The Short Stories - Volume 1: "No one person can possibly combine all the elements supposed to make up what everyone means by friendship."

By F. Marion Crawford

Francis Marion Crawford was born on August 2, 1854 at Bagni di Lucca, Italy. An only son but also nephew to Julia Ward Howe, the American poet and writer of The Star Spangled Banner. His education was at St Paul's School, Concord, New Hampshire; Cambridge University; University of Heidelberg; and the University of Rome. In 1879 he went to India, to study Sanskrit and edited The Indian Herald. In 1881 he returned to America to continue his Sanskrit studies at Harvard University. At his time he lived mostly in Boston at his Aunt Julia Ward Howe's house and in the company of his Uncle, Sam Ward. His family was concerned about his employment prospects after a singing career as a baritone was ruled out he was encouraged to write. In December 1882 his first novel, Mr Isaacs, was an immediate hit which was amplified by Dr Claudius in 1883. That year he returned to Italy, to make a permanent home principally in Sant' Agnello, where he bought the Villa Renzi that became Villa Crawford. In October 1884 he married Elizabeth Berdan. They had two sons and two daughters. Late in the 1890s, he began to write his historical works. These are: Ave Roma Immortalis (1898), Rulers of the South (1900) and Gleanings from Venetian History (1905). The Saracinesca series is perhaps his best work. Saracinesca was followed by Sant’ Ilario in 1889, Don Orsino in 1892 and Corleone in 1897,that being first major treatment of the Mafia in literature. Crawford died at Sorrento on Good Friday 1909 at Villa Crawford of a heart attack. Here we are publish several of his short stories which are classics of their kind. Most were written in the latter part of his career and all have the ability to unsettle and make you feel decidedly uncomfortable. Here, in Volume 1, we include The Dead Smile, The Screaming Skull, Man Overboard!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Copyright Group
• Release date: Nov 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781783945634

Book preview

The Short Stories Of F. Marion Crawford – Volume 1

Francis Marion Crawford was born on August 2, 1854 at Bagni di Lucca, Italy. An only son but also nephew to Julia Ward Howe, the American poet and writer of The Star Spangled Banner. His education was at St Paul's School, Concord, New Hampshire; Cambridge University; University of Heidelberg; and the University of Rome. In 1879 he went to India, to study Sanskrit and edited The Indian Herald. In 1881 he returned to America to continue his Sanskrit studies at Harvard University. At his time he lived mostly in Boston at his Aunt Julia Ward Howe's house and in the company of his Uncle, Sam Ward. His family was concerned about his employment prospects after a singing career as a baritone was ruled out he was encouraged to write.  In December 1882 his first novel, Mr Isaacs, was an immediate hit which was amplified by Dr Claudius in 1883. That year he returned to Italy, to make a permanent home principally in Sant' Agnello, where he bought the Villa Renzi that became Villa Crawford. In October 1884 he married Elizabeth Berdan. They had two sons and two daughters. Late in the 1890s, he began to write his historical works. These are: Ave Roma Immortalis (1898), Rulers of the South (1900)  and Gleanings from Venetian History (1905). The Saracinesca series is perhaps his best work. Saracinesca was followed by Sant’ Ilario in 1889, Don Orsino in 1892 and Corleone in 1897,that being first major treatment of the Mafia in literature. Crawford died at Sorrento on Good Friday 1909 at Villa Crawford of a heart attack. Here we are publish several of his short stories which are classics of their kind.  Most were written in the latter part of his career and all have the ability to unsettle and make you feel decidedly uncomfortable. 

Table Of Contents

The Dead Smile

The Screaming Skull

Man Overboard!

THE DEAD SMILE

Chapter 1

Sir Hugh Ockram smiled as he sat by the open window of his study, inthe late August afternoon. A curiously yellow cloud obscured the lowsun, and the clear summer light turned lurid, as if it had beensuddenly poisoned and polluted by the foul vapours of a plague. SirHugh's face seemed, at best, to be made of fine parchment drawn skin-tight over a wooden mask, in which two sunken eyes peered from farwithin. The eyes peered from under wrinkled lids, alive and watchfullike toads in their holes, side by side and exactly alike. But as thelight changed, a little yellow glare flashed in each. He smiled,stretching pale lips across discoloured teeth in an expression ofprofound self-satisfaction, blended with the most unforgiving hatredand contempt for the human doll.

Nurse Macdonald, who was a hundred years old, said that when Sir Hughsmiled he saw the faces of two women in hell, two dead women he hadbetrayed. The smile widened.

The hideous disease of which Sir Hugh was dying had touched his brain.His son stood beside him, tall, white and delicate as an angel in aprimitive picture. And though there was deep distress in his violeteyes as he looked at his father's face, he felt the shadow of thatsickening smile stealing across his own lips, parting and drawing themagainst his will. It was like a bad dream, for he tried not to smileand smiled the more.

Beside him, strangely like him in her wan, angelic beauty, with thesame shadowy golden hair, the same sad violet eyes, the sameluminously pale face, Evelyn Warburton rested one hand upon his arm.As she looked into her uncle's eyes, she could not turn her own awayand she too knew that the deathly smile was hovering on her own redlips, drawing them tightly across her little teeth, while two brighttears ran down her cheeks to her mouth, and dropped from the upper tothe lower lip. The smile was like the shadow of death and the seal ofdamnation upon her pure, young face.

Of course, said Sir Hugh very slowly, still looking out at thetrees, if you have made your mind up to be married, I cannot hinderyou, and I don't suppose you attach the smallest importance to myconsent

Father! exclaimed Gabriel reproachfully.

