"Ancestor Jorico"

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 282, 28 November 1929, Page 30

"Ancestor Jorico"

CHAPTER XXVIII. There we were, the knot of us five, at the end of the gayly equipped, verandah cafe, gathered together in dismayed and puzzled discussion of Toby's tidings. In the first place we had never contemplated a fatal end to Jones' concussion. His death was a shock, one not minimised but rendered even more poignant by the losses we had sustained on the disastrous voyage. Toby sat With his head iri his hands, saying very little. Something of beauty had suddenly been swept from his life, the doglike devotion of a human being. Ruth's eyes were red with tears. You must remember that at this time I knew nothing of the circumstances which led to Jones' accident. I had to judge them by my general knowledge of a poor devil torn between love and jealousy of his master. That the girl should mourn a pathetically afflicted blood relation and also a man who had loved her very truly, was the most natural thing in the world. Hettie and Binkie and I were each, in our several ways, affected by the poor fellow's death. He was an

honest soul; a vivid personality. To all of us he had endeared himself by his understanding /and ever readv helpfulness.

This is a tribute I must pay to our collective humanity. ■ His death came as a personal calamity to each one of us. I must pay it in order to insist on a just proportion between our sorrow and our tremendous interest in the amazing declaration of his name.

"Corporal John Gregory Jorico, D Company, Fourth East Suffolk."

.... I have little scientific knowledge of such things. But to me, and to all of us, it seemed obvious that his suddenly awakened mind had gone back down the years, at the sight of Toby, to the first sight of him when he had tumbled into the trench and had been unable to formulate the soldier's instinctive account of himself.

Jorico. An uncommon name. No wonder he had been unable to express •it pictorially. "Jorico" by itself might have struck us as a curious, though perhaps vague coincidence. But "John Gregory Jorico," with the Christian names that had gone down the family from the old ancestor himself to Sir Gregory Bingley, afforded, within the fallibility of human conjecture, proof positive of descent from the original stock.

"There's only one way of accounting for it," said Binkie. ■ "You all remember the name of Ancestor Jorico. John Gregory. He had two sons. One was Gregory, the other John. Gregory was lost at sea. I showed you the locket with a lock of his child's hair, and his mother's inscription, and the note on the back of the miniature made by his brother in after years. Jones can't be descended from John. The records are clear. Therefore, he must be descended from the elder son, Gregory. Therefore, good God! he was the head of the Jorico family. The last survivor, in fact, of the male line, now, by his death, extinct. The last of the Joricos. Amazing!" (

It was. The more we discussed, the more amazingly certain emerged the identity of Jones. Toby, the practical, said :

"At any rate, we can now get his record from the War Office."

"Yes," said Binkie, "that may put us on to something tangible." Hettie said: "Why worry, dear?" "Yes, why?" asked Ruth.

"The treasure."

"But haven't I demonstrated to you, my dear Binkie," said Toby in weariness, "that, given the filthy nature of this beastly ancestor of ours, there can't be any treasure left?"

"Last night you practically convinced me," Binkie replied. "But John Gregory Jorico lying there dead, poor chap"—he made a vague gesture—"sets up another line of inquiry. Why was Jones, as soon as he saw the little devils dancing on the chest in my old book, so keen to come with me? Why afterwards did he tell Toby, in his own way, : that the treasure was in London?"

Alas! Jones, otherwise John Gregory Jorico, lineal descendant beyond doubt, of the old pirate, was dead, 'and could answer no questions.

"My God," cried Binkie, "if only he could have lived, with returning speech —and consciousness—even . for twelve hours!"

Hettie put her hands on his arm. "My dear, don't say that. There were only two things we could have wished for him. Either to recover for good and all, or go out, at once, as he did."

"You're quite right," said Binkie, kissing her hands. He turned to us, by way of apology. "Hettie's perfectly right."

"You see," said Hettie, in her plump, business-like way, "whatever secret there is—and it must be only a very dim family tradition handed down a hundred years, through generations of uneducated folk—it's hidden for ever now."

"I suppose it is," said Binkie, scratching his cheek. He smiled. "Well, my dear, we'll give it up. The treasure, I mean. But still, it'll be jolly interesting to get on the track of Jones and follow him up to old man Jorico."

