Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated) (1095 page)

THE WANDERE
R

With acknowledgment to my friend Sir A. Quiller-Couch.

‘Twas in the shadowy gloaming

Of a cold and wet March day,

That a wanderer came roaming

From countries far away.

Scant raiment had he round him,

Nor purse, nor worldly gear,

Hungry and faint we found him,

And bade him welcome here.

His weary frame bent double,

His eyes were old and dim,

His face was writhed with trouble

Which none might share with him.

His speech was strange and broken,

And none could understand,

Such words as might be spoken

In some far distant land.

We guessed not whence he hailed from,

Nor knew what far-off quay

His roving bark had sailed from

Before he came to me.

But there he was, so slender,

So helpless and so pale,

That my wife’s heart grew tender

For one who seemed so frail.

She cried, “But you must bide here!

You shall no further roam.

Grow stronger by our side here,

Within our moorland home!”

She laid her best before him,

Homely and simple fare,

And to his couch she bore him

The raiment he should wear.

To mine he had been welcome,

My suit of russet brown,

But she had dressed our weary guest

In a loose and easy gown.

And long in peace he lay there,

Brooding and still and weak,

Smiling from day to day there

At thoughts he would not speak.

The months flowed on, but ever

Our guest would still remain,

Nor made the least endeavour

To leave our home again.

He heeded not for grammar,

Nor did we care to teach,

But soon he learned to stammer

Some words of English speech.

With these our guest would tell us

The things that he liked best,

And order and compel us

To follow his behest.

He ruled us without malice,

But as if he owned us all,

A sultan in his palace

With his servants at his call.

Those calls came fast and faster,

Our service still we gave,

Till I who had been master

Had grown to be his slave.

He claimed with grasping gestures

Each thing of price he saw,

Watches and rings and vestures,

His will the only law.

In vain had I commanded,

In vain I struggled still,

Servants and wife were banded

To do the stranger’s will.

And then in deep dejection

It came to me one day,

That my own wife’s affection

Had been beguiled away.

Our love had known no danger,

So certain had it been!

And now to think a stranger

Should dare to step between.

I saw him lie and harken

To the little songs she sung,

And when the shadows darken

I could hear his lisping tongue.

They would sit in chambers shady,

When the light was growing dim,

Ah, my fickle-hearted lady!

With your arm embracing him.

So, at last, lest he divide us,

I would put them to the test.

There was no one there beside us,

Save
 
this
 
interloping
 
guest.

So I took my stand before them,

Very silent and erect,

My accusing glance passed o’er them,

Though with no observed effect.

But the lamp light shone upon her,

And I saw each tell-tale feature,

As I cried, “Now, on your honour,

Do or don’t you love the creature?”

But her answer seemed evasive,

It was “Ducky-doodle-doo!

If his mummy loves um babby,

Doesn’t daddums love um too?”

BENDY’S SERMO
N

[Bendigo, the well-known Nottingham prize fighter, became converted to religion, and preached at revival meetings throughout the country.]

You didn’t know of Bendigo!
  
Well, that

knocks me out!

Who’s your board school teacher?
  
What’s

he been about?

Chock-a-block with fairy-tales — full of

useless cram,

And never heard o’ Bendigo, the pride of

Nottingham!

Bendy’s short for Bendigo.
  
You should

see him peel!

Half of him was whalebone, half of him

was steel,

Fightin’ weight eleven ten, five foot nine

in height,

Always ready to
 
oblige if you
 
want a

fight.

I could talk of Bendigo from here to king-

dom come,

I guess before I ended you would wish your

dad was dumb.

I’d tell you how he fought Ben Caunt, and

how the deaf ‘un fell,

But the game is done, and the men are

gone — and maybe it’s as well.

Bendy he turned Methodist — he said he

felt a call,

He stumped the country preachin’ and you

bet he filled the hall,

If you seed him in the pulpit, a-bleatin’

like a lamb,

You’d
  
never know
  
bold
  
Bendigo,
  
the

pride of Nottingham.

