Springhaven - R. D. Blackmore
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The girls laughed at this, as they were meant to do. And they
hurried off together, to compare opinions. After all these years of
independence, no one should be set up over them. Upon that point Faith
was quite as resolute as Dolly; and her ladyship would have refused to
come back, if she had overheard their council. For even in the loftiest
feminine nature lurks a small tincture of jealousy.
But Dolly was now in an evil frame of mind about many things which she
could not explain even to herself, with any satisfaction. Even that
harmless and pleasant letter from her great godfather went amiss with
her; and instead of laughing at the words about herself, as with a sound
conscience she must have done, she brooded over them, and turned them
bitter. No man could have mixed up things as she did, but her mind was
nimble. For the moment, she hated patriotism, because Nelson represented
it; and feeling how wrong he had been about herself, she felt that he
was wrong in everything. The French were fine fellows, and had quite as
much right to come here as we had to go and harass them, and a little
abatement of English conceit might be a good thing in the long-run. Not
that she would let them stay here long; that was not to be thought of,
and they would not wish it. But a little excitement would be delightful,
and a great many things might be changed for the better, such as the
treatment of women in this country, which was barbarous, compared to
what it was in France. Caryl had told her a great deal about that; and
the longer she knew him the more she was convinced of his wisdom and
the largeness of his views, so different from the savage spirit of Lord
Nelson.
CHAPTER LI
STRANGE CRAFT
While his love was lapsing from him thus, and from her own true self yet
more, the gallant young sailor, whose last prize had been that useful
one misfortune, was dwelling continually upon her image, because he
had very little else to do. English prisoners in France were treated
sometimes very badly, which they took good care to proclaim to Europe;
but more often with pity, and good-will, and a pleasant study of their
modes of thought. For an Englishman then was a strange and ever fresh
curiosity to a Frenchman, a specimen of another race of bipeds, with
doubts whether marriage could make parentage between them. And a century
of intercourse, good-will, and admiration has left us still inquisitive
about each other.
Napoleon felt such confidence in his plans for the conquest of England
that if any British officer belonging to the fleet in the narrow seas
was taken (which did not happen largely), he sent for him, upon his
arrival at Boulogne, and held a little talk with any one who could
understand and answer. He was especially pleased at hearing of the
capture of Blyth Scudamore (who had robbed him of his beloved Blonde),
and at once restored Desportes to favour, which he had begun to do
before, knowing as well as any man on earth the value of good officers.
"Bring your prisoner here to-morrow at twelve o'clock," was his order;
"you have turned the tables upon him well."
Scudamore felt a little nervous tingling as he passed through the
sentries, with his friend before him, into the pavilion of the greatest
man in Europe. But the Emperor, being in high good-humour, and pleased
with the young man's modest face and gentle demeanour, soon set him at
his ease, and spoke to him as affably as if he had been his equal. For
this man of almost universal mind could win every heart, when he set
himself to do it. Scudamore rubbed his eyes, which was a trick of his,
as if he could scarcely believe them. Napoleon looked--not insignificant
(that was impossible for a man with such a countenance), but mild, and
pleasing, and benevolent, as he walked to and fro, for he never could
stay still, in the place which was neither a tent nor a room, but a
mixture of the two, and not a happy one. His hat, looped up with a
diamond and quivering with an ostrich feather, was flung anyhow upon the
table. But his wonderful eyes were the brightest thing there.
"Ha! ha!" said the Emperor, a very keen judge of faces; "you expected
to find me a monster, as I am portrayed by your caricaturists. Your
countrymen are not kind to me, except the foremost of them--the great
poets. But they will understand me better by-and-by, when justice
prevails, and the blessings of peace, for which I am striving
perpetually. But the English nation, if it were allowed a voice, would
proclaim me its only true friend and ally. You know that, if you are one
of the people, and not of the hateful House of Lords, which engrosses
all the army and the navy. Are you in connection with the House of
Lords?"
Scudamore shook his head and smiled. He was anxious to say that he had
a cousin, not more than twice removed, now an entire viscount; but
Napoleon never encouraged conversation, unless it was his own, or in
answer to his questions.
