No Defense, Complete - Gilbert Parker
Yet, without you, who can tell what he might have been? He might
have fallen so low that not the wealth of ten thousand treasure-
boxes could give him even the appearance of honesty. And now he
offers you what you cannot accept--can never accept--a love as deep
as the life from which he came; a love that would throttle the world
for you, that would force the doors of hell to bring you what you
want.
What do you want? I know not. Perhaps you have inherited the vast
property to which you were the heir. If you have, what can you want
that you have not means to procure? Ah, I have learned one thing,
my friend 'one can get nearly everything with money. It is the
hidden machinery which makes the world of success go round. With
brains, you say? Yes, money and brains, but without the money
brains seldom win alone. Do not I know? When I was in prison, with
estate vanished and home gone and my father in his grave, who was
concerned about me?
Only the humblest of all God's Irish people; but with them I have
somehow managed to win back lost ground. I am a stronger man than I
was in all that men count of value in the world. I have an estate
where I work like any youth who has everything before him. I have
nothing before me, yet I shall go on working to the end. Why?
Because I have some faculties which are more than bread and butter,
and I must give them opportunity.
Yet I am not always sane. Sometimes I feel I could march out and
sweep into the sea one of the towns that dot the coast of this
island. I have the bloody thirst, as said the great Spanish
conquistador. I would like--yes, sometimes I would like to sweep
to a watery grave one of the towns that are a glory to this island,
as Savanna la Mar was swept to oblivion in the year 1780 by a
hurricane. You can still see the ruins of the town at the bottom of
the sea--I have sailed over it in what is now the harbour, and there
beneath, on the deep sands, lost to time and trouble, is the slain
and tortured town of Savanna la Mar. Was the Master of the World
angry that day when, with a besom of wind and a tidal wave, He swept
the place into the sea? Or was it some devil's work while the Lord
of All slept? As the Spanish say, Quien sabe?
Then there was that other enormous incident which made a man to be
swallowed by an earthquake, then belched out again into the sea and
picked up and restored to life again, and to live for many years.
Indeed, yes, it is so. His tombstone may be seen even at this day
at Green Bay, Kingston. His name was Lewis Galdy, and he is held in
high repute in this land.
I feel sometimes as Beelzebub may feel, and I long to do what
Beelzebub might do as part of his mission. Sometimes a madness
of revolt comes over me, and I long to ravage all the places I see,
all the people I know--or nearly all. Why I do not have negroes
thrashed and mutilated, as some do, I know not. Over against the
southern shore in the parish of St. Elizabeth is an estate called
Salem, owned, it is said, by an American, where the manager does
such things. I am told that savageries are found there. There
are too many absentee owners of land in this island, and the wrongs
done by agents who have no personal honour at stake are all too
plentiful. If I could, I would have no slavery, would set all the
blacks free, making full compensation to the owners, and less to the
absentee owners.
I look out on a world of summer beauty and of heat. I see the sheep
in hundreds on the far hills of pasturage--sheep with short hair,
small and sweet as any that ever came from the South Downs. I see
the natives in their Madras handkerchiefs. I see upon the road some
planter in his ketureen--a sort of sedan chair; I see a negro
funeral, with its strange ceremony and its gumbies of African drums.
I see yam-fed planters, on their horses, making for the burning,
sandy streets of the capital. I see the Scots grass growing five
and six feet high, food unsurpassed for horses--all the foliage too
--beautiful tropical trees and shrubs, and here and there a huge
breeding-farm. Yet I know that out beyond my sight there is the
region known as Trelawney, and Trelawney Town, the headquarters of
the Maroons, the free negroes--they who fled after the Spanish had
been conquered and the British came, and who were later freed and
secured by the Trelawney Treaty. I know that now they are ready to
rise, that they are working among the slaves; and if they rise the
danger is great to the white population of the island, who are
outnumbered ten to one.
The governor has been warned, but he gives no heed, or treats it all
lightly, pointing out how few the Maroons are. He forgets that a
few determined men can demoralize a whole state, can fight and
murder and fly to dark coverts in the tropical woods, where they
cannot be tracked down and destroyed; and, if they have made
supporters of the slaves, what consequences may not follow!
