Springhaven - R. D. Blackmore
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Using this, which he had cleaned from the dust of ages, he could clearly
see the faces of the men on board. Of these there were six, of whom five
at least were Englishmen, or of English breed. As the pilot-boat drew
nearer, and the sunlight fell upon her, to his great surprise he became
convinced that the young man at the tiller was Dan Tugwell, the son
of the captain of Springhaven. Four of the others were unknown to him,
though he fancied that he had seen two of them before, but could not
remember when or where. But he watched with special interest the tall
man lounging against the little door of the cuddy in the bows, whose
profile only was presented to him. Then the boat canted round towards
the entrance of the creek, and having his glass upon the full face of
the man, he recognised him as Caryl Carne, whom he had met more than
once at Springhaven.
His darkest suspicions were at once redoubled, and a gush of latent
jealousy was added to them. In happier days, when he was near his
lady-love, some whispers had reached him about this fellow, whose
countenance had always been repulsive to him, arrogant, moody, and
mysterious. His good mother also, though most careful not to harass
him, had mentioned that Carne in her latest letter, and by no means in
a manner to remove his old misgivings. As a matter now of duty to his
country and himself, the young sailor resolved to discover, at any risk,
what traitorous scheme had brought this dark man over here.
To escape the long circuit by the upper bridge, he had obtained leave,
through M. Jalais, to use an old boat which was kept in a bend of the
river about a mile above the house. And now, after seeing that English
boat make for the creek where she had been berthed on Christmas Eve, he
begged Madame Fropot to tell his host not to be uneasy about him, and
taking no weapon but a ground-ash stick, set forth to play spy upon
traitors. As surely as one foot came after the other, he knew that every
step was towards his grave, if he made a mistake, or even met bad luck;
but he twirled his light stick in his broad brown hand, and gently
invaded the French trees around with an old English song of the days
when still an Englishman could compose a song. But this made him think
of that old-fashioned place Springhaven; and sadness fell upon him, that
the son of its captain should be a traitor.
Instead of pulling across the river, to avoid the splash of oars he
sculled with a single oar astern, not standing up and wallowing in the
boat, but sitting and cutting the figure of 8 with less noise than a
skater makes. The tide being just at slack-water, this gave him quite
as much way as he wanted, and he steered into a little bight of the
southern bank, and made fast to a stump, and looked about; for he durst
not approach the creek until the light should fade and the men have
stowed tackle and begun to feed. The vale of the stream afforded shelter
to a very decent company of trees, which could not have put up with the
tyranny of the west wind upon the bare brow of the coast. Most of these
trees stood back a little from the margin of high tide, reluctant to see
themselves in the water, for fear of the fate of Narcissus. But where
that clandestine boat had glided into gloom and greyness, a fosse of
Nature's digging, deeply lined with wood and thicket, offered snug
harbourage to craft and fraud.
Scudamore had taken care to learn the ups and downs of the riverside ere
this, and knew them now as well as a native, for he had paid many visits
to the wounded ox, whom he could not lead home quite as soon as he had
hoped, and he had found a firm place of the little river, easy to cross
when the tide was out. With the help of this knowledge he made his way
to the creek, without much risk of being observed, and then, as he came
to the crest of the thicket, he lay down and watched the interlopers.
There was the boat, now imbedded in the mud, for the little creek was
nearly dry by this time. Her crew had all landed, and kindled a fire,
over which hung a kettle full of something good, which they seemed to
regard with tender interest; while upon a grassy slope some few yards to
the right a trooper's horse was tethered. Carne was not with them, but
had crossed the creek, as the marks of his boots in the mud declared;
and creeping some little way along the thicket, Scudamore descried
him walking to and fro impatiently in a little hollow place, where the
sailors could not see him. This was on Scudamore's side of the creek,
and scarcely fifty yards below him. "He is waiting for an interview
with somebody," thought Scuddy: "if I could only get down to that little
shanty, perhaps I should hear some fine treason. The wind is the right
way to bring me every word he says."
Keeping in shelter when the traitor walked towards him, and stealing on
silently when his back was turned, the young sailor managed to ensconce
himself unseen in the rough little wattle shed made by his own hands for
the shelter of his patient, when a snow-storm had visited the valley of
the Canche last winter. Nothing could be better fitted for his present
purpose, inasmuch as his lurking-place could scarcely be descried from
below, being sheltered by two large trees and a screen of drooping
ivy, betwixt and below which it looked no more than a casual meeting
of bushes; while on the other hand the open space beneath it was curved
like a human ear, to catch the voice and forward it.
