be　acceptable　should　have　been　transposed　to　somewhere　in　the　South
  Seas。　　But　it　would　have　been　too　much　trouble　to　cook　it　for　the
  consumption　of　magazine　readers。　　So　here　it　is　raw；　so　to　speak　…
  just　as　it　was　told　to　me　…　but　unfortunately　robbed　of　the
  striking　effect　of　the　narrator；　the　most　imposing　old　ruffian　that
  ever　followed　the　unromantic　trade　of　master　stevedore　in　the　port
  of　London。
  Oct。　1910。
  THE　INN　OF　THE　TWO　WITCHES　…　A　FIND
  This　tale；　episode；　experience　…　call　it　how　you　will　…　was　related
  in　the　fifties　of　the　last　century　by　a　man　who；　by　his　own
  confession；　was　sixty　years　old　at　the　time。　　Sixty　is　not　a　bad
  age　…　unless　in　perspective；　when　no　doubt　it　is　contemplated　by
  the　majority　of　us　with　mixed　feelings。　　It　is　a　calm　age；　the　game
  is　practically　over　by　then；　and　standing　aside　one　begins　to
  remember　with　a　certain　vividness　what　a　fine　fellow　one　used　to
  be。　　I　have　observed　that；　by　an　amiable　attention　of　Providence；
  most　people　at　sixty　begin　to　take　a　romantic　view　of　themselves。
  Their　very　failures　exhale　a　charm　of　peculiar　potency。　　And　indeed
  the　hopes　of　the　future　are　a　fine　company　to　live　with；　exquisite
  forms；　fascinating　if　you　like；　but　…　so　to　speak　…　naked；　stripped
  for　a　run。　　The　robes　of　glamour　are　luckily　the　property　of　the
  immovable　past　which；　without　them；　would　sit；　a　shivery　sort　of
  thing；　under　the　gathering　shadows。
  I　suppose　it　was　the　romanticism　of　growing　age　which　set　our　man
  to　relate　his　experience　for　his　own　satisfaction　or　for　the　wonder
  of　his　posterity。　　It　could　not　have　been　for　his　glory；　because
  the　experience　was　simply　that　of　an　abominable　fright　…　terror　he
  calls　it。　　You　would　have　guessed　that　the　relation　alluded　to　in
  the　very　first　lines　was　in　writing。
  This　writing　constitutes　the　Find　declared　in　the　sub…title。　　The
  title　itself　is　my　own　contrivance；　（can't　call　it　invention）；　and
  has　the　merit　of　veracity。　　We　will　be　concerned　with　an　inn　here。
  As　to　the　witches　that's　merely　a　conventional　expression；　and　we
  must　take　our　man's　word　for　it　that　it　fits　the　case。
  The　Find　was　made　in　a　box　of　books　bought　in　London；　in　a　street
  which　no　longer　exists；　from　a　second…hand　bookseller　in　the　last
  stage　of　decay。　　As　to　the　books　themselves　they　were　at　least
  twentieth…hand；　and　on　inspection　turned　out　not　worth　the　very
  small　sum　of　money　I　disbursed。　　It　might　have　been　some
  premonition　of　that　fact　which　made　me　say：　　〃But　I　must　have　the
  box　too。〃　　The　decayed　bookseller　assented　by　the　careless；　tragic
  gesture　of　a　man　already　doomed　to　extinction。
  A　litter　of　loose　pages　at　the　bottom　of　the　box　excited　my
  curiosity　but　faintly。　　The　close；　neat；　regular　handwriting　was
  not　attractive　at　first　sight。　　But　in　one　place　the　statement　that
  in　A。D。　1813　the　writer　was　twenty…two　years　old　caught　my　eye。
  Two　and　twenty　is　an　interesting　age　in　which　one　is　easily
  reckless　and　easily　frightened；　the　faculty　of　reflection　being
  weak　and　the　power　of　imagination　strong。
  In　another　place　the　phrase：　　〃At　night　we　stood　in　again；〃
  arrested　my　languid　attention；　because　it　was　a　sea　phrase。　　〃Let's
  see　what　it　is　all　about；〃　I　thought；　without　excitement。
  Oh！　but　it　was　a　dull…faced　MS。；　each　line　resembling　every　other
  line　in　their　close…set　and　regular　order。　　It　was　like　the　drone
  of　a　monotonous　voice。　　A　treatise　on　sugar…refining　（the　dreariest
  subject　I　can　think　of）　could　have　been　given　a　more　lively
  appearance。　　〃In　A。D。　1813；　I　was　twenty…two　years　old；〃　he　begins
  earnestly　and　goes　on　with　every　appearance　of　calm；　horrible
  industry。　　Don't　imagine；　however；　that　there　is　anything　archaic
  in　my　find。　　Diabolic　ingenuity　in　invention　though　as　old　as　the
  world　is　by　no　means　a　lost　art。　　Look　at　the　telephones　for
  shattering　the　little　peace　of　mind　given　to　us　in　this　world；　or
  at　the　machine　guns　for　letting　with　dispatch　life　out　of　our
  bodies。　　Now…a…days　any　blear…eyed　old　witch　if　only　strong　enough
  to　turn　an　insignificant　little　handle　could　lay　low　a　hundred
  young　men　of　twenty　in　the　twinkling　of　an　eye。
  If　this　isn't　progress！　。　。　。　Why　immense！　　We　have　moved　on；　and
  so　you　must　expect　to　meet　here　a　certain　naiveness　of　contrivance
