Skip to main content

Full text of "Springhaven; a tale of the great war"

See other formats 




ALY ae, 


Fae 






Fn pn en Postpone ao Pe Nae fie ae et ae : rte = iN 5 ie le ties 





he RR ante Falta ghee Ne tialht nT Reg h Dee taiac gt Ae” Bey Go ete 





a ee 5 Fas tag hye te To Tae Cai im = f : 
aa a Aree te ice eam - et Petetof ess reps ne PR Ki Heo Fr he Beatin tact Mite AO EP be oils A-line ge Mua atte lm lak Meln Maite Taher hied afta late het Mote stoheh eh Micbs hs 
Se Feast ohn he the RM mieten en ata a Pe F ta aed : Baim Bret Nagai x Ms Tes Poe Ren Se Mn Rag ph Raw ag aE whe tin ae Pe ig hen ee fen hilt walle Pee TT i on Gotha Me BH ial Pew Rk THe Maha he Dalia Ah ae Rod Ped of Ahm Meehan ® Airset 
’ Tee Sin Su Stes Pag Ban at Ink ean hr tes Mth Fm Tim tes th eae a Pan i Mano Ps rn mi Moe He So hap is ae a Mae hn an ot COM 2 Me Tae a TaN hem anf eg Ba an Pactra Bf et Pei act ete in nd ow Ba ol shim Wet eT aig Hime Hae atin Doral tty Tete SoH 





PaP RFRA ah Shea Ee ha Pee Reser Be fie PP Pa Pa ae en a Papa Ng TS n> Banas achat ee ti a Beals lc tn Ps Henle Pe deMigg OS -Poha Sele. Pa Pave tasy Ha Pah aRe Watt a ile Pate Tse Neo Heel al <fortn ir itn Heth Gia te hein ite“ ne » 
Bn htig PaPin Nathan Tee Paria Sn Nem Ds ibis ag Po Sic Ma te Tig Phen Be ce iS ag Tea Tae Pa eas hs Say Be lhe Tale ate he fine aR haite a ht tothe Cee eel bie eel ag Fon Pea? ic gt gt He Better Oe Nee othe lhe Nar tn Ha P= leet eH 

So inn Moos Sells Sas Tem aw Wwe Rigs a Ds Ma Sin De can IS Hie am Be Eaton Fat tn Bi ase an tm e Pinle  e a hs Pans a <n ea Pane athe Pon fos Oe aa He lo Ha Cec in Fam Nm Baai th Pain Co its ee 

5s Ya Mh Pan nt gD Man Jat Sesh ng Hn Pm Fn Pi hon sn Mie Mr Ws Haas Ma Bn fT ate Mas Hie Mie et gg a DMM cc Hie Ph 





Nas T= Dm eantha We, FBO fis thag fy ec Ho fs Pa Ha hn "ha Mt at Won Pre a Te ain Ms Pr Masta Pte Tea Maite a Hagin Hn Ma Matta ee Rn ae Panton Te ap ee tn ae Bas Pasa Tin Ha Hoenn de mpeg 


a5 PSTN a Tree Pip Fin? aS La Oa aT a Te Bn is Pine Mit Ttsilhn ae Tas Ths nt Men hth aa ha ar a ig Hem Pr ae gate nn ae eae Paar is Tale Same a hella 
Pa De Be he Rm Tas sa a Rage fa Mh Hw hn Sng Pla aa ha Ean hp a ig Pv tw hs Ps ee ae = Pm Fe Ba En Mine Hin Reg Marlin he Be ne gS Te Hen Bip es Pee oa Rem eS ther 
wc Jonas Teen Mag sem teed w Rea Massy Pe he le hm Pains a Rest hee Ba Hta  Praee ee ti ig tP aTR Tet ge hag By Flom nage Sam Tae hae PS Per Hah ae RSet age thn Man oe the Fam Tom 
Ax ag Pafhe the To Mn he Pe Mag ttin Pathe Ma Ho Teg Bes Pe awe Baer lin Pasta See sid Pm tea Pam Mes es the Ma TS Tas hn Him em Pe ate cc Pa ins ian em mite hoe ag eg Mn Mes Me Pom 
Mae ig Uin Nan ea ais Bhs a BS Rahs Halles ne in Ban Bag Pra thn Nas Sing ho ST Mie tgs Heer Sie Bisa Ui Sin Hage Tee Ming Foe aa ad Re a ie Ma tgs Mas aw Paes ashe ie! 








Se Mfit a 
Fate eit 





YeagePhes Fhe Fg Beet ee 
= Res nn, Os Rw Ths Cas Pe ae ; t 
He Fea me Mg PFT a an BF eee Me a oP Men tm ab ae Raha Bp ag BF he Net Fig Pan Pn PT Ta Ma al alte Fae iy Sei ta tie Ta a hg ie ane Fang Fete Fig Pah an ae Rae Se FNPF The Par ae Pn ae la ree Thin a Fn Se Feta 


True eth ethan Tefen Ss Nr Thm Som Pim Fi Haglan To igs eng Ma Pe Mie Tm Mee Pe Fee Po eet eR a a a hp a Py en an i tee he Pan Po ee en tee Mat 
eae Hagley ding a Sm eee Pit he Bh ae am Name a 1 2 Sines hae ae Done Hew The ae Fines FF mM age Pig Rae a Ha Me hw hm Te gs Pn he Nigel in T=! 





ae 











as 


Se ee 


~peralet-i-P-! 
‘J w- rhePefeb fo F 


ten aK 





2. ete ae Fae = 
sg Te Roa ie Pein Bate aT oP 
nF eR RE he ahi, Hn a Se et LEGO a of Megs Fo BNR tS eh 


TaMag tia Manin H en ata cata Regh aM gS EM as Seine Fin tin Mie a Rh Min Ts 
2 ad | = 


Cae ot Fie a 





Tas itg Sm Pn Bem TEP aie Ta tae Pe Hele Me RE . : 

. Sn Fha Seah es et ‘7 NN agi gC Gel Rath SaetheoT a ht> 
Ft el Rit HIN Rieti n ete Betis a tele 
PAV LOA Ting OP Fo TAL elt Shara Rye Veet Need. 
eet eh Me Teh ate eta P Mate T Ne al to Feat fete 
aR Ret Rig Sg-AA? Aylin 
Fath Ate it 

















Heal te hah 


3 a 
£ Dak SAvhete 











he Piet" 
Y taatied bal gel7 
: fT wit Ps linits ts? 

9 Ree ahs a ben ele thot Ree he tine el + RP eh a ne 
Sa eis Rote BNR Fe A Sth Pe Bel. Nett Phe tggitn ee 
ne frets fie the he Bot Pe Ss Figs eee te 

By ethane ihr’ Baa Gato BP Fee Pa 












ela SIL 2 Mele a ten Ptah SPS 
BRKT ae ge Meg tate Gant Fo Mee 









ee ee 


ao BF hia RS Be a ew 








Fat aE ie tee eet 
Fo aXe & 


ine ange Fe Pe Tee Tel ig eit 
tn tg RPS haat Pee 
Toes Faget Ene Pies Dm tn In Th Mins Peay gg Pe Pine Has Fs M8 Fe eg aR TO en MG Bim the Ra eet PTF as i mis thn Rew Pea Bi 2 z 

igs Fag, Pc Hae Tree Wi Phan Tae nie Ec Bea than BS nee sing Oe ag Hag He Tha Fan Ia the ge Inn FP eae He Min Mae Min Dp iy hay Tea ihe Tin Teton Mel ny Fit Ben ae ig PH ’ Y te yn Hm noi Rigt ” Sie Pa Matar Mags 
Pty Bate ts yee he eo He all ig Pa Pn een ee aie aah ~ Oat aa he Metts Para Pacino eas Nate Pg ag Be Minn toe iw a ns ee ge he A i y > at 


























ihn Fit 


























Danae Bee tae? SS Tae Re KPa there? Bente eta tet aie 
. = Wag ihn ce Pen tien Hee Meas en 2 Om, Bap mine Pes Manito Pennings tot Vw tee ane, Reiter 8 pt ef AE ee A, 
ee ae he She Fee ep is Ree thn Rapti th Pn tn Satie Mae Page Ta ts. Hg Pag hate Rg Ise -* . l= en: rE 
> Shey Say Fe ta ee BS Rie i Miah on Mee Se an Reg Eo Se he? a nF i a oe Pe a ay iy Pi Mh Yaga eT a Tie Toa ee Sg ah Fea he Tm Tm teen he Mg Nm tre tragy hee ae A gh Bae oS Nae il ny ane a HE hae a hae So a 
as Py Oe ee ete. * VRP La Re he ease oe eet Pea eRe Fe efi NS Mig Hr — a Fe MR ge Fy ny Be cag En Nig Han ie att oe a HS MM Bc Noi Tze Eis fm 
=: : Paha im mi eH BENT ME the Sat I Sem Gn lm Nah ms Sty Sm hee Fao 
an Tea Gi hens ag ge Pig oh Re aye ee ae hw et a eae ey 








eatin Ne ee Eh Es r 
Aetitntsae 
ae 


rp te Ihe the Fo Me FF ag Pm = 2 
ee ie Ta Tn Rae PH Bees a fa He ta hy TE Pee 
a PME hfe tks Po Fe tete? = toRaP SPetess 
ote ele iie Pepe = fee tel Meds tel 





12 tale talin Gen Bote he AAMg? 
Sy AR Ae 
Bh nana Cal oPget ote tee 
i Mtat 











Pe cbc Behe Beco P= tha eee Mn fee eet he Pn ha highs Poe Po FP He ee ‘ - : : : . a Po lashed i ip Sacer all . : aFasetonehey—" 


n pm hn ne eather aK nie Ba Cefn vic Ra ercit ogi tedr —o 














a 
























apt es ion Bis miter oa ace ge to Matty Cente 8 a8 og ANG ot Ete ne To i A i ae 
Yan th Di ag i Bag ee a Pe eh ee ae ete “aM 
heii in: ae im Ds fo Gee gO eX * Hotes fan tte 
ae, r 2 5 im Wag as Hea ke Bie Pte ee 2 2 Be Rea foe etn he ae fe on aa 5 tan es nella Py a Ra tn ea Tei Fant oi . Comte a Siete Veh 2 
Aslirete Ue Pee Fos Sn the fie hile? MP mete Re = mpm Dc Rig YP ala D hPa tele tela PAPAS EAE Pe tee es el ha ’ 








nape pat oP te Bata eRgt ia Nethe i ndaPy PEP hatioe FP 


2 PTs tt 


A iy! oad 4 - sai 2 
rhage 5-47 usta firneras eB Sz ; p : : 6 hae, Es 
wanda nt Ty acimancet ell seer : F TBA ass eR ERS bE HS PERE AN bt rent aty es aa es 


TAR 














ee vie ane ie 


| vi 
Ui, ik ret Mi lanh ve ria Hon ne " 
il la Kt ies { a Ne 


aA ie | ‘ 


‘¥ ‘) 
i) \ 


i] 


vt a a 





Os, eae. 4 
Vin) Bey op dd 


LJ 


= 





¥ 


- ‘qual = 


- 


Mf 


































































































































































































































































































































































































““¢MY EMPEROR!’ HE SAID, ‘MY EMPEROR!’ ”’—(See page 275). 





SPRINGHAVEN 


A Gale of the Great War 


) sae” 
By RY Di BLACKMORE 
AUTHOR OF 
“LORNA DOONE”’ “CRIPPS THE CARRIER” ‘ ALICE LORRAINE ”’ 
‘““THE MAID OF SKER”’ ETC. 


"Eriynsopat apgpotipwy dpmoiwc 


ILLUSTRATED 


BY ALFRED PARSONS AND F, BARNARD 


NEW YORK 
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 


1887 


i ee 


= 


Se SSS 





R. D. BLACKMORE’S NOVELS. 


ALICE LORRAINE. A Tale of the South Downs. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 
CHRISTOWELL. 4to, Paper, 20 cents. | 

CLARA VAUGHAN. 4to, Paper, 15 cents. 

CRADOCK NOWELL. 8vo, Paper, 60 cents. 

CRIPPS, THE CARRIER. A Woodland Tale. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 
EREMA; or, My Father’s Sin. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 

LORNA DOONE. 8vo, Paper, 25 cents ; 12mo, Cloth, $1 00. 

MARY ANERLEY. A Yorkshire Tale. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00 ; 4to, Paper, 15 cents. 
SPRINGHAVEN. 4to, Paper, 25 cents ; 12mo, Cloth, Illustrated, $1 50. 

THE MAID OF SKER. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 


SIR THOMAS UPMORE. 16mo, Paper, 35 cents; Cloth, 50 cents; 4to, Paper, 
20 cents. 


— 


PuspiisHep BY HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 


Ba>- Any of the above works sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the 
United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 





of & © et 2 oe8 © r 
Oo 5 ee os se’ e: iwi @ 
Ce ee Ss @ ~@@ @60@ @ © 
¢ @eeee @e?® Ge © 
© @ ee ee © eee cee 
: : ) Be eC ; 
rae . : ec : ee : ; e%e of6 Sat 3° ee esis ef ee e 
eS @ @ Se cee es : . Oe 9058 205%, 5 ose 
6. O70 Nee O ls 8 © ete tants eo, @ e © @e @ 
@e@ oeec @ %e” eo o@ ee e e CGO @ © €e6@ © e @ 
@ © ©. 6@60 0, © © @6 @,0 ee e e 
© eo? _ fee i © ee e ¢ eas @@ @ oe @ 
J @ og. e%e © © Cee Ce © @ @ ce G 
ee ose per Co € eG ©, « OF ce 00 
© @6 “e® e e-ce¢ @6¢€6 €°e@ ¢¢6¢ e 


Exchange 
hibrary of Supreme Council AAS 
Aug iQ, 1940 : 


fo the sRemorn 
OF 


MY BELOVED FRIEND 


PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE 


OF 


AUGUSTA, GEORGIA, U.S.A. 





CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 
PE WHEN THe: Sap GComEes.: HOM ges whee eines ac ceee cee 1 

TIA Wirt: HER CREW AND? CARGOS. 51 eee ee haere ne ae 7 
TTA Het LRU COMMANDER occ jeuts es pecan ce Pe we 12 
LVcAND Hen VATTHYUY. CHAPLAING eon e nace hs nl antes 15 

VV MOPINION, NAb ANIY PRMALIG, oOo al cn tit as gals nua 19 

EO eis SPT ITIL EGE CLS 570 aracatecw une i OEE a iete cde ook ETI ea 23 
Vite Ac SOUADRON IN, THES DOWNS: oataccae.s os We eee wom cet oe eee 29 
WEL Tt ae ESSONG ING (DHE) AUN ELD. cer ob tale a's wr ewe atm ary cake alates 36 
DX Chie NEAROGNS son. ven tat ere eine aaa sb xe oes ee eee 42 

x. AGHOSS. THE -STEPPING-STONHS . .'¢cca. fea, oo pe it onic cee ase ae fi 
PNG PROMOTION . iets anne cus od 8 ry Pate Renae 1 ge 54 
EL ek te TH Be) We ERE foe tc eet ae ee oe a efaisin Sia ase ante the aakeet one 61 
XT WHENCE, AND. WHEREBORE oy oece0 5.600 0 Uhiee ays oceans 68 
UV dts FLORRINLIS= OUGGESTION canes ccedtess ms. copes as aaa Coheed 75 
XV, ORDEAL,.OF -AUDIT....>..*: Bet ee 82 
RW  MAVNO ETRE F Wern crn Crear aah Get doh gra scene eg ua won aie Alaiye hc aR 91 
AVL ios SSA CHT PERL ADGIN Gis Go ates ns mate Seti ee crores bids Ul eine reeled cee 103 
vel PRENCH, ANIe LENGLIGH face > om ve op a ccoe ate = kes scapes 109 
el CPM A TET EMIS CB, PER ee ao ges rately aleveas) sini e 4a aid acento ottawa 115 
PA ROEA MONG: EET: LADIES: ACs .cmccls den an eosin Gmteiletckeite tales fa 120 
Per EER CLO AS NEES ES Oh nics sae a cee e Rate amd aan ata id eutiea ae 128 
ORE oA res CEA Ser ree Wy, oe Ph ct enim seiner vehi rea Pointe els Std oan ae 136 
NL Laue) HET EA CIeM OED ba cremate tin fs Sera Poe's wise RANA Se Fh dt ae niehaie aR ee 142 
Ae Vic CCORDING |TO ‘GONTRACT 1.\autlec's adhe Wane sha oceania “Matron 149 
eae YOON Gs CONCERN OP: OURS! 65s es kite e's de aewes Whew ae DNR eeere 158 
XXVI. LonG-pipe TIMES....... Sided. she ROL eo at en's ake «| al Poe ee 169 
CMa VOD STE AT Tee EME CETHU IY otto yo eu, ai aera aes Girl wee SPT ie i 176* 
Pee ed big: PON Ei INGE RAOTION Gra, sie cases Hedieee cule beh ae ay we hgare eta 183 
Don LANA T RRM ALA. IULOQUENGE ck. ci'cle 4 fhiow Gauiet wi abit atecie ka tee 192 


LL AT RATES ESISCIPLINE ole Gne bette ce eo en na oe ob wet eke 198 


SEN NS Lee SON RSL BME TATIONS « foo hood «cot ok bee eee CLS cea doe 205 





vi CONTENTS. 
CHAPTER PAGE 
SENT Tae TRA Of CV ATES: 2 .6cn se ese eee ones sonee tees 211 
XXXII. FAREWELL, DANIEL... 2. i. ce cece renee e ccc ceeeeeecenas 218. 
SN. CAULIFLOWERS. 60% oa cb a Fae ers be tile wee ate oes eee 226 
RMX. LOYAL, AYU, LOYAL... ocean dees eek ae a oe ae Pe re 234 
Moe V1. PAIR: CRITICIOM.. so. oc. 62> ao os ae Rees bees oe ee eee 246 
eV. NeEIVHER AT GOME o.50...3.<0-kvs a wal Oo mk ee pe eee 259 
aoe LiL, EVERYBODY'S MABTYWR. 6. icce ace <2 dee ob pete mite geen 268 
RCPS. RoNNING THE GAUNTUBE 265 sce osis os tig onions ae eee eae riers 
XL, SHELFING THE QUESTION.......<.. wa: 5 cat is a i liaty cater oh ne age 287 
XLI. Lisreners Hear No Goon....... ) este et eee ee 295 
KLIL ANSWERING THE QURSTIGN >... 20S oes se eee pee ee ee 303 
XLII. Lirrte AND GREAT PEOPLE..... POE ere yee 514 
XLIV. Down AMONG THE DEAD MEN........ | aS cree ea ee 326 
XV. FATHER ABD ORILD...S%'. ca cows te 0 on okee eee ne 334 
XLVI. CATAMARANS....... ERE. A a Go 340 
VELEN Pie AND SESS. aus eee poe hal Dace Bane Eee 346 
XLVIII. MorHER SCUDAMORE........0.-. 52s eee ee ere eee eeee recs 359d 
ALIX. Evin ‘COMMUNICATIONS: <2. c. <Savnae ieee nls oo meso ee 361 
1. Firs BAVAGE OPEL So Goon oeoe cs end Soe ote ee te ee eee 372 
Li. SrRANeGw CRAM SA aes s aoe eee. eee 378 
LY. ‘Kina INQUrRing... ooo S22 ake se oro ee 387 
LIE. ‘Fiuam Anp PpACH i.02 Sere. site we cose eele eens oe een 397 
LIV. In a Sap “PGW R i352. 5 aoe eee eee eet ee 406 
LY. In SAVAGE’ Guise ths .0555 heise oes ae ee eee 417 
LV: Tam Sicver: VoIicts: i... .ca ee eee eee ee 423 
LVil;Bevow rum Ling 332255 427 ee ei ae ae ee ee 432 
Vili? is tne HArcy Morne oe ee eee 440 
DEX. ‘Near Our: SHORESH 602+ tin sce oh awe ae eer ae 445 
LX: No Danowr, Guntimmen<f o.. Oyaes es oe ee 452 
LXF. DiscuarceD. FROM DUTY Ais:se ic oe eee ee eee 459 
LAV. THe: Way Our “oF lr: 2.25.22 eee eee 468 
LAT Tae FAvan SMP fl: oh ocdve cock fee re pee eee eee 478 
LXV, WRATH AND SORKOW sc $i 205555 5... boca ee 489 
RV TRAPAWGAR. (1) Sees ates eons wooed eee dian 496 
LXVI. THe Lasr BuLLETIN......... oS cei ee Fac pais eee ee 502 


‘LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

“+ My Emperor !’ he said, ‘my Emperor occ... cc cece Frontispiece. 
tshing-smacks at thetr Moorings... nea nt cst ces ct ses eeeceaee 1 
Dear Vale 07 Springndvems 2 20e. ste, oe ont oes ORO <a ewe Sele 
Horatio Dorothy Darling. .5 105 tet Che hay toed 6 Det ee eed eee 6 
Garman Levedear d ugiell Fa kc aw aah se onda cithat ak cee tein 11 
aE SIUC AN, the AdINiPals no a ve ane doe ae Viet h tala aoa + alae 24 
« Shake hands, my'dear young friend”? voi vide occ aa eee ek ce ctees 25 
“ Here was beautiful cantering-ground”.... 0c cece cece eee eeees 33 
TOUT OTE GHEN Cea ctag Ree Bees Mor eM pate ely LER OEY oer BD 
S-What wonderfully good -0Y8?”. cara viaievints ceadt eds vues ceee as aie 39 
ne Pretty Ladies. 6 eee Ce eA ee ae AMEE AS TER eee 41 
NOTE UIE OF pe oc ve 6 Bhan hd cepa PORE TL OEE Plate he Oe he Oe 53 
ORCHID GLEQOTY 476s Gade so ACES Poe ease eh beam Cone ale es 55 
“ What they may do at Littlehampton is beyond my knowledge”...... 65 
ECAP EN CUIET OR rg ahead recat ane Oa EERO ee eM TEM ON eG eines 69 
WA fter that, there is nothing more.to be said”... 0.6 ccc cece eeee 82 
sure Cheeseman and Caryl Carney Gas Phe De 20st ee KOI ae 87 
OTHE CBB. RAL O ac oF ew Ok bao iy elon takai gah SAVES S Tree oe 93 
Bee LG IRELL 28 OAR ee sae Barner hate SANS orate @ Supe ye 8 eee eae 94 
ECO NS EDUGT Oy a da A ak EA mag ae SONS ad Beek OLE oss HME 95 
be ray your bills, first, said’ the Admiral Me. vst cts oi ce Wiel yw o's 97 
Pe LOG ce tar ovat Lee a Ree AE MOTE cE EEE RES Oe Ba 99 
pious Lavish [could help yours Se oii ee 5 ole chases ae 3h eg ERO Nt aad 127 
Looking at the Battle from the Watch-potit.......c0e cee ce ce eeees 131 
a Plal Ema? OUELOUSLCT= POL AP ae wit rome es nh es OR e Sen ces ai Menok S 133 
“Tam not at all happy at losing dear friends”. ...........0200008 139 
Rl 17 AS 2 COM OF- the WOVE. v6 Vee Soh os od ae eels Ween ee 145 
Eanere was no one igho could say her inay. .sicwecsecceee ee dosent 162 
menor, Miss, 1 am sure I begs-your pardon” .... cece ce ese le veuse 164 
‘A favourite place for a sage cock-pheasant”...... SESE 166 


Dan Tugwell Meets with an Impediment...... 000.0 cece eee eens 177 





Rigs. 


vill LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 
The Postern-gate, Carne Castle... ...ceeccccscvereccscccccsccees 187 
Mr. Twemlow Gets a Side View. i .6. 000. os ose oe oe ene wees ees 190 
“ Oh, Dan, do ’e think of things as cousarneth your homer life”..... 197 
pet carey TL OW t So) siete 5 hie ie oo ee 2s Se ow het 203 

“ For God’s sake, Miss, do keep Miss Dolly out of the way of Squire 
Carne Te 22 5 ates BPE eee eet Ae te eek ee eee 225 
“ The grand old cock, whose name was ‘ Bill, led the march”........ 229 
“ So your ladyship have come to take the air in my poor garden” .... 233 
“ The Admiral, with officers crowding round, read as follows”....... 247 
“ Faith had tried, as a matter of duty, to peruse this book” ......... 249 
Quiword Applications... Sines oso he ae W alemels os elem inne ee 250 

“This appears to be your hat, and it was on its way to a pool of salt- 
LC ie Ne Ure S aww yor ce 255 
“Tt must have been by reason of the weight I give”... 1... cee eee. -- 268 
“Oaryl Carne waited in the shelter of a tree”. os. <i Riaes Seas amet 271 
“The poet of the whole stood singing — the simple-minded thrush”... . 291 
cwroobar 13a. stuged. east 64 wa “taal CoG ar se Oe ee eee 301 
“ She felt that the spring of the year was with her”... 0.06 cece cee 311 
WAU the gaffers were Wenig. cise sesle = Bae een) 317 
“ How beautiful Springhaven must be looking now! .. 6... cece ees 323 
Make for daylight in close order); yo... S55; «.02.c1ns. <)>, 4 333 
“Fle was a man who knows his own mind”). .; .. cea lanes ae Pear" 
“ Now don’t be in a hurry, dear, to beg my pardon”... 1... ..0e cee 363 
dn the distance two British erupsers shoe... is 2.2 5 oe eee 369 
SAm. Ito read every word, papal” ob 23. ase ise: oe 373 
“In a few minutes the mysterious little craft disappeared” .......... 385 

“ Here were banks of earth and thicket, shadowy dells where the prim- 
OFOSE YEG”. Ss be ees ae DRE OR ee Oe oh: eleehigee 393 
“Why, Dolly! what a hurry you are inl. ..ccccccccccc cee cseees 395 
“ His old friend the ox trotted down to the corner”. .....0.0+.0000 411 
“ We may be triumphant with their ladies”. 2.60. ..45. Pe. 419 
“ But the other gently laid the rod across his breast”. ..........+.-. 425 
* Carne.arose quickly, and bolted themoor 0.42. ahs Sa wee es 465 
“ The two strong men rolled on the grass, fighting like two bull-dogs”.. 469 
Corpse-walk’ Pit... ve. ws «| epee. Sa Be Us ee ea i in ee ae 475 


Where the Furst Snowdrops Grew... o.. i names cee es ee 509 


al 7 

“ 1M 
ivismeee | 

TTI s Po 


SPRINGHAVEN. 


CHAPTER I. 
WHEN THE SHIP COMES HOME. 


sry In the days when Eng- 
a & land trusted mainly to the 
> vigour and valour of one 


man, against a world of en- 
emies, no part of her coast 
was in greater peril than 
the fair vale of Spring- 
haven. 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, continual- 
ly 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 - 
1 : for ta 




















* 


2 SPRINGHAVEN. 


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 areades of 
ancient trees defy the noise that men make.- And above 
the trees, in shelfing distance, rise the crests of upland, a 
soft gray lias, where orchards thrive, and greensward strokes 
down the rigour of the rocks, and quick rills laee 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 harbour 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, how- 
ever, 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 shift- 
ing 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 labours, 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 Spring- 
haven. 

At the c6érner of the wall, where the brook comes down, 
and pebble turns into shingle, there bas always been a good 
whité 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,” 












































































































































































































































bet Voie 
pote 


My 


i 


eet: 
sii 
Up ae y 
LAH 





THE FAIR VALE OF SPRINGHAVEN, — J 


4 | SPRINGHAVEN. 


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 off- 
set of some court favourite, 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 Pre- 
ventive man can see with his spyglass 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 underwood, 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-defence (westward of Nel- 
son’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 gmong them 
was this at Springhaven. 

Here was established under thatch, and with Sidin ¢ lights 
before it, the Admiral’s favourite 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 Lon- > 
don 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 at, or examined even by a microscope, came now 
to enjoy that pleasure. 

Miss Dolly Darling could not be happy—though her chief 


SPRINGHAVEN. 5 


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 com- 
pelled to make its own material, out of very little stuff some- 
times. 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 rumours and perpetual motion on shore 
and sea, and access of gallant visitors, was gone for the mo- 
ment, and dull peace was signed. 

This evening, as yet, there seemed little chance of any- 
thing to enliven her. The village, in the valley and up the 
stream, was hidden by turns of the land and trees; her fa- 
ther’s house beneath the hill crest was out of sight and hear- 
ing; not even a child was on the beach; and the only move- 
ment was of wavelets leisurely advancing towards the sea- 
wall fringed with tamarisk. The only thing she could hope 
to see was the happy return of the fishing-smacks, and per- 
haps 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 vil- 
lage, the beach, and even the sea itself, would swarm with 
life, and bustle, and flurry, and incident. But Dolly’s de- 
sire 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 vigour of beauty may 
compare with its grace and refinement, she had her own 
match at Springhaven. Quite a hard-working 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 scarce- 
ly 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 


« 





= NORATIA DOROTHY DARLING. 


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 pos- 
sible. She belonged to the order of the clever virgins, but 
scarcely to that of the wise ones. 


SPRINGHAVEN. rf 


CHAPTER II. 
WITH HER CREW AND CARGO. 


Lone after the time of those who write, and those who 
read this history, the name of Zebedee Tugwell will be flour- 
ishing at Springhaven. 

To “achieve unmerited honour is the special gift of ‘nom 
sands, but to deserve and win befalls some few in every cen- 
tury, 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 
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 chil- 
dren to do their copies were the tombstones of their grand- 
dads. 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, per haps— 
in the general vein of Springhaven. There was scarcely a 
man who pretended to know much outside of his own busi- 
ness, and there was not a woman unable to wait (when her 
breath was quite gone) for sound reason.  Solidity, self-re- 
speet, pure absence of frivolous humour, 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 cor- 





- NE ee 


8 SPRINGHAVEN. 


poration, 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 anigh 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 
labour, 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 bis 
mind had been small enough to forget the difference betwixt 
the land and sea, the tide of labour 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 faliing into the trough behind it, enables a biped, 
as soon as he lands, to take things that are flat with indiffer- 
ence. His head and legs have got into a state of firm confi- 
dence 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 move- 
ment—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 


SPRINGHAVEN. 9 


in the joints is my complaint, and I never would have be- 
lieved it. But, forall 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 pro- 
fundity 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 understand- 
ing of his dooties. But he goeth too fast, without clearing 
of his way. With aman 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 per- 
fect 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 peaceful- 
ness, 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 towards 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 appe- 


10 SPRINGHAVEN. 


tites after waging hot war upon victuals. Peace was pro- 
claimed, 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. Espe- 
cially on the spritsail of the Rosalie, whereunder was sit- 
ting, 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 Tug- 
well 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 





CAPTAIN ZEBEDEE TUGWELL. 


him so dignified, so calm, and so majestic ; but, for all that, 
I like the young man better. I havea 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 con- 
template 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 oneself. 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 hap- 
pened to be born a gentleman! But he looks a thousand 
times more like one than nine out of ten of the great gen- 
tlemen I know—or at any rate he would if his mother didn’t 
make his clothes.” 


“12. SPRINGHAVEN. 

Fror 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 hand (instead of brisk- 
ly pairing soles) hung asunder, and sprawled like a star- 
fish. 

‘“Tndeed he does laok sad,” said Miss Dolly; ‘‘he is think- 
ing of me, as he always does; but I don’t see how any- 
body 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.” . 


dh) 


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 see any 
justice in losing the credit of any of his exploits. More- 
over, 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 behaviour, 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 





ee en 


SPRINGHAVEN. . 13 


one. They liked him to do them a very good turn, but 
would not let him do himself one; and whenever he longed 
for some fair chance of a littlessnug 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 coun- 
try enabled him to bear it, with grumbling. 

‘*T don’t care a rope’s end,” he was saying, with a truth- 
fulness 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 will 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 own- 
er 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 fastasIcan. Ill 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.” 


% 


14 SPRINGHAVEN. 


Stoutly grumbling thus, the elder and far heavier Ad- 
miral descended the hill to the white gate slowly, as be- 
hoved the owner. And, bygthe time he halted there, the 
other had been upon the beach five minutes, and taken com- 
mand of the fishing fleet. 

‘‘Starboard there! Brail up your gaff! Is that the way 
to take the ground? Ease helm, Rosalie. Smartly, smart- 
ly. Haveacare, 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 al- 
though 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-coloured 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 vigour of the man in- 
side 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 Joss 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. 

His noble cocked hat was in its leathern box yet, for he 
was only just come from Merton; but the broad felt he wore 
was looped up in front, and displayed all the power of his 
countenance, or rather the vigour—for power is heavy—and 
his face was light and quickness. Softness also, and a 
melancholy gift of dreaminess and reflection, enlarged and 


SPRINGHAVEN. 15 


impressed the effect of a gaze and a smile which have con- 
quered history. 

‘““Why don’t ’e speak up go ’un, Cap’en Zeb?” cried 
young Harry Shanks, of the Peggy, the smartest smack 
next to the Rosalie. ‘* Whoever can ’a be, to make thee so 
dumb? Doth ’a know our own business afore our own 
selves? If ’e don’t speak up to ’un, Cap’en Zeb, Pll never 
take no more commands from thee.” 

‘‘ Harry Shanks, you was always a fool, and you always 
will be,” Master Tugwell replied with his deep chest voice, 
which no gale of wind could blow away. ‘* Whether he 
be wrong or right—and I won’t say but what I might have 
done it better--none but a fool like you would dare to set 
his squeak up against Admirable Lord Nelson.” : 


CHAPTER IV. 
AND HER FAITHFUL CHAPLAIN. 


‘*T AM not a man of the world, but a man of the Word,” 
said Parson Twemlow, the Rector of Springhaven; ‘‘and I 
shall not feel that I have done my duty unless I stir him up 
to-morrow. His valour and glory are nothing to me, nor 
even his value to the country. He does his duty, and I 
shall do mine. It is useless to talk to me, Maria; I never 
Shall have such a chance again.” 

‘“ Well, dear, you know best,” replied Mrs. Twemlow; 
‘‘and duty is always the highest and best and most sacred 
consideration. But you surely should remember, for Eliza’s 
sake, that we never shall dine at the Hall again.” 

‘‘T don’t care a snap for their dinners, or the chance of 
Eliza catching some young officer; and very few come 
while this peace goes on. I won't shirk my duty for any 
of that.” 7 

‘‘Nothing would ever make you shirk your duty, Joshua. 
And I hope that you know me too well to suppose that I 
ever would dream of suggesting it. But I do want to see 
you a Canon, and I know that he begins to have influence 
in the Church, and therefore the Church is not at all the 
place to allude to his private affairs in. And, after all, 
what do we know about them? It does seem so low to be 
led away by gossip.” 

_ *‘Maria,” said the Rector, severely sorry, ‘‘I must beg 


16 SPRINGHAVEN. 


you to leave me to my conscience. I shall not refer to his 
private affairs. I shall put leading truths in a general way, 
and let him make the home application.” 

“Put the cap on-if it fits. Very well; you will injure 
yourself, and do no one any good. Lord Nelson won’t know 
it; he is too simple-minded. But Admiral Darling will 
never forgive us for insulting him while he is staying at 

the Hall.” 
‘Maria! Well, I have long given up all attempts at 
reasoning with you. If Isee a man walking into a furnace, 
do I insult him by saying, ‘ Beware’ ?” 

‘As I am beyond all reason, Joshua, it is far above me 
to understand that. But if you escape insulting him, what 
you do is far worse, and quite unlike a gentleman. You 
heap a whole pile of insults upon your own brother clergy- 
men.” 

‘‘T do not at all understand you, Maria: you fly off in 
such a way from one thing to another!” 

‘“Not at all. Anybody who is not above paying atten- 
tion must understand me. When he is at Merton he goes 
to church, and his Rector is bound to look after him. 
When he is at sea, he has his Chaplain, who preaches when- 
ever the weather permits, and dare not neglect his duties. 
But the strongest point of all is this—his very own father 
and brother are clergymen, and bound to do their best for 
him. All these you insult, and in so many words condemn 
for neglecting their duty, because you are unable to resist 
the pleasure of a stray shot at a celebrated man when he 
comes down here for hospitality.” | 

‘My dear, you,have put the matter in a new light,” said 
the Rev. Joshua Twemlow; ‘‘I would be the last man in 
the world to cast a slur upon any brother clergyman. But 
it is a sad denial to me, because I had put it so neatly, and 
a line of Latin at the end of it.” 

‘* Never mind, dear. That will do for some one else who 
deserves it, and has got no influence. And if you could 
only put instead of it one of your beautifully turned ex- 
pressions about our debt of gratitude to the noble defender 
of our country—” 

‘“No, no, Maria!” said her husband, with a smile; ‘‘ be 
content without pushing your victory further than Nelson 
himself would push it. It may be my duty to spare him; 
but I will not fall down and worship him.” . 

Joshua Twemlow, Bachelor of Divinity, was not very 


SPRINGHAVEN. L7 


likely to worship anybody, nor even to admire, without 
due cause shown. He did not pretend to be a learned man, 
any more than he made any other pretence which he could 
not justify. But he loved a bit of Latin, whenever he 
could find anybody to share it with him, and even in Jack 
of intelligent partners he indulged sometimes in that utter- 
ance. This was a grievance to the Squire of the parish, be- 
cause he was expected to enjoy at ear-shot that which had 
passed out of the other ear in boyhood, with a painful echo 
behind it. But the Admiral had his revenge by passing the 
Rector’s bits of Latin on—when he could remember them— 
to some one entitled to an explanation, which he, with a 
pleasant smile, vouchsafed. This is one of the many bene- 
fits of a classical education. 

But what are such little tags, compared with the pith and 
marrow of the man himself ?. Parson Twemlow was no 
prig, no pedant, and no popinjay, but a sensible, upright, 
honourable man, whose chief defect was a quick temper. In 
parish affairs he loved to show his independence of the 
Hall, and having a stronger will than Admiral Darling, he 
mostly conquered him. But he knew very well how far to 
go, and never pressed the supremacy of the Church beyond 
endurance. 7 

His wife, who was one of the Carnes of Carne Castle, 
some few miles to the westward, encouraged him strongly 
in holding his own when the Admiral strove to override 
him. That was her manner of putting the case; while Ad- 
miral Darling would rather have a score of nightmares 
than override any one. But the Carnes were a falling as 
much as the Darlings were a rising family, and offence 
comes down the hill like stones dislodged by the upward 
traveller. Mrs. Twemlow knew nothing she disliked so 
much as any form of haughtiness; it was so small, so petty, 
so opposed to all true Christianity. And this made ker 
think that the Darlings were always endeavoring to patro- 
nise her—a thing she would much rather die than put up with. 

This excellent couple had allowed, however, their only 
son Erle, a very fine young man, to give his heart entirely 
to Faith Darling, the Admiral’s eldest daughter, and to win 
hers to an equal extent; and instead of displaying any 
haughtiness, her father had simply said: ‘‘ Let them wait 
two years; they are both very young, and may change their 
minds. If they keep of the same mind for two years, they 
are welcome to one another.” 


18 SPRINGHAVEN. 


For a kinder-hearted man than Admiral Darling never 
saw the sun. There was nothing about him wonderful in 
the way of genius, heroism, large-mindedness, or unselfish- 
ness. But people liked him much better than if he com- 
bined all those vast rarities; because he was lively, genial, 
simple, easily moved to wrath or grief, free-handed, a little 
fond, perhaps, of quiet and confidential brag, and very fond 
of gossip. 

‘‘T tell you,” he said to Lord Nelson now, as they walked 
down the hill to the church together that lovely Sunday 
morning, ‘‘ you will not have seen a finer sight than our 
fishermen in church—I dare say never. Of course they 
don’t all go. Nobody could expect it. But as many as a 
reasonable man could desire come there, because they know 
I like it. Twemlow thinks that they come to please him; 
but he finds a mighty difference in his congregation when I 
and my daughters are out of the parish. But if he goes 
away, there they are all the same, or perhaps even more, to 
get a change from him. That will show which of us they 
care about pleasing.” 

‘‘ And they are quite right. I hate the levelling system,” 
the hero of the Nile replied. ‘‘A man should go to church 
to please his landlord, not to please the parson. Is the 
Chaplain to settle how many come to prayers ?” 

‘That is the right way to look at the thing,” said the 
larger-bodied Admiral; ‘‘and I only wish Twemlow could 
have heard you. JI asked him to dine with us yesterday, as 
you know, because you would have done him so much good; 
but he sent some trumpery excuse, although his wife was 
asked to come with him. She stopped him, no doubt; to 
look big, I dare say; as if they could dine with a Lord Nel- 
son every day !” 

_ “They can do that every day, when they dine with a man 

who has done his duty. But where is my pretty godchild 
Dolly? Horatia seems too long for you. What a long 
name they gave me! It may have done very well for my 
granduncle. But, my dear Lingo, look sharp for your Dol- 
ly. She has no mother, nor even a duenna—she has turned 
her off, she said yesterday. Your daughter Faith is an an- 
gel, but Dolly—” 

‘*My Dolly isa little devil, suppose! You always found 
out everything. What have you found my Dolly at ? -Per- 
haps she got it at her baptism.” A word against his pet 
child was steel upon flint to Admiral Darling. 


sala 


SPRINGHAVEN. 19 


‘““T am not concerned with your opinion,” Lord Nelson 
answered, loftily. ‘*‘ But Horatia Dorothy Darling is my 
godchild by baptism, and you will find her down in my 
will for a thousand pounds, if she behaves well, and if it 
should please the Lord to send me some of the prize-money 
I deserve.” ad 

This was announced in such a manner, with the future 
testator’s useful eye bearing brightly on his comrade, and 
his cocked hat lifted as he spoke of the great Awarder of 
prizes, that no one able to smile could help a friendly and 
simple smile at him. So Admiral Darling forgot his wrath, 
which never had long memory, and scorning even to look 
round for Dolly, in whom he felt such confidence, took the 
mighty warrior by the good arm and led him towards the 
peaceful belis. 

‘‘Hurry, we shall be late,” he said. ‘‘ You remember 
when we called you ‘ Hurry,’ because of being always fore- 
most? But they know better than to stop the bells till they 
see me in the church porch. Twemlow wanted to upset 
that, for the parsons want to upset everything. And Isaid: 


“Very well; then I shall square it by locking the gate from 


your shrubbery. That will give me five minutes to come 
down the hill.’ For my grandfather put up that gate, you 
must know, and of course the key belongs to me. It saves 
Twemlow a cable’s-length every time, and the parsons go to 
church so often now, he would have to make at least anoth- 
er knot a month. So the bells go on as they used to do. 
How many bells do you make it, Mr. Nelson ?” 

‘Hight bells, sir,” Lord Nelson replied, saluting like the 
middy in charge of the watch. And at this little turn they 
both laughed, and went on, with memory of ancient days, 
to church. 


CHAPTER V. 
OPINION, MALE AND FEMALE. 


_ THE fine young parsons of the present generation are too 
fond of asking us why we come to church, and assigning 
fifty reasons out of their own heads, not one of which is 
to our credit or theirs; whereas their proper business is to 
cure the fish they have caught, instead of asking how they 
caught them. Mr. Twemlow had sense enough for this, and 


treated the largest congregation he had ever preached to as 


‘ 


20 SPRINGHAVEN. 


if they were come for the good of their souls, and should 
have it, in spite of Lord Nelson. But, alas! their bodies 
fared not so well, and scarcely a man got his Sunday din- 
ner according to his liking. Never a woman would stay 
by the fire for the sake of a ten-pound leg of mutton; and 
the baker put his shutters up at half past ten, against every 
veal pie and every loin of pork. Because in the church 
there would be seen this day (as the servants at the Hall 
told every one) the man whom no Englishman could behold 
without pride, and no Frenchman with it-—the victor of the . 
Nile, and of Copenhagen, and countless other conflicts. 
Knowing that he would be stared at well, he was equal to 
the occasion, and the people who saw him were so proud of 
the sight that they would talk of it now if they were alive. 

But those who were not there would exhibit more confi- 
dence than conscience by describing every item of his rai- 
ment, which verily even of those who beheld it none could 
do well, except a tailor ora woman. Enough that he shone 
in the light of the sun (which came througk a windowful 
of bull’s-eyes upon him, and was surprised to see stars by 
daylight), but the glint of his jewels and glow of his gold 
diverted no eye from the calm, sad face which in the day of 
battle could outflash them all. That sensitive, mild, eom- 
plaisant face (humble, and even homely now, with scathe 
and seald and the lines of middle age) presented itself as a 
great surprise to the many who came to gaze at it. With 
its child-like simplicity and latent fire, it was rather the face 
of a dreamer and poet than of a warrior and hero. 

Mrs. Cheeseman, the wife of Mr. Cheeseman, who kept 
the main shop in the village, put this conclusion into better 
English, when Mrs. Shanks (Harry’s mother) came on Mon- 
day to buy a rasher and compare opinions. 

‘“Tf I could have fetched it to my mind,” she said, ‘‘ that 
Squire Darling were a tarradiddle, and all his wenches liars 
—which some of them be, and no mistake—and if I could 
refuse my own eyes about gold-lace, and crown-jewels, and 
arms off, happier would I sleep in my bed, ma’am, every 
night the Lord seeth good for it. I would sooner have 
found hoppers in the best ham in the shop than have gone 
to church so to delude myself. But, there! that Cheeseman 
would make me doit. I did believe as we had somebody 


' fit to do battle for us against Boney, and I laughed about 


all they invasion and scares. But now—why, ’a can’t say 
bo to a goose! If’a was to come and stand this moment 


SPRINGHAVEN. ea 


where, you be a-standing, and say, ‘ Mrs. Cheeseman, I want 
a fine rasher,’ not a bit of gristle would I trim out, nor put 
it up in paper for him, as I do for you, ma’am.”’ 

And Widow Shanks quite agreed with her. 

‘‘ Never can I tell you what my feelings was when I 
seed him a-standing by the monument, ma’am. But I said 
to myself, ‘Why, my poor John, as is now in heaven, poor 
fellow, would ’a took you up with one hand, my lord, stars 
and garters and crowns and all, and put you into his sow- 
west pocket.’ And so he could have done, Mrs. Cheese- 
man,”’ 

But the opinion of the men was different, because they 
knew a bee from a bull’s foot. 

‘‘He may not be so very big,” they said, ‘‘nor so out- 
rageous thunderin’ as the missus looked out for from what 
she have read. They always goes by their own opinions, 
and wrong a score of times out of twenty. But any one 
with a fork to his leg can see the sort of stuff he is made of. 
He ‘tended his duty in the house of the Lord, and he 
wouldn’t look after the women; but he kept his live eye 
upon every young chap as were fit for a man-of-war’s man 
—Dan Tugwell especial, and young Harry Shanks. You 
see if he don’t have both of they afore ever the war comes 
on again!” 

Conscious of filling the public eye, with the privilege of 
_ being upon private view, Lord Nelson had faced the posi- 
tion without flinching, and drawn all the fire of the enemy. 
After that he began to make reprisals, according to his 
manner, taking no trouble to regard the women—which 
debarred them from thinking much of him—but settling 
with a steady gaze at each seafaring man, whether he was 
made of good stuff or of pie crust. And to the credit of the 
place it must be said that he found very little of that soft 
material, but plenty of good stuff, slow, perhaps, and heavy, 
but needing only such a soul as his to rouse it. 

‘‘ What a fine set of fellows you have in your village!” 
he said to Miss Darling after dinner, as she sat at the head 
of her father’s table, for the Admiral had long been a wid- 
ower. ‘The finest I have seen on the south coast any- 
where. And they look as if they had been under some 
training. I suppose your father had most of them in the 
Fencibles last summer ?” . 

“Not one of them,” Faith answered, with a sweet smile 
of pride. ‘‘They have their own opinions, and nothing 


* 


22 SPRINGHAVEN. 


will disturb them. Nobody could get them to believe fora 
moment that there was any danger of invasion. And they 
carried on all their fishing business almost as calmly as 
they do now. For that, of course, they may thank you, 
Lord Nelson; but they have not the smallest sense of the 
obligation.” 

‘‘T am used to that, as your father knows; but more 
among the noble than the simple. For the best thing I ever 
did I got no praise, or at any rate very little. As to the 
Boulogne affair, Springhaven was quite right. There was 
never much danger of invasion. I only wish the villains 
would have tried it. Horatia, would you like to see your 
godfather at work? I hope not. Young ladies should be 
peaceful.” 

‘“Then I am not peaceful at all,” cried Dolly, who was 
sitting by the maimed side of her ‘‘ Flapfin,” as her young 
brother Johnny had nicknamed him. ‘‘ Why, if there was 
always peace, what on earth would any but very low people 
find to do? There could scarcely be an admiral, or a gen- 
eral, or even a captain, or—well, a boy to beat the drums.” 

‘But no drum would want to be beaten, Horatia,” her 
elder sister Faith replied, with the superior mind of twenty- 
one; ‘‘and the admirals and the generals would have to be—” 

‘*Doctors, or clergymen, .or something of that sort, or 
perhaps even worse—nasty lawyers.” Then Dolly (whose 
name was ‘‘ Horatia” only in presence of her great godfa- 
ther) blushed, as befitted the age of seventeen, at her daring, 
and looked at her father. | 

‘‘That last cut was meant for me,” Frank Darling, the 
eldest of the family, explained from the opposite side of the 
table. ‘‘ Your lordship, though so well known to us, can 
hardly be expected to know or remember all the little par- 
ticulars of our race. We are four, as you know; and the 
elder two are peaceful, while the younger pair are warlike. 
And I am to be the ‘nasty lawyer,’ called to the bar in the 
fulness of time—which means after dining sufficiently—to 
the great disgust of your little godchild, whcse desire from 
her babyhood has been to get me shot.” 

‘* Little, indeed! What a word to use about me! You 
told a great story. But now you'll make it true.” 

‘To wit—as we say at Lincoln’s Inn—she has not longed 
always for my death in battle, but henceforth will do so; 
but I never shall afford her that gratification. I shall keep 
out of danger as zealously as your lordship rushes into it.” 


SPRINGHAVEN. 25 


‘‘Yrankie going on, I suppose, with some of his usual 
nonsense,’’ Admiral Darling, who was rather deaf, called 
out from the bottom of the table. ‘* Nobody pays much 
attention to him, because he does not mean a word of it. 
He belongs to the peace—peace—peace-at-any-price lot. 
But when a man wanted to rob him last winter, he knocked 
him down, and took him by the throat, and very nearly 
killed him.” 

‘‘That’s the only game to play,” exclaimed Lord Nelson, 
who had been looking at Frank Darling with undisguised 
disgust. ‘*My young friend, you are not such a fool after 
all. And why should you try to be one ?” 

‘“My brother,” said the sweet-tempered Faith, ‘‘ never 
tries to be a fool, Lord Nelson; he only tries to be a poet.” 

This made people laugh; and Nelson, feeling that he had 
been rude to a youth who could not fairly answer him, 
jumped from his chair with the lightness of a boy, and went 
round to Frank Darling, with his thin figure leaning for- 
ward, and his gray unpowdered hair tossed about, and upon 
his wrinkled face that smile which none could ever resist, 
because it was so warm and yet so sad. 

** Shake hands, my dear young friend,” he cried, ‘‘ though 
I cannot offer the right one. I was wrong to call you a 
fool because you don't look at things as I do. Poets are 
almost as good as sailors, and a great deal better than sol- 


diers. I have felt a gift that way myself, and turned out 


some very tidy lines. But I believe they were mainly about 
myself, and I never had time to go on with them.” 

Such little touches of simplicity and kindness, from a man 
who never knew the fear of men, helped Jargely to produce 
that love of Nelson which England felt, and will always feel. 

‘‘My lord,” replied the young man, bending low—for he 
was half a cubit higher than the mighty captain—‘ it is 
good for the world that you have no right arm, when you 
disarm it so with your left one.” 


CHAPTER VI. 
AS OTHERS SEE US. 


ADMIRAL DARLING was very particular in trying to keep 
his grounds and garden tolerably tidy always. But he nev- 
er succeeded, for the simple reason that he listened to every 


5, 


24 SPRINGHAVEN. 


one’s excuses; and not understanding a walk or a lawn 
half so well as the deck of a battle-ship, he was always de- 
feated in argument. 

‘‘Here’s a state of things!” he used to say in summer- 
time; ‘‘thistles full of seed within a biscuit-heave of my 
front door, and other things—I forget their names—with 
heads like the head of a capstan bursting, all as full of seeds 
as a purser is of lies!” | 

‘“Your lordship do not understand them subjects,” Mr. 
Swipes, the head gardener, was in the habit of replying; 

‘‘and small blame to you, in my opin- 
, ion, after so many years upon the briny 
é wave. Ah! they can’t grow them 
* ( things there.” 
i ‘‘ Swipes, that is true, but 
sa to my mind not at all a sat- 
A IF OE ie Fae N _ isfactory reason 
pee 3 < ‘s for growing them 
here, just in front 
#/) of the house and 
‘i? the windows. 


Y 48.21 don’t mind a 
“Gc few in the kitch- 
en- garden ;_ but 
you know as well 
as I do, Swipes, 
y that they can 
“ have no proper 
business here.”’ 

‘*T did hear tell 
down to the Club, 
last night,” Mr. 
Ss Ae Swipes would re- 

= ply, after wiping 
his forehead as if his whole mind were perspired away, 
‘though I don’t pretend to say how far true it may be, that 
all the land of England is to be cultivated for the public 
good, same as on the continence, without no propriety or 
privacy, my lord. But I don’t altogether see how they be 
todo it. SoI thought I'd better ask your lordship.” 

‘For the public good! The public-house good, you 
mean,’ the Admiral answered nine times out of ten, be- 
ing easily led from the track of his wrath, and tired of 
telling Swipes that he was not alord. ‘‘ How many times 












S 


oe 








ee. eee ee eee ee ay eS ee UTE ee eee ee ey bee eae Raion tb f 


26 SPRINGHAVEN. 


more must I tell you, Swipes, that I hate that Jacobin asso- 
ciation? Can you tell me of one seaman belonging to it? 
A set of fish-jobbers, and men with barrows, and cheap-jacks 
from upthe country. Notone of my tenants would be such 
a fool as to go there, even if I allowed him. . I make great 
allowances for you, Swipes, because of your obstinate nat- 
~ ure. But don't let me hear of that Club any more, or you 
may go and cultivate for the public good.” 

‘*Your lordship knows that I goes there for nothing, ex- 
cept to keep up my burial. And with all the work there is 
upon this place, the Lord only knows when I may be re- 
quiring of it. Ah! I never see the like; Inever did. And 
a blade of grass the wrong way comes down on poor old 
Swipes!” 

Hereupon the master, having done his duty, was relieved 
from overdoing it, and went on other business with a peace- 
ful mind. The feelings, however, of Mr. Swipes were not 
to be appeased so lightly, but demanded the immediate sat- 
isfaction of a pint of beer. And so large was his charity 
that if his master fell short of duty upon that point, he ac- 
credited him with the good intention, and enabled him to 
discharge it. 

‘‘My dear soul,” he said, with symptoms of exhaustion, 
to good Mrs. Cloam, the house-keeper, who had all the keys 
at her girdle, about ten o’clock on the Monday morning, 
‘‘ what a day we did have yesterday !” 

‘“A merey upon me, Mr. Swipes,” cried Mrs. Cloam, who 
was also short of breath, *‘ how you did exaggerate my poor 
narves, a-rushing up so soft, with the cold steel in both your 
hands!” 

‘‘Ah, ma'am, it have right to be a good deal wuss than 
that,” the chivalrous Swipes made answer, with the scythe 
beside his ear. ‘‘It don’t consarn what the masters say, 
though enough to take one's legs off. But the ladies, Mrs. 
Cloam, the Jadies—it’s them as takes our heads off.” 

‘‘Go ‘long with you, Mr. Swipes! You are so disastrous 
at turning things. And how much did he say you was to 
have this time? MHere’s Jenny Shanks coming up the pas- 
sage.” 

‘‘ Well, he left itto myself; he have that confidence in me. 
And little it is I should ever care to take, with the power 
of my own will, ma’am. Why, the little brown jug, ma’am, 
is aS much as I can manage even of our small beer now. 
Ah! I know the time when I would no more have thought 





SPRINGHAVEN. 27 


‘ef rounding of my mouth for such small stuff than of your 
gerowing up, ma’am, to be a young woman, with the sponsor- 
ship of this big place upon you. Wonderful! wonderful! 
And only yesterday, as a man witha gardening mind looks 
at it, you was the prettiest young maiden on the green, and 
the same—barring marriage—if you was to encounter with 
the young men now.” 

‘*Oh,” said Mrs. Cloam, who was fifty, if a day, ‘‘how 
you do make me think of sad troubles, Mr. Swipes! Jenny, 
take the yellow jug with the three beef-eaters on it, and go 
to the third cask from the door—the key turns upside down, 
mind—and Jet me hear you whistle till you bring me back 
the key. Don’t tell me nonsense about your lips being dry. 
You can whistle like a blackbird when you choose.” 

‘*Here’s to your excellent health, Mrs. Cloam, and as 
blooming as it finds you now,ma’am! As pretty a tap as I 
taste since Christmas, and another dash of malt would ’a 
made it worthy amost to speak your health in. Well, 
ma'am, a leetle drop in crystal for yourself, and then for my 
business, which is to inquire after your poor dear health to- 
day. Blooming as you are, ma’am, you must bear in mind 
that beauty is only skin-deep, Mrs. Cloam; and the purtier 
a flower is, the more delicate it grows. Ive a-been a-think- 
ing of you every night, ma’am, knowing how you must ’a 
been put about and driven. The Admiral have gone down 
to the village, and Miss Dolly to stare at the boats going out.” 

‘‘Then I may speak a word for once at ease, Mr. Swipes, 
though the Lord alone knows what a load is on my tongue. 
It requires a fine gardener, being used to delicacy, to enter 
into half the worry we have to put up with. Heroes of the 
Nile indeed, and bucklers of the country! Why, he could 
not buckle his own shoe, and Jenny Shanks had to do it 
for him. Not that I blame him for having one arm, and a 
brave man he is to have lost it; but that he might have said 
something about the things I got up at a quarter to five 
every morning to make up for him. For cook is no more 
than a smoke-jack, Mr. Swipes; if she keeps the joint turn- 
ing, that’s as much as she can do.” 

‘‘Anda little too fond of good beer, I’m afeard,” replied 
Mr. Swipes, having emptied his pot. ‘*‘Men’s heads was 
made for it, but not women’s, till they come to superior sta- 
tions in life. But, oh, Mrs. Cloam, what a life we lead with 
the crotchets of the gentry!” 

_. “Itisn’t that so-much,-Mr. Swipes, if only there was any 


28 SPRINGHAVEN. 

way of giving satisfaction. I wish everybody who is born 
to it to have the very best of everything, likewise all who 
have fought up to it. But to make all the things and have 
nothing made of them, whether indigestion or want of ap- 
petite, turns one quite into the Negroes almost, that two or 
three people go on with.” 

‘‘T don’t look at what he hath aten or left,’ Mr. Swipes 
made answer, loftily; ‘‘ that heth between him and his own 
stommick. But what hath ’a left for me, ma'am? He hath 
looked out over the garden when he pleased, and this time 
of year no weeds is up, and he don't know enough of things 
to think nothing of them. When his chaise come down I 
was out by the gate with a broom in my hand, and I pulled 
off my hat, but his eye never seemed to lay hold of me.” 

‘* His eye lays hold of everything, whether he makes ’em 
feel orno. One thing I’m sure of—he was quite up to Miss 
Dolly, and the way she earries on with you know who every 
blessed Sunday. If that is what they go to church for—” 

‘‘ But, my dear soul,” said the genial Swipes, whose heart 
was enlarged with the power of good beer, ‘‘ when you and 
I was young folk, what did we go to church for? I ean't 
speak for you, ma’am, being ever so much younger, and a 
baby in the gallery in long clothes, if born by that time; 
but so far as myself goes, it was the girls I went to look at, 
and most of ’em come as well to have it done to them.” 

‘‘That never was my style, Mr. Swipes, though I know 
there were some not above it. And amongst equals I won't 
say that there need be much harm in it. But for a young 
man in the gallery, with a long stick of the vile-base in his 
hand, and the only clean shirt of the week on his back, and 
nothing but a plank of pitch to keep him, however good- 
looking he may be, to be looking at the daughter, and the 
prettiest one too, though not the best, some people think, of 
the gentleman that owns all the houses and the haven—pre- 
sumption is the smallest word that I can find to use for it; 
and for her to allow it, fat—fat something in the nation.” 

‘‘ Well, ma’am,” said Mr. Swipes, whose views were loose 
and liberal, ‘‘it seems a little shock at first to those on trust 
in families. But Dannel is a brave boy, and might fight 
his way to glory, and then they has the pick of the femmels 
up to a thousand pound a year. You know what happened 
the miller’s son, no further off than Upton. And if it hadn’t 
been for Dannel, when she was a little chit, where would 
proud Miss Dolly be, with her feathers and her furbelows ? 








SPRINGHAVEN. 29 


Natur’ is the thing I holds by, and I sees a deal of it.. And 
betwixt you and me and the bedpost, ma’am, whoever hath 
Miss Dolly will have to ride to London on this here scythe. 
Miss Faith is the lass for a good quiet man, without no airs 
and graces, and to my judgment every bit as comely, and 
more of her to hold on by. But the Lord ’a mercy upon us, 
Mrs. Cloam, you’ve a-been married like my poor self; and 
you knows what we be, and we knows what you be. Looks 
‘ain't much to do with it, after the first week or two. It's 
the cooking, and the natur’, and the not going contrairy. 
B'lieve Miss Dolly would go contrairy to a hangel, if her 
was jined to him three days.” 

‘*Prejudice! prejudice!” the house-keeper replied, while 
shaking her finger severely athim. ‘* You ought to be above 
such opinions, Mr. Swipes, a superior man, such as you are. 
If Miss Faith came into your garden reading books, and 
finding fault here and there, and sniffing at the flowers a 
quarter so often as pretty Dolly does, perhaps you wouldn't 
make such a perfect angel of her, and run down her sister in 
comparison. But your wonderful Miss Faith comes peeping 
here and poking there into pots and pans, and asking the 
maids how their mothers are, as if her father kept no house- 
keeper. She provoked me so in the simple-room last week, 
as if I was hiding thieves there, that I asked her at last 
whether she expected to find Mr. Erle there. And you 
should have seen how she burst out crying; for something 
had turned on her mind before.” 

‘Well, I couldn’t have said that to her,” quoth the ten- 
der-hearted Swipes—‘‘not if she had come and routed out 
every key and every box, pot, pan, and panier in the tool- 
house and stoke-hole and vinery! The pretty dear! the 
pretty dear! And such a lady as she is! Ah, you women 
are hard-hearted to one another, when your minds are up! 
But take my word for it, Mrs. Cloam, no one will ever have 
the chance of making your beautiful Miss Dolly ery by ask- 
ing her where her sweetheart is.” 


CHAPTER VII. 
A SQUADRON IN THE DOWNS. 


‘My dear girls, all your courage is gone,” said Admiral 
Darling to his daughters at luncheon, that same Monday; 


30 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘‘departed perhaps with Lord Nelson and Frank. I hate 
the new style of such come-and-go visits, as if there was no 
time for anything. Directly a man knows the ways of the 
house, and you can take him easily, off he goes. Just like 
Hurry, he never can stop quiet. He talks as if peace was 
the joy of his life, and a quiet farm his paradise, and very 
likely he believes it. But my belief is that a year of peace 
would kill him, now that he has made himself so famous, 
When that sort of thing begins, it seems as if it must go 
on.” 

‘But, father dear,” exclaimed the elder daughter, *‘ you 
could have done every single thing that Lord Nelson has 
ever contrived to do, if you had only happened to be there, 
and equally eager for destruction. I have heard you say. 
many times, though not of course before him, that you could 
have managed the battle of the Nile considerably better than 
he did. And instead of allowing the great vessel to blow 
up, you would have brought her safe to Spithead.” 

‘‘My dear, you must have quite misunderstood me. Be 
sure that you never express such opinions, which are entire- 
ly your own, in the presence of naval officers. Snoney I 
~ will not say that they are quite without foundation.” 

‘Why, pa,” cried Miss Dolly, who was very truthful, 
when her own interests were not involved, *‘ you have often 
said twice as much as that. How well I remember having 
heard you say—” 

‘* You young people always back up one another, and you 
don’t care what you make your poor father say. I wonder 
you don’t vow that I declared I could jump over the moon 
with my uniform on. But [1] tell you what we’ll do, to 
bring back your senses—we will go for a long ride this fine 
afternoon. Ivea great mind to go as far as Stonnington.” 

‘“Now how many times have you told us that? I won't 
believe it till we get there,” young Dolly answered, with her 
bright eyes full of joy. ‘* You must be ashamed of Eiio 
self, papa, for neglecting your old friend’s son so long.” 

“Well, to tell. you the truth, I am, my dear,’ eoniicased 
the aod natured Admiral; ‘‘ but no one but myself has the 
least idea of the quantity of things I have to do.” 

** Exactly what old Swipes said this very morning, only 
much more impr essively. AndI really did believe him, till I 
saw a yellow jug, and a horn that holds a pint, in the summer- 
house. He thr ew his coat over them, bit it was too late.” 

_ ** Dolly, I shall have to put. you in the black hole. .You 





SPRINGHAVEN. 31 


belong too much to the rising generation, or the upstart 
generation is the proper word. What would Lord Nelson 
say? I must have him back again. He is the man for 
strict discipline.” 

‘*Oh, I want to ask one thing about my great godfather. 
You know he only came down with one portmanteau, and 
his cocked-hat box, and two hampers. But when I went 
into his bedroom to see, as a goddaughter should, that his 
pillow was smooth, there he had got tacked up at the head 
of his bed a picture of some very beautiful lady, and anoth- 
er at the side, and another at the foot!) And Jenny Shanks, 
who couldn't help peeping in, to see how a great hero goes 
to sleep, wishes that she may be an old maid forever if she 
did not see him say his prayers to them. Now the same fate 
befall me if I don’t find out who itis! You must know, 
papa, so you had better tell at once.” 

‘“That hussy shall leave the house to-morrow. I never 
heard of anything so shameless. Mrs. Cloam seems to have 
no authority whatever. And you too, Dolly, had no busi- 
ness there. If any one went to see the room comfortable, it 
should have been Faith, as the lady of the house. Ever 
Since you persuaded me that you were too old for a govern- 
ess, you seem to be under no discipline at all.” 

‘‘Now you know that you don’t mean that, papa. You 
say those cruel things just to make me kiss you,” cried Dol- 
ly, with the action suited to the word, and with her bright 
hair falling upon his snowy beard the father could not help 
returning the salute. ‘* But I must know who that lady is. 
And what can he want with three pictures of her ?” 

‘“How should I know, Dolly? Perhaps it is his mother, 
or perhaps it is the Queen of Naples, who made a Duke of 
him for what he did out there. Now be quick, both of you, 
or no ride to-day. It is fifteen long miles to Stonnington, f 
am sure, and I am not going to break my neck. As it is, 
we must put dinner off till half past six, and we shall all be 
starved by that time. Quick, girls, quick! Ican only give 
you twenty minutes.” 

The Admiral, riding with all the vigour of an ancient mar- 
iner, looked well between his two fair daughters, as they 
turned their horses’ heads inland, and made over the downs 
for Stonnington. Here was beautiful cantering ground, 
without much furze or many rabbit-holes, and lovely air 
flowing over green waves of land, to greet and to deepen the 
rose upon young cheeks. Behind them was the broad sea, 


32 SPRINGHAVEN. 


looking steadfast, and spread with slowly travelling tints; 
before them and around lay the beauty of the earth, with 
the goodness of the sky thrown over it. The bright world 
quivered with the breath of spring, and her smile was shed 
on everything. 

‘“What a lovely country we have been through! I 
should like to come here every day,” said Faith, as they 
struck into the Loudon road again. ‘‘If Stonnington is as 
nice as this, Mr. Seudamore must be happy there.” 

‘“Well, we shall see,” her father answered. ‘‘ My busi- 
ness has been upon the coast so much that I know very lit- 
tle about Stonnington. But Scudamore has such a happy 
nature that nothing would come much amiss to him. You 
know why he is here, of course ?” 

‘‘No, I don’t, papa. You are getting so mysterious that 
you never tell us anything now,” replied Dolly. “I only 
know that he was in the navy, and now he is in @& grammar- 
school. The last time I saw him he was about a yard high.” 

‘‘He isa good bit short of two yards now,” said the Ad- 
miral, smiling as he thought of him; ‘‘ but quite tall enough 
for a sailor, Dolly, and the most active young man I ever 
saw in my life, every inch of him sound and quick and 
true. I shall think very little of your judgment unless you 
like him heartily; not at first, perhaps, because he is so shy, 
but as soon as you begin to know him. I mean to ask him 
to come down as soon as he can get a holiday. His captain 
told me, when he served in the Diomede, that there was not 
a man in the ship to come near him for nimbleness and 
quiet fearlessness.” 

‘Then what made him take to his books again? Oh,how 
terribly dull he must find them! Why, that must be Ston- 
nington church, on the hill!” 

‘Yes, and the old grammar-school close by. I was very 
near going there once myself, but they sent me to Win- 
chester instead. It was partly through me that he got his 
berth here, though not much to thank me for, I am afraid. 
Sixty pounds a year and his rations isn’t much for a man 
who has been at Cambridge. But even that he could not get 
in the navy when the slack time came last year. He held 
no commission, like many other fine young fellows, but had 
entered as a first-class volunteer. And so he had no rating 
when this vile peace was patched up—excuse me, my dear, 
what I meant to say was, when the blessings of tranquillity 
were restored. Aud before that his father, my dear old 











‘HERE WAS BEAUTIFUL CANTERING GROUND.” 


34 SPRINGHAVEN. 


friend, died very suddenly, as you have heard me say, with- 
out leaving more than would bury him. Don’t talk any 
more of it. It makes me sad to think of it.” 

‘‘ But,” persisted Dolly, ‘‘I could never understand why 
a famous man like Sir Edmond Scudamore—a physician in 
large practice, and head doctor to the King, as you have of- 
ten told us—could possibly have died in that sort of way, 
without leaving any money, or at least a quantity of valua- 
ble furniture and jewels. And he had not a number of 
children, papa, to spend all his money, as I do yours, when- 
ever I get the chance; though you are growing so dreadful- 
ly stingy now that I never can look even decent.” 

‘“My dear, it is a very long sad story. Not about my 
stinginess, I mean—though that is a sad story, in another 
sense, but will not move my compassion. As to Sir Edmond, 
I can only tell you now that, while he was a man of great 
scientific knowledge, he knew very little indeed of money- 
matters, and was not only far too generous, but what is a 
thousand times worse, too trustful. Being of an honourable 
race himself,and an honourable sample of it, he supposed that 
a man of good family must be a gentleman; which is not 
always the case. He advanced large sums of money, and 
signed bonds for a gentleman, or rather a man of that rank, 
whose name does not concern you; and by that man he was 
vilely betrayed; and I would rather not tell you the rest of 
it. Poor Blyth had to leave Cambridge first, where he was 
sure to have done very well indeed,and at his own wish he was 
sent afloat, where he would have done even better; and then 
as his father’s troubles deepened, and ended in his death of 
heart-complaint, the-poor boy was left to keep his broken- 
hearted mother, upon nothing but a Latin Grammar. And 
I fear it is like a purser’s dip. But here we are at Stonning- 
ton—a long steep pitch. Let us slacken sail, my dears, as 
we have brought no coxswain. Neither of you need land, 
you know; but I shall go into the school-room.”’ 

‘*One thing I want to know,” said the active-minded Dol- 
ly, as the horses came blowing their breath up the hill: ‘‘if 
his father was Sir Edmond, and he is the only child, accord- 
ing to all the laws of nature he ought to be Sir Blyth Seud- 
amore.” 

‘It shows how little you have been out—as good Mrs. 
Twemlow expresses it—that you do not even understand the 
laws of nature as between a Baronet and a Knight.” 

‘*Oh, to be sure; I recollect! How very stupid of me! 


“HOUNHO NOLININOLS 








36 SPRINGHAVEN. 


The one goes on, and the other doesn’t, after the individual 
stops. But whose fault is it that I go out so little? So you 
see you are caught in your own trap, papa.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A LESSON IN THE AINEID. 


IN those days Stonnington was a very pretty village, and 
such it continued to be until it was ravaged by a railway. 
With the railway came all that is hideous and foul, and 
from it fled all that is comely. The cattle-shed, called by 
rail-highwaymen ‘‘the Station,” with its roof of iron Pan- 
pipes and red bull’s-eyes stuck on stack-poles, whistles and 
stares where the grand trees stood and the village green. lay 
sleeping. On the site of the gray-stone grammar-school is 
an ‘‘Operative Institute,” whose front (not so thick as the 
skin of a young ass) is gayly tattooed with a ringworm of 
wind-bricks. And the old manor-house, where great au- 
thors used to dine, and look out with long pipes through 
the ivy, has been stripped of every shred of leaf, and paint- 
ed red and yellow, and barge-boarded into ‘‘ the Temper- 
ance Tap.” 

Kre ever these heathen so furiously raged, there was peace 
and content, and the pleasure of the eyes, and of neighbourly 
feeling abundance. The men never burst with that bubble 
of hurry which every man now is inflated with; and the 
women had time enough to mind one another's affairs, 
without which they grow scandalous. And the trees, that 
kept company with the houses, found matter for reflection 
in their calm blue smoke, and the green crop that promised 
a little grove upon the roof. So that as the road went up 
the hill, the traveller was content to leave his legs to nature, 
while his eyes took their leisure of pleasant views, and of 
just enough people to dwell upon. 

At the top of the hill rose the fine old church, and next 
to it, facing on the road itself, without any kind of fence 
before it, stood the grammar-school of many generations. 
This was a long low building, ridged with mossy slabs, and 
ribbed with green, where the drip oozed down the buttresses. 
But the long reach of the front was divided by a gable pro- 
jecting a little into the broad high-road. And here was the 
way, beneath a Iow stone arch, into a porch with oak beams 


ee ee 


SPRINGHAVEN. 37 


bulging and a bell-rope dangling, and thence with an oaken 
door flung back into the dark arcade of learning. 

This was the place to learn things in, with some possi- 
bility of keeping them, and herein lay the wisdom of our 
ancestors. Could they ever have known half as much as 
they did, and ten times as much as we know, if they had let 
the sun come in to dry it all up, as we do?) Will even the 
fourteen-coated onion root, with its bottom exposed to the 
sun, or will a clever puppy grow long ears in the power of 
strong daylight ? | 

The nature and nurture of solid learning were better un- 
derstood when schools were built from which came Shaks- 
peare and Bacon and Raleigh; and the glare of the sun was 
not let in to baffle the light of the eyes upon the mind. 
And another consideration is that wherever there is light, 
boys make a noise, which conduces but little to doctrine; 
whereas in soft shadow their muscles relax, and their minds 
become apprehensive. Thus had this ancient grammar- 
school of Stonnington fostered many scholars, some of whom 
had written grammars for themselves and their posterity. 

The year being only at the end of March, and the day go- 
ing on for five o'clock, the light was just right, in the long 
low room, for correction of manners and for discipline. 
Two boys had been horsed and brushed up well, which had 
strengthened the conscience of all the rest, while sobs and 
rubs of the part affected diffused a tender silence. Doc- 
tor Swinks, the head-master, was leaning back in his cano- 
pied oaken chair, with the pride inspired by noble actions. 

‘* What wonderfully good boys!” Dolly whispered, as she 
peeped in through the dark porch with Faith, while her 
father was giving the horses in charge to the hostler from 
the inn across the way; ‘‘I declare that I shall be frightened 
even to look at Mr. Scudamore, if this is a specimen of what 
he does. There is scarcely a boy looking off his book. But 
how old he does look! I suppose it must be the effect of so 
much hard teaching.” 

‘* You silly thing,” her sister answered; ‘‘ you are looking 
at the great head-master. Mr. Scudamore is here at the 
bottom of the school. Between these big hinges you can 
see him; and he looks as young as you do.”’ 

Miss Dolly, who dearly loved any sly peep, kept her light 
figure back and the long skirt pulled in, as she brought her 
bright eyes to the slit between the heavy black door and the 
stone-work. And she speedily gave her opinion. 


88 SPRINGHAVEN. 


' “He is nothing but a regular frump. I declare I am 
dreadfully disappointed. No wonder the title did not come 
on! He is nothing but a very soft-natured stupe. Why, 
the boys can do what they like with him!” 

Certainly the scholars of the Virgil ‘class, which Blyth 
Scudamore was dealing with, had recovered from the queri- 
monies of those two sons of Ovid, on the further side of 
Ister, and were having a good laugh at the face of ‘‘ Captain 
Scuddy,” as they called their beloved preceptor. For he, 
being gifted with a gentle sense of humour, together with a 
patient love of the origin of things, was questing in his 
quiet mind what had led a boy to render a well-known 
line as follows: ‘‘Such a quantity of salt there was, to 
season the Roman nation.” Presently he hit upon the 
clue to this great mystery. ‘‘ Mola, the salted cake,” he 
said; ‘‘and the next a little error of conjugation. You 
have looked out your words, Smith, but chanced upon the 
wrong ones.” 

‘Oh, Captain Scuddy,” cried the head boy, grinning 
wisely, though he might have made just the same blunder 
himself; ‘‘ after that, do tell us one of your sea-stories. It 
will strike five in about five minutes. Something about 
Nelson, and killing ten great Frenchmen.” 

‘“Oh, do!” cried the other little fellows, crowding round 
him. ‘‘It is ever so much better than Virgil, Captain 
Scuddy.”’ 

‘‘T am not Captain Scuddy, as I tell you every day. I’m 
afraid I am a great deal too good-natured with you. Ishall 
have to send a dozen of you up to be caned.”’ 

‘“No, you couldn’t do that if you tried, Captain Scuddy. 
But what are you thinking of all this time? There are two 
pretty ladies in riding-habits peeping at you from the bell 
porch. Why, you have got sweethearts, Captain Scuddy ! 
What a shame of you never to have told us!” 

The youngest and fairest of all the boys there could 
scarcely have blushed more deeply than their classical tutor 
did as he stooped for his hat, and shyly went between the 
old desks to the door in the porch. All the boys looked 
after him with the deepest interest, and made up their minds 
to see everything he did. This was not at all what he de- 
sired, and the sense of it increased his hesitation and con- 
fusion. Of the Admiral’s lovely daughters he had heard 
while in the navy, and now he was frightened to think 
that perhaps they were come here to reconnoitre him. 
































































































































“WHAT WONDERFULLY GOOD Boys!” | , 


40 SPRINGHAVEN. 


But luckily the Admiral was by this time to the fore, and 
he marched into the school-room and saluted the head- 
master. 

‘‘ Dr. Swinks,” he said, ‘‘ I am your very humble servant, 
Vice-Admiral of the Blue, Charles Darling, and beg a thou- 
sand pardons for intrusion on deep learning. But they tell 
me that your watch is over in some half a minute. Allow 
me to ask for the son of an old friend, Blyth Scudamore, 
late of the Diomede frigate, but now of this ancient and 
Jearned grammar-school. When his labours are over, I 
would gladly speak with him.” 

‘‘Boys may go,” the head-master pronounced, as the old 
clock wheezed instead of striking. ‘‘Sir, my valued young 
coadjutor is advancing from the fourth form towards you.” 

The Doctor was nice in his choice of words, and prided 
himself on Johnsonian precision, but his young coadjutor’s | 
advance was hardly to be distinguished from a fine retreat. 
Like leaves before the wind, the boys rushed out by a back 
door into the play-ground, while the master solemnly passed 
to his house, with a deep slow bow to the ladies; and there 
was poor Scudamore—most diffident of men whenever it 
came to lady-work—left to face the visitors with a pleasing 
knowledge that his neckcloth was dishevelled and his hair 
sheafed up, the furrows of his coat broadcast with pounce, 
and one of his hands gone to sleep from holding a heavy 
Delphin for three-quarters of an hour. 

As he came out thus into the evening lheght, which dazed 
his blue eyes for a moment, Miss Dolly tur ned away to hide 
a smile, but Faith, upon her father’s introduction, took his 
hand and looked at him tenderly. Forshe was a very soft- 
hearted young woman, and the tale of his troubles and good- 
ness to his mother had moved her affection towards him, 
while as one who was forever pledged—according to her 
own ideas—to a hero beyond comparison, she was able to 
regard young men with mercy, and with pity, if they had 
none to love. ‘‘How hard you have been at work!” she 
said; ‘‘it makes us seem so lazy! But we never can find 
any good thing to do.” 

‘*That’s a cut at me,” cried the Admiral. ‘Scudamore, 
when you come to my age, be wiser than to have any 
daughters. Sure enough, they find no good to do; and they 
not only put all the fault of that on me, but they make me 
the victim of all the mischief they invent. Dolly, my 
darling, wear that cap if it fits. But you have not shaken 




































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THE PRETTY LADIES. 


42 : SPRINGHAVEN. 


hands with Mr. Scudamore yet. I hope you will do so, some 
hundreds of times.” 

‘‘Not all at once, papa; or how thankful he would be! 
But stop, I have not got half my glove off; this fur makes 
them stick so.” : | 

Miss Dolly was proud of her hands, and lost few chances 
of getting them looked at. Then with a little smile, partly 
at herself for petulance, partly to him for forgiveness, she 
offered her soft, warm, rich white hand, and looked at him 
beautifully as he took it. Alack and alas for poor ‘‘ Cap- 
tain Seuddy”! 