"Very well. Then you can speak the truth. What do they think of all this
grand army? Are they aware that, for their own good, it will very soon
occupy London? Are they forming themselves to act as my allies, when I
have reduced them to reason? Is it now made entirely familiar to their
minds that resistance to me is as hopeless as it has been from the first
unwise? If they would submit, without my crossing, it would save them
some disturbance, and me a great expense. I have often hoped to hear of
it."
"You will never do that, sire," Scudamore answered, looking calmly and
firmly at the deep gray eyes, whose gaze could be met by none of the
millions who dread passion; "England will not submit, even if you
conquer her."
"It is well said, and doubtless you believe it," Napoleon continued,
with a smile so slight that to smile in reply to it would have been
impertinent; "but England is the same as other nations, although the
most obstinate among them. When her capital is occupied, her credit
ruined, her great lords unable to obtain a dinner, the government (which
is not the country) will yield, and the country must follow it. I have
heard that the King, and the Court, and the Parliament, talk of
flying to the north, and there remaining, while the navy cuts off our
communications, and the inferior classes starve us. Have you heard of
any such romance as that?"
"No, sire:" Scudamore scarcely knew what to call him, but adopted this
vocative for want of any better. "I have never heard of any such
plan, and no one would think of packing up, until our fleet has been
demolished."
"Your fleet? Yes, yes. How many ships are now parading to and fro, and
getting very tired of it?"
"Your Majesty's officers know that best," Scudamore answered, with his
pleasant open smile. "I have been a prisoner for a month and more, and
kept ten miles inland, out of sight of the sea."
"But you have been well treated, I hope. You have no complaint to make,
Monsieur Scutamour? Your name is French, and you speak the language
well. We set the fair example in the treatment of brave men."
"Sire, I have been treated," the young officer replied, with a low bow,
and eyes full of gratitude, "as a gentleman amongst gentlemen. I might
say as a friend among kind friends."
"That is as it should be. It is my wish always. Few of your English
fabrications annoy me more than the falsehoods about that. It is most
ungenerous, when I do my best, to charge me with strangling brave
English captains. But Desportes fought well, before you took his vessel.
Is it not so? Speak exactly as you think. I like to hear the enemy's
account of every action."
"Captain Desportes, sire, fought like a hero, and so did all his crew.
It was only his mishap in sticking fast upon a sand-bank that enabled us
to overpower him."
"And now he has done the like to you. You speak with a brave man's
candour. You shall be at liberty to see the sea, monsieur; for a sailor
always pines for that. I will give full instructions to your friend
Desportes about you. But one more question before you go--is there much
anxiety in England?"
"Yes, sire, a great deal. But we hope not to allow your Majesty's
armament to enter and increase it."
"Ah, we shall see, we shall see how that will be. Now farewell, Captain.
Tell Desportes to come to me."
"Well, my dear friend, you have made a good impression," said the French
sailor, when he rejoined Scudamore, after a few words with the Master of
the State; "all you have to do is to give your word of honour to avoid
our lines, and keep away from the beach, and of course to have no
communication with your friends upon military subjects. I am allowed
to place you for the present at Beutin, a pleasant little hamlet on
the Canche, where lives an old relative of mine, a Monsieur Jalais, an
ancient widower, with a large house and one servant. I shall be afloat,
and shall see but little of you, which is the only sad part of the
business. You will have to report yourself to your landlord at eight
every morning and at eight o'clock at night, and only to leave the house
between those hours, and not to wander more than six miles from home.
How do these conditions approve themselves to you?"
"I call them very liberal, and very handsome," Scudamore answered, as
he well might do. "Two miles' range is all that we allow in England to
French officers upon parole. These generous terms are due to your kind
friendship."
Before very long the gentle Scuddy was as happy as a prisoner can expect
to be, in his comfortable quarters at Beutin. Through friendly exchanges
he had received a loving letter from his mother, with an amiable
enclosure, and M. Jalais being far from wealthy, a pleasant arrangement
was made between them. Scudamore took all his meals with his host, who
could manage sound victuals like an Englishman, and the house-keeper,
house-cleaner, and house-feeder (misdescribed by Desportes as a servant,
according to our distinctions), being a widow of mark, sat down to
consider her cookery upon choice occasions. Then for a long time would
prevail a conscientious gravity, and reserve of judgment inwardly,
everybody waiting for some other body's sentiments; until the author of
the work, as a female, might no more abide the malignant silence of male
reviewers.