What do the Maroons look like? They are ferocious and isolated,
they are proud and overbearing, they are horribly cruel, but they
are potent, and are difficult to reach. They are not small and
meagre, but are big, brawny fellows, clothed in wide duck trousers
and shirts, and they are well-armed--cutlass, powder-horn,
haversack, sling, shot-gun, and pouch for ball. They dress as the
country requires, and they are strong fighters against our soldiers
who are burdened with heavy muskets, and who defy the climate, with
their stuffed coats, their weighty caps, and their tight cross-
belts. The Maroons are not to be despised. They have brains, the
insolence of freedom among natives who are not free, and vast
cruelty. They can be mastered and kept in subjection, can be made
allies, if properly handled; but Lord Mallow goes the wrong way
about it all. He permits things that inflame the Maroons.
One thing is clear to me--only by hounds can these people be
defeated. So sure am I upon this point, that I have sent to Cuba
for sixty hounds, with which, when the trouble comes--and it is not
far off--we shall be able to hunt the Maroons with the only weapon
they really fear--the dog's sharp tooth. It may be the governor may
intervene on the arrival of the dogs; but I have made friends with
the provost-marshal-general and some members of the Jamaica
legislature; also I have a friend in the deputy of the provost-
marshal-general in my parish of Clarendon here, and I will make a
good bet that the dogs will be let come into the island, governor
or no governor.
When one sets oneself against the Crown one must be sure of one's
ground, and fear no foe, however great and high. Well, I have won
so far, and I shall win in the end. Mallow should have some respect
for one that beat him at Phoenix Park with the sword; that beat him
when he would have me imprisoned here; that beat him in the matter
of the ship for Haiti, and that will beat him on every hazard he
sets, unless he stoops to underhand acts, which he will not do.
That much must be said for him. He plays his part in no small way,
and he is more a bigot and a fanatic loyalist than a rogue.
Suppose--but no, I will not suppose. I will lay my plans, I will
keep faith with people here who trust me, and who know that if I am
stern I am also just, and I will play according to the rules made by
better men than myself.
But what is this I see? Michael Clones--in his white jean waistcoat,
white neckcloth and trousers, and blue coat--is coming up the drive in
hot haste, bearing a letter. He rides too hard. He has never carried
himself easily in this climate. He treats it as if it was Ireland. He
will not protect himself, and, if penalty followed folly, should now be
in his grave. I like you, Michael. You are a boon, but--
CHAPTER XVII
STRANGERS ARRIVE
Dyck Calhoun's letter was never ended. It was only a relic of the years
spent in Jamaica, only a sign of his well-being, though it gave no real
picture of himself. He did not know how like a tyrant he had become in
some small ways, while in the large things he remained generous, urbane,
and resourceful. He was in appearance thin, dark-favoured, buoyant in
manner, and stern of face, with splendid eyes. Had he dwelt on Olympus,
he might have been summoned to judge and chastise the sons of men.
When Michael Clones came to the doorway, Dyck laid down his quill-pen and
eyed the flushed servant in disapproval.
"What is it, Michael? Wherefore this starkness? Is some one come from
heaven?"
"Not precisely from heaven, y'r honour, but--"
"But--yes, Michael! Have done with but-ing, and come to the real matter."
"Well, sir, they've come from Virginia."
Dyck Calhoun slowly got to his feet, his face paling, his body
stiffening. From Virginia! Who should be come from Virginia, save she to
whom he had just been writing?
"Who has come from Virginia?" He knew, but he wanted it said.
"Sure, you knew a vessel came from America last night. Well, in her was
one that was called the Queen of Ireland long ago."
"Queen of Ireland--well, what then?" Dyck's voice was tuneless, his
manner rigid, his eyes burning. "Well, she--Miss Sheila Llyn and her
mother are going to the Salem Plantation, down by the Essex Valley
Mountain. It is her plantation now. It belonged to her uncle, Bryan Llyn.
He got it in payment of a debt. He's dead now, and all his lands and
wealth have come to her. Her mother, Mrs. Llyn, is with her, and they
start to-morrow or the next day for Salem. There'll be different doings
at Salem henceforward, y'r honour. She's not the woman to see slaves
treated as the manager at Salem treated 'em."
Dyck Calhoun made an impatient gesture at this last remark.
"Yes, yes, Michael. Where are they now?"
"They're at Charlotte Bedford's lodgings in Spanish Town. The governor
waited on them this morning. The governor sent them flowers and--"
"Flowers--Lord Mallow sent them flowers! Hell's fiend, man, suppose he
did?"
"There are better flowers here than in any Spanish Town."