His eyes, with a quick, shy glance, met hers, and hers with 
soft inquiry answered, ‘‘I wonder what you think of me 2” 
Whenever she met a new face this was her manner of con- 
sidering: it. 

‘‘Scudamore, I shall not allow you any time to think 
about it,” Admiral Darling broke in suddenly, so that the 
young man almost jumped. ‘‘ Although you have cut the 
service for a while, because of our stingy peacefulness, you 
are sure to come back to us again when England wants 
English, not Latin and Greek. I am your commanding 
officer, and my orders are that you come to us from Satur- 
day till Monday. I shall send a boat—or at least I mean a 
buggy—to fetch you, as soon as you are off duty, and re-_ 
turn you the same way on Monday. Come, girls, ’twill be 
dark before we are home; and since the patrols were with- 
drawn, I hear there’s a highwayman down this road again. 
That is one of the blessings of peace, Scudamore, even as 
Latin and Greek are. ‘ Apertis otia portis’—Open the gates 
for laziness. Ah, I should have done well at old Winton, 
they tell me, if I had not happened to run away to sea.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE MAROON. 


IF yet there remained upon our southern coast a home for 
the rarer virtues, such as gratitude, content, liberality (not 
of other people’s goods alone), faith in a gracious Provi- 
dence, and strict abstinence from rash labour, that home and 
stronghold was Springhaven. To most men good success 
brings neither comfort, nor tranquillity, nor so much as a 
stool to sit upon; but comes as a tread-mill which must be 


SPRINGHAVEN, 43 


trodden without any getting to the top of it. Not so did 
these wise men take their luck. If ever they came from 
the fickle wave-bosom to the firm breast of land on a Satur- 
day, with a fine catch of fish, and sold it well—and such 
was their sagacity that sooner would they keep it for canni- 
bal temptation than sell it badly—did they rush into the 
waves again before they had dried their breeches? Not 
they; nor did their wives, who were nearly all good women, 
stir them up to be off again. Especially at this time of 
year, with the days pulling out, and the season quickening, 
and the fish coming back to wag their tails upon the shal- 
lows, a pleasant race of men should take their pleasure, and 
leave flints to be skinned by the sons of flint. 

This was the reason why Miss Dolly Darling had watched 
in vain at the Monday morning tide for the bold issue of the 
fishing fleet. The weariless tide came up and lifted the 
bedded keel and the plunged forefoot, and gurgled with a 
quiet wash among the straky bends, then lurched the boats 
to this side and to that, to get their heft correctly, and dan- 
dled them at last with their bowsprits dipped and their little 
mast-heads nodding. Every brave smack then was mount- 
ed, and riding, and ready for a canter upon the broad sea: 
but not a blessed man came to set her free. Tethered by 
head and by heel, she could only enjoy the poised pace of 
the rocking-horse, instead of the racer’s delight in career ing 
across the ‘free sweep of the distance. 

Springhaven had done so well last week that this week 
it meant to do still better, by stopping at home till the mon- 
ey was gone, and making short work afterwards. Every 
man thoroughly enjoyed himself, keeping sober whenever 
good manners allowed, foregoing all business, and saunter- 
ing about to see the folk hard at work who had got no 
money. On Wednesday, however, an order was issued by 
Captain Zebedee Tugwell that all must be ready for a three 
days’ trip, when the tide should serve, which would be at 
the first of the ebb, about ten in the morning. The tides 
were slackening now, and the smacks had required some 
change of berth, but still they were not very far from the 
Admiral’s white gate. 

‘IT shall go down to see them, papa, if you please,” Dolly 
said to her father at breakfast-time. ‘*They should have 
gone on Monday; but they were too rich; and I think it. 
very shameful of them. I dare say they have not got a 
halfpenny left, and that makes them look so lively. Of 


44 SPRINGHAVEN. 


course they’ve been stuffing, and they won’t move fast, and 
they can’t expect any more dinner till they catch it. But 
they have got so much bacon that they don’t care.” 

‘‘What could they have better, I should like to know ?” 
asked the Admiral, who had seen hard times. ‘‘ Why, I 
gave seven men tlree dozen apiece for turning their noses 
up at salt horse, just because he whisked his tail in the cop- 
per. Lord bless my soul! what is the nation coming to, 
when a man can’t dine upon cold bacon 2” 

‘‘No, it is not that, papa. They are very good in that 
way, as their wives will tell you. Jenny Shanks tells me 
the very same thing, and of course she knows all about 
them. She knew they would never think of going out on 
Monday, and if I had asked her I might have known it too. 
But she says that they are sure to catch this tide.” 

‘“ Very well, Dolly. Go you and catch them. You are 
never content’ without seeiug something. Though what 
there is to see in a lot of lubberly craft pushing off with 
punt-poles—” 

‘‘Hush, papa, hush! Don’t be so contemptuous. What 
did my godfather say the other day? And I suppose he un- 
dersiands things.” 

‘‘Don’t quote your godfather against your father. It 
was never intended in the Catechism. And if it was, I 
would never put up with it.” 

Dolly made off; for she knew that her father, while proud 
of his great impartiality, candor, and scorn of all trumpery 
feeling, was sometimes unable to make out the reason why 
a queer little middy of his own should now stand upon the 
giddy truck of fame, while himself, still ahead of him in 
the Navy List, might pace his quarter-deck and have hats 
touched to him, but never a heart beat one pulse quicker.. 
Jealous he was not; but still, but still, at least in his own 
family— 

Leaving her dear father to his meditations—which Faith 
ran up to kiss away—fair Dolly put on a plain hat and scarf, 
quite good enough for the fishermen, and set off in haste for 
the Round-house, to see the expedition start. By the time 
she was there, and had lifted the sashes, and got the spy- 
glass ready, the flow of the tide was almost spent, and the 
brimming moment of the slack was nigh. For this all the 
folk of the village waited, according to the tradition of the 
place; the manhood and boyhood, to launch forth; old age, 
womanhood, and childhood, to contribute the comfort of 


SPRINGHAVEN. 45 


kind looks and good-bye. | The tides, though not to be com- 
pared to the winds in fickleness, are capricious here, having 
sallies of irregularity when there has been a long period of 
northeast winds, bringing a counter-flow to the Atlantic in- 
flux. Andaman must be thoroughly acquainted with the 
coast, as well as the moon and the weather, to foretell how 
the water will rise and fall there. For the present, however, 
there was no such puzzle. The last lift of the quiet tide 
shone along the beach in three straight waves, shallow steps 
that arose inshore, and spent themselves without breaking. 

‘‘Toorn o’ the tide!” the Captain shouted; ‘‘all aboord, 
aboord, my lads! The more ’e bide ashore, the wuss ’e be. 
See to Master Cheeseman’s craft! Got a good hour afront 
of us. Dannel, what be mooning at? Fetch’un a clout on 
his head, Harry Shanks; or, Tim, you run up and do it. 
Doubt the young hosebird were struck last moon, and his 
brains put to salt in a herring-tub. Home with you, wife! 
And take Dan, if you will. He’d do more good at the chip- 
ping job, with the full moon in his head so.”’ 

‘“Then home I will take my son, Master Tugwell,” his 
wife answered, with much dignity, for all the good wives of 
Springhaven heard him, and what would they think of her 
if she said nothing? ‘‘Home I will take my son and yours, 
and the wisest place for him to abide in, with his father set 
agin him so. Dannel, youcomealong of me. I won't have 
my eldest boy gainsayed so.” | 

Zebedee Tugwell closed his lips, and went on with his 
proper business. All the women would side with him, if he 
left them the use of their own minds, and the sound of his 
wife’s voice last; while all the men in their hearts felt wis- 
dom. But the young. man, loath to be left behind, came 
doubtfully down to the stern of the boat, which was pushing 
off for the Rosalie. And he looked at the place where he 
generally sat, and then at his father and the rest of them. 

‘‘No gappermouths here!” cried his father, sternly. ‘‘ Get 
theezell home with the vemmelvolk. Shove off without 
him, Tim! How many more tides would ’e lose 2” 

Young Dan, whose stout legs were in the swirling water, 
snatched up his striped woolsey from under the tiller, threw 
it on his shoulder, and walked off, without a farewell to any 
one. The whole of Springhaven that could see saw it, and 
they never had seen such a thing before. Captain Zeb 


_ stood up and stared, with his big forehead coming out under 


his hat, and his golden beard shining in the morning sun; 


pee: 
Bie 


_ 


46 | SPRINGHAVEN: 


but the only satisfaction for his eyes was the back of his son 
growing smaller and smaller. 

“Chip of the old block!” ‘“Sarve ’e right, Cap’en!” 
‘‘ Starve ’un back to his manners again!” the inferior chief- 
tains of the expedition cried, according to their several 
views of life. But Zebedee Tugwell paid no heed to thoughts 
outside of his own hat and coat. ‘“‘Spake when I ax you,” 
he said, urbanely, but with a glance which conveyed to any 
too urgent sympathizer that he would be knocked down, 
when accessible. 

But, alas! the less-disciplined women rejoiced, with a wink 
at their departing lords, as Mrs. Zebedee set off in chase of 
her long-striding Daniel. The mother, enriched by home 
affections, and course of duties well performed, was of a 
rounded and ample figure, while the son was tall, and as thin 
as might be one of strong and well-knit frame. And the 
sense of wrong would not permit him to turn his neck, or 
take a glance at the enterprise which had rejected him. __ 

‘* How grand he does look! what a noble profile!” thought 
Dolly, who had seen everything without the glass, but now 
brought it to bear upon his countenance. ‘ He is like the 
centurion in the painted window, or a Roman medallion 
with a hat on. But that old woman will never catch him. 
She might just as well gohomeagain. He is walking about 
ten miles an hour, and how beautifully straight his legs are! 
W hat a shame that he should not be a gentleman! He is 
ten times more like one than most of the officers that used 
to come bothering me so. I wonder how far he means to 
go? Ido hope he won't make away with himself. It is al- 
most enough to make him do it, to be so insulted by his own 
father, and disgraced before all the village, simply because 
he can’t help having his poor head so full of me! Nobody 
shall ever say that I did anything to give him the faintest 
encouragement, because it would be so very wicked and so 
cruel, considering all he has done for me. But if he comes 
back, when his father is out of sight, and he has walked off 
his righteous indignation, and all these people are gone to 
dinner, it might give a turn to his thoughts if I were to put 
on my shell-coloured frock and the pale blue sash, and just 
go and see, on the other side of the stepping-stones, how 
much longer they mean to-be with that boat they began so 
long ago.’ 


SPRINGHAVEN. 4? 


CHAPTER X. 
ACROSS THE STEPPING-STONES. 


VERY good boats were built at this time in the south of 
England, stout, that is to say, and strong, and fit to ride over 
a heavy sea, and plunge gallantly into the trough of it. But 
as the strongest men are seldom swift of foot or light of 
turn, so these robust and sturdy boats must have their own 
time and swing allowed them, ere ever they would come 
round or step out. Having meta good deal of the sea, they 
knew, likea man who has felt a good deal of the world, that 
heavy endurance and patient bluffness are safer to get 
through the waves somehow than sensitive fibre and elegant 
frame. 

But the sea-going folk of Springhaven had learned, by 
lore of generations, to build a boat with an especial sheer 
forward, beam far back, and deep run of stern, so that she 
was lively in the heaviest of weather) and strong enough to 
take a good thump smiling, when unable to dance over it. 
Yet as a little thing often makes all the difference in great 
things, it was very difficult for anybody to find out exactly 
the difference between a boat built here and a boat built ten 
or twenty miles off, in imitation of her. The sea, however, 
knew the difference in a moment between the true thing 
and the counterfeit, and encouraged the one to go merrily 
on, while it sent back the other staggering. The secret lay 
chiefly in a hollow curve forward of nine or ten planks upon 
either side, which could only be compassed by skilful use of 
adze and chisel, frame-saw and small tools, after choice of 
the very best timber, free from knots, tough and flexible. 
And the best judge of these points was Zebedee Tugwell. 

Not having cash enough just at present (by reason of 
family expenses, and the high price of bread and of every- 
thing else) to set upon the stocks the great smack of the 
future, which should sail round the Rosalie, Captain Tugwell 
was easing his mind by building a boat for stormy weather, 
such as they very seldom have inshore, but are likely to 
meet with outside the Head. As yet there were not many 


48 SPRINGHAVEN. 


rowing boats here fit to go far in tumbling water, though the 
few that could do it did it well, and Tugwell’s intention was 
to beat them all in power and spring and buoyancy. The 
fame of his meaning was spread for as much as twenty 
leagues along the coast; and jealous people laughed, instead 
of waiting for him to finish it. 

Young Daniel had been well brought up in the mysteries 
of his father’s craft, and having a vigorous turn of wrist, as 
well as a true eye and quick brain, he was even outgrowing 
the paternal skill, with experiments against experience. He 
had beautiful theories of his own, and felt certain that he 
could prove’them, if any one with cash could be brought to 
see their beauty. His father admitted that he had good 
ideas, and might try them, if any fool would find the money. 

Wroth as he had been at the sharp rebuff and contumely 
of his father, young Daniel, after a long, strong walk, began 
to look at things more peaceably. The power of the land, 
and the greatness of the sea, and the gocdness of the sky un- 
angered him, and the air that came from some oyster beds, 
as the tide was falling, hungered him. Home he went, in 
good time for dinner, as the duty of a young man is; and in- 
stead of laughing when he came by, the maids of Spring- 
haven smiled at him. This quite righted him in his own 
opinion, yet leaving him the benefit of the doubt which 
comes from a shake in that cradle lately. He made a good 
dinner, and shouldered his adze, with a frail of tools hang- 
ing on the neck of it; and troubled with nothing but love— 
which is a woe of self-infliction—whistled his way to the 
beach, to let all the women understand that he was not a 
bit ashamed. And they felt for him all the more —— 
he stood up for himself a little. 

Doubtful rights go cheap; and so the foreshore ee 
of the brook being claimed by divers authorities, a tidy little 
cantle of it had been leased by Admiral Darling, lord of the 
manor, to Zebedee Tugwell, boat-builder, for the yearly 
provent of two and sixpence sterling. The Admiral’s man 
of law, Mr. Furkettle, had strongly advised, and well pre- 
pared the necessary instrument, which wouid grow into 
value by-and-by as evidence of title. And who could serve 
summary process of ejectment upon an interloper in a man- 
ner so valid as Zebedee’s would be? Possession was certain 
as long as he lived; ousters and filibusters, in the form of 
railway companies and communists, were a bubble as yet in 
the womb of ages. 


Py one 


~ 


SPRINGHAVEN. 49 


This piece of land, or sand, or rush seemed very unlikely 
to be worth dispute. If seisin corporeal, user immemorial, 
and prescription for levance and couchance conferred any 
title indefeasible, then were the rabbits the owners in fee 
simple, absolute, paramount, and source of pedigree. But 
they, while thoroughly aware of this, took very little heed 
to go into it, nor troubled their gentle natures much about 
a few yards of sand or grass, as the two-legged creatures 


near them did. Inasmuch as they had soft banks of herb 


and vivid moss to sit upon, sweet crisp grass and juicy clo- 
ver for unlaboured victuals—as well as a thousand other 
nibbles which we are too gross to understand—and for bev- 
erage not only all the abundance of the brook (whose brill- 
lance might taste of men), but also a little spring of their 
own which came out of its hole like a rabbit; and then for 
scenery all the sea, with strange things running over it, as 
well as a great park of their own having countless avenues 
of rush, ragwort, and thistle-stump—where would they have 
deserved to be if they had not been contented? Content 
they were, and even joyful at the proper time of day. Joy- 
ful in the morning, because the sun was come again; joyful 
in the middle day to see how well the world went; and in 
the evening merry with the tricks of their own shadows. 

Quite fifteen stepping-stones stepped up—if you counted 
three that were made of wood—to soothe the dignity of the 
brook in its last fresh-water moments, rather than to gratify 
the dry-skin’d soles of gentlefolk. For any one, with a five- 
shilling pair of boots to terminate in, might skip dry-footed 
across the sandy purlings of the rivulet. And only when a - 
flood came down, or the head of some spring-tide came up, 
did any but playful children tread the lichened cracks of 
the stepping-stones. And nobody knew this better than 
Horatia Dorothy Darling. 

The bunnies who lived to the west of the brook had rec- 
onciled their minds entirely now to the rising of that boat 
among them. At-first it made a noise, and scratched the 
sand, and creaking things came down to it; and when the 
moon came through its ribs in the evening, tail was the 
quarter to show to it. But asit went on naturally growing, 
seldom appearing to make much noise, unless there was a 
man very near it, and even then keeping him from doing 
any harm—outside the disturbance that he lives in—without 
so much as a council ealled, they tolerated this encroach- 


ment. Some of the bolder fathers came and sat inside to 
3 : 


\ 


50 SPRINGHAVEN. 


consider it, and left their compliments aljl round to the mas- 
ters of the enterprise. And even when Daniel came to 
work, as he happened to do this afternoon, they carried on 
their own work in its highest form—that of play—upon the 
premises they lent him. 

Though not very large, it was a lively, punctual, well- 
conducted, and pleasant rabbit-warren. Sudden death was 
avoidable on the part of most of its members, nets, ferrets, 
gins, and wires being alike forbidden, foxes scarcely ever 
seen, and even guns a rare and very memorable visitation. 
The headland staves the southern storm, sand-hills shevelled 
with long rush disarm the western fury, while inland gales 
from north and east leap into the clouds from the uplands. 
Well aware of all their bliss, and feeling worthy of it, the 
blameless citizens pour forth, upon a mild spring evening, 
to give one another the time of day, to gaze at the labours of 
men upon the sea, and to take the sweet leisure, the breeze, 
and the browse. The gray old coneys of curule rank, prime 
senators of the sandy beach, and fathers of the father-land, 
hold a just session upon the head borough, and look like 
brown loaves in the distance. But these are coneys of great 
mark and special character, full of light and leading, be- 
cause they have been shot at, and understand how to avoid 
it henceforth. They are satisfied to chew very little bits of 
stuff, and particular to have no sand in it, and they hunch 
their round backs almost into one another, and double up 
their legs to keep them warm, and reflect on their friends’ 
gray whiskers. And one of their truest pleasures is, sitting 
snug at their own doors, to wateh their children’s gambols. 

For this is the time, with the hght upon the slope, and the 
freshness of salt flowing in from the sea, when the spirit of 
youth must be free of the air, and the quickness of life is 
abounding. Without any heed of the cares that are com- 
ing, or the prick-eared fears of the elders, a fine lot of young 
bunnies with tails on the frisk scour everywhere over the 
warren. Up and down the grassy dips and yellow piles of 
wind-drift, and in and out of the ferny coves and tussocks 
of rush and ragwort, they scamper, and caper, and chase 
one another, in joy that the winter is banished at last, and 
the glorious sun come back again. | 

Suddenly, as at the wave of a wand, they all stop short 
and listen. The sun is behind them, low and calm, there is 
not a breath of wind to stir their flax, not even the feather 
of a-last year’s bloom has moved, unless they moved it. Yet 


a = 


45. 
“rae 


SPRINGHAVEN. . 51 


signal of peril has passed among them; they curve their soft 
ears for the sound of it, and open their sensitive nostrils, 
and pat upon the ground with one little foot to encourage 
themselves against the panting of their hearts and the trai- 
torous length of their shadows. 

Ha! Not for nothing was their fear this day. An active 
and dangerous specimen of the human race was coming, 
lightly and gracefully skimming the moss, above salt-water 
reach, of the stepping-stones. The steps are said to be a 
thousand years old, and probably are of half that age, be- 
longing to a time when sound work throve, and a monasterv 
flourished in the valley. Even though they come down 
from great Hercules himself, never have they been crossed 
by a prettier foot or a fairer form than now came gaily over 
them. But the rabbits made no account of that. To the 
young man with the adze they were quite accustomed, and 
they liked him, because be minded his own business, and 
eared nothing about theirs; but of this wandering maiden 
they had no safe knowledge, and judged the worst, and all 
rushed away, some tenscore strong, giving notice to him as 
they passed the boat that he also had better be cautious. 

Daniel was in a sweet temper now, by virtue of hard la- 
bour and gratified wit. By skill, and persistence, and bodily 
strength he had compassed a curve his father had declared 
impossible without a dock-yard. Three planks being fixed, 
he was sure of the rest, and could well afford to stop, to ad- 
mire the effect, and feel proud of his werk, and of himself 
the worker. Then the panic of the coneys made him turn 
his head, and the quick beat of his heart was quickened by 
worse than bodily labour. 

Miss Dolly Darling was sauntering sweetly, as if there 
were only one sex in the world, and that an entirely divine 
one. The gleam of spring sunset was bright im her hair, 
and in the soft garnish of health on her cheeks, and the vig- 
orous play of young life in her eyes; while the silvery 
glance of the sloping shore, and breezy ruffle of the darken- 
ing sea, did nothing but offer a foil for the form of the shell- 
coloured frock and the sky-blue sash. 

Young Daniel fell back upon his half-shaped work, and 
despised it, and himself, and everything, except what he was" 
afraid to look at. In the hollow among the sand-hills, where 
the cradle of the boat was, fine rushes grew, and tufts of 
ragwort, and stalks of last year’s thistles, and sea-osiers 
where the spring oozed down. Through these the white ribs 


52 SPRINGHAVEN. 


of the rising boat shone forth like an elephant’s skeleton; 
but the builder entertained some hope, as well as some fear, 
of being unperceived. 


But a far greater power than his own was here. Curved 


and hollow ships are female in almost all languages, not 
only because of their curves and hollows, but also because 
they are craft—so to speak. 

‘‘Oh, Captain Tugwell, are you at work still? Why, you 
really ought to have gone with the smacks. But perhaps 
you sent your son instead. Lam so glad to see you! It is 
such nice company to hear you! I did not expect to be left 
alone, like this.” 

es If you please, miss, it isn’t father atall. Father is gone 
with the fishing long ago. It is only me, Daniel, if you 
please, miss.” 

‘‘No, Daniel, lam not pleased at all. Iam quite surprised 
that you should work so late. It scarcely seems respect- 
able.” 

At this the young man was so much stud that he could 
only stare, while she walked off, until the clear duty of right- 
ing himself in her good opinion struck him. Then he threw 
on his coat and ran after her: 

‘‘Tf you please, Miss Dolly—will you please, Miss Dolly ?” 
he called, as she made olf for the stepping-stones; but she 
did not turn round, though her name was ‘** Miss Dolly” all 
over Springhaven, and she liked it. ‘‘ You are bound to 
stop, miss,” he said, sternly; and she stopped, and cried, 
‘What do you mean by such words to me ?” 

‘‘Not any sort of harm, miss,” he answered, humbly, in- 
asmuch as she had obeyed him; “‘and I ask your pardon 
for speaking so. But if you think twice, you are bound to 
explain what you said concerning me, now just.” 

**Oh, about your working so late, you mean. I offered 
good advice to you.. I think it is wrong that you should 
go on, when everybody else has left off long ago. But per- 
haps your father makes you.” 

‘‘ Father is a just man,” said young Tugwell, drawing up 
his own integrity; ‘‘now and then he may take a erooked 
twist,or such like; but he never goeth out of fair play to his 
knowledge. He hath a-been hard upon me this day; but 
the main of it was to check mother of her ways. You un- 
derstand, miss, how the women-folk go on in a house, till 
the other women hear of it. And then out-of-doors they 
are the same as lambs.” 


a _ 


SPRINGHAVEN, dd 


‘Tt is most ungrateful and traitorous of you to your own 
mother to talk so. Your mother spoils you, and this is all 
‘the thanks she gets! Wait till you have a wife of your 
own, Master Daniel.” 

“Wait till Iam dead then I may, Miss Dolly,” he an- 
swered, with a depth of voice which frightened her for a 
moment; and then he smiled and said, ‘‘ I beg your pardon,” 
as gracefully as any gentleman could say it; “‘but let me 
see you safe to your own gate; there are very rough people 
about here now, and the times are not quite as they used to 
be when we were a-fighting daily.” 

He followed her at a respectful distance, and then ran for- 
ward and opened the white gate. ‘‘Good-night, Daniel,” 
the young lady said, as he lifted his working cap to her, 
showing his bright curls against the darkening sea; ‘‘I am 
very much obliged to you, and I do hope I have not said 
anything to vex you. Ihave never forgotten all you did for 
me, and you must not mind the way I have of saying things.” 

‘“What a shame it does appear—what a fearful shame it 

” she whispered to herself, as she hurried through the trees 
—‘‘that he should be nothing but a fisherman! He is a 
gentleman in everything but birth and education; and SO 
strong, and so brave, and so good-looking!” 


> ly 
vafn/ 





54 SPRINGHAVEN. 


CHAPTER XI. 
NO PROMOTION. 


‘“Do it again now, Captain Scuddy; do it again; you 
know you must.” 

‘You touched the rim with your shoe last time. You 
are bound to do it clean once more.” . 

‘“No, he didn’t. You are a liar; it was only the ribbon 
of his shoe.” 

‘‘T1l punch your head if you say that again. It was his 
heel, and here’s the mark.” 

‘“Oh, Seuddy dear, don’t notice them. You can do it 
fifty times running, if you like. Nobody can run or jump 
like you. Do it just once more to please me.”’ 

Kitty Fanshawe, a boy with large blue eyes and a purely 
gentle face, looked up at Blyth Scudamore so faithfully, 
that to resist him was impossible. 

‘*Very well, then; once more for Kitty,” said the sweetest- 
tempered of mankind, as he vaulted back into the tub. 
‘“But you know that I always leave off at a dozen. Thir- 
teen—thirteen, I could never stop at. I shall have to do 
fourteen at least; and it is too bad, just after dinner. Now 
all of you watch whether I touch it anywhere.” 

A barrel almost five feet in height, and less than a yard 
in breadth, stood under a clump of trees in the play-ground; 
and Blyth Scudamore had made a clean leap one day, for 
his own satisfaction, out of it. Sharp eyes saw him, and 
sharp wits were pleased, and a strong demand had arisen 
that he should perform this feat perpetually. Good nerve 
as well as strong spring, and compactness of power are 
needed for it; and even in this athletic age there are few 
who find it easy. 

‘“Come, now,” he said, as he landed lightly, with both 
heels together; ‘‘one of you big fellows come and do it. 
You are three inches taller than Iam. And you have only 
got to make up your minds.” 

But all the big fellows hung back, or began to stimulate 
one another, and to prove to each other how easy it was, by 


joe 


— 


SPRINGHAVEN. 5D 


every proof but practice. ‘‘ Well, then, I must do it once 
more,” said Blyth, ‘‘for I dare not leave off at thirteen, for 
fear of some great calamity, such as I never could jump 
out of.” 

But before he could get into the tub again, to prepare for 
the clear spring out of it, he beheld a man with silver but- 
tons coming across the playing-field. His heart fell into 
his heels, and no more agility remained in him. He had 

made up his mind that Admiral Dar- 
ling would forget all about him by 
Saturday; and though the fair im- 
age of Dolly would abide in that 
quiet mind for a long while, the 
balance of his wishes (cast by 
shyness) was heavily against 
this visit. And the 
boys, who under- 
stood his nature, 
~~? with a poignant love 
—like that of our 
friends when they 
find us in a fix— 
began to probe his 
tender places. 
“One more 
jump, Captain 

Scuddy ! You 
rs must; to show 
“> the flunky what 
=> yoyoucando.” 

7 ‘' Obas dont. E 
wish I was go- 
ing? He'll have 
turtle soup, and 
venison, and two 
men behind his 










eiradt..” 

‘‘And the beautiful young ladies looking at him every 
time he takes a mouthful.” 

‘‘But he dare not go courting after thirteen jumps. And 
he has vowed that he will have another. Come, Captain 
Scuddy, no time to lose.” 

But Scudamore set off to face his doom, with his old hat 
hanging on the back of his head, as it generally did, and 


56 oa SPRINGHAVEN. 


his ruddy face and mild blue eyes full of humorous diffi- 
dence and perplexity. 

‘Tf you please, sir, his honour the Hadmiral have sent 
me to fetch’e and your things; and hoss be baiting along of 
the Blue Dragon.” 

‘-T am sorry to say that I forgot all about it, or, at least, 
I thought that he would. How long before we ought to 
start ?” 7 

‘‘My name is Gregory, sir—Coachman Gregory—accus- 
tomed always to a pair, but doesn’t mind a single boss, to 
oblige the Hadmiral, once ina way. About half an hour, 
sir, will suit me, unless they comes down to the skittle- 
alley, as ought to be always on a Saturday afternoon; but 
not a soul there when I looked in.” 

Any man in Scudamore’s position, except himself, would 
have grieved and groaned. For the evening dress of that 
time, though less gorgeous than of the age before, was still 
an expensive and elaborate affair; and the young man, in 
this ebb of fortune, was poorly stocked with raiment. But 
he passed this trouble with his usual calmness and disregard 
of trifles. ‘‘If I wear the best I have got,” he thought, “‘I 
cannot be charged with disrespect. The Admiral knows 
what a sailor is; and, after all, who will look at me?” Ac- 
cordingly he went just as he was, for he never wore an 
overcoat, but taking a little canvas kit, with pumps and silk 
stockings for evening wear, and all the best that he could 
muster of his Voiunteer equipment. 

The Admiral came to the door of the Hall, and met him 
with such hearty warmth, and a glance of such kind ap- 
proval at his open throat and glowing cheeks, that the 
young man felt a bound of love and tender veneration to- 
wards him, which endured for lifetime. 

‘“Your father was my dearest friend, and the very best 
man [ ever knew. I must call you ‘ Blyth,’” said the Ad- 
miral, ‘‘for if I call you ‘Scudamore,’ I shall think per- 
petually of my loss.” 

At dinner that day there was no other guest, and nothing 
to disturb the present one, except a young lady’s quick 
e@lances, of which he endeavoured to have no knowledge. 
Faith Darling, a gentle and beautiful young woman, had 
taken a natural liking to him, because of his troubles, and 
simplicity, and devotion to his widowed mother. But to 
the younger, Dolly Darling, he was only a visitor, dull and 
stupid, requiring, without at all repaying, the trouble of 





“Se 


ee ee a ee 


SPRINGHAVEN. 57 


some attention. He was not tall, nor handsome, nor of 
striking appearance in any way; and although he was clearly 
a gentleman, to her hasty judgment he was not an accom- 
plished or even a clever one. His inborn modesty and shy- 
ness placed him at great disadvantage, until well known; and 
the simple truth of his nature forbade any of the large talk 
and bold utterance which pleased her as yet among young 
officers. 

‘“ What a plague he will be all day to-morrow!” she said 
to her sister in the drawing-room. ‘** Father was obliged, I 
suppose, to invite him; but what can we do with him all 
the day? Sundays are dull enough, I am sure, already, 
without our having to amuse a gentleman who has scarcely 
got two ideas of his own, and is afraid to say ‘bo’ to a goose, 
I do believe. Did you hear what he said when I asked him 
whether he was fond of riding ?” . 

‘“Yes; and I thought it so good of him to answer so 
straightforwardly. He said that he used to be very fond of 
it, but was afraid that he should fall off now.” 

‘*T should like to see him. I tell you what we’ll do. We 
will make him ride back on Monday morning, and put him 
on ‘Blue Bangles,’ who won't have seen daylight since Fri- 
day. Won't he jump about a bit? What a shame it is, 
not to let us ride on Sundays!” 

Ignorant of these kind intentions, Scudamore was enjoy- 
ing himself in his quiet, observant way. Mr. Twemlow, the 
rector of the parish, had chanced—as he often chanced on a 
Saturday, after buckling up a brace of sermons—to issue his 
mind (with his body outside it) for a little relief of neigh- 
bourhood. And these little airings of his chastening love 
—for he loved everybody, when he had done his sermon— 
came, whenever there was a fair chance of it, to a glass of 
the fine old port which is the true haven for an ancient 
_ Admiral. | 

‘* Just in time, Rector,” cried Admiral Darling, who had 
added by many a hardship to hisinborn hospitality. ‘‘ This 
is my young friend Blyth Scudamore, the son of one 
of my oldest friends. You have heard of Sir Edmond 
Scudamore ?” 

‘“And seen him and felt him. And to him I owe, under 
a merciful Providence, the power of drinking in this fine 
port the health of his son, which I do with deep pleasure, 
for the excellence both of end and means.”’ 

The old man bowed at the praise of his wine, and the 

3* . 


58 SPRINGHAVEN. 


young one at that of his father. Then, after the usual pinch 
of snuff from the Rector’s long gold box, the host returned 
to the subject he had been full of before this interruption. 

‘* The question we have in hand is this: What is to be done 
with our young friend Blyth? He was getting on famously, 
till this vile peacecame. T’'wemlow, you called it that your- 
self, so that argument about words is useless. Blyth’s lieu- 
tenancy was on the books, and the way they carry things 
on now, and shoot poor fellows’ heads off, he might have 
been a post-captain in a twelvemonth. And now there 
seems nothing on earth before him better than Holy Orders.” 

‘‘ Admiral Darling is kind enough to think,” said Scuda- 
more, in his mild, hesitative way, blushing outwardly, but 
smiling inwardly, ‘‘that I am too good to be a clergyman.” 

‘“And so you are, and Heaven knows it, Blyth, unless 
there was a chance of getting on by goodness, which there 
is in the Navy, but not in the Church. Twemiow, what is 
your opinion ?” 

‘“Tt would not be modest in me,” said the Rector, ‘‘ to 
stand up too much for my own order. We do our duty, 
and we don't get on.” 

‘‘Exactly. You could not have put it better. You get 
no vacancies by shot and shell, and being fit for another 
world, you keep out of it. Have you ever heard me tell the 
story about Gunner MacCrab, of the Bellerophon 2” 

‘Fifty times, and more than that,” replied the sturdy 
parson, who liked to make a little cut at the Church some- 
times, but would not allow any other hand to doit. ‘* But 
now about our young friend here. Surely, with all that we 
know by this time of the character of that Boney, we can see 
that this peace is a mere trick of his to bamboozle us 
while he gets ready. In six months we shall be at war 
again, hammer and tongs, as sure as my name is Twem- 
low.” 

‘“So be it!” cried the Admiral, with a stamp on his oak 
floor, while Scudamore’s gentle eyes flashed and fell; ‘‘if it 
is the will of God, so be it. But if it once begins again, God 
alone knows where France will be before you and I are in 
our graves. They have drained all our patience, and our 
pockets very nearly; but they have scarcely put a tap into 
our energy and endurance. But what are they? <A gang 
of slaves rammed into the cannon by a Despot.” 

‘‘They seem to like it, and the question is forthem. But 
the struggle will be desperate; mcuntains of carnage, oceans 








<a 


SPRINGHAVEN. 59 


of blood, universal mourning, lamentation, and woe. And 
I have had enough trouble with my tithes already.” 
‘‘Tithes are dependent on the will of the Almighty,” said 
the Admiral, who paid more than he altogether liked; “ but 
a war goes by reason and good management. It encourages 
the best men of the day, and it brings out the difference be- 
tween right and wrong, which are quite smothered up in 
peace time. It keeps out a quantity of foreign rubbish and 
stuff only made to be looked at, and it makes people trust 
one another, and know what country they belong to, and 


feel how much they have left to be thankful for. And 


what is the use of a noble fleet, unless it can get some fight- 
ing? Blyth, what say you? You know something about 
that.” } 

‘No, sir; I have never been at close quarters yet. AndI 
doubt—or at least I am certain that I should not like it. I 
,am afraid that I should want to run down below.” 

Mr. Twemlow, having never smelled hostile powder, 
gazed at him rather loftily, while the young man blushed 
at his own truth, yet looked up bravely to confirm it. 

‘‘Of all I have ever known or met,” said Admiral Dar- 
ling, quietly, ‘‘there are but three-—Nelson and two others, 
and one of those two was half-witted—who could fetch up 
muzzle to muzzle without a feeling of that sort. The true 
courage lies in resisting the impulse, more than in being free 
from it. I know that I was in a precious fright the first 
time I was shot at, even at a decent distance; and I don’t 
pretend to like iteven now. But Iam pretty safe now from 
any furtherchance, I fear. When we cut our wisdom-teeth, 
they shelf us. Twemlow, how much wiser you are in the 
Church! The older a man gets, the higher they promote 
him.” | 

‘“Then let them begin with me,” the Rector answered, 
smiling; “I am old enough now for almost anything, and 
the only promotion I get is stiff joints, and teeth that crave 
peace from an olive. Placitam pact; Mr. Scudamore knows 
the rest, being fresh from the learned Stonnington. But, 
Squire, you know that Iam content. I love Springhaven, 
Springhaven loves me, and we chasten one another.” ) 

‘*A man who knows all the Latin you know, Rector-—for 
I own that you beat me to the spelling-book—should be at 
least an Archdeacon in the Church, which is equal to the 
rank of Rear-Admiral. But you never have pushed as you 
should do; and you let it all off in quotations. Those are 


60 SPRINGHAVEN. 


very comforting to the mind, but I never knew a man do 
good with them, unless they come out of the Bible. When 
Gunner Matthew of the Hrigdoupos was waiting to have 
his leg off, with no prospect before him—except a better 
world—you know what our Chaplain said to him; and the 
effect upon his mind was such that I have got him to this 
day upon my land.” ° 

‘*Of course you have—the biggest old poacher in the - 
county. He shoots half your pheasants with his wooden 
leg by moonlight. What your Chaplain said to him was 
shockingly profane in the turn of a text of Holy Writ; and it 
shows how our cloth is spoiled by contact with yours’—for 
the Admiral was laughing to himself at this old tale, which 
he would not produce before young Scudamore, but loved 
to have out with the Rector—‘‘ and I hope it will be a good 
warning to you, Squire, to settle no more old gunners on 
your property. You must understand, Mr. Scudamore, that, 
the Admiral makes a sort of Naval Hospital, for all his old 
salts, on his own estates.” 

‘‘T am sure it is wonderfully kind of him,” the young 
man answered, bravely, ‘‘for the poor old fellows are thrown 
to the dogs by the country, when it has disabled them. I 
have not seen much of the Service, but quite enough to 
know that, Mr. Twemlow.” 

‘‘T have seen a great deal, and I say that it is so. And 
my good friend knows it as well as I do, and is one of the 
first to lend a helping hand. In all such cases he does 
more than I do, whenever they come within his knowledge. 
But let us return to the matter in hand. Here is a young 
man, a first-rate sailor, who would have been under my 
guardianship, I know, but for—but for sad circumstances. 
Is he to be grinding at Virgil and Ovid, till all his spirit goes 
out of him, because we have patched up a-very shabby 
peace? It can never last long. Every Englishman hates 
it, although it may seem to save his pocket. Twemlow, I 
am no politician. You read the papers more than I do. 
How much longer will this wretched compact hold? You 
have predicted the course of things before.” 

‘‘And so I will again,” replied the Rector. ‘‘ Atheism, 
mockery, cynicism, blasphemy, lust, and blood-thirstiness 
cannot rage and raven within a few leagues of a godly and 
just nation without stinking in their nostrils. Sir, it is our 
mission from the Lord to quench Boney, and to conquer the 
bullies of Europe. We don’t look like doing it now, I con- 








SPRINGHAVEN. 61 


fess. But do it we shall, in the end, as sure as the name of 
our country is England.” 

‘‘T have no doubt of it,” said the Admiral, simply; ‘‘ but 
there will be a deal of fighting betwixt this and then. 
Blyth, will you leave me to see what I can do, whenever 
we get to work again ?” 

‘*T should think that I would, sir, and never forget it. I 
am not fond of fighting; but how I have longed to feel my- 
self afloat again !” 


CHAPTER XII. 


ANT, TEE Wo 1 By 


ALL the common-sense of England, more abundant in 
those days than now, felt that the war had not been fought 
out, and the way to the lap of peace could only be won by 
vigorous use of arms. Some few there were even then, 
as now there is a cackling multitude, besotted enough to 
believe that facts can be undone by blinking them. But our 
forefathers on the whole were wise, and knew that nothing 
is trampled more basely than right that will not right itself. 

Therefore they set their faces hard, and toughened their 
hearts like knotted oak, against all that man could do to 
them. There were no magnificent proclamations, no big 
vaunts of victory at the buckling on of armour, but the 
quiet strength of steadfast wills, and the stern resolve to 
strike when stricken, and try to last the longest. And so 
their mother-land became the mother of men and freedom. 

In November, 1802, the speech from the Throne apprised 
the world that England was preparing. The widest, longest, 
and deadliest war, since the date of gunpowder, was lower- 
ing; and the hearts of all who loved their kin were heavy, 
but found no help for it. 

The sermon which Mr. Twemlow preached in Springhaven 
church was magnificent. Some parishioners, keeping mem- 
ory more alert than conscience, declared that they had re- 
ceived it all nine, or it might be ten, years since, when the 
fighting first was called for. If so, that proved it none the 
worse, but themselves, for again requiring it. Their Rector 
told them that they thought too much of their own flesh- 
pots and fish-kettles, and their Country might go to the bot- 
tom of the sea,-if it left them their own fishing-grounds, 


62 SPRINGHAVEN. 


And he said that they would wake up some day and find 
themselves turned into Frenchmen, for all things were pos- 
sible with the Lord; and then they might smite their 
breasts, but must confess that they had deserved it. Neither 
would years of prayer and fasting fetch them back into 
decent Englishmen; the abomination of desolation would 
be set up over their doorways, and the scarlet woman of 
Babylon would revel in their sanctuaries. 

‘‘Now don’t let none of us be in no hurry,” Captain Tug- 
well said, after dwelling and sleeping upon this form of 
doctrine; ‘‘a man knoweth his own trade the best, the very 
same way as the parson doth. And I never knew no good 
to come of any hurry. Our lives are given us by the Lord. 
And He never would ’a made ’em threescore and ten, or for 
men of any strength fourscore, if His will had been to jerk 
us over them. Never did I see no Frenchman as could be 
turned to an Englishman—not if he was to fast and pray all 
day, and cut himself with knives at the going down of the 
sun. My opinion is that Parson Twemlow were touched 
up by his own conscience for having a nephew more French 
than English; and ‘Caryl Carne’ is the name thereof, with 
more French than English sound to it.” 

‘“Why, he have been gone for years and years,”’ said the 
landlord of the Darling Arms, where the village was hold- 
ing council; ‘‘he have never been seen in these parts since 
the death of the last Squire Carne, to my knowledge.” 

‘And what did the old Squire die of, John Prater? Not 
that he were to be called old—younger, I dare say, than I 
be now. What did he die of, but marrying with a long out- 
landish ’ooman ?—a femmel as couldn’t speak a word of 
English, to be anyhow sure of her meaning! Ah, them 
was bad times at Carne Castle; and as nice a place as need 
be then, until they dipped the property. Six gray horses 
they were used to go with to London Parliament every year, 
before the last Squire come of age, as I have heered my fa- 
ther say scores of times, ahd no lie ever come from his 
mouth, no more than it could from mine, almost. Then | 
they dropped to four, and then to two, and pretended that 
the roads was easier.” 

‘When I was down the coast, last week, so far as Little- 
hampton,” said a stout young man in the corner, ‘‘a very 
coorous thing happened me, leastways by my own opinion, 
and glad shall I be to have the judgment of Cappen Zeb 
consarning it. There come in there a queer-rigged craft of 





ie) 


SPRINGHAVEN. 63 


some sixty ton from Halvers, desiring to set up trade again, 
or to do some smoogling, or spying perhaps. Her name 
was the Doctor Humm, which seem a great favourite with 
they Crappos, and her skipper had a queer name too, as if 
he was two men in one, for he called himself ‘ Jacks’; a fel- 
low about forty year old as I hauled out of the sea with a 
boat-hook one night on the Varners. Well, he seemed to 
think a good deal of that, though contrary to their nature, 
and nothing would do but I must go to be fated with him 
every where, if the folk would change his money. He had 
picked up a decent bit of talk, from shipping in the oyster 
line before the war; and I put his lingo into order for him, 
for which he was very thankful.” 

‘* And so he was bound to be. But you had no eall to do 
it, Charley Bowles.” Captain Tugwell spoke severely, and 
the young man felt that he was wrong, for the elders shook 
their heads at him, as a traitor to the English language. 

‘‘ Well, main likely, I went amiss. But he seemed to 
take it so uncommon kind of me hitching him with a boat- 
hook that we got on together wonderful, and he called me 
‘Friar Sharley,’ and he tried to take up with our manners 
and customs; but his head was outlandish for English grog. 
One night he was three sheets in the wind, at a snug little 
crib by the river, and he took to the brag as is born with 
them. ‘All dis contray in one year now,’ says he, nod- 
ding over his glass at me, ‘shall be of the grand nashong, 
and I will make a great man of you, Friar Sharley. Do you 
know what prawns are, my good friend?’ Well, I said I 
had caught a good many in my time; but he laughed and 
said, ‘Prawns will catch you dis time. One tousand 
prawns, all with two hondred men inside him, and the leetle 
prawns will come to land at your house, Sharley. Booti- 
ful place, quiet sea, no bad rocks. Youlook out in the 
morning, and the white coast is made black with them.’ 
Now what do you say to that, Cappen Tugwell ?” 

‘*Tve a-heered that style of talk many times afore,” Mas- 
ter Tugwell answered, solidly; ‘‘and all I can say is that I 
should have punched his head. And you deserve the same 
thing, Charley Bowles, unless you’ve got more than that to 
tell us.” 

‘“So I might, Cappen, and I won't deny you there. But 
the discourse were consarning Squire Carne now just, and 
the troubles he fell into, before I was come to my judgment 
yet. Why, an uncle of mine served footman there—Jere- 


64 SPRINGHAVEN. 


miah Bowles, known to every one, until he was no more 
heard of.” 

Nods of assent to the fame of Jeremiah encouraged the 
stout young man in his tale, and a wedge of tobacco re- 
kindled him. 

‘“Yes, it were a coorous thing indeed, and coorous for me 
to hear of it, out of all mast-head of Springhaven. Says 
Moosoo Jacks to me, that night, when I boused him up un- 
pretending: ‘ You keep your feather eye open, my tear,’ for 
such was his way of pronouncing it, ‘and you shall arrive 
to laglore, laglore-—and what is still nobler, de monnay. 
In one two tree month you shall see a young captain re- 
turned to his contray dominion, and then you will go to 
his side and Bay, Jacks, and he will make present to you a 
sack of silver.’ Well, I hailed the chance of this pretty 
smart, you may suppose, and I asked him what the sailor’s 
name would be, and surprised I was when he answered 
Carne, or Carny, for he gave it in two syllables. Next 
morning's tide, the Doctor Humm cleared out, and I had no 
other chance of discourse with Moosoo Jacks. But I want 
to know what you think, Cappen Zeb.” 

‘So you shall,” said the captain of Springhaven, sternly. 
‘‘T think you had better call your Moosoo Jacks ‘ Master 
Jackass’ or ‘Master Jackanapes,’ and put your own name 
on the back of him. You been with a Frenchman hob and 
nobbing, and you don’t even know how they pronounce 
themselves, unchristian as it is todo so. ‘Jarks,’ were his 
name, the very same as Navy beef, and a common one in 
that country. But to speak of any Carne coming nigh us 
with French plottings, and of prawns landing here at Spring- 
haven, ’tis as likely as I should drop French money into 
the till of this bacey-box. And you can see that I be not 
going to play such a trick as that, John Prater.” 

‘“Why, to my mind there never was bigger stuff talked,” 
the landlord spoke out, without fear of offence, for there 
was no other sign-board within three miles, ‘‘ than to carry 
on in that way, Charley. What they may do at Little- 
hampton is beyond my knowledge, never having kept a 
snug crib there, as you was pleased to call it. But at Spring- 
haven ’twould be the wrong place for any hatching of 
French treacheries. We all know one another a deal too 
well for that, I hope.” 

‘*Prater, you are right,” exclaimed Mr. Cheeseman, owner 
of the main shop in the village, and universally respected. 


« TNGATIMONH AN GNOAGA SI NOIdNVHATLIIT LY Od AVW AYHL LVYHM ,, 

































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































66 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘“ Bowles, you must have an imagination the same as your 
uncle Jerry had. *And to speak of the Carnes in a light 
way of talking, after all their misfortunes, is terrible. Why, 
I passed the old castle one night last week, with the moon 
to one side of it, and only me in my one-horse shay to the 
other, and none but a man with a first-rate conscience would 
have had the stomach to do so. However, I seed no ghosts 
that time, though I did hear some noises as made me use 
the whip; and the swing of the ivy was black as a hearse. 
A little drop more of my own rum, hoe less it gives me quite 
a chill to think of it.” 

‘“T don’t take much account of or people say,” Harry 
Shanks, who had a deep clear voice, observed, ‘* without it is 
in my own family. But my own cousin Bob was coming 
home one night from a bit of sweethearting at Pebbler idge, 
when, to save the risk of rabbit-holes in the ‘dark—for he put 
out his knee-cap one time—what does he do but take the 
path inland through the wood below Carne Castle, the op- 
posite side to where you was, Master Cheeseman, and the 


same side as the moon would be, only she wasn’t up that . 


night. Well, he had some misgivings, as anybody must; 
still he pushed along, whistling and swinging his stick, and 
saying to himself that there was no such thing as cowardice 
in our family, till just at the corner where the big yew-tree 
is that we sometimes starboard helm by when the tide is 
making with a nor’west wind, there Bob seed a sight as 
made his hair crawl. But I won’t say another word about 
it now, and have to go home in the dark by myself arter’- 
ards.” 

‘‘Come, now, Harry!” ‘‘Oh, we can’t stand that!” 
‘“We’ll see you to your door, lad, if you out with it fair 
and forcible.” 

Of these and other exhortations Harry took no notice, but 
folded his arms across his breast, and gazed at something 
which his mind presented. 

‘*Harry Shanks, you will have the manners’—Captain 
Tugwell spoke impressively, not for his own sake, for he 
knew the tale, and had been consulted about it, but from 
sense of public dignity—‘‘to finish the story which you be- 
gan. ‘To begin a yarn of your own accord, and then drop 
it all of a heap, is not respectful to present company. 
Springhaven never did allow such tricks, and will not put 
up with them from any young fellow. If your meaning 
was to drop it, you should never have begun.” 


a es sO 


SPRINGHAVEN. 67 


Glasses and even pipes rang sharply upon the old oak 
table in applause of this British sentiment, and the young 


- man, with a ues look, submitted to the voice of the 


public. 

“Well, then, all of you know where the big yew-tree 
stands, at ‘the break of the hill about half a mile inland, and 
how black it looms among the other stuff. But Bob, with 
his sweetheart in his head, no doubt, was that full of cour- 
age that he forgot all about the old tree, and the murder 
done inside it a hundred and twenty years ago, they say, 
until there it was, over his head a’most, with the gaps in it 
staring like ribs at him. ’Bout ship was the word, pretty 
sharp, you may be sure, when he come to his wits consarn- 
ing it, and the purse of his lips, as was whistling a jig, went 
as dry as a bag with the bottom out. Through the gray of 
the night there was sounds coming to him such as had no 
right to be in the air, and a sort of a shiver laid hold of his 
heart, like a cold hand flung over his shoulder. As hard 
as he could lay foot to the ground, away he went down hill, 
forgetting of his knee-cap, for such was the condition of his 
mind and body. 

‘You must understand, mates, that he hadn't seen noth- 


_ ing to skeer him, but only Heard sounds, which come into 


his ears to make his hair rise; and his mind might have put 
into them more than there was, for the want of intarpreting. 
Perhaps this come across him,as soon as he felt at a better 
distance with his wind short; anyhow, he brought up again’ 
a piece of rock-stuff in a hollow of the ground, and begun 
to look skeerily backwards. For a bit of a while there was 
nothing to distemper him, only the dark of the hill and the 
trees, and the gray light a-coming from the sea in front. 
But just as he were beginning for to call himself a fool, and 
to pick himself onto his legs for trudging home, he seed a 
thing as skeered him worse than ever, and fetched him flat 
upon his lower end. 

“From the black of the yew-tree there burst a big light, 
brighter than a light-house or a blue thunder-bolt, and fly- 
ing with a long streak down the hollow, just as if all the 
world was a-blazing. Three times it come, with three dif- 
ferent colours, first blue, and then white, and then red as 
new blood; and poor Bob was in a condition of mind must 
be seen before saying more of it. If he had been brought 
up to follow the sea, instead of the shoemaking, maybe his 
wits would have been more about him, and the narves of 


68 SPRINGHAVEN. 


his symptom more ship-shape. But it never was borne into 


his mind whatever to keep a lookout upon the offing, nor — 


even to lie snug in the ferns and watch the yew-tree. All 
he was up for was to make all sail the moment his sticks 
would carry it; and he feared to go nigh his sweetheart ey, 
more, till she took up with another fellow.” 

Y And sarve him quite right,” was the judgment of the 
room, in high fettle with hot rum and water, ‘‘ to be skeered 
of his life by asmuggler’s signal! Eh, Cappen Zebedee, you 
know that were it ?” 

But the Captain of Springhaven shook his head. 


CHAPTER. XML. 


WHENCE, AND WHEREFORE ? 


AT the rectory, too, ere the end of that week, there was 
no little shaking of heads almost as wise as Zebedee Tug- 
well’s. Mrs. Twemlow, though nearly sixty years of age, 
and acquainted with many a sorrow, was as lively and busy 
and notable as ever, and even more determined to be the 
mistress of the house. For by this time her daughter Eliza, 
beginning to be twenty-five years old—a job which takes 
some years in finishing—began at the same time to approve 
her birth by a vigorous aim at the mastery. Yor, as every- 
body said, Miss Eliza was a Carne in blood and breed and 
fibre. There was little of the Twemlow stock about her— 
for the Twemlows were mild and humorous—but plenty 
of the strength and dash and wildness and contemptuous 
spirit of the ancient Carnes. 

‘‘Carne comes a carne,’ as Mr. Twemlow said, when his 
wife was inclined to be masterful—a derivation confirmed by 
the family motto, ‘‘ Carne non caret carne.” In the case, 
however, of Mrs. Twemlow, age, affliction, experience, affec- 
tion, and perhaps above all her good husband’s larger benev- 
olence and placidity, had wrought a great change for the 
better, and made a nice old lady of her. She was tall and 
straight and slender still, and knew how to make the most, 
by grave attire and graceful attitude, of the bodily excel- 
lence entailed for ages on the lineage of Carne. Of 
moral goodness there had not been an equally strict settle- 
ment, at least in male heredity. So that Mrs. Twemlow’s 
thoughts about her kith and kindred were rather sad 


a 


















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THE BIG YEW-TREE. 





70 SPRINGHAVEN., 


than proud, unless some ignorance was shown about 
them. 

‘*Poor as Iam,” said Mr. Twemlow, now consulting with 
_ her, ‘‘and poor as every beneficed clergyman must be, if 
this war returns, I would rather have lost a hundred pounds 
than have heard what you tell me, Maria.”’. 

‘* My dear, I cannot quite see that,” his wife made thought- 
ful answer; ‘‘if he only had money to keep up the place, 
and clear off those nasty encumbrances, I should rejoice at 
his coming back to live where we have been for centuries.” 

‘‘My dear, you are too poetical, though the feeling is a 
fine one. Within the old walls there can scarcely be a 
room that has a sound floor to it. And as for the roof, 
when that thunder-storm was, and I took shelter with my 
pony—well, you know the state I came home in, and all my 


best clothes on for the Visitation. Luckily there seems to. 


be no rheumatism in your family, Maria; and perhaps he 
is too young as yet to pay out for it till he gets older. But 
if he comes for business, and to see to the relics of his proper- 
ty, surely he might have a bedroom here, and come and go 
at his liking. After all his foreign fanglements, a course 
of quiet English life and the tone of English principles 
might be of the greatest use to him. He would never wish 
to see the Continent again.” 

‘It is not to be thought of,” said Mrs. Twemlow. ‘‘I 
would not have him to live in this house for fifty thousand 
pounds a year. You are a great deal wiser than I am, 
Joshua; but of his nature you know nothing, whereas I 
know it thoroughly. And Eliza is so strong-willed and 
stubborn—you dislike, of course, to hear me say it, but it 
is the fact; it is, my dear. And I would rather stand by 
our daughter’s grave than see her fall in love with Caryl 


Carne. You know what a handsome young man he must 
be now. and full of French style and frippery. Iam sure. 


it is most kind of you to desire to help my poor family; but 
you would rue the day, my dear, that brought him beneath 
our quiet roof. I have lost my only son, as it seems, by the 
will of the Lord, who afflicts us. But I will not lose my 
only daughter by any such folly of my own.” 

Tears rolled down Mrs. Twemlow’s cheeks as she spoke of 
her mysterious affliction; and her husband, who knew that 
she was not weak-minded, consoled her by sharing her sor- 
row. 

‘It shall be exactly as you like,” he said, after a quiet 





iil 


SPRINGHAVEN. et 


interval. ‘‘ You say that no answer is needed; and there is 
no address to send one to. We shall hear of it, of course, 
when he takes possession, if, indeed, he is allowed to do so.” 

‘Who is to prevent him from coming, if he chooses, to 
live in the home of his ancestors? The estates are ali mort- 
gaged, and the park is gone, turned into a pound for Scotch 
cattle-breeding. But the poor old castle belongs to us still, 


_ because no one would take the expense of it.” 


‘* And because of the stories concerning it, Maria. Your 
nephew Caryl is a brave young fellow if he means to live 
there all alone, and I fear he can afford himself no com- 
pany. You understand him so much better: what do you 
Suppose his motive is ?” 

‘‘T make no pretence to understand him, dear, any more 
than his poor father could. My dear brother was of head- 
strong order, and it did him no good to contradict him, and 
indeed it was dangerous to doso; but his nature was as sim- 
ple as a child’s almost, to any one accustomed to him. If 
he had not married that grand French lady, who revelled in 
every extravagance, though she knew how we all were im- 
poverished, he might have been living and in high position 
now, though a good many years my senior. And the worst 
of it was that he did it at a time when he ought to have 
known so much better. However, he paid for it bitterly 
enough, and his only child was set against him.” 

i: A very sad case altogether,” said the Rector. ‘*I remem- 
ber, as if it were yesterday, how angry poor Montagu was 
with me. You remember what words he used, and his 
threat of attacking me with his horsewhip. But he begged 
my pardon most humbly as soon as he saw how thoroughly 
night I was. You are like him in some things, as I often 
notice, but not quite so generous in confessing you were 
wrong.” 

‘* Because I don’t do it as he did, Joshua. You would 
never understand me if I did. But of course fora man you 
can make allowance. My rule is to do it both for men and 
women, quite as fairly as if one was the other.” 

‘Certainly, Maria—certainly. And therefore you can do 
it, and have always done it, even for poor Josephine. No 
doubt there is much to be pleaded, by a candid and gentle 
mind, on her behalf.” 

+3 What! that dreadful creature who ruined my poor 
brother, and called herself the Countess de Lune, or some 
such nonsense! No, Joshua, no! I have not so entirely 


(2 SPRINGHAVEN. 


lost all English principle as to quite do that. Instead of 
being largeness, that would be mere looseness.” 

‘“There are many things, however, that we never under- 
stood, and perhaps never shall in this world,” Mr. Twemlow 
continued, as if talking to himself, for reason on that sub- 
ject would be misaddressed to her; ‘‘and nothing is more 
natural than that young Caryl should side with his mother, 
who so petted him, against his poor father, who was violent 
and harsh, especially when he had to pay such bills. But 
perhaps our good nephew has amassed some cash, though 
there seems to be but little on the Continent, after all this 
devastation. Is there anything, Maria, in his letter to 
enable us to hope that he is coming home with money ?” 

‘“Not a word, I am afraid,” Mrs. Twemlow answered, 
sadly. ‘‘But take it, my dear, and read it to me slowly. 
You make things so plain, because of practice every Sunday. 
Oh, Joshua, I never can be sure which you are greatest in— 
the Lessons, or the Sermon. But before you begin, I will 
shoot the bolt a little, as if it had caught by accident. 
Eliza does rush in upon us sometimes in the most unbe- 
coming, unladylike way. And I never can get you to re- 
prove her.” 

‘* It would be as much as my place is worth, as the maids 
say when imagined to have stolen sugar. And I must not 
read this letter so loud as the Lessons, unless you wish 
Lizzie to hear every word, for sue has all her mother’s quick 
senses. There is not much of it, and the scrawl seems 
hasty. We might have had more for three and fourpence. 
But Iam not the one to grumble about bad measure—as the 
boy said about old Busby. Now, Maria, listen, but say noth- 
ing —if feminine capacity may compass it. Why, bless 
my heart, every word of it is French!” The Rector threw — 
down his spectacles, and gazed at his wife reproachfully. 
But she smiled with superior innocence. 

‘“ What else could you expect, after all his years abroad ? 
I cannot make out the whole of it, for certain. But surely 
it is not beyond the compass of masculine capacity.” 

‘Yes, it is, Maria; and you know it well enough. No 
honest Englishman can endure a word of French. Latin, 
or Greek, or even Hebrew—though I took to that rather late 
in life. But French is only fit for women, and very few of 
them can manage it. Let us hear what this Frenchman 
says.” 

‘‘Heis nota Frenchman, Joshua. He is an Englishman, 





SPRINGHAVEN. 03 
and probably a very fine one. I won't be sure about all of 
his letter, because it is so long since I was at school; and 
French books are generally unfit to read. But the general 


meaning is something like this: 


‘MY BELOVED AND HIGHLY VALUED AUNT,—Since I heard 
from you there are many years now, but I hope you have 
held me in memory. I have the intention of returning to 
the country of England, even in this bad time of winter, 
when the climate is most funereal. I shall do my best to 
call back, if possible, the scattered ruins of the property, and 
to institute again the name which my father made dis- 
pleasing. In this good work you will, I have faith, afford 
me your best assistance, and the influence of your high con- 
nection in the neighbourhood. Accept, dear Aunt, the as- 
surance of my highest consideration, of the most sincere and 
the most devoted, and allow me the honour of writing my- 
self your most loving and respectful nephew, 

‘CARYL CARNE.’ 


Now, Joshua, what do you think of that ?” 

‘‘Fine words and no substance; like all French stuff. 
And he never even mentions me, who gave him a top, when 
he should have had the whip. I will not pretend to under- 
stand him, for he always was beyond me. Dark and ex- 
citable, moody and capricious, haughty and sarcastic, and 
devoid of love for animals. You remember his pony, and 
what he did to it, and the little dog that crawled upon her 
stomach towards him. For your sake I would have put up 
with him, my dear, and striven to improve his nature, which 
is sure to be much worse at six-and-twenty, after so many 
years abroad. But I confess it is a great relief to me that 
you wisely prefer not to have him in this house, any more 
at least than we’can help it. But who comes here? What 
a hurry wearein! Lizzie, my darling, be patient.” 

‘‘ Here’s this plague of a door barred and bolted again! 
Am I not to have an atom of breakfast, because I just hap- 
pened to oversleep myself? The mornings get darker and 
darker; it is almost impossible to see to dress oneself.”’ 

‘*There is plenty of tinder in the house, Eliza, and plenty 
of good tallow candles,” Mrs. Twemlow replied, having put 
away the letter, while her husband let the complainant in. 
‘‘ Hor the third time this week we have had prayers without 
you, and the example is shocking for the servants. We 

4 


V4 SPRINGHAVEN. 


shall have to establish the rule you suggest—too late to 
pray for food, too late to get it. But I have kept your help 
of bacon hot, quite hot, by the fire. And the teapot is un- 
der the cozy.” 

‘‘Thank you, dear mother,” the young lady answered, 
careless of words, if deeds were in her favour, and too clever 
to argue the question. ‘‘I suppose there is no kind of news 
this morning to reward one for getting up so early.” 

‘‘ Nothing whatever for you, Miss Lizzie,” said her father, 
as soon as he had kissed her. ‘‘ But the paper is full of the 
prospects of war, and the extent of the preparations. If 
we are driven to fight again, we shall do it in earnest, and 
not spare ourselves.” 

‘‘Nor our enemies either, I do hope with all my heart. 
How long are we to be afraid of them? We have always 
invaded the French till now. And for them to talk of in- 
vading us! There is not a bit of spirit left in this island, 
except in the heart of Lord Nelson.” | 

‘* What a hot little patriot this child is!” said the father, 
with aquiet smile at her. ‘‘ What would she say to an Eng- 
lishman who was more French than English, and would 
only write French letters? And yet it might be possible to 
find such people.” 

‘‘Tf such a wretch existed,” cried Miss Twemlow, ‘‘I 
should like to crunch him as I crunch this toast. For a 
Frenchman I can make all fair allowance, because he can- 
not help his birth. But for an Englishman to turn French- 
man—” 

‘“However reluctant we may be to allow it,” the candid 
Rector argued, ‘‘they are the foremost nation in the world 
just now for energy, valour, decision, discipline, and I fear 
I must add patriotism. The most wonderful man who has 
appeared in the world for centuries is their leader, and by 
land his success has been almost unbroken. If we must 
have war again, as I fear we must, and very speedily, our 
chief hope must be that the Lord will support His cause 
against the scoffer and the infidel, the libertine and the 
assassin.” 

“You see how beautifully your father puts it, Eliza; but 
he never abuses people. That is a habit in which, I am 
sorry to say, you indulge too freely. You show no good 
feeling to anybody who differs from you in opinion, and 
you talk as if Frenchmen had no religion, no- principles, 
and no humanity. And what do you know about them, 





SPRINGHAVEN. 75 


pray? Have you ever spoken toa Frenchman? Have you 
ever even seen one? Would you know one if you even set 
eyes upon him 2” 

‘“Well, I am not at all sure that I should,” the young 
lady replied, being thoroughly truthful; ‘‘and I have no 
wish for the opportunity. But I have seen a French wom- 
an, mother; and that is quite enough for me. If they 
are so, what must the men be 2” 

‘‘There is a name for this process of feminine reasoning, 
this cumulative and syncopetic process of the mind, entirely 
feminine (but regarded by itself as rational), a name which 
I used to know well in the days when [I had the ten Falla- 
cies at my fingers’ ends, more tenaciously perhaps than the 
Decalogue. Strange to say, the name is gone from my 
memory; but—but—” 

‘‘But then you had better go after it, my dear,” his wife 
suggested with authority. ‘‘If your only impulse when you 
hear reason is to search after hard names for it, you are 
safer outside of its sphere altogether.” 

‘*T am struck with the truth of that remark,” observed the 
Rector; ‘‘and the more so because I descry a male member 
of our race approaching, with a hat—at once the emblem 
and the crown of sound reason. Away with all fallacies; 
it is Church-warden Cheeseman !” 


(OE ATER Boch Ve 
A HORRIBLE SUGGESTION. 


‘*CaN you guess what has brought me down here in this 
hurry ?” Lord Nelson asked Admiral Darling, having jumped 
like a boy from his yellow post-chaise, and shaken his old 
friend’s broad right hand with his slender but strenuous left 
one, even as a big bellisswung by athin rope. ‘‘I haveno 
time to spare—not a day, not an hour; but I made up my 
mind to see you before I start. I cannot expect to come 
home alive, and except for one reason I should not wish it.” 
~ “* Nonsense!” said the Admiral, who was sauntering near 
his upper gate, and enjoying the world this fine spring morn- 
ing; ‘you are always in such aconfounded hurry! When 
you come to my time of life you will know better. What 
is it this time? The Channel fleet again 2” 

‘‘No, no; Billy Blue keeps that, thank God! I hate 


16 SPRINGHAVEN. 


looking after aschool of herring-boats. The Mediterranean 
for me, my friend. I received the order yesterday, and 
shall be at sea by the twentieth.” 

‘‘T am very glad to hear it, for your sake. If ever there 
was a restless fellow—in the good old times we were not like 
that. Come up to the house and talk about it; at least they 
must take. the horses out. They are not like you; they 
can’t work forever.” 

‘‘ And they don’t get knocked about like me, though one 
of them has lost his starboard eye, and he sails and steers 
all the better for it. Let them go up to the stable, Darling, 
while you come down to the beach with me. I want to 
show you something.” 

‘* What crotchet is in his too active brain now ?” the elder 
and stronger man asked himself, as he found himself hooked 
by the right arm, and led down a track through the trees 
scarcely known to himself, and quite out of sight from the 
village. ‘‘ Why, this is not the way to the beach! How- 
ever, it is never any good to oppose him. He gets his own 
way so, because of his fame. Or perhaps that’s the way he 
got his fame. But to show me about over my own land! 
But let him go on—-let him go on.” 

‘“ You are wondering, I dare say, what Iam about,” cried 
Nelson, stopping suddenly, and fixing his sound eye— 
which was wonderfully keen, though he was always in a 
fright about it—upon the large and peaceful blinkers of his 
ancient commander; ‘‘ but now I shall be able to convince 
you, though I am not a land-surveyor, nor even a general 
of land-forees. If God Almighty prolongs my life—which 
is not very likely—it will be that I may meet that scoundrel, 
Napoleon Bonaparte, on dry land. I hear that he is eager 
to encounter me on the waves, himself commanding a line- 
of-battle ship. I should send him to the devil in a quarter 
of an hour. And ashore I could astonish him, I think, a 
little, if I had agood army to back me up. Remember what 
I did at Bastia, in the land that produced this monster, and 
where I was called the Brigadier; and again, upon the coast 
of Italy, I showed that I understood all their dry-ground 
business. Tush! I can beat him, ashore and afloat; and I 
shall, if I live long enough. But this time the villain is in 
earnest, I believe, with his trumpery invasion; and as soon 
as he hears that I am gone, he will make sure of having his 
own way. We know, of course, there are fifty men as good 
as myself to stop him, including you, my dear Darling; but 





SPRINGHAVEN. 77 


everything goes by reputation—the noise of the people— 
praise-puff. That’s all I get, while the luckier fellows, like 
Cathcart, get the prize-emoney. But I don’t want to grum- 
ble. Now what do you see ?” 

‘“ Well, I see you, for one thing,” the Admiral answered, 
at his leisure, being quite inured to his friend’s quick fire, 
‘‘and wearing a coat that would be a disgrace to any other 
man in the navy. And further on I see some land that I 
never shall get my rent for; and beyond that nothing but 
the sea, with a few fishing-craft inshore, and in the offing 
a sail, an outward-bound EKast-Indiaman—some fool who 
wouldn't wait for convoy, with war as good as proclaimed 
again.” 

‘Nothing but the sea, indeed? The sweep of the land, 
and the shelter of the bay, the shoaling of the shore without 
a rock to break it, the headland that shuts out both wind 
and waves; and outside the headland, off Pebbleridge, deep 
water for a fleet of line-of-battle ships to anchor and com- 
mand the land approaches—moreover, a stream of the purest 
water from deep and never-failing springs—Darling, the 
place of all places in England for the French to land is op- 
posite to your front door.” 

‘‘T am truly obliged to you for predicting, and to them 
for doing it, if ever they attempt such impudence. If they 
find out that you are away, they can also find out that Iam 
here, as commander of the sea defences, from Dungeness to 
Selsey Bill.” 

‘‘That will make it all the more delightful to land at 
your front door, my friend; and all the easier to doit. My 
own plan is to strike with all force at the headquarters of 
the enemy, because the most likely to be unprepared. About 
a year ago, when I[ was down here, a little before my dear 
father’s death, without your commission I took command of 
your fishing-craft coming home for their Sunday, and showed 
them how to take the beach, partly to confirm my own sus- 
picions. There is no other landing on all the south coast, 
this side of Hayling Island, fit to be compared with it 
for the use of flat-bottomed craft, such as most of Boney’s 
are. And remember the set of the tide, which makes the 
fortunes of your fishermen. To be sure, he knows nothing 
of that himself; but he has sharp rogues about him. If 
they once made good their landing here, it would be diffi- 
cult to dislodge them. It must all be done from the land 
side then, for even a forty-two-gun frigate could scarcely 


78 SPRINGHAVEN. 


come near enough to pepper them. They love shoal water, 
the skulks, and that has enabled them to baffle me so often. 
Not that they would conquer the country—all brag—pbut 
still it would be a nasty predicament, and scare the poor 
cockneys like the very devil.” 

‘*But remember the distance from Boulogne, Hurry. If 
they cannot cross twenty-five miles of channel in the teeth 
of our ships, what chance would they have when the dis- 
tance is nearer eighty ?” 

‘‘A much better chance, if they knew how to doit. All 
our cruisers would be to the eastward. One afternoon per- 
haps, when a haze is on, they make a feint with hght craft 
towards the Scheldt—every British ship crowds sail after 
them. Then, at dusk, the main body of the expedition slips 
with the first of the ebb to the westward; they meet the 
flood tide in mid-Channel, and using their long sweeps are 
in Springhaven, or at any rate the lightest of them, by the 
top of that tide, just when you are shaving. You laugh at 
such a thought of mine. I tell you, my dear friend, that 
with skill and good luck it is easy; and do it they should, if 
they were under my command.” 

If anybody else had even talked of such a plan as within 
the bounds of likelihood, Admiral Darling would have been 
almost enraged. But now he looked doubtfully, first at the 
sea (as if it might be thick with prames already), and then 
at the land—which was his own—as if the rent might go 
into a Frenchman’s pocket, and then at his old and admired 
friend, who had ruined his sleep for the summer. 

‘‘ Happily they are not under your command, and they 
have no man to compare with you;” he spoke rather ner- 
vously; while Nelson smiled, for he loved the praise which 
he had so well earned; ‘‘and if it were possible for you to 
talk nonsense, I should say that you had done it now. But 
two things surely you have overlooked. In the first place, 
the French can have no idea of the special opportunities 
this place affords. And again, if they had, they could do 
nothing without a pilot well acquainted with the spot. 
Though the landing is so easy, there are shoals outside very 
intricate and dangerous, and known to none except the na- 
tives of the place, who are jealous to the last degree about 
their knowledge.” 

‘That is true enough; and even I should want a pilot 
here, though I know every spit of sand eastward. But 
away fly both your difficulties if there should happen to be 
a local traitor.” 





~ 


SPRINGHAVEN. 19 


‘“A traitor at Springhaven! Such a thing is quite im- 
possible. You would laugh at yourself, if you only knew 
the character of our people. There never has been, and 
there never will be, a Springhaven man capable of treach- 
ery.” 

‘‘ That is good news, ay, and strange news too,” the visit- 
or answered, with his left hand on his sword, for he was now 
in full though rather shabby uniform. ‘‘There are not 
many traitors in England, I believe; but they are as likely 
to be found in one place as another, according to my experi- 
ence. Well, well, 1am very glad you have no such scoun- 
drels here. JI won't say a single word against your people, 
who are as fine a lot as any in the south of England, and as 
obstinate as any I could wish to see. Of an obstinate man 
Ican always make good; witha limp one I can do nothing. 
But bear in mind every word you have heard me say, be- 
cause [came down on purpose about it; and I generally pen- 
etrate the devices of the enemy, though they lead me on a 
wild-goose chase sometimes, but only when our own folk back 
them up, either by les or stupidity. Now look once more, 
for you are slower as well as a great deal wiser than I am. 
You see how this land-locked bight of Springhaven seems 
made by the Almighty for flat-bottomed craft, if once they 
ean find their way into it; while the trend of the coast to- 
wards Pebbleridge is equally suited for the covering fleet, 
unless a gale from southwest comes on, in which case they 
must run for it. And you see that the landed force, by 
crowning the hill above your house and across the valley, 
might defy our noble Volunteers, and all that could be 
brought against them, till a hundred thousand cut-throats 
were established here. And Boney would make his head- 
quarters at the Hall, with a French cook in your kitchen, 
and a German butler in your cellar, and my pretty god- 
child to wait upon him, for the rogue loves pretty maidens.” 

‘*That will do. That is quite enough. No wonder you 
have written poems, Nelson, as you told us the last time you 
were here. If my son had only got your imagination—but 
perhaps you know something more than you have told me. 
Perhaps you have been told—” 

‘* Never mind about that,” the great sea-captain answered, 
turning away as if on springs; ‘‘it is high time for me to be 
off again, and my chaise has springs on her cables.” 

‘‘Not she. I have ordered her to be docked. Dine with 
us you shall this day, if we have to dine two hours earler, 


80 SPRINGHAVEN. 


and though Mother Cloam rage furiously. How much 
longer do you suppose you can carry on at this pace? Look 
at me. I have double your bodily substance; but if I went 
on as you do—you remember the twenty-four-pounder old 
Hotecoppers put into the launch, and fired it, in spite of all I 
could say to him? Well, youare justthesame. You have 
not got the scantling for the metal you carry and are always 
working. You will either blow up or else scuttle yourself. 
Look here, how your seams are opening!” Here Admiral 
Darling thrust his thumb through the ravelled seam of his 
old friend’s coat, which made him jump back, for he loved 
his old coat. ‘‘ Yes, and you will go in the very same way. 
I wonder how any coat lasts so much as a month, with you 
inside it.” 

‘“This coat,” said Nelson, who, was most sweet-tempered 
with any one he loved, though hot as pepper when stirred 
up by strangers—‘‘this coat is the one I wore at Copenha- 
gen, and a sounder and kinder coat never came on a man’s 
back. Charles Darling, you have made a bad hit this time. 
If 1am no more worn out than this coat is, Iam fit to go to 
sea for a number of years yet. And I hope to show it toa 
good many Frenchmen, and take as many ships, every time 
they show fight, as there are buttons on it.” | 

‘‘Then you will double all your captures at the Nile;” 
such a series of buttons had this coat, though many lay slack 
to their moorings, for his guardian angel was not ‘‘do- 
mestic:” ‘* but you may be trusted not to let them drift so. 
You have given me a lesson in coast-defence, and now you 
shall be boarded by the ladies. You possess some gifts of the 
tongue, my friend, as well as great gifts of hand and eye; 
but I will back my daughters to beat you there. Come up 
to the house. No turning of tail.” 

‘‘T spoke very well in the House of Lords,” said Nelson, 
in his simple way, ‘‘in reply to the speech of his Majesty, 
and again about the Commissioner's Bill; or at least every- 
body tells me so. But in the House of Ladies I hold my 
tongue, because there is abundance without it.” 

. This, however, he failed to do when the matter came to 

the issue; for his godchild Horatia, more commonly called 
Dolly, happened to be in the mood for taking outrageous 
liberties with him. She possessed very little of that gift— 
most preciousamong women—the sense of veneration ; and to 
her a hero was only a man heroic in acts of utility. “He 
shall do it,” she said to Faith, when she heard that he was 








SPRINGHAVEN. , 81 


come again; ‘‘if I have to-kiss him, he shall do it; and I 
don’t like kissing those old men.” 

‘‘ Hush!” said her elder sister. ‘‘Dolly, you do say 
things so recklessly. One would think that you liked to 
kiss younger men! But I am sure that is not your mean- 
ing. I would rather kiss Lord Nelson than all the young 
men in the kingdom.” 

‘“Well done, Faith! All the young men in the kingdom! 
How recklessly you do say things! And you can’t kiss him 
—he is my godfather. But just see how I get round hin, if 
you have wits enough to understand it.” 

So these two joined i in their kind endeavour to make the 
visitor useful, the object being so good that doubtful means 
might be excused for it. In ‘different ways and for divers 
reasons each of these young ladies now had taken tolike Blyth 
Scudamore. Faith, by power of pity first, and of grief for 
her own misfortunes, and of admiration for his goodness to 
his widowed mother—which made his best breeches shine 
hard at the knees; and Dolly, because of his shy adoration 
and dauntless defence of her against a cow (whose calf was 
on the road to terminate in veal), as well as his special skill 
with his pocket-knife in cutting out figures that could dance 
and almost sing; also his great gifts, when the tide was out, 
of making rare creatures run after him. What avails to 
explore female reason precisely ?—their minds were made up 
that he must be a captain, if Nelson had to build the ship 
with his one hand for him. 

‘‘ After that, there is nothing more to be said,” confessed 
the vanquished warrior; ‘‘ but the daughters of an Admiral 
‘should know that no man can be posted until he has served 
his time as lieutenant; and this young hero of yours has 
never even held the King’s commission yet. But as he has 
‘seen some service, and is beyond the age of a middy, in the 
present rush he might get appointed as junior lieutenant, if 
he had any stout seconders. Your father is the man; he is 
always at hand, and can watch his opportunity. He knows 
more big-wigs than I do, and he has not given offence where 
Ihave. Get your father, my dears, to attend to it.” 

But the ladies were not to be so put off, for they under- 
stood the difference of character. Lord Nelson was as sure 
to do a thing as Admiral Darling was to drop it if it grew 
too heavy. Hence it came to pass that Blyth Scudamore, 
though failing of the Victory and Amphton—which he 
would have chosen, if the choice were his—received with 

4* | 




































































‘AFTER THAT, THERE IS NOTHING MORE TO BE SAID.” 


that cheerful philosophy which had made him so dear ta 
the school-boys, and was largely required among them, his 
appointment as junior lieutenant to the thirty-eight-gun 
frigate Leda, attached to the Channel fleet under Corn- 
wallis, whose business it was to deal with the French flotilla 
of invasion. 


CHAPTER XV. 
ORDEAL OF AUDIT. 


ENGLAND saw the growing danger, and prepared, with an 
even mind and well-girt body, to confront it. As yet stood 
up no other country to help or even comfort her, so cowed 








SPRINGHAVEN. “83 


was all the Continent by the lash and spur of an upstart. 
Alone, encumbered with the pack of Ireland, pinched with 
hunger and dearth of victuals, and cramped with the colic 
of Whiggery, she set her strong shoulder to the wheel of 
fortune, and so kept it till the hill was behind her. Some 
nations (which owe their existence to her) have forgotten 
these things conveniently; an Englishman hates to speak 
of them, through his unjust abhorrence of self-praise; and 
so does a Frenchman, by virtue of motives equally respect- 
able. 

