Springhaven - R. D. Blackmore
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But now, in the tenderness of his heart, he had forgotten all about
himself, and even for the moment about his country. Nelson had taken the
last fond look at the dear old friend of many changeful years, so true
and so pleasant throughout every change. Though one eye had failed for
the work of the brain, it still was in sympathy with his heart; and a
tear shone upon either wrinkled cheek, as the uses of sadness outlast
the brighter view. He held Faith by the hand, or she held by his, as
they came forth, without knowing it, through nature's demand for an open
space, when the air is choked with sorrow.
"My dear, you must check it; you must leave off," said Nelson, although
he was going on himself. "It is useless for me to say a word to you,
because I am almost as bad myself. But still I am older, and I feel that
I ought to be able to comfort you, if I only knew the way."
"You do comfort me, more than I can tell, although you don't say
anything. For any one to sit here, and be sorry with me, makes it come
a little lighter. And when it is a man like you, Lord Nelson, I feel a
sort of love that makes me feel less bitter. Mr. Twemlow drove me wild
with a quantity of texts, and a great amount of talk about a better
land. How would he like to go to it himself, I wonder? There is a great
hole in my heart, and nothing that anybody says can fill it."
"And nothing that any one can do, my dear," her father's friend
answered, softly, "unless it is your own good self, with the kindness
of the Lord to help you. One of the best things to begin with is to help
somebody else, if you can, and lead yourself away into another person's
troubles. Is there any one here very miserable?"
"None that I can think of half so miserable as I am. There is great
excitement, but no misery. Miss Twemlow has recovered her Lord
Mayor--the gentleman that wore that extraordinary coat--oh, I forgot,
you were not here then. And although he has had a very sad time of it,
every one says that the total want of diet will be much better for him
than any mere change. I am ashamed to be talking of such trifles now;
but I respect that man, he was so straightforward. If my brother Frank
had been at all like him, we should never have been as we are this day."
"My dear, you must not blame poor Frank. He would not come down to the
dinner because he hated warlike speeches. But he has seen the error of
his ways. No more treasonable stuff for him. He thought it was large,
and poetic, and all that, like giving one's shirt to an impostor. All
of us make mistakes sometimes. I have made a great many myself, and
have always been the foremost to perceive them. But your own brave
lover--have you forgotten him? He fought like a hero, I am told;
and nothing could save his life except that he wore a new-fashioned
periwig."
"I would rather not talk of him now, Lord Nelson, although he had no
periwig. I am deeply thankful that he escaped; and no doubt did his
best, as he was bound to do. I try to be fair to everybody, but I cannot
help blaming every one, when I come to remember how blind we have been.
Captain Stubbard must have been so blind, and Mrs. Stubbard a great deal
worse, and worst of all his own aunt, Mrs. Twemlow. Oh, Lord Nelson, if
you had only stopped here, instead of hurrying away for more glory! You
saw the whole of it; you predicted everything; you even warned us
again in your last letter! And yet you must go away, and leave us to
ourselves; and this is how the whole of it has ended."
"My dear child, I will not deny that the eye of Nelson has a special
gift for piercing the wiles of the scoundrelly foe. But I was under
orders, and must go. The nation believed that it could not do without
me, although there are other men every bit as good, and in their own
opinion superior. But the enemy has never been of that opinion; and a
great deal depends upon what they think. And the rule has been always
to send me where there are many kicks but few coppers. I have never been
known to repine. We all err; but if we do our duty as your dear father
did his, the Lord will forgive us, when our enemies escape. When my time
comes, as it must do soon, there will be plenty to carp at me; but I
shall not care, if I have done my best. Your father did his best, and is
happy."
Faith Darling took his hand again, and her tears were for him quite
as much as for herself. "Give me one of the buttons of your coat," she
said; "here is one that cannot last till you get home."
It was hanging by a thread, and yet the hero was very loth to part
with it, though if it had parted with him, the chances were ten to
one against his missing it. However, he conquered himself, but not so
entirely as to let her cut it off. If it must go, it should be by his
own hand. He pulled out a knife and cut it off, and she kissed it when
he gave it to her.
"I should like to do more than that," he said, though he would sooner
have parted with many guineas. "Is there nobody here that I can help,
from my long good-will to Springhaven?"