"Well, take them, Michael; but if you do, come here again no more while
you live, for I'll have none of you. Do you think I'm entering the lists
against the king's governor?"
"You've done it before, sir, and there's no harm in doing it again. One
good turn deserves another. I've also to tell you, sir, that Lord Mallow
has asked them to stay at King's House."
"Lord Mallow has asked Americans to stay at King's House!"
"But they're Irish, and he knew them in Ireland, y 'r honour."
"Well, he knew me in Ireland, and I'm proscribed!"
"Ah, that's different, as you know. There's no war on now, and they're
only good American citizens who own land in this dominion of the king; so
why shouldn't he give them courtesy?"
"From whom do you get your information?" asked Dyck Calhoun with an air
of suspicion.
"From Darius Boland, y'r honour," answered Michael, with a smile. "Who is
Darius Boland, you're askin' in y'r mind? Well, he's the new manager come
from the Llyn plantations in Virginia; and right good stuff he is, with a
tongue that's as dry as cut-wheat in August. And there's humour in him,
plenty-aye, plenty. When did I see him, and how? Well, I saw him this
mornin', on the quay at Kingston. He was orderin' the porters about with
an air--oh, bedad, an air! I saw the name upon the parcels--Miss Sheila
Llyn, of Moira, Virginia, and so I spoke to him. The rest was aisy. He
looked me up and down in a flash, like a searchlight playin' on an enemy
ship, and then he smiled. 'Well,' said he, 'who might you be? For there's
queer folks in Jamaica, I'm told.' So I said I was Michael Clones, and at
that he doffed his hat and held out a hand. 'Well, here's luck,' said he.
'Luck at the very start! I've heard of you from my mistress. You're
servant to Mr. Dyck Calhoun--ain't that it?' And I nodded, and he smiled
again--a smile that'd cost money annywhere else than in Jamaica. He
smiled again, and give a slow hitch to his breeches as though they was
fallin' down. Why, sir, he's the longest bit of man you ever saw, with a
pointed beard, and a nose that's as long as a midshipman's tongue-dry,
lean, and elastic. He's quick and slow all at once. His small eyes
twinkle like stars beatin' up against bad weather, and his skin's the
colour of Scots grass in the dead of summer-yaller, he'd call it if he
called it anything, and yaller was what he called the look of the sky
above the hills. Queer way of talk he has, that man, as queer as--"
"I understand, Michael. But what else? How did you come to talk about the
affairs of Mrs. and Miss Llyn? He didn't just spit it out, did he?"
"Sure, not so quick and free as spittin', y'r honour; but when he'd
sorted me out, as it were, he said Miss Llyn had come out here to take
charge of Salem; her own estate in Virginia bein' in such good runnin'
order, and her mind bein' active. Word had come of the trouble with the
manager here, and one of the provost-marshal's deputies had written
accounts of the flogging and ill-treatment of slaves, and that's why she
come--to put things right at Salem!"
"To put things wrong in Jamaica, Michael, that's why she's come. To loose
the ball of confusion and free the flood of tragedy--that's why she's
come! Man, Michael, you know her history--who she was and what happened
to her father. Well, do you think there's no tragedy in her coming here?
I killed her father, they say, Michael. I was punished for it. I came
here to be free of all those things--lifted out and away from them all. I
longed to forget the past, which is only shame and torture; and here it
is all spread out at my door again like a mat, which I must see as I go
in and out. Essex Valley--why, it's less than a day's ride from here, far
less than a day's ride! It can be ridden in four or five hours at a trot.
Michael, it's all a damnable business. And here she is in Jamaica with
her Darius Boland! There was no talk on Boland's part of their coming
here, was there Michael?"
"None at all, sir, but there was that in the man's eye, and that in his
tone, which made me sure he thought Miss Llyn and you would meet."
"That would be strange, wouldn't it, in this immense continent!" Dyck
remarked cynically.
"She knew I was here before she came?"
"Aye, she knew. She had seen your name in the papers--English and
Jamaican. She knew you had regained your life and place, and was a man of
mark here."
"A marked man, you mean, Michael--a man whom the king has had to pardon
of a crime because of an act done that served the State. I am forbidden
to return to the British Isles or to the land of my birth, forbidden free
traffic as a citizen, hammered out of recognition by the strokes of
enmity. A man of mark, indeed! Aye, with the broad arrow on me, with the
shame of prison and mutiny on my name!"
"But if she don't believe?"