But now the especial danger lay in the special strength 
of England. Scarcely any man along the coast, who had 
ever come across a Frenchman, could be led (by quotations 
from history or even from newspapers) to believe that there 
was any sense in this menace of his to come and conquer us. 
Even if he Janded—which was not likely, for none of them 
could box the compass—the only thing he took would be a 
jolly good thrashing, and a few pills of lead for his garlic. 
This lofty contempt on the part of the seafaring men had 
been enhanced by Nelson, and throve with stoutest vigour 
in the enlightened breasts of Springhaven. 

Yet military men thought otherwise, and so did the own- 
ers of crops and ricks, and so did the dealers in bacon and 
egos and crockery, and even hardware. Mr. Cheeseman, 
for instance, who left nothing unsold that he could turn a 
penny by, was anything but easy in his mind, and dreamed 
such dreams as he could not impart to his wife—on account 
of her tendency to hysterics—but told with much power to 
his daughter Polly, now the recognised belle of Springhaven. 
This vigilant grocer and butter man, tea, coffee, tobacco, and 
snuff man, hosier also, and general provider for the outer as 
well as the inner man, had much of that enterprise in his 
nature which the country believes to come from London. 
His possession of this was ascribed by all persons of a 
thoughtful turn to his ownership of that well-built schooner 
the London Trader. Sailing as she did, when the weather 
was fine, nearly every other week, for London, and return- 
ing with equal frequency, to the women who had never 
been ten miles from home she was a mystery and a watch- 
word. Not one of them would allow lad of hers to join this 
romantic galleon, and tempt the black cloud of the distance; 
neither did Mr. Cheeseman yearn (for reasons of his own 
about city prices) to navigate this good ship with natives. 
Moreover, it was absurd, as he said, with a keen sense of his 


84 SPRINGHAVEN. 


own cheapness, to suppose that he could find the funds to 
buy and ply such a ship as that! 

Truth is a fugitive creature, even when she deigns to be 
visible, or even to exist. The truth of Mr. Cheeseman’s 
statement had existed, but was long since flown. Such was 
his worth that he could now afford to buy the London 
Trader three times over, and pay ready money every time. 
But when he first invested hard cash in her—against the 
solid tears of his prudent wife—true enough it was that he 
could only scrape together one-quarter of the sum required. 
Mrs. Cheeseman, who was then in a condition of absorbing 
interest with Polly, made it her last request in this world-—- 
for she never expected to get over it—that Jemmy should 
not run in debt on a goose-chase, and fetch her poor spirit 
from its grave again. James Cheeseman was compelled— 
as the noblest man may be—to dissemble and even deny his 
intentions until the blessed period of caudle-cup, when, the 
weather being pleasant and the wind along the shore, he 
found himself encouraged to put up the window gently. 
The tide was coming in with a long seesaw, and upon it, 
like the baby in the cradle full of sleep, lay rocking anoth- 
er little stranger, or rather a very big one, to the lady’s con- 
ception. ? 

Let by-gones be by-gones. There were some reproaches; 
but the weaker vessel, Mrs. Cheeseman, at last struck flag, 
without sinking, as she threatened todo. And when little 
Polly went for her first airing, the London Trader had ac- 
complished her first voyage, and was sailing in triumphantly 
with a box of ‘‘tops and bottoms” from the ancient firm in 
Threadneedle Street which has saved so many infants from — 
the power that cuts the thread. After that, everything 
went as it should go, including this addition to the commer- 
cial strength of Britain, which the lady was enabled soon to 
talk of as ‘‘ our ship,” and to cite when any question rose of 
the latest London fashion. But even now, when a score of 
years, save one, had made their score and gone, Mrs. Cheese- 
man only guessed and doubted as to the purchase of her ship. 
James Cheeseman knew the value of his own counsel, and 
so kept it; and was patted on both shoulders by the world, 
while he patted his own butter. 

He wore an apron of the purest white, with shoulder-straps 
of linen tape, and upon his counter he had a desk, with a 
carved oak rail in front of it and returned at either end. 
The joy of his life was here to stand, with goodly shirt sleeves 


SPRINGHAVEN. 85 


shining, his bright cheeks also shining in the sun, unless it 
were hot enough to hurt his goods. He was not a great 
man, but a good one—in the opinion of all who owed him 
nothing, and even in his own estimate, though he owed so 
much to himself. It was enough to make any one who pos- 
sessed a shilling hungry to see him so clean, so ready and 
ruddy, among the many good things which his looks and 
manner, as well as his words, commended. And as soon as 
he began to smack his rosy lips, which nature had fitted up 
on purpose, over a rasher, or a cut of gammon, or a keg of 
best Aylesbury, or a fine red herring, no customer having a 
penny in his pocket. might struggle hard enough to keep it 
there. For the half-hearted policy of fingering one’s money, 
and asking a price theoretically, would recoil upon the con- 
stitution of the strongest man, unless he could detach from 
all co-operation the congenial researches of his eyes and nose. 
When the weather was cool and the air full of appetite, and 
a fine smack of salt from the sea was sparkling on the mar- 
gin of the plate of expectation, there was Mr. Cheeseman, 
with a knife and fork, amid a presence of hungrifying goods 
that beat the weak efforts of imagination. Hams of the first 
rank and highest education, springs of pork sweeter than the 
purest spring of poetry, pats of butter fragrant as the most 
delicious flattery, chicks with breast too ample to require to 
be broken, and sometimes prawns from round the headland 
fresh enough to saw one another’s heads off but for being 
boiled already. 

Memory fails to record one-tenth of all the good things 
gathered there. And why? Because hope was the power 
aroused, and how seldom can memory endorse it! Even in 
the case of Mr. Cheeseman’s wares, there were people who 
said, after making short work with them, that short weight 
had enabled them to do so. And every one living in the 
village was surprised to find his own scales require balancing 
again every time he sent his little girl to Cheeseman’s. 

This upright tradesman was attending to his business one 
cold day of May, 1808, soon after Nelson sailed from Ports- 
mouth, and he stood with his beloved pounds of farm-house 
butter, bladders of lard, and new-laid eggs, and squares of 
cream-cheese behind him, with a broad butter-spathe of white 
wood in his hand, a long goose-pen tucked over his left ear, 
and the great copper scales hanging handy. So strict was 
his style, though he was not above a joke, that only his own 
hands might serve forth an ounce of best butter to the pub- 


86 SPRINGHAVEN. 


lic. And whenever this was weighed, and the beam adjust- 
ed handsomely to the satisfaction of the purchaser, down 
went the butter to be packed upon a shelf uninvaded by the 
public eye. Persons too scantily endowed with the greatest 
of all Christian virtues had the hardihood to say that Mr. 
Cheeseman here indulged in a process of high art discovered 
by himself. Discoursing of the weather, or the crops, or per- 
haps the war, and mourning the dishonesty of statesmen 
nowadays, by dexterous undersweep of keen steel blade, 
from the bottom of the round, or pat, or roll, he would have 
away a thin slice, and with that motion jerk it into the bar- 
rel which he kept beneath his desk. 

‘Is this, then, the establishment of the illustrious Mr. 
Cheeseman?” The time was yet early, and the gentleman 
who put this question was in riding dress. The worthy 
tradesman looked at him, and the rosy tint of conscience on 
his cheeks was touched with changes. 

‘‘This is the shop of the ‘umble James Cheeseman,” he — 
answered, but not with the alacrity of business. ‘‘ All things 
good that are in season, and nothing kept unseasonable. 
With what can I have the honour of serving you, sir?” 

‘* With a little talk.” The stranger’s manner was not un- 
pleasantly contemptuous, but lofty, and such as the English 
shopman loves, and calls ‘‘ aristocratic.” 

‘“To talk with a gentleman is a pleasure as well as an 
honour,” said Cheeseman. | 

‘‘But not in this public establishment.” The visitor 
waved both hands as he spoke, in a style not then common 
with Englishmen, though they are learning eloquent ges- 
ticulation now. ‘‘It is fine, Mr. Cheeseman; but it is not— 
bah! I forget your English words.” 

‘‘Tt is fine, sir, as you are good enough to observe’”—the 
humble James Cheeseman was proud of his shop—“ but not, 
as you remarked, altogether private. That can hardly be 
expected where business is conducted to suit universal re- 
quirements. Polly, my dear, if your mother can spare you, 
come and take my place at the desk a few minutes. I have 
business inside with this gentleman. You may sell almost 
anything, except butter. If any one wants that, they must 
wait till I come back.” 

Axvery pretty damsel, with a cap of foreign lace both 
adorning and adorned by her beautiful bright hair, came 
shyly from a little door behind the counter, receiving with 
a quick blush the stranger’s earnest gaze, and returning with 


aa 


ie 













































































MR. CHEESEMAN AND CARYL CARNE. 


a curtsey the courteous flourish of his looped-up riding-hat. 
‘What a handsome gentleman!” said Polly to herself; ‘‘ but 
there is something very sad and very wild in his appear- 
ance.” Her father’s conclusion was the same, and his heart 
misgave him as he led in this unexpected guest. 

‘“There is no cause for apologies. This place is a very 
good one,” the stranger replied, laying down his heavy whip 
on the table of a stone-floored room, to which he had been 
shown. ‘‘ You are a man of business, and I am come upon 
dry business. You can conjecture—is it not so?—who I am 
by this time, although I am told that I do not bear any 
strong resemblance to my father.” 

He took off his hat as he spoke, shook back his long black 
hair, and fixed his jet-black eyes upon Cheeseman. That 
upright dealer had not recovered his usual self-possession 
yet, but managed to look up—for he was shorter by a head 
than his visitor—with a doubtful and enquiring smile. 

‘‘T am Caryl Carne, of Carne Castle, as you are pleased to 
eallif. Ihave not been in England these many years; from 
the death of my father I have been afar; and now, for causes 
of my own, I am returned, with hope of collecting the frag- 





88 SPRINGHAVEN. 


ments of the property of my ancestors. It appears to have | 


been their custom to scatter, but not gather up again. My 
intention is to make a sheaf of the relics spread by squan- 
derers, and snapped up by scoundrels.” 

‘“To be sure, to be sure,” cried the general dealer; ‘this 
is vastly to your credit, sir, and I wish you all success, sir, 
and so will all who have so long respected your ancient and 
honourable family, sir. Take a chair, sir—please to take a 
chair.” 

‘‘T find very little to my credit,” Mr. Carne said, dryly, as 
he took the offered chair, but kept his eyes still upon Cheese- 
man’s; ‘‘but among that little is a bond from you, given 
nearly twenty years agone, and of which you will retain, no 
doubt, a vivid recollection.” 

‘A bond, sir—a bond!” exclaimed the other, with his 
bright eyes twinkling, as in some business enterprise. ‘‘I 
never signed a bond in all my life, sir. Why, a bond re- 
quires sureties, and nobody ever went surety for me.” 

‘*Bond may not be the proper legal term. It is possible. 
I know nothing of the English law. But a document it is, 
under hand and seal, and your signature is witnessed, Mr. 
Cheeseman.” 

‘‘Ah,well! Let meconsider. I begin to remember some- 
thing. But my memory is not as it used to be, and twenty 
years makes a great hole in it. Will you kindly allow me 
to see this paper, if you have it with you, sir ?” 

‘It is not a paper; it is written upon parchment, and I 
have not brought it with me. But I have written down the 
intention of it, and it is as follows: 

‘**This indenture made between James Cheeseman (with 
a long description), of the one part, and Montagu Carne 
(treated likewise), of the other part, after a long account of 
some arrangement made between them, witnesseth that in 
consideration of the sum of £300 well and truly paid by the 
said Montagu Carne to Cheeseman, he, the said Cheeseman, 
doth assign, transfer, set over, and so on, to the said Carne, 
etc., one equal undivided moiety, and one half part of the 
other moiety of and in a certain vessel, ship, trading craft, 
and so forth, known or thenceforth to be known as the Lon- 
don Trader, of Springhaven, in the county of Sussex, by way 
of security for the interest at the rate of five per cent. per 
annum, payable half-yearly, as well as for the principal sum 
of £300, so advanced as aforesaid.’ ”’ 

‘If it should prove, sir, that money is owing,” Mr. 





SPRINGHAVEN. 89 


Cheeseman said, with that exalted candor which made a 
weak customer misdoubt his own eyes and nose, ‘‘no effort 
on my part shall be wanting, bad as the times are, to pro- 
cure it and discharge it. In every commercial transaction 
I have found, and my experience is now considerable, that 
confidence, as between man and man, is the only true foot- 
ing togoupon. And how can true confidence exist, unless—”’ 

‘‘Unless a man shows some honesty. And aman who 
keeps books such as these,” pursued the visitor, suggesting 
a small kick to a pile of ledgers, ‘‘can hardly help knowing 
whether he owes a large sum, or whether he has paid it. 
But that is not the only question now. In continuation of 
that document I find a condition, a clause provisional, that 
it shall be at the option of the aforesaid Montagu Carne, and 
his representatives, either to receive the interest at the rate 
before mentioned and thereby secured, or, if he or they 
should so prefer, to take for their own benefit absolutely 
three-fourths of the net profits, proceeds, or other increment 
realized by the trading ventures, or other employment from 
time to time, of the said London Trader. Also there is a 
covenant for the insurance of the said vessel, and a power 
of sale, and some other provisions about access to trading 
books, ete., with which you have, no doubt, a good acquaint- 
ance, Mr. Cheeseman.” 

That enterprising merchant, importer of commodities, and 
wholesale and retail dealer was fond of assuring his numer- 
ous friends that ‘‘ nothing ever came amiss to him.” But 
some of them now would have doubted about this if they 
had watched his face as carefully as Caryl Carne was watch- 
ing it. Mr. Cheeseman could look a hundred people in the 
face, and with great vigour too, when a small account was 
running. But the sad, contemptuous, and piercing gaze— 
as if he were hardly worth penetrating—and the twirl of the 
black tuft above the lip, and the firm conviction on the 
broad white forehead that it was confronting a rogue too 
common and shallow to be worth frowning at—all these, 
and the facts that were under them, came amiss to the true 
James Cheeseman. 

‘‘T scarcely see how to take this,” he said, being clever 
enough to suppose that a dash of candor might sweeten the 
embroilment. ‘‘I will not deny that I was under obligation 
to your highly respected father, who was greatly beloved for 
his good-will to his neighbours. ‘Cheeseman,’ he used to say, 
‘IT will stand by you. You are the only man of enterprise 


90 SPRINGHAVEN. 


in these here parts. Whatever you do is for the good of 
Springhaven, which belonged to my family for centuries be- 
fore those new-fangled Darlings came. And, Cheeseman, 
you may trust to the honour of the Carnes not to grind down 
a poor man who has his way tomake.’ Them were his words, 
sir; how well I recollect them!” 

‘*Too well almost,” replied the young man, coldly, ‘‘ con- 
sidering how scanty was your memory just now. But it 
may save time, and painful efforts of your memory, if I tell 
you at once that I am not concerned in any way with the 
sentiments of my father. I owe him very little, as you must 
be well aware; and the matter betwixt you and me is strict- 
ly one of business. The position in whieh I am left is such 
that I must press every legal claim to the extremest. And 
having the option under this good document, I have deter- 
mined to insist upon three-quarters of the clear proceeds of 
this trading ship, from the date of the purchase until the 
present day, as well as the capital sum invested on this 
security.” 

‘‘ Very well, sir, if you do, there is only one course left 
me—to go into the Court of Bankruptcy, see all my little 
stock in trade sold up, and start in hfe again at the age of 
fifty-seven, with a curse upon all old families.” 

‘“Your curse, my good friend, will not add sixpence to 
your credit. And the heat you exhibit is not well adapted 
for calculations commercial. There is one other course 
which I am able to propose, though I will not give a promise 
yet to do so—a course which would relieve me from taking 
possession of this noble ship which has made your fortune, 
and perhaps from enforcing the strict examination of your 
trading books, to which Lam entitled. But before I propose 
any such concession, which will be a grand abdication of 
rights, one or two things become necessary. For example, 
I must have some acquaintance with your character, some 
certitude that you can keep your own counsel, and not di- 
vulge everything that arrives within your knowledge; also 
that you have some courage, some freedom of mind from 
small insular sentiments, some desire to promote the true | 
interests of mankind, and the destruction of national prej- 
udices.”’ 

‘“Certainly, sir; all of those I can approve of. They are 
very glorious things,” cried Cheeseman—a man of fine, lib- 
eral vein, whenever two half-crowns were as good as a crown. 
‘“We are cramped and trampled and down-trodden by the 





SPRINGHAVEN. 91 


airs big people give themselves, and the longing of such of 
us as thinks is to speak our minds about it. Upon that point 
of freedom, sir, I can heartily go with you, and every stick 
upon my premises is well insured.” 

‘‘Including, I hope, the London Trader, according to 
your covenant. And that reminds me of another question 
—is it well-found, well-manned, and a good, rapid ship to 
make the voyage? No falsehood, if you please, about this” 
matter.” 

“She is the fastest sailer on the English coast, built at 
Dunkirk, and as sound as a bell. She could show her taff- 
rail, in ight weather, to any British cruiser in the Channel. 
She could run a fine cargo of French cognac and foreign 
laces any day.”’ 

‘‘Tt is not my desire,” Caryl Carne replied, ‘‘ to cheat the 
British Revenue. For that purpose exist already plenty of 
British tradesmen. For the present [impress upon you one 
thing only, that you shall observe silence, a sacred silence, 
regarding this conversation. For your own sake you will 
be inclined to do so, and that is the only sake a man pays 
much attention to. . But how much for your own sake you 
are obliged to keep your counsel you will very soon find out 

if you betray it.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 
FOX-HILL. 


WHEN it was known in this fine old village that young 
Squire Carne from foreign parts was come back to live in 
the ancient castle, there was much larger outlay (both of 
words and thoughts) about that than about any French in- 
vasion. ‘‘ Let them land if they can,” said the able-bodied 
men, in discussion of the latter question; ‘‘ they won’t find 
it so easy to get away again as they seem to put into their 
reckoning. But the plague of it all is the damage to the 
fishing.” 

Not that the squadron of Captain Tugwell was shorn as 
yet of its number, though all the young men were under 
notice to hold Hicmiseiaed ready as ‘‘Sea-Hencibles.”’ The 
injury to their trade lay rather in the difficulty of getting 
to their fishing-grounds, and in the disturbance of these by 
cruisers, with little respect for their nets and lines. Again, 


92 SPRINGHAVEN. 


as the tidings of French preparation waxed more and more ~ 
outrageous, Zebedee had as much as he could do to keep all 
his young hands loyal. All their solid. interest lay (as he 
told them every morning) in sticking to the Springhaven 
flag—a pair of soles couchant, herring salient, and mackerel 
regardant, all upon a bright sea-green—rather than in hank- 
ering after roll of drum and Union-Jack. What could come 
of these but hardship, want of victuals, wounds, and death; 
or else to stump about on one leg, and hold out a hat fora 
penny with onearm? They felt that it was true; they had 
seen enough of that; it had happened in all their own 
families. 

Yet such is the love of the native land and the yearning 
to stand in front of it, and such is the hate of being tri- 
umphed over by fellows who kiss one another and weep, 
and such is the tingling of the knuckles for a blow when 
the body has been kicked in sore places, that the heart will 
at last get the better of the head—or at least it used to be so 
in England. Wherefore Charley Bowles was in arms al- 
ready against his country’s enemies; and Harry Shanks 
waited for little except a clear proclamation of prize-money ; 
and even young Daniel was tearing at his kedge like a lively 
craft riding in a brisk sea-way. He had seen Lord Nelson, 
and had spoken to Lord Nelson, and that great man would 
have patted him on the head—so patriotic were his senti- 
ments—if the great man had been a little taller. 

But the one thing: that kept Dan Tugwell firm to his 
moorings at Springhaven was the deep hold of his steadfast 
heart in a love which it knew to be hopeless. To die for 
his country might become a stern duty, about which he 
would rather not be hurried; but to die for Miss Dolly would. 
be a wild delight; and how could he do it unless he were at 
hand? And now there were so many young Officers again, 
landing in boats, coming in post-chaises, or charging down 
the road on horseback, that Daniel, while touching up the 
finish of his boat with paint and varnish and Venetian red, 
was not so happy as an artist should be who knows how to 
place the whole. Sometimes, with the paint stirred up and 
creaming, and the ooze of the brush trimmed warily, through 
the rushes and ragwort and sea-willow his keen, unconquer- 
able eyes would spy the only figure that quelled them, far 
away, Shown against the shining water, or shadowed upon 
the flat mirror of the sand.. But, alas! there was always 
another figure near it, bigger, bulkier, framed with ugly 


“ATLSVO ANAVO 



































DAN TUGWELL. 


angles, jerking about with the elbow sticking out, instead of 
gliding gracefully. Likely enough the lovely form, brought 
nearer to the eyes and heart by love, would flit about beau- 
tifully for two sweet moments, filling with rapture all the 
flashes of the sea and calm of the evening sky beyond; and 
then the third moment would be hideous. For the figure 
of the ungainly foe would stride across the delicious vision, 
huge against the waves like Cyclops, and like him gesticu- 
lant, but unhappily not so single-eyed that the slippery fair 
might despise him. Then away would fly all sense of art 
and joy in the touch of perfection, and a very nasty feeling 
would ensue, as if nothing were worth living for, and no- 
body could be believed in. | 








~ 


\  SPRINGHAVEN. 95. 


That plaguesome Polypheme was Captain Stubbard, be- 
girt with a wife, and endowed with a family almost in ex- 
cess of benediction, and dancing attendance upon Miss Dolly, 
too stoutly for his own comfort, in the hope of procuring 
for his own Penates something to eat and to sit upon. 
Some evil genius had whispered, or rather trumpeted, into 
his ear—for he had but one left, and that worked very sel- 
dom, through alarm about the bullet which had carried off 
its fellow--that if he desired, as he did with heart and stom- 
ach, to get a clear widening by £200 of his strait ways 
and restricted means, through Admiral Darling it might be 
done, and Miss Dolly was the proper one to make him do it. 
For the Inspectorship of Sea-Fencibles from Selsey Bill to 
Dungeness was worth all that money in hard cash yearly; 
and the late Inspector having quitted this life—through pork 








CAPTAIN STUBBARD, 


96 SPRINGHAVEN. 


boiled in a copper kettle—the situation was naturally vacant; 
and the Admiral being the man for whose check the In- 
spectorship was appointed, it is needless to say that (in the 
spirit of fair play) the appointment was vested in the Ad- 
miral. 

The opinion of all who knew him was that Captain Stub- 
bard was fairly entitled to look for something higher. And 
he shared that opinion, taking loftier aim than figures could 
be made to square with, till the latter prevailed, as they gen- 
erally do, because they can work without victuals. For al- 
though the brave Captain had lost three ribs—or at any 
rate more than he could spare of them (not being a pig)—in 
the service of his country, he required as much as ever to 
put inside them; and his children, not having inherited that 
loss as scientifically as they should have done, were hard to 
bring up upon the £15 yearly allowed by Great Britain for 
each of the gone bones. From the ear that was gone he 
derived no income, having rashly compounded for £25. 

In the nature of things, which the names have followed, 
the father is the feeder; and the world is full of remarks un- 
less he becomes a good clothier also. But everything went 
against this father, with nine little Stubbards running after 
him, and no ninepence in any of his pockets, because he was 
shelved upon half-pay, on account of the depression of the 
times and of his ribs. But Miss Dolly Darling was resolved 
to see him righted, for she hated all national meanness. 

‘* What is the use of having any influence,” she asked her 
good father, ‘‘unless you employ it for your own friends ? 
I should be quite ashamed to have it said of me, or thought, 
that I could get a good thing for any one I was fond of, and 
was mean enough not to do it, for fear of paltry jealousy. 
Mean is much too weak a word; it is downright dishonest, 
and what is much worse, cowardly. What is the govern- 
ment meant for, unless it is to do good to people ?” 

‘Certainly, my dear child, certainly. To the people at 
large, that is to say, and the higher interests of the country.” 

‘‘Can there be any people more at large than Captain 
Stubbard and his wife and children? Their elbows are com- 
ing out of their clothes, and they have scarcely got a bed to 
sleep upon. My income is not enough to stop to count, 
even when [ get it punctually. But every farthing I re- 
ceive shall go—that is to say, if it ever does come—into the 
lap of Mrs. Stubbard, anonymously and respectfully.” 

‘*Pay your bills first,” said the Admiral, taking the wea- 















































““pay YOUR BILLS, FIRST,’ SAID THE ADMIRAL.” 


ther-gage of the discussion; ‘‘a little bird tells me that you 
owe a good trifle, even in Springhaven.” 

‘*Then the little bird has got a false bill,” replied Dolly, 
who was not very easy to fluster. ‘‘ Who is there to spend 
sixpence with in a little hole of this kind? Iam not a cus- 
tomer for tea, coffee, tobacco, snuff, or pepper, nor even for 
whiting, soles, or conger. Old Cheeseman imports all the 

5 


98 SPRINGHAVEN. 


fashions, as he says, but Igo by my own judgment. And 
trumpery aS my income is, very little of it goes into his till. 
But I should like to know who told you such a wicked story, 
father ?” 

‘‘Things are mentioned in confidence, and I put them 
together,” said the Admiral. ‘‘ Don’t say another word, or 
look as if you would be happier if you had something to cry 
about. Your dear mother used to do it, and it beats me al- 
ways. I have long had my eye upon Captain Stubbard, and 
Il remember well that gallant action when his three ribs flew 
away. We called him Adam, because of his wife coming 
just when his middle rib went, and his name was Adam 
Stubbard, sure enough. Such men, in the prime of their 
life, should be promoted, stead of being disabled, for a 
scratch like that. Why, he walks every bit as well as I do, 
and his wateh ribbon covers it. And nine children! Lord 
bless my heart, I scarcely know which way to turn, with 
only four!” 

Within a short fortnight Captain Stubbard was appoint- 
ed, with an office established at the house of Widow 
Shanks—though his real office naturally was at the public- 
house—and Royal Proclamations aroused the valour of near- 
ly everybody who could read them. Nine httle Stubbards 
soon were rigged too smart to know themselves, as the style 
is of all dandies; and even Mrs. Stubbard had a new belt 
made to go round her, when the weather was elastic. 

‘“These are the things that prove the eye of an All-wise 
Providence over us,” said the Captain to the Admiral, point- 
ing out six pairs of short legs, galligaskined from one roll 
of cloth; ‘‘ these are the things that make one feel the force 
of the words of David.” 

‘* Certainly, yes, to be sure!” replied the gallant senior 
officer, all at sea as to the, passage suggested. ‘* Good legs 
they have got, and no mistake; like the polished corners of 
the Temple. Let them go and dip them in the sea, while 
you give me the benefit of your opinion here. - Not here, I 
mean, but upon Fox-hill yonder; if Mrs. Stubbard will 
spare you for a couple of hours, most kindly.” 

Of the heights that look down with a breezy air upon the 
snug nest of Springhaven, the fairest to see from a distance, 
and to tread with brisk foot, is Fox-hill. For the downs, 
which are channelled with the springs that form the brook, 
keep this for their own last spring into the air before bath- 
ing in the vigorous composure of the sea. All the other 


ed es ET ss. =, 












































ON FOX-HILL. 


hills fall back a little, to let Fox-hill have the first choice of 
aspect—or bear the first brunt, as itself would state the mat- 
ter. And to anybody coming up, and ten times to a stran- 
ger, this resolute foreland offers more invitation to go home 
again than to come visiting. For the bulge of the breast is 


100 SPRINGHAVEN. 


steep, and ribbed with hoops coming up in denial, conerete 
with chalk, muricated with flint, and thornily crested with 
good stout furze. And the forefront of the head, when 
gained, is stiff with brambles, and stubbed with sloes, and 
mitred with a choice band of stanch sting-nettles. 

‘“It would take a better Frenchman,” said the Admiral, 
with that brevity which is the happy result of stoutness up 
steep hill, ‘‘than any of ‘they flat-bottoms,’as Swipes, my 
gardener, calls them, to get through these prickles, Stub- 
bard, without Sark-blewing, such a wonderfully  thin- 
skinned lot they are! Did I ever tell you the story of our 
boatswain’s mate? But that takes a better sailing breeze 
than I’ve got now. You see where we are, don’t you ?” 

‘Certainly, Admiral,” replied Captain Stubbard, disdain- 
ing to lay hand to his injured side, painfully as it yearned 
for pressure; ‘‘we have had a long pull, and we get a fine 
outlook over the country for leagues, and the Channel. How 
close at hand everything looks! I suppose we shall have 
rain, and we want it. I could thump that old castle among 
the trees into smash, and your church looks as if I could put 
a shot with a rifle-gun into the bell-chamber.” 


‘‘And so you could. What I want to show you is that. 


very point, and the importance of it. With a battery of 
long twenty-fours up here, the landing, the bay, and all the 
roads are at our mercy. My dear old friend Nelson drew 
my attention to it.” 

‘It is plain as a pikestaff to Tom, Dick, or Harry:” 
Captain Stubbard was a frank, straightforward man, and 
much as he owed to the Admiral’s aid, not a farthing would 
he pay in flattery. ‘‘ But why should we want to command 
this spot? There is nothing to protect but a few common 
houses, and some half-score of fishing craft, and a schooner 
that trades to London, and yonder old church, and—oh yes, 
to be sure, your own house and property, Admiral.” 

‘*Those must take their chance, like others. I hope I 
know better than to think of them in comparison with the 
good of the country. - But if we fail to occupy this impor- 
tant post, the enemy might take us by surprise, and do so.” 

‘* Possible, but most improbable. This little place lies, 
by the trend of the coast, quite out of their course from Bou- 
logne to London; and what is there here to tempt them ? 
No rich town to sack, no gr eat commerce to rob, no valuable 
shipping to lay hands on.’ 

Ses but there’s my house and my two girls; and I don't 





eq "Sey 


SPRINGHAVEN. 101 


want my old roof burned, and my daughters put to wait on 
Boney. But to think of self-interest is below contempt, 
with our country going through such trials. Neither should 
we add any needless expense to a treasury already overbur- 
dened.” | 

“Certainly not. It would be absolutely wicked. We 
have a long and costly war before us, and not a shilling 
should be spent except in case of clear necessity.” 

‘“T am very glad indeed to find your opinion so decided, 
so untainted with petty self-interest.” As Admiral Darling 
spoke he closed a little silver telescope, with which he had 
been gazing through the wooded coronet of the hill. ‘TI 
thought it my duty to consult you, Stubbard, before despatch- 
ing this letter, which, being backed by Nelson’s opinion, 
would probably have received attention. If a strong bat- 
tery were thrown up here, as it would be in a fortnight from 
the receipt of this bit of foolscap, the appointment of com- 
mandant would rest with me, and I could appoint nobody . 
but your good self, because of your well-known experience 
in earthworks. The appointment would have doubled your 
present pay, which, though better than nothing, is far below 
your merits. But your opinion settles the question other- 
wise, and I must burn my letter. Let us lose no more time. 
Mrs. Stubbard will call me a savage for keeping you away 
so long.” 

‘‘Tmportant business,” replied the Captain, ‘‘ will not wait 
even for ladies, or, rather, they must try to wait for it, and 


give way to more reasonable urgency. Some time is re- 


quired for considering this matter, and deciding what is 
most for the interest of the nation. Oblige me with your 
spy-glass, Admiral. There is one side on which I have neg- 
lected to look out, and that may of all be the most impor- 
tant. A conclusion arrived at by yourself and Nelson is 
not to be hastily set aside. Your knowledge of the country 
is so far beyond mine, though I may have had more to do 
with land-works. We ought to think twice, sir, if the gov- 
ernment will pay for it, about a valuable job of this kind.” 
With these words Captain Stubbard began to use the tele- 
scope carefully, forming his opinion through it, and wisely 
shaking his head, now and then, with a longer and longer 
focus. Then he closed the glass, and his own lips firmly— 
whereby a man announces that no other should open his 
against them—and sternly striding the yard exact, took 
measurement for the battery. The hill was crowned witha 


102 SPRINGHAVEN. 


ring of Scotch firs, casting a quiet shade upon the warlike 
haste of the Captain. If Admiral Darling smiled, it. was to 
the landscape and the offing, for he knew that Stubbard was 
of rather touchy fibre, and relished no jokes unless of home 
production. His slow, solid face was enough to show this, 
and the squareness of his outline, and the forward thrust of 
his knees as he walked, and the larkspur impress of his lin- 
gering heels. And he seldom said much, without something 
to say. 

‘“Well,” cried the Admiral, growing tired of sitting so long 
upon a fallen trunk, ‘‘ what conclusion do you feel inclined 
to come to? ‘Tis a fine breezy place to clear the brain, and 
a briny air to sharpen the judgment.” 

‘“Only one tree need come down—this crooked one at the 
southeast corner.” Captain Stubbard began to swing his 
arms about, like a windmill uncertain of the wind. ‘‘ All 
gentlemen hate to have a tree cut down, all blackguards de- 
light in the process. Admiral, we will not hurt your trees. 
They will add to our strength by masking it. Six long 
twenty-fours of the new make here in front, and two eight- 
eens upon either flank, and I should like to see the whole 
of the Boulogne flotilla try to take yonder shore by day- 
light. That is to say, of course, if I commanded, with good 
old salts to second me. With your common artillery offi- 
cers, landlubbers, smell-the-wicks, cross-the-braces sons of 
guns, there had better not be anything at all put up. They 
can’t make 4 fortification; and when they have made it, they 
ean’t work it. Admiral Darling, you know that, though 
you have not had the bad luck to deal with them as I have. 
I may thank one of them for being up here on the shelf.” 

‘Of one thing you may be quite certain,” replied the 
commander of the sea defence: ‘‘if we have any battery on 
this Fox-hill, it shall be constructed and manned by blue- 
jackets. I have a large draft of them now at discretion. 
Every man in Springhaven will lend a hand, if paid for it. 
It would take at least a twelvemonth to get it done from 
Woolwich. A seaman does a thing before a landsman 
thinks about it.” 


ae 


SPRINGHAVEN,. 103 


CHAPTER XVII. 
SEA-SIDE LODGINGS. 


To set a dog barking is easier than to stop him by the 
soundest reasoning. Even if the roof above his honest head, 
growing loose on its nails, is being mended, he comes out to 
ask about the matter, and in strong terms proclaims his 
opinion to the distance. 

After this kind behaved the people about to be protected 
by this battery. They had dreamed of no danger till they 
saw their houses beginning to be protected, and for this— 
though it added to their importance—they were not truly 
thankful. They took it in various ways, according to their 
rich variety of reflection; but the way in which nobody took 
it was that of gratitude and humility. 

“Everything upside down,” they said, ‘‘everything gone 
clean topsy-turvy! And the deep meaning of it is to rob 
our fishing, under pretence of the Nationals. It may bring 
a good bit of money to the place, for the lining of one or 
two pockets, such as John Prater’s and Cheeseman’s; but I 
never did hold so much with money, when shattery ways 
comes along of it. No daughter of mine stirs out-of-doors 
after sundown, I ean tell them.” 

Thus were the minds of the men disturbed, or at any rate 
those of the elder ones; while the women, on the whole, 
were pleased, although they pretended to be contemptuous. 
‘““T’ll tell you what I think, ma’am,”’ Mrs. Cheeseman said 
to Widow Shanks quite early, ‘‘if you take a farthing less 
than half a guinea a week for your dimity-parlour, with the 
window up the hill, and the little door under the big sweet- 


- briar, I shall think that you are not as you used to be.” 


‘And right you would be, ma’am, and too right there;” 
Mrs. Shanks sighed deeply as she thought of it. ‘“* There is 
nobody but you can understand it, and I don’t mind saying 


‘it on that account to you. Whenever I have wanted for a 


little bit of money, as the nature of lone widows generally 
does, it has always been out of your power, Mrs. Cheeseman, 
to oblige me, and quite right of you. But I have a good 


104 SPRINGHAVEN. 


son, thank the Lord, by the name of Harry, to provide for 
me; and a guinea a week is the agreement now for the dim- 
ity-parlour, and the three-legged bed, and cold dinner to be 
paid for extra, such as I might send for to your good shop, 
with the money ready in the hand of my little girl, and jug 
below her apron for refreshment from the Darling.” 

‘‘ Well, I never! _My dear soul, you have taken all my 
breath away. Why, it must be the captain of all the gun- 
ners. How gunpowder do pay, to be sure!” 

‘Lor, ma'am, why, don’t you know,” replied Mrs. Shanks, 
with some contempt, ‘‘that the man with three ribs is the 
eaptain of the gunners—the man in my back sitting-room ? 
No dimity-parlour for him with his family, not for a guinea 
and a half a week. But if I was to tell you who the gen- 
tleman is, and one of the highest all round these parts, 
truthful as you know me, Mrs. Cheeseman, you would say 
to yourself, what a har she is!” 

‘Mrs. Shanks, I never use coarse expressions, even to 
myself in private. And perhaps I could tell you a thing or 
two would astonish you more than me, ma’am. Suppose I 
should tell you, to begin with, who your guinea lodger is ?” 

‘‘That you could never do, Mrs. Cheeseman, with all your 
time a-counting changes. He is not of the rank for a two- 
penny rasher, or a wedge of cheese packed in old petti- 
eqgat,”’ 

These two ladies now looked at one another. They had 
not had a quarrel for almost three months, and a large ar- 
rear of little pricks on either side was pending. Sooner or 
later it would have to be fought out (like a feud between 
two nations), with a houseful of loss and woe to either side, 
but a thimbleful of pride and glory. Yet so mueh wiser 
were these women than the most sagacious nations, that 
they put off to a cheaper time their grudge against each 
other. 

‘‘His rank may be royal,” said the wife of Mr. Cheese- 
man, ‘‘though a going-down-hill kind of royalty, perhaps, 
and yet he might be glad, Mrs. Shanks, to come where 
the butter has the milk spots, and none is in the cheese, 
ma’am.” 

‘‘Tf such should be his wish, ma’am, for supper or for 
breakfast, or even for dinner on a Sunday when the rain 
comes through the Castle, you may trust me to know where 
to send him, but not to guarantee him at all of his money.” 

‘‘ They high ones is very apt to slip in that,” Mrs. Cheese- 


SPRINGHAVEN. 105 


man answered, thoughtfully; ‘‘ they seem to be less particu- 
lar in paying for a thing than they was to have it good. But 
a burnt child dreads the fire, as they say; and a young man 
with a castleful of owls and rats, by reason of going for these 
hundred years on credit, will have it brought home to him 
to pay ready money. But the Lord be over us! if I don’t 
see him agoing your way already! (Good-bye, my dear soul 
—good-bye, and preserve you; and if at any time short of ta- 
ble or bed linen, a loan from an old friend, and coming back 
well washed, and it sha’n’t be, as the children sing, ‘ A friend 
with a loan has the pick of your bone, and he won't let you 
very long alone.’” 

‘‘Many thanks to you for friendly meaning, ma’am,” said 
the widow, as she took up her basket to go home, ‘‘and glad 
I may be to profit by it, with the time commanding. But 
as yet I have had neither sleepers or feeders in my little 
house but the children. Though both of them reserves the 
right to do it, if nature should so compel them—the three- 
ribbed gentleman with one ear, at five shillings a week, in 
the sitting-room, and the young man up over him. Their 
meaning is for business, and studying, and keeping of ac- 
counts, and having of a quiet place in bad weather, though 
feed they must, sooner or later, I depend; and then who is 
there but Mr. Cheeseman ?” 

‘‘How grand he do look upon that black horse, quite as 
solid as if he was glued to it!’ the lady of the shop replied, 
as she put away the money; ‘‘and to do that without vict- 
uals is beyond a young man’s power. He looks like what 
they used to call a knight upon an errand, in the picture- 
books, when I was romantic, only for the hair that comes 
under his nose. Ah! his errand will be to break the hearts 
of the young ladies that goes down upon the sands in their 
blue gowns, I’m afraid, if they can only manage with the 
hair below his nose.” 

‘‘And do them good, some of them, and be a judgment 
from the Lord, for the French style in their skirts is a shock- 
ing thing to see. What should we have said when you and 
I were young, my dear? But quick step is the word for me, 
for I expect my Jenny home on her day out from the Ad- 
miral, and no Harry in the house to look after her. Ah! 
dimity-parlours is a thing as may happen to cut both ways, 
Mrs. Cheeseman.” ; 

Widow Shanks had good cause to be proud of her cot- 
tage, which was the prettiest in Springhaven, and one of the 

5* 


106 SPRINGHAVEN. 


most commodious. She had fought a hard fight, when her 
widowhood began, and the children were too young to help 
her, rather than give up the home of her love-time, and the 
cradle of her little ones. Some of her neighbours (who 
wanted the house) were sadly pained at her stubbornness, and 
even dishonesty, as they put it, when she knew that she nev- 
er could pay her rent. But ‘‘ never is a long time,” accord- 
ing to the proverb; and with the forbearance of the Admiral, 
the kindness of his daughters, and the growth of her own 
children, she stood clear of all debt now, except the sweet 
one of gratitude. 

And now she could listen to the moaning of the sea (which 
used to make her weep all night) with a milder sense of the 
cruel woe that it had drowned her husband, and a lull of 
sorrow that was almost hope; until the dark visions of 
wrecks and corpses melted into sweet dreams of her son 
upon the waters, finishing his supper, and getting ready for 
his pipe. For Harry was making his own track well in the 
wake of his dear father. 

Now if she had gone inland to dwell, from the stroke of 
her great calamity—as most people told her to make haste 
and do—not only the sympathy of the sea, but many of the 
little cares, which are the ants that bury heavy grief, would 
have been wholly lost to her. And amongst these eares the 
foremost always, and the most distracting, was that of keep- 
ing her husband’s cottage—as she still would eall it—tidy, 
comfortable, bright, and snug, as if he were coming on Sat- 
urday. 

W here the brook runs into the first hearing of the sea, to 
defer its own extinction it takes a lively turn inland, leay- 
ing a pleasant breadth of green between itself and its des- 
tiny. At the breath of salt the larger trees hang back, and 
turn their boughs up; but plenty of pretty shrubs come 
forth, and shade the cottage garden. Neither have the eot- 
tage walls any lack of leafy mantle, where the summer sun 
works his own defeat by fostering cool obstruction. For 
here are the tamarisk, and jasmine, and the old-fashioned 
corchorus flowering all the sammer through, as well as the 
myrtle that loves the shore, with a thicket of stiff young 
sprigs arising, slow of growth, but hiding yearly the havoc 
made in its head and body by the frost of 1795, when the 
mark of every wave upon the sands was ice. And a vine, 
that seems to have been evolved from a miller, or to have 


prejected him, clambers with gray silver pointrels through — 


; 





SPRINGHAVEN. 107 


the more glossy and darker green. And over these you be- 
hold the thatch, thick and long and parti-coloured, eaved 
with little windows, where a bird may nest forever. 

But it was not for this outward beauty that Widow Shanks 
stuck to her house, and paid the rent at intervals. To her 
steadfast and well-managed mind the number of rooms, 
and the separate staircase which a solvent lodger might en- 
joy, were the choicest grant of the household gods. The 
times were bad—as they always are when conscientious peo- 
ple think of them—and poor Mrs. Shanks was desirous of 
paying her rent, by the payment of somebody. Every now 
and then some well-fed family, hungering (after long car- 
nage) for fish, would come from village pastures or town 
shambles to gaze at the sea, and to taste its contents. For 
in those days fish were still in their duty, to fry well, to boil 
well, and to go into the mouth well, instead of being disso- 
lute—as nowadays the best is—with dirty ice, and flabby 
with arrested fermentation. In the pleasant dimity-parlour 
then, commanding a fair view of the lively sea and the 
stream that sparkled into it, were noble dinners of sole, and 
mackerel, and smelt that smelled of cucumber, and dainty 
dory, and pearl-buttoned turbot, and sometimes even the 
crisp sand-lance, happily for himself, unhappily for white- 
bait, still unknown in London. Then, after long rovings 
ashore or afloat, these diners came back with a new light 
shed upon them—that of the moon outside the house, of the 
supper candles inside. There was sure to be a crab or lobster 
ready, and a dish of prawns sprigged with parsley; if the sea 
were beginning to get cool again, a keg of philanthropic 
oysters; or if these were not hospitably on their hinges yet, 
certainly there would be choice-bodied creatures, dried with. 
a dash of salt upon the sunny shingle, and lacking of per- 
fection nothing more than to be warmed through upon a 
toasting-fork. 

By none, however, of these delights was the newly won 
lodger tempted. All that he wanted was peace and quiet, 
time to go through a great trunk full of papers and parch- 
ments, which he brought with him, and a breath of fresh air 
from the downs on the north and the sea to the south to en- 
liven him. And in good truth he wanted to be enlivened, 
as Widow Shanks said to her daughter Jenny; for his eyes 
were gloomy, and his face was stern, and he seldom said any- 
thing good-natured. He seemed to avoid all company, and 
to be wrapped up wholly in hisown concerns, and to take little 





108 SPRINGHAVEN. 


pleasure in anything. As yet he had not used the bed at his 
lodgings, nor broken his fast there to her knowledge, though 
he rode down early every morning and put up his horse at 
Cheeseman’s, and never rode away again until the dark had 
fallen. Neither had he cared to make the acquaintance of 
Captain Stubbard, who occupied the room. beneath his for a 
Royal Office—as the landlady proudly entitled it; nor had he 
received, to the best of her knowledge, so much as a single 
visitor, though such might come by his private entrance 
among the shrubs unnoticed. All these things stirred with 
deep interest and wonder the enquiring mind of the widow. 

‘‘And what do they say of him up at the Hall?” she 
asked her daughter Jenny, who was come to spend holiday 
athome. ‘‘ What do they say of my new gentleman, young 
Squire Carne from the Castle? The Carnes and the Darlings 
was never great friends, as every one knows in Spring- 
haven. Still, it do seem hard and unchristianlike to keep 
up them old enmities; most of all, when the one side is down 
in the world, with the owls and the bats and the coneys.” 

‘“No, mother, no. They are nota bit like that,” replied 
Jenny—a maid of good loyalty; ‘‘it is only that he has not 
called upon them. All gentlefolks have their proper rules 
of behaviour. You can’t be expected to understand them, 
mother.” | 

‘* But why should he go to them more than they should 
come to him,particular with young ladies there? And him 
with only one horse to their seven or eight. I am right, 
you may depend upon it, Jenny; and my mother, your 
grandmother, was a lady’s-maid in a higher family than 
Darling—it depends upon them to come and look him up 
first, and he have no call to knock at their door without it. 
Why, it stands to reason, poor young man! And nota bit 
hath he eaten from Monday.” 

“Well, I believe lam right; but I'll ask Miss Dolly. She 
is that sharp, she knows everything, and I don’t mind what 
I say to her, when she thinks that she looks handsome. And 
it takes a very bad dress, I can teli you, to put her out of 
that opinion.” 

‘She is right enough there:” Mrs. Shanks shook her head 
at her daughter for speaking in this way. ‘‘ The ugliest 
frock as ever come from France couldn’t make her any but 
a booty. And the Lord knows the quality have come to 
queer shapes now. Undecent would be the name for it in 
our ranks of women. Why, the last of her frocks she gave 


| 





SPRINGHAVEN. 109 


you, Jenny, how much did I put on, at top and bottom, and 
you three inches shorter than she is! And the slips they 
ties round them—oh dear! oh dear! as if that was to hold 
them up and buckle them together! Won’t they have the 
groanings by the time they come to my age?” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 
FRENCH AND ENGLISH. 


ADMIRAL DARLING was now so busy and so continually 
called from home by the duties of his commandership that 
he could not fairly be expected to call upon Mr. Caryl Carne. 
Yet that gentleman, being rather sensitive—which some- 
times means very spiteful—resented as a personal slight this 
failure; although, if the overture had been made, he would 
have ascribed it to intrusive curiosity, and a low desire to 
behold him in his ruins. But truly in the old man’s kindly 
heart there was no sour corner for ill blood to lurk in, and 
no dull fibre for ill-will to feed on. He kept on meaning to 
go and call on Caryl Carne, and he had quite made up his 
mind to do it, but something always happened to prevent 
him. 

Neither did he care a groat for his old friend Twemlow’s 
advice upon that subject. ‘‘ Don’t go near him,” said the 
Rector, taking care that his wife was quite safe out of hear- 
ing; ‘‘it would ill become me to say a word against my dear 
wife’s own nephew, and the representative of her family. 
And to the utmost of my knowledge there is nothing to be 
said against him. But I can’t get on with him at all. I 
don’t know why. He has only honoured us with a visit 
twice, and he would not even come to dinner. Nice man- 
ners they learn on the Continent! But none of us wept 
when he declined; not even his good aunt, my wife; though 
he must have got a good deal to tell us, and an extraordi- 
nary knowledge of foreign ways. But instead of doing that, 
he seems to sneer at us. I can look at a question from ev- 
ery point of view, and I defy anybody to call me narrow- 
minded. But still one must draw the line somewhere, or 
throw overboard all principles; and I draw it, my dear Ad- 
miral, against infidels and against Frenchmen.” 

‘‘No rational person can do otherwise’—the Admiral’s 
opinion was decisive—‘‘ but this young man is of good Eng- 


110 SPRINGHAVEN. 


lish birth, and one can't help feeling sorry for his cireum- 
stances. And I assure you, Twemlow, that I feel respect as 
well for the courage that he shows and the perseverance in 
coming home and facing those vile usurers. And your own 
wife’s nephew! Why, you ought to take his part through 
thick and thin, whatever you may think of him. From all 
I hear he must be a young man of exceedingly high princi- 
ple; and I shall make a point of calling upon him the first 
half-hour Iean get to spare. To-morrow, if possible; or if 
not, the day after, at the very latest.” 

But the needful half-hour had not yet been found; and 
Carne, who was wont to think the worst of everybody, con- 
cluded that the Darling race still cherished the old grudge, 
which had always been on his own side. For this he cared 
little, and perhaps was rather glad of it. For the old dwell- 
ing-place of his family (the Carne Castle besieged by the 
Roundheads a hundred and sixty years agone) now threat- 
ened to tumble about the ears of any one knocking at the 
gate too hard. Or rather the remnants of its walls did so; 
the greater part, having already fallen, lay harmless, and 
produced fine blackberries. 

As a castle, it had been well respected in its day, though 
not of mighty bulwarks or impregnable position. Standing 
on a knoll, between the ramp of high land and the slope of 
shore, it would still have been conspicuous to traveller and 
to voyager but for the tall trees around it. These hid the 
moat, and the relics of the drawbridge, the groined archway, 
and cloven tower of the keep—which had twice been struck 
by lightning—as well as the windows of the armoury, and 
the chapel hushed with ivy. The banqueting hall was in 
better repair, for the Carnes had been hospitable to the last; 
but the windows kept no wind off, neither did the roof re- 
pulse the rain. In short, all the front was in a pretty state 
of ruin, very nice to look at, very nasty to live in, except 
for toads, and bats, and owls, and rats, and efts, and brindled 
slugs with yellow stripes; or on a summer eve the cock- 
roach and the carrion-beetle. 

At the back, however, and above the road which Cheese- 
man travelled in his pony-chaise, was a range of rooms still 
fit to dwell in, though poorly furnished, and floored with 
stone. In better times these had been the domain of the 
housekeeper and the butler, the cook, and the other upper 
servants, who had minded their duty and heeded their com- 
fort more truly than the master and mistress did. For the 


| 
| 
| 
| 
: 
‘ 





SPRINGHAVEN, 111 


downfall of this family, as of very many others, had been 
chiefly caused by unwise marriage. Instead of choosing 
sensible and active wives to look after their home affairs and 
regulate the household, the Carnes for several generations 
now had wedded flighty ladies of good birth and pretty man- 
ners, none of whom brought them a pipkinful of money, 
while all helped to spend a potful. Therefore their de- 
scendant was now living in the kitchens, and had no idea 
how to make use of them, in spite of his French education; 
of comfort also he had not much idea, which was all the 
better for him; and he scarcely knew what it was to earn 
and enjoy soft quietude. 

~ One night, when the summer was in full prime, and the 
weather almost blameless, this young Squire Carne rode 
slowly back from Springhaven to his worn-out castle. The 
beauty of the night had kept him back, for he hated to meet 
people-on the road. The lingering gossips, the tired fagot- 
bearers, the youths going home from the hay-rick, the man 
with a gun who knows where the hares play, and beyond 
them all the truant sweethearts, who cannot have enough 
of one another, and wish ‘‘ good-night” at-every corner of 
the lane, till they tumble over one another's cottage steps— 
all these to Caryl Carne were a smell to be avoided, an eye- 
sore to shut the eyes at. He let them get home, and pull 
their boots off, and set the frying-pan a-bubbling—for they 
ended the day with a bit of bacon, whenever they could 
cash or credit it—and then he set forth upon his lonely 
ride, striking fear into the heart of any bad child that lay 
awake. 

‘“Almost as good as France is this,” he muttered in 
French, though for once enjoying the pleasure of good Eng- 
lish air; ‘‘and better than France would it be, if only it 
were not cut short so suddenly. There will come a cold 
wind by-and-by, or a chilly black cloud from the east, and 
then all is shivers and rawness. But if it only remained 
like this, I could forgive it for producing me. After all, it 
is my native land; and I saw the loveliest girl to-day that 
ever I set eyes on. None of their made-up and highly fin- 
ished demoiselles is fit to look at her—such simple beauty, 
such charms of nature, such enchanting innocence!. Ah, 
that is where those French girls fail—they are always 
studying how they look, instead of leaving us to think of it. 
Bah! What odds tome? Ihave higher stakes to play for. 
But according to old Twemlow’s description, she must be 


112 SPRINGHAVEN. 


the daughter of that old bear Darling, with whom I shall 
have to pick a bone some day. Ha! How amusing is that 
battery to me! How little John Bull knows the nature of 
French troops! To-morrow we are to have a grand prac- 
tice-day; and I hope they won't shoot me in my new lodg- 
ings. Nothing is impossible to such an idiot as Stubbard. 
What a set of imbeciles I have found to do with! They 
have scarcely wit enough to amuse oneself with. Pest of 
my soul! Is that you, Charron? Again you have broken 
my orders.” 

‘“Names should be avoided in the open air,” answered 
the man who was swinging on a gate with the simple de- 
light of a Picard. ‘‘The climate is of France so much to- 
night that I found it my duty to encourage it. For what 
reason shall I not do that? It is not so often that I have 
occasion. My dear friend, scold not, but accept the com- 
pliment very seldom truthful to your native land. There 
are none of your clod-pates about to-night.” 

‘‘Come in at once. The mere sound of your breath is 
enough to set the neighbourhood wondering. Could I ever 
have been burdened with a more French Frenchman, though 
you speak as good English as I do?” 

‘*It was all of that miserable Cheray,” the French gentle- 
man said, when they sat in the kitchen, and Jerry Bowles 
was feeding the fine black horse. ‘‘Fruit is a thing that 
my mouth prepares for, directly there is any warmth in the 
sun. It puts itself up, it is elevated, it will not have meat, 
or any substance coarse. Wine of the softest and fruit of 
the finest is what it must then have, or unmouth itself. 
That miserable Cheray, his- maledictioned name put me 
forth to be on fire for the good thing he designs. Cherays 
you call them, and for cherays I despatched him, suspended 
between the leaves in the good sun. Bah! there is nothing 
ever fit to eat in England. The cherays look very fine, 
very fine indeed; and so many did I consume that to travel 
on a gate was the only palliation. Would you have me 
stay all day in this long cellar? No diversion, no solace, 
no change, no conversation! Old Cheray may sit with his 
hands upon his knees, but to Renaud Charron that is not 
sufficient. How much longer before I sally forth to do the 
things, to fight, to conquer the nations? Where is even 
my little ship of despatch ?” 

‘* Captain,” answered Caryl Carne, preparing calmly for 


y] 


his frugal supper, ‘‘you are placed under my command, and 


: 
1 





SPRINGHAVEN. 113 


another such speech will despatch you to Dunkirk, bound 
hand and foot, in the hold of the Little Corporal, with 
which I am now in communication. Unless by the time I 
have severed this bone you hand me your sword in submis- 
sion, my supper will have to be postponed, while I march 
you to the yew-tree, signal for a boat, and lay you strapped 
beneath the oarsmen.” 

Captain Charron, who had held the command of a French 
corvette, stared furiously at this man, younger than himself, 
so strongly established over him. Carne was not concerned 
to look at him; all he cared about was to divide the joint 
of a wing-rib of cold roast beef, where some good pickings 
lurked in the hollow. Then the Frenchman, whose chance 
would have been very small in a personal encounter with 
his chief, arose and took a naval sword, short but rather 
heavy, from a hook which in better days had held a big 
dish-cover, and making a salute rather graceful than gra- 
cious, presented the fringed handle to the carver. ‘ 

‘“This behaviour is sensible, my friend, and worthy of 
your distinguished abilities.” Carne’s resolute face seldom 
yielded to a smile, but the smile when it came was a sweet 
one. ‘*Pardon me for speaking strongly, but my instruc- 
tions must be the law to you. If you were my commander 
(as, but for local knowledge, and questions of position here, 
you would be), do you think then that you would allow me 
to rebel, to grumble, to wander, to demand my own pleas- 
ure, when you knew that it would ruin things 2?” 

‘‘Bravo! Itis well spoken. My captain, I embrace you. 
In you lives the spirit of the Grand Army, which we of the 
sea and of the ships admire always, and always desire to 
emulate. Ah, if England possessed many Englishmen like 
you, she would be hard to conquer.” 

The owner of this old English castle shot a searching 
glance at the Frenchman for any sign of irony in his words. 
Seeing none, he continued, in the friendly vein: 

‘‘Our business here demands the greatest caution, skill, 
reserve, and self-denial. We are fortunate in having no 
man of any keen penetration in the neighbourhood, at least 
of those in authority and concerned with public matters. 
As one of an ancient family, possessing the land for cen- 
turies, I have every right to be here, and to pursue my pri- 
vate business in privacy. But if it once gets talked about 
that a French officer is with me, these stupid people will 
awake their suspicion more strongly by their own stupidity. 

& 


114 SPRINGHAVEN. 


In this queer island you may do what you like till the 
neighbourhood turns against you; and then, if you revolve 
upon a pin, you cannot suit them. You understand? You 
have heard me before. It is this that I never can knock 
into you.” 

Renaud Charron, who considered himself—as all French- 
men did then, and perhaps do now—far swifter of intellect 
than any Englishman, found himself not well pleased at 
this, and desired to know more about it. 

‘Nothing can be simpler,” the Englishman replied; ‘‘and 
therefore nothing surer. You know the old proverb—‘ Ev- 
erything in turn, except scandal, whose turn is always.’ 
And again another saying of your own land—‘ The second 
side of the bread takes less time to toast.’ We must not let 
the first side of ours be toasted; we will shun all the fire of 
suspicion. And to do this, you must not be seen, my dear 
friend. I may go abroad freely; you must hide your gal- 
lant head until matters are ripe for action. You know that 
you may trust me not to keep you-in the dark a day longer 
than is needful. I have got the old shopkeeper under my 
thumb, and can do what I please with his trading ship. But 
before I place you in command I must change some more of 
the crew, and do it warily. There is an obstinate Cornish- 
man to get rid of, who sticks to the planks like a limpet. 
If we throw him overboard, we shall alarm the others; if 
we discharge him without showing cause, he will go to the 
old Admiral and tell all his suspicions. He must be got rid 
of in London with skill, and then we ship three or four 
Americans, first-rate seamen, afraid of nothing, who will 
pass here as fellows from Lancashire. After that we may 
run among the cruisers as we like, with the boldness and 
skill of a certain Captain Charron, who must be ill in his 
cabin when his ship is boarded.” 

‘It is famous, it is very good, my friend. The patience I 
will have, and the obedience, and the courage; and so much 
the more readily because my pay is good, and keeps itself 
going on dry land as well as sea.” 


| 
| 
| 





SPRINGHAVEN. 115 


CHAPTER XIX. 
IN THE LINE OF FIRE. 


No wonder there had been a great deal of talking in the 
village all that evening, for the following notice had ap- 
peared in a dozen conspicuous places, beginning with the 
gate of the church-yard, and ending with two of the biggest 
mooring posts, and not even sparing the Admiral’s white 
gate, where it flapped between the two upper rails. It was 
not printed, but written in round hand, with a liberal sup- 
ply of capitals, on a stiff sheet of official paper, stamped with 
the Royal Arms at the top. And those who were in the 
secret knew that Master Bob Stubbard, the Captain’s eldest 
son, had accomplished this great literary feat at a guerdon 
of one shilling from the public service funds every time he 
sucked his pen at the end of it. 


‘“By order of his Majesty King George ITI. To-morrow 
being Wednesday, and the fishing-boats at sea, Artillery 
practice from Fox-hill fort will be carried on from twelve 
at noon until three P.M. at a mark-boat moored half a mile 
from the shore. Therefore his Majesty’s loyal subjects are 
warned to avoid the beach westward of the brook between 
the white flag-staffs, as well asthe sea in front of it, and not 
to cross the line of fire below the village but at their own 
risk and peril. 

‘* (Signed) ADAM JACKSON STUBBARD, R.N., 
commanding Fox-hill Battery.” 


Some indignation was aroused by this; for Mrs. Caper 
junior (who was Mrs. Prater’s cousin) had been confined, 
out of proper calculation, and for the very first time, the 
moment the boats were gone on Monday; and her house, 
being nearest to the fort, and in a hollow where the noise 
would be certain to keep going round and round, the effect 
upon her head, not to mention the dear baby’s, was more 
than any one dared to think of, with the poor father so far 
away. And if Squire Darling had only been at home, not 


116 SPRINGHAVEN. 


a woman who could walk would have thought twice about 
it, but gone all together to insist upon it that he should stop 
this wicked bombardment. And this was most unselfish of 
all of them, they were sure, because they had so long looked 
forward to putting cotton-wool in their ears, and seeing how 
all the enemies of England would be demolished. But Mrs. 
Caper junior and Caper natu minimus fell fast asleep to- 
gether, as things turned out, and heard not a single bang 
of it. 


And so it turned out, in another line of life, with things 


against all calculation, resenting to be reckoned as they al- 
ways do, like the countless children of Israel. For Admirai 
Darling was gone far away inspecting, leaving his daugh- 
ters to inspect themselves. 

‘You may just say exactly what you consider right, dear,” 
said Miss Dolly Darling to her sister Faith; ‘‘and I dare 
say it makes you more comfortable. But you know as well 
as I do that there is no reason in it. Father is a darling; 
but he must be wrong sometimes. And how can he tell 
whether he is wrong or right, when he goes away fifty miles 


to attend to other people? Of course I would never disobey ~ 


his orders any more than you would. But facts change 
according to circumstances, and I feel convinced that if he 
were here he would say, ‘Go down and see it, Dolly.’” 

‘“We have no right to speculate as to what he might 
say,” repled Faith, who was very clear-headed. ‘* His or- 
ders were detinite: ‘Keep within the grounds when notice 
is given of artillery practice.’ And those orders I mean.to 
obey.” 

‘‘And so do I; but not to misunderstand them. The 
beach is a part of our grounds, as I have heard him say fifty 
times in argument, when people tried to come encroaching. 
And I mean to go on that part of his grounds, because I 
can’t see well from the other part. That is clearly what he 
meant, and he would laugh at us if we could tell him noth- 
ing when he comes home. Why, he promised to take us 
as far as Portsmouth to see some artillery practice.” 

‘“That is a different thing altogether, because we should 
be under his control. If you disobey him, it is at your own 
risk, and I shall not let one of the servants go with you, for 
Iam mistress of the household, if not of you.” 

‘‘ What trumpery airs you do give yourself! One would 
think you were fifty years old at least. Stay at home, if 
you are such a coward. I am sure dear daddy would be 


SPRINGHAVEN. 112 


quite. ashamed of you. They are popping already, and J 
mean to watch them.” | 

‘You won't go so very far, I am quite sure of that,” an- 
swered Faith, who understood her sister. ‘‘You know 
your own value, darling Dolly, and you would not go at all 
if you had not been forbidden.” 

‘“When people talk like that, it goads me up to almost 
anything. I intend to go and stand as near as can be in 
the middle of the space that is marked off ‘ dangerous.’ ” 

‘*Do, that’s a dear. I will lend you my shell-silk that 
measures twenty yards, that you may be sure of being hit, 
dear.” 

‘‘Inhuman, selfish, wicked creature!” cried Dolly, and it 
was almost crying; ‘‘you shall see what comes of your 
cold-bloodedness. I shall pace to and fro in the direct line 
of fire, and hang on my back the King’s proclamation, inside 
out, and written on it in large letters—‘ By order of my sis- 
ter I do this.’ Then what will be said of you if they only 
kill me? My feelings might be very sad, but I should not 
envy yours, Faith.” 

‘** Kiss me, at any rate, before you perish, in token of for- 
giveness;” and Dolly (who dearly loved her sister at the 
keenest height of rebellion) ran up and kissed Faith, with a 
smile for her, and a tear for her own self-sacrifice. ‘‘I shall 
put on my shell-pink,” she said, ‘‘and they won’t have the 
heart to fire shells at it.” 

The dress of the ladies of the present passing period had 
been largely atfected by the recent peace, which allowed the 
‘‘French babies’—as the milliners’ dolls were called—to 
come in as quickly as they were conceived. . In war time 
scores of these ‘‘doxy-dummies’’—as the rough tars called 
them—were tossed overboard from captured vessels or set up 
as a mark for tobacco-juice, while sweet eyes’in London 
wept for want of them. And even Mr. Cheeseman had 
failed to bring any type genuinely French from the whole- 
sale house in St. Mary’s Axe, which was famed for canon- 
ical issue. But blessed are the patient, if their patience lasts 
long enough. The ladies of England were now in full en- 
joyment of all the new French discoveries, which proved to 
be the right name, inasmuch as they banished all reputable 
forms of covering. At least so Mrs. Twemlow said; and 
the Rector went further than she did, obtaining for his sym- 
pathy a recommendation to attend to his own business. 
But when he showed the Admiral his wife’s last book of 


118 ' SPRINGHAVEN. 


patterns—from a drawer which he had no right to go to— 
great laughter was held between the twain, with some 
glancing over shoulders, and: much dread of bad example. 
‘“ Whatever you do, don’t let my girls see it; I'll be bound 
you won't let your Eliza,” said the Admiral, after a pinch 
of snuff to restore the true balance of his principles. ‘‘ Faith 
would pitch it straight into the fire; but lam not quite so 
sure that my Dolly would. She loves a bit of finery, and 
she looks well in it.” 

‘‘Tonnish females,” as the magazine of fashion called the 
higher class of popinjays, would have stared with contempt 
at both Faith and Dolly Darling in their simple walking 
dress that day. Dowdies would have been the name for 
them, or frumps, or frights, or country gawks, because 
their attire was not statuesque or classic, as it should have 
been, which means that they were not half naked. 

Faith, the elder sister, had meant to let young Dolly take 
the course of her own stubbornness; but no sooner did she 
see her go forth alone than she threw on cloak and hat, and 
followed. The day was unsuited for classic apparel, as 
English days are apt to be, and a lady of fashion would 
have looked more foolish and even more indecent than 
usual. A brisk and rather crisp east wind had arisen, 
which had no respect for persons, and even Faith and Dolly 
in their high-necked country dresses had to handle their 
tackle warily. 

Dolly had a good start, and growing much excited with 
the petulance of the wind and with her own audacity, crossed 
the mouth of the brook at a very fine pace, with the east- 
erly gusts to second her. She could see the little mark-boat 
well out in the offing, with a red flag flaring merrily, defy- 
ing all the efforts of the gunners on the hill to plunge it 
into the bright dance of the waves. And now and then she 
heard what she knew to be the rush of a round shot far above 
her head, and following the sound saw a little silver fountain 
leap up into the sunshine and skim before the breeze; then 
glancing up the hill she saw the gray puff drifting, and 
presently felt the dull rumble of the air. At the root of the 
smoke-puffs once or twice slre descried a stocky figure 
moving leisurely, and in spite of the distance and huddle of 
vapour could declare that it was Captain Stubbard. Then 
a dense mass of smoke was brought down by an eddy of 
wind, and set her coughing. | 

‘‘Come away, come away this very moment, Dolly!” cried 





SPRINGHAVEN. ; 119 


Faith, who bad hurried up and seized her hand. ‘‘ You are 
past the danger-post, and I met a man back there who says 
they are going to fire shells, and they have got two short 
guns on purpose. He says it will be very dangerous till 
they get the range, and he begged me most earnestly not to 
come on here. If I were anybody else, he said, he would 
lay hands on me and hold me back.” 

“Some old fisherman, no doubt. What do they know 
about gun practice? I can see Captain Stubbard up 
there; he would rather shoot himself than me, he said yes- 
terday.”’ 

While Dolly was repeating this assurance, the following 
words were being exchanged upon the smoky parapet: ‘‘If 
you please, sir, I can see two women on the beach, half-way 
between the posts a’most.” ‘*Can’t help it—wouldn’t stop 
for all the petticoats in the kingdom. If they choose to go 
there, they must take their chance. <A bit more up, and to 
you, my good man. Are you sure you put in twenty-three ? 
Steady ! so, so-—that’s beautiful.” 

‘‘ What a noisy thing! What does it come here for? I 
never saw it fall. There must be some mistake. I hope - 
there’s nothing nasty inside it. Run for your life, Faith; 
it means to burst, I do believe.” 

‘*Down on your faces!” cried a loud, stern voice; and 
Dolly obeyed in an instant. But Faith stood calmly, and 
said to the man who rushed past her, ‘‘I trust in the Lord, 
sir.”’ 

There was no time toanswer. The shell had left off roll- 
ing, and sputtered more fiercely as the fuse thickened. The 
man laid hold of this, and tried to pull it out, but could not, 
and jumped with both feet on it; while Faith, who quite ex- 
pected to be blown to pieces, said to herself, ‘‘ What pretty 
boots he has!” 

‘‘A fine bit of gunnery!” said the young man, stooping 
over it, after treading the last spark into the springy sand. 
The little artillery man is wanted here. Ladies, you may . 
safely stay here now. They will not make two hits in 
proximity to each other.” 

‘You shall not go,” said Faith, ashe was hurrying away, 
‘until we know who has been so reckless of his life to save 
the lives of others. Both your hands are burned—very 
seriously, I fear.” 

‘‘ And your clothes, sir,” cried Dolly, running up in hot 
terror, as soon as the danger was over—*‘ your clothes are 


120 SPRINGHAVEN. 


spoiled sadly. Oh, how good it was of you! And the 
whole fault was mine—-or at least Captain Stubbard’s. He 
will never dare to face me again, I should hope.” 

‘“Young ladies, if I have been of any service to you,” 
said the stranger, with a smile at their excitement, ‘‘I beg 
you to be silent to the Captain Stubbard concerning my 
share in this occasion. He would not be gratified by the 
interest I feel in his beautiful little bombardments, especially 
that of fair ladies. Ha, there goes another shell! They 
will make better aim now; but you must not delay. I be- 
seech you to hasten home, if you would do me kindness.” 

The fair daughters of the Admiral had enjoyed enough 
of warfare to last them till the end of their honeymoon, and 
they could not reject the entreaty of a man who had risked 
his life to save them. Trembling and bewildered, they made 
off at the quickest step permitted by maiden dignity, with 
one or two kindly turns of neck to show that he was meant 
to follow them. But another sulphurous cloud rushed down 
from the indefatigable Stubbard, and when it had passed 
them they looked back vainly for the gentleman who had 
spoiled his boots. | 


CHAPTER XX. 
AMONG THE LADIES. 


IT would have surprised the stout Captain Stubbard, who 
thought no small beer of his gunnery, to hear that it was 
held in very light esteem by the ‘ Frenchified young man 
overhead,” as he called Caryl Carne to his landlady. And 
it would have amazed him to learn that this young man 
was a captain of artillery in the grand army mustering 
across the sea, and one of the most able among plenty of 
ability, and favoured by the great First Consul. 

In the gully where the Tugwell boats were built, behind a° 
fringe of rough longshore growth, young Carne had been 
sitting with a good field-glass, observing the practice of the 
battery. He had also been able to observe unseen the dis- 
obedient practices of young ladies, when their father is wide- 
ly out of sight. Upon Faith, however, no blame could fall, 
for she went against her wish, and only to retrieve the 
rebellious Dolly. | 

Secure from the danger, these two held council in the 





SPRINGHAVEN. 121 


comfort of the Admiral’s Round-house. There Miss Dolly, 
who considered it her domain, kept sundry snug appliances 
congenial to young ladies, for removing all traces of sudden 
excitement, and making them fit to be seen again. Simple 
and unfashionable as they were in dress, they were sure to 
have something to do to themselves after the late derange- 
ment, ere ever they could run the risk of meeting any of the 
brave young officers who were so mysteriously fond of com- 
ing for orders to Springhaven Hall. 

‘You look well enough, dear,” said Faith at last, ‘‘and 
much better than you deserve to look, after leading me such 
a dance by your self-will. But one thing must be settled 
before we go back—are we to speak of this matter or not ?” 

‘*How can you ask such a question, Faith ?’ Miss Dolly 
loved a bit of secrecy. ‘‘ Of course we must rather bite our 
tongues out than break the solemn pledges which we have 
given.” She had cried a good deal, and she began to cry again. 

‘‘Don’t cry, that’s a darling,” said the simple-hearted sis- 
ter. ‘‘ You make the whole world seem so cruel when you 
cry, because you look so innocent. It shall be as you please, 
if I can only think it right. But I cannot see how we gave 
a pledge of any sort, considering that we ran away without 
speaking. The question is, have we any right to conceal 
it, when father has a right to know everything.” 

‘*He would be in such asad passion,” pleaded Dolly, with 
a stock of fresh tears only waiting, ‘‘and he never would 
look again at poor Captain Stubbard, and what would be- 
come of all his family ?” 

‘Father is a just and conscientious man,” replied the 
daughter who inherited those qualities; ‘‘he would not 
blame Captain Stubbard ; he would blame us, and no others.”’ 

‘*Oh, I could not bear to hear you blamed, Faith. I 
should have to say that it was all my fault. And then how 
I should catch it, and be punished for a month! Confined 
to the grounds for a month at least, and never have a bit of 
appetite. But I am not thinking of myself, I am quite sure 
of that. You know that I never do that much. I am 
thinking of that heroic gentleman who stamped out the 
sparks so cleverly. All the time I lay on the sand I watched 
him, though I expected to be blown to pieces every single 
moment. Oh! what a nasty sensation it was! I expected 
to find all my hair turned grey. But, thank Heaven, I don’t 
see a streak in it!” To make sure of that she went to the 
glass again. 


’ 


122 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘‘Tf all mine had turned grey ‘twould be no odds to no- 
body—as Captain Zeb says about his income—because I 
am intended for an old maid.” Miss Darling, whose beauty 
still lacked many years of its prime, turned away for a mo- 
ment, because her eyes were glistening, and her sister was 
tired of the subject. ‘‘ But for yours there are fifty to weep, 
Dolly. Especially perhaps this young gentleman towards 
whom you feel so much gratitude.” 

‘“How unkind you are, Faith! All the gratitude I owe 
him is for saving your life. As for myself, I was flat upen 
the sand, with a heap of sea-weed between me and the thing. 
If it had gone off, it would have gone over me; but you 
chose to stand up, like a stupid. Your life was saved, be- 
yond all doubt, by him; and the way you acknowledge it 
is to go and tell his chief enemy that he was there observing 
him!” 

‘Well, never!” Faith exclaimed, with more vigour than 
grace of language. ‘‘A minute ago you knew nothing of 
him, and even wondered who he was, and now you know 
all about his enemies! Iam afraid that you stick at noth- 
ing.” 

‘‘T don’t stick thinking, as you do, miss,” Dolly answered, 
without abashment, and knowing that the elder hated to be 
so addressed; ‘‘but things come to me by the light of nat- 
ure, without a twelvemonth of brown-study. When I said 
what you remind me of, in such a hurry, it was perfectly 
true—so true that you need have no trouble about it, with 
all your truth. But since that a sudden idea flashed across 
me, the sort of idea that proves itself. Your hero you are 
in such a hurry to betray can be nobody but the mysterious 
lodger in Widow Shanks’s dimity-parlour, as she calls it; 
and Jenny has told me all she knows about him, which is a 
great deal less than she ought to know. I meant to have 
told you, but you are so grand in your lofty contempt of 
what you call gossip, but which I call good neighbourly in- 
tercourse. You know that he is Mr. Caryl Carne, of course. 
Everybody knows that, and there the knowledge seems to 
terminate. Even the Twemlows, his own aunt and uncle, 
are scarcely ever favoured with his company; and I, who 
am always on the beach or in the village, have never had 
‘the honour of beholding him, until—until it came to this "— 
chere she imitated with her lips the spluttering of the fuse so 
well that her sister could not keep from laughing. ‘He 
never goes out, and he never asks questions, any more than 


. 





SPRINGHAVEN. 123 


he answers them, and he never cares to hear what fish they 
have caught, or anything else, about anybody. He never 
eats or drinks, and he never says a word about the flowers 
they put upon his table; and what he does all day long no- 
body knows, except that he has a lot of books with him. 
Widow Shanks, who has the best right to know all about 
him, has made up her mind that his head has been turned 
by the troubles of his family, except for his going without 
dinner, which no lunatic ever does, according to her knowl- 
edge. And he seems to have got ‘Butter Cheeseman,’ as 
they call him, entirely at his beck and call. He leaves his 
black horse there every morning, and rides home at night 
to his ancestral ruins. There, now, you know as much as 
I do.” 

‘‘There is mischief at the bottom of all this,” said Faith; 
“in these dangerous times it must not be neglected. We 
are bound, as you say, to consider his wishes, after all that 
he has done for us. But the tale about us willbe over the 
place in a few hours at the latest. The gunners will have 
known where their bad shot fell, and perhaps they will have 
seen us with their glasses. How will it be possible to keep 
this affair from gossip ?” 

‘“They may have seen us, without seeing him at all, on 
account ef the smoke that came afterwards. At any rate, 
let us say nothing about it until we hear what other people 
-say. The shell will be washed away or buried in the sand, 
for it fell upon the shingle, and then rolled towards the sea; 
and there need be no fuss unless we choose to make it, and 
so perhaps ruin Captain Stubbard and his family. And bis 
wife has made such pretty things for us! If he knew what 
he had done, he would go and shoot himself, he is so ex- 
cessively humane and kind.” 

‘“We will not urge his humanity to that extreme. I hate 
all mystery, as you know well. But about this affair I will 
say nothing, unless there is cause to do so, at least until fa- 
ther comes back; and then I shall tell him if it seems to be 
my duty.” 

‘Tt won’t be your duty, it can’t be your duty, to get good 
people into trouble, Faith. I find it my duty to keep out of 
trouble, and I like to treat others the same as myself.” » 

‘“You are such a lover of duty, dear Dolly, because ev- 
erything you like becomes your duty. And now your next 
duty is to your dinner. Mrs. Twemlow is coming—lI forgot 
to tell you—as well as Eliza, and Mrs. Stubbard. And if 


124. SPRINGHAVEN, 


Johnny comes home in time from Harrow, to be Jack 
among the ladies, we shall hear some wonders, you may be 
quite sure.” 

‘‘Oh, I vow, I forgot all about that wicked Johnny. 
What a blessing that he was not here just now! Itis my 
black Monday when his holidays begin. Instead of getting 
steadier, he grows more plaguesome. And the wonder of it 
is that he would tie your kid shoes, while he pulls out my 
jaconet, and sits on my French hat. How I wish he was 
old enough for his commission! To-morrow he will be 
dancing in and out of every cottage, boat, or gun, or rabbit- 
hole, and nothing shall be hidden from his eyes and ears. 
Let him come. ‘I am aceustomed to have all things go 
awry,’ as somebody says in some tragedy. The only chance 
is to make him fall in love, deeply in love, with Miss Stub- 
bard. He did it with somebody for his Easter week, and 
became as harmless as a sucking dove, till he found his 
nymph eating onions raw with a poeketful of boiled lim- 
pets. Maggie Stubbard is too perfect in her style for that. 
She is twelve years old, and has lots of hair, and eyes as 
large as oysters. I shall introduce Johnny to-morrow, and 
hope to keep him melancholy all his holidays.” 

‘*Perhaps it will be for his good,” said Faith, ‘‘ because, 
without some high ideas, he gets into such dreadful scrapes; 

and certainly it will be for our good.” 

After making light of young love thus, these girls de- 
served the shafts of Cupid, in addition to Captain Stubbard’s 
shells. And it would have been hard to find fairer marks 
when they came down dressed for dinner. Mrs. Twemlow 
arrived with her daughter Eliza, but without her husband, 
who was to fetch her in the evening; and Mrs. Stubbard 
came quite alone, for her walkable children—as she called 
them—were all up at the battery. ‘‘ Can't smell powder too 
young in such days as these,” was the Captain’s utterance; 
and, sure enough, they took to it like sons of guns. 

‘‘T should be so frightened,” Mrs. Twemlow said, when 
Johnny (who sat at the foot of the table representing his fa- 
ther most gallantly) had said grace in Latin, to astonish 
their weak minds, ‘‘so nervous all the time, so excessively 
anxious the whole time that dreadful din was proceeding! 
It is over now, thank goodness! But how can you have 
endured it, how can you have gone about your household 
duties calmly, with seven of your children—I think you 
said—going about in that fiery furnace?” | 





SPRINGHAVEN. 125 


‘Because, ma'am,” replied Mrs. Stubbard, who was dry 
of speech, and fit mother of heroes, ‘‘the cannons are so 
made, if you can understand, that they do not shoot out of 
their back ends.” 

