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­
Beginning
Django API
with React

Greg Lim - Daniel Correa

Copyright © 2022 Greg Lim
All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2022 by Greg Lim

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
any electronic or mechanical means including information
storage and retrieval systems, without permission in
writing from the author. The only exception is by a
reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

First Edition: February 2022

Co-Author: Daniel Correa
Table of Contents
Preface
Chapter 1: Introduction
Chapter 2: Installing Python and Django
Chapter 3: Understanding the Project
Structure
Chapter 4: Creating Our Backend Server
Chapter 5: Serialization
Chapter 6: URLs and Class-based Views
Chapter 7: Creating Todos via the
ListCreateAPIView
Chapter 8: Permissions
Chapter 9: Other C.R.U.D. Operations
Chapter 10: Completing a Todo
Chapter 11: Authentication – Sign Up
Chapter 12: Authentication – Log In Tokens
React Frontend
Chapter 13: Introduction to React
Chapter 14: Create Navigation Header Bar
Chapter 15: Defining Our Routes
Chapter 16: TodoDataService - Connecting to
the Backend
Chapter 17: TodoDataService - Login
Component
Chapter 18: TodosList Component
Chapter 19: Adding and Editing Todos
Chapter 20: Deleting a Todo
Chapter 21: Completing a Todo
Chapter 23: Hosting and Deploying our React
Frontend
About the Author
About the Co-Author
Preface
About this book
In this book, we take you on a fun, hands-on and pragmatic journey
to learning Django API React stack development. You'll start building
your first Django API React stack app within minutes. Every chapter
is written in a bite-sized manner and straight to the point as we
don’t want to waste your time (and most certainly ours) on the
content you don't need. In the end, you will have the skills to create
a Todo app and deploy it to the Internet.
In the course of this book, we will cover:
- Chapter 1: Introduction
- Chapter 2: Installing Python and Django
- Chapter 3: Understanding the Project Structure
- Chapter 4: Creating Our Backend Server
- Chapter 5: Serialization
- Chapter 6: URLs and Class-based Views
- Chapter 7: Creating Todos via the ListCreateAPIView
- Chapter 8: Permissions
- Chapter 9: Other C.R.U.D. Operations
- Chapter 10: Completing a Todo
- Chapter 11: Authentication – Sign Up
- Chapter 12: Authentication – Log In Tokens
- Chapter 13: Introduction to React
- Chapter 14: Create Navigation Header Bar
- Chapter 15: Defining Our Routes
- Chapter 16: TodoDataService - Connecting to the Backend
- Chapter 17: TodoDataService - Login Component
- Chapter 18: TodosList Component
- Chapter 19: Adding and Editing Todos
- Chapter 20: Deleting a Todo
- Chapter 21: Completing a Todo
- Chapter 22: Deployment
- Chapter 23: Hosting and Deploying our React Frontend

The goal of this book is to teach you Django API React stack
development in a manageable way without overwhelming you. We
focus only on the essentials and cover the material in a hands-on
practice manner for you to code along.

Working Through This Book

This book is purposely broken down into short chapters where the
development process of each chapter will center on different
essential topics. The book takes a practical hands on approach to
learning through practice. You learn best when you code along with
the examples in the book.

Requirements
No previous knowledge on Django or React development is required,
but you should have basic programming knowledge. It will be a
helpful advantage if you could read through my Beginning Django
and React book first which will provide you will better insight and
deeper knowledge into the various technologies. But even if you
have not done so, you should still be able to follow along.

Getting Book Updates and Source Code

To receive updated versions of the book and the source code, send a
mail to [email protected]. I try to update my books to use the
latest version of software, libraries and will update the codes/content
in this book.
Chapter 1: Introduction
Welcome to Beginning Django API with React! This book focuses on
the key tasks and concepts to get you started to learn and build a
RESTful web API with Django and Django REST Framework, one of
the most popular and customizable ways to build web APIs. In the
second part of the book, we then show how to create a frontend
using React to connect to the API. In all, the book is designed for
readers who don ’ t need all the details about Django or React at this
point in the learning curve but concentrate on what you really need
to know.
If you are brand new to Django, I recommend first reading my book,
Beginning Django (contact [email protected]) where we learn
about the basics of models, URLs, views, authentication, deployment
and more.

Why create an API?

With Django, we can already create a complete web application. So
why bother to create an API with Django and then create separate
frontends when we can do it all with Django? Now, say your app
becomes a hit. Users love your app so much that they want an iOS
and Android version of it. So, you have to create the same
functionality of your app in two more different languages (Swift and
Kotlin for example).
You might also hear of new frontend frameworks like React, Angular,
Vue to make your app more dynamic and modern. You want to try
them out.
How can we better achieve both objectives? The answer is to create
a REST API. With Django REST Framework, we can create a
common API to serve information to different frontends like Vue,
React, Android, iOS etc. We need only to create the logic in the API
and then have each of the frontends connect to it. This makes it
more scalable and reliable since we just have one code base and
database to serve the information.

Django Rest Framework

The Django Rest Framework (DRF) library enables us to easily create
Django APIs that return JSON. DRF takes care of the heavy lifting of
transforming database models into a RESTful API. For example, it
provides CRUD operations, authentication modules, JSON serializers,
routing, and many more. It purposefully mimics many of Django ’ s
traditional conventions making it much faster to learn. With a
minimal amount of code, DRF can transform any existing Django
application into a web API. These will be illustrated as we build our
sample application throughout this book.

The App We Will Be Building

We will build a Todos app which lets users log in, create, view, edit
and complete todos (fig. 1a, 1b).

