=================【PROLOGUE】=====================
THE STORMING OF SERINGAPATAM (1799)
Extracted from a Family Paper
【1】
I address these lines—written in India—to my relatives in England.
My object is to explain the motive which has induced me to refuse the right hand of friendship to my cousin, John Herncastle. The reserve which I have hitherto maintained in this matter has been misinterpreted by members of my family whose good opinion I cannot consent to forfeit. I request them to suspend their decision until they have read my narrative. And I declare, on my word of honour, that what I am now about to write is, strictly and literally, the truth.
The private difference between my cousin and me took its rise in a great public event in which we were both concerned—the storming of Seringapatam, under General Baird, on the 4th of May, 1799.
In order that the circumstances may be clearly understood, I must revert for a moment to the period before the assault, and to the stories current in our camp of the treasure in jewels and gold stored up in the Palace of Seringapatam.

【2】
The adventures of the Yellow Diamond begin with the eleventh century of the Christian era. At that date, the Mohammedan conqueror, Mahmoud of Ghizni, crossed India; seized on the holy city of Somnauth; and stripped of its treasures the famous temple, which had stood for centuries—the shrine of Hindoo pilgrimage, and the wonder of the Eastern world. Of all the deities worshipped in the temple, the moon-god alone escaped the rapacity of the conquering Mohammedans. Preserved by three Brahmins, the inviolate deity, bearing the Yellow Diamond in its forehead, was removed by night, and was transported to the second of the sacred cities of India—the city of Benares. Here, in a new shrine—in a hall inlaid with precious stones, under a roof supported by pillars of gold—the moon-god was set up and worshipped. Here, on the night when the shrine was completed, Vishnu the Preserver appeared to the three Brahmins in a dream.

【3】
So, as told in our camp, ran the fanciful story of the Moonstone. It made no serious impression on any of us except my cousin—whose love of the marvellous induced him to believe it. On the night before the assault on Seringapatam, he was absurdly angry with me, and with others, for treating the whole thing as a fable. A foolish wrangle followed; and Herncastle's unlucky temper got the better of him. He declared, in his boastful way, that we should see the Diamond on his finger, if the English army took Seringapatam. The sally was saluted by a roar of laughter, and there, as we all thought that night, the thing ended. Let me now take you on to the day of the assault. My cousin and I were separated at the outset. I never saw him when we forded the river; when we planted the English flag in the first breach; when we crossed the ditch beyond; and, fighting every inch of our way, entered the town. It was only at dusk, when the place was ours, and after General Baird himself had found the dead body of Tippoo under a heap of the slain, that Herncastle and I met. We were each attached to a party sent out by the general's orders to prevent the plunder and confusion which followed our conquest. The camp-followers committed deplorable excesses; and, worse still, the soldiers found their way, by a guarded door, into the treasury of the Palace, and loaded themselves with gold and jewels. It was in the court outside the treasury that my cousin and I met, to enforce the laws of discipline on our own soldiers. Herncastle's fiery temper had been, as I could plainly see, exasperated to a kind of frenzy by the terrible slaughter through which we had passed. He was very unfit, in my opinion, to perform the duty that had been entrusted to him.