Hettie laughed indulgently. It was before the sudden end of Jones that Toby, the ever thoughtful, discovered that there was no Roman Catholic, priest on board. It was almost unprecedented, said the captain, the great mass of the population of Trinidad being of the old religion, and English priests always coming and going. There were an Anglican parson or two. But their administrations to an unconscious Roman Catholic would have been more or less futile, and now, to a dead one, quite meaningless. We were all reverently agreed that, when we got to Bristol, we would hand; the body to his- Churchy and, as far as things spiritual went, leave him in its care. We couldn't do more. The capable nurse performed the last bodily rites. We went down, by ones i and twos, to look our last on the gallant [fellow who had triumphed over a physical infirmity scarcely known to man, and whose thread of life in .the infinitely intricate web of human destinv, was so closely entangled with ours. The nurse, and Ruth had worked him cerements of linen, in their women's secrecy. So he lay, as during the course of a long life I have seen so many of those dear to me lie, in the strange and fitting dignity of death. I looked down 011 him; a sphinx, yes; a sphinx of queer nobility; at any rate, a man. Binkie and Hettie went down together. They joined us on deck, both tearful.

"I give up the treasure," said Binkie, in a hu6ky voice. "It was his, anyway. And if it's useful to him in the next world, he's welcome to it."

Toby and Ruth stood hand in hand together by the side of the bunk, the last night at jea- in half an hour, they were the ship's coSin would be

By W. J. LOCKE,

brought, and the doctor and nurse would superintend the inevitable transference. Toby broke down. The manifold loyalties of Jones surged like waves before them. The last loyalty, the silly trivial loyalty, the kit-bag packed during the racket of hell let loose, and the sight of him, in the break of the livid dawn, sleeping on it, guarding it like a dog. "Come, my dear," he said, guiding her away. 6 But she slipped her hand free, me a she called after

CHAPTER XXIX. J* T ° b7, He , ttie and Binkie buried Jones m the modern Bristol cemetery just the four of them as mourners around .the grave. Before leaving the city Toby ordered a stone to be engraved with his name, John Gregory Jorico, and the date of his death.

They travelled together up to London, where at Paddington Ruth and Toby took-leave of their companions and drove to Mount Street. They found awaiting them Mr. Wilfred Bovle and Mrs. Tellifer, who had been fully informed of the situation by letters from Bristol. What had been the nature of the interview between the respective parents, no mart (or woman) to my knowledge has yet been able to discover. Mrs. Tellifer was proud, Mr. Boyle exquisitely courteous. Of the treasure hunt and the Jorico ancestry, neither had a remote notion. They had been faced by the stark fact of the projected marriage. From their reception they were shown by a flustered Mrs. Baxter, the housekeeper, into Mr. Boyle's little library, where the two elderly people stood tense and nervous. Mr. Boyle kissed Ruth's cheek withj a "Welcome, my dear." Toby, with beaming face, said to Mrs. Tellifer: "I'm sorry to have to take Ruth from you. But I'm afraid I must." And Mrs. Tellifer, with a sad smile and moist eyes, replied: "It's the way of life, Major Boyle." Ruth took her mother off to Toby's room, which had been prepared for her. Toby, in the library, recounted to his father the tragic story of the last voyage of the Nautilus. "As for Ruth, well—it's my affair, I after all, isn't it? But naturally I want you to like her. For me she seems the woman specially created by God for me and me only." The prime, elderly gentleman came to the back of Toby's chair and laid his hands on his son's broad shoulders. "And a damned fine woman He has created for you. God bless you, my boy." Toby looked up and back at his retreating figure in some bewilderment. His precise father was not given to emotional outburst. He rose. "Do you really mean that?" The old man smiled. "Of course, I do. Why, the night she was here—the night of the fog—why, dammit, I almost fell in love with her myself. "Thank God you pulled up on the boundary line, my dear," laughed Toby. "Otherwise I shouldn't have had a look-

So all was well. „ , , After lunch Ruth and Toby went about their respective affairs, which were many, and met at dinner in Mount Street. Ruth appeared demure, precise, tastefully trimmed wearing a simple black evening frock, one of ma y results of her day's shopping. Mr. Wil fred Boyle made her his graceful comp iments. Toby eaid that she looked stunning. He was too deeply in love with her, too certain of her instinctive taste, to regard her with a professional eye. He had no notion of-the anguished eearchings of heart and bram that had gone to the detail of the attire m which she would appear for the first time as the future mistress of his home; the home of Major Boyle, Palmyre, one of the great arbiters of the feminine _ elegances. So when he said "Stunning,' with love and gladness in his eyes, ehe felt very happy indeed. Mr. Boyle came forward with an embroidered bag fitted with vanity case and whatnot. "My dear," said he, "a shipwrecked woman must need all sorts of odds and ends. I hope this is one of them." A grateful Ruth declared it lovely. It was. Isr. Wilfred Boyle had perfect taste. He pointed, however, to the tiny black silk bag which she had swung on her wrist. She had already anticipated him.

"This Oh, this is only a cheap little pocket to carry a handkerchief in." They dined pleasantly. Mr. Boyle left them early. He had engaged himself to do this, that and the other. Probably to play bridge at the Athenaeum. (To be continued daily.)