Springhaven - R. D. Blackmore
Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43
SPRINGHAVEN:
A Tale of the Great War
By R. D. Blackmore
1887
CHAPTER I
WHEN THE SHIP COMES HOME
In the days when England trusted mainly to the vigor and valor of one
man, against a world of enemies, no part of her coast was in greater
peril than the fair vale of Springhaven. But lying to the west of the
narrow seas, and the shouts both of menace and vigilance, the quiet
little village in the tranquil valley forbore to be uneasy.
For the nature of the place and race, since time has outlived memory,
continually has been, and must be, to let the world pass easily. Little
to talk of, and nothing to do, is the healthy condition of mankind just
there. To all who love repose and shelter, freedom from the cares of
money and the cark of fashion, and (in lieu of these) refreshing air,
bright water, and green country, there is scarcely any valley left to
compare with that of Springhaven. This valley does not interrupt the
land, but comes in as a pleasant relief to it. No glaring chalk, no
grim sandstone, no rugged flint, outface it; but deep rich meadows, and
foliage thick, and cool arcades of ancient trees, defy the noise that
men make. And above the trees, in shelving distance, rise the crests of
upland, a soft gray lias, where orchards thrive, and greensward strokes
down the rigor of the rocks, and quick rills lace the bosom of the slope
with tags of twisted silver.
In the murmur of the valley twenty little waters meet, and discoursing
their way to the sea, give name to the bay that receives them and the
anchorage they make. And here no muddy harbor reeks, no foul mouth
of rat-haunted drains, no slimy and scraggy wall runs out, to mar the
meeting of sweet and salt. With one or two mooring posts to watch it,
and a course of stepping-stones, the brook slides into the peaceful bay,
and is lost in larger waters. Even so, however, it is kindly still, for
it forms a tranquil haven.
Because, where the ruffle of the land stream merges into the heavier
disquietude of sea, slopes of shell sand and white gravel give welcome
pillow to the weary keel. No southerly tempest smites the bark, no long
groundswell upheaves her; for a bold point, known as the "Haven-head,"
baffles the storm in the offing, while the bulky rollers of a strong
spring-tide, that need no wind to urge them, are broken by the shifting
of the shore into a tier of white-frilled steps. So the deep-waisted
smacks that fish for many generations, and even the famous "London
trader" (a schooner of five-and-forty tons), have rest from their
labors, whenever they wish or whenever they can afford it, in the
arms of the land, and the mouth of the water, and under the eyes of
Springhaven.
At the corner of the wall, where the brook comes down, and pebble turns
into shingle, there has always been a good white gate, respected (as a
white gate always is) from its strong declaration of purpose. Outside
of it, things may belong to the Crown, the Admiralty, Manor, or Trinity
Brethren, or perhaps the sea itself--according to the latest ebb or
flow of the fickle tide of Law Courts--but inside that gate everything
belongs to the fine old family of Darling.
Concerning the origin of these Darlings divers tales are told, according
to the good-will or otherwise of the diver. The Darlings themselves
contend and prove that stock and name are Saxon, and the true form of
the name is "Deerlung," as witness the family bearings. But the foes of
the race, and especially the Carnes, of ancient Sussex lineage, declare
that the name describes itself. Forsooth, these Darlings are nothing
more, to their contemptuous certainty, than the offset of some
court favorite, too low to have won nobility, in the reign of some
light-affectioned king.
If ever there was any truth in that, it has been worn out long ago by
friction of its own antiquity. Admiral Darling owns that gate, and
all the land inside it, as far as a Preventive man can see with his
spy-glass upon the top bar of it. And this includes nearly all the
village of Springhaven, and the Hall, and the valley, and the hills that
make it. And how much more does all this redound to the credit of the
family when the gazer reflects that this is nothing but their younger
tenement! For this is only Springhaven Hall, while Darling Holt, the
headquarters of the race, stands far inland, and belongs to Sir Francis,
the Admiral's elder brother.
When the tides were at their spring, and the year 1802 of our era in
the same condition, Horatia Dorothy Darling, younger daughter of the
aforesaid Admiral, choosing a very quiet path among thick shrubs and
under-wood, came all alone to a wooden building, which her father called
his Round-house. In the war, which had been patched over now, but would
very soon break out again, that veteran officer held command of the
coast defense (westward of Nelson's charge) from Beachy Head to Selsey
Bill. No real danger had existed then, and no solid intent of invasion,
but many sharp outlooks had been set up, and among them was this at
Springhaven.