His hat was like a funeral, he’d got a

waiter’s coat,

With a hallelujah collar and a choker round

his throat,

His pals would laugh and say in chaff that

Bendigo was right,

In takin’ on the devil, since he’d no one

else to fight.

But he was very earnest, improvin’ day by

day,

A-workin’ and a-preachin’ just as his duty

lay,

But the devil he was waitin’, and in the

final bout,

He hit him hard below his guard and

knocked poor Bendy out.

Now I’ll tell you how it happened. He

was preachin’ down at Brum,

He was billed just like a circus, you should

see the people come,

The chapel it was crowded, and in the fore-

most row,

There was half a dozen bruisers who’d a

grudge at Bendigo.

There was Tommy Piatt of Bradford,

Solly Jones of Perry Bar,

Long Connor from the Bull Ring, the

same wot drew with Carr,

Jack Ball the fightin
 
gunsmith, Joe Mur-

phy from the Mews,

And Iky Moss, the bettin’ boss, the

Champion of the Jews.

A very pretty handful a-sittin’ in a

string,

Full of beer and impudence, ripe for any-

thing,

Sittin’ in a string there, right under

Bendy’s nose,

If his message was for sinners, he could

make a start on those.

Soon he heard them chaflin’; “Hi, Bendy!

Here’s a go!”

“How much are you coppin’ by this Jump

to Glory show?”

“Stow it, Bendy! Left the ring!
 
Mighty

spry of you!

Didn’t
 
everybody know
 
the
 
ring
 
was

leavin’ you.”

Bendy fairly sweated as he stood above

and prayed,

“Look down, O Lord, and grip me with

a strangle hold!” he said.

“Fix me with a strangle hold! Put a stop

on me!

I’m slippin’, Lord, I’m slippin’ and I’m

clingin’ hard to Thee!”

But the roughs they kept on chaffin’ and

the uproar it was such

That the preacher in the pulpit might be

talkin’ double Dutch,

Till a workin’ man he shouted out, a-

jumpin’ to his feet,

“Give us a lead, your reverence, and heave

‘em in the street.”

Then
 
Bendy
 
said, “Good
 
Lord, since

first I left my sinful ways,

Thou knowest that to Thee alone I’ve

given up my days,

But now, dear Lord” — and here he laid his

Bible on the shelf —

“I’ll take, with your permission, just five

minutes for myself.”

He vaulted from the pulpit like a tiger

from a den,

They say it was a lovely sight to see him

floor his men;

Right and left, and left and right, straight

and true and hard,

Till the Ebenezer Chapel looked more like

a knacker’s yard.

Platt was standin’ on his back and lookup

at his toes,

Solly Jones of Perry Bar was feelin’ for

his nose,

Connor of the Bull Ring had all that he

could do

Rakin’ for his ivories that lay about the

pew.

Jack Ball the fightin’ gunsmith was in a

peaceful sleep,

Joe Murphy lay across him, all tied up

in a heap,

Five of them was twisted in a tangle on

the floor,

And Iky Moss, the bettin’ boss, had

sprinted for the door.

Five repentant fightin’ men, sitting in a

row,

Listenin’ to words of grace from Mister

Bendigo,

Listenin’ to his reverence — all as good

as gold,

Pretty little baa-lambs, gathered to the

fold.

So that’s the way that Bendy ran his

mission in the slum,

And preached the Holy Gospel to the

fightin’ men of Brum,

“The Lord,” said he, “has given me His

message from on high,

And if
 
you interrupt Him, I will know

the reason why.”

But to think of all your schooling clean

wasted, thrown away,

Darned if I can make out what you’re

learnin’ all the day,

Grubbin’ up old fairy-tales, fillin’ up with

cram,

And didn’t know of Bendigo, the pride

of Nottingham.