There was riot and confusion enough in the treasury, but no violence that I saw. The men (if I may use such an expression) disgraced themselves good-humouredly. All sorts of rough jests and catchwords were bandied about among them; and the story of the Diamond turned up again unexpectedly, in the form of a mischievous joke. "Who's got the Moonstone?" was the rallying cry which perpetually caused the plundering, as soon as it was stopped in one place, to break out in another. While I was still vainly trying to establish order, I heard a frightful yelling on the other side of the courtyard, and at once ran towards the cries, in dread of finding some new outbreak of the pillage in that direction. I got to an open door, and saw the bodies of two Indians (by their dress, as I guessed, officers of the palace) lying across the entrance, dead. A cry inside hurried me into a room, which appeared to serve as an armoury. A third Indian, mortally wounded, was sinking at the feet of a man whose back was towards me. The man turned at the instant when I came in, and I saw John Herncastle, with a torch in one hand, and a dagger dripping with blood in the other. A stone, set like a pommel, in the end of the dagger's handle, flashed in the torchlight, as he turned on me, like a gleam of fire. The dying Indian sank to his knees, pointed to the dagger in Herncastle's hand, and said, in his native language—"The Moonstone will have its vengeance yet on you and yours!" He spoke those words, and fell dead on the floor. Before I could stir in the matter, the men who had followed me across the courtyard crowded in. My cousin rushed to meet them, like a madman. "Clear the room!" he shouted to me, "and set a guard on the door!" The men fell back as he threw himself on them with his torch and his dagger. I put two sentinels of my own company, on whom I could rely, to keep the door. Through the remainder of the night, I saw no more of my cousin. Early in the morning, the plunder still going on, General Baird announced publicly by beat of drum, that any thief detected in the fact, be he whom he might, should be hung. The provost-marshal was in attendance, to prove that the General was in earnest; and in the throng that followed the proclamation, Herncastle and I met again. He held out his hand, as usual, and said, "Good morning." I waited before I gave him my hand in return. "Tell me first," I said, "how the Indian in the armoury met his death, and what those last words meant, when he pointed to the dagger in your hand." "The Indian met his death, as I suppose, by a mortal wound," said Herncastle. "What his last words meant I know no more than you do." I looked at him narrowly. His frenzy of the previous day had all calmed down. I determined to give him another chance. "Is that all you have to tell me?" I asked. He answered, "That is all." I turned my back on him; and we have not spoken since.


【4】
I beg it to be understood that what I write here about my cousin (unless some necessity should arise for making it public) is for the information of the family only. Herncastle has said nothing that can justify me in speaking to our commanding officer. He has been taunted more than once about the Diamond, by those who recollect his angry outbreak before the assault; but, as may easily be imagined, his own remembrance of the circumstances under which I surprised him in the armoury has been enough to keep him silent. It is reported that he means to exchange into another regiment, avowedly for the purpose of separating himself from ME. Whether this be true or not, I cannot prevail upon myself to become his accuser—and I think with good reason. If I made the matter public, I have no evidence but moral evidence to bring forward. I have not only no proof that he killed the two men at the door; I cannot even declare that he killed the third man inside—for I cannot say that my own eyes saw the deed committed. It is true that I heard the dying Indian's words; but if those words were pronounced to be the ravings of delirium, how could I contradict the assertion from my own knowledge? Let our relatives, on either side, form their own opinion on what I have written, and decide for themselves whether the aversion I now feel towards this man is well or ill founded. Although I attach no sort of credit to the fantastic Indian legend of the gem, I must acknowledge, before I conclude, that I am influenced by a certain superstition of my own in this matter. It is my conviction, or my delusion, no matter which, that crime brings its own fatality with it. I am not only persuaded of Herncastle's guilt; I am even fanciful enough to believe that he will live to regret it, if he keeps the Diamond; and that others will live to regret taking it from him, if he gives the Diamond away.


CHAPTER II
I SPOKE of my lady a line or two back. Now the Diamond could never have been in
our house, where it was lost, if it had not been made a present of to my lady's
daughter; and my lady's daughter would never have been in existence to have the
present, if it had not been for my lady who (with pain and travail) produced her into
the world. Consequently, if we begin with my lady, we are pretty sure of beginning far
enough back. And that, let me tell you, when you have got such a job as mine in hand,
is a real comfort at starting.
If you know anything of the fashionable world, you have heard tell of the three
beautiful Miss Herncastles. Miss Adelaide; Miss Caroline; and Miss Julia - this last
being the youngest and the best of the three sisters, in my opinion; and I had
opportunities of judging, as you shall presently see. I went into the service of the old
lord, their father (thank God, we have got nothing to do with him, in this business of
the Diamond; he had the longest tongue and the shortest temper of any man, high or
low, I ever met with) - I say, I went into the service of the old lord, as page-boy in
waiting on the three honourable young ladies, at the age of fifteen years. There I lived
till Miss Julia married the late Sir John Verinder. An excellent man, who only wanted
somebody to manage him; and, between ourselves, he found somebody to do it; and
what is more, he throve on it, and grew fat on it, and lived happy and died easy on it,
dating from the day when my lady took him to church to be married, to the day when
she relieved him of his last breath, and closed his eyes for ever.
I have omitted to state that I went with the bride to the bride's husband's house and
lands down here. `Sir John,' she says, `I can't do without Gabriel Betteredge.' `My
lady,' says Sir John, `I can't do without him, either.' That was his way with her--and
that was how I went into his service. It was all one to me where I went, so long as my
mistress and I were together.
Seeing that my lady took an interest in the out-of-door work, and the farms, and such like, I took an interest in them too - with all the more reason that I was a small
farmer's seventh son myself. My lady got me put under the bailiff, and I did my best,
and gave satisfaction, and got promotion accordingly. Some years later, on the
Monday as it might be, my lady says, `Sir John, your bailiff is a stupid old man.
Pension him liberally, and let Gabriel Betteredge have his place.' On the Tuesday as it
might be, Sir John says, `My lady, the bailiff is pensioned liberally; and Gabriel
Betteredge has got his place.' You hear more than enough of married people living
together miserably. Here is an example to the contrary. Let it be a warning to some of
you, and an encouragement to others. In the meantime, I will go on with my story.
Well, there I was in clover, you will say. Placed in a position of trust and honour, with
a little cottage of my own to live in, with my rounds on the estate to occupy me in the