Here was established under thatch, and with sliding lights before it,
the Admiral's favorite Munich glass, mounted by an old ship's carpenter
(who had followed the fortunes of his captain) on a stand which would
have puzzled anybody but the maker, with the added security of a lanyard
from the roof. The gear, though rough, was very strong and solid,
and afforded more range and firmer rest to the seven-feet tube and
adjustments than a costly mounting by a London optician would have been
likely to supply. It was a pleasure to look through such a glass, so
clear, and full of light, and firm; and one who could have borne to
be looked at through it, or examined even by a microscope, came now to
enjoy that pleasure.
Miss Dolly Darling could not be happy--though her chief point was to
be so--without a little bit of excitement, though it were of her own
construction. Her imagination, being bright and tender and lively,
rather than powerful, was compelled to make its own material, out of
very little stuff sometimes. She was always longing for something sweet
and thrilling and romantic, and what chance of finding it in this
dull place, even with the longest telescope? For the war, with all its
stirring rumors and perpetual motion on shore and sea, and access of
gallant visitors, was gone for the moment, and dull peace was signed.
This evening, as yet, there seemed little chance of anything to enliven
her. The village, in the valley and up the stream, was hidden by turns
of the land and trees; her father's house beneath the hill crest was out
of sight and hearing; not even a child was on the beach; and the only
movement was of wavelets leisurely advancing toward the sea-wall fringed
with tamarisk. The only thing she could hope to see was the happy return
of the fishing-smacks, and perhaps the "London trader," inasmuch as the
fishermen (now released from fencible duty and from French alarm) did
their best to return on Saturday night to their moorings, their homes,
the disposal of fish, and then the deep slumber of Sunday. If the breeze
should enable them to round the Head, and the tide avail for landing,
the lane to the village, the beach, and even the sea itself would swarm
with life and bustle and flurry and incident. But Dolly's desire was for
scenes more warlike and actors more august than these.
Beauty, however, has an eye for beauty beyond its own looking-glass.
Deeply as Dolly began to feel the joy of her own loveliness, she had
managed to learn, and to feel as well, that so far as the strength and
vigor of beauty may compare with its grace and refinement, she had
her own match at Springhaven. Quite a hardworking youth, of no social
position and no needless education, had such a fine countenance and such
bright eyes that she neither could bear to look at him nor forbear to
think of him. And she knew that if the fleet came home she would see him
on board of the Rosalie.
Flinging on a shelf the small white hat which had scarcely covered her
dark brown curls, she lifted and shored with a wooden prop the southern
casement of leaded glass. This being up, free range was given to the
swinging telescope along the beach to the right and left, and over the
open sea for miles, and into the measureless haze of air. She could
manage this glass to the best advantage, through her father's teaching,
and could take out the slide and clean the lenses, and even part the
object-glass, and refix it as well as possible. She belonged to the
order of the clever virgins, but scarcely to that of the wise ones.
CHAPTER II
WITH HER CREW AND CARGO
Long after the time of those who write and those who read this history,
the name of Zebedee Tugwell will be flourishing at Springhaven.
To achieve unmerited honor is the special gift of thousands, but to
deserve and win befalls some few in every century, and one of these few
was Zebedee. To be the head-man of any other village, and the captain of
its fishing fleet, might prove no lofty eminence; but to be the leader
of Springhaven was true and arduous greatness. From Selsey Bill to
Orfordness, taking in all the Cinque Ports and all the port of London,
there was not a place that insisted on, and therefore possessed, all
its own rights so firmly as this village did. Not less than seven stout
fishing-smacks--six of them sloops, and the seventh a dandy--formed the
marine power of this place, and behaved as one multiplied by seven. All
the bold fishermen held their line from long-established ancestry, and
stuck to the stock of their grandfathers, and their wisdom and freedom
from prejudice. Strength was condensed into clear law with them--as
sinew boils down into jelly--and character carried out its force as the
stamp of solid impress. What the father had been, the son became, as the
generation squared itself, and the slates for the children to do their
copies were the tombstones of their granddads. Thus brave Etruria grew,
and thus the Rome which was not built in a day became the flower of the
world, and girt in unity of self seven citadels.