Scudamore, being very easily amused, as any good-natured young man is,
entered with zest into all these doings, and became an authority upon
appeal; and being gifted with depth of simplicity as well as high
courtesy of taste, was never known to pronounce a wrong decision. That
is to say, he decided always in favour of the lady, which has been the
majestic course of Justice for centuries, till the appearance of Mrs.
-----, the lady who should have married the great Home-Ruler.
Thus the wily Scudamore obtained a sitting-room, with the prettiest
outlook in the house, or indeed in any house in that part of the world
for many leagues of seeking. For the mansion of M. Jalais stood in an
elbow of the little river, and one window of this room showed the curve
of tidal water widening towards the sea, while the other pleasantly gave
eye to the upper reaches of the stream, where an angler of rose-coloured
mind might almost hope to hook a trout. The sun glanced down the stream
in the morning, and up it to see what he had done before he set; and
although M. Jalais' trees were leafless now, they had sleeved their bent
arms with green velvetry of moss.
Scudamore brought his comfortable chair to the nook between these
windows, and there, with a book or two belonging to his host, and the
pipe whose silver clouds enthrone the gods of contemplation, many a
pleasant hour was passed, seldom invaded by the sounds of war. For the
course of the roads, and sands of the river, kept this happy spot aloof
from bad communications. Like many other streams in northern France,
the Canche had been deepened and its mouth improved, not for uses of
commerce, but of warfare. Veteran soldier and raw recruit, bugler,
baker, and farrier, man who came to fight and man who came to write
about it, all had been turned into navvies, diggers, drivers of piles,
or of horses, or wheelbarrows, by the man who turned everybody into
his own teetotum. The Providence that guides the world showed mercy in
sending that engine of destruction before there was a Railway for him to
run upon.
Now Scudamore being of a different sort, and therefore having pleased
Napoleon (who detested any one at all of his own pattern), might have
been very well contented here, and certainly must have been so, if he
had been without those two windows. Many a bird has lost his nest, and
his eggs, and his mate, and even his own tail, by cocking his eyes to
the right and left, when he should have drawn their shutters up. And
why? Because the brilliance of his too projecting eyes has twinkled
through the leaves upon the narrow oblong of the pupils of a spotty-eyed
cat going stealthily under the comb of the hedge, with her stomach wired
in, and her spinal column fluted, to look like a wrinkled blackthorn
snag. But still worse is it for that poor thrush, or lintie, or robin,
or warbler-wren, if he flutters in his bosom when he spies that cat, and
sets up his feathers, and begins to hop about, making a sad little chirp
to his mate, and appealing to the sky to protect him and his family.
Blyth Scudamore's case was a mixture of those two. It would have been
better for his comfort if he had shut his eyes; but having opened them,
he should have stayed where he was, without any fluttering. However, he
acted for the best; and when a man does that, can those who never do so
find a word to say against him?
According to the best of his recollection, which was generally near the
mark, it was upon Christmas Eve, A.D. 1804, that his curiosity was first
aroused. He had made up his room to look a little bit like home, with
a few sprigs of holly, and a sheaf of laurel, not placed daintily as a
lady dresses them, but as sprightly as a man can make them look, and as
bright as a captive Christmas could expect. The decorator shed a little
sigh--if that expression may be pardoned by analogy, for he certainly
neither fetched nor heaved it--and then he lit his pipe to reflect upon
home blessings, and consider the free world outside, in which he had
very little share at present.
Mild blue eyes, such as this young man possessed, are often
short-sighted at a moderate range, and would be fitted up with glasses
in these artificial times, and yet at long distance they are most
efficient, and can make out objects that would puzzle keener organs. And
so it was that Scudamore, with the sinking sun to help him, descried at
a long distance down the tidal reach a peaceful-looking boat, which made
his heart beat faster. For a sailor's glance assured him that she was
English--English in her rig and the stiff cut of her canvas, and in all
those points of character to a seaman so distinctive, which apprise him
of his kindred through the length of air and water, as clearly as we
landsmen know a man from a woman at the measure of a furlong, or a
quarter of a mile. He perceived that it was an English pilot-boat, and
that she was standing towards him. At first his heart fluttered with
a warm idea, that there must be good news for him on board that boat.