"If she don't believe! Well, she must be told the truth at last. I wonder
her mother let her come here. Her mother knew part of the truth. She hid
it all from the girl--and now they are here! I must see it through, but
it's a wretched fate, Michael."
"Perhaps her mother didn't know you were here, sir."
Dyck laughed grimly. "Michael, you've a lawyer's mind. Perhaps you're
right. The girl may have hid from her mother all newspapers referring to
me. That may well be; but it's not the way that will bring
understanding."
"I think it's the truth, sir, for Darius Boland spoke naught of the
mother--indeed, he said only what would make me think the girl came with
her own ends in view. Faith, I'm sure the mother did not know."
"She will know now. Your Darius Boland will tell her."
"By St. Peter, it doesn't matter who tells her, sir. The business must be
faced."
"Michael, order my horse, and I will go to Spanish Town. This matter must
be brought to a head. The truth must be told. Order my horse!"
"It is the very heat of the day, sir."
"Then at five o'clock, after dinner, have my horse here."
"Am I to ride with you, sir?"
Dyck nodded. "Yes, Michael. There's only one thing to do--face all the
facts with all the evidence, and you are fact and evidence too. You know
more of the truth than any one else."
Several hours later, when the sun was abating its force a little, after
travelling the burning roads through yams and cocoa, grenadillas and all
kinds of herbs and roots and vagrant trees, Dyck Calhoun and Michael
Clones came into Spanish Town. Dyck rode the unpaved streets on his horse
with its high demipicque Spanish saddle, with its silver stirrups and
heavy bit, and made his way towards Charlotte Bedford's lodgings.
Dyck looked round upon the town with new eyes. He saw it like one for the
first time visiting it. He saw the people passing through the wide
verandahs of the houses, like a vast colonnade, down the street, to be
happily sheltered from the fierce sun. As he had come down from the hills
he thought he had never seen the houses look more beautiful in their
gardens of wild tamarinds, kennips, cocoa-nuts, pimentos, and palms,
backed by negro huts. He had seen all sorts of people at the draw-wells
of the houses-British, Spanish, French, South American, Creoles, and here
and there a Maroon, and the everlasting negro who sang as he worked:
"Come along o' me, my buccra brave,
You see de shild de Lord he gave:
You drink de sangaree,
I make de frichassee--"
Here a face peeped out from the glazed sash of the jalousies of the
balconies above--a face that could never be said to be white, though it
had only a tinge of black in its coaxing beauty. There a workman with
long hair and shag trousers painted the prevailing two-storied house the
prevailing colour, white and green. There was a young naval officer in
full dress, gold-buckled shoes, white trousers, short jacket with gold
swab on shoulders, dress-sword and smart gait making for supper at King's
House.
A long-legged "son of a gun" of a Yankee had a "clapper-claw," or
handshake, with a planting attorney in a kind of four-posted gig,
canopied in leather and curtained clumsily. The Yankee laughed at the
heavy straight shafts and the mule that drew the volante, as the gig was
called, and the vehicle creaked and cried as it rolled along over the
road, which was like a dry river-bed. There a French officer in Hessian
boots, white trousers, blue uniform, and much-embroidered scarlet cuffs
watched with amusement a slave carrying a goglet, or earthen jar, upon
his head like an Egyptian, untouched by the hand, so adding dignity to
carriage. He was holding a "round-aboutation" with an old hag who was
telling his fortune.
As they passed King's House, they saw troops of the viceroy's guests
issuing from the palace-officers of the king's navy and army, officers
and men of the Jamaica militia, pale-faced, big-eyed men of the Creole
class, mulattoes, quadroons and octoroons, Samboes with their wives in
loose skirts, white stockings, and pinnacle hats. There also passed, in
the streets, black servants with tin cases on their heads, or carrying
parcels in their arms, and here and there processions of servants, each
with something that belonged to their mistresses, who would presently be
attending the king's ball.
Snatches of song were heard, and voices of men who had had a full meal
and had "taken observations"--as looking through the bottom of a glass of
liquor was called by people with naval spirit--were mixed in careless
carousal.
All this jarred on Dyck Calhoun and gave revolt to his senses. Yet he was
only half-conscious of the great sensuousness of the scene as he passed
through it. Now and then some one doffed a hat to him, and very
occasionally some half-drunken citizen tossed at him a remark meant to
wound; but he took no notice, and let things pleasant and provocative
pass down the long ranges of indifference.
