grows on the north side of dead trees, so if the Big Dipper is not visible, dead trees will guide them north.

I When the Sun comes back
And the first quail calls
Follow the Drinking Gourd.
For the old man is a-waiting for to carry you to freedom
If you follow the Drinking Gourd.

The riverbank makes a very good road.
The dead trees will show you the way.
Left foot, peg foot, traveling on,
Follow the Drinking Gourd.

The river ends between two hills
Follow the Drinking Gourd.
There’s another river on the other side
Follow the Drinking Gourd.

When the great big river meets the little river
Follow the Drinking Gourd.
For the old man is a-waiting for to carry you to freedom
If you follow the drinking gourd.


Unnamed song sung by Harriet Tubman when approaching her group after taking a detour to get food for the day. This song lets them know it is safe to approach her. 
Source: Harriet Tubman, the Moses of her People by Sarah Hopkins Bradford.

Hail, oh hail, ye happy spirits,
Death no more shall make you fear,
Grief nor sorrow, pain nor anguish,
Shall no more distress you there.

Around Him are then thousand angels,
Always ready to obey command;
They are always hovering round you,
Till you reach the heavenly land.

Jesus, Jesus will go with you,
He will lead you to his throne;
He who died, has gone before you,
Through the wine-press all alone.

He whose thunders shake creation,
He who bids the planets roll;
He who rides upon the tempest,
And whose scepter sways the whole.


Another unnamed song sang in the same situation but letting them know it is not safe to come out, there is danger in the way.
Source: Harriet Tubman, the Moses of her People by Sarah Hopkins Bradford.

Chorus:
Oh go down, Moses,
Way down into Egypt’s land,
Tell old Pharaoh,
Let my people go.
Oh Pharaoh said he would go cross,
Let my people go,
And don’t get lost in the wilderness,
Let my people go.
Chorus
You may hinder me here, but you can’t up there,
Let my people go,
He sits in the Heaven and answeres prayer,
Let my people go!
Chorus

Saturday 14 January 2017

Bees


Beekeepers, yes … 

they've gotta *want* to be – 

"I want to be a beekeeper! 

I wanna keep bees! 

Don't wanna let them get away; I wanna keep them! 

They have too much freedom … I want bees on elastic, so when they get pollen, they come back here! 

My father was a beekeeper before me, his father was a beekeeper before him; I wanna walk in their footsteps." 

And their footsteps were like this: [running wildly from imaginary bees] 

"I'm covered in bees!"



SHERLOCK: 
Done that. ... Done that ... Done that bit ... Done that bit ... Done that bit ... Hmm ...
(He looks up at the guests again, then turns to John.)

SHERLOCK:
 I’m afraid, John, I can’t congratulate you.

(Mary looks surprised and John looks up at him.)

SHERLOCK (looking at the guests): 
All emotions, and in particular love, stand opposed to the pure, cold reason I hold above all things. A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world.

(The guests begin to look uncomfortable and some of them start murmuring quietly to each other. Greg and Molly look at Sherlock in horror.)

SHERLOCK: 
Today we honour the death-watch beetle that is the doom of our society and, in time – one feels certain – our entire species.

(The guests stare at him. Sherlock pauses for a moment.)

SHERLOCK: 
But anyway ... (he looks down at his cards) ... let’s talk about John.

JOHN (quietly): 
Please.

SHERLOCK (looking up again): 
If I burden myself with a little help-mate during my adventures, it is not out of sentiment or caprice – it is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me.

(Greg laughs silently.)

SHERLOCK: 
Indeed, any reputation I have for mental acuity and sharpness comes, in truth, from the extraordinary contrast John so selflessly provides.

(John sighs heavily, while Mary frowns.)

SHERLOCK: 
It is a fact, I believe, that brides tend to favour exceptionally plain bridesmaids for their big day. There is a certain analogy there, I feel.

(Janine stares up at him and the other two bridesmaids look uncomfortable.)

SHERLOCK (moving on to his next card): 
... and contrast is, after all, God’s own plan to enhance the beauty of his creation ...

(The vicar smiles.)

SHERLOCK: 
... or it would be if God were not a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity for the family IDIOT.

(Mary face-palms and John is half-hiding behind his clasped hands. The vicar looks at Sherlock grimly, and more guests are muttering amongst themselves. Sherlock pauses for a moment.)

SHERLOCK: 
The point I’m trying to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. 

(He looks at the vicar.)

SHERLOCK: 
I am dismissive of the virtuous ...

(He turns to Janine.)

SHERLOCK: 
... unaware of the beautiful ...

(He turns towards Mary and John.)