Perhaps, without his knowledge, an exchange of prisoners might have been
agreed upon; and what a grand Christmas-box for him, if the order for
his release was there! But another thought showed him the absurdity
of this hope, for orders of release do not come so. Nevertheless, he
watched that boat with interest and wonder.
Presently, just as the sun was setting, and shadows crossed the water,
the sail (which had been gleaming like a candle-flame against the haze
and upon the glaze) flickered and fell, and the bows swung round, and
her figure was drawn upon the tideway. She was now within half a mile
of M. Jalais' house, and Scudamore, though longing for a spy-glass, was
able to make out a good deal without one. He saw that she was an
English pilot-boat, undecked, but fitted with a cuddy forward, rigged
luggerwise, and built for speed, yet fit to encounter almost any Channel
surges. She was light in the water, and bore little except ballast. He
could not be sure at that distance, but he thought that the sailors must
be Englishmen, especially the man at the helm, who was beyond reasonable
doubt the captain.
Then two long sweeps were manned amidship, with two sturdy fellows to
tug at each; and the quiet evening air led through the soft rehearsal of
the water to its banks the creak of tough ash thole-pins, and the groan
of gunwale, and the splash of oars, and even a sound of human staple,
such as is accepted by the civilized world as our national diapason.
The captive Scuddy, who observed all this, was thoroughly puzzled at
that last turn. Though the craft was visibly English, the crew might
still have been doubtful, if they had held their tongues, or kept them
in submission. But that word stamped them, or at any rate the one who
had been struck in the breast by the heavy timber, as of genuine British
birth. Yet there was no sign that these men were prisoners, or acting by
compulsion. No French boat was near them, no batteries there commanded
their course, and the pilot-boat carried no prize-crew to direct
reluctant labours. At the mouth of the river was a floating bridge, for
the use of the forces on either side, and no boat could have passed it
without permission. Therefore these could be no venturesome Britons,
spying out the quarters of the enemy; either they must have been allowed
to pass for some special purpose, under flag of truce, or else they
were traitors, in league with the French, and despatched upon some dark
errand.
In a few minutes, as the evening dusk began to deepen round her, the
mysterious little craft disappeared in a hollow of the uplands on the
other side of the water, where a narrow creek or inlet--such as
is called a "pill" in some parts of England--formed a sheltered
landing-place, overhung with clustering trees. Then Scudamore rose, and
filled another pipe, to meditate upon this strange affair. "I am
justly forbidden," he thought, as it grew dark, "to visit the camp, or
endeavour to learn anything done by the army of invasion. And I have
pledged myself to that effect. But this is a different case altogether.
When Englishmen come here as traitors to their country, and in a place
well within my range, my duty is to learn the meaning of it; and if
I find treachery of importance working, then I must consider about my
parole, and probably withdraw it. That would be a terrible blow to me,
because I should certainly be sent far inland, and kept in a French
prison perhaps for years, with little chance of hearing from my friends
again. And then she would give me up as lost, that faithful darling,
who has put aside all her bright prospects for my sake. How I wish I had
never seen that boat! and I thought it was coming to bring me such good
news! I am bound to give them one day's grace, for they might not
know where to find me at once, and to-night I could not get near them,
without overstaying my time to be in-doors. But if I hear nothing
to-morrow, and see nothing, I must go round, so as not to be seen, and
learn something about her the very next morning."
Hearing nothing and seeing no more, he spent an uncomfortable Christmas
Day, disappointing his host and kind Madame Fropot, who had done all
they knew to enliven him with a genuine English plum-pudding. And the
next day, with a light foot but rather heavy heart, he made the long
round by the bridge up-stream, and examined the creek which the English
boat had entered. He approached the place very cautiously, knowing that
if his suspicions were correct, they might be confirmed too decisively,
and his countrymen, if they had fire-arms, would give him a warm
reception. However, there was no living creature to be seen, except
a poor terrified ox, who had escaped from the slaughter-houses of the
distant camp, and hoped for a little rest in this dark thicket. He was
worn out with his long flight and sadly wounded, for many men had shot
at him, when he desired to save his life; and although his mouth was
little more than the length of his tail from water, there he lay gasping
with his lips stretched out, and his dry tongue quivering between his
yellow teeth, and the only moisture he could get was running out instead
of into his mouth.