Figure 1a – Home Page listing todos

Figure 1b – Create Todo
Users can see the list of todos in the home page and
post/edit/delete their own todos if they are logged in. They can also
mark their todos as ‘ complete ’ . They will not be able to view other
user ’ s todos. Through this app, we will learn a lot of concepts and
solidify our Django API and React knowledge.
We will first create the backend of the app using Django and Django
Rest Framework (DRF). After that, we will create the frontend with
React and connect the frontend to the backend to complete our
Django API – React app. In the last chapter, we will deploy our
Django backend on PythonAnywhere, and React frontend on Netlify,
to run both backend and frontend in the cloud.
So, the overall structure of our app will be:
- the Django runs the backend server and exposes an API.
Hosted on PythonAnywhere.
- the React frontend calls the API and renders the user
interface on the client ’ s browser. Hosted on Netlify.

In the next chapter, let ’ s begin by installing Python and Django on

our machine.
Chapter 2: Installing Python and
Django
Because Django is a Python web framework, we first have to install
Python.

Installing Python
Let ’ s check if we have Python installed and what version it is.
If you are using a Mac, open your Terminal. If you are using
Windows, open your Command Prompt. For convenience, I will
address both the Terminal and Command Prompt as ‘ Terminal ’
throughout the book.
We will need to check if we have at least Python 3.8 to use Django
4. To do so, go to your Terminal and run:
Execute in Terminal
python3 --version
(or python on Windows)
This shows the version of Python you installed. Make sure that the
version is at least 3.8. If it is not so, get the latest version of Python
by going to python.org. Go to ‘ Downloads ’ and install the version
for your OS.
After the installation, run python3 --version again and it should reflect
the latest version of Python e.g. Python 3.10.0 (at time of book ’ s
writing).

Installing Django
We will be using pip to install Django. pip is the standard package
manager for Python to install and manage packages not part of the
standard Python library.
First check if you have pip installed by going to the Terminal and
running:
Execute in Terminal
pip3
(or pip on Windows)
If you have pip installed, it should display a list of pip commands.
To install Django, run the command:
Execute in Terminal
pip3 install django

This will retrieve the latest Django code and install it in your
machine. After installation, close and re-open your Terminal.
Ensure you have installed Django by running:
Execute in Terminal
python3 -m django

It will show you all the options you can use (fig. 2.1):
Figure 2.1
Along the course of the book, you will progressively be introduced to
some of the options. For now, we will use the startproject option to
create a new project.
In Terminal, navigate to a location on your computer where you
want to store your Django project e.g. Desktop. Create a new folder
‘ todoapp ’ with:
Execute in Terminal
mkdir todoapp

‘ cd ’ to that folder:
Execute in Terminal
cd todoapp

In todoapp, run:
Analyze Code
python3 -m django startproject <project_name>

In our case, we want to name our project ‘ backend ’ . We run:

Execute in Terminal
python3 -m django startproject backend

A ‘ backend ’ folder will be created. We named the Django project

backend because it serves as the backend of the Django-React todo
app stack. Later on, the React frontend will be contained in a
frontend folder. The eventual structure will look something like:
todoapp
​
→ backend
​→ Django …
​→ frontend
​→ React …

In the next chapter, we will look inside the backend folder that

Django has created for us and understand it better.

Chapter 3: Understanding the
Project Structure
Let ’ s look at the project files created for us. Open the project folder
backend in a code editor (I will be using the VSCode editor in this
book - https://code.visualstudio.com/).

manage.py
You will see a file manage.py which we should not tinker. manage.py
helps us do administrative things. For example:
Analyze Code
python3 manage.py runserver

to start the local web server. We will later illustrate more of its
administrative functions e.g. creating a new app – python3
manage.py startapp

db.sqlite3
We also have the db.sqlite3 file that contains our database. We
touch more on this file in the Models chapter.

backend folder
You will find another folder of the same name backend. To avoid
confusion and distinguish between the two folders, we will keep the
inner backend folder as it is and rename the outer folder to
todobackend (fig. 3.1).
Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
 “Lord, sir,” said he, “what wi’ barns an’ ditches it be few friendly
faces pore Potter sees o’ late.”
Accordingly, Sir John rode on at a hand-pace, Mr. Potter walking
beside him.
“Arm ’urted, sir?” he inquired, noting Sir John’s bandage.
“Nothing very much, though irksome!”
“Fall, sir?”
“Bullet!”
“Accidental, sir?”
Hereupon Sir John briefly recapitulated the affair, to Mr. Potter’s
round-eyed surprise.
“Lord, sir,” quoth he, “I thought nobody never shot at nothing nor
nobody except pore Potter, these days.”
“Have you seen anything of your friends Oxham or Sturton lately?”
“Aye, sir, seed ’em this very day, I did, over to ’Friston.”
“’Friston!” exclaimed Sir John. “Why, that is Lord Sayle’s place,
surely.”
“Aye it be, sir. So there Potter went; ye see, nobody never thought
o’ lookin’ for me in Lord Sayle’s barns. Well, sir, theer I did behold
Oxham an’ Sturton along o’ Lord Sayle. Lord Sayle was a-fencing wi’
a gentleman in his shirt-sleeves.”
“Ah, fencing was he?”
“Aye, sir, in ’is shirt-sleeves, when along comes Oxham and says
summat an’ p’ints at Sturton, whereupon my lord says summat to
Sturton in a mighty passion an’ Sturton says summat to Lord Sayle,
mighty ’umble, an’ Lord Sayle fetches Sturton a clout wi’ his fencin’-
iron an’ sends ’im about ’is business.... An’ now I’ll bid ye good-
evenin’, sir; yonder lays my road.... I’ve a brace o’ birds for ol’ Pen....
Happen I’ll be seeing ye at the Cross purty soon.... The True
Believer’ll be across one o’ these nights i’ the dark o’ the moon, for
business be business, sir.” So saying, Mr. Potter climbed the
adjacent bank, paused to touch bludgeon to eyebrow, and was gone.
Sir John was in sight of Alfriston Church spire when, hearing the
approach of galloping hoofs, he turned to behold the Corporal
returning.
“Ah!” said he, noting Robert’s gloom, “our murderer’s hat had
vanished, then?”
“Com-pletely, sir!”
“Well, well, never look so glum, man! Our day hath not been
wholly vain.”
 CHAPTER XXXVIII
OF THE TERROR BY NIGHT