according to my experience of it.
After five years of misunderstandings on the stairs, it pleased an all-wise Providence
to relieve us of each other by taking my wife. I was left with my little girl, Penelope,
and with no other child. Shortly afterwards Sir John died, and my lady was left with
her little girl, Miss Rachel, and no other child. I have written to very poor purpose of
my lady, if you require to be told that my little Penelope was taken care of, under my
good mistress's own eye, and was sent to school and taught, and made a sharp girl,
and promoted, when old enough, to be Miss Rachel's own maid.
As for me, I went on with my business as bailiff year after year up to Christmas 1847,
when there came a change in my life. On that day, my lady invited herself to a cup of
tea alone with me in my cottage. She remarked that, reckoning from the year when I
started as page-boy in the time of the old lord, I had been more than fifty years in her
service, and she put into my hands a beautiful waistcoat of wool that she had worked
herself, to keep me warm in the bitter winter weather.
I received this magnificent present quite at a loss to find words to thank my mistress
with for the honour she had done me. To my great astonishment, it turned out,
however, that the waistcoat was not an honour, but a bribe. My lady had discovered
that I was getting old before I had discovered it myself, and she had come to my
cottage to wheedle me (if I may use such an expression) into giving up my hard out-of-
door work as bailiff, and taking my ease for the rest of my days as steward in the
house. I made as good a fight of it against the indignity of taking my ease as I could.
But my mistress knew the weak side of me; she put it as a favour to herself. The
dispute between us ended, after that, in my wiping my eyes, like an old fool, with my
new woollen waistcoat, and saying I would think about it.
The perturbation in my mind, in regard to thinking about it, being truly dreadful after
my lady had gone away, I applied the remedy which I have never yet found to fail me in cases of doubt and emergency. I smoked a pipe and took a turn at Robinson Crusoe.
Before I had occupied myself with that extraordinary book five minutes, I came on a
comforting bit (page one hundred and fifty-eight), as follows: `To-day we love, what
to-morrow we hate.' I saw my way clear directly. To-day I was all for continuing to be
farm-bailiff; to-morrow, on the authority of Robinson Crusoe, I should be all the other
way. Take myself to-morrow while in tomorrow's humour, and the thing was done.
My mind being relieved in this manner, I went to sleep that night in the character of
Lady Verinder's farm-bailiff, and I woke up the next morning in the character of Lady
Verinder's house-steward. All quite comfortable, and all through Robinson Crusoe!
My daughter Penelope has just looked over my shoulder to see what I have done so
far. She remarks that it is beautifully written, and every word of it true. But she points
out one objection. She says what I have done so far isn't in the least what I was
wanted to do. I am asked to tell the story of the Diamond, and, instead of that, I have
been telling the story of my own self. Curious, and quite beyond me to account for. I
wonder whether the gentlemen who make a business and a living out of writing
books, ever find their own selves getting in the way of their subjects, like me? If they
do, I can feel for them. In the meantime, here is another false start, and more waste of
good writing-paper. What's to be done now? Nothing that I know of, except for you to
keep your temper, and for me to begin it all over again for the third time.