SHERLOCK: 
... and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So if I didn’t understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody’s best friend.

(The guests have fallen silent again and are listening intently. Molly and Greg exchange a long glance.)

SHERLOCK: 
Certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing.

(Mary smiles proudly at her husband. Several of the guests make appreciative “aww” sounds.)

SHERLOCK: 
John, I am a ridiculous man ...

(John smiles and nods his agreement.) 

SHERLOCK: 
... redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship. But, as I’m apparently your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion.

(He looks down for a moment, then smiles a little.)

SHERLOCK: 
Actually, now I can.

(The guests murmur again, but now their tone is much more approving. John and Mary smile.)

SHERLOCK: 
Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war, and injury, and tragic loss ... 
(he leans closer to John) ... so sorry again about that last one ... (he straightens up again) ... so know this: today you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved – in short, the two people who love you most in all this world. And I know I speak for Mary as well when I say we will never let you down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that.

(Mrs Hudson whimpers and holds a tissue to her nose. Molly wipes tears from her eyes with her serviette. Other guests – even some of the men – sniffle. John turns to Mary and whispers to her.)

JOHN: 
If I try and hug him, stop me.

MARY: 
Certainly not. 
(She pats his arm. Sherlock moves on to his next card.)

SHERLOCK: 
Ah, yes. Now on to some funny stories about John ...

(He trails off as he looks up and sees so many of the guests crying.)

SHERLOCK (quick fire): 
What’s wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that? John?

(Molly smiles proudly at him.)

MRS HUDSON (tearfully): 
Oh, Sherlock!

(Sherlock looks down at John.)

SHERLOCK: 
Did I do it wrong?

JOHN (standing up): 
No, you didn’t. Come here. 

(He pulls him into a tight hug. The guests break into applause. The fandom goes crazy.)

SHERLOCK: 
I haven’t finished yet.

JOHN: 
Yeah, I know, I know.

SHERLOCK (holding up his next card and talking over the applause as John releases him): 
So, on to some funny stories ...

JOHN: 
Can you – can you wait ’til I sit down?

(Sherlock nods as the applause continues. John sits down, clearing his throat, and the applause finally fades.)

SHERLOCK: 
So, on to some funny stories about John.

(John chuckles. Sherlock looks at the guests.)

SHERLOCK: 
If you could all just cheer up a bit, that would ...

(The guests laugh.)

SHERLOCK: 
... be better. On we go. So, for funny stories ... (he reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone) ... one has to look no further than John’s blog.

(He holds up the phone. John laughs and turns to speak quietly to Mary.)

JOHN: 
Here we go.

SHERLOCK: 
The record of our time together. Of course, he does tend to romanticise things a bit, but then, you know ... (he looks down at John and Mary and half-winks at them) ... he’s a romantic. We’ve tackled some strange cases: the Hollow Client ...

FLASHBACK. 
John and Sherlock walk up the stairs and into the living room of 221B, then stop dead at the sight which greets them. In John’s chair which is facing towards the door is a suit, laid out exactly as it would appear if there was actually anyone inside it and sitting in the chair. There is even a pair of shoes at the bottom of the trousers.

SHERLOCK: 
... the Poison Giant ...

FLASHBACK. 
A man is running across a rooftop. As he comes into full view we see that he is a person of short stature. He stops and raises a blowpipe to his lips.

SHERLOCK (offscreen): 
Get down, John! 

(The man blows into the pipe and on the other side of the roof Sherlock and John duck down to avoid the dart which flies out of it. They immediately jump up again and run on in pursuit of the man.)

SHERLOCK: 
We’ve had some frustrating cases ...

FLASHBACK. 
In 221B John sits down at the dining table with a mug of tea. He looks across to Sherlock sitting in his chair, who is running his finger across his top lip and frowning down thoughtfully at a matchbox held in his other hand.

JOHN: 
What is that?
(Sherlock looks at him.)

SHERLOCK: A French decathlete found completely out of his mind, surrounded by one thousand, eight hundred and twelve matchboxes – all empty except this one.

JOHN: 
And what’s in that one?

SHERLOCK (looking at the matchbox): 
The inexplicable.

(He slowly pushes open the matchbox. Whatever is inside glows brightly, illuminating Sherlock’s face. He grins with delight.)

SHERLOCK (rolling his eyes): 
... ‘touching’ cases ...

FLASHBACK. 
John is standing at the window of 221B looking down into the street.

JOHN: 
She’s going to ring the doorbell.

(He’s looking at a young woman who is hovering outside Speedy’s and looking towards 221’s front door. She stops and then turns around.)

JOHN: 
Oh, no. She’s changed her mind.