"Oh, yes! How stupid I am!" cried Faith. "I forget everybody in my own
trouble. There is a poor young man with a broken heart, who came to me
this morning. He has done no harm that I know of, but he fell into the
power of that wicked--but I will use no harsh words, because he is gone
most dreadfully to his last account. This poor youth said that he only
cared to die, after all the things that had happened here, for he has
always been fond of my father. At first I refused to see him, but they
told me such things that I could not help it. He is the son of our chief
man here, and you said what a fine British seaman he would make."
"I remember two or three of that description, especially young Dan
Tugwell." Nelson had an amazing memory of all who had served under
him, or even had wished to do so. "I see by your eyes that it is young
Tugwell. If it will be any pleasure to you, I will see him, and do what
I can for him. What has he done, my dear, and what can I do for him?"
"He has fallen into black disgrace, and his only desire is to redeem
it by dying for his country. His own father has refused to see him,
although he was mainly the cause of it; and his mother, who was Erle
Twemlow's nurse, is almost out of her mind with grief. A braver young
man never lived, and he was once the pride of Springhaven. He saved poor
Dolly from drowning, when she was very young, and the boat upset. His
father chastised him cruelly for falling under bad influence. Then he
ran away from the village, and seems to have been in French employment.
But he was kept in the dark, and had no idea that he was acting against
his own country."
"He has been a traitor," said Lord Nelson, sternly. "I cannot help such
a man, even for your sake."
"He has not been a traitor, but betrayed," cried Faith; "he believed
that his only employment was to convey private letters for the poor
French prisoners, of whom we have so many hundreds. I will not contend
that he was right in that; but still it was no very great offence.
Even you must have often longed to send letters to those you loved in
England; and you know how hard it is in war time. But what they really
wanted him for was to serve as their pilot upon this coast. And the
moment he discovered that, though they offered him bags of gold to do
it, he faced his death like an Englishman. They attempted to keep him
in a stupid state with drugs, so that he might work like a mere machine.
But he found out that, and would eat nothing but hard biscuit. They had
him in one of their shallow boats, or prames, as they call them, which
was to lead them in upon signal from the arch-traitor. This was on
Saturday, Saturday night--that dreadful time when we were all so gay.
They held a pair of pistols at poor Dan's head, or at least a man was
holding one to each of his ears, and they corded his arms, because he
ventured to remonstrate. That was before they had even started, so you
may suppose what they would have done to us. Poor Daniel made up his
mind to die, and it would have eased his mind, he says now, if he had
done so. But while they were waiting for the signal, which through dear
father's vigilance they never did receive, Dan managed to free both
his hands in the dark, and as soon as he saw the men getting sleepy,
he knocked them both down, and jumped overboard; for he can swim like a
fish, or even better. He had very little hopes of escaping, as he says,
and the French fired fifty shots after him. With great presence of mind,
he gave a dreadful scream, as if he was shot through the head at least,
then he flung up his legs, as if he was gone down; but he swam under
water for perhaps a hundred yards, and luckily the moon went behind
a black cloud. Then he came to a boat, which had broken adrift, and
although he did not dare to climb into her, he held on by her, on the
further side from them. She was drifting away with the tide, and at last
he ventured to get on board of her, and found a pair of oars, and was
picked up at daylight by a smuggling boat running for Newhaven. He was
landed last night, and he heard the dreadful news, and having plenty
of money, he hired a post-chaise, and never stopped until he reached
Springhaven. He looks worn out now; but if his mind was easier, he would
soon be as strong as ever."
"It is a strange story, my dear," said Nelson; "but I see that it has
done you good to tell it, and I have known many still stranger. But how
could he have money, after such a hard escape?"
"That shows as much as anything how brave he is. He had made up his mind
that if he succeeded in knocking down both those sentinels, he would
have the bag of gold which was put for his reward in case of his
steering them successfully. And before he jumped overboard he snatched
it up, and it helped him to dive and to swim under water. He put it
in his flannel shirt by way of ballast, and he sticks to it up to the
present moment."
"My dear," replied Lord Nelson, much impressed, "such a man deserves to
be in my own crew. If he can show me that bag, and stand questions, I
will send him to Portsmouth at my own expense, with a letter to my dear
friend Captain Hardy."
CHAPTER LXV
TRAFALGAR
Lord Nelson sailed from Portsmouth on the 15th of September, in his
favourite ship the Victory, to take his last command. He knew that he
never should come home, except as a corpse for burial, but he fastened
his mind on the work before him, and neglected nothing. "A fair fight,
and no favour," was the only thing he longed for.