stopped him. His third attempt succeeded, as you know already from what my lady
told me. On Thursday, the twenty-fifth of May, we were to see for the first time what
our nice boy had grown to be as a man. He came of good blood; he had a high
courage; and he was five-and-twenty years of age, by our reckoning. Now you know
as much of Mr. Franklin Blake as I did--before Mr. Franklin Blake came down to our
house.
The Thursday was as fine a summer's day as ever you saw: and my lady and Miss
Rachel (not expecting Mr. Franklin till dinner-time) drove out to lunch with some
friends in the neighbourhood.
When they were gone, I went and had a look at the bedroom which had been got ready
for our guest, and saw that all was straight. Then, being butler in my lady's establishment, as well as steward (at my own particular request, mind, and because it
vexed me to see anybody but myself in possession of the key of the late Sir John's
cellar)--then, I say, I fetched up some of our famous Latour claret, and set it in the
warm summer air to take off the chill before dinner. Concluding to set myself in the
warm summer air next--seeing that what is good for old claret is equally good for old
age--I took up my beehive chair to go out into the back court, when I was stopped by
hearing a sound like the soft beating of a drum, on the terrace in front of my lady's
residence.
Going round to the terrace, I found three mahogany-coloured Indians, in white linen
frocks and trousers, looking up at the house.
The Indians, as I saw on looking closer, had small hand-drums slung in front of them.
Behind them stood a little delicate-looking light-haired English boy carrying a bag. I
judged the fellows to be strolling conjurers, and the boy with the bag to be carrying
the tools of their trade. One of the three, who spoke English, and who exhibited, I
must own, the most elegant manners, presently informed me that my judgment was
right. He requested permission to show his tricks in the presence of the lady of the
house.
Now I am not a sour old man. I am generally all for amusement, and the last person in
the world to distrust another person because he happens to be a few shades darker than
myself. But the best of us have our weaknesses--and my weakness, when I know a
family plate-basket to be out on a pantry-table, is to be instantly reminded of that
basket by the sight of a strolling stranger whose manners are superior to my own. I
accordingly informed the Indian that the lady of the house was out; and I warned him
and his party off the premises. He made a beautiful bow in return; and he and his party
went off the premises. On my side, I returned to my beehive chair, and set myself
down on the sunny side of the court, and fell (if the truth must be owned), not exactly
into a sleep, but into the next best thing to it.
I was roused up by my daughter Penelope running out at me as if the house was on
fire. What do you think she wanted? She wanted to have the three Indian jugglers


instantly taken up; for this reason, namely, that they knew who was coming from
London to visit us, and that they meant some mischief to Mr. Franklin Blake.
Mr. Franklin's name roused me. I opened my eyes, and made my girl explain herself.
It appeared that Penelope had just come from our lodge, where she had been having a
gossip with the lodge-keeper's daughter. The two girls had seen the Indians pass out,
after I had warned them off, followed by their little boy. Taking it into their heads that
the boy was ill-used by the foreigners--for no reason that I could discover, except that
he was pretty and delicate-looking--the two girls had stolen along the inner side of the hedge between us and the road, and had watched the proceedings of the foreigners on
the outer side. Those proceedings resulted in the performance of the following
extraordinary tricks.
They first looked up the road, and down the road, and made sure that they were alone.
Then they all three faced about, and stared hard in the direction of our house. Then
they jabbered and disputed in their own language, and looked at each other like men
in doubt. Then they all turned to their little English boy, as if they expected him to
help them. And then the chief Indian, who spoke English, said to the boy, `Hold out
your hand.'
On hearing those dreadful words, my daughter Penelope said she didn't know what
prevented her heart from flying straight out of her. I thought privately that it might
have been her stays. All I said, however, was, `You make my flesh creep.' (Nota bene:
Women like these little compliments.)
Well, when the Indian said, `Hold out your hand,' the boy shrunk back, and shook his
head, and said he didn't like it. The Indian, thereupon, asked him (not at all unkindly)
whether he would like to be sent back to London, and left where they had found hi***eeping in an empty basket in a market--a hungry, ragged, and forsaken little boy.
This, it seems, ended the difficulty. The little chap unwillingly held out his hand.
Upon that, the Indian took a bottle from his bosom, and poured out of it some black
stuff, like ink, into the palm of the boy's hand. The Indian--first touching the boy's
head, and making signs over it in the air--then said, `Look.' The boy became quite
stiff, and stood like a statue, looking into the ink in the hollow of his hand.
(So far, it seemed to me to be juggling, accompanied by a foolish waste of ink. I was
beginning to feel sleepy again, when Penelope's next words stirred me up.)
The Indians looked up the road and down the road once more--and then the chief
Indian said these words to the boy: `See the English gentleman from foreign parts.'
The boy said, `I see him.'
The Indian said, `Is it on the road to this house, and on no other, that the English
gentleman will travel to-day?'
The boy said, `It is on the road to this house, and on no other, that the English
gentleman will travel to-day.'
The Indian put a second question--after waiting a little first. He said: `Has the English