(The woman walks away a few paces, then stops and turns around again.)

JOHN: 
No, she’s gonna do it ... No, she’s leaving. She’s leaving. ... Oh, she’s coming back.

(Sherlock is sprawled in his chair with his head raised towards the ceiling. His eyes are closed.)

SHERLOCK: 
She’s a client. She’s boring. I’ve seen those symptoms before.

JOHN: 
Hmm?

SHERLOCK: 
Oscillation on the pavement always means there’s a love affair.

SHERLOCK: 
... and of course I have to mention the elephant in the room.

FLASHBACK. 
The boys stand in the doorway of what looks like a fairly ordinary room somewhere. They stare up wide-eyed at what they can see inside. Sherlock opens his mouth. 

Offscreen, an elephant trumpets loudly. Sherlock closes his mouth again.







His Last Bow

An Epilogue of Sherlock Holmes


By

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle


(Part of a collection of stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 
published as a book entitled His Last Bow)



It was nine o'clock at night upon the second of August--the most terrible August in the history of the world. One might have thought already that God's curse hung heavy over a degenerate world, for there was an awesome hush and a feeling of vague expectancy in the sultry and stagnant air. The sun had long set, but one blood-red gash like an open wound lay low in the distant west. Above, the stars were shining brightly, and below, the lights of the shipping glimmered in the bay. The two famous Germans stood beside the stone parapet of the garden walk, with the long, low, heavily gabled house behind them, and they looked down upon the broad sweep of the beach at the foot of the great chalk cliff in which Von Bork, like some wandering eagle, had perched himself four years before. They stood with their heads close together, talking in low, confidential tones. From below the two glowing ends of their cigars might have been the smouldering eyes of some malignant fiend looking down in the darkness.

A remarkable man this Von Bork--a man who could hardly be matched among all the devoted agents of the Kaiser. It was his talents which had first recommended him for the English mission, the most important mission of all, but since he had taken it over those talents had become more and more manifest to the half-dozen people in the world who were really in touch with the truth. One of these was his present companion, Baron Von Herling, the chief secretary of the legation, whose huge 100-horse-power Benz car was blocking the country lane as it waited to waft its owner back to London.

"So far as I can judge the trend of events, you will probably be back in Berlin within the week," the secretary was saying. "When you get there, my dear Von Bork, I think you will be surprised at the welcome you will receive. I happen to know what is thought in the highest quarters of your work in this country." He was a huge man, the secretary, deep, broad, and tall, with a slow, heavy fashion of speech which had been his main asset in his political career.

Von Bork laughed.

"They are not very hard to deceive," he remarked. "A more docile, simple folk could not be imagined."

"I don't know about that," said the other thoughtfully. "They have strange limits and one must learn to observe them. It is that surface simplicity of theirs which makes a trap for the stranger. One's first impression is that they are entirely soft. Then one comes suddenly upon something very hard, and you know that you have reached the limit and must adapt yourself to the fact. They have, for example, their insular conventions which simply MUST be observed."

"Meaning 'good form' and that sort of thing?" Von Bork sighed as one who had suffered much.

"Meaning British prejudice in all its queer manifestations. As an example I may quote one of my own worst blunders--I can afford to talk of my blunders, for you know my work well enough to be aware of my successes. It was on my first arrival. I was invited to a week-end gathering at the country house of a cabinet minister. The conversation was amazingly indiscreet."

Von Bork nodded. "I've been there," said he dryly.

"Exactly. Well, I naturally sent a resume of the information to Berlin. Unfortunately our good chancellor is a little heavy-handed in these matters, and he transmitted a remark which showed that he was aware of what had been said. This, of course, took the trail straight up to me. You've no idea the harm that it did me. There was nothing soft about our British hosts on that occasion, I can assure you. I was two years living it down. Now you, with this sporting pose of yours--"

"No, no, don't call it a pose. A pose is an artificial thing. This is quite natural. I am a born sportsman. I enjoy it."

"Well, that makes it the more effective. You yacht against them, you hunt with them, you play polo, you match them in every game, your four-in-hand takes the prize at Olympia. I have even heard that you go the length of boxing with the young officers. What is the result? Nobody takes you seriously. You are a 'good old sport' 'quite a decent fellow for a German,' a hard-drinking, night-club, knock-about-town, devil-may-care young fellow. And all the time this quiet country house of yours is the centre of half the mischief in England, and the sporting squire the most astute secret-service man in Europe. Genius, my dear Von Bork--genius!"

"You flatter me, Baron. But certainly I may claim my four years in this country have not been unproductive. I've never shown you my little store. Would you mind stepping in for a moment?"