There was Roman blood--of the Tenth Legion, perhaps--in the general
vein of Springhaven. There was scarcely a man who pretended to know much
outside of his own business, and there was not a woman unable to
wait (when her breath was quite gone) for sound reason. Solidity,
self-respect, pure absence of frivolous humor, ennobled the race and
enabled them to hold together, so that everybody not born in Springhaven
might lament, but never repair, his loss.
This people had many ancient rules befitting a fine corporation, and
among them were the following: "Never do a job for a stranger; sleep in
your own bed when you can; be at home in good time on a Saturday; never
work harder than you need; throw your fish away rather than undersell
it; answer no question, but ask another; spend all your money among your
friends; and above all, never let any stranger come a-nigh your proper
fishing ground, nor land any fish at Springhaven."
These were golden laws, and made a snug and plump community. From the
Foreland to the Isle of Wight their nets and lines were sacred, and no
other village could be found so thriving, orderly, well-conducted, and
almost well-contented. For the men were not of rash enterprise, hot
labor, or fervid ambition; and although they counted things by money,
they did not count one another so. They never encouraged a friend to
work so hard as to grow too wealthy, and if he did so, they expected him
to grow more generous than he liked to be. And as soon as he failed upon
that point, instead of adoring, they growled at him, because every one
of them might have had as full a worsted stocking if his mind had been
small enough to forget the difference betwixt the land and sea, the tide
of labor and the time of leisure.
To these local and tribal distinctions they added the lofty expansion of
sons of the sea. The habit of rising on the surge and falling into the
trough behind it enables a biped, as soon as he lands, to take things
that are flat with indifference. His head and legs have got into a state
of firm confidence in one another, and all these declare--with the rest
of the body performing as chorus gratis--that now they are come to a
smaller affair, upon which they intend to enjoy themselves. So that,
while strenuous and quick of movement--whenever they could not help
it--and sometimes even brisk of mind (if anybody strove to cheat them),
these men generally made no griefs beyond what they were born to.
Zebedee Tugwell was now their chief, and well deserved to be so. Every
community of common-sense demands to have somebody over it, and nobody
could have felt ashamed to be under Captain Tugwell. He had built with
his own hands, and bought--for no man's work is his own until he has
paid for as well as made it--the biggest and smartest of all the fleet,
that dandy-rigged smack, the Rosalie. He was proud of her, as he well
might be, and spent most of his time in thinking of her; but even she
was scarcely up to the size of his ideas. "Stiff in the joints," he now
said daily--"stiff in the joints is my complaint, and I never would have
believed it. But for all that, you shall see, my son, if the Lord should
spare you long enough, whether I don't beat her out and out with the
craft as have been in my mind this ten year."
But what man could be built to beat Zebedee himself, in an age like
this, when yachts and men take the prize by profundity of false keel?
Tugwell yearned for no hot speed in his friends, or his house, or his
wife, or his walk, or even his way of thinking. He had seen more harm
come from one hour's hurry than a hundred years of care could cure, and
the longer he lived the more loath he grew to disturb the air around
him.
"Admirable Nelson," he used to say--for his education had not been so
large as the parts allotted to receive it; "to my mind he is a brave
young man, with great understanding of his dooties. But he goeth too
fast, without clearing of his way. With a man like me 'longside of 'un,
he'd have brought they boats out of Bulong. See how I brings my boats
in, most particular of a Saturday!"
It was Saturday now, when Miss Dolly was waiting to see this great
performance, of which she considered herself, as the daughter of
an admiral, no mean critic. And sure enough, as punctual as in a
well-conducted scheme of war, and with nice forecast of wind and tide,
and science of the supper-time, around the westward headland came the
bold fleet of Springhaven!
Seven ships of the line--the fishing line--arranged in perfect order,
with the Rosalie as the flag-ship leading, and three upon either
quarter, in the comfort and leisure of the new-born peace, they spread
their sails with sunshine. Even the warlike Dolly could not help some
thoughts of peacefulness, and a gentle tide of large good-will submerged
the rocks of glory.
"Why should those poor men all be killed?" she asked herself, as a new
thing, while she made out, by their faces, hats, fling of knee or
elbow, patch upon breeches, or sprawl of walking toward the attentive
telescope, pretty nearly who everybody of them was, and whatever else
there was about him. "After all, it is very hard," she said, "that they
should have to lose their lives because the countries fight so."