June coming in glory had flamed out in splendour. August glowed

from dewy dawn to dusky eve; upon the warm and slumbrous air
was the fragrance of ripening fruit and herb; flowers bloomed
sedately in cottage gardens, they rioted in the hedges, fields and
uplands were ablaze with them where butterflies wheeled and
hovered and bees hummed drowsily about their unceasing labours.
The river, winding sleepily between reedy banks, made little
slumbrous noises, the very brooks, by reason of the pervading heat
and universal somnolence, seemed to hush their chatter; and
neighbours in shirt-sleeves, meeting in shady places, yawningly
informed each other of the very obvious fact that it was “tur’ble
waarmish-loike!”
Even Mr. Dumbrell, that “aged soul,” perched upon his
accustomed stile, admitted that, in his vast experience, he had
“knowed a colder August.... But, Lord, young man, to ’ear folks talk,
you’d think ’twas that ’ot! But look at oi, so grig an’ sproy for arl my
aage, look at oi, will ’ee!”
“Thou’rt a truly wonderful man!” answered Sir John.
“Ay, sartin-sure-indeed, oi be!” answered the Aged One. “But oi
knawed that afore you was barn!”
“Indeed, Mr. Dumbrell, you look heartier than ever——”
“Well, oi bean’t! ’Ow can oi be—wi’ a musket-ball a-rattlin’ my
innards an’ a granddarter a-rattlin’ my out’ards—wi’ a bresh? Mak’s
me wash my face twoice a day, she du—twoice!”
“Consequently you look extreme cool and clean.”
“Clean!” snarled the Aged Soul. “Doan’t ’ee say so, young man, or
oi shall ’ate ’ee! No one ’as no call t’ be so clean as oi be ’cept
p’r’aps in theer coffins—an’ even then I dunno! Theer was Joel
Sams, never kemped ’is ’air in arl ’is days, oi du believe, never
shaved—not ’im! Only washed of a Sunday ’cos ’is woife made ’im ...
a reg’lar loight-’earted chap were Jo tell ’e took an’ doied. Well, when
I come to ’elp ’im intu ’is coffin, they’d washed ’im an’ breshed ’im an’
shaved ’im till oi didn’t roightly know whether ’e were the corp’ or
no.... An’ they’d made ’is coffin too small, but in ’e ’ad to go. So oi
doubled ’im ’ere, an’ oi twisted ’im theer, an’ got ’e in some’ow—oi
knawed pore Joel wouldn’t moind.... An’ talkin’ o’ corpses, wot about
your sweet-’eartin’, young man?”
“Thank you, it progresses as well as can be expected.”
“Ah, but ’ow much do ye expect, young man, that be the p’int.
Theer’s folk as generally-arlways expects too much, an’ theer’s folks
as doan’t never expect nothin’ no’ow ... loike Diggory Small’s woife
as never expected an’ wouldn’t expect ... said ’twas nowt but wind ’er
did ... an’ so when the child were born everybody called it ‘Windy
Small,’ which were ’ard on the child seein’ as Diggory ’ad ’ad it
named ‘Noble’ arter Farmer Axeford’s gurt cow.... An’ talkin’ o’ cows,
Pen ’aryott’s witched ’er ol’ cottage into a noo ’un, she ’ave ... arl noo
painted an’ thatched so trig as never was, it be. Which ain’t nowise
nat’ral—not in Dering it bean’t, wheer no cottages bean’t never
painted nowhen. So ’tis witchcraft sure-lye, spells an’ black magic, I
rackon—unless it be the doing o’ liddle Mus’ Dobbs.”
“And pray, who is he?” inquired Sir John lazily.
“Lord!” exclaimed the Aged Soul in deepest scorn, “oi wouldn’t ha’
beleft as nobody nowheers didn’t know ’e. Mus’ Dobbs be a liddle ol’
chap as bean’t a pharysee an’ yet moighty loike a pharysee tu, as
works an’ labours whoiles folks sleep.... An’ yonder be that ’ere
sweet-eart o’ yourn at last akerchally a-kissin’ ol’ Pen goo’-bye! An’ a
rare purty lass ’er be tu! Moves so free an’ easy as a young blood-
mare, doan’t ’er? Carries ’er ’ead ’igh an’ proud-loike! A foine wench
she be sure-lye.... Nay, boide wheer ye be, young man, oi’ll go to ’er
d’rackly-minute an’ say a word for ’ee, aye I will so. ’Tis loike enough
oi’ll arg’ ’er into weddin’ of ’ee afore she knows it, so boide wheer ye
be an’ leave it arl to oi.”
 So saying, the Aged One hobbled away, and Sir John, seated
beside the stile, watched the little old man salute my lady with hat a-
flourish and, bare-headed, offer her his arm.
The sun had set, but earth and heaven were still glorious with his
passing; from blooming hedge, fragrant meadow and open down
stole a thousand scents that seemed but to strengthen as the
shadows fell, a mingled sweetness upon the warm, still air; borne to
his ears came the lowing of cows calling to be milked, the plod of
horses jingling stablewards, friendly voices murmurous with
distance, and an intermittent rustling in the opposite hedge. And Sir
John, seated beside the old stile, breathing this warm and fragrant
air and hearkening to these peaceful sounds, was none the less
suddenly chilled by an intuitive sense of impending evil and turned
instinctively to glance towards the opposite hedge where it grew very
dense and high, shutting the road from the little spinney beyond.
Watching this, it seemed that something crouched there, a
something that moved stealthily ever and anon; and there grew
within him an uncomfortable feeling that he was watched by unseen
eyes, and with this, a consciousness of ever-growing peril. So he sat
with head bowed as one in thought, but with eyes keenly watchful
and ears heedful of that intermittent rustling so soft and yet so
purposeful. For some while he remained thus, his every faculty alert
though the leafy stir had ceased and nothing to be heard except the
plaintive evensong of the birds.... And yet, was there something that
moved again beyond the hedge, something that crept nearer and
ever nearer with a dreadful patient slowness? A dog? No! A sheep?