Scudamore, seeing that the coast was clear, and no enemy in chase of
this poor creature, immediately filled his hat with fresh water--for the
tide was out now, and the residue was sweet--and speaking very gently in
the English language, for he saw that he must have been hard-shouted
at in French, was allowed without any more disturbance of the system to
supply a little glad refreshment. The sorely afflicted animal licked his
lips, and looked up for another hatful.
Captain Scuddy deserved a new hat for this--though very few Englishmen
would not have done the like--and in the end he got it, though he must
have caught a bad cold if he had gone without a hat till then.
Pursuing his search, with grateful eyes pursuing him, he soon discovered
where the boat had grounded, by the impress of her keel and forefoot on
the stiff retentive mud. He could even see where a hawser had been made
fast to a staunch old trunk, and where the soil had been prodded with
a pole in pushing her off at the turn of tide. Also deep tracks of some
very large hound, or wolf, or unknown quadruped, in various places,
scarred the bank. And these marks were so fresh and bright that they
must have been made within the last few hours, probably when the last
ebb began. If so, the mysterious craft had spent the whole of Christmas
Day in that snug berth; and he blamed himself for permitting his host's
festivities to detain him. Then he took a few bearings to mark the
spot, and fed the poor crippled ox with all the herbage he could gather,
resolving to come with a rope to-morrow, and lead him home, if possible,
as a Christmas present to M. Jalais.
CHAPTER LII
KIND ENQUIRIES
That notable year, and signal mark in all the great annals of England,
the year 1805, began with gloom and great depression. Food was scarce,
and so was money; wars, and rumours of worse than war; discontent of men
who owed it to their birth and country to stand fast, and trust in
God, and vigorously defy the devil; sinkings even of strong hearts, and
quailing of spirits that had never quailed before; passionate outcry for
peace without honour, and even without safety; savage murmurings at wise
measures and at the burdens that must be borne--none but those who lived
through all these troubles could count half of them. If such came now,
would the body of the nation strive to stand against them, or fall in
the dust, and be kicked and trampled, sputtering namby-pamby? Britannia
now is always wrong, in the opinion of her wisest sons, if she dares to
defend herself even against weak enemies; what then would her crime
be if she buckled her corselet against the world! To prostitute their
mother is the philanthropy of Communists.
But while the anxious people who had no belief in foreigners were
watching by the dark waves, or at the twilight window trembling (if ever
a shooting-star drew train, like a distant rocket-signal), or in their
sleepy beds scared, and jumping up if a bladder burst upon a jam-pot,
no one attempted to ridicule them, and no public journal pronounced that
the true British flag was the white feather. It has been left for times
when the power of England is tenfold what it was then, and her duties
a hundredfold, to tell us that sooner than use the one for the proper
discharge of the other, we must break it up and let them go to pot upon
it, for fear of hurting somebody that stuck us in the back.
But who of a right mind knows not this, and who with a wrong one
will heed it? The only point is that the commonest truisms come upon
utterance sometimes, and take didactic form too late; even as we shout
to our comrade prone, and beginning to rub his poor nose, "Look out!"
And this is what everybody did with one accord, when he was down upon
his luck--which is far more momentous than his nose to any man--in the
case of Rector Twemlow.
That gentleman now had good reason for being in less than his usual
cheer and comfort. Everything around him was uneasy, and everybody
seemed to look at him, instead of looking up to him, as the manner used
to be. This was enough to make him feel unlike himself; for although he
was resolute in his way, and could manage to have it with most people,
he was not of that iron style which takes the world as wax to write
upon. Mr. Twemlow liked to heave his text at the people of his parish on
Sunday, and to have his joke with them on Monday; as the fire that has
burned a man makes the kettle sing to comfort him. And all who met him
throughout the week were pleased with him doubly, when they remembered
his faithfulness in the pulpit.