But these jolly fellows had no idea of losing their lives, or a hair of
their heads, or anything more than their appetites, after waging hot
war upon victuals. Peace was proclaimed, and peace was reigning; and
the proper British feeling of contempt for snivelly Frenchmen, which
produces the entente cordiale, had replaced the wholesome dread of them.
Not that Springhaven had ever known fear, but still it was glad to leave
off terrifying the enemy. Lightness of heart and good-will prevailed,
and every man's sixpence was going to be a shilling.
In the tranquil afternoon the sun was making it clear to the coast
of Albion that he had crossed the line once more, and rediscovered a
charming island. After a chilly and foggy season, worse than a brave
cold winter, there was joy in the greeting the land held out, and in the
more versatile expression of the sea. And not beneath the contempt of
one who strives to get into everything, were the creases and patches of
the sails of smacks, and the pattern of the resin-wood they called their
masts, and even the little striped things (like frogs with hats on, in
the distance) which had grown to believe themselves the only object the
sun was made to shine upon.
But he shone upon the wide sea far behind, and the broad stretch of
land before them, and among their slowly gliding canvas scattered soft
touches of wandering light. Especially on the spritsail of the Rosalie,
whereunder was sitting, with the tiller in his hand and a very long pipe
in his mouth, Captain Zebedee Tugwell. His mighty legs were spread at
ease, his shoulders solid against a cask, his breast (like an elephant's
back in width, and bearing a bright blue crown tattooed) shone out of
the scarlet woolsey, whose plaits were filled with the golden shower of
a curly beard, untouched with gray. And his face was quite as worthy as
the substance leading up to it, being large and strengthful and slow to
move, though quick to make others do so. The forehead was heavy, and the
nose thickset, the lower jaw backed up the resolution of the other, and
the wide apart eyes, of a bright steel blue, were as steady as a brace
of pole-stars.
"What a wonderful man!" fair Dolly thought, as the great figure, looking
even grander in the glass, came rising upon a long slow wave--"what a
wonderful man that Tugwell is! So firmly resolved to have his own way,
so thoroughly dauntless, and such a grand beard! Ten times more like an
admiral than old Flapfin or my father is, if he only knew how to hold
his pipe. There is something about him so dignified, so calm, and so
majestic; but, for all that, I like the young man better. I have a great
mind to take half a peep at him; somebody might ask whether he was there
or not."
Being a young and bashful maid, as well as by birth a lady, she had
felt that it might be a very nice thing to contemplate sailors in the
distance, abstract sailors, old men who pulled ropes, or lounged on the
deck, if there was one. But to steal an unsuspected view at a young man
very well known to her, and acknowledged (not only by his mother
and himself, but also by every girl in the parish) as the Adonis of
Springhaven--this was a very different thing, and difficult to justify
even to one's self. The proper plan, therefore, was to do it, instead of
waiting to consider it.
"How very hard upon him it does seem," she whispered to herself, after a
good gaze at him, "that he must not even dream of having any hope of
me, because he has not happened to be born a gentleman! But he looks a
thousand times more like one than nine out of ten of the great gentlemen
I know--or at any rate he would if his mother didn't make his clothes."
For Zebedee Tugwell had a son called "Dan," as like him as a tender pea
can be like a tough one; promising also to be tough, in course of time,
by chafing of the world and weather. But at present Dan Tugwell was as
tender to the core as a marrowfat dallying till its young duck should be
ready; because Dan was podding into his first love. To the sympathetic
telescope his heart was low, and his mind gone beyond astronomical
range, and his hands (instead of briskly pairing soles) hung asunder,
and sprawled like a star-fish.
"Indeed he does look sad," said Miss Dolly, "he is thinking of me, as
he always does; but I don't see how anybody can blame me. But here comes
daddy, with dear old Flapfin! I am not a bit afraid of either of them;
but perhaps I had better run away."
CHAPTER III
AND HER TRUE COMMANDER
The nature of "Flapfin"--as Miss Dolly Darling and other young people
were pleased to call him--was to make his enemies run away, but his
friends keep very near to him. He was one of the simplest-minded men
that ever trod the British oak. Whatever he thought he generally said;
and whatever he said he meant and did. Yet of tricks and frauds he had
quick perception, whenever they were tried against him, as well as a
marvellous power of seeing the shortest way to everything. He enjoyed a
little gentle piece of vanity, not vainglory, and he never could sec any
justice in losing the credit of any of his exploits. Moreover, he was
gifted with the highest faith in the hand of the Almighty over him (to
help him in all his righteous deeds), and over his enemies, to destroy
them. Though he never insisted on any deep piety in his own behavior, he
had a good deal in his heart when time allowed, and the linstocks were
waiting the signal. His trust was supreme in the Lord and himself; and
he loved to be called "My Lord Admiral."