All was brought to focus at last, however, by their arrival at Charlotte
Bedford's lodgings, which, like most houses in the town, had a lookout or
belfry fitted with green blinds and a telescope, and had a green-painted
wooden railing round it.
At the very entrance, inside the gate, in the garden, they saw Sheila
Llyn, her mother, and Darius Boland, who seemed to be enduring from the
mother some sharp reprimand, to the amusement of the daughter. As the
gate closed behind Dyck and Michael, the three from Virginia turned round
and faced them. As Dyck came forward, Sheila flushed and trembled. She
was no longer a young girl, but her slim straightness and the soft lines
of her figure, gave her a dignity and charm which made her young
womanhood distinguished--for she was now twenty-five, and had a carriage
of which a princess might have been proud. Yet it was plain that the
entrance of Dyck at this moment was disturbing. It was not what she had
foreseen.
She showed no hesitation, however, but came forward to meet her visitor,
while Michael fell back, as also did Darius Boland. Both these seemed to
realize that the less they saw and heard the better; and they presently
got together in another part of the garden, as Dyck Calhoun came near
enough almost to touch Sheila.
Surely, he thought, she was supreme in appearance and design. She was
like some rare flower of the field, alert, gentle, strong, intrepid, with
buoyant face, brown hair, blue eyes and cream-like skin. She was touched
by a rose on each cheek and made womanly by firm and yet generous
breasts, tenderly imprisoned by the white chiffon of her blouse in which
was one bright sprig of the buds of a cherry-tree-a touch of modest
luxuriance on a person sparsely ornamented. It was not tropical, this
picture of Sheila Llyn; it was a flick of northern life in a summer sky.
It was at once cheerful and apart. It had no August in it; no oil and
wine. It was the little twig that grew by a running spring. It was fresh,
dominant and serene. It was Connemara on the Amazon! It was Sheila
herself, whom time had enriched with far more than years and experience.
It was a personality which would anywhere have taken place and held it.
It was undefeatable, persistent and permanent; it was the spirit of
Ireland loose in a world that was as far apart from Ireland as she was
from her dead, dishonoured father.
And Dyck? At first she felt she must fly to him--yes, in spite of the
fact that he had suffered prison for manslaughter. But a nearer look at
him stopped the impulse at its birth. Here was the Dyck Calhoun she had
known in days gone by, but not the Dyck she had looked to see; for this
man was like one who had come from a hanging, who had seen his dearest
swinging at the end of a rope. His face was set in coldness; his hair was
streaked with grey; his forehead had a line in the middle; his manner was
rigid, almost frigid, indeed. Only in his eyes was there that which
denied all that his face and manner said--a hungry, absorbing, hopeless
look, the look of one who searches for a friend in the denying desert.
Somehow, when he bowed low to her, and looked her in the eyes as no one
in all her life had ever done, she had an almost agonized understanding
of what a man feels who has been imprisoned--that is, never the same
again. He was an ex-convict, and yet she did not feel repelled by him.
She did not believe he had killed Erris Boyne. As for the later crime of
mutiny, that did not concern her much. She was Irish; but, more than
that, she was in sympathy with the mutineers. She understood why Dyck
Calhoun, enlisting as a common sailor, should take up their cause and run
risk to advance it. That he had advanced it was known to all the world;
that he had paid the price of his mutiny by saving the king's navy with a
stolen ship had brought him pardon for his theft of a ship and mutiny;
and that he had won wealth was but another proof of the man's power.
"You would not come to America, so I came here, and--" She paused, her
voice trembling slightly. "There is much to do at Salem," he added
calmly, and yet with his heart beating, as it had not beaten since the
day he had first met her at Playmore.
"You would not take the money I sent to Dublin for you--the gift of a
believing friend, and you would not come to America!"
"I shall have to tell you why one day," he answered slowly, "but I'll pay
my respects to your mother now." So saying he went forward and bowed low
to Mrs. Llyn. Unlike her daughter, Mrs. Llyn did not offer her hand. She
was pale, distraught, troubled--and vexed. She, however, murmured his
name and bowed. "You did not expect to see me here in Jamaica," he said
boldly.
"Frankly, I did not, Mr. Calhoun," she said.
"You resent my coming here to see you? You think it bold, at least."
She looked at him closely and firmly. "You know why I cannot welcome
you."
"Yet I have paid the account demanded by the law. And you had no regard
for him. You divorced him."