  and　simplicity　of　aim　appertaining　to　the　remote　epoch。　　And　of
  course　no　motoring　tourist　can　hope　to　find　such　an　inn　anywhere；
  now。　　This　one；　the　one　of　the　title；　was　situated　in　Spain。　　That
  much　I　discovered　only　from　internal　evidence；　because　a　good　many
  pages　of　that　relation　were　missing　…　perhaps　not　a　great
  misfortune　after　all。　　The　writer　seemed　to　have　entered　into　a
  most　elaborate　detail　of　the　why　and　wherefore　of　his　presence　on
  that　coast　…　presumably　the　north　coast　of　Spain。　　His　experience
  has　nothing　to　do　with　the　sea；　though。　　As　far　as　I　can　make　it
  out；　he　was　an　officer　on　board　a　sloop…of…war。　　There's　nothing
  strange　in　that。　　At　all　stages　of　the　long　Peninsular　campaign
  many　of　our　men…of…war　of　the　smaller　kind　were　cruising　off　the
  north　coast　of　Spain　…　as　risky　and　disagreeable　a　station　as　can
  be　well　imagined。
  It　looks　as　though　that　ship　of　his　had　had　some　special　service　to
  perform。　　A　careful　explanation　of　all　the　circumstances　was　to　be
  expected　from　our　man；　only；　as　I've　said；　some　of　his　pages　（good
  tough　paper　too）　were　missing：　　gone　in　covers　for　jampots　or　in
  wadding　for　the　fowling…pieces　of　his　irreverent　posterity。　　But　it
  is　to　be　seen　clearly　that　communication　with　the　shore　and　even
  the　sending　of　messengers　inland　was　part　of　her　service；　either　to
  obtain　intelligence　from　or　to　transmit　orders　or　advice　to
  patriotic　Spaniards；　guerilleros　or　secret　juntas　of　the　province。
  Something　of　the　sort。　　All　this　can　be　only　inferred　from　the
  preserved　scraps　of　his　conscientious　writing。
  Next　we　come　upon　the　panegyric　of　a　very　fine　sailor；　a　member　of
  the　ship's　company；　having　the　rating　of　the　captain's　coxswain。
  He　was　known　on　board　as　Cuba　Tom；　not　because　he　was　Cuban
  however；　he　was　indeed　the　best　type　of　a　genuine　British　tar　of
  that　time；　and　a　man…of…war's　man　for　years。　　He　came　by　the　name
  on　account　of　some　wonderful　adventures　he　had　in　that　island　in
  his　young　days；　adventures　which　were　the　favourite　subject　of　the
  yarns　he　was　in　the　habit　of　spinning　to　his　shipmates　of　an
  evening　on　the　forecastle　head。　　He　was　intelligent；　very　strong；
  and　of　proved　courage。　　Incidentally　we　are　told；　so　exact　is　our
  narrator；　that　Tom　had　the　finest　pigtail　for　thickness　and　length
  of　any　man　in　the　Navy。　　This　appendage；　much　cared　for　and
  sheathed　tightly　in　a　porpoise　skin；　hung　half　way　down　his　broad
  back　to　the　great　admiration　of　all　beholders　and　to　the　great　envy
  of　some。
  Our　young　officer　dwells　on　the　manly　qualities　of　Cuba　Tom　with
  something　like　affection。　　This　sort　of　relation　between　officer
  and　man　was　not　then　very　rare。　　A　youngster　on　joining　the　service
  was　put　under　the　charge　of　a　trustworthy　seaman；　who　slung　his
  first　hammock　for　him　and　often　later　on　became　a　sort　of　humble
  friend　to　the　junior　officer。　　The　narrator　on　joining　the　sloop
  had　found　this　man　on　board　after　some　years　of　separation。　　There
  is　something　touching　in　the　warm　pleasure　he　remembers　and　records
  at　this　meeting　with　the　professional　mentor　of　his　boyhood。
  We　discover　then　that；　no　Spaniard　being　forthcoming　for　the
  service；　this　worthy　seaman　with　the　unique　pigtail　and　a　very　high
  character　for　courage　and　steadiness　had　been　selected　as　messenger
  for　one　of　these　missions　inland　which　have　been　mentioned。　　His
  preparations　were　not　elaborate。　　One　gloomy　autumn　morning　the
  sloop　ran　close　to　a　shallow　cove　where　a　landing　could　be　made　on
  that　iron…bound　shore。　　A　boat　was　lowered；　and　pulled　in　with　Tom
  Corbin　（Cuba　Tom）　perched　in　the　bow；　and　our　young　man　（Mr。　Edgar
  Byrne　was　his　name　on　this　earth　which　knows　him　no　more）　sitting
  in　the　stern　sheets。
  A　few　inhabitants　of　a　hamlet；　whose　grey　stone　houses　could　be
  seen　a　hundred　yards　or　so　up　a　deep　ravine；　had　come　down　to　the
  shore　and　watched　the　approach　of　the　boat。　　The　two　Englishmen
  leaped　ashore。　　Either　from　dullness　or　astonishment　the　peasants
  gave　no　greeting；　and　only　fell　back　in　silence。
  Mr。　Byrne　had　made　up　his　mind　to　see　Tom　Corbin　started　fairly　on
  his　way。　　He　looked　round　at　the　heavy　surprised　faces。
  〃There　isn't　much　to　get　out　of　them；〃　he　said。　　〃Let　us　walk　up　to
  the　village。　　There　will　be　a　wine　shop　for　sure　where　we　may　find
  somebody　more