Perhaps! A man? Well, whatever it was, would soon be directly
opposite where he sat, surely it was there already. Once again came
a sound of stealthy movement as of something gently forcing itself a
passage towards him through the hedge itself....
Sir John cocked the small pistol in his pocket and waited, his eyes
grown suddenly fierce. A dog barked in the distance, a sheep-bell
tinkled faintly ... and then was a sound of light footsteps near by and
Ann Dumbrell came slowly along the lane and paused near by, her
gaze intent upon some distant point, as one who awaited an
expected presence; then Sir John, himself unseen where he
crouched, beheld her start, saw her hands clasp each other, heard
the fall of quick-striding feet that paused suddenly and then came on
again, but more slowly.
“Why, ’tis never you, Mus’ Doubleday?” she exclaimed as one
amazed by some phenomenon.
“None other, Mrs. Ann,” answered the Corporal, halting and
surveying her shy loveliness with gloomy eyes. “You see,” he
explained, “it so happens as I ... chanced to be ... coming this way
and ... well, here I am, mam!”
“Yes, Mus’ Doubleday. An’ us be arlways pleased to see ’ee
whenever it be ... though granfer bean’t in yet.... I—I were just
agoing tu look for ’e. An’ ’ow be you, sir?”
“As well as can be expected!” he sighed dismally. “Lord love me,
Mrs. Ann, but ye look younger than ever this evening!”
“But I be older than I were this marnin’, sir.”
“Why, so you told me yesterday,” answered the Corporal
reproachfully, his gloom deepening, “an’ yet here y’ are this evening
lookin’ younger than ever!”
“O Mus’ Doubleday,” she laughed, “’ow may that be? I were a
liddle baby once, an’ looked younger then, I rackon.”
“I wish,” said the Corporal bitterly—“I wish that you—no, I wish that
I had been—but what’s the use o’ wishing? Only ... if you had only
been a ... bit older ... if only you had——”
“Aye, an’ what then, sir?” she questioned eagerly.
“No matter, mam.”
“But, Mus’ Doubleday, I du be a-growin’ older an’ older every day!”
“Aye,” groaned the Corporal, “so am I!”
“An’ yonder comes grandfer along o’ Mrs. Rose! She be rarely
’andsome, don’t ’ee think?”
“So, so!” sighed the Corporal.
“O Mus’ Doubleday! I’m sure she’s the rarest beauty!”
 “Maybe,” admitted the Corporal, “only I don’t ’appen to ha’
noticed.”
“But you got eyes, sure?”
“Aye, I have,” nodded the Corporal, looking at pretty Ann until she
blushed again, “an’ I think I know a fair lass when I happen to see
one, but ... being a man o’ forty-five winters, mam, an’ no young
galli-vantin’ lad, I looks, and thinks, and says nothing.”
“Why, then, Mus’ Doubleday,” sighed she, “won’t ’ee come an’ say
it indoors—afore grandfer sees us?”
And so they passed on, walking very close together, though the
Corporal resolutely kept his hands buried in the deep side-pockets of
his coat.
Then Sir John arose lazily and made a great business of yawning
and stretching, though keeping well in the shadow of the tree behind
him, and presently sauntered along the lane to where the thick
hedge opposite was pierced by a gate. Here his manner underwent
a sudden change; in a flash he had vaulted the gate, and, pistol
ready, crouched where he might behold the other side of this rustling
hedge.... No one! And yet how should a hedge rustle so very
persistently and no wind stirring? And now his quick glance saw that
which answered the question beyond all doubt: the place was a
tangle of lusty weeds and wild-flowers that stood very dense and
lush save immediately behind the hedge, for here they showed bent
and broken as by the recent passage of a heavy body, a narrow trail,
following the line of hedge, a betraying track that swung off at a right
angle towards the leafy solitude of the little spinney. Had baffled
Murder crept that way? Did it skulk there still?
Staying not to debate the point, Sir John set hand to gate and
vaulted back into the lane—to the vociferous indignation of Mr.
Dumbrell, for being startled by this so sudden appearance, the Aged
Soul stamped and swore and shook his stick at Sir John in highly
ferocious manner.
“Dannel ye!” he snarled. “Will ’ee goo for tu frouden a old, aged,
ancient soul as would be j’yful tu be a-diggin’ your grave for ’ee
d’rackly-minute? ’Tidn’t respectful, no! Dannel ’ee twoice!”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Well, ’ee can go on a-beggin’; ’ee wun’t get no pardon from oi. A-
jumpin’ out ’pon a aged man as ’ave been a-makin’ love fur ’ee till oi
du be nigh black i’ the faace!”
“Then I am deeply grateful, and——”
“Aye, an’ oi told a mort o’ loies fur ’ee, oi did!”
“Lies?”
“Aye, didn’t oi tell ’er you was a-poinin’ fur ’er—an’ you ain’t! Didn’t
oi tell ’er as the best o’ food sech as beef an’ pork wouldn’t nowise
lay easy on your stummick arl along o’ her? Didn’t oi tell ’er as you
was a foine, up-standin’, ’andsome young felley—which you ain’t—
not by no manner o’ means, an’ that if she didn’t mak’ sure of ’ee,
there was a mort o’ purty lasses arl ready for to snap ’ee up? Which
they ain’t. An’ now ’ere be you a-doin’ your best to frouden a pore,
ancient creeter into ’is grave afore ’is toime!... D’ye call that
gratitood?”
“Forgive me!”
The Aged Soul snorted.
“Arl of a trimble oi be. The next lass as you think o’ marryin’, you
can woo ’er yourself—doan’t ax oi! Ah, an’ oi be glad now as she
said what she did say!”
“And what was that, Ancient One?”
“Says as she’d wait and see which o’ they purty lasses would snap
at ’ee first, she did.... An’ I rackon she’ll ’ave to wait a tur’ble long
time.”
“And pray, where is she now?”
“A-settin’ ’long o’ my granddarter an’ Mus’ Doubleday, fur sure.”