“We are quite aware of that’—Miss Twemlow came to 
her mother’s relief very sharply-—‘‘ but still they are apt to 
burst, or to be overloaded, or badly directed, or even to fly 
back suddenly, as I have heard on good authority.” 

‘‘ Very likely, miss, when they are commanded by young 
women.”’ 

Kliza Twemlow coloured, for she was rather quick of tem- 
per; but she did not condescend to pay rudeness in kind. 

‘It would hardly be a lady-like position, I suppose,” she 
answered, with a curve of her graceful neck—the Carnes 
had been celebrated for their necks, which were longer than 
those of the Darlings; ‘‘ but even under the command of a 
most skilful man, for instance Captain Stubbard, little ae- 
cidents will happen, like the fall of a shell upon the beach 
this afternoon. Some people were close to it, according to 
the rumour; but luckily it did not explode.” 

‘* How providential!” cried Mrs. Twemlow; ‘‘ but the stu- 
pid people would have gone without much pity, whatever 
had befallen them, unless they were blind, or too ignorant 
to read. Don’t you think so, Faith, my dear?” 

‘‘T don’t believe a single word of that story,” Mrs. Stub- 
bard cut short the question; ‘‘for the simple reason that it 
never could have happened. My husband was to direct ev- 
ery gun himself. Is it likely he would have shelled the 
beach ?” 

‘“ Well, the beach is the proper place for shells; but if I 
had only known it, wouldn’t I have come a few hours ear- 
lier?” said Johnny. ‘‘Kven now there must be something 
left to see; and Lam bound to understand that sort of thing. 
Ladies, I entreat you not to think me rude, if I go as soon 
as ever you can do without me. I think I have got you 
nearly everything you want; and perhaps you would rath- 
er be without me.”’ 

With many thanks and compliments—such a pretty boy 
he was—the ladies released him gladly; and then Mrs. 
Twemlow, having reasons of her own, drew nigh to Mrs. 
Stubbard with lively interest in her children. At first she 
received short answers only; for the Captain’s wife had 
drawn more sour juices than sweet uses from adversity. 
But the wife of the man of peace outflanked the better half 


126 SPRINGHAVEN. 


of the man of war, drove in her outposts, and secured the 
key of all her communications. 

‘‘T can scarcely believe that you are so kind. My dear 
Mrs. Twemlow, how good you are! My Bob is a nice boy, 
so manly and clever, so gentle and well-behaved, even 
when he knows that Iam not likely to find him out. But 
that you should have noticed it is what surprises me—so 
few people now know the difference! But in the House of 
God—as you so well observe—you can very soon see what 
a boy is. When I tell him that he may ride your grey pony, 
I wish you could be there to watch the fine expression of 
his face. How he does love dumb animals! It was only 
last Saturday he knocked down a boy nearly three times 
his own size for poking a pin into a poor donkey with the 


fish. And Maggie to have a flower-bed on your front lawn! — 


They won't let her touch a plant at our cottage, though she 
understands gardening so thoroughly. She won’t sleep a 
wink to-night, if I tell her, and I had better keep that for 
the morning. Poor children! They have had a hard time 
of it; but they have come out like pure gold from the fire— 
I mean as many of them as can use their legs. But to be on 
horseback—what will Bob say ?” 

‘You must have met with very little kindness, Mrs. 
Stubbard, to attach any importance to such perfect trifles. 
It makes me blush to think that there can be a spot in Eng- 
land where such children as yours could pass unnoticed. 
It is not a question of religious feeling only. Far from it; 


in fact, quite the opposite; though my husband, of course, 


is quite right in insisting that all our opinions and actions 
must be referred to that one standard. But I look at things 
also from a motherly point of view, because I have suffered 
such sad trials. Three dear ones in the church-yard, and 
the dearest of all—the Almighty only knows where he is. 
Sometimes it is more than I can bear, to live on in this dark 
and most dreadful uncertainty. My medical man has for- 
bidden me to speak of it. But how can he know what it is 
to be a mother? But hush! Or darling Faith may hear 
me. Sometimes I lose all self-command.” 

Mrs. Twemlow’s eyes were in need of wiping, and stout 
Mrs.Stubbard’s in the same condition. ‘‘ How I wish I could 
help you,” said the latter, softly: ‘‘is there anything in the 
world that I can do?” 

‘‘No, my dear friend; I wish there was, for I’m sure that 
it would be a pleasure to you. But another anxiety, though 


| 
| 











< WY ie ; | aN 
=) an 
S) Zi 





vt 
Nye 





“WOW I WISH I COULD HELP YOU.”’ 


far less painful, is worrying me as well just now. My poor 
brother’s son is behaving most strangely. He hardly ever 
comes near us, and he seems to dislike my dear husband. 
Hehas taken rooms over your brave husband’s office, and 
he comes and goes very mysteriously. It is my duty to 
know something about this; but I dare not ask Captain 
Stubbard.” 

‘“My dear Mrs. Twemlow, it has puzzled me too. But 
thinking that you knew all about it, I concluded that every- 
thing must be quite right. -What you tell me has surprised 
me more than I can tell. I shall go to work quietly to find 
out all about it. Mystery and secrecy are such hateful 
things ; and a woman is always the best hand at both of 
them,” 


CHAPTER XXI. 
A GRACIOUS MEROY. 


AS a matter of course, every gunner at the fort was ready 
to make oath by every colour of the rainbow that never 
shot, shell, wad, sponge, or even powder-flakes could by 
any possibility have fallen on the beach. And before they 
had time to grow much more than doubly positive—that is 
to say, within three days’ time—the sound of guns fired in 
earnest drowned all questions of bad practice. 

For the following Sunday beheld Springhaven in a state 
of excitement beyond the memory of the very oldest inhab- 
itant, or the imagination of the youngest. Excitement is a 
crop that, to be large, must grow—though it thrives all the 
better without much root—and in this particular field it be- 
gan to grow before noon of Saturday. For the men who 
were too old to go to sea, and the boys who were too young, 
and the women who were never of the proper age, all these 
kept looking from the best lookouts, but nothing could they 
see to enable them to say when the kettle, or the frying- 
pan, or gridiron would be wanted. They rubbed their 
eyes grievously, and spun round three times, if time had 
brought or left them the power so to spin; and they pulled 
an Irish halfpenny, with the harp on, from their pockets, 
and moistened it with saliva—which in English means spat 
on it—and then threw it into the pocket on the other side of 
body. But none of these accredited appeals to heaven put 
a speck upon the sea where the boats ought to have been, or 
cast upon the clouds a shade of any sail approaching. Un- 
easily wondering, the grannies, wives, and little ones went 
home, when the nightfall quenched all eyesight, and told 
one another ancient tales of woe. 

Yet there is a salve for every sore, a bung for every bung- 
hole. Upon the Sunday morning, when the tide was com- 
ing in, and a golden haze hung upon the peaceful sea, and 


the seven bells of the old grey church were speaking of the 


service cheerfully, suddenly a deep boom moved the bosom 
of distance, and palpitated all along the shore. Six or seven 





| 
; 
7 
| 
; 


—_— | 





SPRINGHAVEN. 129 


hale old gaffers (not too stiff to walk, with the help of a 
staff, a little further than the rest) were coming to hear par- 
son by the path below the warren, where a smack of salt 
would season them for doctrine. They knew from long 


’ experience, the grandmother of science, that the mist of the 


sea, coming on at breakfast-time, in the month of August 
(with the wind where it was and the tides as they were), 
would be sure to hold fast until dinner-time. Else, good as 
they were, and preparing punctually once a week for a bet- 
ter world, the hind buttons of their Sunday coats would 
have been towards the church, and the front ones to the 
headland. For the bodies of their sons were dearer to them, 
substantially dearer, than their own old souls. 

They were all beginning to be deaf, or rather going on 
with it very agreeably, losing thereby a great deal of dis- 
turbance, and gaining great room for reflection. And now 
when the sound of a gun from the sea hung shaking in the 
web of vapour, each of these wise men gazed steadfastly at 
the rest, to see his own conclusion reflected or concluded. 
A gun it was indeed—a big well-shotted gun, and no deaf- 
ness could throw any doubt on it. There might not be any- 
thing to see, but still there would be plenty to hear, at the 
headland—a sound more arousing than the parson’s voice, a 
roar beyond that of all the gallery. ‘‘’Tisa battle!” said 
one, and his neighbour cried, ‘‘ A rare one!” They turned 
to the parish church the quarters of farewell, and those of 
salutation to the battle out at sea. 

It was all over the village, in the time it takes to put a 
hat on, that the British and the French fleets were hammer 
and tongs at it, within the distance you may throw an apple 
off Springhaven headland. 

Even the young women knew that this was quite impos- 
sible, because there was no water there for a collier brig to 
anchor; nevertheless, in the hurry and scare, the thoughts 
of that new battery, and Lord Nelson, and above all in the 
fog, they believed it. So that there was scarcely any room 
to stand, at the Watch-point, inside the Shag-rock; while in 
church there was no one who could help being there, by 
force of holy office or example. 

These latter were not in a devout frame of mind, and (but 
for the look of it) would have done more good by joining 
the other congregation. Forthe sound of cannon-shot came 
into their ears, like balls of unadulterated pepper, and every 


_ report made them look at one another, and whisper—‘‘ Ah! 


6* 


150 SPRINGHAVEN. 


there goes some poor fellow’s head.” For the sacred build- 
ing was constructed so that the sounds outside of it had 
more power than the good things offered in the inside. 

However, as many, or as few, as did their duty, by join- 
ing the good company of the minister, found themselves all — 
the better for it, and more fresh for a start than the runa- 
gates. Inasmuch as these latter had nearly got enough of 
listening without seeing anything, while the steady church- 
goers had refreshed the entire system by looking about with- 
out listening. And to show the truant people where their 
duty should have bound them, the haze had been thickening 
all over the sea, while the sun kept the time on the old 
church dial. This was spoken of for many years, through- 
- out the village, as a Scriptural token of the proper thing to 
do. 

‘“Well,and what have ’e seen ?” asked the senior church- 
warden—not Cheeseman, who was only the junior, and had 
neither been at church nor on the headland—but Farmer 
Graves, the tenant of the Glebe and of Up-farm, the Ad- 
miral’s best holding; ‘‘ what have ’e seen, good people all, 
to leave parson to prache to hisself a’most a sarmon as he’s 
hathn’t prached for five year, to my knowledge? Have ’e 
seen fat bulls of Basan 2” 

‘*Naw, but us have heer’d un roar,” replied one who was 
sure tosay something. ‘‘ Wust of it is, there be no making 
out what language un do roar in.” 

‘One Englishman, I tell ’e, and two Frenchmen,” said an 
ancient tar who had served under Keppel; ‘‘ by the ring of 
the guns I could swear to that much. And they loads them 
so different, that they do.” 

Before the others had well finished laughing at him, it be- 
came his turn to laugh at them. The wind was in the east, 
and the weather set fair, and but for the sea-mist the power 
of the sun would have been enough to dazzle all beholders. 
Already this vapour was beginning to clear off, coiling up 
in fleecy wisps above the glistening water, but clinging still 
to any bluff or cliff it could lay hold on. 

‘*‘ Halloa, Jem! Where be going of now?” shouted one 
or two voices from the Oar-stone point, the furthest outlook 
of the Havenhead hill. 

‘To see them Frenchy hoppers get a jolly hiding,” Jem 
Prater replied, without easing his sculls. He was John 
Prater’s nephew, of the ‘‘ Darling Arms,” and had stopped 
behind the fishing to see his uncle’s monthly beerin. ‘‘ You - 































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































AT THE BATTLE FROM THE WATCH POINT. 


132 SPRINGHAVEN. 


can’t see up there, I reckon, the same as I do here. One 
English ship have got a job to tackle two Crappos. But, by 
George! she’ll do it, mates. Good-bye, and the Lord defend 
ou!” 

i He had nobody but his little brother Sam, who was hold- 
ing the tiller, to help him, and his uncle’s boat (which he 
had taken without leave) was neither stout nor handy. But 
the stir of the battle had fetched him forth, and he meant to 
see the whole of it without taking harm. Every English- 
man had a full right to do this, in a case of such French au- 
dacity, and the English sea and air began to give him fair 
occasion. For now the sun had swept the mist with a besom 
of gold wire, widening every sweep, and throwing brilliant 
prospect down it. The gentle heave of the sea flashed forth 
with the white birds hovering over it, and the curdles of 
fugitive vapour glowed like pillars of fire as they floated off. 
Then out of the drift appeared three ships, partly shrouded 
in their own fog. 

The wind was too light for manceuvring much, and the 
combatants swung to their broadsides, having taken the 
breath of the air away by the fury of their fire. All three 
were standing to the north-northwest, under easy sail, and 
on the larboard tack, but scarcely holding steerage-way, 
and taking little heed of it. Close quarters, closer and 
closer still, muzzle to muzzle, and beard to beard, clinched 
teeth, and hard pounding, were the order of the day, with 
the crash of shattered timber and the cries of dying men. 
And still the ships came onward, forgetting where they 
were, heaving too much iron to have thought of heaving 
lead, ready to be shipwrecks if they could but wreck the 
enemy. _ 

Between the bulky curls of smoke could be seen the scars 
of furious battle, splintered masts, and shivered yards, tatter- 
ed sails and yawning bulwarks, and great gaps even of the 
solid side; and above the ruck of smoke appeared the tri- 
color flag upon the right hand and the left, and the Union- 
Jack in the middle. 

‘“She’ve a-got more than she can do, I reckon,” said an 
old man famous in the lobster line; ‘‘ other a one of they is 
as big as she be, and two to one seemeth onfair odds. Wish 
her well out of it—that’s all as can be done.” 

‘‘Kelks, you’rea fool,” replied theancient nayyman, steady- 
ing his spy-glass upon a ledge of rock. ‘‘In my time we made 
very little of that; and the breed may be slacked off a little, 





SPRINGHAVEN. 133 


but not quite so bad as that would be. Ah! you should ’a 
heard what old Keppel—on the twenty-seventh day of July 
it was, in the year of our Lord 1778. Talk about Nelson! to 
my mind old Keppel could have boxed his compass back- 
ward. Not but what these men know how to fight quite as 
well as need be nowadays. Why, if I was aboard of that 
there frigate, I couldn’t do much more than she have done. 
She’ll have one of them, you see if she don’t, though she 
look to have the worst of it, till you comes to understand. 
The Leader her name is, of thirty-eight guns, and she’ll lead 
one of they into Portsmouth, to refit.” 

It was hard to understand the matter, in its present as- 
pect, at all as the ancient sailor did; for the fire of the Leda 
ceased suddenly, and she fell behind the others, as if ham- 
pered with her canvas. A thrill of pain ran through all 
the gazing Britons. 

‘*How now, old Navy-Mike 2?” cried the lobster man. 
‘*Strike is the word, and no mistake. And small blame to 
her either. She hathn’t got a sound thread to draw, I do 
believe. Who is the fool now, Mike? Though vexed I be 
to ask it.” 

‘Wait a bit, old lobster-pot. Ah, there now, she breezes! 
Whistle for a wind, lads, whistle, whistle. Sure as I’m a 
sinner, yes! She’s laying her course to board the French- 
man on the weather quarter. With a slant of wind she'll 
do it, too, if it only holds two minutes. Whistle on your 
nails, my boys, for the glory of old England.” 





“WAIT A BIT, OLD LOBSTER-POT.” 


184 SPRINGHAVEN. 


In reply to their shrill appeal—for even the women tried 
to whistle—or perhaps in compulsory sequence of the sun, 
the wind freshened briskly from the sunny side of east. 
The tattered sails of the brave ship filled, with the light 
falling through them upon one another, the head swung 
round at the command of helm, the pennons flew gaily and 
the ensign flapped, and she bore down smoothly on the 
outer and therefore unwounded side of the enemy. 

‘“That’s what I call judgmatical,” old Mike shouted, with 
a voice that rivalled cannon; ‘‘ whoever thought of that de- 
serves three epulets, one on each sboulder and one upon his 
head. Doubt if old Keppel would have thought of that 
now. You see, mates, the other Crappo can’t fire at her 
without first hitting of her own consort. And better than 
that—ever so much better—the tilt of the charge will throw 
her over on her wounds. Master Muncher hath two great 
holes ’twixt wind and water on his starboard side, and won’t 
they suck the briny, with the weight of our bows upon the 
larboard beam? ‘Twill take fifty hands to stop leaks, in- 
stead of stopping boarders.” 

The smoke was drifting off, and the sun shone bravely. 
The battle had been gliding towards the feet of the spectators; 
and now from the height of the cliff they could desery the 
decks, the guns, the coils of rope, the turmoil, and dark 
rush of men to their fate. Small fights, man to man, de- 
manded still the power of a telescope, and distance made 
the trenchant arms of heroes, working right and left, appear 
like the nippers of an earwig. The only thing certain was 
that men were being killed, and glory was being manufac- 
tured largely. 

‘‘She’ve a-doed it, she’ve a-doed it rarely. There’s nota 
d——d froggy left to go to heaven; or if there be so, he’s 
a-battened down below,” old Mike shouted, flourishing his 
spy-glass, which rattled in its joints as much as he did. 
‘*Down comes the blood, froth, and blue blazes, as they 
call the Republican emrods, and up goes the Union-Jack, 
my hearties. Three cheers! three cheers! Again! again! 
again |” 

From the sea far below, and far away, came also the vol- 
ume of a noble English shout, as the flag began to flutter in 
the quickening breeze, and the sea arose and danced with 
sunshine. No one who had got all his blood left in him 
could think of anything but glory. 

‘* My certy, they had better mind their soundings, though !” 


a 


SPRINGHAVEN. 135 


said the old navy man, with a stitch in his side and a.lump 
in his throat from loud utterance; “‘ five fathoms is every 
inch of it where they-be now, and the tide making strong, 
and precious little wind to claw off with. Jem Prater! Jem 
Prater! oar up, and give signal. Ah! he’s too far off to 
doany good. In five minutes more they’ll be on the White 
Pig, where no ship ever got off again. Oh, thank the Lord, 
mates! thank the Lord, for His mercy endureth forever! 
The other froggy is stuck hard and fast, and our lads will 
just fetch out in time.” | 

Old Navy-Mike had made no mistake. The consort of 
the captured frigate, a corvette of twenty-four guns, had 
boldly stood on with the intention of rounding to the wind, 
crossing the bows of the other twain, and retrieving the 
fortunes of the day, perhaps, by a broadside into the shatter- 
ed upper works of the terribly hampered British ship. The 
idea was clever and spirited, and had a very fair chance of 
-suecess; but the land below the sea forefended it. Full of 
fine ardour and the noble thirst for fame, speeding on for 
the palm of high enterprise and the glory of the native land, 
alas! they stuck fast in a soft bit of English sand! It was 
in their power now to swear by all they disbelieved in, and 
in everything visible and too tangible; but their power was 
limited strictly to that; and the faster they swore, the faster 
they were bound to stick. . 

Springhaven dined well, with its enemy so placed, and a 
message from the Leda, by Jem Prater, that the fishing fleet 
was rescued, and would be home to early supper, and so 
much to be talked about all dinner-time, that for once in 
his life nearly everybody found it more expedient to eat 
with his fork than his knife. Then all who could be spared 
from washing up, and getting ready for further cookery, 
went duly to church in the afternoon to hear the good 
Rector return humble thanks for a Gracious Mercy to the 
British arms, and to see a young man, who had landed 
with despatches, put a face full of gunpowder in at a 
window to learn whether Admiral Darling was there. | 


CHAPTER XXII. 
A SPECIAL URGENOY. 


ADMIRAL DARLING was not in church. His duty to his 
country kept him up the hill, and in close consultation with 
Captain Stubbard, who was burning to fire his battery. 

‘¢T never knew such bad luck in all my life. The devil 
has been appointed First Lord of the weather ever since I : 
came to Springhaven.” As Stubbard declared these great 
truths he strode about in his little fortress, delivering a kick 
at the heels of things which had no right to be lumbering 
there. ‘‘ Tothink that I should never have seen those beg- 
gars, when but for the fog I could have smashed them right 
and left! Admiral, these things make a Christian an 
infidel.” 

‘* Nonsense, sir!” said the Admiral, sternly, for a man of 
his kind nature; ‘‘ you forget that without the fog, or rather 
the mist—for it was only that—those fellows would never 
have come within range. We have very great blessings to 
be thankful for, though the credit falls not to our battery. 
The Frenchmen fought wonderfully well—as well as the 
best Englishman could have done—and to capture them both 
is a miracle of luck, if indeed we can manage to secure them. 
My friend, young Honyman, of the Leda, has proved him- 
self just what I said he would be, and has performed a very 
gallant exploit, though I fear he is severely wounded. But 
we shall know more now, for I see a young fellow jumping 
up the hill, ike a kangaroo, and probably he comes for 
orders. One thing we have learned, Stubbard, and must 
take the hint to-morrow—put a hut on the Haven head, and 
keep a watchman there. Why, bless my heart, it is Blyth 
Scudamore that’s coming! There is nobody else that can 
skip like that.” 

The young lieutenant entered between two guns—the 
gunners were dismissed in great disgust to dinner—with his 
pleasant face still a little grimed with gunpowder, and flushed 
by his hurry up the steep hill-side. 

‘This for you, sir,” he said, saluting the Admiral, pre- 





SPRINGHAVEN. Se 


senting his letter, and then drawing back; ‘‘and I am to 
wait your convenience for reply.” 

‘What next will the service come to,” asked the Admiral 
of Captain Stubbard, ‘‘when a young man just commis- 
- sioned gives himself such mighty airs? Shake hands, Blyth, 
and promise you will come and dine with us, unless you are 
ordered to return on board at once. How is your good cap- 
tain? I knew him when he wore Nankins. Jem Prater 
brought word that he was wounded. I hope it is not 
serious.” 

‘‘No, sir; not much to speak of. He has only lost three 
fingers. That was why [had to write this letter—or report, 
I ought to call it, if anybody else had written it. Oh, sir, I 
cannot bear to think of it! I was fifth luff when the fight 
began, and now there is only one left above me, and he is in 
command of our biggest prize, the Ville d@ Anvers. But, 
Admiral, here you will find it all, as I wrote it, from the lips, 
when they tied up the fingers, of Captain Honyman.” 

‘‘How could you tie them up when they were gone ?” 
Captain Stubbard inquired, with a sneer at such a youth. 
He had got on very slowly in his early days, and could not 
bear to see a young man with such vacancies before him. 
‘Why, you are the luckiest lad ever saw! Sure to go up 
at least three steps! How well you must have kept out of 
it! And how happy you must feel, Lieutenant Scudamore !”’ 

‘‘T am not at all happy at losing dear friends,” the young 
man answered, gently, as he turned away and patted the 
breech of a gun, upon which there was a little rust next day. 
‘That feeling comes later in life, I suppose.” 

The Admiral was not attending to them now, but absorbed 
in the brief account of the conflict, begun by Captain Hony- 
man in his own handwriting, and finished by his voice, but 
not his pen. Any one desirous to read this may do so in 
the proper place. For the present purpose it is enough to 
say that the modesty of the language was scarcely surpassed 
by the brilliance of the exploit. Andif anything were need- 
ed to commend the writer to the deepest good-will of the 
reader, it was found in the fact that this enterprise sprang 
from warm zeal for the commerce of Springhaven. The 
Leda had been ordered on Friday last to protect the peace- 
ful little fishing fleet from a crafty design for their capture, 
and this she had done with good effect, having justice on 
her side, and fortune. The particulars of the combat were 
not so clear, after the captain’s three fingers were gone; but 


138 SPRINGHAVEN. 


if one made proper allowance for that, there was not very 
much to complain of. The Admiral considered it a very 
good report; and then put on his spectacles, and thought it 
still better. 

“Why! why! why!” he said—for without affectation 
many officers had caught the style of his then Gracious 
Majesty—‘‘ what’s this? what’s this? Something on the 
other side, in a different man’s handwriting, and impossi- 
ble to read, in my opinion. Stubbard, did you ever see such 
a scrawl! Make it out for me. You have good eyes, 
like a hawk, or the man who saw through a milestone. 
Scudamore, what was hisname? You know.” 

‘“Three fingers at five pounds apiece per annum as long 
as he lives!” Captain Stubbard computed on his own; ‘ fif. 
teen pounds a year perhaps for forty years, as you seem to 


say how young he is; that comes to just £600, and his hand. 


as good as ever”—(‘‘T’'ll be hanged if it is, if he wrote this!” 
the Admiral interjected)—‘‘and better, I may say, from a 
selfish point of view, because of only two nails left to clean, 
and his other hand increased in value. Why, the scale is dis- 


graceful, iniquitous, boobyish, and made without any knowl- 


edge of the human frame, and the comparative value of its 
members. Lieutenant Scudamore, look at me. Here you 


see me without an ear, damaged in the fore-hatch, and with. 
the larboard bow stove in—and how much do I get, though 


so much older 2” 


‘“ Well, if you won’t help me, Stubbard,” said the Ad-- 


miral, who knew how long his friend would carry on upon 
that tack, ‘‘I must even get Scudamore to read it, though it 
seems to have been written on purpose toelude him. Blyth, 
my dear boy, can you explain it 2” | 


“Tt was—it was only something, sir’—the lieutenant. 


blushed, and hesitated, and looked into an eighteen-pounder 

“ which I asked Captain Honyman to leave out, because— 
Seems it had nothing to do with it. I mean, because it 
was of no importance, even if he happened to have that 


opinion. His hand was tied up so that I did not like to say. 
too much, and I thought that he would go to sleep, because. 


the doctor had made him drink a poppy head boiled down 


with pigtail. But it seems as if he had got up after that— 


for he always will have his own way—while I was gone to 
put this coat on; and perhaps he wrote that with his left. 
hand, sir. But it is no part of the business.” 

‘Then we will leave it,” said Admiral Darling, ‘‘ for 


aan 
a 

















. ~ 
2 \ ‘ LF 'f 4% 


“T AM NOT AT ALL HAPPY AT LOSING DEAR FRIENDS.” 


140 SPRINGHAVEN. 


younger eyes than mine to read. Nelson wrote better with 
his left hand than ever he did with his right, to my think- 
ing, the very first time that he tried it. But we can’t expect 
everybody to do that. There is no sign of any change of 
weather, is there, Stubbard? My orders will depend very 
much upon that. I must go home and look at the quick- 
silver before I know what is best to do. You had better 
come with me, Scudamore.”’ 

Admiral Darling was quite right inthis. Everything de- 
pended upon the weather; and although the rough autumn 
was not come yet, the prime of the hopeful year was past. 
The summer had not been a grand one, such as we get about 
once in a decade, but of loose and uncertain character, such 
as an Englishman has to make the best of. It might be 
taking up for a golden autumn, ripening corn and fruit 
and tree, or it might break up into shower and tempest, sod- 
den earth, and weltering sky. 

‘“Your captain refers to me for orders,” said Admiral 
Darling to Scudamore, while they were hastening to the 
Hall, ‘‘as Commander of the Coast Defence, because he has 
been brought too far inshore, and one of the Frenchmen is 
stranded. The frigate you boarded and carried is the Ville 
d Anvers, of forty guns. Thecorvette that took the ground, 
so luckily for you, when half of your hands were aboard the 
prize, is the Blonde, teak-built, and only launched last year. 
We must try to have her, whatever happens. She won't 
hurt where she is, unless it comes on to blow. Our sands 
hold fast without nipping. as you know, like a well-bred 
sheep-dog, and the White Pig is the toughest of all of them. 
She may stay there till the equinox, without much mischief, 
if the present light airs continue. But the worst job will be 
with the prisoners; they are the plague of all these affairs, 
and we can’t imitate Boney by poisoning them. On the 
whole, it had better not have happened, perhaps. Though 
you must not tell Honyman that I said so. It was a very 
gallant action, very skilful, very beautiful; and I hope he 
will get a fine lift for it; and you too, my dear Blyth, for 
you must have fought well.” 

‘*But, Admiral, surely you would have been grieved if so 
many of your tenants, and their boats as well, had been 

swept away into a French harbour. What would Spring- 
' haven be without its Captain Zebedee 2?” 

“You are right, Blyth; I forgot that for the moment. 

There would have been weeping and wailing indeed, even in 





SPRINGHAVEN. 141 


our own household. But they could not have kept them 
long, though the loss of their boats would have been most 
terrible. But I cannot make out why the French should 
have wanted to-catch- a few harmless fishing-smacks. 
Aquila non captat muscas, as you taught the boys at Ston- 
nington. And two ships despatched upon a paltry job of 
that sort! Either Captain Honyman was strangely misin- 
formed, or there is something in the background entirely 
beyond our knowledge. Pay attention to this matter, and 
let me know what you hear of it—as a friend, Blyth, as a 
friend, mean. But here we are! You must want feeding. 
Mrs. Cloam will take care of you, and find all that is needful 
for a warrior’s clean-up. I must look at the barometer, and 
consider my despatches. Let us have dinner, Mrs. Cloam, in 
twenty minutes, if possible. For we stand in real need of it.” 

Concerning that there could be no doubt. Glory, as all 
English officers know, is no durable stay for the stomach. 
The urgency of mankind for victuals may roughly be gauged 
by the length of the jaw. Captain Stubbard had jaws of 
tremendous length, and always carried a bag of captain’s 
biscuits, to which he was obliged to have recourse in the 
height of the hottest engagement. Scudamore had short 
jaws, well set up, and powerful, without rapacity. But 
even these, after twelve hours of fasting, demanded some- 
thing better than gunpowder. He could not help thinking 
that his host was regarding the condition of affairs very 
calmly, until he remembered that the day was Sunday, when 
no Briton has any call to be disturbed by any but sacred in- 
sistency. At any rate, he was under orders now, and those 
orders were entirely to his liking. So he freshened up his 
cheerful and simple-minded face, put his sailor-knot neck- 
cloth askew, as usual, and with some trepidation went down 
to dinner. | 

The young ladies would not have been young women if 
they had not received him warmly. Kind Faith, who 
loved him as a sister might—for she had long discovered his 
good qualities—had tears in her beautiful eyes as she gave 
him both hands, and smiled sweetly at his bashfulness. And 
even the critical Dolly, who looked so‘sharply at the outside 
of everything, allowed her fair hand to stay well in his, and 
said something which was melody to him. Then Johnny, 
who was of a warlike cast, and hoped soon to destroy the 
French nation, shook hands with this public benefactor al- 
ready employed in that great work. 


142 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘*T shall scarcely have time for a bit of dinner,” said Admi- 
yal Darling, as they sat down. ‘‘I have sent word to have 
the Protector launched, and to give little Billy a feed of corn. 
All you young people may take your leisure. Youth is the 
time that commands time and space. But for my part, if I 
can only manage this plate of soup, and a slice of that fish, 
and then one help of mutton, and just an apple-fritter, or 
some trifle of that sort, I shall be quite as lucky as I can hope 
to be. Duty perpetually spoils my dinner, and I must get 
some clever fellow to invent a plate that will keep as hot as 
duty is in these volcanic times. But I never complain; I 


am so used to it. Eat your dinners, children, and don’t think 


of mine.” 

Having scarcely-afforded himself an hour, the Admiral, in 
full uniform, embarked upon little Billy, a gentle-minded 
pony from the west country, who conducted his own diges- 
tion while he consulted that of his rider. At the haven they 
found the Protector ready, a ten-oared galley manned by 
Captain Stubbard’s men, good samples of Sea-Fencibles. 
And the Captain himself was there, to take the tiller, and do 
any fighting if the chance should arise, for he had been dis- 
appointed allthe morning. The boat which brought Scuda- 
more had been recalled by signal from the Leda, and that 
active young officer having sought her vainly, and thereby 
missed the Protector, followed steadily in Mr. Prater’s boat, 
with the nephew, Jem, pulling the other oar, and Johnny 
Darling, who raged at the thought of being left behind, 
steering vaguely. And just as they rounded the harbour- 
head, the long glassy sweep of the palpitating sea bore in- 
ward and homeward the peaceful squadron so wistfully 
watched for and so dearly welcome. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 
YOH-HEAVE-OH! 


‘‘HER condition was very bad, as bad as could be, with- 
out going straight to the bottom,” the Admiral said to the 
Rector that night, as they smoked a pipe together; ‘‘and to 
the bottom she must have gone, if the sea had got up, before 
wwe thrummed her. Honyman wanted to have her brought 
inside the Head; but even if we could have got her there, 
she would ground at low. water and fill with the tide. And 


rere 





SPRINGHAVEN. 143 


what could we do with all those prisoners? With our fresh 
hands at the pumps, we very soon fetched the water out of 
her, and made her as tight as we could; and I think they 
will manage to take her to Portsmouth. She has beautiful 
lines. I never saw a smarter ship. How she came to the 
wind, with all that water in her! The wind is all right for 
Portsmouth, and she will be a fine addition to the Navy.” 

‘* But what is become of the other vessel, craft, corvette, 
or whatever you call her? You say that she is scarcely 
hurt at all. And if she gets off the White Pig’s back in the 
night, she may come up and bombard us. Not that I am 
afraid; but my wife is nervous, and the rectory faces the sea 
so much. If you have ordered away the Leda, which seems 
to have conquered both of them, the least you can do is to 
keep Captain Stubbard under arms all night in his bat- 
tery.” 

_‘*T have a great mind to do so; it would be a good idea, 
for he was very much inclined to cut up rough to-day. But 
he never would forgive me, he is such a hog at hammock-— 
as we used to say, until we grew tooelegant. And he knows 
that the Blonde has hauled down her colours, and Scuda- 
more is now prize-captain. IJ have-sent away most of her 
crew in the Leda, and I am not at all sure. that we ought 
not to blow her up. In the end, we shall have to do so, no 
doubt; for nothing larger than a smack has ever got off 
that sand, and floated. But let our young friend try; let 
him have a fair trial. He has the stuff of a very fine sea- 
maninhim. And if he should succeed, it would be scored 
with a long leg for him. MHalloa! Why, I thought the 
girls were fast asleep long ago!” — 

‘‘As if we could sleep, papa, with this upon our minds!” 
Dolly waved an open letter in the air, and then presented it. 
‘Perhaps Faith might, but Iam sure I never could. You 
defied us to make out this which is on the other leaf; and 
then, without giving us fair play, you took it to the desk in 
your Oak-room, and there you left it. Well, I took the 
liberty of going there for it, for there can’t be any secret 
about a thing that will be printed; and how are they to print 
it if they can’t contrive to read it? How much will you 
pay me for interpreting, papa? Mr. Twemlow, I think I 
ought to have a guinea. Can you read it now, with all 
your learning, and knowledge of dead languages ?” 

‘‘My dear, it is not my duty to read it, and not at all my 
business. . It seems to be written with the end of a stick by 


144 : SPRINGHAVEN. 


a boy who was learning his letters. If you can interpret it, 
you must be almost a Daniel.” 

‘‘Do you hear that, papa, you who think I am so stupid ? 
Faith gave it up; she has no perseverance, or perhaps no 
curiosity. And I was very nearly beaten too, till a very 
fine idea came into my head, and I have made out every 
word except three, and perhaps even those three, if Captain 
Honyman is not very particular in his spelling. Can you 
tell me anything about that, papa?” 

‘Yes, Dolly, just what you have heard from me before. 
Honyman is a good officer; a very good one, as he has just 
proved. No good officer ever spells well, whether in the 
army orthenavy. Look at Nelson’s letters. Jam inclined 
to ascribe my own slow promotion to the unnatural accuracy 
of my spelling, which offended my lords, because it puzzled 
them.” 

‘‘Then all is straight sailing, as you say, papa. But I 
must tell you first how I found it out, or perhaps you won’t 
believe me. I knew that Captain Honyman wrote this post- 
script, or whatever it is, with his left hand, so I took a pen 
in my own left hand, and practised all the letters, and the 
way they join, which is quite different from the other hand. 
And here is the copy of the words, as my left hand taught 
my right to put them down, after inking ever so many 
fingers: 

‘** We never could have done it without Scudamore. He 
jumped a most wonderful jump from our jib-boom into her 
mizzen chains, when our grappels had slipped, and we could 
get no nyer, and there he made fast, though the enemy 
came at him with cutlashes, pikes, and muskets. By this 
means we borded and carried the ship, with a loss as above 
reported. When I grew faint from a trifling wound, Lutf 
Scudamore led the borders with a cool courige that discom- 
forted the fo.’” , 

‘‘Robert Honyman all over!” cried the Admiral, with 
delight. ‘‘I could swear that he wrote it, if it was written 
with his toes. “Twas an old joke against him, when he was 
lieutenant, that he never could spell his own title; and he 
never would put an e after anoin any word. He is far too 
straightforward a man to spell well; and now the loss of 
three fingers will cut his words shorter than ever, and be a 
fine excuse for him. He was faint again, when I boarded 
the Leda, partly no doubt through strong medical measures ; 
for the doctor, who is an ornament to his profession, had 





LN ERS ta 
se i . 


: : 













































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































nee, 


“AND HERE IS A COPY OF THE WORDS.” 


cauterized his stumps with a marlin-spike, for fear of inflam- 
mation. And I heard that he had singed the other finger 
off. But I hope that may prove incorrect. At any rate, I 
could not bear to disturb him, but left written orders with 
Scudamore; for the senior was on board the prize. Dolly, 
be off to bed, this moment.” 

‘“ Well, now,” said the Rector, drawing near, and filling 
another deliberative pipe, ‘‘I have no right to ask what your 
orders were, and perhaps you have noright totell me. But 
as to the ship that remains in my parish, or at any rate on 
its borders, if you can tell me anything, I shall be very 
grateful, both as a question of parochial duty and also be- 
cause of the many questions I am sure to have to answer 
from my wife and daughter.” 

7 







































































146 SPRINGHAVEN. 


“There is no cause for secrecy; I will tell you every- 
thing;” the Admiral hated mystery. ‘‘ Why, the London 
papers will publish the whole of it, and a great deal more 
than that, in three days’ time. I have sent off the Leda 
with her prize to Portsmouth. With this easterly breeze 
and smooth water, they will get there, crippled as they are, 
in some twenty-four hours. There the wounded will be 
cared for, and the prisoners drafted off. The Blonde, the 
corvette which is aground, surrendered, as you know, when 
she found herself helpless,and within range of our new bat- 
tery. Stubbard’s men longed to have a few shots at her; 
but of course we stopped any such outrage. Nearly all her 
officers and most of her crew are on board the Leda, having 
given their parole to attempt no rising; and Frenchmen are 
always honourable, unless they have some very wicked 
leader. But we left in the corvette her:captain, am exceed- 
ingly fine fellow, and about a score of hands who volunteer- 
ed to stay to help to work the ship, upon condition that if we 
can float her they shall have their freedom. And we puta 
prize crew from the Leda on board her, only two-and-twenty 
hands, which was all that could be spared, and in command 
of them our friend Blyth Scudamore. I sent him to ask 
Robert Honyman about it, when he managed to survive the 
doctor, for a captain is the master of his own luffs; and he 
answered that it was exactly what he wished. Our gallant 
frigate lost three lieutenants in this very spirited action, 
two killed and one very heavily wounded. And the first 
is in charge of the Ville d’ Anvers, so there was nobody for 
this enterprise except the gentle Scuddy, as they call him. 
He is very young for such a business, and we must do all we 
can to help him.” 

‘‘] have confidence in that young man,” said Mr. Twem- 
low, as if it were a question of theology; ‘‘he has very 
sound views, and his principles are high; and he would have 
taken holy orders, I believe, if his father’s assets had permit- 
ted it. He perceives all the rapidly growing dangers with 
which the Church is surrounded, and when I was in doubt 
about a‘line of Horace, he showed the finest diffidence, and 
yet proved that I was right. The ‘White Pig,’ as the name 
of a submarine bank, is most clearly of classic origin. We 
find it in Homer, and in Virgil too; and probably the Ro- 
mans, who undoubtedly had a naval station in Springhaven, 
and exterminated the oyster, as they always did—”’ 

‘“Come, come, Twemlow,” said the Admiral, with a smile 





SPRINGHAVEN. 147 


which smoothed the breach of interruption, ‘‘ you carry me 
out of my depth so far that I long to be stranded on my pil- 
low. When your great book comes out, we shall have in 
perfect form all the pile of your discoveries, which you break 
up into little bits too liberally. The Blonde on the Pig is 
like Beauty and the Beast. If gentle Scuddy rescues her, it 
won't be by Homer, or Horace, or even holy orders, but by 
hard tugs and stout seamanship.’ 

‘With the blessing of the Lord, it shall be done,” said the 
Rector, knocking his pipe out; *‘ and I trust that Providence 
may see fit to have it done very speedily; for I dread the 
effect which so many gallant strangers, all working in their 
shirt-sleeves and apparently in peril, may produce upon the 
females of this parish.” 

But the Admiral laughed, and said, ‘‘ Pooh, pooh!” for he 
had faith in the maids of Springhaven. 





up and down everywhere, people running in and out with 
some new news, before they could get their hats on, the ket- 
tle to boil half a dozen times a day, and almost as much to 
see as they could talk of. At every high-water that came 
by daylight—and sometimes there were two of them—every 
maid in the parish was bound to run to the top of a sand-hill 
high enough to see over the’neck of the Head, and there to 
be.up among the rushes all together, and repulse disdainful- 
ly the society of lads. These took the matter in a very dif- 
ferent light, and thought it quite a pity and a piece of fickle- 
mindedness, that they might go the round of crab-pots, or of 
inshore lug-lines, without anybody to watch them off, or 
come down with a basket to meet them. 

For be it understood that the great fishing fleet had not 
Jaunched forth upon its labours. Their narrow escape from 
the two French cruisers would last them a long time to think 
over, and to say the same thing to each other about it that 
each other had said to them every time they met. And they 
knew that they could not do this so well as to make a new 
credit of it every time, when once they were in the same 
craft together, and could not go asunder more than ten 
yards anda half. And better, far better, than all these rea- 
sons for staying at home and enjoying themselves, was the 
great fact that they could make more money by leisure than 
by labour in this nobly golden time. 

Luck fostered skill in this great affair, which deserves to 
be recorded for the good of any village gifted with like op- 


148 SPRINGHAVEN. 


portunity. It appears that the British Admiralty had long 
been eager for the capture of the Blonde, because of her 
speed and strength and beauty, and the mischief she had 
done to English trade. To destroy her would be a great 
comfort, but to employ her aright would be glorious; and 
her proper employment was to serve as a model for Eng- 
lish frigates first, and then to do mischief to French trade. 
Therefore, no sooner did their lordships hear what had hap- 
pened at Springhaven than they sent down a rider express 
to say that the ship must be saved at any price. And as 
nothing could be spared from the blockading force, or the 
fleet in the Downs, or the cruising squadron, the Commander 
of the coast-defence was instructed to enrol, impress, or 
adapt somehow all the men and the matter available. 
Something was said about free use of money in the service 
of His Majesty, but not a penny was ‘sent to begin upon. 
But Admiral Darling carried out his orders, as if he had re- 
ceived them framed in gold. ‘‘ They are pretty sure to pay 
me in the end,” he said; ‘‘and if they don’t, it won’t break 
me. I would give £500, on my own account, to earry that 
corvette to Spithead. And it would be the making of Seuda- 
more, who reminds me of his father more and more every 
time I come across him.” 

The fleet under Captain Tugwell had quite lately fallen 
off from seven to five, through the fierce patriotism of some 
younger members, and their sanguine belief in bounty- 
money. Captain Zeb had encountered them with his experi- 
ence in a long harangue—nearly fifty words long—and they 
looked as if they were convinced by it. However, in the 
morning they were gone, having mostly had tiffs with their 
sweethearts—which are fervent incentives to patriotism— 
and they chartered themselves, and their boats were num- 
bered for the service of their Country. They had done 
their work well, because they had none to do, except to 
draw small wages, and they found themselves qualified 
now for more money, and came home at the earliest chance 
of it. 

Two guineas a day for each smack and four hands were 
the terms offered by the Admiral, whose hard-working con- 
science was twitched into herring-bones by the strife be- 
tween native land and native spot. ‘‘I have had many 
tussles with uncertainty before,” he told Dolly, going down 
one evening, ‘‘ but never such vexation of the mind as now. 
All our people expect to get more for a day than a month 


; a 


SPRINGHAVEN. 149 


of fine fishing would bring them; while the Government 
goes by the worst time they make, and expects them to throw 
in their boats for nothing. ‘The same as our breeches,’ 
Tugwell said to me; ‘whenever we works, we throws in 
they, and we ought to do the very same with our boats.’ 
This makes it very hard for me.” 

But by doing his best he got over the Nerashie as people 
generally do. He settled the daily wages as above, with a 
bonus of double that amount for the day ‘that saw the Blonde 
upon her legs again. Indignation prevailed, or pretended 
to do so; but common-sense conquered, and all set to work. 
Hawsers, and chains, and buoys, and all other needful gear 
and tackle were provided by the Admiralty from the store- 
house built not long ago for the Fencibles. And Zebedee 
Tugwell, by right of position, and without a word said for 
it—because who could say a word against it ?—became the 
commander of the Rescue fleet, and drew double pay natu- 
rally for himself and family. 

‘I does it,” he said, ‘‘if you ask me why I does it, with- 
out any intention of bettering myself, for the Lord hath 
placed me above thought of that; but mainly for the sake of 
discipline, and the respectability of things. Suppose I was 
under you, sir, and knew you was getting no more than I 
was, why, my stomach would fly every time that you gave 
me an order without a ‘ Please, Zebedee!’ But as soon as I 
feels that you pocket a shilling in the time I takes pocketing 
twopence, the value of your brain ariseth plain before me; 
and instead of thinking what you says, I does it.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 
- ACCORDING TO CONTRACT. 


WHEN the Blonde had been on the White Pig for a week, 
in spite of all the science of Scudamore, ready money of the 
Admiral, and efforts of the natives, there began to be signs 
of a change in the weather. The sea was as smooth, and 
the sky as bright, and the land as brown as ever; but the 
feel of the air was not the same, and the sounds that came 
through it were different. ‘‘ Rain afore Friday,” said Cap- 
tain Zeb, ‘‘ and a blow from sowwest afore Sunday. ‘Twill 
break up the Blunder, I reckon, my lads.” 

With various aspects they looked at him, all holding sweet 


150 SPRINGHAVEN. 


converse at the Darling Arms, after the manifold strug- 
gles of the day. The eyes of the younger men were filled 
with disappointment and anger, as at a sure seer of evil; the 
elder, to whom cash was more important, gazed with anxiety 
and dismay; while a pair, old enough to be sires of Zebedee, 
nodded approval, and looked at one another, expecting to re- 
ceive, but too discreet to give,a wink. Then a lively dis- 
course arose and throve among the younger; and the elders 
let them hold it, while they talked of something else. 

On the following morning two dialogues were held upon 
different parts of Springhaven shore, but each of great im- 
port to the beautiful captive still fast aground in the offing. 
The first was between Captain Zebedee Tugwell and Lieu- 
tenant Scudamore. The gentle Scuddy, still hoping against 
hope, had stuek fast to his charge, upon whose fortunes so 
much of his own depended. If he could only succeed in 
floating and carrying her into Portsmouth, his mark would 
be made, his position secured far quicker than by ten gallant 
actions; and that which he eared for a hundredfold, the com- 
fort of his widowed mother, would be advanced and estab- 
lished. For upon the valuation of the prizes, a considerable 
sum would fall to him, and every farthing of it would be 
sent to her. Bright with youthful hope, and trustful in the 
rising spring of tide, which had all but released them yes- 
terday, according to his firm belief, he ran from the Hall 
through the Admiral’s grounds, to meet the boat which was 
waiting for him while he was having breakfast and. council 
with his chief. Between the Round-house and the old white 
gate he heard a low whistle from a clump of shrubs, and 
turning that way, met Tugwell. With that prince of fisher- 
men he shook hands, aceording to the manner of Spring- 
haven, for he had learned to admire the brave habit of the 
man, his strong mind, and frank taciturnity. And Tugwell 
on his part had taken a liking to the simple and cheerful 
young officer, who received his suggestions, was kind to all 
hands, and so manfully bore the daily disappointment. 

‘* Nobody in there ?” asked Zeb, with one finger pointing 
to the Round-house; ‘then sit down on this bit of bank, sir, 
a minute. Less chance to be shot at by any French ship.” 

The bit of bank really was a bit of hollow, where no one 
could see them from the beach, or lane, or even from the 
Round-house. Scudamore, who understood his man, obeyed ; 
and Tugwell came to his bearings on a clump of fern before 
him. | 


ee ee ae a oe 





SPRINGHAVEN. 151 


‘How much will Government pay the chaps as fetches 
her out of that snug little berth? For division to self and 
partners, how much? For division to self and family, how 
much ?” 

‘‘T have thought about that,” the lheutenant answered, 
with little surprise at the question, but much at the secrecy 
thrown around it; ‘‘and I think it would be very unsafe to 
count upon getting a penny beyond the Admiral’s terms— 
double pay for the day that we float her.” 

Captain Zebedee shook his head, and the golden sheaf of 
his Olympian beard ruffled and crisped, as to an adverse wind. 

‘“Can’t a’most believe it,” he replied, with his bright eyes 
steadily settled on Scudamore’s. ‘* The English country, as 
I belongs to, can’t quite ’a coom to that yet!” 

‘*T fear that it has indeed,” Blyth answered, very gravely ; 
‘fat least I am sure of this, Master Tugwell, that you must 
not look forward to any bounty, bonus, or premium, or what- 
ever it is called, from the Authorities who should provide it. 
But for myself, and the difference it will make to me whether 
we succeed or fail, I shall be happy, and will give my word, 
to send you £50, to be divided at your discretion among the 
smacks. I mean, of course, as soon as I get paid.” 

Scudamore was frightened by the size of his own promise; 
for he had never yet owned £50 in the solid. And then he 
was scared at the wholesale loss of so large a sum to his 
mother. 

‘* Never fear, lad,” honest Tugwell replied, for the young 
man’s face was fair to read; ‘‘ we'll not take a farden of thy 
hard airnings, not a brass farden, so help me Bob! Gentle- 
folks has so much call for money, as none of us know noth- 
ing of. And thou hast helped to save all the lot of us 
from Frenchies, and been the most forrardest, as I hear tell. 
But if us could ’a got £50 out of Government, why, so much 
more for us, and none the less for they. Buta Englishman 
must do his duty, in reason, and when ’a don’t hurt his self 
by the same. There’s a change in the weather, as forbids 
more sport. You shall have the Blunder off to-morrow, 
lad. Wouldn’t do to be too sudden like.” 

‘‘T fear I am very stupid, Master Tugwell. But I don’t 
see how you can manage it so surely, after labouring nine 
days all in vain.” 

Zebedee hesitated half a moment, betwixt discretion and 
the pride of knowledge. Then the latter vanquished and 
relieved his mind. 


152 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘‘T trust in your honour, sir, of course, to keep me clear. 
I might have brought ’e off the Pig, first day, or second to 
the latest, if it were sound business. But with winter-time 
coming, and the week’s fishing lost, our duty to our families 
and this place was to pull’e on harder, sir, to pull’e aground 
firmer; and with the help of the Lord we have a-doed it well. 
We wasn’t a-going to kill the goose as laid the golden eggs. 
No offence to you, sir; it wasn’t you as was the goose.” 

Master Tugwell rubbed his pockets with a very pleasant 
smile, and then put his elbows on his great square knees, 
and complacently studied the lieutenant’s smaller mind. 

‘‘T can understand how you could do such a thing,” said 

Seudamore, after he had rubbed his eyes, and then looked 
away for fear of laughing, “‘but I cannot understand by 
what power on earth you are enabled to look at me and tell 
me this. For nine days you have been paid every night, 
and paid pretty well, as you yourself acknowledge, to haula 
ship off a shoal; and all the time you have been hauling her 
harder upon it!” 
_ “Young man,” replied Tugwell, with just indignation, 
“‘a hofficer should be above such words. But I forgive ’e, 
and hope the Lord will do the same, with allowance for 
youth and ill-convenience. I might ’a knowed no better, 
at your age and training.” 

‘‘But what were you paid for, just answer me that, unless 
it was to pull the Blonde off the sand-bank? And how 
can you pretend that you have done an honest thing by pull- 
ing her further upon the bank ?” 

“<T won't ask ’ e, sir, to beg my pardon for saying what 
never man said to me, without reading the words of the con- 
traction ;” Zeb pulled out a paper from his hat, and spread it, 
and laid astoneat every corner. ‘‘ This contraction was sign- 
ed by yourself and Squire Darling, for and on behalf of the 
kingdom; and the words are for us to give our services, to 
pull, haul, tow, warp, or otherwise as directed, release, relieve, 
set free, and rescue the aforesaid ship, or bark, or vessel, 
craft, or—” | 

‘* Please not to read all that,” cried Seuddy, ‘‘or a gale of 
wind may come before you are half-way through. It was 
Admiral Darling’s lawyer, Mr. Furkettle, who prepared it, 
to prevent any chance of misunderstanding.” 

‘* Provided always,” continued Tugwell, slowly, ‘‘and the 
meaning, condition, purport, object, sense, and intention of 
this agreement is, that the aforesaid Zebedee Tugwell shall 





SPRINGHAVEN, 153 


submit in everything to the orders, commands, instructions, 
counsel, directions, injunctions, authority, or discretion, 
whether in writing or otherwise, of the aforesaid—” 

‘‘T would not interrupt you if I could help it’”—Secuda- 
more had a large stock of patience (enhanced by laborious 
practice at Stonnington), but who might abide, when time 
was precious, to see Zebedee feeling his way with his fingers 
along the bottom and to the end of every word, and then 
stopping to congratulate himself at the conquest of every 


one over two syllables? ‘°* But excuse me for saying that I 
know all these conditions; and the tide will be lost, if we 
stop here.” 


‘Very good, sir; then you see how it standeth. Who 
hath broken them? Notus! We was paid forto haul; and 
haul us did, according to superior orders. She grounded 
from the south, with the tide making uppard, somewhere 
about three-quarter flow; and the Squire, and you, and all 
the rest of ’e, without no knowledge of the Pig whatsomever, 
fastens all your pulley-haulies by the starn, and says, ‘Now, 
pull! And pull us did, to the tune of sixteen guineas a day, 
for the honour and comfort of Springhaven.”’ 

‘‘And you knew all the time that it was wrong! Well, 
I never came across such people. But surely some one of 
you would have had the honesty—I beg pardon, I mean the 
good-will—to tell us. I can scarcely imagine some forty 
men and boys preserving such a secret for nine whole days, 
hauling for their lives in the wrong direction, and never even 
by a wink or smile—”’ 

‘*Springhaven is like that,” said Master Tugwell, proudly. 
‘“We does a thing one and all together, even if us reasons con- 
sarning it. And over and above that, sir, there is but two 
men in Springhaven as understands the White Pig, barring 
my own self. The young ’uns might’a smelt a rat, but they 
knew better than to say so. Where the Blunder grounded 
—and she hath airned her name, for the good of the dwellers 
in this village—is the chine of the Pig; and he hath a dou- 
ble back, with the outer side higher than the inner one. 
She came through a narrow nick in his outer back, and then 
plumped, stem on, upon the inner one. You may haul at 
her forever by the starn, and there shé’ll ‘bide, or lay up 
again on the other back. But bring her weight forrard, and 
tackle her by the head, and off she comes, the very next fair 
tide; for she hath berthed herself over the biggest of it, and 


there bain’t but a basketful under her forefoot.” 
They 


154 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘‘Then, Master Tugwell, let us lose no time, but have at 
her at once, and be done with it.” Scudamore jumped up, 
to give action to his words; but Tugwell sate aground still, 
as firmly as the Blonde. 

‘‘Begging of your pardon, sir, I would invite of you not 
to be in no sart of hurry hasting forrardly. Us must come 
off gradual, after holding on so long there, and better to have 
Squire Darling round the corner first, sir. Not that he 
knoweth much about it, but ’a might make believe to do so. 
And when ’a hath seen us pull wrong ways a hundred and 
twenty guineas’ worth, ’a might grudge us the reward for 
pulling right ways. Ive a-knowed ’un get into that state 
of mind, although it was his own tenants.” 

The lieutenant was at length compelled to Jaugh, though 
for many reasons loth to do so. But the quiet contempt for 
the Admiral’s skill, and the brief hint about his character, 
touched his sense of the ludicrous more softly than the ex- 
planation of hisown mishaps. Then the Captain of Spring- 
haven smiled almost imperceptibly; for he was a serious 
man, and his smiles were accustomed to be interior. 

‘*T did hear tell,” he said, stroking his beard, for fear of 
having discomposed it, ‘‘that the Squire were under com- 
pulsion to go a bit westward again to-morrow. And when 
he cometh back he would be glad to find us had managed 
the job without him. No fear of the weather breaking up 
afore Friday, and her can’t take no harm for a tide or two. 
If you thinks well, sir, let us heave at her to-day, as afore, 
by superior orders. Then it come into your mind to try 
tother end a bit, and you shift all the guns and heavy lum- 
ber forrard to give weight to the bows and lift the starn, and 
off her will glide at the first tug to-morrow, so sure as my 
name is Zebedee. But mind one thing, sir, that you keep 
her when you’ve got her. She hath too many furriner na- 
tives aboard of her to be any way to my liking.” 

‘*Oh, there need be no doubt about them,” replied Blyth ; 
‘‘we treat them like ourselves, and they are all upon their 
honour, which no Frenchman ever thinks of breaking. 
But my men will be tired of waiting for me. I shall leave 
you to your own plans, Tugwell.” , 

‘‘Ah, I know tlie natur’ of they young men,” Captain 
Zebedee mused, as he sate in his hollow till Seudamore’s boat 
was far away; “‘they be full of scruples for themselves and 
faith in other fellows. He’ll never tell Squire, nor no one 
else here, what I laid him under, and the laugh would go 





SPRINGHAVEN. 155 


again’ him if he did. We shall get to-day’s money, I reck- 
on, as well as double pay to-morrow, and airn it. Well, it 
might ’a been better, and it might be wuss.” 

About two miles westward of the brook some rocks marked 
the end of the fine Springhaven sands and the beginning 
of a far more rugged beach, the shingles and flint shelves of 
Pebbleridge. Here the chalk of the Sussex backbone (which 
has been plumped over and sleeked by the flesh of the valley) 
juts forth, like the scrags of a skeleton, and crumbles in low 
but rugged cliffs into the flat domain of sea. Here the 
landing is bad, and the anchorage worse, for a slippery 
shale rejects the fluke, and the water is usually kept in a 
fidget between the orders of the west wind and scurry of 
the tide. 

This very quiet morning, with the wind off shore, and 
scarcely enough of it to comb the sea, four smart-looking 
Frenchmen, with red caps on their heads, were barely hold- 
ing way upon the light gig of the Blonde, while their Cap- 
tain was keeping an appointment with a stranger not far 
from the weed-strewn line of waves. In a deep rocky 
channel where a land-spring rose (which was still-born ex- 
cept at low water), and laver, and dilsk, and claw-coral 
showed that the sea had more dominion there than the sky, 
two men stood facing each other; and their words, though 
belonging to the most polite of tongues, were not so courte- 
ous as might be. Each man stood with his back to a rock— 
not touching it, however, because it was too wet; one was 
as cold and as firm as the rock, the other like the sea, tu- 
multuous. The passionate man was Captain Desportes, and 
the cold one Caryl Carne. 

‘‘Then you wish me to conclude, monsieur,” Carne spoke 
as one offering repentance, ‘‘that you will not do your duty 
to your country in the subject set before you? I pray you 
to deliberate, because your position hangs upon it.” 

‘‘Never! Never! Once more, Captain, with all thanks 
for your consideration, I refuse. My duty to my own 
honour has first place. After that my duty to my country. 
Speak of it no more, sir; it quite is to insult me.” 

‘‘No, Captain Desportes, it is nothing of that kind, or I 
should not be here to propose it. Your parole is given 
only as long as your ship continues upon the sand. The 
moment she floats, you are liberated. Then is the time for 
a noble stroke of fortune. Is it not so, my dear friend ?” 

‘‘No, sir. This affair is impossible. My honour has been 


156 SPRINGHAVEN. 


pledged, not until the ship is floating, but until Iam myself 
set free in France. Iam sorry not to see things as you see 
them for me; but the question is for my own consideration.” 

Captain Desportes had resented, as an honest man must 
do, especially when more advanced in years, the other’s 
calm settlement, without invitation, of matters which con- 
cerned his own conscience. And as most mankind—if at 
all perceptive—like or dislike one another at a glance, Des- 
portes, being very quick and warm of nature, had felt at 
first sight a strong repulsion from the cold and arrogant 
man who faced him. His age was at least twice that of 
Carne, he had seen much service in the better days of 
France, and had risen slowly by his own skill and valour; 
he knew that his future in the service depended upon his 
decision in this matter, and he had a large family to main- 
tain. But his honour was pledged, and he held fast by it. 

‘‘ There is one consideration,” Carne replied, with rancour 
slowly kindling in his great black eyes, ‘‘ which precedes 
all others, even that of honour, in the mind of a trusted offi- 
. eer. It is not that of patriotism—which has not its usual 
weight with monsieur—but it is that of obedience, discipline, 
loyalty, faith towards those who have placed faith in him. 
Captain Desportes, as commander of a ship, is entrusted 
with property; and that confidence is the first debt upon 
his honour.” 

To Desportes, as to most men of action, the right was 
plainer than the reason. He knew that this final plea was 
unsound, but he did not see how to contest it. So he came 
back to fact, which was easier for him. 

‘“How am I to know, monsieur, what would be the wishes 
of those who have intrusted me with my position? You 
are placed in authority by some means here, in your own 
country, but against it. That much you have proved to 
me by papers. But your credentials are general only. 
They do not apply to this especial case. If the Chief of the 
State knew my position, he would wish me to act, as I mean 
to act, for the honour and credit of our nation.” 

‘Are you then acquainted with his signature? If so, 
perhaps you will verify this, even if you are resolved to 
reject it.” 

Carne drew a letter from an inner pocket, and carefully 
unfolded it. There were many words and minute directions 
upon various subjects, written by the hand of the most 
minute, and yet most comprehensive, of mankind. 


SPRINGHAVEN. 157 


‘‘There is nothing in this that concerns you,” he said, 
after showing the date, only four days old, ‘‘except these 
few words at the end, which perhaps you may like to read 
before you make final decision. The signature of the Chief 
is clear.” 

Captain Desportes read aloud: ‘‘It is of the utmost im- 
portance to me that the Blonde should not be captured by 
the enemy, as the Ville d’Anvers has been. You tell me 
that it is ashore near you, and the Captain and crew upon 
parole, to be liberated if they assist in the extrication of the 
vessel. This must not be. In the service of the State, I 
demand that they consider not at all their parole. The 
well-known speed and light draught of that vessel have 
rendered her almost indispensable to me. When the vessel 
is free, they must rise upon the enemy, and make for the 
nearest of our ports without delay. Upon this I insist, and 
place confidence in your established courage and manage- 
ment to accomplish it to my satisfaction.” 

‘“Your orders are clear enough,” said Caryl Carne. 
‘*What reason can you give, as an officer of the Republic, 
for disobeying them 2” 

Desportes looked at his ship in the distance, and then at 
the sea and the sky, with a groan, as if he were bidding 
farewell to them. Carne felt sure that he had prevailed, 
and a smile shed light, but not a soft light, on his hard, pale 
countenance. 

‘*Be in no rash haste,” said the French sea-captain, and 
he could not have found words more annoying to the cold, 
proud man before him; ‘‘I do not recognise in this mandate 
the voice of my country, of the honourable France, which 
would never say, ‘Let my sons break their word of honour!’ 
This man speaks, not as Chief of a grand State, not as leader 
of noble gentlemen, but as Emperor of a society of serfs. 
France is no empire; she is a grand nation of spirit, of 
valour, above all, of honour. The English have treated 
me, as I would treat them, with kindness, with largeness, 
with confidence. In the name of fair France I will not do 
this thing.” 

Carne was naturally pale, but now he grew white with 
rage, and his black eyes flashed. 

“ France will be an empire within six months; and your 
honour will be put upon prison diet, while your family 
starve for the sake of it.” 

‘‘Tf I ever meet you under other circumstances,” replied 


158 SPRINGHAVEN. 


the brave Frenchman, now equally pale, ‘I shall demand 
reparation, sir.” 

‘‘“With great pleasure,” replied Carne, contemptuously ; 
‘‘meanwhile monsieur will have enough to do to repair his 
broken fortunes.” 

Captain Desportes turned his back, and gave a whistle for 
his crew, then stepped with much dignity into his boat. 
‘“To the Blonde, lads,” he cried, ‘‘ to the unsullied Blonde.” 
Then he sate, looking at her, and stroked his grizzled beard, 
into which there came trickling a bitter tear or two, as he 
thought of his wife and family. He had acted well; but, 
according to the measure of the present world, unwisely. 


CHAPTER XXV. 
NO CONCERN OF OURS, 


THE very next morning it was known to the faithful of 
Springhaven that the glory of the place would be trebled 
that day, and its income increased desirably. That day 
the fair stranger (which had so long awakened the admira- 
tion of the women and the jealousy of the men) would by 
the consummate skill of Captain Zeb-—who had triumphed 
over all the officers of the British Navy—fioat forth mag- 
nificently from her narrow bed, hoist her white sails, and 
under British ensign salute the new fort, and shape a course 
for Portsmouth. That she had stuck fast and in danger so 
long was simply because the cocked hats were too proud to 
give ear to the wisdom in an old otter-skin. Now Admiral 
Darling was baffled and gone; and Captain Tugwell would 
show the world what he could do, and what stuff his men 
were made of,if they only had their way. From old Daddy 
Stakes, the bald father of the village, to Mrs. Caper junior’s 
baby—equally bald, but with a crop as sure of coming as 
mustard and cress beneath his flannel—some in arms, some 
on legs, some upon brave crutches, all were abroad in the soft 
air from the west, which had stolen up under the stiff steel 
skirt of the east wind, exactly as wise Captain Zeb predicted. 

‘“My dear,” said Mrs. Twemlow to the solid Mrs. Stub- 
bard—for a very sweet friendship had sprung up between 
these ladies, and would last until their interests should hap- 
pen to diverge—‘‘ this will be a great day for my dear hus- 
band’s parish. Perhaps there is no other parish in the 


SPRINGHAVEN. 159 


kingdom capable of acting as Springhaven has, so obedient, 
so disciplined, so faithful to their contract! Iam told that 
they even pulled the vessel more aground, in preference to 
setting up their own opinions. Iam told that as soon as 
the Admiral was gone—for between you and me he is a lit- 
tle overbearing, with the very best intentions in the world, 
but too confident in his own sagacity—then that clever but 
exceedingly modest young man, Lieutenant Scudamore, 
was allowed at last to listen to our great man Tugwell, who 
has long been the oracle of the neighbourhood about the 
sea, and the weather, and all questions of that kind. And 
between you and me, my dear, the poor old Admiral seems a 
little bit jealous of his reputation. And what do you think 
he said before he went, which shows his high opinion of his 
own abilities? Tugwell said something in his rough and 
ready way, which, I suppose, put his mightiness upon the 
high ropes, for he shouted out, in everybody’s hearing, ‘ T’11 
tell you what it is, my man, if you can get her off, by any 
of your’-—something I must not repeat—‘ devices, I'll give 
you fifty guineas: five-and-twenty for yourself, and the rest 
to be divided among these other fellows.’ Then Zebedee 
pulled out a Testament from his pocket, for he is a man of 
deep religious convictions, and can read almost all the easy 
places, though he thinks most of the hard ones, and he made 
his son Dan (who is a great scholar, as they say, and a very 
fine-looking youth as well) put down at the end what the 
Admiral had said. Now, what do you think of that, dear 
Mrs. Stubbard ?” 

“T think,” replied that strong-minded lady, ‘‘that Tug- 
well is an arrant old fox; and if he gets the fifty guineas, 
he will put every farthing into his own pocket.” 

‘‘Oh no! He is honest as the day itself. He will take 
his own twenty-five, and then leave the rest to settle wheth- 
er he should share in their twenty-five. But we must be 
quick, or we shall lose the sight. Quite a number of people 
are come from inland. How wonderfully quickly these 
things spread! They came the first day, and then made up 
their minds that nothing could be done, and so they stopped 
at home. But now, here they are again, as if by magic! 
If the ship gets off, it will be known half-way to London 
before nightfall. But I see Captain Stubbard going up the 
hill to your charming battery. That shows implicit faith 
in Tugwell, to return the salute of the fair captive. It is 
indeed a proud day for Springhaven !” 


160 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘But it isn’t done yet. And perhaps it won’t be done. 
I would rather trust officers of the navy than people who 
catch crabs and oysters. I would go up to the battery, to 
laugh at my husband, but for the tricks the children play 
me. My authority is gone, at the very first puff of smoke. 
How children do delight in that vile gunpowder!” 

‘“So they ought, in the present state of our country, and 
with five hundred thousand of Frenchmen coming. My dear 
Mrs. Stubbard, how thankful we. should be to have children 
who love gunpowder!” 

‘But not when they blow up their mother, ma’am.” 

‘“Oh, here comes Eliza!” cried Mrs. Twemlow. ‘‘I am 
so glad, because she knows everything. I thought we had 
missed her. My dear child, where are Faith and Dolly 
Darling gone? There are so many strangers about to-day 
that the better class should keep together.” 

‘‘Here are three of us, at any rate,” replied the young 
lady, who considered her mother old-fashioned: ‘enough 
to secure one another’s sanctity from the lower orders. 
Faith has gone on to the headland, with that heroic manni- 
kin, Johnny. Dolly was to follow, with that Shanks maid 
to protect her, as soon as her hat was trimmed, or some such 
era. But Ill answer for it that she loses herself in the 
crowd, or some fib of that sort.” 

‘* Eliza!” said her mother, and very severely, because Mrs. 
Stubbard was present, ‘‘I am quite astonished at your talk- 
ing so. You might do the greatest injury to a very lively 
and harmless, but not over-prudent girl, if any one heard 
you who would repeat it. We all know that the Admiral 
is so wrapped up in Dolly that he lets her do many things 
which a mother would forbid. But that is no concern of 
ours; and once for all, if such things must be said, I beg 
that they may not be said by you.” 

In the present age, Mrs. Twemlow would have got sharp 
answer. But her daughter only looked aggrieved, and 
glanced at Mrs. Stubbard, as if to say, ‘* Well, time will 
show whether I deserve it.”” And then they hastened on, 
among the worse class, to the headland. 

Not only all the fishing-smacks, and Captain Stubbard’s 
galley, but every boat half as sound as a hat, might now be 
seen near the grounded vessel, preparing to labour or look 
on. And though the White Pig was allowed to be three- 
quarters of a mile from the nearest point, the mighty voice 
of Captain Zeb rode over the flickering breadth of sea, and 


SPRINGHAVEN. 161 


through the soft babble of the waves ashore. The wind was 
light from southwest, and the warp being nearly in the 
same direction now, the Blonde began to set her courses, to 
catch a lift of air when the tide should come busily work- 
ing under her. And this would be the best tide since she 
took the ground, last Sunday week, when the springs were 
going off. As soon as the hawsers were made fast, and the 
shouts of Zebedee redoubled with great strength (both of 
sound and of language), and the long ropes lifted with a 
flash of splashes, and a creak of heavy wood, and the cry 
was, “* With a will! with a will, my gay lads!” every body 
having a sound eye in it was gazing intently, and every 
heart was fluttering, except the loveliest eyes and quickest 
heart in all Springhaven. 

Miss Dolly had made up her mind to go, and would have 
had warm words ready for any one rash enough to try to 
stop her. But a very short note which was put into her 
hand about 10 A.M. prevented her. 

‘If you wish to do me a real service, according to your 
kind words of Saturday, be in the upper shrubbery at half 
past eleven; but tell no one except the bearer. You will 
see all that happens better there than on the beach, and 
J will bring a telescope.” 

Dolly knew at once who had written this, and admired it 
all the more because it was followed by no signature. For 
years she had longed for a bit of romance; and the common- 
sense of all the world irked her. She knew as well as possi- 
ble that what she ought to do was to take this letter to her 
sister Faith, and be guided by her advice about it. Faith 
was her elder by three years or more, and as steadfast as a 
rock, yet as tender as young moss. There was no fear that 
Faith would ride the high horse with her, or lay down the 
law severely; she was much more likely to be too indulgent, 
though certain not to play with wrong. 

All this the younger sister knew, and therefore resolved 
to eschew that knowledge. She liked her own way, and 
she meant to have it, in a harmless sort of way; her own 
high spirit should be her guide, and she was old enough 
now to be her own judge. Mr. Carne had saved her sis- 
ter’s life, when she stood up in that senseless style; and if 
Faith had no gratitude, Dolly must feel and endeavour to 
express it for her. 

Reasoning thus, and much better than this, she was very 
particular about her hat,and French pelerine of fluted lawn, 


162 SPRINGHAVEN. 


and frock of pale violet trimmed on either side with gather: 


ed muslin. Her little heart fluttered at being drawn in, 
when it should have been plumped up to her neck, and very 
nearly displayed to the public; but her father was stern 
upon some points, and never would hear of the classic dis- 
coveries. She had not even Grecian sandals, nor a ‘‘sur- 





“THERE WAS NO ONE WHO COULD SAY HER NAY.” 


prise fan” to flutter from her wrist, nor hair oiled into flat 
Lesbian coils, but freedom of rich young tresses, and of 
graceful figure, and taper limbs. There was no one who 
could say her nay, of the lovers of maiden nature. 
However, maidens must be discreet, even when most ad- 
venturous; and so she took another maid to help her, of re- 
spected but not romantic name—Jenny Shanks, who had 


SPRINGHAVEN. 163 


brought her that letter. Jenny was much prettier than her 
name, and the ground she trod on was worshipped by many, 
even when her shoes were down at heel. Especially in this 
track remained the finer part of Charley Bowles’s heart 
(while the coarser was up against the Frenchmen), as well 
as a good deal of Mr. Prater’s nephew's, and of several other 
sole-fishers. This enabled Jenny to enter kindly into ten- 
der questions. And she fetched her Sunday bonnet down 
the trap-ladder where she kept it—because the other maids 
were so nasty—as soon as her letter was delivered. 

‘Your place, Jenny, is to go behind,” Miss Dolly said, 
with no small dignity, as this zealous attendant kept step 
for step with her, and. swung her red arm against the lady’s 
fair one. ‘‘I am come upon important business, Jenny, 
such as you cannot understand, but may stay at a proper 
distance.”’ 

‘‘Lor, miss, [am sure I begs your pardon. I thought it 
was a kind of coorting-match, and you might be glad of my 
experience.’ 

‘Such things I never do,and have no idea what you mean. 
T shall be much obliged to you, Jenny, if you will hold your 
tongue.” : 

‘Oh yes, miss; no fear of my telling anybody. Wild 
horses would never pull a syllable out of me. The young 
men is so aggravating that I keep my proper distance from 
them. But the mind must be made up, at one time or other.” 

Dolly looked down at her with vast contempt, which she 
would not lower herself by expressing, even with favour of 
time and place. Then turning a corner of the grassy walk, 
between ground-ash and young larches, they came upon an 
opening planted round with ilex, arbutus, juniper, and laurel, 
and backed by one of the rocks which form the outworks of 
the valley. From a niche in this rock, like the port-hole of 
a ship, a rill of sparkling water poured, and beginning to 
make a noise already, cut corners—of its own production— 
short, in its hurry to be a brook, and then to help the sea. 
And across its exit from the rock (like a measure of its in- 
significance) a very comfortable seat was fixed, so that any 
gentleman—or even a lady with divided skirts—might free- 
ly sit with one foot on either bank of this menacing but not 
yet very formidablestream. So that on the whole this nook 
of shelter under the coronet of rock was a favourite place for 
a sage cock-pheasant, or even a woodcock in wintry weather. 

Upon that bench (where the Admiral loved to sit, in the 
























































































































































































































































































































































“LOR, MISS, I AM SURE I BEGS YOUR PARDON.” 


afternoon of peace and leisure, observing with a spy-glass 
the manceuvres of his tranquil fishing fleet) Caryl Carne 
was sitting now, with his long and strong legs well spread 
out, his shoulders comfortably settled back, and his head cast 
a little on one side, as if he were trying to compute his prop- 
erty. Then, as Dolly came into the opening, he arose, made 
a bow beyond the compass of any true Briton, and swinging 
his hat, came to meet her. Dolly made a curtsey in the 


= - 


SPRINGHAVEN. 165 


style impressed upon her by her last governess but one—a 
French lady of exceedingly high ancestry and manners—and 
Carne recognised it as a fine thing out of date. 

‘* Jenny, getaway!” said Dolly—words not meant for him 
to hear, but he had grave command of countenance. 

‘‘ This lays me under one more obligation: Carne spoke 
in a low voice, and with a smile of diffidence which remind- 
ed her of Scudamore, though the two smiles were as differ- 
entasnightandday. ‘I have taken a great liberty in ask- 
ing you to come, and that multiplies my gratitude for your 
good-will. For my own sake alone I would not have dared 
to sue this great favour from you, though I put it so, in ter- 
ror of alarming you. But it is for my own sake also, since 
anything evil to you would be terrible to me.”’ 

‘“No one can wish to hurt me,” she answered, looking up 
at him bravely, and yet frightened by his gaze, ‘‘ because I 
have never harmed any one. And I assure you, sir, that I 
have many to defend me, even when my father is gone from 
home.” 

‘‘It is beyond doubt. Who would not rush to do so? 
But it is from those who are least suspected that the danger 
comes the worst. The most modest of all gentlemen, who 
blushes like a damsel, or the gallant officer devoted to his 
wife and children, or the simple veteran with his stars and 
sears and downright speech—these are the people that do 
the wrong, because no one believes it is in them.” 

‘“Then which of the three is to carry me off from home 
and friends and family—Lieutenant Scudamore, Captain 
Stubbard, or my own godfather, Lord Nelson ?” 

This young man nourished a large contempt for the in- 
tellect of women, and was therefore surprised at the quickness 
and spirit of the girl whom he wished toterrify. <A sterner 
tone must be used with her. 

‘*T never deal in jokes,” he said, with a smile of sad sym- 
pathy for those who do; ‘‘my life is one perpetual peril, 
and that restrains facetiousness. But I can make allowance 


_ for those who like it.”’ 


Miss Dolly, the pet child of the house, and all the peo- 
ple round it—except the gardener, Mr. Swipes, who found 
her too inquisitive—quick as she was, could not realise at 
once the possibility of being looked down upon. 

‘*T am sorry that you have to be so grave,” she said, ‘‘ be- 
cause it prevents all enjoyment. But why should you be 
in such continual danger? You promised to explain it, on 










































































“4 FAVOURITE PLACE FOR A SAGE COCK-PHEASANT.”’ 


Saturday, only you had no time then. We are all in dan- 
ger from the French, of course, if they ever should succeed 
in landing. But you mean something more than that; and 
it seems so hard, after all your losses, that you should not 
be safe from harm.” 

With all her many faults—many more than she dreamed 


ee —" 


SPRINGHAVEN. 167 


of—fair Dolly had a warm and gentle heart, which filled 
her eyes with tender loveliness whenever it obtained com- 
mand of them. Carne, who was watching them steadfastly 
for his own purpose, forgot that purpose, and dropped his 
dark eyes, and lost the way to tell a lie. 

‘‘Tf I may ask you,” he said, almost stammering, and 
longing without knowledge for the blessing of her touch, 
‘‘to—to allow me just to lead you to this seat, I may per- 
haps be able—I will not take the hberty of sitting at your 
side—but I may perhaps be able to.explain as much of my 
affairs as you can wish to hear of them, and a great deal 
more, I fear, a great deal more, Miss Darling.” 

Dolly blushed at the rich tone in which he pronounced 
her name, almost as if it were an adjective; but she allowed 
him to take her hand, and lead her to the bench beneath the 
rock. Then, regardless of his breeches, although of fine 
padusoy, and his coat, though of purple velvet, he sat 
down on the bank of the rill at her feet, and waited for her 
to say something. The young lady loved mainly to take 
the lead, but would liefer have followed suit just now. 

‘“You have promised to tell me,” she said, very softly, 
and with an unusual timidity, which added to her face and 
manner almost the only charm they lacked, ‘‘some things 
which I do not understand, and which I have no right tg 
ask you of, except for your own offer. Why should you, 
without injuring any one, but only having suffered loss of 
all your family property, and of all your rights and com- 
forts, and living in that lonely place which used to be full 
of company—why should you be in danger now, when you 
have nothing more to be robbed of? I beg your pardon—I 
mean when all your enemies must have done their worst ?” 

‘“You are too young yet to understand the world,” he 
answered, with a well-drawn sigh; ‘‘and I hope most truly 
that you may never do so. In your gentle presence I can- 
not speak with bitterness, even if I could feel it. I will not 
speak harshly of any one, however I may have been treat- 
ed. But you will understand that my life alone remains 
betwixt the plunderers and their prey, and that my errand 
here prevents them from legally swallowing up the spoil.” 

Miss Dolly’s idea of the law, in common with that of 
most young ladies, suggested a horrible monster ravening 
to devour the fallen. And the fall of the Carnes had long 
been a subject of romantic interest to her. 

‘*Oh, I see!” she exclaimed, with a look of deep wisdom. 


168 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘‘T can quite understand a thing like that, from what I have 
heard about witnesses. I hope you will be very careful. 
My sister owes so much to you, and so do I.” 