No. I do not deceive myself, continued the old man, smilingterribly. You will marry when I am dead, though there is a very goodreason why you had better not, why you had better not, he repeatedvery emphatically, and he slowly turned his toad eyes upon the lovers.

What reason? asked Evelyn in a frightened voice.

Never mind the reason, my dear. You will marry just as if it did notexist. There was a long pause. Two gone, he said, his voicelowering strangely, and two more will be four all together foreverand ever, burning, burning, burning bright.

At the last words his head sank slowly back, and the little glare ofhis toad eyes disappeared under the swollen lids. Sir Hugh had fallenasleep, as he often did in his illness, even while speaking.

Gabriel Ockram drew Evelyn away, and from the study they went out intothe dim hall. Softly closing the door behind them, each audibly drew abreath, as though some sudden danger had been passed. As they laidtheir hands each in the other's, their strangely-like eyes met in along look in which love and perfect understanding were darkened by thesecret terror of an unknown thing. Their pale faces reflected eachother's fear.

It is his secret, said Evelyn at last. He will never tell us whatit is.

If he dies with it, answered Gabriel, let it be on his own head!

On his head! echoed the dim hall. It was a strange echo. Some werefrightened by it, for they said that if it were a real echo it shouldrepeat everything and not give back a phrase here and there, nowspeaking, now silent. Nurse Macdonald said that the great hall wouldnever echo a prayer when an Ockram was to die, though it would giveback curses ten for one.

On his head! it repeated quite softly, and Evelyn started and lookedround.

It is only the echo, said Gabriel, leading her away.

They went out into the late afternoon light, and sat upon a stone seatbehind the chapel, which had been built across the end of the eastwing. It was very still. Not a breath stirred, and there was no soundnear them. Only far off in the park a song-bird was whistling the highprelude to the evening chorus.

It is very lonely here, said Evelyn, taking Gabriel's hand nervouslyand speaking as if she dreaded to disturb the silence. If it weredark, I should be afraid.

Of what? Of me? Gabriel's sad eyes turned to her.

Oh no! Never of you! But of the old Ockrams. They say they are justunder our feet here in the north vault outside the chapel, all intheir shrouds, with no coffins, as they used to bury them.

As they always will. As they will bury my father, and me. They say anOckram will not lie in a coffin.

But it cannot be true. These are fairy tales, ghost stories! Evelynnestled nearer to her companion, grasping his hand more tightly as thesun began to go down.

Of course. But there is the story of old Sir Vernon, who was beheadedfor treason under James II. The family brought his body back from thescaffold in an iron coffin with heavy locks and put it in the northvault. But ever afterwards, whenever the vault was opened to buryanother of the family, they found the coffin wide open, the bodystanding upright against the wall, and the head rolled away in acorner smiling at it.

As Uncle Hugh smiles? Evelyn shivered.

Yes, I suppose so, answered Gabriel, thoughtfully. Of course Inever saw it, and the vault has not been opened for thirty years. Noneof us have died since then.

And if...if Uncle Hugh dies, shall you...? Evelyn stopped. Herbeautiful thin face was quite white.

Yes. I shall see him laid there too, with his secret, whatever itis. Gabriel sighed and pressed the girl's little hand.

I do not like to think of it, she said unsteadily. O Gabriel, whatcan the secret be? He said we had better not marry. Not that heforbade it, but he said it so strangely, and he smiled. Ugh! Hersmall white teeth chattered with fear, and she looked over hershoulder while drawing still closer to Gabriel. And, somehow, I feltit in my own face.

So did I, answered Gabriel in a low, nervous voice. NurseMacdonald... He stopped abruptly.

"What? What did she

Oh, nothing. She has told me things.... They would frighten you,dear. Come, it is growing chilly. He rose, but Evelyn held his handin both of hers, still sitting and looking up into his face.

But we shall be married just the sameGabriel! Say that we shall!

Of course, darling, of course. But while my father is so very ill, itis impossible

O Gabriel, Gabriel, dear! I wish we were married now! Evelyn criedin sudden distress. I know that something will prevent it and keep usapart.

Nothing shall!

Nothing?

Nothing human, said Gabriel Ockram, as she drew him down to her.

And their faces, that were so strangely alike, met and touched.Gabriel knew that the kiss had a marveloussavor of evil. Evelyn'slips were like the cool breath of a sweet and mortal fear that neitherof them understood, for they were innocent and young. Yet she drew himto her by her lightest touch, as a sensitive plant shivers, waves itsthin leaves, and bends and closes softly upon what it wants. He lethimself be drawn to her willingly, as he would even if her touch hadbeen deadly and poisonous, for he strangely loved that half voluptuousbreath of fear, and he passionately desired the nameless evilsomething that lurked in her maiden lips.

It is as if we loved in a strange dream, she said.

I fear the waking, he murmured.

We shall not wake, dear. When the dream is over it will have alreadyturned into death, so softly that we shall not know it. But untilthen...

She paused, her eyes seeking his, as their faces slowly came nearer.It was as if each had thoughts in their lips that foresaw and foreknewthe other.

Until then, she said again, very low, her mouth near to his.

Dream, till then, he murmured.

Chapter 2

Nurse MacDonald slept sitting all bent together in a great old leatherarm chair with wings, many warm blankets wrapped about her, even insummer. She would rest her feet in a bag footstool lined withsheepskin while beside her, on a wooden table, there was a little lampthat burned at night, and an old silver cup, in which there was alwayssomething to