But my lady was leaning upon the old stile, and fresh from the
sighful confidences of shy Ann in the little kitchen and the Corporal’s
halting disparagement of the age forty-five in the little garden, was
thinking only of him for whom she waited, of herself and the future;
thus when hearing his step she glanced up, Sir John saw that in her
look which stirred him to such joyous wonder that he yearned to
clasp and kiss her then and there; but she, aware of this, drew back,
so truly shy and off her guard for once that she quite forgot to act. So
he turned and took the little, old man by the shoulders instead.
“O Mr. Dumbrell!” quoth he rapturously; the old man snorted.
“Aged Soul!” Mr. Dumbrell scowled. “Friend Hosea!” The old man
stared. “To-day my respect of thee mounteth high as heaven ...
thou’rt a far better wooer than I dreamed! So shall sit in comfort all
thy days henceforth. And so good-night, my ancient Hosea, thou
honoured, Aged Soul—good-night!”
Then Sir John vaulted the stile, aided my lady over, and side by
side they set out for Alfriston through a peaceful countryside glorious
with sunset. Forgotten now the sinister rustling of hedges and all
else under heaven save the sweet, shy droop of her lashes so new
in his experience of her, for here no longer was prideful coquetry full
of modish affectations, but rather the Rose-child of his dreams, and
what else could matter so long as her hand lay thus within his arm
and her foot trod with his the velvet ling.
“Rose,” said he, halting suddenly, “a while ago love looked at me
from thine eyes.... O child, come, kiss me!” And then his arm was
about her; but, though very conscious of the tender yearning of his
voice, and even while yielding to the mastery of his arm, she laughed
a little unsteadily.
“Indeed, John, the Aged Soul did plead thy cause so irresistibly ...
it seems thou canst neither eat nor sleep ... he told me thy—thy
‘innards be arl shook to pieces with love’ ... he urged the woes o’ thy
poor stomach so passionately that I looked to see him weep....”
“Hum!” quoth Sir John; and then: “Rose, when will you marry me?”
“This depends on how long you intend playing the part of John
Derwent, sir.”
“And this again, Rose, depends on how soon my Lady Herminia
will marry Sir John Dering.”
 “Nay, first, John, she is determined on wedding my Aunt Lucinda
to your friend, Sir Hector.”
“’S life, and is she so, child?” he exclaimed a little ruefully. “’Faith,
’tis like the contrary Herminia, for here is plaguy difficult problem.”
“And yet should be easily resolved betwixt us, John.”
“Nay, but the Duchess called Sir Hector an ogre, and he blenches
at mere mention of her name....”
“To be sure, John, the situation is very promising and needeth but
a little dexterous management. You will prompt Sir Hector, I’ll plague
my aunt ... is’t agreed, John?”
“It is!” he laughed. “And now—come, kiss me?” But she held him
off, viewing him grave-eyed.
“John,” said she solemnly, “to-day old Penelope was monstrous
strange and full of foreboding on your account ... ’twas as she knew
some danger threatened. But it is all so sweetly peaceful, what
should harm you here?”
“What indeed?” he answered, glancing furtively towards the
lengthening shadows behind them.
“And yet old Penelope was so awesome o’ speech and look.... I
can mind her every word: ‘He hath raised what only blood can lay!’
said she. Sounds not this dreadful, John? And then: ‘Bid him beware
the peril o’ solitary places,’ quo’ she, ‘of things that creep i’ the dark!
Day and night bid him look behind him wherever——”
My lady paused suddenly, for Sir John was indeed glancing back
over his shoulder.
They had crossed the stile beyond the little footbridge and were
following a path bordered by dense underbrush and shaded by tall
trees. Sir John’s quick ear had caught a faint creak such as a
stealthy foot might make on the rickety planking of the bridge;
moreover, his eyes had glimpsed a vague shape that flitted unheard
among the brush.
 “John,” said my lady breathlessly, “why d’ye look so?... Ah, what is
it?” And he winced beneath the pressure of her fingers upon his
wounded arm.
“Pray loose me!” he whispered, and slipped hand into pocket.
“John,” she breathed, “tell me what cometh yonder?”
“Nay, this I must discover,” he answered, and loosed her hands,
for now, plain to hear, was a faint rustling amid the brush.... And then
she had leapt between Sir John and this scarce-heard, unseen thing,
had twined strong arms about him, holding him so close that he
might sense all the fragrant warmth of the soft and pliant body that
shielded his; thus stood they awhile, her soft cheek against his, and
now he could feel the heavy beating of her heart against his own.
The stealthy rustling came again, crept nearer, paused, crept past
them, died away, and nothing to be heard except the melodious
murmur of the brook hard by. And then my lady spoke, her voice low
but undismayed:
“’Tis gone, I think, and.... O John!”
His arms were about her, straining her closer yet, and when he
spoke his voice was strangely hoarse and shaken:
“O thou dear, brave soul! Thou very woman!... Yon creeping terror
hath shown thee greater, nobler than I dared dream thee!... When,
when wilt marry me?”
“Nay, John,” she answered gently, “how may I tell thee this till thou
ask Herminia?... Go to her, John, seek and woo the poor, despised,
solitary soul.”
“Aye, I will—but when? Where?”
“To-morrow afternoon, John, at the cottage ... and come as Sir
John Dering.”
 CHAPTER XXXIX
HOW THEY WARNED CAPTAIN SHARKIE NYE