Instead of helping me up, the poor thing stole her hand into mine, and gave it a little
squeeze. She tried hard to keep from crying again, and succeeded--for which I
respected her. `You're very kind, Mr. Betteredge,' she said. `I don't want any dinner today--let me bide a little longer here.'
`What makes you like to be here?' I asked. `What is it that brings you everlastingly to
this miserable place?'
`Something draws me to it,' says the girl, making images with her finger in the sand. `I
try to keep away from it, and I can't. Sometimes,' says she in a low voice, as if she was
frightened at her own fancy, `sometimes, Mr. Betteredge, I think that my grave is
waiting for me here.'
`There's roast mutton and suet-pudding waiting for you!' says I. `Go in to dinner
directly. This is what comes, Rosanna, of thinking on an empty stomach!' I spoke
severely, being naturally indignant (at my time of life) to hear a young woman of five-
and-twenty talking about her latter end!
She didn't seem to hear me: she put her hand on my shoulder, and kept me where I
was, sitting by her side.
`I think the place has laid a spell on me,' she said. `I dream of it night after night; I
think of it when I sit stitching at my work. You know I am grateful, Mr. Betteredge--
you know I try to deserve your kindness, and my lady's confidence in me. But I
wonder sometimes whether the life here is too quiet and too good for such a woman as
I am, after all I have gone through, Mr. Betteredge--after all I have gone through. It's
more lonely to me to be among the other servants, knowing I am not what they are,
than it is to be here. My lady doesn't know, the matron at the reformatory doesn't
know, what a dreadful reproach honest people are in themselves to a woman like me.
Don't scold me, there's a dear good man. I do my work, don't I? Please not to tell my
lady I am discontented--I am not. My mind's unquiet, sometimes, that's all.' She
snatched her hand off my shoulder, and suddenly pointed down to the quicksand.
`Look!' she said. `Isn't it wonderful? Isn't it terrible? I have seen it dozens of times,
and it's always as new to me as if I had never seen it before!'
I looked where she pointed. The tide was on the turn, and the horrid sand began to
shiver. The broad brown face of it heaved slowly, and then dimpled and quivered all
over. `Do you know what it looks like to me?' says Rosanna, catching me by the
shoulder again. `It looks as if it had hundreds of suffocating people under it--all
struggling to get to the surface, and all sinking lower and lower in the dreadful deeps!
Throw a stone in, Mr. Betteredge! Throw a stone in, and let's see the sand suck it
down!'
Here was unwholesome talk! Here was an empty stomach feeding on an unquiet
mind! My answer--a pretty sharp one, in the poor girl's own interests, I promise you!-- was at my tongue's end, when it was snapped short off on a sudden by a voice among
the sand-hills shouting for me by my name. `Betteredge!' cries the voice, `where are