‘“You must never speak of that again, unless you wish to 
grieve me. I know that I have said too much about my- 
self; but you alone care to know anything about me; and 
that beguiles one out—out of one’s wits. If I speak bad 
English, you will forgive me. I have passed so many years 
on the Continent, and am picking up the language of my 
childhood very slowly. You will pardon me when I am 
misled by—by my own signification.”’ 

‘Well done!” cried the innocent Dolly. ‘‘ Now that is 
the very first piece of bad English you have used, to the best 
of my belief, and Iam rather quick in that. But you have 
not yet explained to me my own danger, though you asked 
me to come here for that purpose, I believe.”’ 

‘‘But you shall not be so; you shall not be in danger. 
My life shall be given for your defence. What imports my 
peril compared with yours? I am not of cold blood. I 
will sacrifice all. Have faith in me purely, and all shall be 
done.” 

‘* All what?” Dolly asked, with a turn of common-sense, 
which is the most provoking of all things sometimes; and 
‘she looked at him steadily, to follow up her question. 
—**You cannot be persuaded that you are in any danger. 
It is possible that I have been too anxious. Do you speak 
the French language easily? Do you comprehend it, when 
spoken quickly ?” 

‘‘Not a word of it. I have had to learn, of course, and 
can pronounce very well, my last mistress said; but 1 can- 
not make it out at all in the way the French people pro- 
nounce it when one comes to talk with them.” 

‘‘Tt is very wrong of them, and the loss is theirs. They 
expect us to copy them even in their language, because we 
do it in everything else. Pardon me—one moment. May 
I look at the great enterprise which is to glorify Spring- 
haven? It is more than kind of you to be here instead of 
there. But this, as I ventured to say, is a far better place to 
observe the operation. Your words reminded me of Cap- 
tain Desportes, who has been, I think, your father’s guest. 
A very gallant sailor, and famed for the most unexpected 
exploits. Without doubt, he would have captured all three 
ships, if he had not contrived to run his own aground.” 

‘* How could he capture his own ship? I thought that 


| 
. 





SPRINGHAVEN. 169 


you never dealt in jokes. But if you dislike them, you 
seem to be fond of a little mystery. I like the French cap- 
tain very much, and he took the trouble to speak slowly for 
me. My father says that he bears his misfortune nobly, and 
like a perfect gentleman. Mr. Scudamore admires him, and 
they are great friends. And yet, sir, you seem inclined to 
hint that I am in danger from Captain Desportes!” 

‘‘Ha! she is afloat! They have succeeded. I thought 
that they had so arranged it. The brave ship spreads her 
pinions. How clever the people of Springhaven are! If 
you will condescend to look through this glass, you will see 
much embracing of the Saxon and the Gaul, or rather, I 
should say, of the Saxon by the Gaul. Old Tugwell is not 
fond to be embraced.” 

‘*Oh, let me see that! Imust see that!” cried Dolly, with 
all reserve and caution flown; ‘to see Capp’en Zeb in the 
arms of a Frenchman—yes, I declare, two have got him, if 
not three, and he puts his great back against the mast to dis- 
entangle it. Oh, what will he do next? He has knocked 
down two, in reply to excessive cordiality. What wonder- 
ful creatures Frenchmen are! How kind it is of you to 
show me this! But excuse me, Mr. Carne; there will be 
twenty people coming to the house before I can get back al- 
most. And the ship will salute the battery,and the bat- 
tery will return it. Look! there goes a great puff of smoke 
already! They can see me up here, when they get to that 
corner.” 

‘‘ But this spot is not private? I trust that I have not in- 
truded. Your father allows a sort of foot-path through 
this upper end of his grounds ?” 

‘Yes, to all the villagers, and you are almost one of them; 
but there is no right of way at all; and they very seldom 
come this way, because it leads to nowhere. Faith is fond 
of sitting here, to watch the sea, and think of things. And 
so am I—sometimes, I mean. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


LONG-PIPE TIMES. 


_ DAILY now the roar and clank of war grew loud and 

louder across the narrow seas, and up the rivers, and around 

the quiet homes of England. If any unusual cloud of dust, 
8 


170 SPRINGHAVEN. 


any moving shade, appeared afar, if the tramp of horses in 
the lane were heard, or neigh of a colt from the four cross- 
roads, people at dinner would start up and ery, *‘ The French, 
the French have landed!” while the men in the fields would 
get nearer the hedge to peep through it, and then run away 
down the ditch. 

But the nation at large and the governing powers cer- 
tainly were not inany great fright. Nay, rather they erred, 
if at all, on the side of tranquillity and self-confidence; as 
one who has been fired at with blank-cartridge forgets that 
the click of the trigger will not tell him when the bullet has 
been dropped in. The bullet was there this time; and it 


missed the heart of Britannia only through the failure of — 


the powder to explode all at once. 

It was some years before all this was known; even Nel- 
son had no perception of it; and although much alarm was 
indulged in on the sly, the few who gave voice to it were 
condemned as faint-hearted fellows and ‘‘alarmists.” How 
then could Springhaven, which never had feared any ene- 
mies, or even neighbours, depart from its habits, while still 
an eye-witness of what had befallen the Frenchman? And 
in this state of mind, having plenty to talk of, it did not (as 
otherwise must have been done) attach any deep importance 
to the strange vagaries of the London Trader. 

That great Institution, and Royal Exchange, as well as 
central embassy of Fashion, had lately become most uncer- 
tain in its dates, which for years had announced to loose- 
reckoning housewives the day of the week and the hour to 
buy candles. Instead of coming home on a Saturday eve 
in the van of all the fishing fleet, returning their cheers and 
those of customers on the beach, the London Trader arrived 
anywhen, as often in the dark as daylight, never took the 
ground at all, and gave a very wide berth to Captain Zeb 
Tugwell, his craft, and his crews. At times she landed 
packages big and bulky, which would have been searched 
(in spite of London bills of lading) if there had been any 
Custom-house here, or any keen Officer of Customs. But 
these were delivered by daylight always, and carted by Mr. 
Cheeseman’s horse direct to his master’s cellars; and Cheese- 
man had told everybody that his wife, having come into a 
little legacy, was resolved, in spite of his advice, to try a bit 
of speculation in hardware, through her sister miles away at 
Uckfield. Most of the neighbours liked Mrs. Cheeseman, be- 
cause she gave good weight (scarcely half an ounce short, 


a a 





SPRINGHAVEN. 171 


with her conscience to her family thrown in against it), as 
well as the soundest piece of gossip to be had for the money 
in Springhaven. And therefore they wished her well, and 
boxed their children’s ears if they found them poking nose 
into her packages. Mrs. Cheeseman shook her head when 
enquired of on the subject, and said with grave truth that 
the Lord alone can tell how any poor woman is to turn an 
honest penny. 

Some other things puzzled the village, and would in more 
sensible times have produced a sensation. Why did Mr. 
Cheeseman now think nothing of as much as three spots on 
his white linen apron, even in the first half of the week ? 
“Why was he seldom at John Prater’s now, and silent in a 
corner even when he did appear? What was become of the 
ruddy polish, like that of a Winter Redstrake, on his cheeks, 
which made a man long for a slice of his ham? Why, the 
only joke he had made for the last three months was a ter- 
rible one at his own expense. He had rushed down the 
street about ten o’clock one morning, at a pace quite insane 
for a middle-aged man, with no hat on his head and no coat 
on his back, but the strings of his apron dashed wild on the 
breeze, and his biggest ham-carver making flashes in his 
hand. It was thought that some boy must have run off 
with a penny, or some visitor changed a bad shilling; but 
no, there was no such good reason to give for it. 

The yearning of all ages, especially dotage, is for a relapse 
to the infantile state when all playthings were held in com- 
mon. And this wisest of all places (iu its own opinion) 
had a certain eccentric inclination towards the poetic per- 
fection when it will be impossible to steal, because there 
will be nothing left worth stealing. Still everybody here 
stuck to his own rights, and would knock down anybody 
across them, though finding it very nice to talk as if others 
could have no such standing-point. Moreover, they had 
sufficient common-sense to begin with the right end fore- 
most, and to take a tender interest in one another’s goods, 
movable, handy, and divisible; instead of hungering after 
hungry land, which feeds nobody, until itself well fed and 
tended, and is as useless without a master as a donkey or a 
man is. The knowledge of these rudiments of civilization 
was not yet iost at Springhaven; and while everybody felt 
and even proved his desire to share a neighbour’s trouble, 
nobody meddled with any right of his, save his right to be 
assisted. 


172 SPRINGHAVEN. 


Among them throve the old English feeling of respect 
for ancient families, which is nowadays called *‘toadyism”’ 
by those whom it baulks of robbery. To trade upon this 
good-will is almost as low a thing as any man can do, even 
when he does it for good uses. But to trade upon it for the 
harm of those who feel it, and the ruin of his country, is 
without exception the very lowest—and this was what Caryl 
‘Carne was at. 

He looked at the matter in a wholly different light, and 
would have stabbed any man who put it as above; for his 
sense of honour was as quick and hot as it was crooked and 
misguided. His father had been a true Carne, of the old 
stamp — hot-blooded, headstrong, stubborn, wayward, nar- 
row-minded, and often arrogant; but—to balance these 
faults and many others—truthful, generous, kind-hearted, 
affectionate, stanch to his friends, to his inferiors genial, 
loyal to his country, and respectful to religion. And he 
might have done well, but for two sad evils—he took a bur- 
dened property, and he plunged into bad marriage. 

His wife, on the other hand, might have done well, if she 
had married almost anybody else. But her nature was too 
like his own, with feminine vanity and caprice, French con- 
ceit, and the pride of noble birth—in the proudest age of 
nobility—hardening all her faults, and hammering the riv- 
ets of her strong self-will. To these little difficulties must 
be added the difference of religion; and though neither of 
them cared two pins for that, it was a matter for crossed 
daggers. A pound of feathers weighs as much as (and in 
some poise more than) a pound of lead, and the leaden-head- 
ed Squire and the feather-headed Madame swung always at 
opposite ends of the beam, until it broke between them. 
Tales of rough conflict, imprisonment, starvation, and even 
vile blows, were told about them for several years; and 
then ‘‘ Madame la Comtesse” (as her husband disdainfully 
called her) disappeared, carrying off her one child, Caryl. 
She was still of very comely face and form; and the Squire 
made known to all whom it concerned, and many whom it 
did not concern, that his French wife had run away with a 
young Frenchman, according to the habit of her race and 
kind. In support of this charge he had nothing whatever 
to show, and his friends disbelieved it, knowing him to be 
the last man in the world to leave such a wrong unre- 
sented. i 

During the last three generations the fortunes of the 





SPRINGHAVEN. 173 


Carnes had been declining, slowly at first, and then faster 
and faster; and now they fell with the final crash. The 
lady of high birth and great beauty had brought nothing 
else into the family, but rather had impoverished it by her 
settlement, and wild extravagance afterwards. Her hus- 
band Montagu Carne staved off the evil day, just for the 
present, by raising a large sum upon second mortgage and 
the security of a trustful friend. But this sum was dissi- 
pated like the rest; for the Squire, being deeply wounded 
by his wife’s desertion, proved to the world his indifference 
about it by plunging into still more reckless ways. He had 
none to succeed him; for he vowed that the son of the adul- 
teress—as he called her—should never have Carne Castle; 
and his last mad act was to buy five-and-twenty barrels of 
powder, wherewith to blow up his ancestral home. But ere 
he could accomplish that stroke of business he stumbled 
and fell down the old chapel steps, and was found the next 
morning by faithful Jeremiah, as cold as the ivy which had 
caught his feet, and as dead as the stones he would have 
sent to heaven. 

No marvel that his son had no love for his memory, and 
little for the land that gave him birth. In very early days 
this boy had shown that his French blood was predominant. 
He would bite, and kick, and scratch, instead of striking, as 
an English child does, and he never cared for dogs or horses, 
neither worshipped he the game-keeper. France was the 
proper land for him, as his mother always said with a sweet 
proud smile, and his father with a sneer, or a brief word 
now condemned. And France was the land for him (as 
facts ordained) to be nourished, and taught, and grown into 
tall manhood, and formed into the principles and habitude 
and character which every nation stamps upon the nature 
of its members. 

However, our strong point—like that of all others—is ab- 
solute freedom from prejudice; and the few English people 
who met Caryl Carne were well pleased with his difference 
from themselves. Even the enlightened fishermen, imbued 
with a due contempt for Crappos, felt a kindly will towards 
him, and were touched by his return to a ruined home and 
a lonely life. But the women, romantic as they ought to» 
be, felt a tender interest in a young man so handsome and 
so unlucky, who lifted his hat to them, and paid his way. 

Among the rising spirits of the place, who liked to take a 
larger view, on the strength of more education, than their 


174 SPRINGHAVEN. 


fathers had found confirmed by life, Dan Tugwell was per- 
haps the foremost. In the present days he might have 
been a hot radical, even a socialist; but things were not 
come to that pass yet among people brought up to their 
duty. And Dan’s free sentiments had not been worked by 
those who make a trade of such work now. So that he was 
pleased and respectful, instead of carping and contradictory, 
when persons of higher position than his own would dis- 
cuss the condition of the times with him. Carne had dis- 
covered this, although as a rule he said little to his neigh- 
bours, and for reasons of his own he was striving to get 
a good hold upon this young fellow. He knew that it 
could not be done in a moment, nor by any common cor- 
ruption, the mind of the youth being keen, clear-sighted, 
and simple—by reason of soundness. Then Carne acci- 
dentally heard of something which eneouraged and helped 
him in his design upon Dan. 

Business ‘was slack upon the sea just now, but unusually 
active upon land, a tide of gold having flowed into Springha- 
ven, and bubbled up in frying-pans and sparkled in new 
bonnets. The fishing fleet had captured the finest French 
frigate—according to feminine history—that ever endeav- 
oured to capture them. After such a prisoner, let the fish 
go free, till hunger should spring again in the human 
breast, or the part that stands up under it. The hero of 
the whole (unlike most heroes) had not succeeded in ruin- 
ing himself by his serviees to his country, but was able to 
go about patting his pocket, with an echo in his heart, ev- 
ery time it tinkled, that a quantity more to come into it was 
lying locked up in a drawer at home. These are the things 
that breed present happiness in a noble human nature, all 
else being either of the future or the past; and this is the 
reason why gold outweighs everything that can be said 
against it. | 

Captain Tugwell, im his pithy style, was wont to divide 
all human life into two distinctive tenses—the long-pipe 
time and the short-pipe time. The long-pipe time was of 
ease and leisure, comfort in the way of hot victuals and 
cool pots, the stretching of legs without strain of muscle, 
and that ever-fresh well-spring of delight to the hard work- 
er, the censorial but not censorious contemplation of equal- 
ly fine fellows, equally lazy, yet pegging hard, because of 
nothing in their pockets to tap. Such were the golden 
periods of. standing, or, still better, sitting with his back 


SPRINGHAVEN. 175 


against a tree, and a cool yard of clay between his gently 
smiling lips, shaving with his girdle-knife a cake of rich 
tobacco, and then milling it complacently betwixt his 
horny palms, with his resolute eyes relaxing into a gentle 
gaze at the labouring sea, and the part (where his supper 
soon would be) warming into a fine condition for it by 
good-will towards all the world. As for the short-pipe 
times, with a bitter gale dashing the cold spray into his 
eyes, legs drenched with sleet, and shivering to the fork, 
and shoulders racked with rheumatism against the groan- 
ing mast, and the stump of a pipe keeping chatter with his 
teeth—away with all thought of such hardship now, except 
what would serve to fatten present comfort. 

But fatherly feeling and sense of right compelled Captain 

Zeb to check idle enjoyment from going too far—z. e., fur- 
ther than himself. Every other member of his family but 
himself, however good the times might be, must work away 
as hard as ever, and earn whatever victuals it should please 
the Lord tosend them. There was always a job to be found— 
he knew that—if a young man or maid had a mind for it; 
and ‘‘ no silver no supper” was the order of his house. His 
eldest son Dan was the first to be driven—for a good exam- 
ple to the younger ones—and now he was set to work, full 
time and overtime, upon a heavy job at Pebbleridge. 
* Young Daniel was not at all afraid of work, whenever 
there was any kind of skill to be shown or bodily strength 
to be proved by it. But the present task was hateful to 
him; for any big-armed yokel or common wood-hewer 
might have done as much as he could do, and perhaps more, 
at it, and could have taken the same wage over it. Mr. 
Coges, of Pebbleridge, the only wheelwright within ten 
miles of Springhaven, had taken a Government contract to 
supply within a certain time five hundred spoke-wheels for 
ammunition tumbrils, and as many block-wheels for small 
artillery; and to hack out these latter for better men to fin- 
ish was the daily task of Dan Tugwell. 

This job swelled his muscles and enlarged his calves, and 
fetched away all the fat he had been enabled to form in 
loftier walks of art; but these outward improvements were 
made at the expense of his inner and nobler qualities. To 
hack and hew timber by the cubic foot, without any grow- 
ing pleasure of proportion or design, to knit the brows hard 
for a struggle with knots, and srhile the stern smile of de- 
struction; and then, after a long and rough walk in the 


175* SPRINGHAVEN. 


dark—for the equinox now was impending—to be joked at 
by his father (who had lounged about all day), and have 
all his money told into the paternal pocket, with narrow 
enquiries, each Saturday night. But, worst of all, to know 
that because he was not born with a silver spoon in his 
mouth, he had no heart—no heart that he could offer where 
he laid it; but there it must lie, and be trodden on in si- 
lence, while rakish-looking popinjays But this reflection 
stopped him, for it was too bitter to be thought out, and 
fetched down his quivering hand upon his axe. Or some- 
times coming home, along the shore, through the lonely 
nightfall, he would sing for comfort and for company a 
song of a rakish and reckless order then popular among 
the fishermen; to wit, 





THE BALLAD OF BARBARIE. 


Three gallant fishermen had a house of their own at Charbury, 
And a smart little smack, called the Z7y-again, and a sweetheart named 
Miss Barbarie. 
Sing hi for the wind, and ho for the boat, 
And the three brave men aboard her! 
As long as they only had one coat, 
They kept their minds in order. 


But the mackerel and white herrings came for a summer month to Char- 
bury, 
And the three young men had such a game that they all proposed to Bar- 
barie. 
With a so for the nets, and an oh for the fish, 
And the three young men at the landing! 
How happy they were till they began to wish 
Beyond their understanding ! 


“ How glad I should be, if I could have all three !’’ was the answer of Miss 
Barbarie ; 
“But that is beyond propriety, in England, or in Charbury.” 
With a fie for the she, and a sigh for the three, 
And their hearts tied up in a kinkle! 
They were much worse off than a John Doree, 
Because he is dead in a twinkle. 


But the three men spoke with one accord— Then we must be off, Miss 
Barbarie ; 

We are bound to hold fast by the laws of the Lord, and of England, and 
of Charbury.” 


SPRINGHAVEN. 176 


Give a sigh for the laws that are cruel to those 
Who have no heart left to sigh with ; 

For a young man is not allowed to propose, 
Until he has enough to die with. 


“Tn that case, I shall be glad,” said she, “‘to have something settled 
varbary— 
I will marry the man that brings to me the prettiest fish in Charbury.” 
With a puff for the wind, and a pooh for the sky, 
When it comes to a woman’s consistence ! 
It is better to let their bait swim by, 
And keep a respectful distance. 


“Oh, Miss!” they exclaimed in sore amaze; but they went to do their 
cleverest, 
While they counselled about women’s ways, which are like the waves that 
never rest. 
Sing hush for the hooks, and tush for the fish, 
And the trouble there is to catch them! 
When will they be taught to swim into the dish 
By the wiseacres that hatch them ? 


Then back they came with baskets three, and presented them most 
cadgery ; 
“You may lift the cloths yourselves,” said she, “for there might be 
snakes, or a badgery !” 
Sing up for the cover, and out for the brock, 
And hiss for the snakes suspected ! 
No man ever knows how to read the clock 
Until he has been rejected. 


Said fisherman Harry—‘ Here’s a dish! There never was the like in 
Charbury, 
As bright as a rainbow every fish, or a honeymoon, Miss Barbarie !” 
Heigho for the mackerel, smelts, and brill, 
That she scorned to lay her hands on! 
If you give them a rainbow, they fret still 
For the pot of gold it stands on. 


Said fisherman Bob—“ To my mind now, a fish for to eat is foolery ; 
And the right thing for them anyhow, is to turn their flesh to jew’lery.” 
Heigho for the coral, and the pearls, and jet, 
And the sparkling eyes that love them! 
If you give them the rainbow and the gold, they fret 
For the dove that soars above them. 


176* SPRINGHAVEN. 


But fisherman Willie just unpiled his coverlet from the moidery, 
And his sister’s baby peepedand smiled, like a moss-rose through its broidery! 
Sing peep for the baby, and boh for his smile 
At the dream of the world before him, 
With the Joy of the heart that knew no guile, 
And the hand of the Lord spread o’er him! 


“Oh Willie!” the maiden cried, “ here lies the prettiest fish in Charbury ; 
The heart is lord of the mouth and eyes, and you have caught your Bar. 


barie.” 
Three cheers for the one who got the wife, 


And the two who went without it! 
They managed to lead a very happy life, 
Because they never thought about it. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 
FAIR IN THEORY. 


ONE Saturday evening, when the dusk was just begin- 
ning to smooth the break of billow and to blunt the edge 
of rock, young Dan Tugwell swung his axe upon his shoul- 
der, with the flag basket hanging from it in which his food 
had been, and in a rather crusty state of mind set forth 
upon his long walk home to Springhaven. As Harry Shanks 
had said, and almost everybody knew, an ancient foot-path, 
little used, but never yet obstructed, cut off a large bend of 
the shore, and saved half a mile of plodding over rock and 
shingle. This path was very lonesome, and infested with 
dark places, as well as waylaid with a very piteous ghost, 
who never would keep to the spot where he was murdered, 
but might appear at any shady stretch or woody corner. 
Dan Tugwell knew three courageous men who had seen 
this ghost, and would take good care to avoid any further 
interview, and his own faith in ghosts was as stanch as in 
gold; yet such was his mood this evening that he deter- 
mined to go that way and chance it, not for the saving of 
distance, but simply because he had been told in the yard 
that day that the foot-path was stopped by the land-owner. 
‘We'll see about that,” said Dan; and now he was going to 
see about it. . | 

For the first field or two there was no impediment, except 
the usual stile or gate; but when he had crossed a little 
woodland hollow, where the fence of the castle grounds ran 
























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































=== 


Fi 4 
i 


SI 










































































DAN TUGWELL MEETS WITH AN IMPEDIMENT, 


178 SPRINGHAVEN. 


down to the brow of the cliff, he found entrance barred.. 
Three stout oak rails had been nailed across from tree to 
tree, and on a board above them was roughly painted: 
‘‘No thoroughfare. Trespassers will be prosecuted.” For 
a moment the young man hesitated, his dread of the law 
being virtuously deep, and his mind well assured that his 
father would not back him up against settled authorities. 
But the shame of turning back, and the quick sense of wrong, 
which had long been demanding some outlet, conquered his 
calmer judgment, and he cast the basket from his back. 
Then swinging his favourite axe, he rushed at the oaken 
bars, and with a few strokes sent them rolling down the 
steep bank-side. 

‘‘That for your stoppage of a right of way!” he cried; 
‘Cand now perhaps you'll want to know who done it.” 

To gratify this natural curiosity he drew a piece of chalk 
from his pocket, and wrote on the notice-board, in large 
round hand, ‘* Daniel Tugwell, son of Zebedee Tugwell, of 
Springhaven.” But suddenly his smile of satisfaction fled, 
and his face turned as white as the chalk in his hand. At 
the next turn of the path, a few yards before him, in the 
gray gloom cast by an ivy-mantled tree, stood a tall, dark 
figure, with the right arm raised. The face was indistinct, 
but (as Dan’s conscience told him) hostile and unforgiving; 
there was nothing to reflect a ray of light,and there seemed 
to be a rustle of some departure, like the spirit fleeing. 

The ghost! What could it be but the ghost? Ghosts 
ought to be white; but terror scorns all prejudice. Probably 
this murdered one was buried in his breeches. Dan’s heart 
beat quicker than his axe had struck; and his feet were off 
to beat the ground still quicker. But no Springhaven lad 
ever left his baggage. Dan leaped aside first to catch up 
his basket, and while he stooped for it, he heard a clear 
strong voice. 

‘‘ ‘Who are you, that have dared to come and cut my fence 
down 2?” 

No ghost could speak like that, even if he could put a 
fence up. The inborn courage of the youth revived, and 
the shame of his fright made him hardier. He stepped for- 
ward again, catching breath as he spoke, and eager to meet 
any man in the flesh. 

‘“T am Daniel Tugwell, of Springhaven. And no living 
man shall deny me of my rights. I have a right to pass 
here, and I mean to do it.” 


SPRINGHAVEN. 179 


Caryl Carne, looking stately in his suit of black velvet, 
drew sword and stood behind the shattered barrier. ‘‘ Are 
you ready to run against this?’ he asked. ‘‘ Poor peasant, 
go back; what are your rights worth ?” 

‘*T could smash that skewer at a blow,” said Daniel, flour- 
ishing his axe as if to do it; ‘‘ but my rights, as you say, are 
not worth the hazard. What has a poor man to do with 
rights? Would you stop a man of your own rank, Squire 
Carne 2” , 

‘‘ Ah, that would be a. different thing indeed! Justice 
wears a sword, because she is of gentle birth. Work-people 
with axes must not prate of rights, or a prison will be their 
next one. Your right is to be disdained, young man, be- 
cause you were not born a gentleman; and your duty is to 
receive scorn with your hat off. You like it, probably, be- 
cause your father did. But come in, Daniel; I will not 

‘deny you of the only right an English peasant has—the 
right of the foot to plod in his father’s footsteps. The right 
of the hand, and the tongue, and the stomach, even the 
right of the eye, is denied him; but by some freak of law he 
has some little right of foot, doubtless to enable him to go 
and serve his master.” 

Dan was amazed, and his better sense aroused. Why 
should this gentleman step out of the rank of his birth to 
talk in this way? Now and then Dan himself had indulged 
‘in such ideas, but always with a doubt that they were wicked, 
and not long enough to make them seem good in his eyes. 
He knew that some fellows at ‘*‘ the Club” talked thus; but 
they were a lot of idle strangers, who came there chiefly to 
corrupt the natives, and work the fish trade out of their 
hands. These wholesome reflections made him doubt about 
accepting Squire Carne’s invitation; and it would have been 
good for him if that doubt had prevailed, though he trudged 
a thousand miles for it. 

‘“What! Break down a fence, and then be afraid to en- 
ter! That is the style of your race, friend Daniel. That is 
why you never get your rights, even when you dare to talk 
of them. I thought you were made of different stuff. Go 
home and boast that you shattered my fence, and then feared 
to come through it when I asked you.” Carne smiled at 
his antagonist, and waved his hand. 

Dan leaped in a moment through the hanging splinters, 
and stood before the other, with a frown upon his face. 
‘‘Then mind one thing, sir,” he said, with a look of defi- 


182 | SPRINGHAVEN. 


should be broken, my property invaded, the distinction so 
pleasing to me set aside, simply because I consider it a false 
one? No, no, friend Daniel; it is not for me to move. The 
present state of things is entirely in my favour. And I 
never give expression to my sense of right and wrong, un- 
less it is surprised from me by circumstances. Your bold 
and entirely just proceedings have forced me to explain why 
I feel no resentment, but rather admiration, at a thing which 
any other land-owner in England would not rest in his bed 
until he had avenged. He would drag you before a bench 
of magistrates and fine you. Your father, if I know him, 
would refuse to pay the fine; and to prison you would go, 
with the taint of it to le upon your good name forever. 
The penalty would be wrong, outrageous, ruinous; no rich 
man would submit to it, but a poor man must. Is this the 
truth, Daniel, or is it what it ought to be—a scandalous 
misdescription of the laws of England ?” 

‘* No, sir; it is true enough, and too true, lam afraid. I 
never thought of consequences when I used my axe. I only 
thought of what was right and fair and honest, as between 
a man who has a right and one who takes it from him.” 

‘‘That is the natural way to look at things, but never per- 

mitted in this country. You are fortunate in having to 
deal with one who has been brought up in a juster land, 
where all mankind are equal. But one thing I insist upon; 
and remember it is the condition of my forbearance. Not 
a single word to any one about your dashing exploit. No 
gentleman in the county would ever speak to me again, if 
I were known to have put up with it.” 

‘‘T am sure, sir,” said Daniel, in a truly contrite tone, ‘‘I 
never should have done such an impudent thing against 
you if I had only known what a nice gentleman you are. 
I took you for nothing but a haughty land-owner, without 
a word to fling at a poor fisherman. And now you go ever 
so far beyond what the Club doth, in speaking of the right 
that every poor man hasn’t. I could listen to you by the 
hour, sir, and learn the difference between us and abroad.” 

“Tugwell, I could tell you things that would make a real 
man of you. But whyshouldI? You are better as you are; 
and so are we who get all the good out of you. And besides, I 
have no time for politics at present. All my time is occupied 
with stern business—collecting the ruins of my property.” 

‘But, sir—but you come down here sometimes from the 
castle in the evening; and if I might cross, without claiming 


SPRINGHAVEN. 183 


right of way, sometimes I might have the luck to meet 
ou.” 

‘*Certainly you may pass, as often as you please, and so 
may anybody who sets value on hisrights. And if I should 
meet you again, I shall be glad of it. You can open my 
eyes, doubtless, quite as much as I can yours. Good-night, 
my friend, and better fortunes to you!” 

‘‘Tt was worth my while to nail up those rails,” Carne 
said to himself,as he went home to his ruins. ‘‘I have 
hooked that clod as firm as ever he hooked a cod. But, 
thousand thunders! what does he mean by going away 
without touching his hat to me?” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


FOUL IN PRACTICE. 


‘*T HOPE, my dear, that your ride has done you good,” said 
the Rector’s wife to the Rector, as he came into the hall with 
a wonderfully red face one fine afternoon in October. ‘‘If 
colour proves health, you have gained it.” 

‘‘Maria, I have not been so upset for many years. Un- 
wholesome indignation dyes my cheeks, and that is almost 
as bad as indigestion. I have had quite a turn—as you wom- 
en always put it. I am never moved by little things, as 
you know well, and sometimes to your great disgust; but to- 
day my troubles have conspired to devour me. Jam notso 
young as I was, Maria. And what will the parish come to, 
if I give in?” | 

‘Exactly, dear; and therefore you must not give in.” 
Mrs. Twemlow replied with great spirit, but her hands were 
trembling as she helped him to pull off his new riding-coat. 
‘*Remember your own exhortations, Joshua—I am sure they 
were beautiful—last Sunday. But take something, dear, to 
restore your circulation. A reaction in the system is so dan- 
gerous.”’ , 

‘Not anything at present,” Mr. Twemlow answered, firm- 
ly; ‘‘these mental cares are beyond the reach of bodily re- 
freshments. Let me sit down, and be sure where I am, and 
then you may give me a glass of treble X. In the first 
place, the pony nearly kicked me off, when that idiot of a 
Stubbard began firing from his battery. What have I done, 
or my peaceful flock, that a noisy set of guns should be set 


184 SPRINGHAVEN. 


up amidst us? However, I showed Juniper that he had a 
master, though I shall find it hard to come down-stairs to-. 
morrow. Well, the next thing was that I saw James 
Cheeseman, Church-warden Cheeseman, Buttery Cheese- 
man, as the bad boys call him, in the lane, in front of me 
not more than thirty yards, as plainly as I now have the 
pleasure of seeing you, Maria; and while I said ‘kuck’ to 
the pony, he was gone! I particularly wished to speak to 
Cheeseman, to ask him some questions about things I have 
observed, and especially his sad neglect of public worship— 
a most shameful example on the part of a church-warden— 
and I was thinking how to put it, affectionately yet firmly, 
when, to my great surprise, there was no Cheeseman to re- 
ceive it! Icalled at his house on my return, about three 
hours afterwards, having made up my mind to have it out 
with him, when they positively told me—or at least Polly 
Cheeseman did—that I must be mistaken about her ‘dear 
papa,’ because he was gone in the pony-shay all the way to 
Uckfield, and would not be back till night.” 

“The nasty little story-teller!’ Mrs. Twemlow cried. 
‘But I am not at all surprised at it, when I saw how she 
had got her hair done up last Sunday.” } 

‘“No; Polly believed it. I am quite sure of that. But 
what I want to tell you is much stranger and more impor- 
tant, though it cannot have anything at all to do with 
Cheeseman. You know I told you I was going for a good 
long ride; but I did not tell you where, because I knew that 
you would try to stop me. But the fact was that I had 
made up my mind to see what Caryl Carne is at, among his 
owls and ivy. You remember the last time I went to the 
old place I knocked till I was tired, but could get no answer, 
and the window was stopped with some rusty old spiked 
railings, where we used to be able to get in at the side. All 
the others are out of reach, as you know well; and being of 
a yielding nature, I came sadly home. And at that time I 
still had some faith in your friend Mrs. Stubbard, who prom- 
ised to find out all about him, by means of Widow Shanks 
and the dimity-parlour. But nothing has come of that. 
Poor Mrs. Stubbard is almost as stupid as her husband; and 
as for Widow Shanks, I am quite sure, Maria, if your neph- 
ew were plotting the overthrow of King, Church, and Gov- 
ernment, that deluded woman would not listen to a word 
against him.” 

“She calls him a model, and a blessed martyr”—Mrs. 


SPRINGHAVEN. 185 


Twemlow was smiling at the thought of it—‘‘and she 
says she is a woman of great penetration, and never will 
listen to anything. But it only shows what I have al- 
ways said, that our family has a peculiar power, a sort of 
attraction, a superior gift of knowledge of their own minds, | 
which makes them— But there, you are laughing at me, 
Joshua!” 

‘“Not I; but smiling at my own good-fortune that ever 
I get my own way at all. But, Maria, you are right; your 
family has always been distinguished for having its own 
way—a masterful race, and a mistressful. And so much 
the more do the rest of mankind grow eager to know all 
about them. In an ordinary mind, such as mine, that feel- 
ing becomes at last irresistible; and finding no other way to 
gratify it, | resolved to take the bull by the horns, or rather 
by the tail, this morning. The poor old castle has been 
-breaking up most grievously, even within the last twenty 
years, and you, who have plaved as a child among the ruins 
of the ramparts, would scarcely know them now. You can- 
not bear to go there, which is natural enough, after all the 
sad things that have happened; but if you did, you would 
be surprised, Maria; and I believe a great part has been 
knocked down on purpose. But you remember the little 
way in from the copse, where you and I, five-and-thirty 
years ago—”’ 

‘‘Of course I do, darling. It seems but yesterday; and I 
have a flower now which you gathered for me there. It 
grew at a very giddy height upon the wall, full of cracks 
and places where the evening-star came through; but up 
you went, like a rocket or a race-horse; and what a fright 
I was in until you came down safe! I think that must 
have made up my mind to have nobody except my Joshua.” 

‘Well, my dear, you might have done much worse. But 
I happened to think of that way in, this morning, when you 
put up your elbow, as you made the tea, exactly as you used 
to do when I might come up there. And that set me think- 
ing of a quantity of things, and among them this plan which 
I resolved to carry out. I took the trouble first to be sure 
that Caryl was down here for the day, under the roof of 
Widow Shanks; and then I set off, by the road up the hill, 
for the stronghold of all the Carnes. Without further peril 
than the fight with the pony, and the strange apparition of 
Cheeseman about half a mile from the back entrance, I 
came to the copse where the violets used to be, and the sor-. 


186 SPRINGHAVEN. 


rel, and the lords and ladies. There I tethered our friend 
Juniper in a quiet little nook, and crossed the soft ground, 
without making any noise, to the place we used to call our 
little postern. It looked so sad, compared with what it 
used to be, so desolate and brambled up and ruinous, that I 
-searcely should have known it, except for the gray pedestal 
of the prostrate dial we used to moralize about. And the 
ground inside it, that was nice turf once, with the rill run- 
ning down it that perhaps supplied the moat—all stony 
now, and overgrown, and tangled, with ugly-looking elder- 
bushes sprawling through the ivy. Toa painter it might 
have proved very attractive; but to me it seemed so dreary, 
and so sombre and oppressive, that although I am not sen- 
timental, as you know, I actually turned away, to put my 
little visit off until I should be in better spirits for it. And 
that, my dear Maria, would in all probability have been 
never. 

‘*But before I had time to begin my retreat, a very ex- 
traordinary sound, which I cannot describe by any word I 
know, reached my ears. It was not a roar, nor a clank, 
nor a boom, nor a clap, nor a crash, nor a thud, but if you 
have ever heard a noise combining all those elements, with 
a small percentage of screech to enliven them, that comes 
as near it as I can contrive to tell. We know from Holy 
Scripture that there used to be such creatures as dragons, 
though we have never seen them; but I seemed to be hear- 
ing one as I stood there. It was just the sort of groan you 
might have expected from a dragon who had swallowed 
something highly indigestible.” 

‘“My dear! And he might have swallowed you, if you 
had stopped. How could you help running away, my Josh- 
ua? I should have insisted immediately upon it. But you 
are so terribly intrepid!” 

‘Far from it, Maria. Quite the contrary, I assure you. 
In fact, I did make off, for a considerable distance; not rap- 
idly, as a youth might do, but with self-reproach at my tar- 
diness. But the sound ceased coming; and then I remem- 
bered how wholly we are in the hand of the Lord. A sense 
of the power of right rose within me, backed up by a strong 
curiosity ; and I said to myself that if I went home, with noth- 
ing more than that to tell you, I should not have at all 
an easy time of it. Therefore I resolved to face the question 
again, and ascertain, if possible, without self-sacrifice, what 
was going on among the ruins. You know every stick and 





ae 

rer 
off pe 

“ye? SN 


Z 
Ni 


ZEA 
LZ yy \\ f 


5 pe 
yn 
1 
ane 


Le eniaetey 4 
AOS LA was titi a 

9a ad ee ITLL. | 
Le We f 








T 
HE POSTERN-GATE, CARNE CASTLE 


188 SPRINGHAVEN. 


stone, as they used to be, but not as they are at present; 
therefore I must tell you. The wall at the bottom of the 
little Dial-court, where there used to be a sweet-briar hedge 
to come through, is entirely gone, either tumbled down or 
knocked down—the latter I believe to be the true reason of 
it. Also, instead of sweet-briar, there is now a very flour- 
ishing crop of sting-nettles. But the wall at the side of the 
little court stands almost as sound as ever; and what sur- 
prised me most was to see, when I got further, proceeding 
of course very quietly, that the large court beyond (which 
used to be the servants’ yard, and the drying-ground, and 
general lounging-place) had a timber floor laid down it, 
with a rope on either side, a long heavy rope on either side; 
and these ropes were still quivering, as if from a heavy 
strain just loosened. All this I could see, because the high 
door with the spikes, that used to part the Dial-court from this 
place of common business, was fallen forward from its upper 
hinge, and splayed out so that I could put my fist through. 

‘‘ By this time I had quite recovered all my self-command, 
and was as calm as I am now, or even calmer, because I 
was under that reaction which ensues when a sensible man 
has made a fool of himself. I perceived, without thinking, - 
that the sound which had so scared me proceeded from this 
gangway, or timberway, or staging, or whatever may be 
the right word for it; and I made up my mind to stay 
where I was, only stooping a little with my body towards 
the wall, to get some idea of what might be going forward. 
And then I heard a sort of small hubbub of voices, such as 
foreigners make when they are ordered to keep quiet, and 
have to carry on a struggle with their noisy nature. 

‘‘This was enough to settle my decision not to budge an 
inch until I knew what they were up to. I could not see 
round the corner, mind—though ladies seem capable of do- 
ing that, Maria—and so these fellows, who seemed to be in 
two lots, some at the top and some at the bottom of the 
plankway, were entirely out of my sight as yet, though I 
had a good view of their sliding-plane. But presently the 
ropes began to strain and creak, drawn taut—as our fisher- 
men express it—either from the upper or the lower end, 
and I saw three barrels come sliding down—sliding, not 
rolling, you must understand, and not as a brewer delivers 
beer into a cellar. These passed by me; and after a little 
while there came again that strange sepulchral sound, which 
had made me feel so uneasy. 


SPRINGHAVEN. 189 


‘Maria, you know that I can hold my own against al- 
most anybody in the world but you; and although this 
place is far outside my parish boundaries, I felt that as the 
uncle of the present owner—so far at least as the lawyers 
have not snapped him up—and the brother-in-law of the 
previous proprietor, I possessed an undeniable legal right— 
quo warranto, or whatever it is called—to look into all pro- 
ceedings on these premises. Next to Holy Scripture, Hor- 
ace is my guide and guardian; and I called to mind a well- 
known passage, which may roughly be rendered thus: ‘If 
the crushed world tumble on him, the ruins shall strike him 
undismayed.’ With this in my head, I went softly down 
the side-wall of the Dial-court (for there was no getting 
through the place where I had been peeping) to the bottom, 
where there used to be an old flint wall, and a hedge of 
sweet-briar in front of it. You remember the pretty con- 
ceit I made, quaint and wholesome as one of Herrick’s, 
when you said something —but I verily believe we were 
better in those days than we ever have been since. Now 
don’t interrupt me about that, my dear. 

‘“Some of these briars still were there, or perhaps some of 
their descendants, straggling weakly among the nettles, and 
mullein, and other wild stuff, but making altogether a pret- 
ty good screen, through which I could get a safe side-view 
of the bottom of the timber gangway. ‘So I took of my 
hat, for some ruffian fellows like foreign sailors were stand- 
ing below, throwing out their arms, and making noises in 
their throats, because not allowed to scream as usual. It 
was plain enough at once, to any one who knew the place, 
that a large hole had been cut in the solid castle wall, or, 
rather, a loophole had been enlarged very freely on either 
side, and brought down almost to the level of the ground 
outside. On either side of this great opening stood three 
heavy muskets at full cock, and it made my blood run cold 
to think how likely some fatal discharge appeared. If I 
had been brought up to war, Maria, as all the young people 
are bound to be now, I might have been more at home with 
such matters, and able to reconnoitre calmly; but I thought 
of myself, and of you, and Eliza, and what a shocking thing 
it would be for all of us—but a merciful Providence was 
over me. 

‘“Too late I regretted the desire for knowledge which 
had led me into this predicament, for I durst not rush off 
from my very sad position, for my breath would soon fail 








MR. TWEMLOW GETS A SIDE VIEW. 


me, and my lower limbs are thick from the exercise of hos- 
pitality. How I longed for the wings of a dove, or at any 
rate for the legs of Lieutenant Blyth Scudamore! And 
my dark apprehensions gained double force when a stone 
was dislodged by my foot (which may have trembled), and 
rolled with a sharp echo down into the ballium, or whatever 
it should be called, where these desperadoes stood. In an 
instant three of them had their long guns pointed at the 
very thicket which sheltered me, and if I had moved or at- 
tempted to make off, there would have been a vacancy in 
this preferment. But luckily a rabbit, who had been lying 





SPRINGHAVEN. 191 


as close as I had, and as much afraid of me perhaps as I 
was of those ruffians, set off at full speed from the hop of the 
stone, and they saw him, and took him for the cause of it. 
This enabled me to draw my breath again, and consider the 
best way of making my escape, for I cared to see nothing 
more, except my own house-door. 

‘‘Happily the chance was not long in coming. At a 
shout from below-—which seemed to me to be in English, 
and sounded uncommonly like ‘now, then !’—all those fel- 
lows turned their backs to me, and began very carefully to 
lower, one by one, the barrels that had been let down the 
incline. And other things were standing there, besides bar- 
rels: packing-cases, crates, very bulky-looking boxes, and 
low massive wheels, such as you often see to artillery. You 
know what a vast extent there is of cellars and vaults below 
your old castle, most of them nearly as sound as ever, and 
occupied mainly by empty bottles, and the refuse of past 
hospitality. Well, they are going to fill these with some- 
thing—French wines, smuggled brandy, contraband goods 
of every kind you can think of, so long as high profit can 
be made of them. That is how your nephew Caryl means 
to redeem his patrimony. No wonder that he has been so 
dark and distant! It never would have done to let us get 
the least suspicion of it, because of my position in the 
Church and in the Diocese. By this light a thousand 
things are clear to me which exceeded all the powers of the 
Sphinx till now.’ 

‘*But how did you get away, my darling Noshas 2? Mrs. 
Twemlow inquired, as behooved her. ‘‘So fearless, so de- 
voted, so alive to every call of duty—how could you stand 
there, and let the wretches shoot at you ?” 

‘By taking good care not to do it,” the Rector answered; 
simply. ‘‘No sooner were all their backs towards me than 
I said to myself that the human race happily is not spider- 
ine. I girt up my loins, or rather fetched my tails up un- 
der my arms very closely, and glided away, with the silence 
of the serpent and the craft of the,enemy of our fallen race. 
Great care was needful, and I exercised it; and here you 
behold me, unshot and unshot-at, and free from all anxiety, 
except a pressing urgency for a bowl of your admirable 
soup, Maria, and a cut from the saddle I saw hanging in the 
cellar.” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 
MATERNAL ELOQUENCE. 


SUFFICIENT for the day is the evil thereof; and more than 
sufficient with most of us. Mr. Twemlow and his wife re- 
solved discreetly, after a fireside council, to have nothing to 
say to Carne Castle, or about it, save what might be forced 
out of them. They perceived most clearly, and very deeply 
felt, how exceedingly wrong it is for anybody to transgress, 
or even go aside of, the laws of his country, as by Statute 
settled. Still, if his ruin had been chiefly legal; if he had 
been brought up under different laws, and in places where 
they made those things which he desired to deal in; if it was 
clear that those things were good, and their benefit might 
be extended to persons who otherwise could have no taste 
of them; above all, if it were the first and best desire of ali 
who heard of it to have their own fingers in the pie—then 
let others stop it, who by duty and interest were so minded; 
the Rector was not in the Commission of the Peace—though 
he ought to have been there years ago—and the breach of 
the law, if it came to that, was outside of his parish boundary. 
The voice of the neighbourhood would be with him for not 
turning against his own nephew, even if it ever should come 
to be known that he had reason for suspicions. — 

It is hard to see things in their proper light, if only one 
eye has a fly in it; but if both are in that sad condition, who 
shall be blamed for winking? Not only the pastor, but all 
his flock, were in need of wire spectacles now, to keep their 
vision clear and their foreheads calm. Thicker than flies 
around the milk-pail rumours came flitting daily; and even 
the night—the fair time of thinking—was busy with buzz- 
ing multitude. } 

‘‘Long time have I lived, and a sight have I seed,” said 
Zebedee Tugwell to his wife, ‘‘of things as I couldn’t make 
no head nor tail of; but nothing to my knowledge'‘ever coom 
nigh the sort of way our folk has taken to go on. Parson 
Twemlow told us, when the war began again, that the Lord 
could turn us all into Frenchmen if we sinned against Him 





SPRINGHAVEN. 193 


more than He could bear. I were fool enough to laugh 
about. it then, not intaking how it could be on this side of 
Kingdom Come, where no distinction is of persons. But 
now, there it is—a thing the Almighty hath in hand; and 
who shall say Him nay, when He layeth His hand to it ?” 

‘‘T reckon ’a hath begun with you too, Zeb,” Mrs. Tug- 
well would answer, undesirably. ‘‘To be always going on 
so-about trash trifles,as a woman hath a right to fly up at, 
but noman! Surely Dan hath a right to his politics and his 
parables,as much as any Jame old chap that sitteth on a 
bench. He works hard all day, and he airns his money; 
and any man hath a right to wag his tongue of night-time, 
when his arms and his legs have been wagging all day.” 

“*Depends upon how he wags ‘un.” The glance of old 
Tugwell was stern as he spoke, and his eyebrows knitted 
over it. ‘‘If for a yarn to plaise children or maidens, or a 
bit of argyment about his business, or talk about his neigh- 
bours, or aught that consarns him—why, lads must be fools, 
and I can smoke my pipe and think that at his age I was 
like him. But when it comes to talking of his betters, and 
the Government, and the right of everybody to command 
the ship, and the soup—soup, what was it ?” 

‘‘Superior position of the working classes, dignity of la- 
bour, undefeasible rights of mankind to the soil as they was 
born in, and soshallistick—something.” 

‘*So—shall—I—stick equality,” Mr. Tugwell amended, 
triumphantly; ‘‘and so shall I stick him, by the holy poker, 
afore the end of the week is out. Ive a-been fool enough 
to leave off ropes-ending of him now for a matter of two 
years, because ’a was good, and outgrowing of it like, and 
because you always coom between us. But mind you, 
mother, I'll have none of that next time. Business [ 
means, and good measure it shall be.” : 

‘* Zeb Tugwell,” said his wife, longing greatly to defy him, 
but frightened by the steadfast gaze she met, ‘‘ you can never 
mean to say that you would lay your hand on Dan—a grown 
man, a’most as big as yourself, and a good half-head taller! 
Suppose he was to hit you back again!” 

‘‘ If he did, I should just kill him,” Zeb answered, calmly. 
‘‘He would be but a jellyfish in my two hands. But there, 
Ill not talk about it, mother. Noneed to trouble you with 
it. “Tis none of my seeking—the Lord in heaven knows— 
but a job as He hath dutified for me to do. Tl go out, and 
have my pipe, and dwell on it.” 


194 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘‘ And I may lay a deal of iton myself,” Mrs. Tugwell be- 
gan to moan, as soon as he was gone; ‘‘for I have cockered 
Dan up, and there’s no denying it, afore Tim, or Tryphena, 
or Tabby, or Debby, or even little Solomon; because he 
were the first, and so like his dear father afore he got on in 
the world so. Oh, it all comes of that, all the troubles comes 
of that, and of laying up of money, apart from your wife, 
and forgetting almost of her Christianname! And the very 
same thing of it—money, money, and the getting on with 
breeches that requireth no mending, and the looking over 
Church-books at gay young ladies—all of it leadeth to the 
same bad end of his betters, and the Government, and the 
Soshallistick Quality. 

‘“Why, with all these mercies,” continued Mrs. Tugwell, 
though not in a continuous frame of mind, as Daniel came 
in with a slow, heavy step,and sat down by the fire in si- 
lence, ‘‘ all these mercies, as are bought and paid for, from 
one and sixpence up to three half-crowns, and gives no more 
trouble beyond dusting once a week—how any one can lay 
his eyes on other people's property, without consideration of 
his own, as will be after his poor mother’s time, is to me 
quite a puzzle and a pin-prick. Not as if they was owing 
for, or bought at auction, or so much as beaten down by six- 
pence, but all at full price and own judgment, paid for by 
airnings of labour and perils of the deep, and as Widow 
Shanks said, the last time she was here, by spoiling of the 
enemies of England, who makes us pay tremenjious for ’most 
everything we lives on. And I know who would under- 
stand them crackeries, and dust them when I be gone to dust, 
and see her own pretty face in them, whenever they has the 
back-varnish.”’ 

Dan knew that the future fair owner and duster designed 
by his mother was Miss Cheeseman, towards whom he had 
cherished tender yearnings in the sensible and wholesome 
days. And if Polly Cheeseman had hung herself on high 
—which she might have done without a bit of arrogance— 
perhaps she would still have been to this young man the 
star of fate and glory, instead of a dip, thirty-two to the 
pound, the like whereof she sold for a farthing. Distance 
makes the difference. 

‘‘He that won’t allow heed shall pay dear in his need ;” 
the good mother grew warm, as the son began to whistle; 
‘‘and to my mind, Master Dan, it won’t be long afore you 
have homer things to think of than politics. ‘Politics is 





SPRINGHAVEN. 195 


fiddle-sticks’ was what men of my age used to say; sensible 
men with a house and freehold, and a pig of their own, and 
experience. Andsuch a man I might have had, and sensi- 
ble children by him, children as never would have whistled 
at their mother, if it hadn’t been for your poor father, Dan. 
Misguided he may be, and too much of his own way, and 
not well enough in his own mind to take in a woman’s, but 
for all that he hath a right to be honoured by his children, 
and to lead their minds in matters touching of the King, and 
Church, and true religion. Why, only last night—no, the 
night afore last—I met Mrs. Prater, and I said to her—” — 

- “Vou told me all that, mother; and it must have been a 
week ago; for I have heard it every night this week. What 
is it you desire that I should do, or say, or think ?” | 

‘‘Holy mercy!” cried Mrs. Tugwell, ‘‘ what a way to put 
things, Dan! All I desire is for your good only, and so 
leading on to the comfort of the rest. For the whole place 
goes wrong, and the cat sits in the corner, when you go on 
with politics as your dear father grunts at. No doubt it 
may all be very fine and just, and worth a man giving his 
life for, if he don’t care about it, nor nobody else; but even 
if it was to keep the French out,and yourn goeth nearer to 
letting them in, what difference of a button would it make to 
us, Dan, compared to our sticking together, and feeding with 
a knowledge and a yielding to the fancies of each other ?” 

‘‘J am sure it’s no fault of mine,” said Daniel, moved from 
his high ropes by this last appeal: ‘‘ to me it never matters 
twopence what I have for dinner, and you saw me give Tim 
_ all the brown of the baked potatoes the very last time I had 

my dinner here. But what comes above all those little 
bothers is the necessity for insisting upon freedom of opin- 
ion. I don’t pretend to beso old as my father, nor to know 
so much as he knows about the world in general. But I 
- have read a great deal more than he has, of course, because 
he takes a long time to get a book with the right end to him; 
and [ have thought, without knowing it, about what I have 
read, and I have heard very clever men (who could have 
no desire to go wrong, but quite the other way) carrying 
on about these high subjects, beyond me, but full of plain 
language. And I won't be forced out of a word of it by fear.” 

‘‘But for love of your mother you might keep it under, 
and think it all inside you, without bringing of it out in the 
presence of your elders. You know what your father is— 
aman as never yet laid his tongue to a thing without doing 


196 SPRINGHAVEN. 


of it, right or wrong—right or wrong; and this time he hath 
right, and the law, and the Lord, and the King himself, to 
the side of him. And a rope’s-end in his pocket, Dan, as I 
tried to steal away, but he were too wide-awake. Such a 
big hard one you never did see!” 

‘‘A rope’s-end for me, well turned twenty years of age!” 
cried Daniel, with a laugh, but not a merry one; ‘“‘two can 
play at that game,mother. Ill not be ropes-ended by nobody.” 

‘*Then you'll be rope-noosed ;” the poor mother fell into 
the settle, away from the fire-light, and put both hands over 
her eyes, to shut out the spectacle of Dan dangling; ‘‘or else 
vour father will be, for you. Ever since the Romans, Dan, 
there have been Tug wells, and respected ten times more than 
they was. Oh do’e, do’e think; and not bring us all to the 
grave, and then the gallows! Why,I can mind the time, no 
more agone than last Sunday, when you used to le here in 
the hollow of my arm, without a stitch of clothes on, and 
kind people was tempted to smack you in pleasure, because 
vou did stick out so prettily. For a better-formed baby 
there never was seen, nora finer-tempered one, when he had 
his way. And the many nights I walked the floor with you, 
Dan, when your first tooth was coming through, the size of 
a horse-radish, and your father most wonderful to put up 
with my coo to you, when he had not had a night in bed for 
nigh three weeks—oh, Dan, do ’e think of things as consarn- 
eth your homer life, and things as is above all reason; and 
let they blessed politics go home to them as trades in them.” 

Mrs. Tue well’s tender recollections had given hera pain in 
the part where Dan was nursed, and driven her out of true 
logical course; but she came back to it before Dan had time — 
to finish the interesting pictures of himself which she had 
suggested. 

‘“Now can you deny a word of that, Dan? And if not, 
what is there more to say? -You was smacked as a little | 
babe by many people kindly, when ever so much tenderer 
than you now can claim to be. And in those days you 
never could have deserved it yet, not having framed a word 
beyond ‘ Mam,’ and ‘ Da,’ and both of those made much of, 
because doubtful. There was nothing about the Constitoo- 
shun then, but the colour of the tongue and the condition of 
the bowels; and if any fool had asked you what polities was, 
you would have sucked your thumb, and offered them to 
suck it; for generous you always was, and just came after. 
And what ery have bigger folk, grown upright and wicked, 








“OH, DAN, DO ’E THINK OF THINGS AS CONSARNETH YOUR HOMER LIFE,” 


to make about being smacked, when they deserve it, for 
meddling with matters outside of their business, by those in 
authority over them ?” 

‘‘ Well, mother, I dare say you are right, though I don’t 
altogether see the lines of it. But one thing I will promise 
you—whatever father does to me, I will not lift a hand 
against him. But I must be off. Iam late already.” 

‘‘Where to, Dan? Where to? I always used to know, 
even if you was going courting. Go a-courting, Dan, as 
much as ever you like, only don’t make no promises. But 
whatever you do, keep away from that bad, wicked, Free 
and Frisky Club, my dear.” 

‘* Mother, that’s the very place I am just bound to. After 
all you have said, I would have stayed away to-night, ex- 
cept for being on the list, and pledged in honour to twen- 
ty-eight questions, all bearing upon the grand issues of the 
age.” 

‘‘T don’t know no more than the dead what that means, 
Dan. But I know what your father has got in his pocket 
for you. And he said the next time you went there, you 
should have it.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 


PATERNAL DISCIPLINE. 


“THe Fair, Free, and Frisky ’—as they called themselves, 
were not of a violent order at all, neither treasonable, nor 
even disloyal. Their Club, if it deserved the name, had not 
been of political, social, or even convivial intention, but had 
lapsed unawares into all three uses, and most of all that 
last mentioned. The harder the times are, the more confi- 
dential (and therefore convivial) do Englishmen become; 
and if Free-trade survives with us for another decade, it 
will be the death of total abstinence. But now they had 
bad times without Free-trade—that Goddess being still in 
the goose-egg—and when two friends met, without a river 
between them, they were bound to drink one another's 
health, and did it, without the unstable and cold-blooded 
element. The sense of this duty was paramount among the 
‘“Pree and Frisky,” and without it their final cause would 
have vanished long ago, and therewith their former one. 

None of the old-established folk of the blue blood of 
Springhaven, such as the Tugwells, the Shankses, the Pra- 
ters, the Bowleses, the Stickfasts, the Blocks, or the Ked- 
gers, would have anything to do with this Association, 
which had formed itself among them, like an anti-corn-law 
league, for the destruction of their rights and properties. 
Its origin had been commercial, and its principles ageres- 
sive, no less an outrage being contemplated than the pur- 
chase of fish at low figures on the beach, and the speedy 
distribution of that slippery ware among the nearest vil- 
lages and towns. But from time immemorial the trade had 
been in the hands of a few stanch factors, who paid a price 
governed by the seasons and the weather, and sent the com- 
modity as far as it would go with soundness and the hope 
of freshness. Springhaven believed that it supplied all 
London, and was proud and blest in so believing. With 
these barrowmen, hucksters, and pedlers of fish it would 
have no manifest dealing; but if the factors who managed 
the trade chose to sell their refuse or surplus to them, that 


—_— 


SPRINGHAVEN. 199 


was their own business. In this way perhaps, and by bar- 
gains on the sly, these petty dealers managed to procure 
enough to carry on their weekly enterprise, and for a cer- 
tain good reason took a room and court-yard handy to the 
Darling Arms, to discuss other people's business and their 
own. The good reason was that they were not allowed to 
leave the village, with their barrows or trucks or baskets, 
until the night had fallen, on penalty of being pelted with 
their own wares. Such was the dignity of this place, and 
its noble abhorrence of anything low. 

The vision of lofty institutions which one may not par- 
ticipate in inspires in the lower human nature more jealousy 
than admiration. These higglers may have been very hon- 
est fellows in all but pecuniary questions, and possibly con- 
tinued to be so in the bosom of their own families. But 


here in Springhaven, by the force of circumstances, they 


were almost compelled to be radicals, even as the sweetest 
cow's milk turns sour when she can just reach red clover 
with her breath, but not her lips. But still they were not 
without manners, and reason, and good-will to people who 
had patience with them. This enabled them to argue lofty 
questions without black eyes, or kicking, or even tweak of 
noses; and a very lofty question was now before them. 

To get once into Admiral Darling’s employment was 
to obtain a vested interest, so kind was his nature and so 
forgiving, especially when he had scolded anybody. Mr. 
Swipes, the head gardener for so many years, held an estate 
of freehold in the garden—although he had no head, and 


would never be a gardener till the hanging gardens of 


Babylon should be hung on the top of the tower of Babel— 
with a vested remainder to his son, and a contingent one to 
all descendants. Yet this man, although his hands were 
generally in his pockets, had not enough sense of their 
linings to feel that continuance, usage, institution, orderly 
sequence, heredity, and such like, were the buttons of his 
coat and the texture of his breeches, and the warmth of his 
body inside them. Therefore he never could hold aloof 
from the Free and Frisky gatherings, and accepted the 
chair upon Bumper-nights, when it was a sinecure benefice. 

This was a Bumper-night, and in the chair sat Mr. Swipes, 
discharging gracefully the arduous duties of the office, 
which consisted mainly in calling upon members for a 
speech, a sentiment, or a song, and in default of mental sat- 
isfaction, bodily amendment by a pint all round. But as 


200 -SPRINGHAVEN. 


soon as Dan Tugwell entered the room, the Free-and-Frisk- 
ies with one accord returned to loftier business. Mr. Swipes, 
the gay Liber of the genial hour, retired from the chair, 
and his place was taken by a Liberal—though the name 
was not yet invented—estranged from his own godfather. 
This was a hard man, who made salt herrings, and longed 
to cure everything fresh in the world. 

Dan, being still a very tender youth, and quite unaccus- 
tomed to public speaking, was abashed by these tokens of 
his own importance, and heartily wished that he had_ 
stopped at home. It never occurred to his simple mind 
that his value was not political, but commercial; not ‘ an- 
thropological,” but fishy, the main ambition of the Free 
and Frisky Club having long been the capture of his father. 
If once Zeb Tugwell could be brought to treat, a golden era 
would dawn upon them, and a boundless vision of free- 
trade, when a man might be paid for refusing to sell fish, 
as he now is for keeping to himself his screws. Dan knew 
not these things, and his heart misgave him, and he wished 
that he had never heard of the twenty-eight questions set 
down in his name for solution. 

However, his disturbance of mind was needless, concern- 
ing those great issues. All the members, except the chair- 
man, had forgotten all about them; and the only matter 
they cared about was to make a new member of Daniel. A 
little flourish went on about large things (which nobody 
knew or cared to know), then the table was hammered with 
the heel of a pipe, and Dan was made a Free-and-Frisky— 
an honorary member, with nothing to pay, and the honour 
on their side, they told him; and every man rose, with his 
pot in one hand and his pipe in the other, yet able to stand, 
and to thump with his heels, being careful. Then the Pres- 
ident made entry in a book, and bowed, and Dan was re- 
quested to sign it. In the fervour of good-will, and fine 
feeling, and the pride of popularity, the young man was not 
old enough to resist, but set his name down firmly. Then 
all shook hands with him, and the meeting was declared to 
be festive, in honour of a new and noble member. 

It is altogether wrong to say—though many people said 
it—that young Dan Tugwell was even a quarter of a sheet 
in the wind when he steered his way home. His head was 
as solid as that of his father, which, instead of growing light, 
increased in specific, generic, and differential gravity, under 
circumstances which tend otherwise, with an age like ours, 


SPRINGHAVEN. 201 


that insists upon sobriety, without allowing practice. All 
Springhaven folk had long practice in the art of keeping 
sober, and if ever a man walked with his legs outside his 
influence, it was always from defect of proper average quite 
lately. | 

Be that as it may, the young man came home with an 
enlarged map of the future in his mind, a brisk and elastic 
rise in his walk, and his head much encouraged to go on 
with liberal and indescribable feelings. In accordance with 
these, he expected his mother to be ready to embrace him at 
the door, while a saucepan simmered on the good-night of 
the wood-ash, with just as much gentle breath of onion from 
the cover as a youth may taste dreamily from the lips of 
love. But oh, instead of this, he met his father, spread out 
and yet solid across the doorway, with very large arms bare 
and lumpy in the gleam of a fireplace uncrowned by any pot. 
Dan’s large ideas vanished, like a blaze without a bottom. 

‘‘Rather late, Daniel,” said the captain of Springhaven, 
with a nod of his great head, made gigantic on the ceiling. 
‘“ All the rest are abed, the proper place for honest folk. I 
suppose you’ve been airning money, overtime ?” 

‘‘Not I,” said Dan; ‘‘I work hard enough all day. I 
just looked in at the Club, and had a little talk of politics.” 

‘“The Club, indeed! The stinking barrow-grinders! Did 
I tell you, or did I forget to tell you, never to go there no 
more ?” 

‘“You told me fast enough, father; no doubt about’ that. 
But I am not aboard your boat, when I happen on dry land, 
and I am old enough now to have opinions of my own.” 

‘Oh, that’s it,is it? And to upset all the State, the King, 
the House of Lords, and the Parliamentary House, and all 
as is descended from the Romans? Well, and what did 
their Wusships say to you? Did they anoint you king of 
slooshingss ?” 

‘Father, they did this—and you have a right to know 
it;” Dan spoke with a grave debative tone, though his voice 
became doubtful, as he saw that his father was quietly seek- 
ing for something; ‘‘almost before I knew what was com- 
ing, they had made me a member, and I signed the book. 
They have no desire to upset the kingdom; I heard no talk 
of that kind; only that every man should have his own 
opinions, and be free to show what can be said for them. 
And you know, father, that the world goes on by reason, 
and justice, and good-will, and fair play—” 

Q* 


202 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘“No, it don’t,” eried the captain, who had found what 
he wanted; ‘‘if it had to wait for they, it would never go 
on at all. It goes on by government, and management, 
and discipline, and the stoppmg of younkers from their 
blessed foolery, and by the ten commandments, and the 
proverbs of King Solomon. You to teach your father how 
the world goes on! Off with your coat,and I'll teach you.” 

‘*HWather,” said Dan, with his milder nature trembling at 
the stern resolution in his father’s eyes, as the hearth-fire 
flashing up showed their stronger flash, *‘ you will never do 
such a thing, at my age and size ?” 

‘“Won’t 1?” answered Zebedee, cracking in the air the 
three knotted tails of the stout hempen twist. ‘* As for 
your age, why, it ought to know better; and as for your 
size, why, the more room for this!” 

It never came into Daniel’s head that he should either 
resist or run away. But into his heart came the deadly 
sense of disgrace at being flogged, even by his own father, 
at full age to have a wife and even children of his own. 

‘*Father,” he said, as he pulled off his coat and red striped 
shirt, and showed his broad white back, ‘‘if you do this 
thing, you will never set eyes on my face again—so help me 
God!” 

‘Don’t care if I don’t,” the captain shouted. ‘‘ You was 
never son of mine, to be a runagate and traitor. How oid 
be you, Master Free-and-Frisky, to larn me how the world 
goes on ?” 

‘‘As if you don’t know, father! The fifteenth of last 
March I was twenty years of age.” 

‘*Then one for each year of your life, my lad, and anoth- 
er to make a man of thee. This little tickler hath three 
tails; seven threes is twenty-one—comes just right.” 

When his father had done with him, Dan went softly up 
the dark staircase of old ship timber, and entering his own 
little room, struck a light. He saw that his bed was turned 
down for him by the loving hand of his mother, and that 
his favourite brother Solomon, the youngest of the Tugwell 
race, was sleeping sweetly in the opposite cot. Then he 
caught a side view of his own poor back in the little black- 
framed looking-glass, and was quite amazed; for he had not 
felt much pain, neither flinched, nor winced, nor spoken. 
In a moment self-pity did more than pain, indignation, out- 
rage, or shame could do; it brought large tears into his 
softened eyes, and a long sob into his swelling throat. 


ERA Z 
¥ AK, ae 
Mitte ei 


Hi i} LY 2 


OU) 


Y ayy wy 
ay} 


SA { 





a W “DON’T CARE IF I DONT.” 
4 Xs 


He had borne himself like a man when flogged; but now 
he behaved in the manner of a boy. ‘‘ He shall never hear 
the last of this job,” he muttered, ‘‘as long as mother has a 
tongue in her head.” To this end he filled a wet sponge 
with the red proofs of his scourging, laid it where it must be 
seen, and beside it a leaf torn from his wage-book,.on which 
he had written with a trembling hand: ‘‘ Hesays that lam no 


204 SPRINGHAVEN. 


son of his, and this looks like it. Signed, Daniel Tugwell, 
or whatever my name ought to be.” 

Then he washed and dressed with neat’s-foot oil all of his 
wounds that he could reach, and tied a band of linen over 
them, and in spite of increasing smarts and pangs, dressed 
himself carefully in his Sunday clothes. From time to time 
he listened for his father’s step, inasmuch as there was no 
bolt to his door, and to burn a hght so late was against all 
law. But nobody came to disturb him; his mother at the 
end of the passage slept heavily, and his two child-sisters in 
the room close by, Tabby and Debby, were in the land of 
dreams, as far gone as little Solly was. Having turned out 
his tools from their flat flag basket, or at least all but three 
or four favourites, he filled it with other clothes likely to be 
needed, and buckled it over his hatchet-head. Then the 
beating of his heart was like a flail inside a barn, as he stole 
along silently for one terrible good-bye. 

This was to his darling pet of all pets, Debby, who wor- 
shipped this brother a great deal more than she worshipped 
her heavenly Father; because, as she said to her mother, 
when rebuked—‘‘I can see Dan, mother, but I can’t see 
Him. Can I sit in His lap, mother, and look into His face, 
and be told pretty stories, and eat apples all the time?” 
Tabby was of different grain, and her deity was Tim; for 
she was of the Tomboy kind, and had no imagination. But 
Debby was enough to make a sound and seasoned heart to 
ache, as she lay in her little bed, with the flush of sleep 
deepening the delicate tint of her cheeks, shedding bright 
innocence fresh from heaven on the tranquil droop of eye- 
lid and the smiling curve of lip. Her hair lay fluttered, as 
if by play with the angels that protected her; and if she 
could not see her heavenly Father, it was not because she 
was out of His sight. 

A better tear than was ever shed by self-pity, or any other 
selfishness, ran down the cheek she had kissed so often, and 
fell upon her coaxing, nestling neck. Then Dan, with his 
eandle behind the curtain, set a long light kiss upon the 
forehead of his darling, and with a heart so full, and yet so 
empty, took one more gaze at her, and then was gone. 
With the basket in his hand, he dropped softly from his 
_ window upon the pile of sea-weed at the back of the house 
—collected to make the walls wholesome—and then, caring 
little what his course might be, was led perhaps by the force 
of habit down the footpath towards the beach. So late at 


SPRINGHAVEN. 205 


night, it was not likely that any one would disturb him 
there, and no one in the cottage which he had left would 
miss him before the morning. The end of October now 
was near, the nights were long, and he need not hurry. 
He might even lie down in his favourite boat, the best of 
her size in Springhaven, the one he had built among the 
rabbits. There he could say good-bye to all that he had 
known and loved so long, and be off, before dawn, to some 


place where he might earn his crust and think his thoughts. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 
SORE TEMPTATION. 


WHEN a man’s spirit and heart are low, and the world 
seems turned against him, he had better stop both ears than . 
hearken the sound of the sad sea waves at night. Even 
if he can see their movement, with the moon behind them, 
drawing paths of rippled light, and boats (with white sails 
pluming shadow, or thin oars that dive for gems), and per- 
haps a merry crew with music, coming home not all sea- 
sick—well, even so, in the summer sparkle, the long low 
fall of the waves is sad. But how much more on a winter 
night, when the moon is away below the sea, and weary 
waters roll unseen from a vast profundity of gloom, fall un- 
reckoned, and are no more than a wistful moan, as man is! 

The tide was at quarter-ebb, and a dismal haze lay thick 
on shore and sea. It was not enough to be called a fog, or 
even a mist, but quite enough to deaden the gray light, al- 
ways flowing along the boundary of sky and sea. But over 
the wet sand and the white frill of the gently gurgling waves 
more of faint light, or rather, perhaps, less of heavy night, 
prevailed. But Dan had keen eyes, and was well accus- 
tomed to the tricks of darkness; and he came to take his 
leave forever of the fishing squadron, with a certainty of 
knowing all the five, as if by daylight—for now there were 
only five again. 

As the tide withdrew, the fishing-smacks (which had 
scarcely earned their name of late) were compelled to make 
the best of the world until the tide came back again. To 
judge by creakings, strainings, groanings, and even grindings 
of timber millstones (if there yet lives in Ireland the good- 
will for a loan to us), all these little craft were making 


206 SPRINGHAVEN. 


dreadful hardship of the abandonment which man and nat- 
ure inflicted on them every thirteenth hour. But ail things 
do make more noise at night, when they get the chance (per- 
haps in order to assert their own prerogative), and they 
seem to know that noise goes further, and assumes a higher 
character, when men have left off making it. 

The poor young fisherman’s back was getting very sore 
by this time, and he began to look about for the white side- 
Streak which he had painted along the water-line of that 
new boat, to distract the meddlesome gaze of rivals from 
the peculiar curve below, which even Admiral Darling had 
not noticed when he passed her on the beach; but Nelson 
would have spied it out in half a second, and known all 
about it in the other half. Dan knew that he should find a 
very fair berth there, with a roll or two of stuff to lay his 
back on, and a piece of tarpauling to draw over his legs. 
In the faint light that hovered from the breaking of the 
wavelets he soon found his boat, and saw a tall man stand- 
ing by her. 

‘* Daniel,” said the tall man, without moving, ‘“‘my sight 
is very bad at night, but unless it is worse than usual, you 
are my admired friend Daniel. A young man in a thou- 
sand—one who dares to think.” 

‘“ Yes, Squire Carne,” the admired friend replied, with a 
touch of hat protesting against any claim to friendship; 
‘“Dan Tugwell, at your service. And I have thought too 
much, and been paid out for it.”’ 

‘You see me ina melancholy attitude, and among melan- 
choly surroundings.” Caryl Carne offered his hand as he 
spoke, and Dan took it with great reverence. ‘‘The truth 
is, that anger at a gross injustice, which has just come to 
my knowledge, drove me from my books and sad family 
papers, in the room beneath the roof of our good Widow 
Shanks. And I needs must come down here to think be- 
side the sea, which seems to be the only free thing in Eng- 
land. But I little expected to see you.” 

‘‘And I little expected to be here, Squire Carne. But 
if not making too bold to ask—was it anybody that was — 
beaten ?” 

‘‘ Beaten is not the right word for it, Dan; cruelly flogged 
and lashed, a dear young friend of mine has been—as fine 
a young fellow as ever lived—and now he has not got a 
sound place on his back. And why? Because he was poor, 
and dared to lift his eyes to a rich young lady.” 


SPRINGHAVEN. 207 


‘But he was not flogged by his own father ?” asked Dan, 
deeply interested in this romance, and rubbing his back, 
as the pain increased with sympathy. 

‘‘Not quite so bad as that,” replied the other; ‘‘such a 
thing would be impossible, even in England. No; his fa- 
ther took his part, as any father in the world would do; even 
if the great man, the young lady’s father, should happen to 
be his own landlord.” 

A very black suspicion crossed the mind of Dan, for Carne 
possessed the art of suggesting vile suspicions: might Ad- 
miral Darling have discovered something, and requested 
Dan’s father to correct him? It was certain that the Ad- 
miral, so kind of heart, would never have desired such se- 
verity; but he might have told Captain Tugwell, with whom 
he had a talk almost every time they met, that his eldest son 
wanted a little discipline; and the Club might have served 
as a pretext for this, when the true crime must not be de- 
clared, by reason of its enormity. Dan closed his teeth, and 
English air grew bitter in his mouth, as this belief ran 
throu oh him. 

“Good: night, my young fone I am beginning to re- 
cover,’ ’ Carne continued, briskly, for he knew that a nail 
snaps in good oak when the hammer falls too heavily. 
‘What is a little bit of outrage, after all? When I have 
been in England a few years more, I shall laugh at myself 
for having loved fair play and self-respect, in this innocent 
young freshness. We must wag as the world does; and 
you know the proverb, What makes the world wag, but the 
weight of the bag ?” : 

‘But if you were more in earnest, sir—or at least—I mean, 
if you were not bound here by property and business, and an 
ancient family, and things you could not get away from, and 
if you wanted only to be allowed fair play, and treated as a 
man by other men, and be able to keep your own money 
when you earned it, or at least to buy your own victuals 
with it—what would you try to do, or what part of the 
country would you think best to go to ?” 

‘“Dan, you must belong to a very clever family. It is 
useless to shake your head—you must; or you never could 
put such questions, so impossible to answer. In all this 
blessed island, there is no spot yet discovered where such 
absurd visions can be realized. Nay, nay, my romantic 
friend; be content with more than the average blessings of 
this land. You are not starved, you are not imprisoned, 


2()8 Wade SPRINGHAVEN, 


you are not even beaten; and if you are not allowed to 
think, what harm of that? If you thought ali day, you 
would never dare to act upon your thoughts, and so you 
are better without them. Tush! an Englishman was never 
born for freedom. Good-night.” 

‘* But, sir, Squire Carne,” cried Dan, pursuing him, “‘ there 
is one thing which you do not seem to know. Iam driven 
away from this place to-night; and it would have been 
so kind of you to advise me where to go to.” 

‘‘Driven away !’’exclaimed Carne, with amazement. ‘‘ The 
pride of the village driven out of it! You may be driv- 
ing yourself away, Tugwell, through some scrape, or love 
affair; but when that blows over you will soon come 
back. What would Springhaven do without you? And 
your dear good father would never let you go.” 

‘‘T am not the pride, but the shame, of the village.” Dan 
forgot all his home-pride at last. ‘‘And my dear good fa- 
ther is the man who has done it. He has leathered me- 
worse than the gentleman you spoke of, and without half 
so much to be said against him. For nothing but going to 
the Club to-night, where I am sure we drank King George’s 
health, my father has lashed me so that [am ashamed to tell 
it. And Iam sure that I never meant to tell it, until your 
kindness, in a way of speaking, almost drove it out of me.” 

‘Daniel Tugwell,” Carne answered, with solemnity, ‘‘this 
is beyond belief, even in England. You must have fallen 
asleep, Dan, in the middle of large thoughts, and dreamed 
this great impossibility.” 

‘“My back knows whether it has been a dream, sir. I 
never heard of dreams as left one-and-twenty lines behind 
them. But whether it be one, or whether it be twenty, 
makes no odds of value. The disgrace it is that drives me 
out.” 

‘‘Is there no way of healing this sad breach 2?’ Carne 
asked, in a tone of deep compassion; ‘‘if your father could 
be brought to beg your pardon, or even to say that he was 
sorry—” 

‘‘He, sir! If such a thing was put before him, his an- 
swer would be just to do it again, if I were fool enough to 
go near him. You are too mild of nature, sir, to under- 
stand what father is.” 

‘‘ Tt is indeed horrible, too horrible to think of ”»—the voice 
of this kind gentleman betrayed that he was shuddering. 
‘If a Frenchman did such a thing, he would be torn to 


SPRINGHAVEN, 209 


pieces. But no French father would ever dream of such 
atrocity. He would rather flog himself within an inch of 
his own life.” 

‘‘Are they so much better, then, and kinder, than us Eng- 
lishmen 2?” In spite of all his pain and grief, Dan could not 
help smiling at the thought of his father ropes-ending him- 
self. ‘‘So superior to us, sir, in every way ?” 

‘‘In almost every way, I am sorry to confess. I fear, 
indeed, in every way, except bodily strength, and obstinate, 
ignorant endurance, miscalled ‘courage,’ and those rough 
—qualities—whatever they may be—which seem needful for 
the making of aseaman. But in good manners, justice, the 
sense of what is due from one man to another, in dignity, - 
equality, temperance, benevolence, largeness of feeling, and 
quickness of mind, and above all in love of freedom, they 
are very, very sadly far beyond us. And indeed I have 
been led to think from some of your finer perceptions, Dan, 
that you must have a share of French blood in your veins.” 

‘‘Me, sir!” cried Dan, jumping back, in a style which 
showed the distance between faith and argument; ‘‘ no, sir, 
thank God there was never none of that; but all English, 
with some of the Romans, who was pretty near equal to us, 
from what I hear. I suppose, Squire Carne, you thought 
that low of me because I made a fuss about being larruped, 
the same as a Frenchman I pulled out of the water did about 
my doing of it, as if I could have helped it. No English- 
man would have said much about that; but they seem to 
make more fuss than we do. And I dare say it was French- 
like of me, to go on about my hiding.” 

‘* Daniel,” answered Caryl Carne, in alarm at this British 
sentiment, “‘as a man of self-respect, you have only one 
course left, if your father refuses to apologize. You must 
cast off his tyranny; you must prove yourself a man; you 
must begin life upon your own account. No more of this 
drudgery, and slavery for others, who allow you no rights in 
return. Buta nobler employment among free people, with 
a chance of asserting your courage and manhood, and a cer- 
tainty that no man will think you his bond-slave because 
you were born upon his land, or in his house. My father 
behaved to me—well, it does not matter. He might have 
repented of it, if he had lived longer; and I feel ashamed to 
speak of it, after such a case as yours. But behold, how 
greatly it has been for my advantage! Without that, I 
might now have been a true and simple Englishman!” 


210 SPRINGHAVEN. 


Carne (who had taken most kindly to the fortune which 
made him an untrue Englishman) clapped his breast with 
both hands; not proudly, asa Frenchman does, nor yet with 
that abashment and contempt of demonstration which make 
a true Briton very clumsy in such doings; while Daniel Tug- 
well, being very solid, and by no means ‘‘ emotional”’—as 
people call it nowadays—was looking at him, to the utmost 
of his power (which would have been greater by daylight), 
with gratitude, and wonder, and consideration, and some 
hesitation about his foreign sentiments. 