Dusk was falling as Sir John paused beside the old cross whose
worn base chanced to be propping divers and sundry brawny backs:
Mr. Muddle leaned there side by side with Mr. Pursglove; there also
were Messrs. Godby, Unstead and Comfort, each and all of whom
seemed extremely wide awake and more than usually talkative
notwithstanding the pervading drowsiness of the warm, stilly air.
“G’d evenin’, Mus’ Derwent; tur’ble waarm it do ha’ been to-day
sure-lye,” quoth Mr. Muddle.
“Though theer was a bit o’ wind stirrin’ ’bout ’leven o’clock ’s
marnin’,” added Mr. Pursglove.
“Aye, but it doied awaay it did, afore twalve,” said Mr. Godby.
“Rackon my peas’ll do naun good ’appen it doan’t rain,” opined Mr.
Comfort.
And yet Sir John knew instinctively that it was neither to discuss
the unusual heat of the weather nor Mr. Comfort’s languishing peas
that had brought them hither in murmurous conclave.
And surely it was no very extraordinary sight to behold Parson
Hartop ambling up the street on his plump steed, even though Mr.
Pym strode at his stirrup, and yet the four worthies seemed vaguely
uneasy none the less.
Reaching the cross, Mr. Hartop drew rein and Mr. Pym, grounding
the long musket he carried, wiped perspiring brow.
“Is George Potter hereabouts?” he inquired in accents discreetly
modulated.
“No, Mus’ Pym.”
 “Then you must find him—at once!”
“Aye, Mus’ Pym ... but whoy, sir, an’ wherefore?”
“Tell ’em, Hartop!” said the painter.
“Friends,” said the parson, leaning down from his saddle and
addressing them much as if it had been a pulpit; “ye refractory souls,
we be all of us human and therefore prone to err. But for myself,
having the cure of souls among ye, I regard ye all as my wayward
children, and, when I see ye rushing blindly on destruction, hold it my
bounden duty to warn ye thereof.... Hark ye, then! Cuckmere Haven
is watched to-night! There be many soldiers hidden there and upon
the cliff. I have seen them with my own eyes; heed therefore my
word! Pass the warning to your fellows, and thereafter let each o’ ye
seek your beds with due gratitude to that ever beneficent Providence
that by my humble means hath, yet again, saved ye from dire peril o’
your bodies.”
“In a word,” added Mr. Pym, “the Preventives ha’ been warned
somehow and are out in force, and but for our parson would ha’ shot
or taken every man o’ ye!”
“One other matter,” sighed Mr. Hartop; “you will tell George Potter,
most wayward of all my children, that next time he is necessitated to
use the church tower he will leave space for the bell-ropes to play
freely: on the last occasion, as you will doubtless remember, the
tenor bell could not be rung up.”
“Arl roight, Mus’ Hartop, sir, an’ thank’ee koindly! Ye see, ’twere
one o’ they liddle tubs, sir, as went an’ jammed hisself, Mus’ ’Artop,
sir. An’ a praper parson ye be, sure-lye.”
“Aye, a moighty good passon to we, sir. A true gen’leman as do
ever tak’ our part, you be, sir.”
“Alas!” sighed Mr. Hartop. “Alas, that ye should need me so to
do!... Pray show more care hereafter as regards my bells ... and
mind, home all o’ ye, and forget not your prayers.... Good-night.”
So saying, Parson Hartop saluted them all with lifted hat and
ambled away, whereupon the four worthies, big with the news,
hasted forthwith to the ‘Market Cross Inn.’
“Ha!” quoth Mr. Pym, leaning upon his musket and looking after
the parson’s retiring figure. “Said I not we were all smugglers
hereabouts, Mr. Derwent? And yonder goeth the best of us all, a truly
saintly man, sir. And now for Potter.”
They found the inn agog with the tidings.
“Guid save’s a’!” exclaimed Sir Hector, “what o’ poor Sharkie
Nye?”
“Why, sir,” answered Mr. Bunkle, the philosopher, “never worrit!
Life hath its downs as well as its ups, an’ Sharkie’ll never put in
shore wi’out the signal.”
“But this looks like treachery, Peter!” fumed Sir Hector. “And syne
they ken sae muckle ’tis vera like they’ll ken the signal likewise.
Whaur’s Geordie? I maun hae a world wi’ Geordie Potter. Whaur
bides he, Peter man?”
“A sight nigher than ’e seems, sir!” answered Mr. Bunkle and,
winking, led them into his inner, much-doored holy of holies. Here he
rapped certain times upon the panelling, and rap answered him;
thereafter one of the five doors opened and Mr. Potter appeared,
placid as ever and surprisingly neat, except for a cobweb adhering to
one newly trimmed whisker.
Upon hearing Mr. Pym’s news, he grew profoundly thoughtful and
stood awhile staring into the fire.
“Sir Hector be right, I rackon!” said he at last. “’Tis a spy’s work,
sure-lye ... an’ there be only one way to mak’ sarten an’ that be to go
theer——”
“Do ’ee mean Cuckmere ’Aven, Jarge?”
“Aye, Peter, I do. I be a-goin’ d’rackly-minute to watch. If they
shows the signal light a-swing from cliff, I’ll know ’tis a spy ... an’
must warn Sharkie off——”
“Aye, but how, Jarge?”
 “Wi’ this, Peter.” And from a pocket of the frieze coat Mr. Potter
drew a short-barrelled, heavy pistol. “I wait till Sharkie be within ’ail
and let fly ... flash’ll warn ’im.... An’ noo I’ll be a-goin’——”
“An’ I’m wi’ ye, Geordie man!” quoth Sir Hector, reaching for his
hat.
“And I,” said Sir John, clapping on his own.
“Why, Lord love ’ee, gen’lemen,” exclaimed Mr. Potter, “’twon’t be
nowise easy-goin’! I be for short cuts ’cross Down, ship-tracks an’
hidden ways.”
“No matter,” answered Sir John.
“An’ what’s more, sirs, dappen us reaches Cuckmere in time,
when I fires to warn Sharkie ’tis but to be expected as they
Preventive lads’ll fire back at me ... so ’tis best I go alone, I rackon
——”
“Hoot-toot, Geordie, ye’re wastin’ an’ awfu’ lot o’ wind; save it tae
better purpose, man, for we’re gangin’ wi’ ye.”
“And I also,” said Mr. Pym, examining the flint of his musket.
“Why, then, come your ways, sirs,” said Mr. Potter; “but if we be
took, ’tis as smugglers you’ll be sarved——”
“And why not?” retorted Mr. Pym argumentatively. “Are not all
Sussex folk smugglers at heart—aye, and mankind in general, for
matter o’ that?”
“Well, good fortun’ go wi’ ye, sirs,” said Mr. Bunkle. “’Twill be
middlin’ dark; moon doan’t rise till three o’clock.... An’ there’ll be a
bowl o’ summat ’ot waitin’ agin your return. You ought to be back
inside two hours, eh, Jarge?”
“Why, as to that, Peter,” answered Mr. Potter in his placid manner,
“what is to be, will be, I rackon!” And opening a door he led them
forth by a discreetly unobtrusive passage that brought them to a
back lane, to a footpath skirting the rope walk, and so to a steep
upland, rising against the stars.
 Once clear of the village, Mr. Potter went at a pace that Sir John
found somewhat trying by reason of the difficult country. Moreover,
his hurt arm irked him; but Mr. Pym strode unfaltering, up hill and
down, despite the heavy musket he bore, and Sir Hector’s long legs
seemed tireless.
Though there was no moon as yet, the stars made a palpitant
glow, a glimmering dusk wherein all objects loomed up vague and
unfamiliar. To Sir John the dim forms of his silent companions
seemed like phantoms in a phantom world; stumbling and breathless
he struggled on, feeling as one in a nightmare, conscious of spectral
shapes that reached out ghostly arms, or touched him with clammy
fingers—things that by day were trees and bushes, but now were