And this he did obtain at last. The French commander-in-chief came
forth, with all his mighty armament, not of his own desire, but goaded
by imperious sneers, and stings that made his manhood tingle. He spread
the sea-power of two nations in a stately crescent, double-lined (as the
moon is doubled when beheld through fine plate-glass)--a noble sight, a
paramount temptation for the British tow-rope.
"What a lot for we to take to Spithead!" was the British tar's remark,
as forty ships of the line and frigates showed their glossy sides, and
canvas bosomed with the gentle air and veined with gliding sunlight. A
grander spectacle never was of laborious man's creation; and the work
of the Lord combined to show it to the best advantage--dark headlands
in the distance standing as a massive background, long pellucid billows
lifting bulk Titanic, and lace-like maze, sweet air wandering from
heaven, early sun come fresh from dew, all the good-will of the world
inspiring men to merriness.
Nelson was not fierce of nature, but as gentle as a lamb. His great
desire, as he always proved, was never to destroy his enemies by the
number of one man spareable. He had always been led by the force of
education, confirmed by that of experience, to know that the duty of an
Englishman is to lessen the stock of Frenchmen; yet he never was free
from regret when compelled to act up to his conscience, upon a large
scale.
It is an old saying that nature has provided for every disease its
remedy, and challenges men to find it out, which they are clever enough
not to do. For that deadly disease Napoleon, the remedy was Nelson; and
as soon as he should be consumed, another would appear in Wellington.
Such is the fortune of Britannia, because she never boasts, but grumbles
always. The boaster soon exhausts his subject; the grumbler has matter
that lasts for ever.
Nelson had much of this national virtue. "Half of them will get away,"
he said to Captain Blackwood, of the Euryalus, who was come for his
latest orders, "because of that rascally port to leeward. If the wind
had held as it was last night, we should have had every one of them. It
does seem hard, after waiting so long. And the sky looks like a gale of
wind. It will blow to-night, though I shall not hear it. A gale of wind
with disabled ships means terrible destruction. Do all you can to save
those poor fellows. When they are beaten, we must consider their lives
even more than our own, you know, because we have been the cause of it.
You know my wishes as well as I do. Remember this one especially."
"Good-bye, my lord, till the fight is over." Captain Blackwood loved his
chief with even more than the warm affection felt by all the fleet for
him. "When we have got them, I shall come back, and find you safe and
glorious."
"God bless you, Blackwood!" Lord Nelson answered, looking at him with a
cheerful smile. "But you will never see me alive again."
The hero of a hundred fights, who knew that this would be his last, put
on his favourite ancient coat, threadbare through many a conflict with
hard time and harder enemies. Its beauty, like his own, had suffered
in the cause of duty; the gold embroidery had taken leave of absence in
some places, and in others showed more fray of silk than gleam of yellow
glory; and the four stars fastened on the left breast wanted a little
plate-powder sadly. But Nelson was quite contented with them, and like
a child--for he always kept in his heart the childhood's freshness--he
gazed at the star he was proudest of, the Star of the Bath, and through
a fond smile sighed. Through the rays of that star his death was coming,
ere a quarter of a day should be added to his life.
With less pretension and air of greatness than the captain of a penny
steamer now displays, Nelson went from deck to deck, and visited every
man at quarters, as if the battle hung on every one. There was scarcely
a man whom he did not know, as well as a farmer knows his winter hands;
and loud cheers rang from gun to gun when his order had been answered.
His order was, "Reserve your fire until you are sure of every shot."
Then he took his stand upon the quarter-deck, assured of victory, and
assured that his last bequest to the British nation would be honoured
sacredly--about which the less we say the better.
In this great battle, which crushed the naval power of France, and saved
our land from further threat of inroad, Blyth Scudamore was not engaged,
being still attached to the Channel fleet; but young Dan Tugwell bore
a share, and no small share by his own account and that of his native
village, which received him proudly when he came home. Placed at a gun
on the upper deck, on the starboard side near the mizzen-mast, he fought
like a Briton, though dazed at first by the roar, and the smoke, and the
crash of timber. Lord Nelson had noticed him more than once, as one of
the smartest of his crew, and had said to him that very morning, "For
the honour of Springhaven, Dan, behave well in your first action." And
the youth had never forgotten that, when the sulphurous fog enveloped
him, and the rush of death lifted his curly hair, and his feet were
sodden and his stockings hot with the blood of shattered messmates.