While Scudamore was waiting here and keenly watching everything, the
light began to falter, and the latest gleam of sunset trembled with the
breath of Spring among the buds and catkins. But the tall man continued
his long, firm stride, as if the watch in his pocket were the only thing
worth heeding. Until, as the shadows lost their lines and flowed into
the general depth, Carne sprang forward, and a horse and rider burst
into the silence of the grass and moss and trees.
Carne made a low obeisance, retired a little, and stood hat in hand,
until it should please the other man to speak. And Scudamore saw, with a
start of surprise, that the other man was Napoleon.
This great man appeared, to the mild English eyes that were watching
him so intently, of a very different mood and visage from those of their
last view of him. Then the face, which combined the beauty of Athens
with the strength of Rome, was calm, and gentle, and even sweet, with
the rare indulgence of a kindly turn. But now, though not disturbed with
wrath, nor troubled by disappointment, that face (which had helped to
make his fortune, more than any woman's had ever done for her) was cast,
even if the mould could be the same, in a very different metal. Stern
force and triumphant vigour shone in every lineament, and the hard
bright eyes were intent with purpose that would have no denial.
Refusing Carne's aid, he remained on his horse, and stroked his mane for
a moment, for he loved any creature that served him well, and was tender
of heart when he could afford it; which added to his power with mankind.
"Are all your men well out of earshot?" he asked; and receiving
assurance from Carne, went on. "Now you will be satisfied at length. You
have long been impatient. It is useless to deny it. All is arranged, and
all comes to a head within three months, and perhaps within two. Only
four men will know it besides yourself, and three of those four are
commanders of my fleet. A short time will be occupied in misleading
those British ships that beleaguer us; then we concentrate ours, and
command the Channel; if only for three days, that will be enough. I
depart for Italy in three days or in four, to increase the security of
the enemy. But I shall return, without a word to any one, and as fast
as horses can lay belly to the ground, when I hear that our ships have
broken out. I shall command the invasion, and it will be for England to
find a man to set against me."
"England will have difficulty, sire, in doing that," Carne answered,
with a grim smile, for he shared the contempt of English Generals then
prevalent. "If the Continent cannot do it, how can the poor England?
Once let your Majesty land, and all is over. But what are your Majesty's
orders for me? And where do you propose to make the landing?"
"Never ask more than one question at a time," Napoleon answered, with
his usual curtness; "my orders to you are to return at once. Prepare
your supplies for a moment's notice. Through private influence of
some fair lady, you have command of the despatches of that officer at
Springport, who has the control of the naval forces there. Ha! what
was that? I heard a sound up yonder. Hasten up, and see if there is any
listener. It seemed to be there, where the wood grows thick."
Blyth Scudamore, forgetful of himself, had moved, and a dry stick
cracked beneath his foot. Carne, at the Emperor's glance and signal,
sprang up the bank, with the help of some bushes, drew his sword and
passed it between the wattles, then parted them and rushed through, but
saw no sign of any one. For Scuddy had slipped away, as lightly as a
shadow, and keeping in a mossy trough, had gained another shelter. Here
he was obliged to slink in the smallest possible compass, kneeling
upon both knees, and shrugging in both shoulders. Peering very sharply
through an intertwist of suckers (for his shelter was a stool of hazel,
thrown up to repair the loss of stem), he perceived that the Emperor had
moved his horse a little when Carne rejoined and reassured him. And this
prevented Scudamore from being half so certain as he would have liked to
be, about further particulars of this fine arrangement.
"No," was the next thing he heard Napoleon say whose power of saying
"no" had made his "yes" invincible; "no, it is not to be done like that.
You will await your instructions, and not move until you receive them
from my own hand. Make no attempt to surprise anybody or anything, until
I have ten thousand men ashore. Ten thousand will in six hours attain to
fifty thousand, if the shore proves to be as you describe; so great is
the merit of flat-bottomed boats. Your duty will be to leave the right
surprise to us, and create a false one among the enemy. This you must do
in the distance of the West, as if my Brest fleet were ravaging there,
and perhaps destroying Plymouth. You are sure that you can command the
signals for this?"