The door of the study opened straight on to the terrace. Von Bork pushed it back, and, leading the way, he clicked the switch of the electric light. He then closed the door behind the bulky form which followed him and carefully adjusted the heavy curtain over the latticed window. Only when all these precautions had been taken and tested did he turn his sunburned aquiline face to his guest.

"Some of my papers have gone," said he. "When my wife and the household left yesterday for Flushing they took the less important with them. I must, of course, claim the protection of the embassy for the others."

"Your name has already been filed as one of the personal suite. There will be no difficulties for you or your baggage. Of course, it is just possible that we may not have to go. England may leave France to her fate. We are sure that there is no binding treaty between them."

"And Belgium?"

"Yes, and Belgium, too."

Von Bork shook his head. "I don't see how that could be. There is a definite treaty there. She could never recover from such a humiliation."

"She would at least have peace for the moment."

"But her honor?"

"Tut, my dear sir, we live in a utilitarian age. Honour is a mediaeval conception. Besides England is not ready. It is an inconceivable thing, but even our special war tax of fifty million, which one would think made our purpose as clear as if we had advertised it on the front page of the Times, has not roused these people from their slumbers. Here and there one hears a question. It is my business to find an answer. Here and there also there is an irritation. It is my business to soothe it. But I can assure you that so far as the essentials go--the storage of munitions, the preparation for submarine attack, the arrangements for making high explosives--nothing is prepared. How, then, can England come in, especially when we have stirred her up such a devil's brew of Irish civil war, window-breaking Furies, and God knows what to keep her thoughts at home."

"She must think of her future."

"Ah, that is another matter. I fancy that in the future we have our own very definite plans about England, and that your information will be very vital to us. It is to-day or to-morrow with Mr. John Bull. If he prefers to-day we are perfectly ready. If it is to-morrow we shall be more ready still. I should think they would be wiser to fight with allies than without them, but that is their own affair. This week is their week of destiny. But you were speaking of your papers." He sat in the armchair with the light shining upon his broad bald head, while he puffed sedately at his cigar.

The large oak-panelled, book-lined room had a curtain hung in the further corner. When this was drawn it disclosed a large, brass-bound safe. Von Bork detached a small key from his watch chain, and after some considerable manipulation of the lock he swung open the heavy door.

"Look!" said he, standing clear, with a wave of his hand.

The light shone vividly into the opened safe, and the secretary of the embassy gazed with an absorbed interest at the rows of stuffed pigeon-holes with which it was furnished. Each pigeon-hole had its label, and his eyes as he glanced along them read a long series of such titles as "Fords," "Harbour-defences," "Aeroplanes," "Ireland," "Egypt," "Portsmouth forts," "The Channel," "Rosythe," and a score of others. Each compartment was bristling with papers and plans.

"Colossal!" said the secretary. Putting down his cigar he softly clapped his fat hands.

"And all in four years, Baron. Not such a bad show for the hard-drinking, hard-riding country squire. But the gem of my collection is coming and there is the setting all ready for it." He pointed to a space over which "Naval Signals" was printed.

"But you have a good dossier there already."

"Out of date and waste paper. The Admiralty in some way got the alarm and every code has been changed. It was a blow, Baron--the worst setback in my whole campaign. But thanks to my check-book and the good Altamont all will be well to-night."

The Baron looked at his watch and gave a guttural exclamation of disappointment.

"Well, I really can wait no longer. You can imagine that things are moving at present in Carlton Terrace and that we have all to be at our posts. I had hoped to be able to bring news of your great coup. Did Altamont name no hour?"

Von Bork pushed over a telegram.

Will come without fail to-night and bring new sparking plugs. 

Altamont.

"Sparking plugs, eh?"

"You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep a full garage. In our code everything likely to come up is named after some spare part. If he talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump a cruiser, and so on. Sparking plugs are naval signals."

"From Portsmouth at midday," said the secretary, examining the superscription. "By the way, what do you give him?"

"Five hundred pounds for this particular job. Of course he has a salary as well."

"The greedy rogue. They are useful, these traitors, but I grudge them their blood money."

"I grudge Altamont nothing. He is a wonderful worker. If I pay him well, at least he delivers the goods, to use his own phrase. Besides he is not a traitor. I assure you that our most pan-Germanic Junker is a sucking dove in his feelings towards England as compared with a real bitter Irish-American."

"Oh, an Irish-American?"

"If you heard him talk you would not doubt it. Sometimes I assure you I can hardly understand him. He seems to have declared war on the King's English as well as on the English king. Must you really go? He may be here any moment."