‘“ Well, sir,” said Dan, with the usual impulse of the 
British workman, ‘‘is there any sort of work as you could 
find for me, to earn my own living, and be able to think 
afterwards ?”’ 

‘‘There is work of a noble kind, such as any man of high 
nature may be proud to share in, to which it is possible that 
I might get an entrance for you, if there should be a va- 
eancy; work of high character, such as admits of no hig- 
gling and haggling, and splitting of halfpence, but an mde- 
pendent feeling, and a sense of advancing the lhberty of 
mankind, without risking a penny, but putting many 
guineas into one’s own pocket, and so becoming fitted for 
a loftier line of life.” 

‘Ts it smuggling, sir?” Daniel asked, with sore misgiv- 
ings, for he had been brought up to be very shy of that. 
‘*Many folk consider that quite bonest; but father calls it 
roguery—though I never shal] hear any more of his opin- 
ions now.” 

‘Sigh not, friend Daniel; sigh not so heavily at your 
own emancipation.” Carne never could resist the ehance 
of a little bit of sarcasm, though it often injured his own 
plots. ‘‘Smuggling is a very fine pursuit, no doubt, but 
petty in comparison with large affairs like ours. No, Dan 
Tugwell, I am not a smuggler, but a high politician, and 
a polisher of mankind. How soon do you think of leaving 
this outrageous hole ?” 

Despite the stupid outrage upon himself, Dan was too 
loyal and generous of nature to be pleased with this de- 
scription of his native place. But Carne, too quick of tem- 
per fora really fine intriguer, cut short his expostulations. 

‘*Call it what you please,” he said; ‘‘only make your 
mind up quickly. If you wish to remain here, do so: a 
man of no spirit is useless to me. But if you resolve to 
push your fortunes among brave and lofty comrades, stir- 


SPRINGHAVEN. 211 


ring scenes, and brisk adventures, meet me at six to-mor- 
row evening, at the place where you chopped down my 
rails. All you want will be provided, and your course of 
promotion begins at once. But remember, all must be 
honour bright. No shilly-shallying, no lukewarmness, no 
indifference to a noble cause. Faint heart never won fair 
lady.” 

The waning moon had risen, and now shone upon Carne’s 
face, ighting up all its gloomy beauty, and strange power 
of sadness. Dan seemed to lose his clear, keen sight be- 
neath the dark influence of the other's gaze; and his will, 
though not a weak one, dropped before a larger and stronger. — 
‘“He knows all about me and Miss Dolly,” said the poor 
young fisherman to himself; “‘I thought so before, and I 
am certain of it now. And, for some reason beyond my 
knowledge, he wishes to encourage it. Oh, perhaps because 
the Carnes have always been against the ee I 
never thought of that before.”’ 

This was a bitter reflection to him, and might have in- 
clined him the right way, if time had allowed him to work 
it out. But no such time was afforded; and in the con- 
fusion and gratitude of the moment, he answered, “‘Sir, 
I shall be always at your service, and do my very best in 
every way to please you.” Caryl Carne smiled; and the 
church clock of Springhaven solemnly struck midnight. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


THE CRIALS OR BATH, 


THE following day, the 27th of October, was a dark one 
in the calendar of a fair and good young lady. Two years 
would then have passed since Faith Darling, at the age of 
twenty, had received sad tidings, which would make the rest 
of her life flow on in shadow. So at least she thought, 
forgetful (or rather perhaps unconscious, for she had not 
vet fresencd the facts of life) that time and the tide of years 
submer ge the loftiest youthful sorrow. Toa warm and stead- 
fast heart like hers, and a nature strong but self-controlled, 
no casual change, or light diversion, or sudden interest in 
other matters, could take the place of the motive lost. There- 
fore being of a deep true faith, and stanch in the belief of 
a great God, good to all who seek His goodness, she never 


a 


212 SPRINGHAVEN. 


went away from what she meant, that faith and hope should 
feed each other. 

This saved her from being a trouble to any one, or damp- 
ing anybody’s cheerfulness, or diminishing the gaiety around 
her. She took a lively interest in the affairs of other people, 
which a ‘‘ blighted being” declines to do; and their pleasures 
ministered to her own good cheer without, or at any rate 
beyond, her knowledge. Therefore she was liked by every- 
body, and beloved by all who had any heart for a brave 
and pitiful story. Thus a sweet flower, half closed by the 
storm, continues to breathe forth its sweetness. 

However, there were times when even Faith was lost in 
sad remembrance, and her bright young spirit became de- 
pressed by the hope deferred that maketh sick the heart. As 
time grew longer, hope grew less; and even the cheerful 
Admiral, well versed in perils of the deep, and acquainted 
with many a wandering story, had made up his mind that 
Krle Twemlow was dead, and would never more be heard of. 
The Rector also, the young man’s father, could hold out no 
longer against that conclusion; and even the mother, dis- 
daining the mention, yet understood the meaning, of despair. 
And so among those to whom the subject was the most in- 
teresting in the world, 1t was now the strict rule to avoid it 
with the lips, though the eyes were often filled with it. 

Faith Darling at first scorned this hard law. ‘‘It does 
seem so unkind,” she used to say, ‘‘that even his name 
should be interdicted, as if he had disgraced himself. If he 
is dead, he has died with honour. None who ever saw him 
can doubt that. But he is not dead. He will come back 
to us, perhaps next week, perhaps to-morrow, perhaps even 
while we are afraid to speak of him. If it is for my sake 
that you behave thus, Iam not quite so weak as to require it.”’ 

The peculiar circumstances of the case had not only baffled 
inquiry, but from the very beginning precluded it. The man 
with the keenest eyes, sharpest nose, biggest ears, and.longest 
head, of all the many sneaks who now conduct what they 
call ‘special inquiries,’ could have done nothing with a 
case like this, because there was no beginning it. Even now, 
in fair peace, and with large knowledge added, the matter 
would not have been easy; but in war universal, and blank 
ignorance, there was nothing to be done but to sit down 
and think. And the story invited a good deal of thinking, 
because of its disappointing turn. 

During the negotiations for peace in 1801, and before any 


SPRINGHAVEN. 23 


articles were signed, orders were sent to the Cape of Good 
Hope for the return of a regiment of the line, which had not 
been more than three months there. But the Cape was like- 
ly to be restored to Holland, and two empty transports re- 
turning from India were to call under convoy, and bring 
home these troops. One of the officers was Captain Erle 
Twemlow, then about twenty-five years of age, and under 
probation, by the Admiral’s decree, for the hand of the maid- 
en whose heart had been his from a time to itself immemorial. 
After tiresome days of impatience, the transports arrived un- 
der conduct of a frigate; and after another week, the soldiers 
embarked with fine readiness for their native land. 

But before they had cleared the Bay, they met a brig-of- 
war direct from Portsmouth, carrying despatches for the 
officer in command of the troops, as well as for the captain 
of the frigate. Some barbarous tribes on the coast of Guinea, 
the part that is called the Ivory Coast, had plundered and 
burned a British trading-station within a few miles of Cape 
Palmas, and had killed and devoured the traders. These 
natives must be punished, and a stern example made, and 
a negro monarch of the name of Hunko Jum must have 
his palace burned, if he possessed one; while his rival, 
the king of the Crumbo tribe, whose name was Bande- 
liah, who had striven to protect the traders, must be reward- 
ed,and havea treaty made with him, if he could be brought 
to understand it. Both sailors and soldiers were ready 
enough to undertake this little spree, as they called it, ex- 
pecting to have a pleasant run ashore, a fine bit of sport 
with the negroes, and perhaps a few nose-rings of gold to 
take home to their wives and sweethearts. 

But, alas! the reality was not so fine. The negroes who 
had done all the mischief made off, carrying most of their 
houses with them; and the palace of Hunko Jum, if he pos- 
sessed one, was always a little way farther on, The Colonel 
was a stubborn man, and so was the sea-captain—good 
Tories both, and not desirous to skulk out of scrapes, and 
leave better men to pick up their clumsy breakages. Blue 
and red vied with one another to scour the country, and 
punish the natives—if only they could catch them--and to 
vindicate, with much strong language, the dignity of Great 
Britain, and to make an eternal example. 

But white bones are what the white man makes, under 
that slimy sunshine and putrefying moon. Weary, slack- 
jointed, low-hearted as they were, the deadly coast-fever fell 


214 SPRINGHAVEN. 


upon them, and they shivered, and burned, and groaned, 
and raved, and leaped into holes, or rolled into camp fires. 
The Colonel died early, and the Naval Captain followed 
him; none stood upon the order of their going; but man 
followed man, as in a funeral, to the grave, until there was 
no grave to go to. The hand of the Lord was stretched out 
against them; and never would one have come back to 
England, out of more than five hundred who landed, ex- 
cept for the manhood and vigour of a seaman, Captain South- 
combe, of the transport Gwalior. 

This brave and sensible man had been left with his ship 


lying off to be signalled for, in case of mishap, while his | ~ 


consort and the frigate were despatched in advance to a 
creek, about twenty leagues westward, where the land-force 
triumphant was to join them. Captain Southcombe, with 
every hand he could muster, traced the unfortunate party 
inland, and found them led many leagues in the wrong direc- 
tion, lost among quagmires breathing death, worn out with 
vermin, venom, and despair, and hemmed in by savages 
lurking for the night, to rush in upon and make an end 
of them. What need of many words? This man, and his 
comrades, did more than any other men on the face of this 
earth could have done without British blood in them. They 
buried the many who had died without hope of the decent 
concealment which our life has had, and therefore our 
. death longs for; they took on their shoulders, or on cane 
wattles, the many who had made up their minds to die, and 
were in much doubt about having done it, and they 
roused up and worked up by the scruff of their loose places 
the few who could ‘get along on their own legs. And so, 
with great spirit, and still greater patience, they managed 
to save quite as many as deserved it. 

Because, when they came within signal of the Gwalior, 
Captain Southecombe, marching slowly with his long limp 
burdens, found ready on the sand the little barrel, about as 
big as a kilderkin, of true and unsullied Stockholm pitch, 
which he had taken, as his brother took Madeira, for ripe- 
ness and for betterance, by right of change of climate. 
With a little of this given choicely and carefully at the back 
of every sick man’s tongue, and a little more spread across 
the hollow of his stomach, he found them so enabled in the 
afternoon that they were glad to sit up in the bottom of 
a boat, and resign themselves to an All-wise Providence. 

Many survived, and blest Captain Southcombe, not at 


’ 


, 


SPRINGHAVEN. 21D 


first cordiall y—for the man yet remains to be discovered who 
is grateful to his doctor—but gradually more and more, and 
with that healthy action of the human bosom which is 
called expectoration, whenever grateful memories were re- 
kindled by the smell of tar. But this is a trifle; many use- 
ful lives were saved, and the Nation should have thanked 
Captain Southcombe, but did not. 

After these sad incidents, when sorrow for old friends was 
tempered by the friendly warmth afforded by their shoes, a 
muster was held by the Major in command, and there was 
only one officer who could neither assert himself alive, nor 
be certified as dead. That one was Erle Twemlow, and the 
regiment would rather have lost any other two officers. Ur- 
gent as it was, for the safety of the rest, to fly with every 
feather from this pestilential coast, sails were handed, boats 
despatched, and dealings tried with Hunko Jum, who had 
reappeared with promptitude the moment he was not want- 
ed. From this noble monarch, and his chiefs, and all his 
nation, it was hard to get any clear intelligence, because their 
own was absorbed in absorbing. They had found upon the 
sands a cask of Admiralty rum, as well as a stout residue of 
unadulterated pitch. Noses, and tongues, and historical ro- 
mance—for a cask had been washed ashore five generations 
since, and set up for a god, when the last drop was licked— 
induced this brave nation to begin upon the rum; and fash- 
ion (as powerful with them as with us) compelled them to 
drink the tar likewise, because they had seen the white men 
doing it. This would have made it hard to understand them, 
even if they had been English scholars, which their igno- 
rance of rum proved them not to be; and our sailors very 
nearly went their way, after sadly ascertaining nothing, ex- 
cept that the cask was empty. 

But luckily, just as they were pushing off, a very large, 
black head appeared from behind a vegetable-ivory tree, less 
than a quarter of a mile away, and they knew that this be- 
Jonged to Bandeliah, the revered king of the Crumbos, who 
had evidently smelled rum far inland. With him they were 
enabled to hold discourse, partly by signs, and partly by 
means of an old and highly polished negro, who had been the 
rat-catcher at the factory now consumed; and the conclu- 
sion, or perhaps the confusion, arrived at from signs, grunts, 
grins, nods, waggings of fingers and twistings of toes, trans- 
lated grandiloquently into broken English, was not far from 
being to the following effect: 


216 SPRINGHAVEN. 


To wit, that two great kings reigned inland, either of them 
able to eat up Hunko Jum and Bandeliah at a mouthful, but 
both of them too proud to set foot upon land that was flat, 
or in water that was salt. They ruled over two great na- 
tions called the Houlas and the Quackwas, going out of sight 
among great rivers and lands with clear water standing over 
them. And if the white men could not understand this, it 
was because they drank salt-water. 

Moreover, they said that of these two kings, the king of 
the Houlas was a woman, the most beautiful ever seen in 
all the world, and able to Jump over any man’s head. But 
the king of the Quackwas was a man, and although he had 
more than two thousand wives, and was taller by a joint of 
a bamboo than Bandeliah—whose stature was at least six 
feet four—yet nothing would be of any use to him, unless he 
could come to an agreement with Mabonga, the queen of the 
Houlas, to split a durra straw with him. But Mabonga was 
coy, and understanding men, as well as jumping over them, 
would grant them no other favour than the acceptance of 
their presents. However, the other great king was deter- 
mined to have her for his wife, if he abolished all the rest, 
and for this reason he had caught and kept the lost English- 
man as a medicine-man; and it was not likely that he would 
kill him, until he failed or succeeded. 

To further inquiries Bandeliah answered that to rescue 
the prisoner was impossible. If it had been his own newest 
wife, he would not push out a toe for her. The great king 
Golo lived up in high places that overlooked the ground, 
as he would these white men, and his armies went like 
wind and spread like fire. None of his warriors ate 
white man’s flesh; they were afraid it would make them 
cowardly. | 

A brave heart is generally tender in the middle, to make 
up for being so firm outside, even as the Durian fruit is. 
Captain Southcombe had walked the poop-deck of the Gwa- 
lior many a time, in the cool of the night, with Erle Twem- 
low for his companion, and had taken a very warm liking 
to him. So that when the survivors of the regiment were 
landed at Portsmouth, this brave sailor travelled at his own 
cost to Springhaven, and told the Rector the whole sad story, 
making it clear to him beyond all doubt that nothing what- 
ever could be done to rescue the poor young man from those 
Savages, or even to ascertain his fate. For the Quackwas 
were an inland tribe, inhabiting vast regions wholly un- 





SPRINGHAVEN., 217 


known to any European, and believed to extend to some 
mighty rivers, and lakes resembling inland seas. 

Therefore Mr. Twemlow, in a deep, quiet voice, asked Cap- 
tain Southcombe one question only—whether he might keep 
any hope of ever having, by the mercy of the Lord, his only 
son restored to him. And the sailor said—yes; the mistake 
would be ever to abandon such a hope, for at the moment 
he least expected it, his son might stand before him. He 
pretended to no experience of the western coast of Africa, 
and niggers he knew were a very queer lot, acting according 
to their own lights, which differed according to their natures. 
But he was free to say, that in such a condition he never 
would think of despairing, though it might become very 
hard not to do so, as time went on without bringing any 
news. He himself had been in sad peril more than once, and 
once it appeared quite hopeless; but he thought of his wife 
and his children at home, and the Lord had been pleased to 
deliver him. | 

The parson was rebuked by this brave man’s faith, who 
made no pretence whatever to piety; and when they said 
Good-bye, their eyes were bright with the good-will and pity 
of the human race, who know trouble not inflicted as yet 
upon monkeys. Mr. Twemlow’s heart fell when the sailor 
was gone, quite as if he had lost his own mainstay; but he 
braced himself up to the heavy duty of imparting sad news 
to his wife and daughter, and worst of all to Faith Darling. 
But the latter surprised him by the way in which she bore it; 
for while she made no pretence to hide her tears, she was 
speaking as if they were needless. And the strangest thing 
of all, in Mr. Twemlow’s opinion, was her curious persistence 
about Queen Mabonga. Could any black woman—and she 
supposed she must be that—be considered by white people to 
be beautiful? Had Captain Southcombe ever even seen her; 
and if not, how could he be in such raptures about her at- 
tractions? She did not like to say a word, because he had 
been so kind and so faithful to those poor soldiers, whom it 
was his duty to bring home safe; but if it had not been for 
that, she might have thought that with so many children and 
a wife at Limehouse, he should not have allowed his mind 
to dwell so fondly on the personal appearance of a*negress! 

The Rector was astonished at this injustice, and began to 
revise his opinion about Faith as the fairest and sweetest 
girl in all the world; but Mrs. Twemlow smiled, when she 
had left off crying, and said that she liked the dear child all 

10 


218 SPRINGHAVEN. 


the better for concluding that Ponga—or whatever her name 
was—must of necessity and at the first glance fall desperate- 
ly in love with herown Erle. Then the Rector cried, ‘‘ Oh, 
to be sure, that explained it! But he never could have 
thought of that, without his wife’s assistance.” 

Two years now, two years of quiet patience, of busy cheer- 
fulness now and then, and of kindness to others always, had 
made of Faith Darling a lady to be loved for a hundred 
years, and forever. The sense of her sorrow was never far 
from her, yet never brought near to any other by herself; 
and her smile was as warm, and her eyes as bright, as if 
there had never been a shadow on her youth. To be greeted 
by her, and to receive her hand, and one sweet glance of her 
large good-will, was enough to make an old man feel that he 
must have been good at some time, and a young man hope 
that he should be so by-and-by; though the tendency was 
generally contented with the hope. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


FAREWELL, DANIEL. 


THOUGHTFUL for others as she always was, this lovely 
and lovable young woman went alone, on the morning of 
the day that was so sorrowful for her, to bear a little share 
of an elder lady’s sorrow, and comfort her with hopes, or 
at any rate with kindness. They had shed tears together 
when the bad news arrived, and again when a twelvemonth 
had weakened feeble hope; and now that another year had 
well-nigh killed it in old hearts too conversant with the 
cruelties of the world, a little talk, a tender look, a gentle 
repetition of things that had been said at least a hundred 
times before, might enter by some subtle passage to the cells 
of comfort. Who knows how the welted vine leaf, when 
we give it shade and moisture, crisps its curves again, and 
breathes new bloom upon its veinage? And who can tell 
how the flagging heart, beneath the cool mantle of time, 
revives, shapes itself into keen sympathies again, and spreads 
“itself GOfenially to the altered light ? 

Without thinking about it, but only desiring to doa little 
good, if possible, Faith took the private way through her 
father’s grounds leading to the rectory, eastward of the vil- 
lage. It was scarcely two o'clock, and the sun was shining, — 





SPRINGHAVEN. 219 


and the air clear and happy, as it can be in October. She 
was walking rather fast, for fear of dropping into the brood- 
ing vein, when in the little fir plantation a man came forth 
on her path, and stood within a few yards in front of her. 
She was startled for an instant, because the place was lonely, 
and Captain Stubbard’s battery crew had established their 
power to repulse the French by pounding their fellow- 
countrymen. But presently she saw that it was Dan Tug- 
well, looking as unlike himself as any man can do (without 
the aid of an artist), and with some surprise she went on to 
meet him. 

Instead of looking bright, and bold, and fearless, with the 
freedom of the sea in his open face, and that of the sun in his © 
clustering curls, young Daniel appeared careworn and bat- 
tered, not only unlike his proper self, but afraid of and 
ashamed of it. He stood not firmly on the ground, nor light- 
ly poised like a gallant sailor, but loosely and clumsily like 
a ploughman who leaves off at the end of his furrow to 
ease the cramp. His hat looked as if he had slept in it, and 
his eyes as if he had not slept with them. 

Miss Darling had always been fond of Dan, from the days 
when they played on the beach together, in childhood’s con- 
tempt of social law. Her old nurse used to shut her eyes, 
after looking round to make sure that there was ‘*‘ nobody 
coming to tell on them,” while as pretty a pair of chil- 
dren as the benevolent sea ever prattled with were making 
mirth and music and romance along its margin. And 
though in ripe boyhood the unfaithful Daniel transferred 
the hot part of his homage to the more coquettish Dolly, 
Faith had not made any grievance of that, but rather 
thought all the more of him, especially when he saved her 
sister’s life in a very rash boating adventure. 

So now she went up to him with a friendly mind, and 
asked him softly and pitifully what trouble had fallen 
upon him. At the sweet sound of her voice, and the bright 
encouragement of her eyes, he felt as if he were getting better. 

‘‘Tf you please, miss,” he said, with a meek salutation, 
which proved his panisic ideas to be not properly wrought 
into his system as yet—‘‘if you please, miss, things are very 
hard upon me.” 

‘‘Tsit money ?” she asked, with the true British instinct that 
all common woes have their origin there; ‘‘if it is, I shall 
be so glad that I happen to have a good bit put by just now.” 

But Dan shook his head with such dignified sadness that 


220 SPRINGHAVEN. 


Faith was quite afraid of having hurt his feelings. ‘‘ Oh, 
I might have known,” she said, ‘‘ that it was nothing of that 
kind. You are always so industrious and steady. But 
whatcan it be? Is it anything about Captain Stubbard and 
his men, because I know you do not like them, and none of 
the old Springhaven people seem to do so? Have you been 
obliged to fight with any of them, Daniel ?” 

‘‘No, miss, no. I would not soil my hand by laying it 
on any of such chaps as those. Unless they should go for 
to insult me, I mean, or any one belonging to me. No, 
miss, no. It is ten times worse than money, or assault 
and battery.” 

‘“Well, Daniel, I would not on any account,” said Faith, 
with her desire of knowledge growing hotter by delay, as 
a kettle boils by waiting—‘‘on no account would I desire 
to know anything that you do not seem to think my advice 
might help you to get out of. Iam notin a hurry, but still 
my time is getting rather late for what I have todo. By 
the time I come back from the rectory, perhaps you will 
have made up your mind about it. Till then, good-bye to 
you, Daniel.” 

He stepped out of the path, that she might go by, and 
only said, ‘Then good-bye, miss; I shall be far away when 
you come back.” 

This was more than the best-regulated or largest—which 
generally is the worst-regulated—feminine mind could put 
up with. Miss Darling came back, with her mind made up 
to learn all, or to know the reason why. 

‘Dan, this is unworthy of you,” she said, with her sweet 
voice full of sorrow. ‘‘Have I ever been hard or unkind 
to you, Dan, that you should be so afraid of me?” 

‘“No, miss, never, But too much the other way. That 
makes it so bad for me to say good-bye. I am going away, 
miss. I must be off this evening. Inever shall see Spring- 
haven no more, nor you, miss—nor nobody else.” 

‘It is quite impossible, Dan. You must be dreaming. 
You don’t look at all like yourself to-day. You have been 
doing too much over-time. I have heard all about it, and 
how very hard you work. I have been quite sorry for you 
on Sundays, to see you in the gallery, without a bit of rest, 
still obliged to give the time with your elbow. I have often 
been astonished that your mother could allow it. Why, 
Dan, if you go away, you will break her heart, and I don’t 
know how many more in Springhaven.” 





SPRINGHAVEN. oot 


‘‘No; miss, no. They very soon mendsthem. Itistheone 
- as goes away that gets a deal the worst of it. JI am sure I 
don’t know whatever I shall do, without the old work to at- 
tend to. But it will get on just as well without me.” 

‘*No, it won't,” replied Faith, looking at him very sadly, 
and shaking her head at such cynical views; ‘‘ nothing will 
be the same, when you are gone, Daniel; and you ought to 
have more consideration.” 

‘‘T am going with a good man, at any rate,” he an- 
swered; ‘‘the freest-minded gentleman that ever came to 
these parts. Squire Carne, of Carne Castle, if you please, 
miss.” 

‘“Mr. Caryl Carne!” cried Faith, in a tone which made 
Daniel look at her with some surprise. ‘‘Is he going away ? 
Oh, I am so glad!” 

‘No, miss; not Squire Carne himself. Only to provide 
for me work far away, and not to be beholden any more 
to my own people. And work, where a man may earn and 
keep his own money, and hold up his head while a-doing of 
eh 

‘“Oh, Dan, you know more of such things than I do. 
And every man has a right to be independent, and ought to 
be so, and I should despise him otherwise. But don’t be 
driven by it into the opposite extreme of dishking the people 
in a different rank—”’ 

‘‘ No, miss, there is no fear of that—the only fear is liking 
some of them too much.” 

‘‘ And then,” continued Faith,who was now upon one of 
her favourite subjects past interruption, ‘‘ you must try to 
remember that if you work hard, so do we, or nearly all of 
us. From the time my father gets up in the morning, to 
the time when he goes to bed at night, he has not got five 
minutes—as he tells us every day—for attending to anything 
but business. Even at dinner, when you get a good hour, 
and won’t be disturbed—now will you 2?” 

‘‘No, miss; not if all the work was tumbling down. No 
workman as respects himself would take fifty-nine minutes 
for sixty.” 

‘Exactly so; and you are right. You stand up for your 
rights. Your dinner you have earned, and you will have 
it. And the same with your breakfast, and your supper 
too, and a good long night to get over it. Do you jump up 
in bed, before you have shut both eyes, hearing or fancying 
you have heard the bell, that calls you out into the cold, 


222 SPRINGHAVEN. 


and the dark, and a wet saddle, from a warm pillow? And 
putting that by, as a trouble of the war, and the chance of 
being shot at by dark tall men’”—here Faith shuddered at 
her own presentment, as the image of Caryl Carne passed 
before her—‘‘ have you to consider, at every turn, that what- 
ever you do—though you mean it for the best—will be 
twisted and turned against you by some one, and made into 
wickedness that you never dreamed of, by envious people, 
whose grudge against you is that they fancy you look down 
on them? Though I am sure of one thing, and that is that 
my father, instead of looking down upon any honest man 
because he is poor, looks up to him; and so do I; and so does 
every gentleman or lady. And any one who goes about to 
persuade the working-people—as they are called, because 
they have to use their hands more—that people like my 
father look down upon them, and treat them like dogs, and 
all those wicked stories—all I can say is, any man who does 
it deserves to be put in the stocks, or the pillory, or even 
to be transported as an enemy to his country.” 

Dan looked at the lady with great surprise. He had al- 
ways known her to be kind and gentle, and what the old 
people called ‘‘ mannersome,” to every living body that came 
near her. But to hear her put, better than he could put 
them, his own budding sentiments (which he thought to 
be new, with the timeworn illusion of young Liberals), and 
to know from her bright cheeks, and brighter eyes, that her 
heart was in every word of it, and to feel himself rebuked 
for the evil he had thought, and the mischief he had given 
ear to—all this was enough to make him angry with himself, 
and uncertain how to answer. 

‘“T am certain that you never thought of such things,” 
Miss Darling continued, with her gentle smile returning; 
‘‘you are much too industrious and sensible for that. But 
I hear that some persons are now in our parish who make 
it their business, for some reason of their own, to spread 
ill-will and jealousy and hatred everywhere, to make us 
all strangers and foes to one another, and foreigners to our 
own country. We have enemies enough, by the will of the 
Lord (as Mr. Twémlow says), for a sharp trial to us, and a 
lesson to our pride, and a deep source of gratitude, and char- 
ity, and good-will—though I scarcely understand how they 
come in—and, above all, a warning to us to stick together, 
and not exactly hate, but still abhor, everybody who has 
a word to say against his own country at a time like this. 


SPRINGHAVEN. 223 


And ten thousand times as much, if he is afraid to say it, 
but crawls with crafty poison into simple English bosoms.” 

‘‘There is nothing of that, miss, to my knowledge, here,” 
the young fisherman answered, simply. ‘‘Springhaven 
would never stand none of that; and the club drinks the 
health of King George every night of their meeting, and 
stamps on the floor for him. But I never shall help to do 
that any more. I must be going, miss—and thank you.” 

‘‘Then you will not tell me why you go? You speak 
of it as if it was against your will, and yet refuse to say 
what drives you. Have you been poaching, Dan? Ah, 
that is it! But I can beg you off immediately. My father 
is very good even to strangers, and as for his doing any- 
thing to you—have no fear, Dan; you shall not be charged 
with it, even if you have been in Brown Bushes.” 

Brown Bushes, a copse about a mile inland, was the Ad- 
miral’s most sacred spot, when peace allowed him to go 
shooting, because it was beloved by woodcocks, his favourite 
birds both for trigger and for fork. But Daniel only shook 
his head; he had not been near Brown Bushes. Few things 
perhaps will endure more wear than feminine curiosity. 
But when a trap has been set too long, it gets tongue-bound, 
and grows content without contents. | ; 

‘*Daniel Tugwell,” said Miss Darling, severely, ‘‘if you 
have not been fighting,or conspiring against society, or 
even poaching, I can well understand that you may have 
reasons for not desiring my assistance or advice. And I 
only wonder that under such circumstances you took the 
trouble to wait for me here, as you appear to have done. 


Good-bye.” 
‘*Oh, don’t be cross, miss! please not to be cross,” cried 
Daniel, running after her. ‘‘I would tell you all about it 


this very instant moment, if it were behooving to me. You 
will hear all about it when you get to Parson Twemlow’s, 
for I saw mother going there, afore she had her breakfast, 
though I was not concernable to Jet her see me. If the 
Squire had been home, she would have gone up to Hall first. 
No, miss, no. I done nothing to be ashamed of; and if you 
turn back on me, you'll be sorry afterwards.” 

Faith was more apt to think that she had been too sharp 
than to be so in behaviour to any one. She began at once, 
with a blush for her bad ideas, to beg Dan’s pardon, and 
he saw his way to say what he was come to say. 

‘“You always were too good, Miss Faith, too good to be 


224 SPRINGHAVEN. 


hard upon any one, and I am sure you have not been hard 
upon me; for I know that I look disrespectable. But I 
couldn’t find words to say what I wanted, until you spoke 
so soft and kind. And perhaps, when I say it, you’ll be an- 
gry with me, and think that I trespass upon you.” 

‘‘No, I won't, Dan; I will promise you that. You may 
tell me, as if I were Mr. Swipes, who says that he never lost 
his temper in his life, because he is always right, and other 
people wrong.” 

‘* Well, miss, I’m afraid that I am not like that, and that 
makes me feel so uncomfortable with the difference be- 
tween us. Because it is all about Miss Dolly, and I might 
seem so impudent. But you know that I would go through 
fire and water to serve Miss Dolly, and I durstn’t go away 
forever without one message to her. If I was in her own 
rank of life,God Almighty alone should part us, whether 
I was rich or whether I was poor, and I’d like to see any 
one come near her! But being only an ignorant fellow 
without any birth or book-learning,I am not such a fool 
as to forget that the breadth of the world hes between us. 
Only I may wish her well, all the same—I may wish her 
well and happy, miss ?”’ 

‘Certainly you may.” Faith blushed at the passion of 
his words, and sighed at their despair. ‘‘ You have saved 
her life. She respects and likes you, the same as my father 
and Ido. You may trust me with your message, Dan.” 

‘‘T suppose it would not be the proper thing for me to see 
her once before I go; just for one minute, with you standing 
by her, that I might—that she might—” | 

‘‘No,” answered Faith, though it grieved her to say it; 
‘‘we must not think of that, Dan. It could do you no 
good, and it might do her harm. But if you have any mes- 
sage, to be useful to her—”’ 

‘The useful part of it must be through you, miss, and not 
sent to her at all, I think, or it would be very imper- 
tinent. The kind part is to give her my good-bye, and say 
that I would die to help her. And the useful part is for 
yourself. For God’s sake, miss, do keep Miss Dolly out of 
the way of Squire Carne! He hath a tongue equal to any 
woman, with the mind of a man beneath it. He hath got- 
ten me body and soul; because I care not the skin of a dab 
what befalls me. But oh, miss, he never must get Miss 
Dolly. He may be a very good man in some ways, and 
he is wonderful free-minded; but any young lady as marries 





we ein ee 
— Frere 


Pe 
= = am 
SA5 
~ 
SS 


SS 


—— 





“FOR GOD’S SAKE, MISS, DO KEEP MISS DOLLY OUT OF THE WAY OF SQUIRE 


CARNE !”’ 


24 


226 SPRINGHAVEN. 


him had better have leaped into the Culver Hole. Fare- 
well, miss, now that I have told you.” He was gone before 
Faith could even offer him her hand, but he took off his 
hat and put one finger to his curls, as he looked back from 
the clearing; and her eyes filled with tears, as she waved 
her hand and answered, ‘‘ Farewell, Daniel!” 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 
CAULIFLOWERS. 


‘‘THEY cocks and hens,” Mr. Swipes used to say in the 
earlier days of his empire—‘“‘ bless you, my lord, they cocks 
and hens knows a good bit of gardening as well as I do. 
They calls one another, and they comes to see it, and they 
puts their heads to one side and talks about it, and they say 
to one another, ‘Must be something good there, or he 
wouldn’t have made it so bootiful’; and then up go their 
combs, and they tear away into it, like a passel of Scotch- 
men at a scratching-match. If your lordship won’t put 
a lock on the door, you will never taste a bit of good vege- 
table.” 

Admiral Darling was at length persuaded to allow Mr. 
Swipes the privilege of locking himself in the kitchen-gar- 
den; and then, for the purpose of getting at him, a bell 
was put in the gable of the tool-house, with a long handle 
hanging outside the door in the court-yard towards the 
kitchen. Thus he was able to rest from his labours, with- 
out incurring unjust reproach; and gradually as he de- 
clined, with increasing decision, to answer the bell when 
it rang, according to the highest laws of nature it left off 
ringing altogether. So Mr. Swipes in the walled kitchen- — 
garden sought peace and insured it. 

One quiet November afternoon, when the disappearance 
of Dan Tugwell had been talked out and done with, a sad 
mishap befell this gardener, during the performance, or, to 
speak more correctly, the contemplation of his work. A 
yawn of such length and breadth and height and profundity 
took possession of him that the space it had so well oc- 
cupied still retained the tender memory. In plainer words, 
he had ricked his jaw, not from general want of usage, but 
. from the momentary excess. 

‘“Sarves me right,” he muttered, ‘‘for carrying on so, 





- SPRINGHAVEN. 227 


without nothing inside of ’un. Must go to doctor, quick 
step, and no mistake.”’ 

In this strait he set off for John Prater’s (for it was a 
matter of luck to get ale at the Hall, and in such emer- 
gency he must not trust to fortune), and passing hastily 
through the door, left it unlocked behind him. Going down 
the hill he remembered this, and had a great mind to go 
back again, but the unanimous demand of his system for beer 
impelled him downwards. He never could get up that hill 
again without hydraulic pressure. 

All might have gone well, and all would have gone 
well, except for the grievous mistake of Nature in furnishing 
women with eyes whose keenness is only exceeded by that 
of their tongues. The cook at the Hall, a superior person— 
though lightly esteemed by Mrs. Cloam—had long been 
ambitious to have a voice in the selection of her raw ma- 
terial. If anything was good, who got the credit? Mr. 
Swipes, immediately. But if everything was bad, as more’ 
often happened, who received the blame? Mary Knuckle- 
down. Her lawful name was ‘‘ Knuckleup,” but early mis- 
fortunes had reduced her to such mildness that her name 
became converted—as she expressed it—in harmony with her 
nature. Facts having generally been adverse to her, she 
found some comfort in warm affection for their natural 
enemies and ever-victorious rivals—words. Any words 
coming with a brave rush are able to scatter to the winds 
the strongest facts; but big words—as all our great orators 
know—knock them at once on the head and cremate them. 
But the cook was a kind-hearted woman, and liked both ht- 
tle and big words, without thinking of them. 

She had put down her joint, a good aitch-bone, for roast- 
ing—than which, if well treated, are few better treats—to re- 
volve in the distant salute of the fire (until it should ripen 
for the close embrace, where the tints of gold and chestnut 
vie), when it came into her provident mind with a flash that 
neither horse-radish nor cauliflower had yet been delivered 
by Mr.Swipes. She must run out and pull the long handle 
in the yard, and remind him gently of her needs, for she 
stood in some awe of his character, as a great annalist of 
- little people’s lives. 

Leaving the small dog Dandolo with stern orders to keep 
the jack steadily going, with a stick on the dresser to intim- 
idate one eye, and a sop in the dripping-pan to encourage 
the other, Mrs. Knuckledown ran into the court-yard, just in 


228 SPRINGHAVEN. 


time to see the last swing of the skirt of that noble garden- 
er’s coat, as he turned the wall corner on his march towards 
the tap. She longed to call him back, but remembered just 
in time how fearfully cross that had made him once before, 
and she was yielding with asigh to her usual bad luck, when 
an eager and triumphant cluck made her look about. The 
monarch and patriarch of cocks, a magnificent old Dorking, 
not idly endowed with five claws for the scratch, had dis- 
covered something great, and was calling all his wives, and 
even his sons, as many as yet crowed not against him, to 
share this special luck of fortune, or kind mood of Provi- 
dence. Ina minute or two he had levied an army, some half- 
hundred strong, and all spurring the land, to practise their 
liberal claws betimes for the gorgeous joy of scattering it. 
Then the grand old cock, whose name was “Bill,” made 
them all fall in behind him, and strutting till he almost 
tumbled on his head, led the march of destruction to the 
garden door. 

But, alas, he had waited for his followers too long, eager 
as they were for rapine. When he came to his portal of 
delight, there stood, stout as Britannia herself, and sweep- 
ing a long knife for her trident, the valiant cook, to protect 
her cauliflowers. ‘‘ You be off, Bill,” she cried. ‘’I don’t 
want to hurt you, because you have been a good bird in your 
time, but now you be growing outrageous.” Bill made a 
rush for it, but losing a slice of his top-heavy comb, retired. 

‘“Now’s my opportunity,” said Mary to herself, ‘for to 
cut my own cabbage for once in my life, and to see what 
that old beast does in here. Ohmy! The old villain, and 
robber that he is! Bamboozlement is the language for it.” 
Embezzlement she should have said, and to one who knew 
-as she did how badly the table of the master was supplied, 
the suspicion was almost unavoidable. For here she saw in 
plenteous show, and appetizing excellence,a many many of 
the very things she had vainly craved from Mr. Swipes. 
And if it was so now in November, what must it have been 
two months ago? Why, poor Miss Faith—Mary Knuckle- 
down’s idol, because of her kindness and sad disappoint- 
ment—had asked a little while ago for a bit of salsify, not 
for herself—she never thought of herself—but for a guest 
who was fond of it; also the Admiral himself had called 
out for a good dish of skirrets. But no; Mr. Swipes said the 
weather and the black blight had destroyed them. Yet here 
they were; Mary could swear to them both, with their necks 








230 SPRINGHAVEN. 


above-ground, as if waiting for the washing! Cauliflowers 
also (as the cooks call broccoli of every kind), here they were 
in abundance, ten long rows all across the middle square, 
very beautiful to behold. Some were just curling in their 
crinkled coronets, to conceal the young heart that was form- 
ing, as Miss in her teens draws her tresses around the first 
peep of her own palpitation; others were showing their 
broad candid bosoms, with bold sprigs of nature’s green lace 
crisping round; while others had their ripe breasts shielded 
from the air by the breakage of their own broad fringe upon 
them. 

Mary knew that this was done by Mr. Swipes himself, 
because he had brought her some in that condition; but the 
unsuspicious master had accepted his assurance that ‘‘ they 
was only fit for pigs as soon as the break-stalk blight come 
on ’em’’; and then the next day he had bought the very same, 
perhaps at ninepence apiece, from Mr. Cheeseman’s window, 


trimmed and shorn close, like the head of amonk. ‘‘Tll 
see every bit of ‘un, now that I be here.” Mrs. Knuckle- 
down spoke aloud, to keep up her courage. ‘‘ Too bad for 


that old beast to keep us locked out from the very place us 
ought to have for pmmylarding, because he saith all the 
fruit would go into our pockets. And what goes into his’en, 
I should like to know? Suppose I lock him out, as he hath 
locked us out. He won't be back yet for half an hour, any- 
way. Wish I could write—what a list I would make, if it 
was only of the things he denieth he hath got!” 

Strong in her own honesty and loyalty to her master, the 
cook turned the key in the lock, and left Swipes to ring him- 
self into his own garden, as he always called it. That is to 
say,if he should return, which was not very likely, before 
she had time for a good look round. But she saw such a 
sight of things she had longed for, to redeem her repute in the 
vegetable way, as well as such herbs for dainty stuffing, of 
which she knew more than cooks generally do, that her cap 
nearly came off her head with amazement, and.time flew by 
unheeded, until she was startled and terrified sadly by the 
loud, angry clang of the bell in the gable. Not only was 
Mr. Swipes come back, but he was in a furious rage outside, 
though his fury was chilled with some shivers of fear. At 
first, when he found the door locked against him, he thought 
that the Admiral must have come home unexpected, and fail- 
ing to find him at work, had turned the key against him, 
while himself inside. If so, his situation would be in sad 


SPRINGHAVEN. 251 


peril, and many acres of lies would be required to redeem it. 
For trusting in his master’s long times of absence, and full 
times of public duty when at home, Mr. Swipes had grown 
more private stock, as he called it, and denied the kitchen 
more, than he had ever done before, in special preparation 
for some public dinners about to be given at the Darling 
Arms, by military officers to naval, and in turn by the lat- 
ter to the former; for those were hospitable days, when all 
true Britons stuck their country’s enemy with knife and 
fork, as well as sword. 

But learning, as he soon did at the stables, that the Ad- 
miral was still away, and both the young ladies were gone 
for a ride with Miss Twemlow, the gardener came back in 
a rage, and rang the bell. ‘‘ Oh, whatever shall I do?” the 
trembling Mary asked herself. ‘‘ Best take the upper hand 
if Ican. MHe’s a thief, and a rogue, and he ought to be 
frighted. Does he know I can’t write? No, for certain he 
dothn’t. One of his big lies about me was a letter I wrote 
to poor Jonadab.”’ 

With her courage renewed by the sense of that wrong, she 
opened the door, and stood facing Mr. Swipes, with a piece 
of paper in her hand, which a woman’s quick wit bade her 
fetch from her pocket. 

‘* Halloa, madam!” the gardener exclaimed, with a sweep 
of his hat and a low salute, which he meant to be vastly 
satirical; ‘‘so your ladyship have come to take the air in my 
poor garden, instead of tending the spit. And what do your 
ladyship think of it,so please you? Sorry as I had any 
dung about, but hadn’t no warning of this royal honour.” 

‘*Sir,” said Mrs. Knuckledown, pretending to be frighten- 
ed a great deal more than she was—‘‘oh, sir, forgive me! 
I am sure I meant no harm. But the fowls was running 
in, and I ran up to stop them.” 

‘*Oh, that was how your ladyship condescended; and to 

keep out the fowls, you locked out me! Allow me the royal 
and unapparelled honour of showing your ladyship to her 
carriage; and if I ever catch her in here again, [ll pitch 
you down the court-yard pretty quick. Be. off, you dir ty 
baggage, or I won’t answer for it now!” 
_ ‘Oh, you are too kind, Mr. Swipes; I am sure you are 
too gentle, to forgive me, like of that! And the little lst I 
made of the flowers in your garden, I shall put it in a teapot 
till the Quality wants something.” 

Mr. Swipes gave a start, and his overwatered eyes could 


232 SPRINGHAVEN. 


not meet those of Mary, which were mildly set upon them. 
‘* List!’ he muttered—‘‘ little list! What do you please to 
mean, miss ?” 

‘‘Well, the ‘dirty baggage’ means nothing unparalleled, 
sir, but just the same as anybody else might do. Some peo- 
ple calls it a Inventionary, and some an Emmarandum, and 
some a Catalogue. It don’t interfere with you, Mr. Swipes; 
only the next time as Miss Dolly asks, the same as she was 
doing the other day—” 

‘Oh, she was, was she? The little !” Mr. Swipes 
used a word concerning that young lady which would have 
insured his immediate discharge, together with one from 
the Admiral’s best toe. ‘‘ And pray, what was her observa- 
tions, ma’am ?” 

‘‘It was Charles told me, for he was waiting at dinner. 
Seems that the turnip was not to her liking, though I picked 
out the very best of what few you sent in, so she looks up 
from her plate, and she says: ‘ Well, I cannot understand it! 
To me it is the greatest mistress in the world,’ she says, * that 
we never can get a bit of vegetable fit for eating. We've 
got,’ she says, ‘a kitchen-garden close upon two acres, and 
a man who calls himself head gardener, by the name of 
Swipes’—my pardoning to you, Mr. Swipes, for the young 
lady’s way of saying it—‘and his two sons, and his nephew, 
and I dare say soon his grandsons. Well, and what comes 
of it?) says she. ‘Why, that we never has a bit of any 
kind of vegetable, much less of fruit, fit to lay a fork to! 
Charles was a-pricking up his ears at this, because of his own 
grumbles, and the master saw it, and he says, ‘Hush, Dolly!’ 
But she up and answers spiritly: ‘No, I won’t hush, papa, 
because it is too bad. Only you leave it to me,’ she says, 
‘and if I don’t keep the. key from that old thief’—ex- 
coose me, Mr. Swipes, for her shocking language—‘and 
find out what he locks up in there, my name’s not Horatia 
Dorothy Darling.’ Oh, don’t let it dwell so on your mind, 
Mr. Swipes! You know what young ladies be. They says 
things random, and then goes away and never thinks no 
more about it. Oh, don’t be upset so—or I shall have to . 
call Charles!” 

Mr. Swipes took his hat off to ease his poor mind, which 
had lost its way altogether in other people’s wickedness. 
‘“May I never set eyes on that young man no more!” he 
exclaimed, with more pathetic force than reasoning power. - 
‘‘ Hither him or me quits this establishment to-morrow. 





Pe 
Ah 
Yi: 


ee oe 





“39 YOUR LADYSHIP HAVE COME TO TAKE THE AIR IN MY POOR GARDEN.” 


Ah, I know well why he left his last place, and somebody 
else shall know to-morrow!” | 

‘“ What harm have poor Charles done?” the cook asked, 
sharply; ‘‘it wasn’t him that said it; it was Miss Dolly. 
Charley only told me conferentially.” 

‘Oh, I know what ‘conferentially’ means, when any- 
thing once getsamong the womenkind! But I knowa thing 
or two about Miss Dolly, as will give her enough to do at 
home, [ll warrant, without coming spying after me and 
my affairs. Don’t you be surprised, cook, whatever you may 
hear, as soon as ever the Admiral returneth. He’s a soft 
man enough in a number of ways, but he won't put up with 


234 SPRINGHAVEN. 


everything. The nasty little vixen, if she don’t smart for 
this!” 

‘*Oh, don’t ’e, now don’t ’’e, Mr. Swipes, that’s adear!” cried 
the soft-hearted Mrs. Knuckledown; ‘‘don’t ’e tell on her, 
the poor young thing. If her hath been carrying on a bit 
with some of them young hofficers, why, it’s only natteral, 
and her such a young booty. Don’t ’e be Dick-tell-tale, 
with a name to it, or without. And perhaps her never 
said half the things that Charles hath contributed to her.” 
The truth was that poor Dolly had said scarcely one of them. 

‘‘Bain’t no young hofficer,” Mr. Swipes replied, con- 
temptuously; ‘‘ten times wuss than that, and madder for 
the Admiral. Give me that paper, Miss, and then, perhaps, 
I'll tell’e. Be no good to you, and might be useful to me.” 

Mary could not give up the paper, because it was a letter 
from one of her adorers, which, with the aid of Jenny Shanks, 
she had interpreted. ‘‘No, no,” she said, with a coaxing 
look; ‘‘ by-and-by, Mr. Swipes, when you have told me who 
it is,and when you have promised not to tell on poor Miss 
Dolly. But nobody sha’n’t see it, without your permission. 
We'll have another talk about that to-morrow. But, oh 
my! look at the time you have kept me, with all the good 
things to make a hangel’s mouth water! Bring me two 
cauliflowers in two seconds. My beef will want basting 
long ago; and if Dandy hathn’t left his job, he’ll be pretty 
well roasted hisself by now.” 

Mr. Swipes went muttering up the walk, and was forced to 
cut two of the finest cauliflowers intended for Cheeseman’s 
adornment to-morrow. This turned his heart very sour 
again, and he shook his head, growling in self-commune: 
‘You see if I don’t do it, my young lady. You speaks 
again me, behind my back, and I writes again you, before 
your face; though,in course, I need not put my name to it.” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 
LOYAL, AYE, LOYAL. 


ONE of the dinners at the Darling Arms, and perhaps the 
most brilliant and exciting of the whole, because even the 
waiters understood the subject, was the entertainment given 
in the month of December, A.D. 1808, not only by the officers 
of two regiments quartered for the time near Stonnington, 


SPRINGHAVEN. 235 


but also by all the leading people round about those parts, in 
celebration of the great work done by His Majesty’s 38-gun 
frigate Leda. Several smaller dinners had been consumed 
already, by way of practice, both for the cooks and the 
waiters and the chairman, and Mr. John Prater, who always 
stood behind him, with a napkin in one hand and a cork- 
screw in the other, and his heart in the middle, ready either 
to assuage or stimulate. As for the guests, it was always 
found that no practice had been required. 

‘*But now, but now’’—as Mr. Prater said, when his wife 
pretended to make nothing of it, for no other purpose than 
to aggravate him, because she thought that he was making 
too much money, in proportion to what he was giving her— 
‘‘now we shall see what Springhaven can do for the good of 
the Country and the glory of herself. Two bottles and a 
half a head is the lowest that can be charged for, with the 
treble X outside, and the punch to follow after. His lord- 
ship is the gentleman to keep the bottle going.” 

For the Lord-Lieutenant of the county, the popular Mar- 
quis of Southdown, had promised to preside at this grand 
dinner; and everybody knew what that meant. ‘‘ Short 
tongue and long throat,” was his lordship’s motto in the 
discharge of all public business, and ‘‘ Bottle to the gentle- 
man on my left!” was the practical form of his eulogies. In 
a small space like this, there would be no chance for a so- 
ber-minded guest to escape his searching eye, and Blyth 
Scudamore (appointed to represent the officers of the Leda, 
and therefore the hero of the evening) felt as happy as a 
dog being led to be drowned, in view of this liquid ordeal. 
For Blyth was a temperate and moderate young man, neither 
such a savage as to turn his wine to poison, nor yet so anti- 
Christian as to turn it into water. 

Many finer places had been offered for the feast, and fore- 
most amongst them the Admiral’s house; but the committee 
with sound judgment had declined them all. The great 
point was to have a place within easy reach of boats, and 
where gallant naval officers could be recalled at once, if 
the French should do anything outrageous, which they are 
apt to do at the most outrageous time. But when a partition 
had been knocked down, and the breach tacked over with 
festoons of laurel, Mr. Prater was quite justified in rubbing 
his red hands and declaring it as snug a box as could be for 
the business. There was even a dark elbow where the stair- 
case jutted out, below the big bressemer of the partition, and 


236 SPRINGHAVEN. 


made a little gallery for ladies to hear speeches, and behold 
the festive heroes while still fit to be beholden. And Ad- 
miral Darling, as vice-chairman, entering into facts mascu- 
line and feminine, had promised his daughters and Miss 
Twemlow, under charge of the Rector’s wife and Mrs. Stub- 
bard, a peep at this heroic scene, before it should become too 
convivial. The rescuers also of the Blonde, the flesh and 
bone, without which the master brain must still have lain 
stranded, were to have a grand supper in the covered skittle- 
alley, as the joints came away from their betters, this lower 
deck being in command of Captain Tugwell, who could rouse 
up his crew as fast as his lordship roused his officers. 

Admiral Darling had been engaged of late in the service 
of his Country so continually, and kept up and down the 
great roads so much, or in and out of any little port where 
sailors grew, that his own door had nearly forgotten his 
shadow, and his dining-room table the reflection of his 
face. For in those days, to keep a good table implied that 
the table must be good, as well as what was put upon it; 
and calico spread upon turpentine was not yet considered 
the proper footing for the hospitable and social glass. 

‘“When shall Twemlow and I have a hobnob again 2” 
the Admiral asked himself many a time. ‘‘ How the dear 
old fellow loves to see the image of his glass upon the table, 
and the ruby of his port reflected! Heigho! I am getting 
very stiff in the back, and never a decent bit of dinner for’- 
ard. And as for a glass of good wine—oh Lord! my tim- 
bers will be broken up, before it comes to mend them. And 
when I come home for even half an hour, there is all this 
small rubbish to attend to. I must have Frank home, to 
take this stuff off my hands, or else keep what I abominate, 
a private secretary.” 

Among the pile of letters that had lain unopened was one 
which he left to the last, because he disliked both the look 
and the smell of it. A dirty, ugly scrawl it was, bulged 
out with clumsy folding, and dabbed with wax in the 
creases. With some dislike he tore it open; and the dislike 
became loathing, as he read: 


‘‘ Hon‘ Sir.—These foo lines comes from a umble but arty 
frend to command. Rekwesting of your pardon sir, i have 
kep a hi same been father of good dawters on the goings 
on of your fammeley. Miss Faith she is a hangel sir, but 
Miss Dolly I fere no better than she ort to be, and wonderful 


SPRINGHAVEN. 237 


fond of been noticed. I see her keeping company and 
carryin on dreadful with a tall dark young man as meens no 
good and lives to Widow Shankses. Too nites running 
when the days was short she been up to the cornder of vour 
grounds to meat he there ever so long. Only you hask her 
if you dont believe me and wash her fase same time sir. 
Too other peple besides me nose it. Excoose hon® sir this 
trubble from your obejiant servant 
‘‘FAX AND NO MISSTAKE.”’ 


The Admiral’s healthy face turned blue with rage and 
contempt, and he stamped with his heel, as if he had the 
writer under it. To write a stabbing letter, and to dare to 
deal the stab, and yet fear to show the hand that deals it, 
was at that time considered a low thing to do. Even now 
there are people who so regard it, though a still better tool 
for a blackguard—the anonymous post-card—is now su- 
perseding it. 

All the old man’s pleasure, and cheer, and comfort, and 
joy in having one day at home at last, were dashed and 
shattered and turned into wretched anxiety by this vile 
scrawl. He meant to have gone down, light of heart, with a 
smiling daughter upon either arm, to the gallant little fes- 
tival where everybody knew him, and every one admired 
and loved him. His two pretty daughters would sit up- 
stairs, watching from a bow-window (though themselves 
unseen) all the dashing arrivals and the grand apparel. 
Then when the Marquis made his speech, and the King and 
Queen and Royal Family rode upon the clouds, and the 
grandeur of Great Britain was above the stars of heaven, 
the ladies in the gallery would venture just to show them- 
selves, not for one moment with a dream of being looked 
at, but from romantic loyalty, and the fervour of great 
sentiments. People pretending not to know would ask, 
‘‘' Who are those very lovely ladies?” And he would make 
believe to know nothing at all about it, but his heart would 
know whether he knew it or not. 

On the very eve of all this well-earned bliss, when it would 
have refreshed his fagged body and soul—which were now 
not so young as they used to be—to hear from some 
scoundrel without a name, that his pet child, the life of his 
life, was no better than she ought to be, which being said 
of a woman means that she is as bad as she can be! This 
fine old gentleman had never received such a cowardly 


208 SPRINGHAVEN. “ 
back-handed blow till now, and for a moment he bent un- 
der it. 

Then, greatly ashamed of himself, he arose, and with one 
strong word, which even Mr. Twemlow might have used 
under such provocation, he trod the vile stuff under foot, 
and pitched it with the fire-tongs into the fire. After this 
he felt better, and resolving most stoutly that he never would 
let it cross his mind again, made a light and cheerful answer 
to the profligate one—his young girl who came seeking him. 

‘‘Oh, father, and you ought to be dressed!” she cried. 
‘Shall we keep His Majesty the Lord-Lieutenant waiting ? 
Don’t let us go at all. Let us stop at home, papa. We 
never see you now, more than once in a month; and we 
don’t want to see you from a staircase hole, where we mustn’t 
even blow a kiss to you. I have got such a lot of things to 
tell you, dear father; and I could make you laugh much more 
than they will.” 

‘* But, my darling—all these grand things?” said the fa- 
ther, gently fingering but half afraid to look at her, because 
of what had been in his own mind; ‘‘the sweetest Navy 
blue, and the brightest Army red, and little bits of silver lace 
so quiet in between them! Iam sure I don’t know what to 
call a quarter of it; but the finest ship ever seen under full 
sail, with the sun coming through her from her royals to her 
courses—”’ 

‘“ Now, papa, don’t be so ridiculous. You know that I 
am not a fine ship at all, but only a small frigate, about 
eighteen guns at the outside, I should say—though she would 
be a sloop of war, wouldn't she ?—and come here at any rate 
for you to command her, if you are not far too lofty an 
Admiral.”’ 

‘*Do you love your old father, my dear?” said he, being 
carried beyond his usual state by the joy in her eyes as she 
touched him. 

‘‘ What a shame to ask me such a question? Oh, papa, I 
ought to say, ‘Do you love me?’? when you go away weeks 
and months almost together! Take that, papa; and be quite 
ashamed of yourself.” 

She swept all her breast-knots away anyhow—that had 
taken an hour to arbitrate—and flung back her hair that 
would never be coiled, and with a flash of tears leaping into 
laughing eyes, threw both arms round her father’s neck, and 
pressed her cool sweet lips to his, which were not at all in 
the same condition. 


SPRINGHAVEN. 239 


‘‘There, see what you’ve done for me now!” she cried. 
‘It will take three quarters of an hour, papa, to make me 
look fit to be looked at again. The fashions are growing so 
ridiculous now—it is a happy thing for us that we are a 
hundred years behind them, as Eliza Twemlow had the impu- 
dence to say; and really, for the daughter of a clergyman—” 

‘*T don’t care that for Eliza Twemlow,” the Admiral ex- 
claimed, with a snap of his thumb. ‘‘ Let her show herself 
as much as there is demand for. Or rather, what I mean to 
say is, let Miss Twemlow be as beautiful as nature has made 
her, my dear; and no doubt that is very considerable. But 
I like you to be different; and you are. I like you to be 
simple, and shy, and retiring, and not to care twopence what 
any one thinks of you, so long as your father is contented.” 

Dolly looked at her father, as if there were no other man 
in the world for the moment. Then her conscience made 
her bright eyes fall, as she whispered: *‘To be sure, papa. 
I only put these things on to please you; and if you don’t 
like them, away they go. Perhaps I should look nicer in 
my great-aunt’s shawl. And my feet would be warmer, oh 
ever so much! I know where it is, and if you prefer the 
look of it—” 

‘‘No, no!” cried the simple old father, as the girl tripped 
away in hot haste to seek for it; ‘I forbid you to make such 
a guy of yourself. You must not take my little banter, 
darling, in such a matter-of-fact way, or I must hold my 
tongue.” 

‘‘Thank God,” he continued to himself, as Miss Dolly 
ran away, to repair her damages; ‘‘the simple little soul 
thinks of nobody but me! How could I be such a fool as to 
imagine harm of her? Why, she is quite a child, a bigger 
child than Iam. I shall enjoy my evening all the more for | 
this.” 

And truly there seemed to be no reason why all the guests 
at that great festival, save those who had speeches to make, 
should not enjoy their evening thoroughly. Great prepara- 
tions had been made, and goodly presents contributed; plen- 
ty of serving-men would be there, and John Prater (now 
growing white-headed and portly) was becoming so skilful a 
caterer that if anything was suggested to him, he had always 
thought of it long ago. The only grief was that the hour 
should be so late—five o'clock, an unchristian time, as they 
said, for who could have manners after starving so long? 

There was some sense in this; but the unreasonable late- 


240 SPRINGHAVEN. 


ness of the hour could not be helped, because the Lord-Lieu- 
tenant had to wait upon the King at eight o’clock that 
morning. That he could do so, and yet be in Springhaven 
by five, seemed almost impossible; for only ten years ago 
the journey took two days. But the war seemed to make 
everything go quicker, and it was no use to wonder at any- 
thing. Only if everything else went quicker, why should 
dinner (the most important of them all) come slower? And 
as yet there was nobody to answer this; though perhaps 
there is no one to ask it now. . 

All things began very beautifully. The young ladies 
slipped in unobserved, and the elder blessings of mankind 
came after, escorting themselves with dignity. Then the 
heroes who had fought, and the gallants who had not had 
the luck yet, but were eager for it, came pleasantly clank- 
ing in, well girt to demolish ox and sheep, like Ajax, in lack 
of loftier carnage. The Rector said grace, and the Marquis 
amen, and in less than two minutes every elbow was up, and 
every mouth at business. There was very little talking for 
the first half hour. In those days emptiness was not allowed 
to make the process of filling a misery. 

While these fine fellows were still in the prime of their 
feeding, bent over and upon it, two men with empty stom- 
achs, and a long way between them and their victuals, stood 
afar regarding them. That is to say, just far enough to be 
quite out of sight from the windows, in the gloom of the 
December evening, but at the same time near enough, to 
their own unhappiness, to see and even smell the choice af- 
fairs across the road. 

‘*For what, then, hast thou brought me here?” the shorter 
man sharply asked the tall one, both being in an uncom- 
fortable place in a hedge, and with briars that scratched 
them. ‘‘Is it to see other people eat, when to eat myself 
is impossible? You have promised to show me a very fine 
thing, and leagues have I traversed to please you. Fie, 
then, what is it? To see eat, eat, eat, and drink, drink, 
drink, and have nothing for myself!” 

‘‘My friend,” said the tall man, ‘‘I have not brought you 
here with any desire to improve your appetite, which is 
always abundant, and cannot be gratified for several hours, 
and with poor stuff then, compared to what you are behold- 
ing. Those men are feeding well. You can see how they 
enjoy it. There is not a morsel in their mouths that has 
not a very choice flavour of its own distinguished relish. 


SPRINGHAVEN. 241 


See, there is the venison just waiting to be carved, and a 
pheasant between every two of them. If only the wind 
was a little more that way, and the covers taken off the 
sauce-boats, and the gravy—ah, do I perceive a fine fra- 
grance, or is it a desirous imagination ?” 

‘‘Bah! you are of the cold-blood, the wicked self-com- 
mand. For me it is either to rush in, or rush away. No 
longer can I hold my nose and mouth. And behold they 
have wine—grand wine—the wine of Sillery, of Medoc, of 
Barsac, and of Burgundy! By the bottles I can tell them, 
and by all the Saints—” 

‘Be not so excited, for you cannot smack the lips. It is 
too late now to envy them their solids, because they have 
made such speed with them. But listen, my dear friend ”— 
and here the tall man whispered into the ear of his brisk 
companion, who danced with delight in the ungenial hedge, 
till his face was scarred with brambles. 

‘Tt is magnificent, it is droll, it is what you call in Eng- 
land one grand spree, though of that you understand not the 
signification. But, my faith, it is at the same time barbar- 
ous, and almost too malignant.”’ 

‘* Too benevolent Charron,” said the tall stern man, ‘‘ that 
shall rest upon my conscience, not on yours. The object 
is not to spoil their noisy revel, but to gain instruction of 
importance. To obtain aclear idea of the measures they 
adopt—ah, you see, you are as quick as lightning. This 
urgent message is upon Official paper, which I have taken 
from the desk of that very stupid Stubbard. Take the 
horse Jerry holds at the corner, and the officer’s hat and 
cape provided are ample disguise for sodark anight. Take 
the lane behind the hills, and gallop two miles eastward, till 
you come to the shore again, then turn back towards the 
village by way of the beach, and you will meet the Coast- 
guard on duty, a stupid fellow called Vickers. Your horse 
by that time will be piping and roaring: he can go like the 
wind, but his own is broken. The moment you see Vickers, 
begin to swear at your horse. I have practised you in d—ns, 
for an emergency.” . 

‘‘Ten thousand thunders, I can say d—n now to equal and 
surpass the purest born of all Britons.” 

‘*Not so loud, my friend, until by-and-by. The Coast- 
guard will come to you, and you pull up with your horse 
hanging down his head, as if dead-beaten. Using your ac- 
complishment again, you say: ‘ Here, take this on to Ad- 

ae 


242 SPRINGHAVEN. 


miral Darling. My nag is quite done, and I must get to 
Stonnington tocall Colonel James. For your life, run, run. 
You'll get a guinea, if you look sharp.’ Before he can think 
of it, turn your horse, and make back to the lane, as if for 
Stonnington. But instead of that, gallop back to our 
ruins; and we'll go up the hill, and see what comes of it.” 

‘‘Itis very good, itismagnificent. But will not the senti- 
nel perceive my voice and accent?” 

‘‘Not he; he is a very honest and therefore stupid fellow. 
Give him no time, answer no questions. Be all in a rush, 
as you so generally are. I would do it myself, but I am 
too well known. Say, will you undertake it? It will be 
a fine joke for you.” 

About half an hour after this, the Lord-Lieutenant having 
hammered on the table with an empty bottle, stood up to 
propose the chief toast of the evening—the gallant crew of 
the Leda, and the bold sailors of Springhaven. His lord- 
ship had scarcely had a bottle and a half, and was now in 
the prime of his intellect. A very large man, with a long 
brocaded coat of ruby-coloured cloth, and white satin 
breeches, a waistcoat of primrose plush emblazoned with the 
Union-jack (then the popular device) in gorgeous silks with 
a margin of bright gold, and a neckcloth pointed and plaited 
in with the rarest lace, worth all the rest put together—what 
a pity it seemed that such a man should get drunk, or at 
any rate try so hard to do it. There was not a pimple on 
his face, his cheeks were rosy and glistening, but not flushed ; 
and his eyes were as bright and clear and deep as a couple 
of large sapphires. 

This nobleman said a few words, without any excitement, 
or desire to create it, every word to the point, and the best 
that could be chosen not to go beyond the point. There was 
no attempt’ at eloquence, and yet the speech was eloquent, 
because it suggested so much more than was said. More 
excitable natures, overcome by half a bottle, resolved to have 
the other half, in honour of that toast. 

Then the Marquis did a very kind and thoughtful thing, 
for which he deserved a bottle of the Royal Tokay, such as 
even Napoleon could not obtain. When the cheering was 
done, and every eye was fixed upon the blushing Scudamore 
—who felt himself, under that fixture, like an insect under 
a lens which the sun is turning into a burning-glass—the 
Chairman perceived his sad plight, and to give him more 
time and more spirit, rose again. 


SPRINGHAVEN. 243 


‘‘Gentlemen,” he said, ‘‘or I would rather call you broth- 
er Englishmen at this moment, I have forgotten one thing. 
Before our young hero replies to his health, let us give him 
that spirited song ‘ Billy Blue,’ which is well known to ev- 
ery man here, I'll be bound. ‘Tell the drummer down there 
to be ready for chorus.” Billy Blue, though almost for- 
gotten now (because the enemy would not fight him), the 
blockader of Brest, the hardy, skilful, and ever-watchful 
Admiral Cornwallis, would be known to us nearly as well 
as Nelson, if fame were not a lottery. 

As the Lord-Lieutenant waved his hand, the company rose 
_ with one accord, and followed the lead of his strong clear 
voice in the popular song, called 


“BILLY BLUE.” 
I 


“Tis a terrible time for Englishmen ; 

All tyrants do abhor them; 

Every one of them hath to fight with ten, 
And the Lord alone is for them. 

But the Lord hath given the strong right hand, 
And the courage to face the thunder; 

If a Frenchman treads this English land, 
He shall find his grave thereunder. 


CHORUS. 


Britannia is the Ocean-Queen, and she standeth stanch and true, 
With Nelson for her faulchion keen, and her buckler Billy Blue. 


2. 


“They are mustering on yon Gallic coasts, 

You can see them from this high land, 

The biggest of all the outlandish hosts 
That ever devoured an island. 

There are steeds that have scoured the Continent, 
Ere ever one might say, ‘ Whoa, there!’ 

And ships that would fill the Thames and Trent, 
If we would let them go there. 


CuHorvs. 


But England is the Ocean-Queen, and it shall be hard to do; 
Not a Frenchman shall skulk in between herself and her Billy Blue. 


3. 
“From the smiling bays of Devonshire 
To the frowning cliffs of Filey, 
Leaps forth every son of an English sire, 
To fight for his native isley. 


244 SPRINGHAVEN. 


He hath drawn the sword of his father now 
From the rusty sheath it rattled in; 

And Dobbin, who dragged the peaceful plough, 
Is neighing for the battle-din. 


CHorUs. 


For Albion still is Ocean-Queen, and though her sons be few, 
‘They challenge the world with a dauntless mien, and the flag of Billy Blue. 


4. 


‘Then pledge me your English palm, my lad; 
Keep the knuckles for Sir Frenchman ; 

No slave can you be till you change your dad, 
And no son of yours a henehman. 

The fight is to come; and we will not brag, 
Nor expect whatever we sigh for, 

But stand as the rock that bears the flag 
Our duty is to die for. 


CHoRUS. 


For Englishmen confront serene whatever them betideth ; 
And England shall be Ocean’s Queen as long as the world abideth.” 


W hat with the drum and the fifes of one of the regiments 
now at Stonnington, and the mighty bass of some sea-cap- 
tains vehement in chorus, these rough and rolling lines were 
enough to frighten a thousand Frenchmen, while proving 
the vigour of British nerve, and fortitude both of heart and 
ear. When people have done a thing well, they know it, 
and applaud one another to include themselves; and even 
the ladies, who were meant to be unseen, forgot that and 
waved their handkerchiefs. Then up and spoke Blyth 
Scudamore, in the spirit of the moment; and all that he 
said was good and true, well-balanced and well-condensed, 
like himself. His quiet melodious voice went further than 
the Lord-Lieutenant’s, because it was new to the air of 
noise, and that fickle element. loves novelty. All was si- 
lence while he spoke, and when he ceased—great uproar. 

‘‘That lad will do,” said the Marquis to his supporter on 
the right hand; ‘‘I was just like him at that age myself. 
Let me draw this cork—it is the bottle of the evening. 
None but my own fellows understand a cork, and they seem 
to have got away somewhere. What the doose are they 
about—why, halloa, Darling! What’s the meaning of all 
this, at such a time ” 

“Well, my lord, you must judge for yourself,” said the 
Admiral, who had made his way quietly from the bottom 


SPRINGHAVEN. 245 


of the table. ‘‘We know that false alarms are plentiful. 
But this looks like business, from the paper it is written on; 
and I know that old Dudgeon is as solidas myself. Vickers 
the Coast-guard brought it in, from an officer whose horse 
was blown, who had orders to get somehow to Stonnington.” 

‘Ts Vickers a knave, or a fool who is likely to be made 
the victim of a very low joke? There are hundreds of 
jealous scoundrels eager to spoil every patriotic gathering. 
Ah, this looks rather serious, though, if you can youch for 
the paper.” 

‘‘T can vouch for the paper, my lord, and for Vickers; 
but not for Dudgeon’s signature. Of that I have no knowl- 
edge—though it looks right enough, so far as I know. 
Shall I read it aloud, and let officers who are not under 
my command judge for themselves, as I shall judge for those 
I have the honour to command 2” 

The Lord- Lieutenant, with his cork just squeaking in 
the neck of the bottle, nodded; and the Admiral, with 
officers crowding round, read aloud as follows, part being 
in type, and part in manuscript: 


“ Commander of Coast-defence at Hythe, to Vice-Admiral Darling, 
Springhaven : 





‘“ French fleet standing in, must have slipped Cornwallis. 
Do all youcan. Nota moment to lose. 
(Signed) ‘* BELLAMY DUDGEON.” 


‘“ Well, it may be true, or it may be a lie,” said the Mar- 
quis, pouring carefully; ‘‘my opinion is the latter; but I 
have nothing to do with it officially, according to the new 
arrangements. Hvery gentleman must judge for himself. 
And I mean to abide by my own judgment, which strongly 
recommends me to finish this bottle.” 

‘*Probably you are right enough; and in your place per- 
haps I should do the same,” the Admiral answered, quietly ; 
‘“’but be the alarm either true or false, 1am bound to act 
otherwise. All Naval Officers present will be good enough 
to follow me, and prepare to rejoin if ordered. We shall 
very soon know from the signal-point, unless fog has set in 
suddenly, whether we are bound to beat a general alarm.” 

All the sons of the sea arose quietly, and were de- 
spatched with brief orders to the right and left, to communi- 
cate with their signal stations, while Stubbard hurried back 
to his battery. 


246 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘* What cold blood they do display !” whispered the French- 
man, who had returned with the author of the plot to 
watch the issue from a point of vantage. ‘‘ My faith, they 
march slowly for their native land! Not less than six bot- 
tles of great French wine did I anticipate to steal through 
the window, while they fell out precipitous. But there sits 
a man big enough to leave me nothing—not even a re- 
mainder of my own body. Soul of St. Denis, can it be that 
they question the word of a gentleman 2?” 

‘“Not they!’ replied Carne, who was vexed, however; 
‘‘they are taking things easily, according to the custom of 
the nation. But two good things we have done, friend Char- 
ron; we have learned their proceedings, and we have 
spoiled their feasting.” 

‘‘But not at all; they are all coming back to enjoy it 
all the more!” cried the Frenchman. ‘‘Oh that I were an 
Englishman, to get such a dinner, and to be so loyal to it!” 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 
FAIR ORITICISM. 


FrEw things can be worse for a very young woman than 
to want to be led by somebody, and yet find nobody fit to 
do it. Or at any rate, through superior quickness and the 
knowledge of it, to regard old friends and relatives of 
experience as very slow coaches, and prigs or prudes, who 
cannot enter into quick young feelings, but deal in old saws 
which grate upon them. 

Not to moralize about it—for if young ladies hate anything, 
it is such moralizing— Miss Dolly Darling was now in that 
uncomfortable frame of mind when advice is most needed, 
yet most certain to be spurned. She looked upon her 
loving and sensible sister as one who was fated to be an old 
maid, and was meant perhaps by nature for that condition, 
which appeared to herself the most abject inthe world. And 
even without that conclusion about Faith, she would have 
been loath to seek counsel from her, having always resented 
most unduly what she called her ‘‘ superior air of wisdom.” 
Dolly knew that she was quicker of wit than her sister—as 
shallow waters run more rapidly—and she fancied that she 
possessed a world of lively feelings into which the slower 
intellect could not enter. For instance, their elder brother 
Frank had just published a volume of poems, very noble in 


« SMOTIO“’ SV GVGY “GNOOU DNIGMOUD SUYAOIGKO HLIM ‘TVYINGY GHL,, 


— ween 





, 425) } 
‘ eckie i 
TN a aa MAS Rg 








248 SPRINGHAVEN. 


their way, and glowing with ardour for freedom, democracy, 
and the like, as well as exhibiting fine perception of sound, 
and great boldness in matters beyond sounding, yet largely 
ungifted with knowledge of nature, whether human or su- 
perior. 

‘* Better stick to his law-books,”’ the Admiral had said, 
after singing out some of the rhyme of it to the tune of 
‘Billy Benbow”; ‘‘ never sit on the wool-sack by spewing 
oakum this way.” 

Faith had tried, as a matter of duty, to peruse this book 
to its cover; but she found it beyond even her good-will, 
and mild sympathy with everything, to do so. There was 
not the touch of nature in it which makes humble people 
feel, and tickles even the very highest with desire to enter 
into it. So Faith declared that it must be very clever, and 
no doubt very beautiful, but she herself was so stupid that 
she could not make out very clearly what it was all about. 

‘Well, I understand every word of it,’’ Miss Dolly cried, 
with a literary look. ‘‘I don’t see how you can help doing 
that, when you know all about Frank, who wrote it. 
Whenever it is not quite clear, it is because he wants us to 
think that he knows too much, or else because he is not quite 
certain what he wants to mean himself. And as for his talk 
about freedom, and all that, I don’t see why you should ob- 
ject to it. It is quite the fashion witk all clever people now, 
and it stops them from doing any mischief. And nobody 
pays much attention to them, after the cruel things done 
in France when I was seven or eight years old. If I see 
Frank, I shall tell him that I like it.” 

‘‘And I shall tell him that I don’t,” said Faith. ‘‘It 
cannot do anybody any good. And what they call ‘free- 
dom’ seems to mean making free with other people’s prop- 
erty.” | 

These poems were issued in one volume, and under one 
title— The Harmodiad—although there must have been 
some half-hundred of them, and not more than nine odes to 
freedom in the,lot. Some were almost tolerable, and others 
lofty rubbish, and the critics (not knowing the author) spoke 
their bright opinions freely. The poet, though shy as a 
mouse in his preface, expected a mountain of inquiry as to 
the identity of this new bard, and modestly signed himself 
“** Asteroid,” which made his own father stare and swear. 
Growing sore prematurely from much keelhauling—for the 
reviewers of the period were patriotic, and the English pub- 





























TO PERUSE THIS BOOK.’’ 


“FAITH HAD TRIED, AS A MATTER OF DUTY, 


250 SPRINGHAVEN. 


lic anti-Gallic— Frank quitted his chambers at Lincoln’s 
Inn, and came home to be comforted for Christmas. This 
was the wisest thing that he could do, though he felt that it 
was not Harmodian. In spite of all crotchets, he was not 
a bad fellow, and not likely to make a good lawyer. 

As the fates would have it (being naturally hostile to 
poets who defy them), by the same coach to Stonnington 
came Master Johnny, in high feather for his Christmas holi- 
days. Now these two brothers were as different of nature | 
as their sisters were, or more so; and unlike the gentler 
pair, each of these cherished lofty disdain for the other. 

Frank looked down upon the school-boy 
( as an unlicked cub without two 
/ ideas; the bodily defect he en- 
deavoured to cure by fre- 









forts. Johnny mean- 
while, who was as 
wo. hard as nails, no 
“<=> sooner recovered 
~~ from a thumping 
“+ than he renewed 
~- and redoubled his 
. loud contempt for 
, & great lout over 
Y7 six feet high, who 
~ had never drawn 
_a sword or pulled 
a trigger. And 
now for the win- 
ter this book would be a perpetual snowball for him to pelt 
his big brother with, and yet (like a critic) be scarcely fair 
object for a hiding. In season out of season, up-stairs down- 
stairs, even in the breakfast and the dinner chambers, this 
young imp poked clumsy splinters—worse than thorns, be- 
cause so dull—into the tender poetic side; and. people, who 
laugh at the less wit the better, laughed very kindly, to 
please the boy, without asking whether they vexed the man. 
And the worst of it was, that the author too must laugh. 
All this might be looked down at by a soul well hoisted 
upon the guy-ropes of contempt; and now and then a very 
solid drubbing given handsomely (upon other grounds) to the 


ates 
Bs 


+ 


Nest Zs 
yy,” 





SPRINGHAVEN. 251 


chief tormentor solaced the mind of unacknowledged merit. 
But as the most vindictive measure to the man who has 
written an abusive letter is to vouchsafe him no reply, so to 
the poet who rebukes the age the bitterest answer it can give 
is none. Frank Darling could retaliate upon his brother 
Johnny, and did so whenever he could lay hold of him 
alone; but the steadfast silence of his sister Faith (to whom 
one of his loftiest odes was addressed), and of his lively fa- 
ther, irked him far more than a thousand low parodies. 
Dolly alone was some comfort to him, some little vindication 
of true insight; and he was surprised to find how quickly 
her intelligence (which until now he had despised) had 
strengthened, deepened, and enlarged itself. Still he want- 
ed some one older, bigger, more capable of shutting up the 
mouth, and nodding (instead of showing such a lot of 
red tongue and white teeth), before he could be half as snug 
as a true poet should be, upon the hobs of his own fire. And 
happily he found his Anti-Zoilus ere long. 

~ One day he was walking in a melancholy mood along 
the beach towards Pebbleridge, doubting deeply in his hon- 
est mind whether he ever should do any good, in versi- 
fication, or anything else. He said to himself that he had 
been too sanguine, eager, self-confident, ardent, impetuous, 
and, if the nasty word must be faced, even too self-conceit- 
ed. Only yesterday he had tried, by delicate setting of little 
word-traps, to lead Mr. Twemlow towards the subject, and 
obtain that kind-hearted man’s comforting opinion. But 
no; the gentle Rector would not be brought to book, or at 
any rate not to that book ; and the author had sense enough 
to know without a wink that his volume had won volumes 
of dislike. 

Parnassus could never have lived till now without two 
heads—one to carry on with, while the other is being thump- 
ed to pieces. While the critics demolish one peak, the poet 
withdraws to the other, and assures himself that the general 
public, the larger voice of the nation, will salute him there. 
But alas, Frank Darling had just discovered that even that 
eminence was not his, except as a desert out of human sight. 
For he had in his pocket a letter from his publishers, re- 
ceived that dreary morning, announcing a great many Copies 
gone gratis, six sold to the trade at a frightful discount, and 
six to the enterprising public. All these facts combined to 
make him feel uncommonly sad and sore to-day. 

A man of experience could have told him that this dis- 


252 SPRINGHAVEN. 


appointment was for his good; but he failed to see it in that 
light, and did not bless the blessing. Slowly and heavily 
he went on, without much heed of anything, swinging his 
clouded cane now and then, as some slashing reviews oc- 
curred to him, yet becoming more peaceful and impartial 
of mind under the long monotonous cadence and quiet 
repetitions of the soothing sea. For now he was beyond the 
Haven head—the bulwark that makes the bay a pond in all 
common westerly weather—and waves that were worthy 
of the name flowed towards him, with a gentle ‘breeze step- 
ping over them. 