you?' `Here!' I shouted out in return, without a notion in my mind of who it was.
Rosanna started to her feet, and stood looking towards the voice. I was just thinking of
getting on my own legs next, when I was staggered by a sudden change in the girl's
face.
Her complexion turned of a beautiful red, which I had never seen in it before; she
brightened all over with a kind of speechless and breathless surprise. `Who is it?' I
asked. Rosanna gave me back my own question. `Oh! who is it?' she said softly, more
to herself than to me. I twisted round on the sand and looked behind me. There,
coming out on us from among the hills, was a bright-eyed young gentleman, dressed
in a beautiful fawn-coloured suit, with gloves and hat to match, with a rose in his
button-hole, and a smile on his face that might have set the Shivering Sand itself
smiling at him in return. Before I could get on my legs, he plumped down on the sand
by the side of me, put his arm round my neck, foreign fashion, and gave me a hug that
fairly squeezed the breath out of my body. `Dear old Betteredge!' says he. `I owe you
seven-and-sixpence. Now do you know who I am?'
Lord bless us and save us! Here--four good hours before we expected him--was Mr.
Franklin Blake!
Before I could say a word, I saw Mr. Franklin, a little surprised to all appearance, look
up from me to Rosanna. Following his lead, I looked at the girl too. She was blushing
of a deeper red than ever, seemingly at having caught Mr. Franklin's eye; and she
turned and left us suddenly, in a confusion quite unaccountable to my mind, without
either making her curtsey to the gentleman or saying a word to me. Very unlike her
usual self: a civiller and better-behaved servant, in general, you never met with.
`That's an odd girl,' says Mr. Franklin. `I wonder what she sees in me to surprise her?'
`I suppose, sir,' I answered, drolling on our young gentleman's Continental education,
`it's the varnish from foreign parts.'
I set down here Mr. Franklin's careless question, and my foolish answer, as a
consolation and encouragement to all stupid people--it being, as I have remarked, a
great satisfaction to our inferior fellow-creatures to find that their betters are, on
occasions, no brighter than they are. Neither Mr. Franklin, with his wonderful foreign
training, nor I, with my age, experience, and natural mother-wit, had the ghost of an
idea of what Rosanna Spearman's unaccountable behaviour really meant. She was out
of our thoughts, poor soul, before we had seen the last flutter of her little grey cloak
among the sand-hills. And what of that? you will ask, naturally enough. Read on,
good friend, as patiently as you can, and perhaps you will be as sorry for Rosanna
Spearman as I was, when I found out the truth.

`Who's watching you, sir,--and why?' I inquired.
`Tell me about the three Indians you have had at the house today,' says Mr. Franklin,
without noticing my question. `It's just possible, Betteredge, that my stranger and your
three jugglers may turn out to be pieces of the same puzzle.'
`How do you come to know about the jugglers, sir?' I asked, putting one question on
the top of another, which was bad manners, I own. But you don't expect much from
poor human nature--so don't expect much from me.
`I saw Penelope at the house,' says Mr. Franklin; `and Penelope told me. Your
daughter promised to be a pretty girl, Betteredge, and she has kept her promise.
Penelope has got a small ear and a small foot. Did the late Mrs. Betteredge possess
those inestimable advantages?'
`The late Mrs. Betteredge possessed a good many defects, sir,' says I. `One of them (if
you will pardon my mentioning it) was never keeping to the matter in hand. She was
more like a fly than a woman: she couldn't settle on anything.'
`She would just have suited me,' says Mr. Franklin. `I never settle on anything either.
Betteredge, your edge is better than ever. Your daughter said as much, when I asked
for particulars about the jugglers. "Father will tell you, sir. He's a wonderful man for
his age; and he expresses himself beautifully." Penelope's own words--blushing
divinely. Not even my respect for you prevented me from--never mind; I knew her
when she was a child, and she's none the worse for it. Let's be serious. What did the
jugglers do?'