In the wildest of the wild pell-mell, as the Victory lay like a pelted
log, rolling to the storm of shot, with three ships at close quarters
hurling all their metal at her, and a fourth alongside clutched so close
that muzzle was tompion for muzzle, while the cannon-balls so thickly
flew that many sailors with good eyes saw them meet in the air and
shatter one another, an order was issued for the starboard guns on the
upper deck to cease firing. An eager-minded Frenchman, adapting his
desires as a spring-board to his conclusions, was actually able to
believe that Nelson's own ship had surrendered! He must have been off
his head; and his inductive process was soon amended by the logic of
facts, for his head was off him. The reason for silencing those guns was
good--they were likely to do more damage to an English ship which lay
beyond than to the foe at the portholes. The men who had served those
guns were ordered below, to take the place of men who never should fire
a gun again. Dan Tugwell, as he turned to obey the order, cast a glance
at the Admiral, who gave him a little nod, meaning, "Well done, Dan."
Lord Nelson had just made a little joke, such as he often indulged in,
not from any carelessness about the scene around him--which was truly
awful--but simply to keep up his spirits, and those of his brave and
beloved companion. Captain Hardy, a tall and portly man, clad in bright
uniform, and advancing with a martial stride, cast into shade the mighty
hero quietly walking at his left side. And Nelson was covered with dust
from the quarter-gallery of a pounded ship, which he had not stopped to
brush away.
"Thank God," thought Dan, "if those fellows in the tops, who are picking
us off so, shoot at either of them, they will be sure to hit the big man
first."
In the very instant of his thought, he saw Lord Nelson give a sudden
start, and then reel, and fall upon both knees, striving for a moment to
support himself with his one hand on the deck. Then his hand gave way,
and he fell on his left side, while Hardy, who was just before him,
turned at the cabin ladderway, and stooped with a loud cry over him. Dan
ran up, and placed his bare arms under the wounded shoulder, and helped
to raise and set him on his staggering legs.
"I hope you are not much hurt, my lord?" said the Captain, doing his
best to smile.
"They have done for me at last," the hero gasped. "Hardy, my backbone is
shot through."
Through the roar of battle, sobs of dear love sounded along the
blood-stained deck, as Dan and another seaman took the pride of our
nation tenderly, and carried him down to the orlop-deck. Yet even so, in
the deadly pang and draining of the life-blood, the sense of duty never
failed, and the love of country conquered death. With his feeble hand
he contrived to reach the handkerchief in his pocket, and spread it over
his face and breast, lest the crew should be disheartened.
"I know who fired that shot," cried Dan, when he saw that he could help
no more. "He never shall live to boast of it, if I have to board the
French ship to fetch him."
He ran back quickly to the quarterdeck, and there found three or four
others eager to give their lives for Nelson's death. The mizzen-top of
the Redoutable, whence the fatal shot had come, was scarcely so much
as fifty feet from the starboard rail of the Victory. The men who were
stationed in that top, although they had no brass cohorn there, such
as those in the main and fore tops plied, had taken many English lives,
while the thick smoke surged around them.
For some time they had worked unheeded in the louder roar of cannon, and
when at last they were observed, it was hard to get a fair shot at them,
not only from the rolling of the entangled ships, and clouds of blinding
vapour, but because they retired out of sight to load, and only
came forward to catch their aim. However, by the exertions of our
marines--who should have been at them long ago--these sharp-shooters
from the coign of vantage were now reduced to three brave fellows. They
had only done their duty, and perhaps had no idea how completely they
had done it; but naturally enough our men looked at them as if they were
"too bad for hanging." Smoky as the air was, the three men saw that a
very strong feeling was aroused against them, and that none of their
own side was at hand to back them up. And the language of the
English--though they could not understand it--was clearly that of bitter
condemnation.
The least resolute of them became depressed by this, being doubtless a
Radical who had been taught that Vox populi is Vox Dei. He endeavoured,
therefore, to slide down the rigging, but was shot through the heart,
and dead before he had time to know it. At the very same moment the
most desperate villain of the three--as we should call him--or the most
heroic of these patriots (as the French historians describe him) popped
forward and shot a worthy Englishman, who was shaking his fist instead
of pointing his gun.