The brisk air was like a fresh beverage to him, and the 
fall of the waves sweet music. He took off his hat, and 
stopped, and listened, and his eyes grew brighter. Although 
the waves had nothing very distinct to say in dying, yet no 
two (if you hearkened well), or at any rate no two in suc- 
cession, died with exactly the same expression, or vanished 
with precisely the same farewell. Continual shifts went 
on among them, and momentary changes; each in proper 
sequence marching, and allowed its proper time, yet at any 
angle traversed, even in its crowning curl, not only by the 
wind its father, but by the penitent return and white con- 
trition of its shattered elder brother. And if this were not 
enough to make a samely man take interest in perpetually 
flowing changes, the sun and clouds, at every look and 
breath, varied variety. 

Frank Darling thought how small his griefs were, and 
how vain his vanity. Of all the bubbly clots of froth, or 
frayed and shattered dabs of drift, flying beside him or fall- 
ing at his feet, every one was as good as his ideas, and as 
valuable as his labours. And of all the unreckoned waves 
advancing, lifting their fugitive crests,and roaring, there 
certainly was not one that fell with weight so futile as his 
own. Who cared even to hear his sound? What ear was 
soothed by his long rhythm, or what mind solaced by the 
magnitude of his rolling? 

Suddenly he found that some mind was so. For when he 
had been standing a long while thus, chewing the salt cud 
of marine reflections, he seemed to hear something more in- 
telligible than the sea. With more surprise than interest he 
walked towards the sound, and stood behind the corner of a 
jutting rock to listen. In another second his interest over- 
powered his surprise, for he knew every word of the lines 
brought to his ears, for the very simple reason that they 





SPRINGHAVEN. 253 


were his own. Round the corner of that rock, so absorbed 
in admiration that he could hear no footstep, a very fine 
young man of the highest order was reading aloud in a pow- 
erful voice, and with extremely ardent gesticulation, a fine 
passage from that greatly undervalued poem, the Harmo- 
diad, of and concerning the beauties of Freedom— 


“No crown upon her comely head.she bore, 

No wreath her affluent tresses to restrain ; 

A smile, the only ornament she wore, 
Her only gem a tear for others’ pain. 

Herself did not her own mishaps deplore, 
Because she lives immortal as the dew, ° 

Which falling from the stars soon mounts again ; 
And in this wise all space she travels through, 
Beneficent as heaven, and to the earth more true. 


“Her blessings all may win who seek the prize, 

If only they be faithful, meek, and strong, 

And crave not that which others’ right denies, 
But march against the citadel of wrong. 

A glorious army this, that finds allies 
Wherever God hath built the heart of man 

With attributes that to Himself belong; 
By Him ordained to crown what He began, 
And shatter despotism, which is the foul fiend’s ban.” 


Frank thought that he had never heard nobler reading, 
sonorous, clear, well-timed, well-poised, and of harmonious 
cadence. The curved rock gave a melodious ring, and the 
husky waves a fine contrast to it, while the reader was so 
engrossed with grandeur—the grandeur of Frank’s own 
mind!—that his hat could evidently not contain his head, 
but was flung at the mercy of his feet. What a fine, expres- 
Sive, and commanding face! 

If Frank Darling had been a Frenchman—which he 
sometimes longed to be, for the sake of that fair Liberty—the 
scene, instead of being awkward, would have been elegant, 
rapturous, ennobling. But being of the clumsy English 
race, he was quite at a loss what to do with himself. On 
paper he could be effusive, ardent, eloquent, sentimental ; 
but not a bit of that to meet the world in his own waistcoat. 
He gave a swing to his stick, and walked across the open- 
ing as if he were looking at sea-gulls. And on he would 
have walked without further notice, except a big gulp in 
his throat, if it had not been for a trifling accident. 

Somehow or other the recitative gentleman’s hat turned 
over to the wind, and that active body (which never neglects 


954 SPRINGHAVEN. 


any sportive opportunity) got into the crown, with the speed 
of an upstart, and made off with it along the stones. A 
costly hat it was,and comely with rich braid and satin 
loops, becoming also to a well-shaped head, unlike the chim- 
ney-pot of the present day, which any man must thank God 
_forlosing. However, the owner was so wrapped up in poetry 
that his breeches might have gone without his being any 
wiser. 

‘‘Sir,” said Frank Darling, after chasing the hat (which 
could not trundle as our pots do, combining every possible 
absurdity), ‘‘excuse me for interrupting you, but this ap- 
pears to be your hat, and it was on its way to a pool of salt- 
water.” 

‘*Hat!—my hat?” replied the other gentleman. ‘‘ Oh, to 
be sure! I had quite forgotten. Sir, lam very much obliged 
to you. My hat might have gone to the devil, I believe, I 
was so delightfully occupied. Such a thing never hap- 
pened to me before, for Iam very hard indeed to please; but 
I was reading, sir; I was reading. Accept my thanks, sir; 
and I suppose I must leave off.” 

‘‘T thought that I heard a voice,” said Frank, growing bold 
with fear that he should know no more, for the other was 
closing his book with great care, and committing it to a pouch 
buckled over his shoulder; ‘‘and I fear that I broke in upon 
a pleasaht moment. Perhaps I should have pleased you bet- 
ter if I had left this hat to drown.” | 

‘‘T seem ungrateful,” the stranger answered, with a sweet 
but melancholy smile, as he donned his hat and then lifted 
it gracefully to salute its rescuer; “‘ but it is only because 
I have been carried far away from all thoughts of self, by 
the power of a much larger mind. Such a thing may 
have occurred to you, sir, though it happens very seldom in 
one life. If so, you will know how to forgive me.”’ 

‘*T scarcely dare ask—or rather I would say ”—stammered 
the anxious poet—‘‘that I cannot expect you to tell me the 
name of the fortunate writer who has moved you so.” 

‘“Would to Heaven that I could!” exclaimed the other. 
‘But this great poet has withheld his name—all great poets 
are always modest—but it cannot long remain unknown. 
Such grandeur of conception and force of language, com- 
bined with such gifts of melody, must produce universal 
demand to know the name of this benefactor. I cannot 
express myself as I would desire, because I have been brought 
up in France, where literature is so different, and people 














“THIS APPEARS TO BE YOUR HAT, AND IT WAS ON ITS WAY TO A POOL UF 
SALT-WATER,” 


judge a work more liberally, without recourse to politics. 
This is a new work, only out last week; and a friend of 
mine, a very fine judge of literature, was so enchanted with 
it that he bought a score of copies at once, and as my good 
stars prevailed, he sent me one. You are welcome to see 
it, sir. It is unknown in these parts; but will soon be 
known all over Europe, unless these cruel wars retard it.” 


256 SPRINGHAVEN. 


With a face of deep gravity, Caryl Carne put into Frank 
Darling’s hand a copy of his own book, quite young, but al- 
ready scored with many loving marks of admiration and keen 
sympathy. Frank took it, and reddened with warm delight. 

‘You may not understand it at first,” said the other; 
‘‘though I beg your pardon for saying that. What I mean 
is, that I can well suppose that an Englishman, though a 
good judge in general, would probably have his judgment 
darkened by insular prejudices, and the petty feeling which 
calls itself patriotism, and condemns whatever is nobler and 
larger than itself. My friend tells me that the critics have 
begun to vent their little spite already. The author would 
treat them with calm disdain!” 

‘‘Horribly nasty fellows!” cried Frank. ‘‘ They ought 
to be kicked; but they are below contempt. But if I could 
only catch them here—”’ 

‘‘T am delighted to find,” replied Carne, looking at him 
with kind surprise, ‘‘that you agree with me about that, sir. 
Read a few lines, and your indignation against that low lot 
will grow hotter.” 

‘Tt cannot grow hotter,” cried the author; ‘‘I know ev- 
ery word that the villains have said. Why, in that first 
line that I heard you reading, the wretches actually asked 
me whether I expected my beautiful goddess to wear her 
crown upon her comely tail!” 

‘‘T am quite at a loss to understand you, sir. Why, you 
speak as if this great work were your own!” 

‘So it is,every word of it,” cried Frank, hurried out of all 
reserve by excitement. ‘‘ At least, I don’t mean that it is 
a great work—though others, besides your good self, have 
said— Are you sure that your friend bought twenty copies ? 
My publishers will have to clear up that. Why, they say, 
under date of yesterday, that they have only sold six copies 
altogether. And it was out on Guy Fawkes’ Day, two 
months ago!” 

Caryl Carne’s face was full of wonder. And the greatest 
wonder of all was its gravity. He drew back a little, in 
this vast surprise, and shaded his forehead with one hand, 
that he might think. 

‘‘T can hardly help laughing at myself,” he said, ‘‘ for be- 
ing so stupid and so slow of mind. But a coincidence like 
this is enough to excuse anything. If I could be sure that 
you are not jesting with me, seeing how my whole mind is 
taken up with this book—” 


SPRINGHAVEN. 254 


- “Sir T can feel for your surprise,” answered Frank, hand- 
ing back the book, for which the other had made a sign, ‘‘be- 
cause my own is even greater; for I never have been read 
aloud before—by anybody else I mean, of course; and the 
sound is very strange, and highly gratifying—at least, when 
done as you do it. But to prove my claim to the author- 
ship of the little work which you so kindly esteem, I will 
show you the letter I spoke of.” 

The single-minded poet produced from near his heart a 
very large letter with much sealing-wax endorsed, and the 
fervent admirer of his genius read: 


‘“DEAR Sir,—In answer to your favour to hand, we beg 
to state that your poetical work the Harmodiad, published 
by our firm, begins to move. Following the instructions in 
your last, we have already disposed of more than fifty copies. 
Forty-two of these have been distributed to those who will 
forward the interests of the book, by commending it to the 
Public; six have been sold to the trade at a discount of 75 
per cent.; and six have been taken by private purchasers, 
at the full price of ten shillings. We have reason to an- 
ticipate a more rapid sale hereafter. But the political views 
expressed in the poems—as we frankly stated to you at first 
—are not likely to be popular just now, when the Country 
is in peril, and the Book trade incommoded, by the imme- 
diate prospect of a French invasion. We are, dear sir, your 
obedient servants, TICKLEBOIS, LATHERUP, BLINKERS, & Co. 
—To Mr. FRANK DARLING, Springhaven Hall.” 


“You cannot call that much encouragement,” said Frank; 
‘‘and it is a most trusty and honourable house. I cannot 
do what a friend of mine has done, who went to inferior 
publishers—denounce them as rogues, and call myself a 
martyr. If the book had been good, it would have sold; es- 
pecially as all the poets now are writing vague national 
songs, full of slaughter and brag, like that ‘ Billy Blue’ thing 
all our fishermen are humming.” | ? 

: “You have nothing to do but to bide your time. In the 
long-run, fine work is sure to make its way. Meanwhile I 
must apologize for praising you to your face, in utter igno- 
rance, of course. But it must have made you feel uncom- 
fortable.” . 

“Not at all; far otherwise,” said the truthful Frank. 
‘It has been the very greatest comfort tome. And strange 


258 SPRINGHAVEN. 


to say, it came just when I wanted it most sadly. I shall 
never forget your most kind approval.” 

‘‘Tn that case I may take the liberty of introducing my- 
self, I trust. You have told me who you are, in the most 
delightful way. I have no such claim upon your attention, 
or upon that of the world at large. I am only the last of 
an ill-fated race, famous for nothing except ruining them-- 
selves. I am Caryl Carne, of yonder ruin, which you must 
have known from childhood.” 

Frank Darling lifted his hat in reply to the other’s more 
graceful salutation, and then shook hands with him hearti- 
ly. ‘‘I ought to have known who you are,” he said; ‘“‘ for 
I have heard of you often at Springhaven. But you have 
not been there since I came down, and we thought that you 
had left the neighbourhood. Our little village is like the 
ear of the tyrant, except that it carries more false than true 
sound. I hope you are come to remain among us, and I 
hope that we shall see you at my father’s house. Years 
ago I have heard that there used to be no especial good-will 
between your family and mine—petty disputes about boun- 
daries, no doubt. How narrow and ridiculous such things 
are! We live in a better age than that, at any rate, al- 
though we are small enough still in many ways.” 

‘You are not; and you will enlarge many others,” Carne 
answered, as if the matter were beyond debate. ‘‘ As for 
boundaries now, I have none, because the estates are gone, 
and Iam all the richer. That is the surest way to liberate 
the mind.” 

“Will you oblige me,” said Frank, to change the sub- 
ject, for his mind did not seek to be liberated so, and yet 
wished its new admirer to remain in admiration, ‘‘ by looking 
along the shore towards Springhaven as far as you can see, 
and telling me whether any one iscoming? My sisters were 
to follow me, if the weather kept fine, as soon as they had 
paid a little visit at the rectory. And my sight is not good 
for long distances.” 

‘‘T think I can see two ladies coming, or at any rate two 
figures moving, about a mile or more away, where the sands 
are shining in a gleam of sunlight. Yes, they are ladies. I 
know by their walk. Good-bye. I havea way up the cliff 
from here. You must not be surprised if you do not see me 
again. I may have to be off for France. I have business 
there, of which I should like to talk toyou. You are so far 
above mean prejudice. If I go, I shall carry this precious 


SPRINGHAVEN. 259 


volume with me. Farewell, my friend, if I may call you 
B02"; 
‘‘Do wait a minute,” cried the much-admiring Frank; 
‘for walk a few yards with me towards Springhaven. It 
would give me such pleasure to introduce you to my sisters. 
And I am sure they will be so glad to know you, when I tell 
them whatI think. Ivery seldom get such a chance as this.” 

‘*There is no resisting that!” replied the graceful Carne; 
‘‘T have not the honour of knowing a lady in England, ex- 
cept my aunt Mrs. Twemlow,and my cousin Eliza-—-both very 
good, but to the last degree insular.” 

‘‘Tt is very hard to help being that, when people have 
never been outofan island. ButI fear that lam taking you 
out of your way.” 

In a few minutes these two young men drew near to the 
two young women, whose manners were hard put to hide sur- 
prise. When their brother introduced Mr. Carne to them, 
Faith bowed rather stiffly, for she had formed without reason 
a dark and obstinate dislike to him. But the impetuous 
Dolly ran up.and offered him both her hands, and said, 
‘Why, Mr. Carne saved both our lives only a few days ago.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 
NEITHER AT HOME. 


THOUGH Admiral Darling had not deigned to speak to his 
younger daughter about that vile anonymous charge, he was 
not always quite comfortable in his inner mind concerning 
it. More than once he thought of asking Faith’s opinion, 
for he knew her good sense and discretion; but even this. 
was repugnant to him,and might give her the idea that he 
cherished low suspicions. And then he was called from 
home again, being occupied among other things with a vain 
inquiry about the recent false alarm. For Carne and Char- 
ron had managed too well, and judged too correctly the 
character of Vickers, to afford any chance of discovery. So 
that, when the Admiral came home again, his calm and—_ 
in its fair state—gentle nature was ruffled by the prosperity 
of the wicked. 

‘Oh, he is a fine judge of poetry, is he?” he said, more 
sarcastically than his wont; ‘‘that means, I suppose, that 
he admires yours, Frank. Remember what Nelson said 


260 SPRINGHAVEN. 


about you. The longer I live, the more I find his views con- 
firmed.” 

‘*Papa, you are too bad! You are come home cross!” cried 
Dolly, who always took Frank’s part now. ‘What does 
my godfather know of poetry, indeed? If he ever had any 
ear for it, the guns would have ruined it long ago.” 

‘No mostacchio in my house!” said the master, without 
heeding her. ‘‘I believe that is the correct way to pro- 
nounce the filthy thing—a foreign abomination altogether. 
Who could keep his lips clean, with that dirt over them ? 
A more tolerant man than myself never lived—a great 
deal too tolerant, as everybody knows. But Ill never 
tolerate a son of mine in disgusting French hairiness of 
that sort.” 

‘‘Papa, you are come home as cross as a bear!” cried 
Dolly, presuming on her favour. ‘‘ Lord Dashville was here 
the other day with a very nice one, and I hear that all Cav- 
alry Officers mean to have one, when they can. And Mr. 
Carne, Frank’s friend, encourages it.” 

‘“The less you have to say about that young man, the 
better. And the less he has to say to any child of mine, the 
better, both for him and her,I say. I know that the age is 
turned upside down. But I'll not have that sort of thing at 
my table.” | 

When a kind and indulgent father breaks forth thus, the 
result is consternation, followed by anxiety about his health. 
Faith glanced at Dolly, who was looking quite bewildered, 
and the two girls withdrew without a word. Johnny was 
already gone to visit Captain Stubbard, with whose eldest 
daughter Maggie and the cannons of the battery he was by 
this time desperately in love; and poor Frank was left to 
have it out with the angry father. 

‘‘T very seldom speak harshly, my boy,” said the Admiral, 
drawing near his son gradually, for his wrath (like good 
vegetables) was very short of staple; ‘‘and when I do so you 
may feel quite certain that there is sound reason at the bot- 
tom of it’—here he looked as if his depth was unfathomable. 
‘Tt is not only that Iam not myself, because of the many 
hours spent upon hard leather, and vile chalks of flint that 
go by me half asleep, when I ought to be snoring in the 
feathers; neither has it anything to do with my consuming 
the hide of some quadruped for dinner, instead of meat. 
And the bread is made of rye, if of any grain at all; I rather 
think of spent tan, kneaded up with tallow ends, such as I 





SPRINGHAVEN. 261 


have seen cast by in bushels, when the times were good. 
And every loaf of that costs two shillings—one for me, and 
one for Government. They all seem to acknowledge that I 
can put up with that; and I make a strict point of mild 
language, which enables them to do it again with me. 
All up and down the roads, everybody likes me. But if I 
was shot to-morrow, would they care twopence ?” 

‘‘T am sure they would, sir; and a good deal more than 
that,” answered Frank, who perceived that his father was 
out of his usual lines of thinking, perhaps because he had 
just had a good dinner—so ill do we digest our mercies. 
‘‘T am sure that there is nobody in Sussex, Kent, or Hamp- 
shire who does not admire and respect and trust you.” 

‘‘T dare say, and rejoice to see me do the work they ought 
to do. They have long nights in bed, every one of them, 
and they get their meals when they want them. Iam not 
at all astonished at what Nelson said. He is younger than 
I am by a good many years, but he seems to have picked 
up more than I have, in the way of common sentiments, 
and such like. ‘You may do everybody’s work, if you are 
fool enough,’ he said to me the last time I saw him; ‘and 
ease them of their souls as well, if you are rogue enough, as 
they do in the Popish countries. Iam nearly sick of doing 
it,’ he said, and he looked it. ‘If you once begin with it, 
you must goon.’ I find it more true every day of my life. 
Don’t interrupt me; don’t go on with comfortable stuff abou ; 
doing good, and one’s duty towards one’s Country—though 
I fear that you think very little of that. If I thought I 
had done good enough to make up for my back-aches, and 
three fine stumps lost through chewing patriotic sentiments, 
why, of course I should be thankful, and make the best of 
my reward. But charity begins at home, my boy, and one’s 
shirt should be considered before one’s cloak. A man’s fam- 
ily is the nearest piece of his country, and the dearest one.” 

‘‘T am sure, sir, I hope,” replied Frank, who had never 
heard his father talk like this before, ‘‘ that nothing is going 
on amiss with us here. When you are away,I keep a sharp 
lookout. And if I saw anything going wrong, I should let 
you know of it immediately.” | 

‘“No doubt you would; but you are much too soft. You 
are quite as easy-going as I used to be at your age’’—here 
the Admiral looked as if he felt himself to be uncommonly 
hard-going now—‘‘and that sort of thing will not do in 
these days. For my own discomforts I care nothing. I 


262 SPRINGHAVEN. 


could live on lobscouse, or soap and bully, for a year, and 
thank God for getting more than I deserved. But my 
children, Frank, are very different. From me you would 
never hear a grumble, or a syllable of anything but perfect 
satisfaction, so long as I felt that I was doing good work, 
and having it appreciated. And all my old comrades have 
just the same feeling. But you, who come after us, are not — 
like that. You must have everything made to fit you, in- 
stead of making yourselves fit them. The result will be, I 
have very little doubt, the downfall of England in the scale 
of nations. I was talking to my old friend St. Vincent last 
week, and he most heartily agreed with me. However, I 
don’t mean to blame you, Frank. You cannot help your 
unfortunate nature for stringing ends of words together that 
happen to sound alike. Johnny will make a fine Officer, 
not in the Navy, but of Artillery—Stubbard says that he 
has the rarest eyes he ever came across in one so young, and 
he wishes he could put them into his Bob’s head. He shall 
not go back to Harrow; he can spell his own name, which 
seems to be all they teach them there, instead of fine scholar- 
ship, such as I obtained at Winton. But to spell his own 
name is quite enough forasoldier. In the Navy we always 
were better educated. Johnny shall go to Chatham, when 
his togs are ready. I settled all about it in London, last 
week. Nothing hurts him. He is water-proof and thunder- 
proof. Toss him up anyhow, he falls upon his feet. But 
that sort of nature very seldom goes up high. But you, 
Frank, you might have done some good, without that nasty 
twist of yours for writing and for rhyming, which is a sure 
indication of spinal complaint. Don’t interrupt me; I speak 
from long experience. Things might be worse, and I ought 
to be thankful. None of my children will ever disgrace 
me. At the same time, things would go on better if I were 
able to be more at home. That Caryl Carne, for instance, 
what does he come here for 2” 

‘‘ Well, sir, he has only been here twice. And it took a 
long time to persuade him at all. He said that as you had 
not called upon him, he felt that he might be intruding 
here. And Faith, who is sometimes very spiteful, bowed, 
as much as to say that he had better wait. But Dolly, who 
is very kind-hearted, assured him that she had heard you 
say at least a dozen times: ‘Be sure that I call upon Mr. 
Carne to-day. What will he think of my neglect? But 
I hope that he will set it down to the right cause—the per- 


SPRINGHAVEN. 263 


petual demands upon my time.’ And when she told him 
that, he said that he would call the next day, and so he did.” 

“Ah!” eried the old man, not well pleased; ‘‘it was 
Dolly who took that little business off my shoulders! 
She might have been content with her elder sister’s judg- 
ment, in a family question of that sort. But I dare say she 
thought it right to make my excuses. Very well, I'll do 
that for myself. To-morrow I shall call upon that young 
man, unless I get another despatch to-night. But I hear 
he wants nobody at his ruins... I suppose he has not asked 
even you to go there ?” 

‘*No, sir; I think he took his little place here, because 
it would be so painful for him to receive any friends at 
that tumble-down castle. He has not yet been able to do 
any repairs.” 

‘‘T respect him for that,” said the Admiral, with his 
generous sympathies aroused; ‘they have been a grand old 
family, though I can’t say much for those I knew—except, 
of course, Mrs. Twemlow. But he may be a very fine 
young fellow, though a great deal too Frenchified, from 
all I hear. And why my friend Twemlow cold-shoulders 
him so is something of a mystery to me. Twemlow is gen- 
erally a judicious man in things that have nothing to do with 
the Church. When it comes to that, he is very stiff-backed, 
as I have often had to tell him. Perhaps this young man 
is a Papist. His mother was, and she brought him up.” 

‘‘T am sure I don’t know, sir,” answered Frank. ‘‘I 
should think none the worse of him if he were, unless he 
allowed it to interfere with his proper respect for liberty.” 

‘‘Liberty be hanged!” cried the Admiral; ‘‘and that’s 
the proper end for most of those who prate about it, when 
they ought to be fighting for their Country. I shall sound 
him about that stuff to-morrow. If he is one of that lot, 
he won’t come here with my good-will, I can assure him. 
What time is he generally to be found down there? He 
is right over Stubbard’s head, I believe, and yet friend 
Adam knows nothing about him. Nor even Mrs. Adam! 
I should have thought that worthy pair would have drawn 
any badger in the kingdom. I suppose the youth will see 
me, if I call. Idon’t want to go round that way for noth- 
ing. Idid want to have a quiet day at home, and saunter 
in the garden, as the weather is so mild, and consult poor 
Swipes about Spring crops, and then have a pipe or two, and 
take my gun to Brown Bushes for a woodcock, or a hare, 


264 : SPRINGHAVEN. 


and come home with a fine appetite to a good dinner. But 
I never must hope for a bit of pleasure now.” 

‘“You may depend upon it, sir,” said Frank, ‘‘ that Caryl 
Carne will be greatly pleased to see you. And I think you 
will agree with me that a more straightforward and sim- 
ple-minded man is not to be found in this country. He 
combines what we are pleased to call our national dignity 
and self-respect with the elegant manners, and fraternal 
warmth, and bonhomie—as they themselves express it—of 
our friends across the water.” 

‘“You be off! I don’t want to be cross any more. Two 
hundred thousand friends there at this moment eager to 
burn down our homes and cut our throats! Tired as I am, 
I ought to take a stick to you, as friend Tugwell did to his 
son for much less. I have the greatest mind not to go near 
that young man. I wish I had Twemlow here to talk it 
over. Pay your fine for a French word, and be off!” 

Frank Darling gravely laid down five shillings on his 
dessert plate, and walked off. The fine for a French word 
in that house, and in hundreds of other English houses at 
this patriotic period, was a crown for a gentleman, and a 
shilling for a lady, the latter not being hable except when 
gentlemen were present. The poet knew well that another 
word on his part would irritate his father to such a degree 
that no visit would be paid to-morrow to the admirer of 
the Harmodiad, whose admiration he was longing to re- 
ward with a series of good dinners. And so he did his 
utmost to insure his father’s visit. 

But when the Admiral, going warily—because he was so 
stiff from saddle-work—made his way down to the house of 
Widow Shanks, and, winking at the Royal Arms in the 
lower front window, where Stubbard kept Office and con- 
venience, knocked with the knocker at the private door, 
there seemed to be a great deal of thought required before 
anybody came to answer. 

‘‘Susie,” said the visitor, who had an especial knack of 
remembering Christian names, which endeared him to the 
bearers, ‘‘I am come to see Mr. Carne, and I hope he is at. 
home.” 

‘‘ No, that ’a bain’t, sir,” the little girl made answer, after 
looking at the Admiral as if he were an elephant, and wiping 
her nose with unwonted diligence; ‘‘he be gone away, sir; 
and please, sir, mother said so.” 

‘* Well, here’s a penny for you, my dear, because you are 





SPRINGHAVEN. 268 


the best little needle-woman in the school, they tell me. 
Run and tell your mother to come and see me.—Oh, Mrs. 
Shanks, Iam very glad to see you, and so blooming in spite 
of all your hard work. Ah, it is no easy thing in these 
hard times to maintain a large family and keep the pot 
boiling. And everything clean as a quarter-deck! My 
certy, you are a woman in a thousand!” 

‘‘No, sir, no. It is all the Lord’s doing. And you to 
the back of Him, as I alway say. Not a penny can they 
make out as I owes justly, bad as I be at the figures, Squire. 
Do ’e come in, and sit down, there’s a dear. Ah, I mind 
the time when you was like a dart, Squire!” 

‘* Well, and now I am like a cannon-ball,” said the Ad- 
miral, who understood and liked this unflattering talk; 
‘‘only I don’t travel quite so fast as that. I scarcely get 
time to see any old friends. But I came to look out fora 
young friend now, the gentleman you make so comfortable 
up-stairs. Don’t I wish I was a young man without encum- 
brance, to come and lodge with such a wonderful landlady !” 

‘* Ah, if there was more of your sort, sir, there’d be a deal 
less trouble in the world, there would. Not that my young 
gentleman is troublesome, mind you, only so full of them 
outlandish furrin ways—abideth all day long without ating 
ort, so different from a honest Englishman. First I used 
to think as he couldn’t afford it, and long to send him up a 
bit of my own dinner, but dursn’t for the life of me—too 
grand for that, by ever so—till one day little ‘Susie there 
comes a-running down the stairs, and she sings out, with 
her face as red as ever a boiled lobster: ‘Looky see, mother! 
Oh, do ’e come and looky see! Pollyon hath got a heap 
of guineas on his table; wouldn’t go into the big yellow 
pudding-basin!’ And sure enough he had, your Honour, in 
piles, as if he was telling of them. He had slipped out sud- 
denly, and thought the passage door was bolted. What a 
comfort it was to me, I can’t configurate. Because I could 
eat my dinner comfortable now, for such a big heap of 
money never I did see.”’ 

‘‘T am very glad—heartily glad,” exclaimed the smiling 
Admiral. ‘‘I hope he may get cash enough to buy back all 
the great Carne property, and kick out those rascally Jews 
and lawyers. But what makes Susie call him that ?” 

‘‘ Well, sir, the young ones must have a nickname for 
anything beyond them; and because he never takes any 
notice of them—so different from your handsome Master 

12 


266 SPRINGHAVEN. 


Frank—and some simility of his black horse, or his proud 
walk, to the pictur’, ‘Pollyon’ is the name they give him, out 
of Pilgrim’s Progress. Though not a bit like him, for such 
a gentleman to pay his rent and keep his place untrouble- 
some I never had before. And a fortnight he paid me last 
night, afore going, and took away the keys of all three 
doors.” 

‘‘He is gone, then, is he? To London, I dare say, It 
would be useless to look for him at the castle. My son 
will be disappointed more than I am. To tell you the 
truth, Mrs. Shanks, in these days the great thing is to stick 
to the people that we know. The world is so full, not of 
rogues, but of people who are always wanting something 
out of one, that to talk with a thoroughly kind, honest per- 
son, like yourself, is a real luxury. When the gentleman 
comes back, let him know that I have called.” 

‘““And my Jenny, sir?” cried the anxious mother, run- 
ning after him into the passage; ‘‘ not a word have you said 
about my Jenny. I hope she show no sign of flightiness ?” 

‘Jenny is as steady as the church,” replied the Admiral. 
‘Weare going to put her on a pound a year from next quar- 
ter-day, by Mrs. Cloam’s advice. She’ll have a good stock- 
ing by the time she gets married.” 

‘“There never was such a pleasant gentleman, nor such 
a kind-hearted one, I do believe,” said Widow Shanks, as she 
came in with bright eyes. ‘‘'What are they Carnes to the 
Darlings, after all? As different as night and day.” 

But the Admiral’s next visit was not quite so pleasant; 
for when he got back into the village road, expecting a nice 
walk to his luncheon and his pipe, a man running furiously 
almost knocked him down, and had no time to beg his par- 
don. The runner’s hat was off his head, and his hair blow- 
ing out, but luckily for itself his tongue was not between his 
teeth. | 

‘*Has the devil got hold of you at last, Jem Prater ?” the 
Admiral asked, not profanely; for he had seen a good deal 
of mankind, and believed in diabolical possession. 

‘*For Parson! for Parson!” cried Jem, starting off again 
as hard as he could go. ‘‘ Butter Cheeseman hath hanged 
his self in his own scales. And nobody is any good but 
Parson.” 

Admiral Darling was much disturbed. ‘‘ What will the 
world come to? I never knew such times,” he exelaimed 
to himself, with some solemnity; and then set off, as fast 





SPRINGHAVEN, 267 


as his overridden state permitted, for the house of Mr. 
Cheeseman. Passing through the shop, which had nobody 
in it, he was led by the sound of voices into a little room 
beyond it—the room in which Mr. Cheeseman had first re- 
ceived Caryl Carne. Here he beheld an extraordinary 
scene, of which he often had to dream thereafter. 

From a beam in the roof (which had nothing to do with 
his scales, as Jem Prater had imagined), by a long but not 
well-plaited cord, was dangling the respected Church-war- 
den Cheeseman. Happily for him, he had relied on his own 
goods; and the rope being therefore of very bad hemp, had 
failed in this sad and too practical proof. The weight of 
its vender had added to its length some fifteen inches—as he 
loved" to pull out things—and his toes touched the floor, 
which relieved him now and then. 

‘“Why don’t you cut him down, you old fools?’ cried 
the Admiral to three gaffers, who stood moralizing, while 
Mrs. Cheeseman sat upon a barrel, sobbing heavily, with 
both hands spread to conceal the sad sight. 

‘*We was afraid of hurting of him,” said the quickest- 
witted of the gaffers; ‘‘Us wanted to know why ’a doed it,” 
said the deepest; and, ‘‘ The will of the Lord must be done,” 
said the wisest. 

After fumbling in vain for his knife, and looking round, 
the Admiral ran back into the shop, and caught up the sharp 
steel blade with which the victim of a troubled mind had 
often unsold a sold ounce in the days of happy commerce. 
In a moment the Admiral had the poor Church-warden in 
his sturdy arms, and with a sailor’s skill had unknotted 
the choking noose, and was shouting for brandy, as he kept 
the blue head from falling back. 

When a little of the finest eaw de vie that ever was 
smuggled had been administered, the patient rallied, and 
becoming comparatively cheerful, was enabled to explain 
that ‘it was all a mistake altogether.” This removed all 
misunderstanding; but Rector Twemlow, arriving too late 
for anything but exhortation, asked a little too sternly—as 
everybody felt—under what influence of the Evil One 
Cheeseman had committed that mistake. The reply was 
worthy of‘an enterprising tradesman, and brought him such 
orders from a score of miles around that the resources of 
the establishment could only book them. 

‘‘Sir,” he said, looking at the parson sadly, with his right 
hand laid upon his heart, which was feeble, and his left hand 








“TT MUST HAVE BEEN BY REASON OF THE WEIGHT I GIVE.” 


intimating that his neck was sore, ‘‘if anything has happened 
that had better not have been, it must have been by reason 
of the weight I give, and the value such a deal above the 
prices.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


EVERYBODY’ MASTER. 


THE peril of England was now growing fast; all the 
faster from being in the dark. The real design of the en- 
emy escaped the penetration even of Nelson, and our Gov- 
ernment showed more anxiety about their great adversary 
landing on the coast of Egypt than on that of England. 
Naval men laughed at his flat-bottomed boats, and declared 
that one frigate could sink a hundred of them; whereas it 
is probable that two of them, with their powerful guns and 
level fire, would have sunk any frigate we then possessed. 





SPRINGHAVEN. 269 


But the crafty and far-seeing foe did not mean to allow any 
frigate, or line-of-battle ship, the chance of inquiring how 
that might be. . 

His true scheme, as everybody now knows well, was 
to send the English fleet upon a wild-goose chase, whether 
to Egypt, the west coast of Ireland, or the West Indies, as 
the case might be; and then, by a rapid concentration of his 
ships, to obtain command of the English Channel, if only 
for twenty-four hours at a time. Twenty-four hours of 
clearance from our cruisers would have seen a hundred thou- 
sand men landed on our coast, throwing up entrenchments, 
and covering the landing of another hundred thousand, 
coming close upon their heels. Who would have faced 
them? A few good regiments, badly found,and perhaps 
worse led, and a-mob of militia and raw volunteers, the re- 
ward of whose courage would be carnage. 

But as a chip smells like the tree, and a hair like the dog 
it belongs to, so Springhaven was a very fair sample of the 
England whereof (in its own opinion) it formed a most im- 
portant part. Contempt for the body of a man leads rashly 
to an underestimate of his mind; and one of the greatest 
men that ever grew on earth—if greatness can be without 
goodness — was held in low account because not of high 
inches, and laughed at as ‘‘ little Boney.” 

However, there were, as there always are, thousands of 
sensible Englishmen then; and rogues had not yet made a 
wreck of grand Institutions to scramble for what should 
wash up. Abuses existed, as they always must; but the 
greatest abuse of all (the destruction of every good usage) 
was undreamed of yet. And the right man was even now 
approaching to the rescue, the greatest Prime-Minister of 
any age or country. 

Unwitting perhaps of the fine time afforded by the feeble 
delays of Mr. Addington, and absorbed in the tissue of plot 
and counterplot now thickening fast in Paris—the arch- 
plotter in all of them being himself—the First Consul had 
slackened awhile his hot haste to set foot upon the shore of 
England. His bottomless ambition for the moment had a 
top, and that top was the crown of France; and as soon 
as he had got that on his head, the head would have no 
rest until the crown was that of Kurope. 

But before any crown could be put on at all, the tender 
hearts of Frenchmen must be touched by the appearance of 
great danger—the danger which is of all the greatest, that to 


270 SPRINGHAVEN. 


their nearest and dearest selves. A bloody farce was in 
preparation, noble lives were to be perjured away, and, 
above all, the only great rival in the hearts of soldiers 
must be turned out of France. This foul job worked — 
as foul Radical jobs do now—for the good of England. 
If the French invasion had come to pass, as it was fully 
meant to do, in the month of February, 1804, perhaps its 
history must have been written in French, for us to under- 
stand it. 

So, at any rate, thought Caryl Carne, who knew the re- 
sources of either side, and the difference between a fine 
army and a mob. He felt quite sure that his mother’s 
country would conquer his father’s without much trouble, 
and he knew that his horn would be exalted in the land, 
when he had guided the conqueror into it. Sure enough 
then he would recover his ancestral property with interest, 
and be able to punish his enemies well, and reward his 
friends if they deserved it. Thinking of these things, and 
believing that his own preparations would soon be fin- 
ished, he left Widow Shanks to proclaim his merits, while 
under the bold and able conduct of Captain Renaud Charron 
he ran the gauntlet of the English fleet, and was put ashore 
southward of Cape Grisnez. Here is a long reach of dreary 
exposure, facing the west unprofitably, with a shallow slope 
of brown sand, and a scour of tide, and no. pleasant moor- 
ings. Jotted as the coast was all along (whereon dry bat- 
teries grinned defiance, or sands just awash smiled treach- 
ery) with shallow transports, gun-boats, prames, scows, bil- 
anders, brigs, and schooners, row-galleys, luggers, and every 
sort of craft that has a mast, or gets on without one, and 
even a few good ships of war pondering malice in the 
safer roadsteads, yet here the sweep of the west wind, and 
the long roll from the ocean following, kept a league or 
two, northward of the mighty defences of Boulogne, in- 
violate by the petty enmities of man. Along the slight 
curve of the coast might be seen, beyond Ambleteuse and 
Wimereux, the vast extent of the French flotilla, ranged 
in three divisions, before the great lunette of the cen- 
tral camp, and hills jotted with tents thick as impets on a 
rock. 

Carne (whose dealings were quite unknown to all of the 
French authorities save one, and that the supreme one) was 
come by appointment to meet his commander in a quiet 
and secluded spot. It was early February now, and al- 


st - 


























“CARYL CARNE WAITED IN THE SHELTER OF A TREE.,”’ 


though the day was waning, and the wind, which was draw- 
ing to the north of west, delivered a cold blow from the 
sea, yet the breath of Spring was in the air already, and the 
beat of her pulse came through the ground. Almost any 
man, except those two concerting to shed blood and spread 
fire, would have looked about a little at the pleasure of the 
earth, and felt a touch of happiness in the goodness of the 
sky. 

Caryl Carne waited in the shelter of a tree, scarcely de- 
serving to be called a tree, except for its stiff tenacity. All 
the branches were driven by the western gales, and scourged 
flat in one direction—that in which they best could hold 
together, and try to believe that their life was their own. 
Like the wings of a sea-bird striving with a tempest, all the 
sprays were frayed alike, and all the twigs hackled with the 
self-same pile. Whoever observes a tree like this should 
stop to wonder how ever it managed to make itself any sort 
of trunk at all, and how it was persuaded to go up just 
high enough to lose the chance of ever coming down again. 
But Carne cared for nothing of this sort, and heeded very 
little that did not concern himself. All he thought of was 
how he might persuade his master to try the great issue at 
once. 

While he leaned heavily against the tree, with his long 


212 SPRINGHAVEN. 


sea-cloak flapping round his legs, two horsemen struck out 
of the Ambleteuse road, and came at hand-gallop towards 
him. The foremost, who rode with short stirrups, and sat 
his horse as if he despised him, was the foremost man of the. 
world just now, and for ten years yet to come. 

Carne ran forward to show himself, and the master of | 
France dismounted. He always looked best upon horse- 
back, as short men generally do, if they ride well; and his 
face (which helped to make his fortune) appeared even more 
commanding at a little distance. An astonishing face, in 
its sculptured beauty, set aspect,and stern haughtiness, calm 
with the power of transcendant mind, and a will that never 
met its equal. Even Carne, void of much imagination, and 
contemptuous of all the human character: he shared, was the 
slave of that face when in its presence, and could never 
meet steadily those piercing eyes. And yet, to the study 
of a neutral dog, or a man of abstract science, the face was 
as bad as it was beautiful. 

Napoleon—as he was soon to be called by a cringing 
world—smiled affably, and offered his firm white hand, 
which Carne barely touched, and bent over with deference. 
Then the foaming horse was sent away in charge of the 
attendant trooper, and the master began to take short quick 
steps, to and fro, in front of the weather-beaten tree; for to 
stand still was not in his nature. Carne, being beckoned 
to keep at his side, lost a good deal of what he had meant 
to say, from the trouble he found in timing his wonted — 
stride to the brisk pace of the other. 

‘You have done well—on the whole very well,” said Na- 
poleon, whose voice was deep, yet clear and distinct as the 
sound of a bell. ‘* You have kept me well informed; you 
are not suspected; you are enlarging your knowledge of the 
enemy and of his resources; every day you become more 
capable of conducting us to the safe landing. For what, 
then, this hurry, this demand to see me, this exposing of 
yourself to the risk of capture 2” 

Carne was about to answer; but the speaker, who under- 
shot the thoughts of others before they were shaped—as 
the shuttle of the lhghtning underweaves a cloud—raised 
his hand to stop him, and went on: 

‘* Because you suppose that all is ripe. Because you be- 
lieve that the slow beasts of islanders will strengthen their 
defences more by delay than we shall strengthen our at- 
tack. Because you are afraid of incurring suspicion, if you 


SPRINGHAVEN. 273 


continue to prepare. And most of all, my friend, because 
you are impatient to secure the end of a long enterprise. 
But, Captain, it must be longer yet. It is not for you, but 
for me, to fix the time. Behold me! I am come from a 
grand review. We have again rehearsed the embarkation. 
We have again put two thousand horses on board. The 
horses did it well; but not the men. They are as brave as 
eagles, but as clumsy as the ostrich, and as fond of the sand 
without water. They will all be seasick. It is in their 
countenances, though many have been practised in the 
mouths of rivers. Those infamous English will not permit 
us to proceed far enough from our native land to acquire 
what they call the legs of the sea. If our braves are sea- 
sick, how can they work the cannon, or even navigate well 
for the accursed island? They must have time. They must 
undergo more waves, and a system of diet before embarka- 
tion. Return, my trusted Captain, and continue your most 
esteemed services for three months. I have written these 
new instructions for you. You may trust me to remem- 
ber this addition to your good works.” 

Carne’s heart fell, and his face was gloomy, though he did 
his best to hide it. So well he knew the arrogance and fierce 
self-will of his commanding officer that he durst not put 
his own opposite view of the case directly before him. This 
arrogance grew with the growth of his power; so that in 
many important matters Napoleon lost the true state of 
the case through the terror felt by his subordinates. So 
great was the mastery of his presence that Carne felt himself 
cuilty of impertinence in carrying his head above the level 
of the General’s plume, and stooped unconsciously—as hun- 
dreds of tall men are said to have done—to lessen this 
anomaly of Nature. 

‘* All shall be done to your orders, my General,” he replied, 
submissively. ‘‘For my own position I have no fear. I 
might remain there from year to year without any suspicion 
arising, so stupid are the people all around, and so well is 
my name known among them. The only peril is in the 
landing of stores, and I think we should desist from that. 
A few people have been wondering about that, though 
hitherto we have been most fortunate. They have set it 
down so far to smuggling operations, with which in that 
tyrannical land all the lower orders sympathize. But it 
would be wiser to desist awhile, unless you, my General, 
have anything of moment which you still desire to send in.” 

12* 


274 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘‘What sort of fellow is that Sheeseman ?” asked Na- 
poleon, with his wonderful memory of details. ‘‘ Is he more 
to be confided in as a rogue or as a fool ?” 

‘‘As both, sir; but more especially as a rogue, though he 
has the compunctions of a fool sometimes. But he is as 
entirely under my thumb, as I am under that of my Com- 
mander.” 

‘‘That is very good,” answered the First Consul, smiling 
with the sense of his own power; ‘‘and at an hour’s notice, 
with fifty chosen men landed from the London Trader— 
ah, I love that name; it is appropriate—you could spike all 
the guns of that pretentious little battery,and lock the 
Commander of the Coast-Defence in one of his own cellars. 
Is it not so, my good Captain? Answer me not. That is 
enough. One question more, and you may return. Are 
you certain of the pilotage of the proud young fisherman who 
knows every grain of sand along his native shore? Surely 
you can bribe him, if he hesitates at all, or hold a pistol 
at his ear as he steers the leading prame into the bay! 
Charron would be the man for that. Between you and 
Charron there should be no mistake.” 

‘He requires to be handled with much delicacy. He has 
no idea yet what he is meant to do. And if I understand 
his nature, neither bribes nor fear would move him. He 
is stubborn as a Breton, and of that simple character.” 

‘‘One can always befool a Breton; but I hate that race,” 
said Napoleon. ‘‘If he cannot be made useful, tie a round 
shot to him, throw him overboard, and get a gentler native.” 

‘‘ Alas, I fear that we cannot indulge in that pleasure,” 
said Carne, with a smile of regret. ‘‘It cost me a large out- 
lay of skill to catch him, and the natives of that place are 
all equally stubborn. But I have a plan for making him 
do our work without being at all aware of it. Is it your 
wish, my General, that I should now describe that plan ?” 

‘“Not now,” replied Napoleon, pulling out a watch of 
English make, ‘‘ but in your next letter. I start for Paris 
in an hour’s time. You will hear of things soon which 
will add very greatly to the weight and success of this grand 
enterprise. We shall have perfidious Albion caught in her 
Own noose, as you shall see. You have not heard of one 
Captain Wright, and the landing-place at Biville. We will 
have our little Biville at Springhaven. There will be too 
many of us to swing up by a rope. Courage, my friend! 
The future is with you. Our regiments are casting dice 





as: “A 


SPRINGHAVEN. 275 


for the fairest English counties. But your native county 
is reserved for you. You shall. possess the whole of it— 
I swear it by the god of war—and command the Southern 
army. Be brave, be wise, be vigilant, and above all things 
be patient.” 

The great man held up his hand, as a sign that he want- 
ed his horse, and then offered it to Caryl Carne, who 
touched it lightly with his lips, and bent one knee. ‘‘ My 
Emperor !” he said, ‘‘ my Emperor!” 

‘‘ Wait until the proper time,” said Napoleon, gravely, and 
yet well pleased. ‘‘ You are not the first, and you will not 
be the last. Observe-discretion. Farewell, my friend!” 

In another minute he was gone, and the place looked 
empty without him. Carne stood gloomily watching the 
horsemen as their figures grew small in the distance, the 
large man behind pounding heavily away, like an English 
dragoon, on the scanty sod, of no importance to anybody— 
unless he had a wife or children—the lttle man in front 
(with the white plume waving, and the well-bred horse 
going easily), the one whose body would affect more bodies, 
and certainly send more souls out of them, than any other 
born upon this earth as yet, and—we hope—as long as ever 
it endureth. 

Caryl Carne cared nota jotabout that. He was anything 
but a philanthropist; his weaknesses, if he had any, were 
not dispersive, but thoroughly concentric. He gathered his 
long cloak round his body, and went to the highest spot 
within his reach, about a mile from the watch-tower at Cape 
Grisnez, and thence he had a fine view of the vast invasive 
fleet, and the vaster host behind it. 

An Englishman who loved his country would have 
turned sick at heart and faint of spirit at the sight before him, 
The foe was gathered together there to eat us up on every 
side, to get us into his net and rend us, to tear us asunder 
as a lamb is torn when its mother has dropped it in flight 
from the wolves. For forty square miles there was not 
an acre without a score of tents upon it, or else of huts 
thrown up with slabs of wood to keep the powder dry, and 
the steel and iron bright and sharp to go into the vitals of 
England. Mighty docks had been scooped out by warlike 
hands, and shone with ships crowded with guns and alive 
with men. And all along the shore for leagues, wherever 
any shelter lay, and great batteries protected them, hundreds 
of other ships tore at their moorings, to dash across the 


276 SPRINGHAVEN. 


smooth narrow line, and blacken with fire and redden with 
blood the white cliffs of the land they loathed. 

And what was there to stopthem ? The steam of the mul- 
titude rose in the air, and the clang of armour filled it. Num- 
bers irresistible, and relentless power urged them. At the 
beck of the hand that had called the horse, the gray sea would 
have been black with ships, and the pale waves would have 
been red with fire. Carne looked at the water-way touched 
with silver by the soft descent of the winter sun, and upon 
it, so far as his gaze could reach, there were but a dozen little 
objects moving, puny creatures in the distance—mice in front 
of a lion’s den. And much as he hated with his tainted 
heart the land of his father, the land of his birth, some re- 
luctant pride arose that he was by right an Englishman. 

‘‘Tt is the dread of the English seaman, it is the fame of 
Nelson, it is the habit of being beaten when England meets 
them upon the sea—nothing else keeps this mighty host like 
a set of trembling captives here, when they might launch 
forth irresistibly. And what is a great deal worse, it will 
keep me still in my ruined dungeons, a spy, an intriguer, 
an understrapper, when I am fit to be one of the foremost. 
What a fool I am so to be cowed and enslaved, by a man no 
better endowed than myself with anything, except self-con- 
fidence! Ishould have looked over his head, and told him 
that I had had enough of it, and if he would not take ad- 
vantage of my toils, would toil for him no longer. Why, 
he never even thanked me, that I can remember, and. my 
pay is no more than Charron’s! Anda pretty strict account 
I have to render of every Republican coin he sends. He 
will have his own head on them within six months, unless 
he is assassinated. His manners are not those of a gentle- 
man. While I was speaking to him, he actually turned his 
back upon me, and cleared his throat! Every one hates 
him as much as fears him, of all who are in the rank of 
gentlemen. How would it pay me to throw him over, de- 
nounce my own doings, excuse them as those of a French- 
man and a French officer, and bow the knee to Farmer 
George? Truly if it were not for my mother, who has 
sacrificed her life for me, I would take that course, and 
have done with it. Such all-important news would compel 
them to replace me in the property of my forefathers; and 
if neighbours looked coldly on me at first, I could very 
soon conquer that nonsense. I should marry little Dolly, 
of course, and that would go half-way towards doing it. I 





SPRINGHAVEN. OEE 


hate that country, but I might come to like it, if enough of it 
belonged tome. Aha! What would my mother say, if she 
dreamed that I could have such ideas? And the whole of 
my life belongs to her. Well, let me get back to my ruins 
first. It would never do to be captured by a British frigate. 
We had a narrow shave of it last time. And there will be a 
vile great moon to-night.” 

With these reflections—which were upon the whole more 
to his credit than the wonted web of thought—Carne with 
his long stride struck into a path towards the beach where 
his boat was waiting. Although he knew where to find 
several officers who had once been his comrades, he kept him- 
self gladly to his loneliness; less perhaps by reason of Na- 
poleon’s orders than from the growing charm which Solitude 
has for all who begin to understand her. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 
RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 


THOUGH Carne had made light, in his impatient mood, of 
the power of the blockading fleet, he felt in his heart a sin- 
cere respect for its vigilance and activity. La Liberté (as 
the unhappy Cheeseman’s schooner was called within gun- 
shot of France) was glad enough to drop that pretentious 
name, and become again the peaceful London Trader, when 
she found herself beyond the reach of French batteries. The 
practice of her captain, the lively Charron, was to give a 
wide berth to any British cruiser appearing singly; but 
whenever more than one hove in sight, to run into the 
midst of them and dip his flag. From the speed of his 
schooner he could always, in a light wind, show a clean pair 
of heels to any single heavy ship, and he had not yet come 
across any cutter, brig of war, or light corvette that could 
collar the Liberté in any sort of weather. Renaud Charron 
was a brave young Frenchman, as fair a specimen as could 
be found, of a truly engaging but not overpowering type, 
kindly, warm-hearted, full of enterprise, lax of morals (un- 
less honour—their veneer—was touched), loving excitement, 
and capable of anything, except skulking, or sulking, or run- 
ning away slowly. 

‘“None of your risky tricks to-night!” said Carne, as: he 
stood on the schooner’s deck, in the dusk of the February 


278 SPRINGHAVEN. 


evening, himself in a dark mood growing darker—for his 
English blood supplied the elements of gloom, and he felt 
a dull pleasure in goading a Frenchman, after being tram- 
pled on by one of French position. ‘‘ You will just make 
straight, as the tide and shoals allow, for our usual landing- 
place, set me ashore, and follow me to the old quarters. I 
have orders to give you, which can be given only there.” 

‘“My commanding officer shall be obeyed,” the Frenchman 
answered, with a light salute and smile, for he was not en- 
dowed with the power of hating, or he might have in- 
dulged that bad power towards Carne; ‘‘but I fear that he 
has not found things to his liking.” 

‘“What concern is that of yours? Your duty is to carry 
out my orders, to the utmost of your ability, and offer opin- 
ion when asked for.” 

The light-hearted Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. 
‘“My commanding officer is right,” he said; ‘‘ but the sea is 
getting up, and there will be wind, unless I mistake the 
arising of the moon. My commanding officer had better 
retire, until his commands are needed. He has been known 
to feel the effects of high tossing, in spite of his unequalled 
constitution. Is it not so,my commander? I ask with def- 
erence, and anxiety.” 

Carne, who liked to have the joke on his side only, swore 
at the moon and the wind, in clear English, which was 
shorter and more efficacious than French. He longed to 
say, ‘‘Try to keep me out of rough water,” but his pride, 
and the fear of suggesting the opposite to this sailor who 
loved a joke, kept him silent, and he withdrew to his little 
cuddy, chewing a biscuit, to feed, if it must be so, the ap- 
proaching malady. 

‘“We shall have some game, and a fine game too,” said 
Renaud Charron to himself, as he ordered more sail to be 
made. ‘‘ Milord gives himself such mighty airs! We will 
take him to the cross-run off the Middle Bank, and offer 
him a basin through the keyhole. To make seasick an | 
Englishman—for, after all, what other is he ?—will be a fine 
piece of revenge for fair France.” 

Widow Shanks had remarked with tender sorrow—more 
perhaps because she admired the young man, and was her- 
self a hearty soul, than from any loss of profit in victual- 
ling him—that ‘‘he was one of they folk as seems to go 
about their business, and do their jobs, and keep their 
skins as full as other people, without putting nought inside of 





SPRINGHAVEN. 279 


them. She knew one of that kind before, and he was shot 
by the Coast-guard, and when they postmartyred him, an 
eel twenty foot long was found inside him, doubled up for 
all the world like a love-knot. Squire Carne was of too 
high a family for that; but she would give a week’s rent to 
know what was inside him.” 

There was no little justice in these remarks, as is pretty 
sure to be the case with all good-natured criticism. The best 
cook that ever was roasted cannot get out of a pot more than 
was put in it; and the weight of a cask, as a general rule, 
diminishes if the tap is turned, without any redress at the 
bung-hole. Carne ran off his contents too fast, before he 
had arranged for fresh receipts; and all who have felt 
what comes of that will be able to feel for him in the result. 

But a further decrease was in store for him now. As the 
moon arose, the wind got higher, and chopped round to one 
point north of west, raising a perkish head-sea, and grinning 
with white teeth against any flapping of sails. The schoon- 
er was put upon the starboard tack as near to the wind as 
she would lie, bearing so for the French coast more than 
the English, and making for the Vergoyers, instead of the 
Varne, as intended. This carried them into wider water, 
and a long roll from the southwest crossing the pointed 
squabble of the strong new wind. 

‘*General,” cried Charron, now as merry as a grig, and 
skipping to the door of Carne’s close little cabin, about an 
hour before midnight, ‘‘it would afford us pleasure if you 
would kindly come on deck and give us the benefit of your 
advice. I fear that you are a little confined down here, and 
in need of more solid sustenance. My General, arise; there 
is much briskness upon deck, and’ the waves are dancing 
beautifully in the full-moon. Two sail are in sight, one 
upon the weather bow, and the other on the weather quarter. 
Ah, how superior your sea-words are to ours! If I were 
born an Englishman, you need not seek far for a successor 
to Nelson, when he gets shot, as he is sure to be before very 


long.” 
‘*Get out !’”? muttered Carne, whose troubles were faintly 
illuminated by a sputtering wick. ‘‘Get out, you scoun- 


drel, as you love plain English. Go direct to the devil— 
only let me die in peace.”’ 

‘‘ All language is excusable in those affected with the 
malady of the sea,” replied the Frenchman, dancing a little 
to encourage his friend. ‘‘ Behold, if you would get up - 


280 SPRINGHAVEN. 


and do this, you would be as happy inside as IT am. But 
stay—I know what will ease you in an instant, and enable 
you to order us right and left. The indefatigable Sherray 
put a fine piece of fat pork in store before we sailed; I have 
just had it cooked, for I was almost starving. It floats in 
brown liquor of the richest order, such as no Englishman 
can refuse. Take a sip of pure rum, and you will enjoy it 
surely. Say, my brave General, will you come and join 
me? It will cure any little disquietude down here.” 

With a pleasant smile Charron laid his hand on the part 
of his commander which he supposed to be blamable. Carne 
made an effort to get up and kick him, but fell back with 
everything whirling around, and all human standards in- 
verted. Then the kindly Frenchman tucked him up, for his 
face was blue and the chill of exhaustion striking into him. 
‘*T wish you could eat a little bit,” said Charron, gently; but 
Carne gave a push with his elbow. ‘‘ Well, you’ll be worse 
before you are better, as the old women say in your country. 
But what am I to do about the two British ships—for they 
are sure to be British—now in sight?’ But Carne turned 
his back, and his black boots dangled from the rim of his 
bunk as if there were nothing in them. 

‘‘This is going a little too far,” cried Charron; ‘‘I must 
have some orders, my commander. You understand that 
two English ships are manifestly bearing down upon us—”’ 

‘* Let them come and send us to the bottom—the sooner 
the better,” his commander groaned, and then raised his limp 
knuckles with a final effort to stop his poor ears forever. 

‘* But Iam not ready to go to the bottom, nor all the other 
people of our fourteen hands”—the Frenchman spoke now 
to himself alone—‘‘neither will I even go to prison. I will 
do as they do at Springhaven, and doubtless at every other 
place in England. Iwill have my dish of pork, which is now 
just crackling—I am capable of smelling it even here—and 
I will give some to Sam Polwhele, and we will put heads 
together over it. To outsail friend Englishman is a great 
delight, and to outgun him would be still greater; but if we 
cannot accomplish those, there will be some pleasure of out- 
witting him.” 

Renaud Charron was never disposed to make the worst of 
anything. When he went upon deck again, to look out 
while his supper was waiting, he found no change, except 
that the wind was freshening and the sea increasing, and 
the strangers whose company he did not covet seemed 





SPRINGHAVEN. 281 


waiting for noinvitation. Witha light wind he would have 
had little fear of giving them the go-by, or on a dark night 
he might have contrived to slip between or away from them. 
But everything was against bim now. The wind was so 
strong, blowing nearly half a gale, and threatening to blow 
a whole one, that he durst not carry much canvas, and the 
full-moon, approaching the meridian now, spread the white 
sea with a broad flood of hight. He could see that both 
enemies had descried him, and were acting in concert to cut 
him off. The ship on his weather bow was a frigate, 
riding the waves in gallant style, with the wind upon her 
beam, and travelling two feet for every one the close-hauled 
schooner could accomplish. If the latter continued her 
present course, in another half-league she would be under 
the port-holes of the frigate. 

The other enemy, though farther off, was far more diffi- 
cult to escape. This was a gun-brig, not so very much big- 
ger than La Liberté herself—for gun-brigs in those days 
were very small craft—and for that very reason more dan- 
gerous. She bore about two points east of north from the 
greatly persecuted Charron, and was holding on steadily 
under easy sail, neither gaining much upon the chase nor 
losing. ' 

‘‘Carry on as we are for about ten minutes,” said Charron 
to his mate, Sam Polwhele; *‘ that will give us period to eat 
our pork. Come, then, my good friend, let us do it.” 

-_ Polwhele—as he was called to make believe that he 
and other hands were Cornishmen, whereas they were Yan- 
kees of the sharpest order, owing no allegiance and unhappt- 
ly no good-will to their grandmother—this man, whose true 
name was Perkins, gave the needful orders, and followed 
down. Charron could talk, like many Frenchmen, quite as 
fast with his mouth full as empty, and he had a man to 
talk to who did not require anything to be said twice to him. 

‘“No fear of me!” was all he said. ‘' You keep out of 
sight, because of yourtwang. IJ] teach them a little good 
English—better than ever came out of Cornwall. The best 
of all English is not to say too much.” 

The captain and his mate enjoyed their supper, while 
Carne in the distance bore the pangs of a malady called 
bulimus, that is to say, a giant’s ravening for victuals, with- 
out a babe’s power of receiving them. For he was turning 
the corner of his sickness now, but prostrate and cold as a 
fallen stalactite. 


282 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘‘ Aha! We have done well. We have warmed our wits 
up. Oneglass of what you call the grog; and then we will 
play a pleasant game with those Englishmen!” Carne heard 
him say it, and in his heart hoped that the English would 
pitch him overboard. 

It was high time for those two to finish their supper. The 
schooner had no wheel, but steered—as light craft did then, 
and long afterwards—with a bulky ash tiller, having iron 
eyes for lashing it in heavy weather. Three strong men 
stood by it now, obedient, yet muttering to one another, 
for another cable’s length would bring them into danger of 
being run down by the frigate. 

‘‘ All clear for stays!” cried Polwhele, under orders from 
Charron. ‘‘Down helm! Helm’s alee! Steady so. Let 
draw! Easy! easy! There she fills!” And after a few 
more rapid orders the handy little craft was dashing away, 
with the wind abaft the beam, and her head about two points 
north of east. ‘‘Uncommon quick in stays!” cried Pol- 
whele, who had taken to the helm, and now stood there. 
‘“Wonder what Britishers will think of that ?” 

The British ship soon let him know her opinion, by a roar 
and a long streak of smoke blown toward him, as she put 
up her helm to consider the case. It was below the dignity 
of a fine frigate to run after lttle smuggling craft, such 
as she voted this to be, and a large ship had been sighted 
from her tops down channel, which might afford her nobler 
sport. She contented herself with a harmless shot, and 
leaving the gun-brig to pursue the chase, bore away for 
more important business. 

‘“Nonplussed the big ’un; shall have trouble with the 
little ’un,” said Master Polwhele to his captain. ‘‘She don’t 
draw half a fathom more than we do. No good running in- 
side the shoals. And with this wind, she has the foot of us.” 

‘Bear straight for her, and let her board us,” Char- 
ron answered, pleasantly. ‘‘ Down with all French hands 
into the forepart of the hold, and stow the spare foresail 
over them. Show our last bills of lading, and ask them 
to trade. You know all about Cheeseman; double his prices. 
If we make any cash, we'll divide it. Say we are out of our 
course, through supplying a cruiser that wanted our goods 
for nothing. I shall keep out of sight on account of my 
twang, as you politely call it. The rest I may safely leave 
to your invention. But if you can get any ready rhino, 
Sam Polwhele is not the man to neglect it.” 





SPRINGHAVEN. | 283 


‘Bully for you!” cried the Yankee, looking at him 
with more admiration than he expected ever to entertain for 
aFrenchman. ‘‘There’s five ton of cheeses that have been 
seven voyages, and a hundred firkins of Irish butter, and 
five-and-thirty cases of Russian tongues, as old as old Nick, 
and ne’er a sign of weevil! Lor’ no, never a tail of weevil! 
Skipper, you deserve to go to heaven out of West Street. 
But how about him, down yonder ?” 

‘“Captain Carne? Leave him to me toarrange. I shall 
be ready, if they intrude. Announce that you have a 
sick gentleman on board, a passenger afflicted with a foreign 
ilness, and having a foreign physician. Mon Dieu! It is 
good. Every Englishman believes that anything foreign 
will kill him with a vault. Arrange you the trading, and 
I will be the doctor—a German; I can do the German.”’ 

‘And I can do the trading,” the American replied, with- 
out any rash self-confidence; ‘‘any fool can sell good stuff; 
but it requireth a good man to sell bad goods.” 

The gun-brig bore down on them at a great pace, feeling 
happy certitude that she had got a prize—not a very big one, 
but still worth catching. She saw that the frigate had fired 
a shot, and believed that it was done to call her own atten- 
tion to a matter below that of the frigate. On she came, 
heeling to the lively wind, very beautiful in the moonlight, 
tossing the dark sea in white showers, and with all her taut 
canvas arched and gleaming, hovered with the shades of 
one another. . 

‘* Heave to, or we sink you!” cried a mighty voice through 
a speaking trumpet, as she luffed a little, bringing her port 
broadside to bear; and the schooner, which had hoisted Brit- 
ish colours, obeyed the command immediately. In a very 
few seconds a boat was manned, and dancing on the hillocks 
of the sea; and soon, with some danger and much care, the 
visitors stood upon the London Trader’s deck, and Sam 
Polwhele came to meet them. 

‘“We have no wish to put you to any trouble,” said the 
officer in command, very quietly, ‘‘if you.can show that you 
are what you profess to be. You sail under British colours; 
and the name on your stern is London Trader. We will 
soon dismiss you, if you prove that. But appearances are 
strongly against you. What has brought you here? And 
why did you run the risk of being fired at, instead of sub- 
mitting to his Majesty’s ship Minerva 2” | 

‘‘ Because she haven’t got any ready money, skipper, 


284 © SPRINGHAVEN. 


and we don’t like three months’ bills,” said the tall Bos- 
tonian, looking loftily at the British officer. ‘‘Such things 
is nothing but piracy, and we had better be shot at than 
lose such goods as we carry fresh shipped, and in prime 
condition. Come and see them, all with Cheeseman’s brand, 
the celebrated Cheeseman of Springhaven-——name guaran- 
tees the quality. But one thing, mind you—no use to 
hanker after them unless you come provided with the ready.”’ 

‘“We don’t want your goods; we want you,” answered 
Scudamore, now first luff of the brig of war Delia, and 
staring a little with his mild blue eyes at this man’s effront- 
ery. ‘‘That is to say, our duty is to know all about you. 
Produce your papers. Prove where you cleared from last, 
and what you are doing here, some thirty miles south of 
your course, if you are a genuine British trader.” 

‘‘Papers all in order, sir. First-chop wafers, as they 
puts on now, to save sealing-wax. Charter-party, and all 
the rest. Last bills of lading from Gravesend, but you 
mustn't judge our goods by that. Bulk of them from 
St. Mary Axe, where Cheeseman hath freighted from these 
thirty years. If ever you have been at Springhaven, Cap- 
tain, you’d jump at anything with Cheeseman’s brand. But 
have you brought that little bag of guineas with you 2” 

‘Once more, we want none of your goods. You might 
praise them as much as you liked, if time permitted. Show 
me to the cabin, and produce your papers. After that 
_we shall see what is in the hold.” 

‘“Supercargo very ill in best cabin. Plague, or black 
fever, the German doctor says. None of our hands will go 
near him but myself. But you won’t be like that, will you 2” 

Less for his own sake than his mother’s—who had none 
but him to help her—Scudamore dreaded especially that 
class of disease which is now called ‘‘zymotic.” His father, 
an eminent physician, had observed and had written a short 
work to establish that certain families and types of constitu- 
tion lie almost at the mercy of such contagion, and find no 
mercy from it. And among those families was his own: 
‘*Fly, my boy, fly,” he had often said to Blyth, ‘‘if you ever 
come near such subjects.” 

‘* Captain, I will fetch them,” continued Mr. Polwhele, 
looking grave at his hesitation. ‘‘By good rights they 
ought to be smoked, I dare say, though I don’t hold much 
with such stuff myself. And the doctor keeps doing a. heap 
of herbs hot. You can see him, if you just come down these 





SPRINGHAVEN, 285 


few steps. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind looking into the 
hold, to find something to suit your judgment—quality com- 
bined with low figures there—while I go into the infected 
den, as the cleverest of my chaps calls it. Why, it makes 
me laugh! Ive been in and out, with this stand-up coat on, 
fifty times, and you can’t smell a flue of it, though wonder- 
ful strong down there.” 

Scudamore shuddered, and drew back a little, and then 
stole a glance round thecorner. He sawa thick smoke, and 
a figure prostrate, and another tied up in a long white robe, 
waving a pan of burning stuff in one hand and a bottle in the 
other, and plainly conjuring Polwhele to keep off. Then 
the latter returned, quite complacently. 

‘‘Can’t find all of them,” he said, presenting a pile of 
papers big enough to taint Sahara. *‘ That doctor goes on as 
bad as opening acoffin. Says he understands it, and I don’t. 
The old figure-head! What does he know about it ?” 

‘*Much more than you do, perhaps,” replied Blyth, stand- 
ing up for the profession, as he was bound todo. ‘°‘ Perhaps 
we had better look at these on deck, if you will bring up 
your lantern.” 

‘* But, Captain, you will have a look at our hold, and make 
us a bid—we need not take it, any more than you need to 
double it—for as prime a lot of cheese, and sides of bacon—” 

‘‘Tf your papers are correct, it will not be my duty to 
-meddle with your cargo. But what are-you doing the wrong 
side of our fleet ?” 

‘“Why, that was a bad job. There’s no fair trade now, 
no sort of dealing on the square nohow. We run all this 
risk of being caught by Crappos on purpose to supply British 
ship Gorgeous, soweastern station; and blow me tight if I 
couldn’t swear she had been supplied chock-full by a Crappo! 
Only took ten cheeses and fifteen sides of bacon, though 
she never knew nought of our black-fever case! But, Cap- 
tain, sit down here, and overhaul our flimsies. Not like rags, 
you know; don’t hold plague much.” 

The young lieutenant compelled himself to discharge his 
duty of inspection behind a combing, where the wind was 
broken; but even so he took good care to keep on the weather 
side of the documents; and the dates perhaps flew away 
to leeward. ‘‘ They seem all right,” he said, *‘ but one thing 
will save any further trouble to both of us. You belong 
to Springhaven. I know most people there. Have you 
any Springhaven hands on board ?” 


286 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘‘T should think so. Send Tugwell aft; pass the word for 
Dan Tugwell. Captain, there’s a family of that name there— 
settled as long as we have been at Mevagissey. Ah, that 
sort of thing is a credit to the place, and the people too, in 
my opinion.” 

Dan Tugwell came slowly, and with a heavy step, looking 
quite unlike the spruce young fisherman whom Scudamore 
had noticed as first and smartest in the rescue of the stranded 
Blonde. But hecould not doubt that this was Dan, the Dan 
of happier times and thoughts; in whom, without using his 
mind about it, he had felt some likeness to himself. It was 
not in his power to glance sharply, because his eyes were 
kindly open to all the little incidents of mankind, but he 
managed to let Dan know that duty compelled him to be par- 
ticular. Dan Tugwell touched the slouched hat upon his 
head, and stood waiting to know what he was wanted for. 

‘*Daniel,” said Scudamore, who could not speak con- 
descendingly to any one, even from the official point 
of view, because he felt that every honest man was his 
equal, ‘‘are you here of your own accord, as one of the 
crew of this schooner 2?” 

Dan Tugwell had a hazy sense of being put upon an un- 
true balance. Not by this kind gentleman’s words, but 
through his own proceedings. In his honest mind he longed 
to say: “‘I fear I have been bamboozled. JI have cast my 
lot in with these fellows through passion, and in hasty ig- 
norance. How I should like to go with you, and fight the 
French, instead of gee mixed up with a lot of things I 
can’t make out!” 

But his equally honest heart said to him: ‘‘You have 
been well treated. Youare well paid. Youshipped of your 
own accord. You have no right to peach, even if you had 
anything to peach of; and all you have seen is some queer 
trading. None but a sneak would turn against his ship- 
mates and his ship, when overhauled by the Royal Navy.” 

Betwixt the two voices, Dan said nothing, but looked 
at the lieutenant with that gaze which the receiver takes to 
mean doubt of his meaning, while the doubt more often is— 
what to do with it. 

‘“Are you here of your own accord? Do you belong 
to this schooner of your own accord? Are you one of this 
crew, of your own free-will ?” 

Scudamore rang the changes on his simple question, as 
he had often been obliged to do in the Grammar-school 





SPRINGHAVEN. 287 


at Stonnington, with slow-witted boys, who could not, or 
would not, know the top from the bottom of a sign-post. 
‘*Do you eat with your eyes?” he had asked them some- 
times; and they had put their thumbs into their mouths to 
inquire. 

‘*S’pose I am,” said Dan at last, assuming stupidity, to 
cover hesitation; ‘‘ yes, sir, 1 come aboard of my own free- 
will.” 

“Very well. Then I am glad to find you comfortable. 
I shall see your father next week, perhaps. Shall I give him 
any message for you ?” 

‘“No, sir! For God’s sake, don’t let him know a word 
about where you have seen me, I came away all of a heap, 
and I don’t want one of them to bother about me.” | 

‘As you wish, Dan. I shall not say a word about you, 
until you return with your earnings. But if you found the 
fishing business dull, surely you might have come to us, Dan. 
Any volunteers here for His Majesty’s service?” Scuda- 
more raised his voice, with the usual question. ‘*' Good pay, 
good victuals, fine promotion, and prize-money, with the 
glory of fighting for their native country, and provision for — 
life if disabled !” 

Not a man came forward, though one man longed to do 
so; but his sense of honour, whether true or false, forbade 
him. Dan Tugwell went heavily back to his work, trying 
to be certain that it was his duty. But sad doubts arose 
as he watched the brave boat, lifting over the waves in the 
moonlight, with loyal arms tugging towards a loyal British 
ship; and he felt that he had thrown away his last chance. 


CHAPTER XL. 
SHELFING THE QUESTION. 


THERE is a time of day (as everybody must have noticed 
who is kind enough to attend to things) not to be told by 
the clock, nor measured to a nicety by the position of the 
sun, even when he has the manners to say where he is—a ~ 
time of day dependent on a multiplicity of things unknown 
to us (who have made our own brains, by perceiving that we 
had none, and working away till we got them), yet palpa- 
ble to all those less self-exalted beings, who, or which, are 
of infinitely nobler origin than we, and have shown it, by 


288 SPRINGHAVEN. 


humility. At this time of day every decent and good 
animal feels an unthought-of and untraced desire to shift 
its position, to come out and see its fellows, to learn what 
is happening in the humble grateful world—out of which 
man has hoisted himself long ago, and is therefore a spectre 
to them—to breathe a little sample of the turn the world is 
taking, and sue their share of pleasure in the quiet earth and 
air. 

This time is more observable because it follows a period 
of the opposite tendency, a period of heaviness, and rest, and 
silence, when no bird sings and no quadruped plays, for 
about half an hour of the afternoon. Then suddenly, with- 
out any alteration of the light, or weather, or even tempera- 
ture, or anything else that we know of, a change of mood 
flashes into every living creature, a spirit of life, and activi- 
ty, and stir, and desire to use their own voice and hear their 
neighbour’s. The usual beginning is to come out first into 
a place that cannot knock their heads, and there to run a little 
way, and after that to hop, and take a peep for any people 
around, and espying none—or only one of the very few ad- 
mitted to be friends—speedily to dismiss all misgivings, take 
a very little bit of food, if handy (more as a duty to one’s 
family than oneself, for the all-important supper-time is not 
come yet), and then, if gifted by the Lord with wings—for 
what bird can stoop at such a moment to believe that his 
own grandfather made them ?—up to the topmost spray that 
feathers in the breeze, and pour upon the grateful air the 
voice of free thanksgiving. But an if the blade behind the 
heart is still unplumed for flying, and only gentle flax or 
fur blows out on the wind, instead of beating it, does the 
owner of four legs sit and sulk, like a man defrauded of his 
merits? He answers the question with a skip and jump; ere 
a man can look twice at him he has cut a caper, frolicked an 
intricate dance upon the grass, and brightened his eyes for 
another round of joy. 

At any time of year almost, the time of day commands 
these deeds, unless the weather is outrageous; but never 
more undeniabl y than in the month of April. The growth 
of the year is well established, and its manner beginning to 
be schooled by then; childish petulance may still survive, 
and the tears of penitence be frequent; yet upon the whole 
there is—or used to be—a sense of responsibility forming, and 
an elemental inkling of true duty towards the earth. ‘Even 
man (the least observant of the powers that walk the ground, 





SPRINGHAVEN. 289 


going for the signs of weather to the cows, or crows, or pigs, 
swallows, spiders, gnats, and leeches, or the final assertion 
of his own corns) sometimes is moved a little, and enlarged 
by influence of life beyond his own, and tickled by a pen 
above his thoughts, and touched for one second by the hand 
that made him. Then he sees a brother man who owes 
him a shilling, and his soul is swallowed up in the resolve 
to get it. 

But well in the sky-like period of youth, when the wind 
sits lightly, and the clouds go by in puffs, these little jumps 
of inspiration take the most respectable young man some- 
times off his legs, and the young maid likewise—if she 
continues in these fine days to possess such continuation. 
Blyth Scudamore had been appointed now, partly through 
his own good deserts, and wholly through good influence— 
for Lord St. Vincent was an ancient friend of the excellent 
Admiral Darling—to the command of the Blonde, refitted, 
thoroughly overhauled at Portsmouth, and pronounced by 
the dock-yard people to be the fastest and soundest corvette 
afloat, and in every way a credit to the British navy. ‘‘The 
man that floated her shall float in her,” said the Karl, when 
somebody, who wanted the appointment, suggested that the 
young man was too young. ‘‘He has seen sharp service, and 
done sharp work. It is waste of time to talk of it; the job 
is done.” ‘‘Job is the word for it,” thought the other, but 
wisely reserved that great truth for his wife. However, it 
was not at all a bad job for England. And Scudamore had 
now seen four years of active service, counting the former 
years of volunteering, and was more than twenty-five years 
old. 

None of these things exalted him at all in his own opin- 
ion, or, at any rate, not very much. Because he had always 
regarded himself with a proper amount of self-respect, as 
modest men are almost sure to do, desiring less to know 
what the world thinks of them than to try to think rightly 
of it for themselves. His opinion of it seemed to be that it 
was very good just now, very kind, and fair, and gentle, and 
a thing for the heart of man to enter into. 

For Dolly Darling was close beside him, sitting on a very 
pretty bench, made of twisted oak, and turned up at the 
back and both ends, so that a gentleman could not get very 
far away from a lady without frightening her. Not only 
in this way was the spot well adapted for tender feelings, but 
itself truly ready to suggest them, with nature and the time 


290 SPRINGHAVEN. 


of year to help. There was no stream issuing here, to 
puzzle and perpetually divert the human mind (whose origin 
clearly was spring-water poured into the frame of the jelly- 
fish), neither was there any big rock, like an obstinate barrier 
rising; but gentle slopes of daisied pasture led the eye com- 
placently, sleek cows sniffed the herbage here and there, and 
brushed it with the underlip to fetch up the blades for sup- 
per-time, and placable trees, forgetting all the rudeness of 
the winter winds, began to disclose to the fond deceiving 
breeze, with many a glimpse to attract a glance, all the cream 
of their summer intentions. And in full enjoyment of all 
these doings, the poet of the whole stood singing—the simple- 
minded thrush, proclaiming that the world was good and 
kind, but himself perhaps the kindest, and his nest, beyond 
doubt, the best of it. 

‘‘How lovely everything is to-day!” Blyth Scudamore 
spoke slowly, and gazing shyly at the loveliest thing of all, 
in his opinion—the face of Dolly Darling. ‘‘No wonder 
that your brother is a poet!” 

‘‘But he never writes about this sort of thing,” said Dolly, 
snuling pleasantly. ‘* His poems are all about liberty, and 
the rights of men, and the wrongs of war. And if he ever 
mentions cows or sheep, it is generally to say whatashame _ ~ 
it is to kill them.” 

‘* But surely it is much worse to kill men. And who is 
to be blamed for that, Miss Darling? The Power that wants 
to overrun all the rest, or the Country that only defends 
itself? I hope he has not converted you to the worship of 
the new Emperor; for the army and all the great cities of 
France have begged him to condescend to be that; and the 
King of Prussia will add his entreaties, according to what 
we have heard.” 

‘‘I think anything of him!” cried Dolly, as if her opinion 
would settle the point. ‘‘ After all his horrible murders— 
worst of all of that very handsome and brave young man 
shot with a lantern, and buried in a ditch! I was told that 
he had to hold the lantern above his poor head, and his hand »* 
never shook! It makes me cry every time I think of it. | 
Only let Frank come back, and he won’t find me admire his 
book so very much! They did the same sort of thing when 
I was a little girl, and could scarcely sleep at night on ac- 
count of it. And then they seemed to get a little better, for 
a time, and fought with their enemies, instead of one another, 
and made everybody wild about liberty, and citizens, and 








“THE POET OF THE WHOLE STOOD SINGING—THE SIMPLE-MINDED THRUSH,” 


292 SPRINGHAVEN. 


the noble march of intellect, and the dignity of mankind, 
and the rights of labour—when they wouldn’t work a stroke 
themselves—and the black superstition of believing any- 
thing, except what they chose to make a fuss about them- 
selves. And thousands of people, even in this country, 
who have been brought up so much better, were foolish 
enough to think it very grand indeed, especially the poets, 
and the ones that are too young. But they ought to begin 
to get wiser now; even Frank will find it hard to make 
another poem on them.” 

‘‘How glad I am to hear you speak like that! I had no 
idea—at least I did not understand—”’ 

“That I had so much common-sense?” inquired Dolly, 
with a glance of subtle yet humble reproach. ‘‘Oh yes, I 
have a great deal sometimes, I can assure you. But I sup- 
pose one never does get credit for anything without claim- 
ing it.” 