And a man of this noble type deserved to be met with his own nobility.
But the English government, according to its lights--which appear to be
everlasting--regarded him as the right man, when wanted, but at other
times the wrong one. They liked him to do them a very good turn, but
would not let him do himself one; and whenever he looked for some fair
chance of a little snug prize-money, they took him away from the likely
places, and set him to hard work and hard knocks. But his sense of duty
and love of country enabled him to bear it, with grumbling.
"I don't care a rope's end," he was saying, with a truthfulness simple
and solid as beefsteak is, "whether we have peace or war; but let
us have one or the other of them. I love peace--it is a very fine
thing--and I hate to see poor fellows killed. All I want is to spend the
rest of my life ashore, and lay out the garden. You must come and see
what a bridge I have made to throw across the fish-pond. I can do well
enough with what I have got, as soon as my farm begins to pay, and I
hope I may never hear another shotted cannon; but, my dear Lingo, you
know as well as I do how much chance there is of that."
"Laudo manentem. Let us praise her while we have got her. Parson Twemlow
keeps up my Latin, but you have forgotten all yours, my friend. I
brought you down here to see the fish come in, and to choose what you
like best for dinner. In the days when you were my smallest youngster,
and as proud as Punch to dine with me, your taste was the finest in the
ship, because your stomach was the weakest. How often I thought that the
fish would eat you! and but for your wonderful spirit, my friend, that
must have happened long ago. But your nature was to fight, and you
fought through, as you always do. A drumstick for your praise of peace!"
Admiral Darling, a tall, stout man in the sixty-fifth year of his age,
looked down at his welcome and famous guest as if he knew a great deal
more of his nature than the owner did. And this made that owner, who
thought very highly of his own perception, look up and laugh.
"Here comes the fish!" he cried. "Come along, Darling. Never lose a
moment--that's my rule. You can't get along as fast as I can. I'll go
and settle all the business for you."
"Why should you be in such a hurry always? You will never come to my
age if you carry on so. You ought to tow a spar astern. Thank God, they
don't know who he is, and I'll take good care not to let them know. If
this is what comes of quick promotion, I am glad that I got on slowly.
Well, he may do as he likes for me. He always does--that's one thing."
Stoutly grumbling thus, the elder and far heavier Admiral descended the
hill to the white gate slowly, as behooved the owner. And, by the time
he halted there, the other had been upon the beach five minutes, and
taken command of the fishing fleet.
"Starboard there! Brail up your gaff! Is that the way to take the
ground? Ease helm, Rosalie. Smartly, smartly. Have a care, you lubber
there. Fenders out! So, so. Now stand by, all! There are two smart
lads among you, and no more. All the rest are no better than a pack
of Crappos. You want six months in a man-of-war's launch. This is what
comes of peace already!"
The fishermen stared at this extraordinary man, who had taken all the
business out of Master Tugwell's hands; but without thinking twice about
it, all obeyed him with a speed that must have robbed them of a quantity
of rust. For although he was not in uniform, and bore no sword, his
dress was conspicuous, as he liked to have it, and his looks and deeds
kept suit with it. For he wore a blue coat (very badly made, with gilt
buttons and lappets too big for him), a waistcoat of dove-colored silk,
very long, coming over the place where his stomach should have been, and
white plush breeches, made while he was blockading Boulogne in 1801, and
therefore had scarcely any flesh upon his bones. Peace having fattened
him a little, these breeches had tightened upon him (as their way is
with a boy having six weeks' holiday); but still they could not make his
legs look big, though they showed them sharp and muscular. Below them
were brisk little sinewy calves in white silk hose, with a taper descent
to ankles as fine as a lady's, and insteps bright with large silver
buckles. Yet that which surpassed all the beauty of the clothes was the
vigor of the man inside them, who seemed to quicken and invigorate the
whole, even to the right sleeve, doubled up from the want of any arm
inside it. But the loss of the right arm, and the right eye also, seemed
to be of no account to the former owner, so hard did he work with the
residue of his body, and so much did he express with it.