Then an old quartermaster, who was standing on the poop, with his legs
spread out as comfortably as if he had his Sunday dinner on the spit
before him, shouted--"That's him, boys--that glazed hat beggar! Have
at him all together, next time he comes forrard." As he spoke, he
fell dead, with his teeth in his throat, from the fire of the other
Frenchman. But the carbine dropped from the man who had fired, and his
body fell dead as the one he had destroyed, for a sharp little Middy,
behind the quartermaster, sent a bullet through the head, as the hand
drew trigger. The slayer of Nelson remained alone, and he kept back
warily, where none could see him.
"All of you fire, quick one after other," cried Dan, who had picked up a
loaded musket, and was kneeling in the embrasure of a gun; "fire so that
he may tell the shots; that will fetch him out again. Sing out first,
'There he is!' as if you saw him."
The men on the quarter-deck and poop did so, and the Frenchman, who was
watching through a hole, came forward for a safe shot while they were
loading. He pointed the long gun which had killed Nelson at the smart
young officer on the poop, but the muzzle flew up ere he pulled the
trigger, and leaning forward he fell dead, with his legs and arms
spread, like a jack for oiling axles. Dan had gone through some
small-arm drill in the fortnight he spent at Portsmouth, and his eyes
were too keen for the bull's-eye. With a rest for his muzzle he laid
it truly for the spot where the Frenchman would reappear; with extreme
punctuality he shot him in the throat; and the gallant man who deprived
the world of Nelson was thus despatched to a better one, three hours in
front of his victim.
CHAPTER LXVI
THE LAST BULLETIN
To Britannia this was but feeble comfort, even if she heard of it. She
had lost her pet hero, the simplest and dearest of all the thousands
she has borne and nursed, and for every penny she had grudged him in the
flesh, she would lay a thousand pounds upon his bones. To put it
more poetically, her smiles were turned to tears--which cost her
something--and the laurel drooped in the cypress shade. The hostile
fleet was destroyed; brave France would never more come out of harbour
to contend with England; the foggy fear of invasion was like a morning
fog dispersed; and yet the funds (the pulse of England) fell at the loss
of that one defender.
It was a gloomy evening, and come time for good people to be in-doors,
when the big news reached Springhaven. Since the Admiral slept in the
green churchyard, with no despatch to receive or send, the importance of
Springhaven had declined in all opinion except its own, and even Captain
Stubbard could not keep it up. When the Squire was shot, and Master Erle
as well, and Carne Castle went higher than a lark could soar, and folk
were fools enough to believe that Boney would dare put his foot down
there, John Prater had done a most wonderful trade, and never a man who
could lay his tongue justly with the pens that came spluttering from
London had any call for a fortnight together to go to bed sober at his
own expense. But this bright season ended quite as suddenly as it had
begun; and when these great "hungers"--as those veterans were entitled
who dealt most freely with the marvellous--had laid their heads together
to produce and confirm another guinea's worth of fiction, the London
press would have none of it. Public interest had rushed into another
channel; and the men who had thriven for a fortnight on their tongues
were driven to employ them on their hands again.
But now, on the sixth of November, a new excitement was in store for
them. The calm obscurity of night flowed in, through the trees that
belonged to Sir Francis now, and along his misty meadows; and the only
sound in the village lane was the murmur of the brook beside it, or the
gentle sigh of the retiring seas. Boys of age enough to make much
noise, or at least to prolong it after nightfall, were away in the
fishing-boats, receiving whacks almost as often as they needed them; for
those times (unlike these) were equal to their fundamental duties.
In the winding lane outside the grounds of the Hall, and shaping its
convenience naturally by that of the more urgent brook, a man--to show
what the times were come to--had lately set up a shoeing forge. He had
done it on the strength of the troopers' horses coming down the hill so
fast, and often with their cogs worn out, yet going as hard as if they
had no knees, or at least none belonging to their riders. And although
he was not a Springhaven man, he had been allowed to marry a Springhaven
woman, one of the Capers up the hill; and John Prater (who was akin to
him by marriage, and perhaps had an eye to the inevitable ailment of a
man whose horse is ailing) backed up his daring scheme so strongly that
the Admiral, anxious for the public good, had allowed this smithy to be
set up here.