"No. I'm sorry, but I have already overstayed my time. We shall expect you early to-morrow, and when you get that signal book through the little door on the Duke of York's steps you can put a triumphant Finis to your record in England. What! Tokay!" He indicated a heavily sealed dust-covered bottle which stood with two high glasses upon a salver.

"May I offer you a glass before your journey?"

"No, thanks. But it looks like revelry."

"Altamont has a nice taste in wines, and he took a fancy to my Tokay. He is a touchy fellow and needs humouring in small things. I have to study him, I assure you." They had strolled out on to the terrace again, and along it to the further end where at a touch from the Baron's chauffeur the great car shivered and chuckled. "Those are the lights of Harwich, I suppose," said the secretary, pulling on his dust coat. "How still and peaceful it all seems. There may be other lights within the week, and the English coast a less tranquil place! The heavens, too, may not be quite so peaceful if all that the good Zepplin promises us comes true. By the way, who is that?"

Only one window showed a light behind them; in it there stood a lamp, and beside it, seated at a table, was a dear old ruddy-faced woman in a country cap. She was bending over her knitting and stopping occasionally to stroke a large black cat upon a stool beside her.

"That is Martha, the only servant I have left."

The secretary chuckled.

"She might almost personify Britannia," said he, "with her complete self-absorption and general air of comfortable somnolence. Well, au revoir, Von Bork!" With a final wave of his hand he sprang into the car, and a moment later the two golden cones from the headlights shot through the darkness. The secretary lay back in the cushions of the luxurious limousine, with his thoughts so full of the impending European tragedy that he hardly observed that as his car swung round the village street it nearly passed over a little Ford coming in the opposite direction.

Von Bork walked slowly back to the study when the last gleams of the motor lamps had faded into the distance. As he passed he observed that his old housekeeper had put out her lamp and retired. It was a new experience to him, the silence and darkness of his widespread house, for his family and household had been a large one. It was a relief to him, however, to think that they were all in safety and that, but for that one old woman who had lingered in the kitchen, he had the whole place to himself. There was a good deal of tidying up to do inside his study and he set himself to do it until his keen, handsome face was flushed with the heat of the burning papers. A leather valise stood beside his table, and into this he began to pack very neatly and systematically the precious contents of his safe. He had hardly got started with the work, however, when his quick ears caught the sounds of a distant car. Instantly he gave an exclamation of satisfaction, strapped up the valise, shut the safe, locked it, and hurried out on to the terrace. He was just in time to see the lights of a small car come to a halt at the gate. A passenger sprang out of it and advanced swiftly towards him, while the chauffeur, a heavily built, elderly man with a gray moustache, settled down like one who resigns himself to a long vigil.

"Well?" asked Von Bork eagerly, running forward to meet his visitor.

For answer the man waved a small brown-paper parcel triumphantly above his head.

"You can give me the glad hand to-night, mister," he cried. "I'm bringing home the bacon at last."

"The signals?"

"Same as I said in my cable. Every last one of them, semaphore, lamp code, Marconi--a copy, mind you, not the original. That was too dangerous. But it's the real goods, and you can lay to that." He slapped the German upon the shoulder with a rough familiarity from which the other winced.

"Come in," he said. "I'm all alone in the house. I was only waiting for this. Of course a copy is better than the original. If an original were missing they would change the whole thing. You think it's all safe about the copy?"

The Irish-American had entered the study and stretched his long limbs from the armchair. He was a tall, gaunt man of sixty, with clear-cut features and a small goatee beard which gave him a general resemblance to the caricatures of Uncle Sam. A half-smoked, sodden cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, and as he sat down he struck a match and relit it. "Making ready for a move?" he remarked as he looked round him. "Say, mister," he added, as his eyes fell upon the safe from which the curtain was now removed, "you don't tell me you keep your papers in that?"

"Why not?"

"Gosh, in a wide-open contraption like that! And they reckon you to be some spy. Why, a Yankee crook would be into that with a can-opener. If I'd known that any letter of mine was goin' to lie loose in a thing like that I'd have been a mug to write to you at all."

"It would puzzle any crook to force that safe," Von Bork answered. "You won't cut that metal with any tool."

"But the lock?"

"No, it's a double combination lock. You know what that is?"

"Search me," said the American.

"Well, you need a word as well as a set of figures before you can get the lock to work." He rose and showed a double-radiating disc round the keyhole. "This outer one is for the letters, the inner one for the figures."

"Well, well, that's fine."

"So it's not quite as simple as you thought. It was four years ago that I had it made, and what do you think I chose for the word and figures?"

"It's beyond me."

"Well, I chose August for the word, and 1914 for the figures, and here we are."

The American's face showed his surprise and admiration.