things very evil and sinister.
On he stumbled, sometimes treading the dust of a road, but mostly
they seemed to be climbing or descending some grassy slope.
Mr. Potter went by ways known only to himself; he led them
through narrow lanes deep-sunk in the chalk, through black alleys
roofed by tangled thickets and dense-growing bushes, leafy tunnels
sweet with honeysuckle; up and up and down steep, thymey slopes,
across lush meadows where the feet sank deep, past brooks that
gurgled sleepily in the dark; on and ever on, reeling and sweating
through a windless darkness, until, breasting a slope, there met them
a sweet, cool breath and to their ears came the hoarse murmur of
the sea. Then Mr. Potter halted, and when he spoke it was in a
whisper:
“Yonder lays Cuckmere, sirs ... tide’ll be at flood in ’arf an hour, I
rackon, an’ the True Believer should be a-layin’ hove-to out yonder.
Afore Sharkie stands in he’ll show two lights—white above red,
which means, ‘Is arl clear?’ Then, if there be spies yonder they’ll
swing a lanthorn from the cliff, which means, ‘Arl clear.’ So bide ye
here, sirs, an’ watch fur Sharkie’s signal whiles I tak’ a look round.
But dappen ye see Potter’s wepping flash, why, then—run for your
lives ... an’ softly it be!” So saying Mr. Potter dropped upon hands
and knees, crawled away and vanished.
 Sir John, panting upon the grass, could make out the loom of
precipitous cliff, the vague line of shore, the white foam of incoming
tide; upon his right hand crouched Mr. Pym, the barrel of his musket
cutting across the stars, upon his left knelt Sir Hector, bulking more
gigantic than nature in the dimness; and then he was startled by Mr.
Potter’s voice immediately behind him:
“Back, sirs, back an’ easy it is, for y’r lives!... They sojers be right
afore us—thick as mushrooms ... aye, thick as ’rooms they be, so
easy it is, sirs ... we must to the beach ... foller Potter, sirs ... an’
tread cautious!”
Gliding like phantoms, they followed whither Mr. Potter led, while
ever the beat of the incoming waves grew louder. Suddenly beneath
Sir John’s foot a piece of rotten driftwood snapped, seeming to him
loud as a pistol-shot, and he stood, breath in check, half expecting a
hoarse challenge and the roaring flash of musketry; instead, he
heard Mr. Potter’s whisper:
“Lay down, sirs ... easy! Now watch the sea yonder!”
To Sir John, thus outstretched, hearing only the throb of his own
heart and remembering all those men who lay so murderously silent,
so patiently watchful and expectant, it seemed that looming cliff and
vague foreshore were places of supreme horror, since death lurked
there; the very night seemed foul of it.
And then came Mr. Potter’s soft, untroubled whisper:
“Yonder, sirs!... Yonder cometh Sharkie Nye!... D’ye see yon
twinkle?... Up she swings—the white!... Now the red! Aye, yonder
lays the True Believer hove to an’ waitin’ the answerin’ signal....
Watch the cliff, sirs——”
Almost as he spoke, was an answering beam of light upon the
grim headland, a light that winked once or twice and then was swiftly
lowered until it hung suspended half-way down the cliff.
“O Geordie-man—O Geordie!” whispered Sir Hector. “’Tis betrayed
ye are, lad—yon proves it beyond a’ doot!”
 “Aye, by the Pize,” whispered Mr. Potter, “yonder’s black
treachery! A light a-top o’ cliff any fule might show ... but a light a-
dangle ’arf-way down!... Look, sir—God love us ... Sharkie be a-
standin’ in——”
“To his death, Geordie—himsel’ and a’ his lads!”
“Not whiles Potter can waarn ’em, sirs!” And, speaking, Mr. Potter
got to his knees, but there Mr. Pym’s grip on his leg arrested him.
“What’s to do, George?” he inquired.
“Liddle enough, sir, but arl I can.... Potter be a-goin’ down yonder
to th’ edge o’ the tide, an’ soon as they be nigh enough I lets fly with
both my pistols——”
“And commit suicide, George Potter!”
“Why, they sojers may miss me, sir ... an’ I shall run amazin’ quick
and—hark, sir ... Sharkie be a-towin’ in wi’ his boats!” Sure enough,
faint though distinct was the sound of oars.
“Lord love me!” exclaimed Mr. Potter, his placidity quite gone.
“They be closer ashore than I thought ... loose my leg, sir!”
“Not so, George!” answered the painter. “Your plan is extreme
clumsy and offers but problematical chance o’ success whiles you
run great risk o’ wounds or death, and Captain Nye may be nothing
advantaged. Now, upon the other hand——”
“Mus’ Pym, Mus’ Pym, it be no time to arg’—lemme go, sir!”
“Heark’ee now, George Potter, ’twill take Sharkie Nye some half-
hour to tow into musket-shot in this dark whiles yon lanthorn, though
a fairish distance, is yet well within range ... nay, patience, George,
lie still and listen to me! The trouble seems to be yonder lanthorn—
very well, let us incontinent extinguish yon lanthorn....”
“Aye, but how, sir—how?”
“Hold thy tongue, George, and give me elbow-room.”
“Why—why, Mus’ Pym,” gasped Potter, “you never think as you
can manage ... so fur ... sich a liddle bit of a thing as yon lanthorn?”
 “With a bow and arrow, George, which was a weapon of less
precision than such musket as mine, the worthy Tell split an apple
imposed upon his small son’s head ... and to-night ... hum! Give me
room, George!”
Mr. Pym extended himself comfortably at full length; they heard
the sharp click as he cocked his long piece, watched him level it
across convenient rock, held their breaths while he dwelt upon his
aim; a spurt of fire, a roar that reverberated far and wide, a puff of
smoke ... and the swinging light was not. Ensued a moment of utter
stillness, then from seaward came an answering flash, hoarse
commands, the red and white lights vanished, and thereafter a riot of
sound as the gloom of cliff and foreshore was stabbed by musketry
fire; and, lying face down upon the grass, Sir John heard the whistle
and hum of bullets in the air above him.
“Quick!” cried Potter. “Run fur it, sirs, whiles they reload.... They
marked Mus’ Pym’s flash an’ some on ’em’s arter us—so quick it be!”
A panting minute or so across smooth turf, a stumbling descent, a
desperate scrambling over loose pebbles, a breathless race across
wet sand, a groping among boulders ... and Sir John found himself
alone; he was standing thus, staring dazedly about him, in his ears
the shouting of his nearer pursuers, when from the dimness above a
long arm reached forth, a mighty hand grasped coat collar, and he
was swung from his feet, dragged through a rocky fissure, and found
himself crouched beside Sir Hector.
“Aha, Johnnie,” whispered the giant, hugging him until he
blenched with the pain of his arm, “is this no’ a bonny place? They
ca’ it Pook’s Kitchen—forbye, there’s few as kens it ... the De’il
himsel’ couldna find us here, y’ ken.... Whisht, lie ye still, Johnnie;
yon be only Pym a-cursing, an’ sma’ wonder; the puir gentleman was
forced tae leave his gun behind.... O Pymmie-man,” quoth Sir
Hector, wedging his vast bulk deeper into the narrow cave, “’tis a
sinfu’, waefu’, shamefu’ thing ye should hae wasted y’r gifts on paint
when ye wad hae made sic a bonny musketeer!”
“So far as my memory serves,” sighed Mr. Pym the Painter, “I
dropped it just after we crossed the pebble-ridge.”
 CHAPTER XL
DESCRIBES, AMONG OTHER THINGS, HOW MY
LADY TRAMPLED TRIUMPHANTLY AT LAST