"Sire, I know everything as if I sat among it. I can do as I please with
the fair secretary; and her father is an ancient fool."
"Then success is more easy than I wish to have it, because it will not
make good esteem. If Nelson comes at all, he will be too late, as he
generally is too early. London will be in our hands by the middle of
July at the latest, probably much earlier, and then Captain Carne shall
name his own reward. Meanwhile forget not any word of what I said. Make
the passage no more. You will not be wanted here. Your services are far
more important where you are. You may risk the brave Charron, but not
yourself. Send over by the 20th of May a letter to me, under care of
Decres, to be opened by no hand but mine, upon my return from Italy, and
let the messengers wait for my reply. Among them must be the young man
who knows the coast, and we will detain him for pilot. My reply will fix
the exact date of our landing, and then you will despatch, through the
means at your command, any English force that might oppose our landing,
to the West, where we shall create a false alarm. Is all this clear to
you? You are not stupid. The great point is to do all at the right time,
having consideration of the weather."
"All is clear, and shall be carried out clearly, to the best of your
Majesty's humble servant's power."
Napoleon offered his beautiful white hand, which Carne raised to his
lips, and then the Emperor was gone. Carne returned slowly to the
boat, with triumph written prematurely on his dark stern face; while
Scudamore's brisk and ruddy features were drawn out to a wholly unwonted
length, as he quietly made his way out of the covert.
CHAPTER LIV
IN A SAD PLIGHT
"How shall I get out of this parole? Or shall I break it, instead of
getting out? Which shall I think of first, my honour, or my country? The
safety of millions, or the pride of one? An old Roman would have settled
it very simply. But a Christian cannot do things so. Thank God there is
no hurry, for a few days yet! But I must send a letter to Desportes this
very night. Then I must consider about waiting for a week."
Scudamore, unable to think out his case as yet--especially after running
as if his wind could turn a vane--was sitting on the bank, to let the
river-bed get darker, before he put his legs into the mud to get across.
For the tide was out, and the old boat high and dry, and a very weak
water remained to be crossed (though, like nearly all things that are
weak, it was muddy), but the channel had a moist gleam in the dry spring
air, and anybody moving would be magnified afar. He felt that it would
never do for him, with such a secret, to be caught, and brought to book,
or even to awake suspicion of his having it. The ancient Roman of whom
he had thought would have broken parole for his country's sake, and then
fallen on his sword for his own sake; but although such behaviour should
be much admired, it is nicer to read of such things than to do them.
Captain Scuddy was of large and steady nature, and nothing came to him
with a jerk or jump--perhaps because he was such a jumper--and he wore
his hat well on the back of his head, because he had no fear of losing
it. But for all that he found himself in a sad quandary now.
To begin with, his parole was not an ordinary leave, afforded by his
captors to save themselves trouble; but a special grace, issuing from
friendship, and therefore requiring to be treated in a friendly vein.
The liberality of these terms had enabled him to dwell as a friend
among friends, and to overhear all that he had heard. In the balance
of perplexities, this weighed heavily against his first impulse to cast
away all except paramount duty to his country. In the next place, he
knew that private feeling urged him as hotly as public duty to cast away
all thought of honour, and make off. For what he had heard about the
"fair secretary" was rankling bitterly in his deep heart. He recalled
at this moment the admirable precept of an ancient sage, that in such
a conflict of duties the doubter should incline to the course least
agreeable to himself, inasmuch as the reasons against it are sure to be
urged the most feebly in self-council. Upon the whole, the question was
a nice one for a casuist; and if there had not been a day to spare, duty
to his country must have overridden private faith.
However, as there was time to spare, he resolved to reconcile private
honour with the sense of public duty; and returning to his room, wrote a
careful letter (of which he kept a copy) to his friend Desportes, now on
board, and commanding the flagship of one division of the flotilla. He
simply said, without giving his reason, that his parole must expire in
eight days after date, allowing one day for delivery of his letter.
Then he told M. Jalais what he had done, and much sorrow was felt in
the household. When the time had expired without any answer from Captain
Desportes, who meant to come and see him but was unable to do so,
Scudamore packed up a few things needful, expecting to be placed in
custody, and resolved to escape from it, at any risk of life. Then he
walked to Etaples, a few miles down the river, and surrendered himself
to the commandant there. This was a rough man--as Desportes had
said--and with more work to do than he could manage. With very little
ceremony he placed the English prisoner in charge of a veteran corporal,
with orders to take him to the lock-up in the barracks, and there await
further instructions. And then the commandant, in the hurry of his
duties, forgot all about him.