"My, but that was smart! You had it down to a fine thing."

"Yes, a few of us even then could have guessed the date. Here it is, and I'm shutting down to-morrow morning."

"Well, I guess you'll have to fix me up also. I'm not staying in this gol-darned country all on my lonesome. In a week or less, from what I see, John Bull will be on his hind legs and fair ramping. I'd rather watch him from over the water."

"But you're an American citizen?"

"Well, so was Jack James an American citizen, but he's doing time in Portland all the same. It cuts no ice with a British copper to tell him you're an American citizen. 'It's British law and order over here,' says he. By the way, mister, talking of Jack James, it seems to me you don't do much to cover your men."

"What do you mean?" Von Bork asked sharply.

"Well, you are their employer, ain't you? It's up to you to see that they don't fall down. But they do fall down, and when did you ever pick them up? There's James--"

"It was James's own fault. You know that yourself. He was too self-willed for the job."

"James was a bonehead--I give you that. Then there was Hollis."

"The man was mad."

"Well, he went a bit woozy towards the end. It's enough to make a man bug-house when he has to play a part from morning to night with a hundred guys all ready to set the coppers wise to him. But now there is Steiner--"

Von Bork started violently, and his ruddy face turned a shade paler.

"What about Steiner?"

"Well, they've got him, that's all. They raided his store last night, and he and his papers are all in Portsmouth jail. You'll go off and he, poor devil, will have to stand the racket, and lucky if he gets off with his life. That's why I want to get over the water as soon as you do."

Von Bork was a strong, self-contained man, but it was easy to see that the news had shaken him.

"How could they have got on to Steiner?" he muttered. "That's the worst blow yet."

"Well, you nearly had a worse one, for I believe they are not far off me."

"You don't mean that!"

"Sure thing. My landlady down Fratton way had some inquiries, and when I heard of it I guessed it was time for me to hustle. But what I want to know, mister, is how the coppers know these things? Steiner is the fifth man you've lost since I signed on with you, and I know the name of the sixth if I don't get a move on. How do you explain it, and ain't you ashamed to see your men go down like this?"

Von Bork flushed crimson.

"How dare you speak in such a way!"

"If I didn't dare things, mister, I wouldn't be in your service. But I'll tell you straight what is in my mind. I've heard that with you German politicians when an agent has done his work you are not sorry to see him put away."

Von Bork sprang to his feet.

"Do you dare to suggest that I have given away my own agents!"

"I don't stand for that, mister, but there's a stool pigeon or a cross somewhere, and it's up to you to find out where it is. Anyhow I am taking no more chances. It's me for little Holland, and the sooner the better."

Von Bork had mastered his anger.

"We have been allies too long to quarrel now at the very hour of victory," he said. "You've done splendid work and taken risks, and I can't forget it. By all means go to Holland, and you can get a boat from Rotterdam to New York. No other line will be safe a week from now. I'll take that book and pack it with the rest."

The American held the small parcel in his hand, but made no motion to give it up.

"What about the dough?" he asked.

"The what?"

"The boodle. The reward. The 500 pounds. The gunner turned damned nasty at the last, and I had to square him with an extra hundred dollars or it would have been nitsky for you and me. 'Nothin' doin'!' says he, and he meant it, too, but the last hundred did it. It's cost me two hundred pound from first to last, so it isn't likely I'd give it up without gettin' my wad."

Von Bork smiled with some bitterness. "You don't seem to have a very high opinion of my honour," said he, "you want the money before you give up the book."

"Well, mister, it is a business proposition."

"All right. Have your way." He sat down at the table and scribbled a check, which he tore from the book, but he refrained from handing it to his companion. "After all, since we are to be on such terms, Mr. Altamont," said he, "I don't see why I should trust you any more than you trust me. Do you understand?" he added, looking back over his shoulder at the American. "There's the check upon the table. I claim the right to examine that parcel before you pick the money up."

The American passed it over without a word. Von Bork undid a winding of string and two wrappers of paper. Then he sat gazing for a moment in silent amazement at a small blue book which lay before him. Across the cover was printed in golden letters Practical Handbook of Bee Culture. Only for one instant did the master spy glare at this strangely irrelevant inscription. The next he was gripped at the back of his neck by a grasp of iron, and a chloroformed sponge was held in front of his writhing face.

"Another glass, Watson!" said Mr. Sherlock Holmes as he extended the bottle of Imperial Tokay.

The thickset chauffeur, who had seated himself by the table, pushed forward his glass with some eagerness.

"It is a good wine, Holmes."

"A remarkable wine, Watson. Our friend upon the sofa has assured me that it is from Franz Josef's special cellar at the Schoenbrunn Palace. Might I trouble you to open the window, for chloroform vapour does not help the palate."