I was something dissatisfied with my daughter--not for letting Mr. Franklin kiss her;
Mr. Franklin was welcome to that--but for forcing me to tell her foolish story at
second hand. However, there was no help for it now but to mention the circumstances.
Mr. Franklin's merriment all died away as I went on. He sat knitting his eyebrows, and
twisting his beard. When I had done, he repeated after me two of the questions which
the chief juggler had put to the boy--seemingly for the purpose of fixing them well in
his mind.
`"Is it on the road to this house, and on no other, that the English gentleman will travel
to-day?" "Has the English gentleman got It about him?" I suspect,' says Mr. Franklin,
pulling a little sealed paper parcel out of his pocket, `that "It" means this. And "this,"
Betteredge, means my uncle Herncastle's famous Diamond.'
`Good Lord, sir!' I broke out, `how do you come to be in charge of the wicked
Colonel's Diamond?'
`The wicked Colonel's will has left his Diamond as a birthday present to my cousin
Rachel,' says Mr. Franklin. `And my father, as the wicked Colonel's executor, has
given it in charge to me to bring down here.'
If the sea, then oozing in smoothly over the Shivering Sand, had been changed into
dry land before my own eyes, I doubt if I could have been more surprised than I was
when Mr. Franklin spoke those words.
`The Colonel's Diamond left to Miss Rachel!' says I. `And your father, sir, the
Colonel's executor! Why, I would have laid any bet you like, Mr. Franklin, that your
father wouldn't have touched the Colonel with a pair of tongs!'
`Strong language, Betteredge! What was there against the Colonel? He belonged to
your time, not to mine. Tell me what you know about him, and I'll tell you how my
father came to be his executor, and more besides. I have made some discoveries in
London about my uncle Herncastle and his Diamond, which have rather an ugly look
to my eyes; and I want you to confirm them. You called him the "wicked Colonel"
just now. Search you memory, my old friend, and tell me why.'
I saw he was in earnest, and I told him.
Here follows the substance of what I said, written out entirely for your benefit. Pay
attention to it, or you will be all abroad, when we get deeper into the story. Clear your
mind of the children, or the dinner, or the new bonnet, or what not. Try if you can't
forget politics, horses, prices in the City, and grievances at the club. I hope you won't
take this freedom on my part amiss; it's only a way I have of appealing to the gentle
reader. Lord! haven't I seen you with the greatest authors in your hands, and don't I
know how ready your attention is to wander when it's a book that asks for it, instead
of a person?
I spoke, a little way back, of my lady's father, the old lord with the short temper and
the long tongue. He had five children in all. Two sons to begin with; then, after a long
time, his wife broke out breeding again, and the three young ladies came briskly one
after the other, as fast as the nature of things would permit; my mistress, as before
mentioned, being the youngest and best of the three. Of the two sons, the eldest,
Arthur, inherited the title and estates. The second, the Honourable John, got a fine
fortune left him by a relative, and went into the army.
It's an ill bird, they say, that fouls its own nest. I look on the noble family of the
Herncastles as being my nest; and I shall take it as a favour if I am not expected to
enter into particulars on the subject of the Honourable John. He was, I honestly
believe, one of the greatest blackguards that ever lived. I can hardly say more or less for him than that. He went into the army, beginning in the Guards. He had to leave the
Guards before he was two-and-twenty--never mind why. They are very strict in the
army, and they were too strict for the Honourable John. He went out to India to see
whether they were equally strict there, and to try a little active service. In the matter of
bravery (to give him his due), he was a mixture of bull-dog and game-cock, with a
dash of the savage. He was at the taking of Seringapatam. Soon afterwards he changed
into another regiment, and, in course of time, changed into a third. In the third he got
his last step as lieutenant-colonel, and, getting that, got also a sunstroke, and came
home to England.

He came back with a character that closed the doors of all his family against him, my
lady (then just married) taking the lead, and declaring (with Sir John's approval, of
course) that her brother should never enter any house of hers. There was more than
one slur on the Colonel that made people shy of him; but the blot of the Diamond is
all I need mention here.
It was said he had got possession of his Indian jewel by means which, bold as he was,
he didn't dare acknowledge. He never attempted to sell it--not being in need of money,
and not (to give him his due again) making money an object. He never gave it away;
he never even showed it to any living soul. Some said he was afraid of its getting him
into a difficulty with the military authorities; others (very ignorant indeed of the real
nature of the man) said he was afraid, if he showed it, of its costing him his life.
There was perhaps a grain of truth mixed up with this last report. It was false to say
that he was afraid; but it was a fact that his life had been twice threatened in India; and
it was firmly believed that the Moonstone was at the bottom of it. When he came back
to England, and found himself avoided by everybody, the Moonstone was thought to
be at the bottom of it again. The mystery of the Colonel's life got in the Colonel's way,
and outlawed him, as you may say, among his own people. The men wouldn't let him
into their clubs; the women--more than one--whom he wanted to marry, refused him;
friends and relations got too near-sighted to see him in the street.