Captain Scuddy now found himself in quarters and under treatment very
trying to his philosophy. Not that the men who had him in charge were
purposely unkind to him, only they were careless about his comfort, and
having more important work to see to, fed him at their leisure, which
did not always coincide with his appetite. Much of his food was watery
and dirty, and seemed to be growing its own vegetables, and sometimes
to have overripened them. Therefore he began to lose substance, and his
cheeks became strangers to the buxom gloss which had been the delight of
Madame Fropot. But although they did not feed him well, they took good
care of him in other ways, affording no chance of exit.
But sour fruit often contains good pips. Scudamore's food was not worth
saying grace for, and yet a true blessing attended it: forasmuch as the
Frenchmen diminished the width of their prisoner, but not of the window.
Falling away very rapidly, for his mind was faring as badly as his body
(having nothing but regrets to feed upon, which are no better diet than
daisy soup), the gentle Scuddy, who must have become a good wrangler if
he had stopped at Cambridge, began to frame a table of cubic measure,
and consider the ratio of his body to that window, or rather the
aperture thereof. One night, when his supper had been quite forgotten
by everybody except himself, he lay awake thinking for hours and hours
about his fair Dolly and the wicked Carne, and all the lies he must have
told about her--for not a single syllable would Scudamore believe--and
the next day he found himself become so soft and limp, as well as
reduced to his lowest dimension, that he knew, by that just measure
which a man takes of himself when he has but a shred of it left, that
now he was small enough to go between the bars. And now it was high time
to feel that assurance, for the morning brought news that the order for
his removal to a great prison far inland was come, and would be carried
out the next day. "Now or never" was the only chance before him.
Having made up his mind, he felt refreshed, and took his food with
gratitude. Then, as soon as the night was dark and quiet, and the
mighty host for leagues and leagues launched into the realms of slumber,
springing with both feet well together, as he sprang from the tub at
Stonnington, Scuddy laid hold of the iron bars which spanned the window
vertically, opened the lattice softly, and peeped out in quest of
sentinels. There were none on duty very near him, though he heard one
pacing in the distance. Then flinging himself on his side, he managed,
with some pain to his well-rounded chest, to squeeze it through the
narrow slit, and hanging from the bar, dropped gently. The drop was
deep, and in spite of all precautions he rolled to the bottom of a
grassy ditch. There he lay quiet to rest his bruises, and watch whether
any alarm was raised. Luckily for him, the moon was down, and no one
had observed his venture. Crawling on all fours along a hollow place, he
passed the outposts, and was free.
Free in mind as well as body, acquitted from all claims of honour,
and able without a taint upon his name to bear most important news to
England, if he could only get away from France. This would be difficult,
as he was well aware; but his plan had been thoroughly considered in his
prison, and he set forth to make the best of it. Before his escape had
been discovered, he was under M. Jalais' roof once more, and found his
good friends resolved never to betray him. "But I must not expose you to
the risk," said he, "of heavy fine and imprisonment. I shall have to say
good-bye to all your goodness in an hour. And I shall not even allow
you to know what road I take, lest you should be blamed for sending my
pursuers on the wrong one. But search my room in three days' time, and
you will find a packet to pay for something which I must steal for the
present. I pray you, ask nothing, for your own sake."
They fed him well, and he took three loaves, and a little keg of cider,
as well as the bag he had packed before he surrendered himself at
Etaples. Madame Fropot wept and kissed him, because he reminded her of
her lost son; and M. Jalais embraced him, because he was not at all like
any son of his. With hearty good wishes, and sweet regret, and promises
never to forget them, the Englishman quitted this kind French house, and
became at once a lawful and a likely mark for bullets.
The year was now filled with the flurry of Spring, the quick nick of
time when a man is astonished at the power of Nature's memory. A
great many things had been left behind, mainly for their own good, no
doubt--some of the animal, some of the vegetable, some of the mineral
kingdom even--yet none of them started for anarchy. All were content to
be picked up and brought on according to the power of the world, making
allowance for the pinches of hard times, and the blows of east winds
that had blown themselves out. Even the prime grumbler of the earth--a
biped, who looks up to heaven for that purpose mainly--was as nearly
content with the present state of things as he can be with anything,
until it is the past. Scudamore only met one man, but that one declared
it was a lovely night; and perhaps he was easier to please because he
had only one leg left.
