Punch (44.1863)

MOKE ANNA;

©r, Etje 0Ettnegs.

LONDON : MARCH 7, 1863.

[ONCE MORE UPON THE' TRACK OF THE FUGITIVE.]

MOKEANNA;

OR, THE WHITE WITNESS.

A TALE OF THE TIMES.

Dramatically divided into Parts, by the Author of
“ Matringa, ” “ ’Ollow ’Arts, ” “ Geronimo the
Gipsy,” “ The Dark Girl,” “ Dustman.of Destiny,”
<to. &c.

PART V.—THE AUDITORIUM.

CHAP. I.

“ ‘'n, plei ijpLcra rods
Bvprlr X'lKUVL &7vk.”

Moschus. ’Bo£ ko.1 Ko|.

During the events related in the last chapter, the
farm at Rederring was in flames.

The young farmer, Gyles Scroogynnes, sat up
in his bed.

“ I will not disturb them,” he murmured, gazing
fondly upon his wife and children, who were calmly
sleeping by his side. He was a fine noble looking
man, whose dark black hair, heavy jet moustache,
and pale olive complexion, told surely of his Saxon
descent.

“ Mokeanna ! ” he exclaimed.

The favourite animal was nowhere to be found.

“Mokeanna! Mokeanna!” cried the grief-
stricken farmer.

The peasants and fishermen, who had assembled
to look at the fire, turned away their heads and
wept.

A man, scarcely able to support himself, elbowed
his way through the crowd.

“ Mokeanna,” he said, “ is stolen! ”

“ Ha ! ” exclaimed Gyles Scroogynnes, “ and
you are— ”

“ The Coast-guardsman. Two men were here
to-night. One of them wore a White Hat. The
other lies upomthe beach.”

“ But who—who stole Mokeanna ? ”

The crowd in an agony of suspense echoed the
question.

There was a pause.

Then the Coast-guardsman solemnly replied,
“ Ye ask who abducted the Moke Anna ? I answer,
The Wearer of the Chapeau Blanc !”

“ How shall we trace him? ” inquired the stal-
wart farmer.

At this moment the attention of the crowd was
attracted by the movements of the hound, who ran
hither and thither, as if in search of some lost
treasure.

“ Justinian,” the dog’s name, “is on his scent,”
was the cry.

A woman, in evening costume, carrying five chil-
dren and a couple of trunks, emerged from the fire.

It was the farmer’s wife.

“ The Woman in White ! ” shouted the peasants,
recognising her.

“Somebody’s luggage!” exclaimed the bluff
Coast-guardsman, pointing to the boxes.

“ The fire,” she whispered in her husband’s ear,
“ has burnt off the labels ; they have now No
Name.”

“ But I can prove— ”

She laid her light taper finger against her finely-
chiselled nose, languidly drooping her dark-fringed
eyelid.

Further parley was useless. “Vengeance!”
they cried, “ upon him who stole Mokeanna! ”

“ Swear! ”

As if actuated by one fearful impulse, that vast
mass of human beings knelt down and swore for
some seconds.

“ Vengeance,” again they shouted, “ upon the
Man in the White—”

The last word was lost in the trampling of their
feet as they started in pursuit.

The Dog was on the Track of the Lost
Bone !

CHAP. II.

“ The curled and trembling Moon,

Beneath the trees lay lambent
As she fell."

Blackstone Ballads, bv S. Warren.

The pistol that roused the Lady Agnesia from
her repose was fired by Sir Lionel, who arrived at
his own front door in time to catch sight of the
retreating figures, who were at that moment
several miles away.

The bullet passed upwards, through the window
of the first floor at the back of the house, and
turning off sharply at right angles, found its way
to the heart of the Lady Evelina.

Poor Innocent ! she was dreaming of her first
Ball.

Sir Lionel slowly ascended the stairs, and with
great presence of mind, rubbed his daughter’s
hands and held her head up, while her sister sat
near them pouring brandy down her own throat.

All remedies were equally useless.

By this time a fierce crowd had surrounded the
Grange, and a dog was barking furiously.

“ Whom do you want? ” inquired Sir Lionel
appearing at the fifth storey window.

“ Guess?” shouted a farmer, ironically.