The safe was ajar, and Holmes standing in front of it was removing dossier after dossier, swiftly examining each, and then packing it neatly in Von Bork's valise. The German lay upon the sofa sleeping stertorously with a strap round his upper arms and another round his legs.

"We need not hurry ourselves, Watson. We are safe from interruption. Would you mind touching the bell? There is no one in the house except old Martha, who has played her part to admiration. I got her the situation here when first I took the matter up. Ah, Martha, you will be glad to hear that all is well."

The pleasant old lady had appeared in the doorway. She curtseyed with a smile to Mr. Holmes, but glanced with some apprehension at the figure upon the sofa.

"It is all right, Martha. He has not been hurt at all."

"I am glad of that, Mr. Holmes. According to his lights he has been a kind master. He wanted me to go with his wife to Germany yesterday, but that would hardly have suited your plans, would it, sir?"

"No, indeed, Martha. So long as you were here I was easy in my mind. We waited some time for your signal to-night."

"It was the secretary, sir."

"I know. His car passed ours."

"I thought he would never go. I knew that it would not suit your plans, sir, to find him here."

"No, indeed. Well, it only meant that we waited half an hour or so until I saw your lamp go out and knew that the coast was clear. You can report to me to-morrow in London, Martha, at Claridge's Hotel."

"Very good, sir."

"I suppose you have everything ready to leave."

"Yes, sir. He posted seven letters to-day. I have the addresses as usual."

"Very good, Martha. I will look into them to-morrow. Good-night. These papers," he continued as the old lady vanished, "are not of very great importance, for, of course, the information which they represent has been sent off long ago to the German government. These are the originals which could not safely be got out of the country."

"Then they are of no use."

"I should not go so far as to say that, Watson. They will at least show our people what is known and what is not. I may say that a good many of these papers have come through me, and I need not add are thoroughly untrustworthy. It would brighten my declining years to see a German cruiser navigating the Solent according to the mine-field plans which I have furnished. But you, Watson"--he stopped his work and took his old friend by the shoulders--"I've hardly seen you in the light yet. How have the years used you? You look the same blithe boy as ever."

"I feel twenty years younger, Holmes. I have seldom felt so happy as when I got your wire asking me to meet you at Harwich with the car. But you, Holmes--you have changed very little--save for that horrible goatee."

"These are the sacrifices one makes for one's country, Watson," said Holmes, pulling at his little tuft. "To-morrow it will be but a dreadful memory. With my hair cut and a few other superficial changes I shall no doubt reappear at Claridge's to-morrow as I was before this American stunt--I beg your pardon, Watson, my well of English seems to be permanently defiled--before this American job came my way."

"But you have retired, Holmes. We heard of you as living the life of a hermit among your bees and your books in a small farm upon the South Downs."

"Exactly, Watson. Here is the fruit of my leisured ease, the magnum opus of my latter years!" He picked up the volume from the table and read out the whole title, Practical Handbook of Bee Culture, with Some Observations upon the Segregation of the Queen. "Alone I did it. Behold the fruit of pensive nights and laborious days when I watched the little working gangs as once I watched the criminal world of London."

"But how did you get to work again?"

"Ah, I have often marvelled at it myself. The Foreign Minister alone I could have withstood, but when the Premier also deigned to visit my humble roof--! The fact is, Watson, that this gentleman upon the sofa was a bit too good for our people. He was in a class by himself. Things were going wrong, and no one could understand why they were going wrong. Agents were suspected or even caught, but there was evidence of some strong and secret central force. It was absolutely necessary to expose it. Strong pressure was brought upon me to look into the matter. It has cost me two years, Watson, but they have not been devoid of excitement. When I say that I started my pilgrimage at Chicago, graduated in an Irish secret society at Buffalo, gave serious trouble to the constabulary at Skibbareen, and so eventually caught the eye of a subordinate agent of Von Bork, who recommended me as a likely man, you will realize that the matter was complex. Since then I have been honoured by his confidence, which has not prevented most of his plans going subtly wrong and five of his best agents being in prison. I watched them, Watson, and I picked them as they ripened. Well, sir, I hope that you are none the worse!"

The last remark was addressed to Von Bork himself, who after much gasping and blinking had lain quietly listening to Holmes's statement. He broke out now into a furious stream of German invective, his face convulsed with passion. Holmes continued his swift investigation of documents while his prisoner cursed and swore.