I
“Beef, sir,” said Mr. Bunkle, laying a slice caressingly upon Sir
John’s plate, “cold roast-beef, sir, can be ate any’ow an’ anywhen,
but sech beef as this ’ere is best took plain and ungarnished ...
though I wun’t deny as a slice or so o’ b’iled-’am took therewith
doan’t go oncommon well, t’other actin’ upon which an’ bringing out
the flavour o’ both, sir, d’ye see! So shall us mak’ it beef-an’-’am,
sir?”
“Assuredly!” answered Sir John, seating himself at the table.
“Sir ’Ector used t’ swear by my beef-an’-’am,’e did, but ’e doan’t
tak’ ’is breakfast ’ere no more ... a changed man ’e be, sir.”
“How so, Mr. Bunkle?”
“Well, ain’t you noticed ’is wig, sir?”
“Not particularly.”
“’As it combed an’ curled reg’lar nowadays, ’e do ... sich a ’appy,
careless gen’leman ’e used to be, but lately ... well, ’e was a-wearin’
’is second-best coat yesterday! Ah, a changed man be Sir ’Ector.”
And Mr. Bunkle nodded, winked and departed about his business.
His breakfast done, Sir John arose and, mindful of his promise to
Herminia, took his hat and sallied forth for the matrimonial
“prompting” of the devoted Sir Hector MacLean.
His reception was not propitious, for scarcely had he stepped
across Sir Hector’s threshold than that gentleman’s voice hailed him