The stars had appeared, and the young leaves turned the freshness of
their freedom towards them, whether from the crisp impulse of night,
or the buoyant influence of kindness in the air. There was very little
wind, and it was laden with no sound, except the distant voice of
an indefatigable dog; but Scudamore perceived that when the tide set
downwards, a gentle breeze would follow down the funnel of the river.
Then he drew the ancient boat which he had used before to the mossy
bank, and having placed his goods on board, fetched a pair of oars and
the short mast and brown sail from the shed where they were kept, and
at the top of a full tide launched forth alone upon his desperate
enterprise.
There was faint light in the channel, but the banks looked very dark;
and just as he cast loose he heard the big clock at Montreuil, a great
way up the valley, slowly striking midnight. And he took it for good
omen, as he swiftly passed the orchard, that his old friend the ox
trotted down to the corner, and showed his white forehead under a
sprawling apple-tree, and gave him a salute, though he scarcely could
have known him. By this time the breeze was freshening nicely, and
Scudamore, ceasing to row, stepped the mast, and hoisting the brown
sail, glided along at a merry pace and with a hopeful heart. Passing the
mouth of the creek, he saw no sign of the traitorous pilot-boat, neither
did he meet any other craft in channel, although he saw many moored at
either bank. But nobody challenged him, as he kept in mid-stream, and
braced up his courage for the two great perils still before him ere he
gained the open sea. The first of these would be the outposts on either
side at Etaples, not far from the barracks where he had been jailed, and
here no doubt the sentinels would call him to account. But a far greater
danger would be near the river's mouth, where a bridge of boats, with a
broad gangway for troops, spanned the tidal opening.
There was no bridge across the river yet near the town itself, but,
upon challenge from a sentry, Scudamore stood up and waved his hat, and
shouted in fine nasal and provincial French, "The fisherman, Auguste
Baudry, of Montreuil!" and the man withdrew his musket, and wished him
good success. Then he passed a sandy island with some men asleep upon
it, and began to fear the daybreak as he neared the bridge of boats.
This crossed the estuary at a narrow part, and having to bear much
heavy traffic, was as solid as a floating bridge can be. A double row of
barges was lashed and chained together, between piles driven deep into
the river's bed; along them a road of heavy planks was laid, rising
and falling as they rose and fell with tide, and a drawbridge near the
middle of about eight yards' span must suffice for the traffic of the
little river. This fabric was protected from the heavy western surges
by the shoals of the bar, and from any English dash by a strong shore
battery at either end. At first sight it looked like a black wall across
the river.
The darkness of night is supposed to be deepest just before dawn--but
that depends upon the weather--and the sleep of weary men is often in
its prime at that time. Scudamore (although his life, and all that life
hangs on from heaven, were quivering at the puff of every breeze) was
enabled to derive some satisfaction from a yawn, such as goes the round
of a good company sometimes, like the smell of the supper of sleep
that is to come. Then he saw the dark line of the military bridge, and
lowered his sail, and unstepped his little mast. The strength of the
tide was almost spent, so that he could deal with this barrier at his
leisure, instead of being hurled against it.
Unshipping the rudder and laying one oar astern, Scudamore fetched along
the inner row of piles, for he durst not pass under the drawbridge,
steering his boat to an inch while he sat with his face to the oar,
working noiselessly. Then he spied a narrow opening between two barges,
and drove his boat under the chain that joined them, and after some
fending and groping with his hands in the darkness under the planks
of the bridge, contrived to get out, when he almost despaired of it,
through the lower tier of the supporters. He was quit of that formidable
barrier now, but a faint flush of dawn and of reflection from the sea
compelled him to be very crafty. Instead of pushing straightway for the
bar and hoisting sail--which might have brought a charge of grape-shot
after him--he kept in the gloom of the piles nearly into the left bank,
and then hugged the shadow it afforded. Nothing but the desolate sands
surveyed him, and the piles of wrack cast up by gales from the west.
Then with a stout heart he stepped his little mast, and the breeze,
which freshened towards the rising of the sun, carried him briskly
through the tumble of the bar.