"Though unmusical, German is the most expressive of all languages," he observed when Von Bork had stopped from pure exhaustion. "Hullo! Hullo!" he added as he looked hard at the corner of a tracing before putting it in the box. "This should put another bird in the cage. I had no idea that the paymaster was such a rascal, though I have long had an eye upon him. Mister Von Bork, you have a great deal to answer for."

The prisoner had raised himself with some difficulty upon the sofa and was staring with a strange mixture of amazement and hatred at his captor.

"I shall get level with you, Altamont," he said, speaking with slow deliberation. "If it takes me all my life I shall get level with you!"

"The old sweet song," said Holmes. "How often have I heard it in days gone by. It was a favorite ditty of the late lamented Professor Moriarty. Colonel Sebastian Moran has also been known to warble it. And yet I live and keep bees upon the South Downs."

"Curse you, you double traitor!" cried the German, straining against his bonds and glaring murder from his furious eyes.

"No, no, it is not so bad as that," said Holmes, smiling. "As my speech surely shows you, Mr. Altamont of Chicago had no existence in fact. I used him and he is gone."

"Then who are you?"

"It is really immaterial who I am, but since the matter seems to interest you, Mr. Von Bork, I may say that this is not my first acquaintance with the members of your family. I have done a good deal of business in Germany in the past and my name is probably familiar to you."

"I would wish to know it," said the Prussian grimly.

"It was I who brought about the separation between Irene Adler and the late King of Bohemia when your cousin Heinrich was the Imperial Envoy. It was I also who saved from murder, by the Nihilist Klopman, Count Von und Zu Grafenstein, who was your mother's elder brother. It was I--"

Von Bork sat up in amazement.

"There is only one man," he cried.

"Exactly," said Holmes.

Von Bork groaned and sank back on the sofa. "And most of that information came through you," he cried. "What is it worth? What have I done? It is my ruin forever!"

"It is certainly a little untrustworthy," said Holmes. "It will require some checking and you have little time to check it. Your admiral may find the new guns rather larger than he expects, and the cruisers perhaps a trifle faster."

Von Bork clutched at his own throat in despair.

"There are a good many other points of detail which will, no doubt, come to light in good time. But you have one quality which is very rare in a German, Mr. Von Bork: you are a sportsman and you will bear me no ill-will when you realize that you, who have outwitted so many other people, have at last been outwitted yourself. After all, you have done your best for your country, and I have done my best for mine, and what could be more natural? Besides," he added, not unkindly, as he laid his hand upon the shoulder of the prostrate man, "it is better than to fall before some ignoble foe. These papers are now ready, Watson. If you will help me with our prisoner, I think that we may get started for London at once."

It was no easy task to move Von Bork, for he was a strong and a desperate man. Finally, holding either arm, the two friends walked him very slowly down the garden walk which he had trod with such proud confidence when he received the congratulations of the famous diplomatist only a few hours before. After a short, final struggle he was hoisted, still bound hand and foot, into the spare seat of the little car. His precious valise was wedged in beside him.

"I trust that you are as comfortable as circumstances permit," said Holmes when the final arrangements were made. "Should I be guilty of a liberty if I lit a cigar and placed it between your lips?"

But all amenities were wasted upon the angry German.

"I suppose you realize, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said he, "that if your government bears you out in this treatment it becomes an act of war."

"What about your government and all this treatment?" said Holmes, tapping the valise.

"You are a private individual. You have no warrant for my arrest. The whole proceeding is absolutely illegal and outrageous."

"Absolutely," said Holmes.

"Kidnapping a German subject."

"And stealing his private papers."

"Well, you realize your position, you and your accomplice here. If I were to shout for help as we pass through the village--"

"My dear sir, if you did anything so foolish you would probably enlarge the two limited titles of our village inns by giving us 'The Dangling Prussian' as a signpost. The Englishman is a patient creature, but at present his temper is a little inflamed, and it would be as well not to try him too far. No, Mr. Von Bork, you will go with us in a quiet, sensible fashion to Scotland Yard, whence you can send for your friend, Baron Von Herling, and see if even now you may not fill that place which he has reserved for you in the ambassadorial suite. As to you, Watson, you are joining us with your old service, as I understand, so London won't be out of your way. Stand with me here upon the terrace, for it may be the last quiet talk that we shall ever have."

The two friends chatted in intimate converse for a few minutes, recalling once again the days of the past, while their prisoner vainly wriggled to undo the bonds that held him. As they turned to the car Holmes pointed back to the moonlit sea and shook a thoughtful head.

"There's an east wind coming, Watson."

"I think not, Holmes. It is very warm."

"Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age. There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared. Start her up, Watson, for it's time that we were on our way. I have a check for five hundred pounds which should be cashed early, for the drawer is quite capable of stopping it if he can."









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