‘‘T am sure that you deserve credit for everything that 
can possibly be imagined,” Scudamore answered, scarcely 
knowing, with all his own common-sense to help him, that 
he was talking nonsense. ‘‘EKvery time I see you I find 
something I had never found before to—to wonder at— 
if you can understand—and to admire, and to think about, 
and to—to be astonished at.” 

Dolly knew as well as he did the word he longed to use, 
but feared. She liked this state of mind in him, and she 
liked him too for all his kindness, and his humble worship; 
and she could not help admiring him for his bravery and 
simplicity. But she did not know the value yet of a stead- 
fast and unselfish heart,and her own was not quite of that 
order. So many gallant officers were now to be seen at her 
father’s house, half a cubit taller than poor Blyth, and a 
hundred cubits higher in rank, and wealth, and knowledge 
of the world, and the power of making their wives great 
ladies. Moreover, she liked a dark man, and Scudamore 
was fair and fresh as a rose called Hebe’s Cup in June. <An- 
other thing against him was that she knew how much her 
father liked him; and though she loved her father well, she 
was not bound to follow his leadings. And yet she did 
not wish to’ lose this useful and pleasant admirer. 

‘‘Tam not at all ambitious,” she replied, without a mo- 
ment’s hesitation, for the above reflections had long been 
dealt with, ‘‘ but how I wish I could do something to de- 
serve even half that you sayofme! ButI fear that you find 





SPRINGHAVEN. 293 


the air getting rather cold. The weather is so change- 
able.” 

‘* Are you sure that you are not ambitious?” Scudamore 
was too deeply plunged to get out of it now upon her last hint; 
and to-morrow he must be far away. ‘°‘ You have every 
right to be ambitious, if such a word can be used of you, 
who are yourself the height of so many ambitions. It was 
the only fault I could imagine you to have, and it seems too 
bad that you should have none at all.” 

‘You don’t know anything about it,” said Dolly, with 
a lovely expression in her face of candor, penitence, and 
pleasantry combined; ‘‘I am not only full of faults, but en- 
tirely made up of them. Iam told of them too often not to 
know.” 

‘‘By miserably jealous and false people.” It was im- 
possible to look at her and not think that. ‘‘ By people who 
cannot have a single atom of perception, or judgment, or 
even proper feeling. I should like to hear one of them, if 
you would even condescend to mention it. Tell me one— 
only one—if you can think of it. Iam not at all a judge 
of character, but—but I have often had to study it a good 
deal among the boys.” 

This made Miss Dolly laugh, and drop her eyes, and 
smooth her dress, as if to be sure that his penetration had 
not been brought to bear on her. And the gentle Scuddy 
blushed at his clumsiness, and hoped that she would under- 
stand the difference. } 

‘“You do say such things!” She also was blushing beau- 
tifully as she spoke, and took a long time before she looked 
at him again. ‘‘Things that nobody else ever says. And 
that is one reason why I like you so.” 

‘*Oh, do you like me—do you like mein earnest? Ican 
hardly dare to dream even for one moment—” 

‘‘T am not going to talk about that any more. I like Mr. 
Twemlow, I like Captain Stubbard, I like old Tugwell— 
though I should have liked him better if he had not been 
so abominably cruel to his son. Now Iam sure it is time 
to go 1nd get ready for dinner.” 

‘‘Ah, when shall I dine with you again? Perhaps 
never,” said the young man, endeavouring to look very mis- 
erable and to inspire sadness. ‘‘But I ought to be very 
happy, on the whole, to think of all the pleasures I have 
enjoyed, and how much better I have got on than I had any 
right in the world to hope for.”’ 


294 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘“Yes, to be the Commander of a beautiful ship, little 
more than a year from the date of your commission. 
Captain Stubbard is in such a rage about it!” 

‘‘T don’t mean about that—though that of course is rare 
luck—I mean a much more important thing; I mean about 
getting on well with you. The first time I saw you in that 
fine old school, you did not even want to shake hands with 
me, and you thou ght what a queer kind of animal I was; and 
then the first time or two I dined at the Hall, nothing but 
fine hospitality stopped you from laughing at my want of 
practice. But gradually, through your own kind nature, 
and my humble endeavours to be of use, I began to get on 
with you better and better; and now you are beginning al- 
most to like me.” 

‘“Not almost, but altogether,” she answered, with quite 
an affectionate glance. ‘‘I can tell you there are very few, 
outside of my own family, that I like half so well as I like 
you. But how can it matter to you so much 2” 

She looked at him so that he was afraid to speak, for fear 
of spoiling everything; and being a very good-natured girl, 
and pleased with his deep admiration, she sighed—just 
enough to make him think that he might hope. 

‘‘'We are all so sorry: to lose you,” she said; ‘‘and no one 
will miss you so much as I shall,because we have had such 
pleasant times together. But if we can carry out our little 
plot, we shall hear of you very often, and I dare say not 
very unfavourably. Faith and I have been putting our 
heads together, for our own benefit and that of all the house, 
if we can get you to second it. My father jumped at the 
idea, and said how stupid we were not to think of it before. 
You know how very little he can be at home this summer, 
and he says he has to sacrifice his children to his coun- 
try. So wesuggested that he should invite Lady Scudamore 
to spend the summer with us, if she can be persuaded to leave 
home so long. We will do our very utmost to make her 
comfortable, and she will be a tower of strength to us; for 
you know sometimes it is very awkward to have only two 
young ladies. But we dare not do anything until we 
asked you. Do you think she would take compassion upon 
us? A word from you perhaps would decide her; and Faith 
would write a letter for you to send.” 

Scudamore reddened with delight, and took ites hand. 
‘‘How can I thank you? Ihad better not try,” he answered, 
with some very tender play of thumb and forefinger, and a 


9 





eo 


SPRINGHAVEN. 295 


strong impulse to bring lips too into action. ‘‘ You are al- 
most as clever as you are good; you will know what I mean 
without my telling you. My mother will be only too glad 
to come. She knows what you are, she has heard so much 
from me. And the reality will put to shame all my descrip- 
tions.” 

‘“Tell me what you told her I was like. The truth, now, 
and not a word of after-thought or flattery. I am always 
so irritated by any sort of flattery.” 

“Then you must let me hold your hands, to subdue 
your irritation; for you are sure to think that it was flattery 
—you are so entirely ignorant of yourself, because you 
never think of it. I told my dear mother that you were 
the best, and sweetest, and wisest, and loveliest, and most 
perfect, and exquisite, and innocent, and unselfish of all the 
human beings she had ever seen, or heard, or read of. And 
I said it was quite impossible for any one after one look at 
you to think of himself any more in this world.” 

‘Well done!” exclaimed Dolly, showing no irritation, 
unless a gleam of pearls inside an arch of coral showed it. 
‘“TIt is as well to do things thoroughly, while one is about it. 
I can understand now how you get on so fast. But, alas, 
your dear mother will only laugh at all that. . Ladies are so 
different from gentlemen. Perhaps that is why gentlemen 
never understand them. And I would always a great deal 
rather be judged by a gentleman than a lady. Ladies pick 
such a lot of holes in one another, whereas gentlemen are 
too large-minded. And I am very glad upon the whole 
that you are not a lady, though you are much more gentle 
than they make believe to be. Oh dear! We must run; 
or the ladies will never forgive us for keeping them starving 
all this time.” . 


CHAPTER XLII. - 
LISTENERS HEAR NO GOOD. 


‘‘Not that there is anything to make one so very uneasy,” 
said Mr. Twemlow, ‘‘only that one has a right to know the 
meaning of what we are expected to put up with. Nothing 
is clear, except that we have not one man in the Govern- 
ment who knows his own mind, or at any rate dares to pro- 
nounce it. Addington is an old woman, and the rest—oh, 


296 SPRINGHAVEN. 


when shall we have Pitt back again? People talk of it, and 
long for it; but the Country is so slow. We put up with 
everything, instead of demanding that the right thing shall 
be done atonce. Here is Boney, a fellow raised up by Satan 
as the scourge of this island for its manifold sins; and now 
he is to be the Emperor forsooth—not of France, but of EKu- 
rope, continental Europe. We have only one man fit to 
cope with him at all, and the voice of the Nation has been 
shouting for him; but who pays any attention to it? This 
state of things is childish—simply childish; or perhaps I 
ought to say babyish. Why, even the children on the sea- 
shore know, when they make their little sand walls against 
the tide, how soon they must be swept away. But the dif- 
ference is this, that they don’t live inside them, and they 
haven’t got all that belongs to them inside them. Nobody 
must suppose for a moment that a clergyman’s family would 
fail to know where to look for help and strength and sup- 
port against all visitations; but, in common with the laity, 
we ask for Billy Pitt.” 

‘‘And in another fortnight you will have him,” replied 
Captain Stubbard, who was dining there that day. ‘‘ Allow 
me to tell you a little thing that happened to my very own 
self only yesterday. You know that I am one of the last 
people in the world to be accused of any—what’s the proper 
word for it? Mrs. Stubbard, you know what I mean— 
Jemima, why the deuce don’t you tell them ?” 

2 Captain Stubbard always has more meaning than he 
can well put into words,” said his wife; ‘‘his mind is too 
strong for any dictionary. Hallucination is the word he 
means.” 

‘‘ Exactly!’ cried the Captain. ‘‘That expresses the whole 
of what I wanted to say, but went aside of it. Jam one of 
the last men in the world to become the victim of any—there, 
I’ve lost it again! But never mind. You understand now; 
or if you don’t, Mrs. Stubbard will repeat it. What I mean 
is, that I see all things square, and straight, and with their 
own corners to them. Well, I know London pretty well; 
not, of course, as 1 know Portginouth. Still, nobody need 
come along with me to go from Charing Cross to St. Paul's 
Church-yard; and pretty tight I keepall my hatches battened 
down, and a sharp pair of eyes in the crow’s-nest—for to 
have them in the foretop won’t do there. It was strictly on 
duty that I went up—the duty of getting a fresh stock of 
powder, for guns are not much good without it; and I had 


? 





SPRINGHAVEN. 297 


written three times, without answer or powder. Butit seems 
that my letters were going the rounds, and would turn up 
somewhere, when our guns were stormed, without a bit of 
stuff to make answer.’ 

‘* Ah, that’s the way they do everything now!” interrupted 
Mr. Twemlow. ‘‘I thought you had been very quiet lately ; 
but I did not know what a good reason you had. We might 
all have been shot, and you could not have fired a salute, to 
inform the neighbour hood!” 

‘“Well, never mind,” replied the Captain, cali pel: 
am not complaining, for Ineverdoso. Young men might; 
but not old hands, whose duty it is to keep their situation in 
life. Well, you must understand that the air of London al- 
ways makes me hungry. There are so many thousands of 
people there that you can’t name a time when there is nobody 
eating, and this makes a man from the country long to help 
them. Anyhow, I smelled roast mutton ata place where a 
little side street comes up into the Strand; and although 
it was scarcely half-past twelve, it reminded me of Mrs. 
Stubbard. So I called a halt, and stood to think upon a 
grating, and the scent became flavoured with baked pota- 
toes. This is always more than I can resist, after all the heavy 
trials of a chequered life. So I pushed the door open, and 
saw a lot of little cabins, right and left of a fore-and-aft 
gangway, all rigged up alike for victualling. Jemima, I told 
you all about it. You describe it to the Rector and Mrs. 
Twemlow.” 

‘*Don’t let us trouble Mrs. Stubbard,” said the host; ‘‘I 
know the sort of thing exactly, though I don’t go to that sort 
of place myself.” 

‘‘No, of course you don’t. And I was a little scared at 
first, for there was sawdust enough to soak up every drop of 
my blood, if they had pistolled me. Mrs. Twemlow, I beg 
you not to be alarmed. My wife has such nerves that I 
often forget that all ladies are not like her. Now don’t con- 
tradict me, Mrs. Stubbard. Well, sir, I went to the end of 
this cockpit—if you like to call it so—and got into the star- 
board berth, and shouted for a ration of what I had smelt 
outside. And although it was far from being equal to its 
smell—as the character is of everything—you might have 
thought it uncommon good, if you had never tasted Mrs. 
Stubbard’s cooking, after she had been to the butcher herself. 
Very well. I don’t care for kickshaws, even if I could afford 
them, which has never yet been my destiny. So I called for 

13* 


298 SPRINGHAVEN. 


another ration of hot sheep—beg your pardon, ladies, what 
I mean is mutton—and half a dozen more of baked potatoes; 
and they reminded me of being at home so much that I called 
for a pint of best pine-apple rum and a brace of lemons, to 
know where I was—to remind me that I wasn’t where I 
couldn’t get them.” 

‘‘Oh, Adam!” cried Mrs. Stubbard, ‘‘ what will you say 
next? Not on week-days, of course, but nearly every Sun- 
day—and the samples of his powder in his pocket, Mr. 
Twemlow !” 

‘‘ Jemima, you are spoiling my story altogether. Well, 
you must understand that this room was low, scarcely high- 
er than the cabin of a fore-and-after, with no skylights to 
it, or wind-sail, or port-hole that would open. And so, with 
the summer coming on, as it is now—though a precious long 
time about it—and the smell of the meat, and the thoughts 
of the grog, and the feeling of being at home again, what did 
I do but fall as fast asleep as the captain of the watch in 
a heavy gale of wind! My back was to the light, so far as 
there was any, and to make sure of the top of my head, I 
fetched down’ my hat—the soft-edged one, the same as you 
see me wear on fine Sundays. 

‘“ Well, I may have gone on in that way for an hour, not 
snoring, as Mrs. Stubbard calls it, but breathing to myself 
a little in my sleep, when I seemed to hear somebody calling 
me, not properly, but as people do in a dream—‘ Stoobar-— 
Stoobar —Stoobar,’ was the sound in my ears, like my con- 
science hauling me over the coals in bad English. This 
made me wake up, for I always have it out with that part of 
me when it mutinies; but I did not move more than to feel 
for my glass. Andthen I perceived that it was nothing more 
or less than a pair of Frenchmen talking about me in the 
berth next to mine, within the length of a marlin-spike from 
my blessed surviving ear. 

‘‘Some wiseacre says that listeners never hear good of 
themselves, and upon my word he was right enough this 
time, so far as I made out. The French language is beyond 
me, so far as speaking goes, for I never can lay hold of the 
word I want; but I can make out most of what those queer 
people say, from being a prisoner among them once, and 
twice in command of a prize crew over them. And the sound 
of my own name pricked me up to listen sharply with my 
one good ear. You must bear in mind, Rector, that I could 
not see them, and durst not get up to peep over the quarter- 





SPRINGHAVEN. 299 


rail, for fear of scaring them. But I was wearing a short 
hanger, like a middy’s dirk—the one I always carry in the 
battery.” 

‘‘T made Adam promise, before he went to London,” Mrs. 
Stubbard explained to Mrs. Twemlow, ‘‘ that he would never 
walk the streets without steel or firearms. Portsmouth is a 
very wicked place indeed, but a garden of Eden compared 
with London.” 

‘Well, sir,” continued Captain Stubbard, ‘‘ the first thing 
I heard those Frenchmen say was: ‘Stoobar is a stupid 
beast, like the ox that takes the prize up here, except that he 
has no claim to good looks, but the contrary—wholly the 
contrary.’ Mrs. Stubbard, I beg you to preserve your tem- 
per; you have heard others say it,and you should now de- 
spise such falsehoods. ‘But the ox has his horns, and 
Stoobar has none. Tor all his great guns there is not one 
little cup of powder.’ The villains laughed at this, asa very 
fine joke, and you may well suppose that I almost boiled 
over. ‘You have then the command of this beast Stoo- 
bar? the other fellow asked him, as if I were a jackass. 
‘How then have you so very well obtained it? ‘Ina man- 
ner the most simple. Our chief has him by the head and 
heels: by the head, by being over him; and by the heels, 
because nothing can come in the rear without his knowl- 
edge. Behold! you have all.’ ‘It is very good,’ the other 
villain answered; ‘but when is it to be, my most admirable 
Charron ?—how much longer?—how many months?’ * Be- 
hold my fingers,’ said the one who had abused me; ‘I put 
these into those, and then you know. It would have 
been already, except for the business that you have been 
employed upon in this black hole. Hippolyte, you have 
done well, though crookedly; but all is straight for the na- 
tive land. You have made this Government appear more 
treacherous in the eyes of France and Europe than our own 
is, and you have given a good jump to his instep for the 
saddle. But all this throws us back. Iam tired of tricks; 
I want fighting; though I find them quite a jolly people.’ 
‘T don’t,’ said the other, who was clearly a low scoundrel, 
for his voice was enough to settle that; ‘I hate-them; they 
are of thick head and thick hand, and would come in 
sabots to catch their enemy asleep. And now there is no 
chance to entangle any more. Their Government will be 
of the old brutal kind, hard knocks, and no stratagems. In 
less than a fortnight Pitt will be master again. I know it 


sh 
, 


300 SPRINGHAVEN. 


from the very best authority. You know what access I 
have.’ ‘Then that is past,’ the other fellow answered, who 
seemed to speak more like a gentleman, although he was 
the one that ran down me; ‘that is the Devil. They will 
have their wits again, and that very fat Stoobar will be 
supplied with powder. Hippolyte, it is a very grand joke. 
Within three miles of his head (which is empty, like his guns) 
“we have nearly two hundred barrels of powder, which we 
fear to bring over in those flat-bottoms for fear of a volley 
among them. Ha! ha! Stoobar is one fine fat ox!’ 

‘‘This was all I heard, for they began to moye, having 
had enough sugar and water, I suppose; and they sauntered 
away to pay their bill at the hatch put up at the doorway. 
It was hopeless to attempt to follow them; but although I 
am not so quick in stays as I was, I slewed myself round 
to have a squint at them. One was a slight little active 
chap, with dapper legs, and jerks like a Frenchman all over. 
I could pardon him for calling me a great fat ox, for want 
of a bit of flesh upon his own bones. But he knows more 
about me than I do of him, for I never clapped eyes on him 
before, to my knowledge. The other was better built, and 
of some substance, but a nasty, slouchy-looking sort of cur, 
with high fur collars and a long gray cloak. And that 
was the one called Hippolyte, who knows all about our 
Government. And just the sort of fellow who would do 
so in these days, when no honest man knows what they 
are up to.” 

‘‘That is true,” said the Rector—‘‘ too true by half. But 
honest men soon will have their turn, if that vile spy was 
well informed. The astonishing thing is that England ever 
puts up with such shameful anarchy. What has been done 
to defend us? Nothing, except your battery, without a pinch 
-of powder! With Pitt at the helm, would that have hap- 
pened ? How could we have slept in our beds, if we had 
known it? Fourteen guns, and not a pinch of powder!” 

‘“But you used to sleep well enough before a gun was 
put there.” Mrs. Stubbard’s right to spare nobody was well 
established by this time. ‘‘ Better have the guns, though 
they could not be fired, than no guns at all, if they would 
frighten the enemy.” 

‘“That is true, ma’am,” replied Mr. Twemlow; ‘‘ but 
until the guns came, we had no sense of our danger. 
Having taught us that, they were bound to act up to their ° 
teaching. It is not for ourselves that Ihave any fear. We 




































































































































































“STOOBAR IS A STUPID BEAST.’ as 





. 
302 SPRINGHAVEN. 


have long since learned to rest with perfect faith in the 
Hand that overruleth all. And more than that—if there 
should be a disturbance, my nephew and my godson Joshua 
has a house of fourteen rooms in a Wiltshire valley, quite 
out of the track of invaders. He would have to fight, for 
he is Captain in the Yeomanry; and we would keep house 
for him till all was over. So that it is for my parish I fear, 
for my people, my schools, and my church, ma'am.” 

‘‘Needn't be afraid, sir; no call to run away,” cried the 
Captain of the battery, having now well manned his own 
port-holes with the Rector’s sound wine; ‘‘ we shall have our 
powder in to-morrow, and the French can’t come to-night; 
there is too much moon. They never dare show their noses 
nor’ard of their sands, with the man in the moon—the John 
Bull in the moon—looking at them. And more than that, 
why, that cursed Boney—”’ 

‘‘Adam! in Mr. Twemlow’s house! You must please to 
excuse him, all good people. He has sate such a long time, 
without saying what he lkes.” 

‘‘ Jemima, I have used the right word. The parson will 
back me up in every letter of it, having said the same 
thing of him, last Sunday week. But I beg Mrs. Twemlow’s 
pardon, if I said it loud enough to disturb her. Well, then, 
this blessed Boney, if you prefer it, is a deal too full of his 
own dirty tricks for mounting the throne of the King they 
murdered, to get into a flat-bottomed boat at Boulogne, 
and a long sight too jealous a villain he is, to let any one 
command instead of him. Why, the man who set foot 
upon our shore, and beat us—if such a thing can be sup- 
posed—would be ten times bigger than Boney in a month, 
and would sit upon his crown, if he gets one.” 

‘“Well, I don’t believe they will ever come at all,” the 
solid Mrs. Stubbard pronounced, with decision. ‘‘I believe 
it is all a sham, and what they want is to keep us from at- 
tacking them in France. However, it isa good thing on the 
whole, and enables poor Officers, who have fought well for 
their country, to keep out of the Workhouse with their | 
families.” 

‘‘ Hearken, hearken to Mrs. Stubbard!” the veteran cried, 
‘ as he patted his waistcoat—a better one than he could have 
worn, and a larger one than he could have wanted, ex- 
cept for the promised invasion. ‘‘I will back my wife 
against any Jady in the land for common-sense, and for put- 
ting it plainly. Iam not ashamed to say thank God for the 


SPRINGHAVEN. 308 


existence of that blessed Boney. A111 I hope is that he will 
only try to land at Springhaven—I mean, of course, when 
Ive got my powder.” 

‘‘Keep it dry, Captain,” said the Rector, in good spirits. 
‘Your confidence makes us feel comfortable; and of course 
you would draw all their fire from the village, and the houses 
standing near it, as this does. However, I pray earnestly 
every night that they may attempt it in some other parish. 
But what was it you heard that Frenchman say about two 
or three hundred barrels of powder almost within three miles 
of us? Suppose it was to blow up, where should we be 2” 

‘*Oh, I don’t believe a word of that. It must be brag 
and nonsense. ‘To begin with, there is no place where they 
could store it. I know all the neighbourhood, and every 
house in it. And there’are no caves on this coast in the 
cliff, or holes of that kind such as smugglers use. How- 
ever, | shall think it my duty to get a search-order from 
Admiral Darling, and inspect large farm-buildings, such as 
Farmer Graves has got, and another man the other side of 
Pebbleridge. Those are the only places that could accom- 
modate large stores of ammunition. Why, we can take 
only forty barrels in the fire-proof magazine we have built. 
We all know what liars those Frenchmen are. I have no 
more faith in the two hundred barrels of powder than I 
have in the two thousand ships prepared on the opposite 
coast to demolish us.” 

‘Well, I hope you are right,” Mr. Twemlow answered. 
‘Tt does seem a very unlikely tale. But the ladies are gone. 
Let us have a quiet pipe. A man who works as hard as 
you and I do is entitled to a little repose now and then.” 


CHAPTER XLII. 
ANSWERING THE QUESTION. 


If Scudamore had not seen Dan Tugwell on board of the 
London Trader, and heard from his own lips that he was 
one of her crew, it is certain that he would have made a 
strict search of her hold, according to his orders in sus- 
picious cases. And if he had done this, it is probable that 
he never would have set his nimble feet on deck again, for 
Perkins (the American who passed as Sam Polwhele) had a 
heavy ship-pistol in his great rough pocket, ready for the 


304 SPRINGHAVEN. 


back of the young officer’s head if he had probed below the - 
cheeses and firkins of butter. Only two men had followed 
the lieutenant from their boat, the rest being needed for 
her safety in the strong sea running, and those two at the 
signal would have been flung overboard, and the schooner 
(put about for the mouth of the Canche, where heavy bat- 
teries were mounted) would have had a fair chance of es- 
cape, with a good start, while the gun-brig was picking up 
her boat. Unless, indeed, a shot from the Delia should 
carry away an important spar, which was not very likely 
at night, and with a quick surf to baffle gunnery. How- 
ever, none of these things came to pass, and so the chances 
require no measurement. 

Carne landed his freight with his usual luck, and resolved 
very wisely to leave off that dangerous work until further 
urgency. He had now a very fine stock of military stores 
for the ruin of his native land, and especially of gunpowder, 
which the gallant Frenchmen were afraid of stowing large- 
ly in their flat-bottomed craft. And knowing that he owed 
‘his success to moderation, and the good-will of his neigh- 
bours towards evasion of the Revenue, he thought it much 
better to arrange his magazine than to add to it for a month 
or two. 

-Moreover, he was vexed at the neglect of his advice, on 
the part of his arrogant Commander, a man who was never 
known to take advice from any mind external to his own 
body, and not even from that clear power sometimes, when 
his passionate heart got the uppermost. Carne, though of 
infinitely smaller mind, had one great advantage—he sel- 
dom allowed it to be curdled or crossed in its clear opera- 
tions by turbulent bodily elements. And now, when he 
heard from the light-hearted Charron, who had lately been 
at work in London, that the only man they feared was about 
to take the lead once more against the enemies of Great 
Britain, Caryl Carne grew bitter against his Chief, and be- 
gan for the first time to doubt his success. 

‘‘T have a great mind to go to Mr. Pitt myself, tell him 
everything, and throw myself upon his generosity,” he 
thought, as he sate among his ruins sadly. ‘‘I could not 
be brought to trial as a common traitor. Although by ac- 
cident of birth I am an Englishman, I am a French officer, 
and within my duty in acting as a pioneer for the French 
army. But then, again, they would call me at the best a 
spy, and in that capacity outside the rules of war. It is a 





SPRINGHAVEN. 305 


toss-up how they might take it, and the result would de- 
pend perhaps on popular clamour. The mighty Emperor 
has snubbed me. Heis nota gentleman. He has not even 
invited me to Paris, to share in the festivities and honours 
he proclaims. I would risk it, for I believe it is the safer 
game, except for two obstacles, and both of those are women. 
Matters are growing very ticklish now. That old bat of a 
Stubbard has got scent of a rat, and is hunting about the 
farm-houses. It would be bad for him if he came prowling 
here; that step for inspectors is well contrived. Twenty 
feet fall on his head for my friend; even his bull-neck 
would get the worst of that. And then, again, there is that 
wretch of a Cheeseman, who could not even hang himself 
effectually. If it were not for Polly, we would pretty soon 
enable him, as the Emperor enabled poor Pichegru. And 
after his own bona fide effort, who would be surprised to 
find him sus. per coll.2 But Polly is a nice girl, though 
becoming too affectionate. And jealous—good lack! a gro- 
cer’s daughter jealous, and a Carne compelled to humour 
her! What idiots women are in the hands of a strong man! 
Only my mother—my mother was not; or else my father 
was a weak one; which I can well believe from my own 
remembrance of him. Well, one point at least shall be 
settled to-morrow.” 

It was early in May, 1804, and Napoleon having made 
away to the best of his ability—which in that way was pre- 
eminent—-with all possible rivals and probable foes, was re- 
ceiving addresses, and appointing dummies, and establishing 
foolscap guarantees against his poor fallible and flexible 
self—as he had the effrontery to call it—with all the gravity, 
grand benevolence, confidence in mankind (as fools), im- 
mensity of yearning for universal good, and intensity of 
planning for his own, which have hoodwinked the zanies in 
every age, and never more than in the present age and coun- 
try. And if France licked the dust, she could plead more 
than we can—it had not been cast off from her enemy’s shoes. 

Carne’s love of liberty, like that of most people who talk 
very largely about it, was about as deep as beauty is declared 
to be; or even less than that, for he would not have im- 
perilled the gloss of his epiderm for the fair goddess. So 
that it irked him very little that his Chief had smashed up 
the Republic, but very greatly that his own hand should be 
out in the cold, and have nothing put inside it to restore its 
circulation. ‘‘If I had stuck to my proper line of work, in 


306 SPRINGHAVEN. 


the Artillery, which has made his fortune”—he could not 
help saying to himself sometimes—“‘ instead of losing more 
than a year over here, and perhaps another year to follow, 
and all for the sake of these dirty old ruins, and my mo- 
ther’s revenge upon this country, I might have been a Gen- 
eral by this time almost—for nothing depends upon age in 
France—and worthy to claim something lofty and grand, 
or else to be bought off at a truly high figure. The little 
gunner has made a great mistake if he thinks that his 
flat thumb of low breed can press me down shuddering, and 
starving, and crouching, just until it suits him to hold upa 
finger forme. My true course is now to consider myself, to 
watch events, and act accordingly. My honour is free to go 
either way, because he has not kept his word with me; he 
promised to act upon my advice, and to land within a twelve- 
month.” 

There was some truth in this, for Napoleon had promised 
that his agent’s perilous commission in England should 
be discharged within a twelvemonth, and that time had 
elapsed without any renewal. But Carne was clear-minded 
enough to know that he was bound in honour to give fair 
notice, before throwing up the engagement; and that even 
then it would be darkest dishonour to betray his confidence. 
He had his own sense of honour still, though warped by the 
underhand work he had stooped to; and even while he rea- 
soned with himself so basely, he felt that he could not do 
the things he threatened. 

To a resolute man it is a misery to waver, as even the 
most resolute must do sometimes; for instance, the mighty 
Napoleon himself. That great man felt the misery so keen- 
ly, and grew so angry with himself for letting in the men- 
tal pain, that he walked about vehemently, as a horse is 
walked when cold water upon a hot stomach has made colic 
—only there was nobody to hit him in the ribs, as the groom 
serves the nobler animal. Carne did not stride about in 
that style, to cast his wrath out of his toes, because his 
body never tingled with the sting-nettling of his mind—as it 
is bound to do with all correct Frenchmen—and his legs 
being long, he might have fallen down a hole into ancestral 
vaults before he knew what he was up to. Being as he was, 
he sate still, and thought it out, and resolved to play his 
own game for a while, as his master was playing for himself 
in Paris. 

The next day he reappeared at his seaside lodgings, look- 





SPRINGHAVEN. 307 


ing as comely and stately as of old; and the kind Widow 
Shanks was so glad to see him that he felt a rare emotion 
—good-will towards her; as the hardest man must do some- 
times, especially if others have been hard upon him. He 
even chucked little Susy under the chin, which amazed her 
so much that she stroked her face, to make sure of its being 
her own, and ran away to tell her mother that the gentle- 
man was come home so nice. Then he ordered a special 
repast from John Prater’s—for John, on the strength of all 
his winter dinners, had now painted on his sign-board ‘‘ Uni- 
versal Victualler,” caring not a fig for the offence to Cheese- 
man, who never came now to have a glass with him, and had 
spoiled all the appetite inspired by his windows through the 
dismal suggestions of his rash act on the premises. Instead 
of flattening their noses and opening their mouths, and ex- 
claiming, *‘ Oh, shouldn’t I like a bit of that ?” the children, 
if they ventured to peep in at all, now did it with an anx- 
ious hope of horrors, and a stealthy glance between the 
hams and bacon for something that might be hanging up 
among the candles. And the worst of it was that the wisest 
man in the village had failed to ascertain as yet ‘‘ the reason 
why ’a doed it.” Until that was known, the most charitable 
neighbours could have no hope of forgiving him. 

Miss Dolly Darling had not seen her hero of romance 
for a long time; but something told her—or perhaps some- 
body—that he was now at hand; and to make sure about it, 
she resolved to have a walk. Faith was very busy, as the 
lady of the house, in preparing for a visitor, the mother of 
Blyth Scudamore, whom she, with her usual kindness, in- 
tended to meet and bring back from the coach-road that 
evening; for no less than three coaches a day passed now 
within eight miles of Springhaven, and several of the na- 
tives had seen them. - Dolly was not to go in the carriage, 
because nobody knew how many boxes the visitor might 
bring, inasmuch as she was to stop ever so long. ‘“‘I am 
tired of ali this fuss,” cried Dolly. ‘‘One would think Queen 
Charlotte was coming, at the least; and I dare say nearly all 
her luggage would go into the door-pocket. They are dread- 
fully poor; and it serves them right, for being so dreadfully 
honest.” 

‘‘Tf you ever fall into poverty,” said Faith, *‘it will not 
be from that cause. When you get your money, you don’t 
pay your debts. You think that people should be proud to 
work for you for nothing. There is one house I am quite 


308 SPRINGHAVEN. 


ashamed to pass by with you. How long have you owed 
poor Shoemaker Stickfast fifteen shillings and sixpence ? 
And you take advantage of him, because he dare not send it 
in to father.” 

‘‘Fashionable ladies never pay their debts,” Dolly an- 
swered, as she spun round on one light heel, to float out a 
new petticoat that she was very proud of; “‘this isn’t paid 
for, nor this, nor this; and you with your slow head have 
no idea how it adds to the interest they possess. If Iam 
not allowed to have a bit of fashion in my dress, I can be 
in the fashion by not paying for it.” 

‘Tt is a most happy thing for you, dear child, that you are 
kept under some little control. What you would do,I have 
not the least idea, if you were not afraid of dear father, as 
you are. The worst of it is that he is never here now for as 
much as two days together. And then he is so glad to see 
us that he cannot attend to our piscine or take notice of 
our dresses.” 

‘‘Ha! you have inspired me!” exclaimed Dolly, who re- 
joiced in teasing Faith. ‘‘ The suggestion is yours, and I 
will act upon it. From the village of Brighthelmstone, 
which is growing very fine, I will procure upon the strictest 
eredit a new Classic dress, with all tackle complete—as dear 
father so well expresses it—and then I will promenade me 
on the beach, with Charles in best livery and a big stick be- 
hind me. How then will Springhaven rejoice, and every 
one that hath eyes clap a spy-glass tothem! And what will 
old Twemlow say, and that frump of an Eliza, who conde- 
scends to give me little hints sometimes about tightening 
up so, perhaps, and letting out so, and permitting a little air 
to come in here—” 

‘Do be off, you wicked little animal!” cried Faith, who 
in spite of herself could not help laughing, so well was Dolly 
mimicking Eliza Twemlow’s voice, and manner, and _atti- 
tude, andeven her figure, less fitted by nature for the Classic 
attire; ‘‘you are wasting all my time, and doing worse with 
your own. Be off, or Ill take a stick to ’e, as old Daddy 
Stakes says to the boys.” 

Taking advantage of this state of things, the younger Miss 
Darling set forth by herself to dwell upon the beauty of the 
calm May sea, and her own pretty figure glassed in tidal 
pools. She knew that she would show to the utmost of 
her gifts, with her bright complexion softly gleaming in the 
sun, and dark gray eyes through their deep fringe receiving 





SPRINGHAVEN. 309 


and returning tenfold the limpid glimmer of theshore. And 
she felt that the spring of the year was with her, the bound 
of old Time that renews his youth and powers of going at 
any pace; when the desire of the young is to ride him at 
full gallop, and the pleasure of the old is to stroke his nose 
and think. 

Dolly, with everything in her favour, youth and beauty, 
the time of year, the time of day, and the power of the 
place, as well as her own wish to look lovely, and to be 
loved beyond reason, nevertheless came along very strictly, 
and kept herself most careful not to look about at all—at 
any rate, not towards the houses, where people live, and 
therefore must look out. At the breadth of sea, with distant 
ships jotted against the sky like chips, or dotted with boats 
like bits of stick; also at the playing of the little waves 
that ran at the bottom of the sands, just now, after one an- 
other with a lively turn, and then jostled into white con- 
fusion, like a flock of sheep huddled up and hurrying from 
a dog—at these and at the warm clouds loitering in the sun 
she might use her bright eyes without prejudice. But soon 
she had to turn them upon a nearer object. 

‘How absorbed we are in distant contemplation! <A hap- 
py sign, I hope, in these turbulent times. Miss Darling, will 
you condescend to include me in your view?” 

‘‘T only understand simple English,” answered Dolly. 
‘*Most of the other comes from France, perhaps. We be- 
lieved that you were gone abroad again.”’ 

‘‘T wish that the subject had more interest for you,” Carne 
answered, with his keen eyes fixed on hers, in the manner 
that half angered and half conquered her. ‘‘ My time is not 
like that of happy young ladies, with the world at their feet, 
and their chief business in it to discover some new amuse- 
ment.” 

‘‘You are not at all polite. But you never were that, 
in spite of your French education.”’ 

‘‘ Ah, there it is again! You are so accustomed to the 
flattery of great people that a simple-minded person like 
myself has not the smallest chance of pleasing you. Ah, 
well! Itis my fate, and I must yield to it.” 

‘‘Not at all,” replied Dolly, who could never see the 
beauty of that kind of resignation, even in the case of Dan 
Tugwell. ‘‘There is no such thing as fate for a strong- 
willed man, though there may be for poor women.” 

‘* May I tell you my ideas about that matter? Ifso,come 


310 SPRINGHAVEN. 


and rest for a moment in a quiet little shelter where the 
wind is not socold. For there is no such thing as spring in 
England.” | 

Dolly hesitated, and with the proverbial result. To prove 
himself more polite than she supposed, Caryl Carne, hat in 
hand and with low bows preserving a respectful distance, 
conducted her to a little place of shelter, so pretty and hum- 
ble arid secluded by its own want of art, and simplicity of 
skill, that she was equally pleased and surprised with it. 

‘Why, it is quite a little bower!” she exclaimed; ‘‘as 
pretty a little nest as any bird could wish for. And what 
a lovely view towards the west and beyond Pebbleridge! 
One could sit here forever and see the sun set. But I must 
have passed it fifty times without the least suspicion of it. 
How on earth have you managed to conceal it so? That 
is to say, if itis your doing. Surely the children must have 
found it out, because they go everywhere.”’ 

‘One brat did. But I gave him such a scare that he 
never stopped roaring till next Sunday, and it frightened 
all the rest from looking round that corner. If any other 
comes, I shall pitch-plaster him, for I could not endure that 
noise again. But you see, at a glance, why you have failed 
to see it, as we always do with our little oversights, when 
humbly pointed out to us. It is the colour of the ground 
and the background too, and the grayness of the scanty 
growth that hides it. Nobody finds it out by walking across 
it, because of this swampy place on your side, and the shoot 
of flints down from the cliff on the other, all sharp as a 
knife, and as rough asasaw. And nobody comes down to 
this end of the warren, neither is it seen from the battery on 
the hill. Only from the back is it likely to be invaded, and. 
there 1s nothing to make people look or come up here. So 
you have me altogether at your mercy, Miss Darling.” 

Dolly thought within herself that it was much the other 
way, but could not well express her thoughts to that effect. 
And being of a brisk and versatile—not to say volatile—or- 
der, she went astray into a course of wonder concerning the 
pretty little structure she beheld. Structure was not the 
proper word for it at all; for it seemed to have grown from 
the nature around, with a little aid of human hands to guide 
it. Branches of sea-willow radiant with spring, and supple 
sprays of tamarisk recovering from the winter, were lightly 
inwoven and arched together, with the soft compliance of 
reed and rush from the marsh close by, and the stout assist~- 





ee) 





““SHE FELT THAT THE SPRING OF THE YEAR WAS WITH HER.” 


312 SPRINGHAVEN. 


ance of hazel rods from the westward cliff. The back was 
afforded by a grassy hillock, with a tuft or two of brake-fern 
throwing up their bronzy crockets among the sprayed russet 
of last year’s pride. And beneath them a ledge of firm turf 
afforded as fair a seat as even two sweet lovers need desire. 

‘‘How clever he is, and how full of fine taste!” thought 
the simple-minded Dolly; ‘‘and all this time I have been 
taking him for a gloomy, hard-hearted, unnatural man. 
Blyth Scudamore never could have made this lovely bower.” 

In this conclusion she was altogether wrong. Scudamore 
could have made it, and would have made it gladly, with 
bright love to help him. But Carne never could, and would 
have scorned the pleasant task. It was Charron, the lively 
Frenchman, who, with the aid of old Jerry, had achieved 
this pretty feat, working to relieve his dull detention, with 
a Frenchman's playful industry and tasteful joy in nature. 
But Carne was not likely to forego this credit. 

‘‘T think I have done it pretty well,” he said, in reply to 
her smile of admiration; ‘“‘ with such scanty materials, I 
mean, of course. And I shall think I have done it very 
well indeed, if you say that you like it, and crown it with 
new glory by sitting for a moment in its unpretentious 
shade. If your brother comes down, as I hope he will, next 
week, I shall beg him to come and write a poem here. The 
place is fitter for a poet than a prosy vagabond like me.” * 

‘It is very hard that you should be a—a wanderer, I 
mean,” Dolly answered, looking at him with a sweet thrill 
of pity; ‘‘you have done nothing to deserve it. How un- 
fairly fortune has always treated you!” | 

‘‘Fortune could make me a thousand times more than 
the just compensation even now, if she would. Such a 
glorious return for all my bitter losses and outcast condi- 
tion, that I should—but it is useless to think of such things, 
in my low state. The Fates have been hard with me, but 
never shall they boast that they drove me from my pure 
sense of honour. Oh yes, it is damp. But let me cure it 
thus.” 

For Dolly, growing anxious about his meaning, yet ready 
to think about another proposal, was desirous to sit down 
on the sweet ledge of grass, yet uneasy about her pale-blue 
sarsenet, and uncertain that she had not seen something of 
a little sea-snail (living in a yellow house, dadoed with red), 
whom to crush would be a cruel act to her dainty fabric. 
But if he were there, he was sat upon unavenged; for Carne, 


4 





SPRINGHAVEN. 313 


pulling off his light buff cloak, flung it on the seat; after 
which the young lady could scarcely be rude enough not 
to sit. 

‘‘Oh, I am so sorry now! Perhaps it will be spoiled,” 
she said; ‘‘for you say that the fates are against you al- 
ways. And I am sure that they always combine against 
me, when I wear anything of that colour.” 

“Tam going the wrong way to work,” thought Carne. 
‘What a little vixen it is; but what a beauty!” For his 
love for her was chiefly a man’s admiration. And bodily 
she looked worthy now of all that could be done in that 
way, with the light flowing in through the budded arch and 
flashing upon the sweet flush of her cheeks. Carne gazed 
at her without a word or thought, simply admiring, as he 
never had admired anything, except himself, till now. 
Then she felt all the meaning of his gaze, and turned away. 

‘*But you must look at me and tell me something,” he 
said, in a low voice, and taking both her hands; ‘‘ you shall 
tell me what my fate must be. Whether you can ever come 
to love me, as I have loved you, long and long.” 

‘“You have no right to speak to me like that,” she an- 
swered, still avoiding his eyes, and striving to show proper 
anger; ‘‘no gentleman would think of taking advantage of 
a lady so.” 

‘“T care not what is right or wrong. Look up, and tell 
me that you hate me. Dolly, I suppose you do.” 

‘“Then you are quite wrong’”’—she gave him one bright 
glance of contradiction; ‘‘no, I have always been so sorry 
for you, and for all your troubles. ‘You must not ask me 
to say more.” 

‘*But must; Imust. That is the very thing that I must 
do. Only say that you love me, Dolly. Dolly darling, tell 
me that. Or let your lovely eyes say it for you.” 

‘‘My lovely eyes must not tell stories ””—they were gazing 
softly at him now—‘‘and I don’t think I can say it—yet.” 

‘*But you will—you shall!” he exclaimed, with passion 
- growing as he drew her near; ‘‘you shall not slip from me, 
you shall not stir, until you have answered me one question 
—is there anybody else, my Dolly ?” 

‘“You frighten me. You forget who [ am. Of course 
there are a great many else, as you eall it; and I am not 
to be called, for a moment, your Dolly.” 

‘*No, not for a moment, but forever.” Carne was accus- 
tomed to the ways of girls, and read all their words by the 

14 


314 SPRINGHAVEN. 


light of theireyes. ‘‘ Your little heart begins to know who 
loves it better than all the world put together. And for 
that reason I will leave you now. Farewell, my darling; I 
conquer myself, for the sake of what is worth a thousand 
of it.” 

Dolly was in very sad confusion, and scarcely knew what 
she might do next—that is to say, if he still went on. 
Pleasant conceit and bright coquetry ill supply the place 
of honest pride and gentle self-respect, such as Faith was 
blest with. Carne might have kissed Dolly a hundred times, 
without much resistance, for his stronger will had mastered 
hers; but she would have hated him afterwards. He did 
not kiss her once; and she almost wished that he had offered 
one—one little tribute of affection (as the Valentines express 
it)—as soon as he was gone, and the crisis of not knowing 
what to do was past. ‘‘I should have let him—I believe I 
should,” she reflected, sagely recovering herself; ‘* but how 
glad I ought to be that he didn’t! And Ido hope he won't 
come back again. The next time I meet him,I shall sink 
into the earth.” 

For her hat had fallen off, and her hair was out of order, 
and she saw two crinkles near the buckle of her waist; and 
she had not so much as a looking-glass to be sure that she 
looked nice again. With a heavy sigh for all these woes, 
she gathered a flossy bud of willow, and fixed it on her 
breast-knot, to defy the world; and then, without heed of 
the sea, sun, or sands, went home with short breath, and 
quick blushes, and some wonder; for no man’s arm, except 
her father’s, had ever been round her waist till now. 





CHAPTER XLIII. 
LITTLE AND GREAT PEOPLE. 


Ir ever a wise man departed from wisdom, or a sober 
place from sobriety, the man was John Prater, and the 
place Springhaven, towards the middle of June,1804. There 
had been some sharp rumours of great things before; but 
the best people, having been misled so often, shook their 
heads without produce of their contents; until Captain - 
Stubbard came out in his shirt-sleeves one bright summer 
morning at half-past nine, with a large printed paper in one 
hand and a slop-basin full of hot paste in the other. His 





SPRINGHAVEN. 315 


second boy, George, in the absence of Bob (who was now 
drawing rations at Woolwich), followed, with a green-baize 
apron on, and carrying a hearth-brush tied round with a 
string to keep the hair stiff. 

‘*Lay it on thick on the shutter, my son. Never mind 
about any other notices, except the one about young men 
wanted. No hurry; keep your elbow up; only don’t dab 
my breeches, nor the shirt you had on Sunday.” 

By this time there were half a dozen people waiting; for 
this shutter of Widow Shanks was now accepted as the cen- 
tral board and official panel of all public business and au- 
thorized intelligence. Not only because all Royal Proc- 
lamations, Offers of reward, and Issues of menace were 
posted on that shutter and the one beyond the window 
(which served as a postscript and glossary to it), but also 
inasmuch as the kind-hearted Captain, beginning now to 
understand the natives—which was not to be done pugna- 
ciously,as he had first attempted it, neither by any show 
of interest in them (than which they detested nothing more), 
but by taking them coolly, as they took themselves, and 
gradually sliding, without any thought about it, into the 
wholesome contagion of their minds, and the divine gift of 
taking things easily—our Captain Stubbard may be fairly 
now declared to have made himself almost as good as a 
native, by the way in which he ministered to their con- 
tent. 

For nothing delighted them more than to hear of great 
wonders going on in other places—of battles, plague, pesti- 
lence, famine, and fire; of people whose wives ran away 
with other people, or highwaymen stopping the coach of a 
bishop. Being full of good-nature, they enjoyed these 
things, because of the fine sympathies called out to their own. 
credit, and the sense of pious gratitude aroused towards 
Heaven, that they never permitted such things among them. 
Perceiving this genial desire of theirs, the stout Captain of 
the Foxhill battery was kind enough to meet it with worthy 
subjects. Receiving officially a London newspaper almost 
every other day, as soon as it had trodden the round of his 
friends, his regular practice was to cut out all the pieces of 
lofty public interest—the first-rate murders, the exploits of 
highwaymen, the episodes of high life, the gallant execu- 
tions, the embezzlements of demagogues—in a word, whatever 
quiet people find a fond delight in ruminating—and these he 
pasted (sometimes upside down) upon his shutter. Spring- 


316 SPRINGHAVEN. 


haven had a good deal of education, and enjoyed most of all 
what was hardest to read. 

But this great piece of news, that should smother all the 
rest, seémed now to take a terrible time in coming. Allthe 
gaffers were waiting who had waited to see the result of 
Mr. Cheeseman’s suicide, and their patience was less on this 
occasion. At length the great Captain unfolded his broad- 
sheet, but even then held it upside down for a minute. It 
was below their dignity to do anything but grunt, put their 
specs on their noses, and lean chin upon staff. They de- 
served to be rewarded, and so they were. 

For this grand poster, which overlapped the shutters, was 
a Royal Proclamation, all printed in red ink, announcing 
that His Majesty King George the Third would on the 25th 
of June then ensuing hold a grand review upon Shotbury 
Down of all the Volunteer forces and Reserve, mounted, 
footmen, or artillery, of the four counties forming the South- 
east Division, to wit, Surrey, Kent, Sussex, and Hants. Cer- 
tain regiments of the line would be appointed to act with 
them; and officers in command were ordered to report at 
once, etc., etc. God save the King. 

If Shotbury Down had been ten miles off, Springhaven 
would have thought very little of the matter; for no one 
would walk ten miles inland to see all the sojers that ever 
were shot, or even the ‘* King and Queen, and their. fifteen 
little ones.” Most of the little ones were very large now; 
but the village had seen them in a travelling show, and ex- 
pected them to continue like it. But Shotbury Down was 
only three miles inland; and the people (who thought noth- 
ing of twenty miles along the coast) resolved to face a 
league of perils of the solid earth, because if they only 
turned round upon their trudge they could see where they 
lived from every corner of the road. They always did all 
things with one accord; the fishing fleet all should stand 
still on the sand, and the houses should have to keep 
house for themselves. That is to say, perhaps, all except 
one. | | 

‘Do as you like,” said Mrs. Tugwell to her husband; 
“nothing as you do makes much differ to me now. If 
you feel you can be happy with them thousands of young 
men, and me without one left fit to lift a big crock, go your 
way, Zeb; but you don’t catch me going, with the tears 
coming into my eyes every time I see a young man to re- 
mind me of Dan—though there won’t be one there fit to stand 














@ ° 
“ALL THE GAFFERS WERE WAITING.’ 


318 SPRINGHAVEN. 


at his side. And him perhaps fighting against his own 
King now!” 

‘‘ Whatever hath coom to Dannel is all along of your own 
fault, I tell ’e.” Captain Tugwell had scarcely enjoyed a 
long pipe since the night when he discharged his paternal 
duty, with so much vigour and such sad results. Not that 
he felt any qualms of conscience, though his heart was some- 
times heavy, but because his good wife was a good wife no 
longer, in the important sphere of the pan, pot, and kettle, 
or even in listening to his adventures with the proper ex- 
clamations in the proper places. And not only she, but all 
his children, from Timothy down to Solomon, instead of 
a pleasant chatter around him, and little attentions, and a 
smile to catch a smile, seemed now to shrink from him 
and hold whispers in a corner, and watch him with timid 
eyes, and wonder how soon their own time would come 
to be lashed and turned away. And as for the women, 
whether up or down the road—-but as he would not admit, 
even to himself, that he cared twopence what they thought, 
it is useless to give voice to their opinions, which they did 
quite sufficiently. Zebedee Tugwell felt sure that he had 
done the right thing, and therefore admired himself, but 
would have enjoyed himself more if he had done the wrong 
one. 

‘What fault of mine, or of his, poor lamb?” Mrs. Tug- . 
well asked, with some irony. She knew that her husband 
could never dare to go to see the King without her—for no 
married man in the place would venture to look at him 
twice if he did such a thing—and she had made up her own 
mind to go from the first; but still, he should humble him- 
self before she did it. ‘* Was it I as colted him? Or was 
it him as gashed himself, like the prophets of Baal, when ’a 
was gone hunting ?” 

‘“No; but you cockered him up, the same as was done to 
they, by the wicked king, and his wife—the worst woman 
as ever lived. If they hadn’t gashed theirselves, I reckon, 
the true man of God would ’a done it for them, the same as 
he cut their throats into the brook Kishon. Solomon was 
the wisest man as ever lived, and Job the most patient—the 
same as I be—and Elijah, the Tishbite, the most justest.” 

‘“You better finish up with all the Psalms of David, and 
the Holy Children, and the Burial Service. No more call 
for Parson Twemlow, or the new Church-warden come in 
place of Cheeseman, because ’a tried to hang hisself. Zeb- 





SPRINGHAVEN. 319 


edee Tugwell in the pulpit! Zebedee, come round with the 
plate! Parson Tugwell, if you please, a-reading out the ten 
commandments! But ’un ought to leave out the sixth, for 
fear of spoiling ’s own dinner afterwards; and the seventh, 
if ’a hopes to go to see King George the Third, with another 
man’s woman to his elbow!” 

‘‘When you begins to go on like that,” Captain Tugwell 
replied, with some dignity, “‘the only thing as a quiet man 
can do is to go out of houze,-and have a half-pint of small 
ale.”” He put his hat on his head and went to do it. 

Notwithstanding all this and much more, when the great 
day came for the Grand Review, very few people saw more 
of the King, or entered more kindly into all his thoughts 
—or rather the thoughts that they made him think—than 
Zebedee Tugwell and his wife Kezia. The place being so 
near home, and the smoke of their own chimneys and masts © 
of their smack as good as in sight—if you knew where to 
look—it was natural for them to regard the King as a stran- 
ger requiring to be taught about their place. This sense of 
propvetary right is strong in dogs and birds and cows and 
rabbits, and everything that acts by nature’s laws. When 
a dog sits in front of his kennel, fast chained, every stranger 
dog that comes in at the gate confesses that the premises are 
his, and all the treasures they contain; and if he hunts 
‘ about—which he is like enough to do, unless full of self- 
respect and fresh victuals—for any bones invested in the 
earth to ripen, by the vested owner, he does it with a low 
tail and many pricks of conscience, perhaps hoping in his 
heart that he may discover nothing to tempt him into breach 
of self-respect. But now men are ordered, in this matter, 
to be of lower principle than their dogs. 

King George the Third, who hated pomp and show, and 
had in his blood the old German sense of patriarchal king- 
ship, would have enjoyed a good talk with Zebedee and his 
wife Kezia, if he had met them on the downs alone; but, 
alas, he was surrounded with great people, and obliged to 
restrict himself to the upper order, with whom he had less 
sympathy. Zebedee, perceiving this, made all allowance for 
him, and bought a new Sunday hat the very next day, for 
fear of wearing out the one he had taken off to His Majesty, 
when His Majesty looked at him, and Her Majesty as well, 
and they manifestly said to one another, what a very fine 
subject they had found. Such was loyalty—aye, and roy- 
alty—in those times that we despise. 


320 SPRINGHAVEN. 


But larger events demand our heed. There were forty 
thousand gallant fellows, from the age of fifteen upwards, 
doing their best to look like soldiers, and some almost suc- 
ceeding. True it is that their legs and arms were not all 
of one pattern, nor their hats put on their heads alike—any 
more than the heads on their shoulders were—neither did 
they swing together, as they would have done to a good 
swathe of grass ; but for all that, and making due allowance 
for the necessity they were under of staring incessantly at 
the King, any man who understood them would have praised 
them wonderfully. And they went about in such wide 
formation, and occupied so much of their native land, that 
the best-drilled regiment Napoleon possessed would have 
looked quite small among them. 

‘‘ They understand furze,” said a fine young officer of the 
staff, who had ridden up to Admiral Darling’s carriage and 
saluted three ladies who kept watch there. ‘* I doubt whether 
many of the Regular forces would have got through that 
brake half so well; certainly not without double gaiters. 
If the French ever land, we must endeavour to draw them 
into furzy ground, and then set the Volunteers at them.. 
No Frenchman can do much with prickles 1n his legs.” 

Lady Scudamore smiled, for she was thinking of her 
son, who would have jumped over any furze-bush there 
—and the fir-trees too, according to her conviction; Dolly 
also showed her very beautiful teeth; but Faith looked at 
him gratefully. 

‘‘Tt is very kind of you, Lord Dashville, to say the best 
of us that you can find to say. But I fear that you are 
laughing to yourself. You know how well they mean; 
but you think they cannot do much.” 

‘*No, that is not what I think at all. So far as I can 
judge, which is not much, I believe that they would be of the 
greatest service, if the Country should unfortunately need 
them. Man for man, they are as brave as trained troops, 
and many of them can shoot better. I don’t mean to say 
that they are fit to meet a French army in the open; but for 
acting on their flanks, or rear, or in a wooded country— How- 
ever, I have no right to venture an opinion, having never 
seen active service.” 

Miss Darling looked at him with some surprise, and much 
approval of hismodesty. So strongly did most of the young 
officers who came to her father’s house lay down the law, 
and criticise even Napoleon’s tactics. 





SPRINGHAVEN. By | 


““ How beautiful Springhaven must be looking now!” he 
said, after Dolly had offered her opinion, which she seldom 
long withheld. ‘‘The cottages must be quite covered with 
roses, whenever they are not too near the sea; and the trees 
at their best, full of leaves and blossoms, by the side of the 
brook that feeds them. All the rest of the coast is so hard 
and barren, and covered with chalk instead of grass, and 
the shore so straight and staring. But I have never been 
there at this time of year. How much you must enjoy it! 
Surely we ought to be able to see it, from this high ground 
somewhere.”’ | 

‘Yes, if you will ride to that shattered tree,” said Faith, 
‘“you will have a very fine view of all the valley. You can 
see round the corner of Foxhill there, which shuts out most 
of it just here. Ithink you have met our Captain Stubbard.” 

‘‘Ah, I must not go now; I may be wanted at any mo- 
ment’’—Lord Dashville had very fine taste, but it was not 
the inanimate beauties of Springhaven that he cared a dash 
for—‘‘and I fear that I could never see the roses there. I 
think there is nothing in all nature to compare with a rose 
—except one thing.” 

Faith had a lovely moss-rose in her hat—a rose just peep- 
ang through its lattice at mankind, before it should open and 
-blush at them—and she knew what it was that he admired 
more than the sweetest rose that ever gemmed itself with 
dew. Lord Dashville had loved her, as she was frightened to 
remember, for more than a year, because he could not help 
it, being a young man of great common-sense, as well as 
fine taste, and some knowledge of the world. ‘* He knows 
to which side his bread will be buttered,’”’ Mr. Swipes had 
remarked, as a keen observer. “If ’a can only get Miss 
Faith, his bread ’l1 be buttered to both sides for life—hisself 
to one side, and her to dothe tother. Thesameas I told Moth- 
er Cloam—a man that knoweth his duty to head gardeners, 
as his noble lordship doth, the same know the differ atwixt 
Miss Faith—as fine a young ’ooman as ever looked into a 
-pink—and that blow-away froth of a thing, Miss Dolly.” 

This fine young woman, to use the words of Mr. Swipes, 
coloured softly, at his noble lordship’s gaze, to the tint of the 
rose-bud in her hat; and then spoke coldly to countervail 
her blush. | 

‘“There is evidently something to be done directly. ~All 
the people are moving towards the middle of thedown. We 
must not be so selfish as to keep you here, Lord Dashville.” 

14* 


ooe SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘“Why, don’t you see what it is?” exclaimed Miss Dolly, 
hotly resenting the part of second fiddle; ‘‘they are going 
to have the grand march-past. These affairs always con- 
clude with that. And we are in the worst part of the whole 
down for seeing it. Lord Dashville will tell us where we 
ought to go.” 

‘“You had better not attempt to move now,” he answered, 
smiling as he always smiled at Dolly, as if she were a charm- 
ing but impatient child; ‘‘ you might cause some confusion, 
and perhaps see nothing. And now I must discharge my 
commission, which I am quite ashamed of having left so 
long. His Majesty hopes, when the march-past is over, to 
receive a march-up of fair ladies. He has a most wonderful 
memory, as you know, and his nature is the kindest of the 
kind. As soon as he heard that Lady Scudamore was here, 
and Admiral Darling’s daughters with her, he said: ‘ Bring 
them all to me, every one of them; young Scudamore has 
done good work, good work. And I want to congratulate 
his.mother about him. And Darling’s daughters, I must 
see them. Why, we owe the security of the coast to him.’ 
And so, if you please, ladies, be quite ready, and allow me 
the honour of conducting you.” 

With a low bow, he set off about his business, leaving 
the ladies in a state of sweet disturbance. Blyth Scuda- 
more’s mother wept a little, for ancient troubles and present 
pleasure. Lord Dashville could not repeat before her all 
that the blunt old King had said: ‘‘ Monstrous ill-treated 
woman, shameful, left without a penny, after all her poor 
husband did for me and the children! Not my fault a bit 
—fault of the Whigs—always stingy—said he made away 
with himself—bad example—don’t believe a word of it; very 
cheerful man. Blown by now, at any rate—must see what 
can be done for her—obliged to go for governess—disgrace 
to the Crown!” 

Faith, with her quiet self-respect, and the largeness learned 
from sorrow, was almost capable of not weeping that she 
had left at home her apple-green Poland mantlet and jockey 
bonnet of lilac satin checked with maroon. But Dolly had 
no such weight of by-gone sorrow to balance her present 
woe, and the things she had left at home were infinitely 
brighter than that dowdy Faith’s. 

‘‘Is there time to drive back? Is there time to drive 
home? The King knows father, and he will be astonished 
to see a pair of frumps, and he won't understand one bit 






























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































““HOW BEAUTIFUL SPRINGHAVEN MUST BE LOOKING Now!” 


324 SPRINGHAVEN. 


about the dust, or the sun that takes the colour out. He 
will think we have got all our best things on. Oh, Lady 
Scudamore, how could you do it? You told us to put on 
quite plain things, because of the dust, and the sun, and all 
that; and it might come to rain, you said—as if it was like- 
ly, when the King was on the hill! And with all your ex- 
perience of the King and Queen, that you told us about last 
evening, you must have known that they would send for us. 
Gregory, how long would it take you to go home, at full 
gallop, allow us half an hour in the house, and be back 
here again, when all these people are gone by ?” 

‘‘ Well, miss, there be a steepish bit of road, and a many 
ockard cornders; I should say ’a might do it in two hours 
and a half, with a fresh pair of nags put in while you ladies 
be a-cleaning of yourselves, miss. Leastways, if Hadmiral 
not object.” 

‘‘Hadmiral, as you call him, would have nothing to do 
with it’—Dolly was always free-spoken with the servants, 
which made her very popular with some of them—“‘ he has 
heavier duty than he can discharge. But two hours anda 
half is hopeless; we must even go as we are.”’ 

Coachman Gregory smiled in his sleeve. He knew that 
the Admiral had that day a duty far beyond his powers 
—to bring up his Sea-Fencibles to see the King—upon which 
they had insisted—-and then to fetch them all back again, 
and send them on board of their several craft in a state of 
strict sobriety. And Gregory meant to bear a hand, and 
lift it pretty frequently towards the most loyal part of man, 
in the large festivities of that night. He smacked his lips 
at the thought of this, and gave a little flick to his horses. 

After a long time, long enough for two fair drives to 
Springhaven and back, and when even the youngest were 
growing weary of glare, and dust, and clank, and din, and 
blare, and roar, and screeching music, Lord Dashville rode 
up through a cloud of roving chalk, and after a little talk 
with the ladies, ordered the coachman to follow him. Then 
stopping the carriage at a proper distance, he led the three 
ladies towards the King, who was thoroughly tired, and had 
forgotten all about them. His Majesty’s sole desire was to 
get into his carriage and go to sleep; for he was threescore 
years and six of age, and his health not such as it used to 
be. Ever since twelve o’clock he had been sitting in a box 
made of feather-edged boards, which the newspapers called 
a pavilion, having two little curtains (both of which stuck 





SPRINGHAVEN. 395 


fast) for his only defence against sun, noise,and dust. More- 
over, his seat was a board full of knots, with a strip of thin 
velvet thrown over it; and Her Majesty sitting towards the 
other end (that the public might see between them), and 
weighing more than he did, every time she jumped up, he 
went down, and every time she plumped down, he went up. 
But he never complained, and only slowly got tired. 
“Thank God!” he said, gently, ‘‘it’s all over now. My 
dear, you must be monstrous tired; and scarcely a bit to eat 
all day. But I locked some in the seat-box this morning— 
no trusting anybody but oneself. Let us get into the coach 
and have at them.” ‘‘Ja, ja, meinherr,” said the Queen. 

‘‘Tf it please your Majesties” —a clear voice entered be- 
tween the bonnet-hoods of the curtains—‘‘ here are the la- 
dies whose attendance I was ordered to require.” 

‘* Ladies !—what ladies ?” asked King George, rubbing his 
eyes and yawning. ‘‘Oh yes, to be sure! I mustn’t get up 
so early to-morrow. Won't take a mainte, Oy dear. Let 
them come. Not much time to spare.” 

But as soon as he saw Lady Scudamore, the King’s good- 
nature overcame the weariness of the moment. He took 
her kindly by the hand, and Jooked at her face, which bore 
the mark of many heavy trials; and she, who had often seen 
him when the world was bright before her, could not smother 
one low sob, as she thought of all that had been since. 

~**Don’t cry, don’t cry, my dear,” said the King, with his 
kind heart showing in his eyes; ‘‘ we must bow to the will 
of the Lord, who gives sad trials to every one of us. We 
must think of the good, and not the evil. Bless me, keep 
your spirits up. Your son is doing very well indeed, very 
well indeed, from all I hear. Good chip of the old block, 
very good chip. Will cure my grandchildren, as soon as 
they want it; and nobody is ever in good health now.” 

- ‘*No, your Majesty, if you please, my son is in the Royal 
Navy, fighting for his Country and his King. And he has 
already captured—” | 

‘‘Three French frigates. To be sure, I know. Better 
than curing three hundred people. Fine young officer— 
very fine young officer. Must come to see me when he gets 
older. There, you are laughing! That's as it should be. 
Good-bye, young ladies... Forty miles to go to-night, and 
very rough roads—very rough indeed. Monstrous pretty 
girls! Uncommon glad that George wasn’t here to see 
them. Better stay in the country—too good for London. 


326 SPRINGHAVEN. 


Must be off; sha’n’t have a bit o’ sleep to-night, because of 
sleeping the whole way there, and then sure to be late in 
the morning, not a bit of breakfast till eight o’clock, and 
all the day thrown upside down! Darlings, Darlings—the 
right name for them! But they mustn’t come to London. 
No, no, no. Too much wickedness there already. Very 
glad George wasn’t here to-day !” 

His Majesty was talking, as he always did, with the firm 
conviction that his words intended for the public ear would 
reach it, while those addressed, without change of tone, to 
himself, would be strictly private. But instead of offending 
any one, this on the whole gave great satisfaction, and im- 
pressed nine people out of ten with a strong and special re- 
gard for him, because almost every one supposed himself 
to be admitted at first sight to the inner confidence of the 
King. And to what could he attribute this ? He would do 
his own merits great demerit unless he attributed it to them, 
and to the King an unusual share of sagacity in perceiving 
them. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 
DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN. 


THAT grand review at Shotbury was declared by all who 
took part in it, or at all understood the subject, to have been 
a most remarkable and quite unparalleled success. Not only 
did it show what noble stuff there is in Englishmen, and how 
naturally they take to arms, but also it inspired with mar- 
tial feeling and happy faith the wives and mothers of all the 
gallant warriors there. It would make the blood-stained 
despot cower upon his throne of murder, and teach him the 
madness of invading any land so fortified. 

However, Napoleon failed to see the matter in that whole- 
some light, and smiled a grim and unkind smile as he 
read Caryl Carne’s report of those ‘“‘left-handed and un- 
couth manoeuvres.” ‘‘One of your Majesty’s feeblest regi- 
ments would send the whole of those louts to the devil; and 
I am bound toimpress once more, with all deference to your 
infallible judgment, the vast importance of carrying out your 
grand designs at the first moment. All is prepared on my 
part. One day’s notice is all I need.” 

So wrote Carne; and perhaps the truth, as usual, lay about 
half-way between the two opinions. Even Carne was not 





SPRINGHAVEN. 327 


admitted to a perfect knowledge of his master’s schemes. 
But to keep things moving and men alert, the Emperor 
came to the coast at once, busy as he was in Paris, and 
occupied for several weeks, with short intervals of absence, 
the house prepared for him near Boulogne, whence he 
watched and quickened the ripening of his mighty plans 
against us. 

Now Carne himself, while working with new vigour 
and fresh enterprise, had a narrow escape from invasion. 
Captain Stubbard, stirred up now and again by Mr. Twem- 
low, had thoroughly searched all covered places, likely to 
harbour gunpowder, within at least six miles of his fort, 
that is to say, all likely places, save and except the right one. 
By doing this he had done for himself—as regards sweet hos- 
pitality--among all the leading farmers, maltsters, tanners, 
and millers for miles around. Even those whose premises 
were not entered, as if they had been Frenchmen, had a 
brother-in-law, or at least a cousin, whose wooden bars had 
been knocked up. And the most atrocious thing of all, 
if there could be anything worse than worst, was that the 
Captain dined one day, at a market-ordinary, with Farmer, 
or you might say Squire, Hanger—for the best part of his 
land followed to him from his father—and had rum and 
water with -him, and spoke his health, and tucked Mrs. 
Hanger up into the shay, and rode alongside to guarantee 
them; and then the next day, on the very same horse, up he 
comes at Hanger-dene, and overhauls every tub on the prem- 
ises, with a parchment as big asa malt-shovel! Such aman 
was not fit to lay a knife and fork by. 

Some sense of the harm he had done to himself, without a 
bit of good to any one, dwelt heavily in the Captain’s mind, 
as he rode up slowly upon the most amiable of the battery- 
horses—for all sailors can ride, from long practice on the 
waves—and struck a stern stroke, with a stick like a lin- 
stock, upon the old shutter that served for a door and the 
front entrance to Carne Castle. There used to be a fine old 
piece of workmanship in solid and bold oak here, a door 
divided in the middle—else no man might swing it back— 
and even so pierced with a wicket, for small people to get 
through. That mighty door was not worn out, for it was 
not three hundred years old yet, and therefore scarcely in 
middle life; but the mortgagees who had sacked the place 
of all that was worth a sack to hold it, these had a very 
fine offer for that door, from a rich man come out of a dust- 


398 SPRINGHAVEN. 


bin. And this was one of the many little things that made 
Caryl Carne unpleasant. 

‘‘T do not require production of your warrant. The 
whole place is open to your inspection,” said Carne, who 
had long been prepared for this visit; ‘‘open to all the 
winds and rains, and the lower part sometimes filled with 
water. The upper rooms, or rather the few that remain 
of them, are scarcely safe for a person of any weight to walk 
in, but you are most welcome to try them, if you like; and 
this gentleman, I think, might not fall through. Here are 
my quarters; not quite so snug as my little room at the 
widow’s; but I can offer you some bread and cheese, and a 
glass of country cider. The vaults or cellars have held good 
wine in their time, but only empty casks and broken bottles 
now.” 

Captain Stubbard had known for many years the silent 
woes of poverty, and now he observed with some good-will 
the young man’s sad but haughty smile. Then he ordered 
his young subaltern, his battery-mate, as he called him, to 
ascend the broad, crumbling stairease, and glance into the 
dismantled chambers, while himself with the third of the 
party—a trusty old gunner—should inspect the cellarage. 

‘“We will not keep you long, sir,” he said to Carne; ‘‘and 
if you are kind enough to show us the way, which is easily 
lost in a place of this kind, we shall be all the quicker. 
Wilkins, when you have done up there, wait here for us. 
Shall we want a leght, sir ?” 

‘‘In the winter, you could hardly do without one, but at 
this time of year, I think you may. At any rate, I will 
bring a lantern, and we can light it if wanted. But the 
truth is that I know next to nothing of those sepulchral 
places. They would not be very tempting, even without a 
ghost, which they are said to have.” 

‘‘A ghost!” cried the Captain; ‘‘I don’t like that. Not 
that I have much faith in them; although,one never can be 
sure. But at this time of day— What is it like?” 

‘‘T have never seen her, and am quite content without it. 
It is said to be an ancestress of mine, a Lady Cordelia Carne, 
who was murdered, when her husband was away, and bur- 
ied down there, after being thrown into the moat. . The old 
people say that whenever her ghost is walking, the water of 
the moat bursts in and covers the floor of the vaults, that 
she may flit along it, as she used to do. But of course one 
must not listen to that sort of fable.” 


SPRINGHAVEN. 329 


‘Perhaps you will go in front, sir, because you know the 
way. Itis my duty to inspect these places; and I am devil- 
ish sorry for it; but my duty must be done.” 

‘“You shall see every hole and corner, including the stone 
that was put up.to commemorate her murder and keep her 
quiet. But I should explain that these vaults extend for 
the entire length of the building, except just in the middle, 
where we now stand. For a few yards the centre of the 
building seems to have never been excavated, as to which 
you will convince yourself. You may call the cellars east 
and west, or right and left, or north and south, or uphill 
and downhill, or anything else, for really they are so much 
alike, and partitioned into cells so much alike, that I searce- 
ly know which is which myself, coming suddenly from the 
daylight. But you understand those things much better, 
A sailor always knows his bearings. This leads to the en- 
trance of one set.” 

Carne led the Captain and old einer Bob—as he was 
called in the battery—along a dark and narrow passage, 
whose mouth was browed with ivy. Half-way through, 
they found an archway on the right-hand side, opening at 
right angles into long and badly lighted vaults. In this 
arch there was no door; but a black step-ladder (made of 
oak, no doubt), very steep and rather rickety, was planted to 
tempt any venturesome foot. 

‘* Are you sure this ladder is safe ?”—the Captain was by no 
means in love with the look of it. ‘‘ My weight has increased 
remarkably in the fine air of Springhaven, If the bottom 
is rotten, the top won’t help us.”’ 

‘*Let me go first. Itis my duty, as the owner; and I have 
no family dependent on me. My neck is of no value, com- 
pared to yours, Captain.” 

‘*How I have mistaken this young man!” thought the 
brave yet prudent Stubbard. ‘‘I called him a Frenchified 
fool, whereas he is a downright Englishman! I shall ask 
him to dinner ek week, if Jemima can get a new leg for 
the dripping-pan.’ 

Following warily, with Gunner Bob behind him, and not 
disdaining the strong arm of the owner, the Captain of Fox- 
hill was landed in the vault, and, being there, made a strict 
examination. He even poked his short sword into the bung- 
holes of three. or four empty barrels, that Bob might be 
satisfied also in his conscience. ‘* Matter of form,” he said, 
‘‘matter of form, sir, when we know who people are; but. 


330 SPRINGHAVEN. 


you might have to do it yourself, sir, if you were in the ser- 
vice of your King. You ought to be that, Mr. Carne; and 
it is not too late, in such days as these are, to begin. Take 
my advice—such a fine young man!” 

‘* Alas, my dear sir, I cannot afford it. What officer can 
live upon his pay for a generation ?” 

‘“Gospel truth!” cried the Captain, warmly; ‘‘ Gospel 
truth! and more than that—he must be the last’of his gen- 
eration, or else send his young ’uns to the workhouse. 
What things I could tell you, Mr. Carne! But here we 
are at the end of the vaults; all empty, as I can certify; and 
I hope, my dear sir, that you may live to see them filled 
with good wine, as they used to be.” 

“Thank you, but there is no hope of that. Shall we 
take the vaults of the other end next, or examine the 
chapel, and the outer buildings—outer ruins, I should say?” 

‘*Oh, a little open air first, for goodness’ sake!” said the 
Captain, going heavily up the old steps; ‘‘] am pretty near- 
ly choked with all this mildew. A little fresh air, before 
we undertake the other lot.” 

As soon as the echo of their steps was dead, Charron, old 
Jerry, and another man jumped down from a loop-hole into 
the vault they had left, piled up a hoarding at the entrance, 
and with a crowbar swung back a heavy oak hatch in the 
footings of the outer wall. A volume of water poured in 
from the moat, or rather from the stream which had once 
supplied it. Seeing this, they disappeared with a soft and 
pleasant chuckle. ~ 

The owner kept Stubbard such a time among the ruins, 
telling him some fine old legends, and otherwise leading 
him in and out, that when a bit of food and a glass of old 
Cognac was proposed by way of interlude, the Captain heart- 
ily embraced the offer. Then Carne conducted his three 
visitors, for Wilkins had now rejoined them, into a low 
room poorly furnished, and regaled them beyond his promise. 
“Rare stuff!” exclaimed Stubbard, with a wink at Carne. 
‘‘ Ah, I see that free-trade still exists. No concern of mine, 
except to enjoy its benefits. Here’sto your very good health, 
sir, and I. am proud to have made your acquaintance.” 

‘‘Have another drop; it can hurt no one,” Carne de- 
clared, and the Captain acquiesced. 

‘Well, I suppose we must finish our job,” the official 
visitor at length pronounced; ‘‘a matter of form, sir, and 
no offence; but we are bound tocarry out our duty. There 


SPRINGHAVEN. 331 


is nothing left, except the other lot of vaults; but the light 
begins to fail us for underground work. I hope they are not 
so dark as those we have been through.” 

‘“Just about the same. You would hasdly know one 
set from the other, as I told you, except for the stone that 
records the murder. Perhaps we had better light the lan- 
tern now 2” 

‘‘By. all means. I don’t half like that story of the lady 
that walks on the water. It does seem so gashly and un- 
christian altogether. Not that I have any fear of ghosts— 
not likely, for I have never even seen one.” 

‘‘T have,” said Gunner Bob, in a deep voice, which made 
them all glance through the ivy. ‘‘I have, and a fearful 
one it were.” 

‘‘ Don’t be a fool, Bob,” the Captain whispered; ‘‘ we don’t 
want to hear about that now. Allow me to carry the lan- 
tern, Mr. Carne; it throws such shadows from the way you 
hold it. Why, surely, this is where we were before!” 

“You might easily fancy so,” Carne answered, smiling, 
‘‘especially with a mind at all excited—” 

‘‘My mind is not excited, sir; not at all excited; but as 
calm as it ever was in all its life.” 

‘‘Then two things will show you that these are the other 
‘vaults. The arch is on your left hand, instead of on your 
right’”—he had brought them in now from the other end of 
the passage—‘‘and this entrance, as you see, has a door in 
it, which the other had not. Perhaps the door is to keep 
the ghost in’’—his laugh sounded hollow; and like a mock- 
ing challenge along the dark roof—‘‘ for this is the part she 
is supposed to walk in. But so much for the door! The 
money-lenders have not left us a door that will stand a good 
kick. You may find our old doors in Wardour Street.” 

As he spoke, he set foot against the makeshift door, and 
away it went, as he had predicted. Crashing on the steps 
as it fell, it turned over, and a great splash arose at the 
bottom. . 

‘“Why, bless my heart, there is a flood of water there!” 
cried Stubbard, peeping timidly down the steps, on which 
(if the light had been clear, and that of his mind in the © 
same condition) he might have seen the marks of his own 
boots. ‘*A flood of water, perhaps six feet deep! I could 
scarcely have believed, but for that and the door, that these 
were not the very vaults that we have examined. But what 
business has the water there ?” 


332 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘“No business at all, any more than we have,” Carne an- 
swered, with some rudeness, for it did not suit him to en- 
courage too warmly the friendship of Captain Stubbard; 
‘“but I told you that the place becomes covered with water 
whenever the ghost intends to walk. Probably there is not 
‘more than a foot of water’”—there was in fact about three 
inches—‘‘ and as you are bound to carry out your duty—” 

“My dear sir, I am satisfied, perfectly satisfied. Who 
could keep gunpowder under water, or even in a flooded 
cellar? Ishall have the greatest pleasure in reporting that 
I searched Carne Castle—not of course suspiciously, but 
narrowly, as we are bound to do, in execution of our war- 
rant—” 

“Tf you would not mind looking in this direction,” whis- 
pered Carne, who could never be contented, “T think I could 
show you, just beyond the murder-stone—yes, and it seems 
to be coming towards us, as white as a winding-sheet; do 
come and look.” : 
- “No,sir, no; itis not my duty’’—the Captain turned away, 
with his hair upon the rise. ‘‘I was sent here to look for 
saltpetre, not spectres. No officer in His Majesty’s service 
can be expected— Bob and Wilkins, are you there ?” 

‘Yes, sir, yes—we have had quite enough of this; and 
unless you give the orders—” 

‘“Here she comes, I do declare!” whispered Carne, with 
extraordinary calmness. 

‘‘Bob and Wilkins, give me one arm each. Make for 
daylight in close order. You may be glad to see your 
grandmother, young man; but I decline to have anything 
to say.to her. Bob and Wilkins, bear a hand; I feel a little 
shaky in my lower timbers. Run for your lives, but don’t 
leave me behind. Run, lads, like the very devil!” For a 
groan of sepulchral depth, and big enough to lift a granite 
tombstone, issued from the vault, and wailed along the som- 
bre archway. . Allthe Artillerymen fled, as if the muzzle of 
their biggest gun was slewed upon them, and very soon the 
sound of horses’ heels, urged at a perilous pace down the 
hill, rang back as the echo of that grand groan. 

“T think I did that pretty well, my Captain,” cried Char 
ron, ascending from the vault with dripping boots; ‘‘I de- 


serve a glass of Cognac, if they have left me any. Happy | 


is Stoobar that he was contented, without breaking his neck 
at the inspector’s step.” 
‘* He has satisfied his conscience,” Carne answered, grim- 


i 
a » 


« UAaduO ASOTO NI LHNITAVA YOA ANVNW ” 


Tay 
ve 


= 


COS SS a 


eS 


SS Senys- 


. eee 


——<— 


SOS eS 


SUSE SSNS 


\ Wie 


GAY 


AWA 
See 


ASS 
SONS 


WL A 





334 SPRINGHAVEN. 


ly; ‘‘yet it cannot be blameless, to make him run so fast. 
Iam glad we have been saved from killing them. It would 
have been hard to know what todo next. But he will never 
trouble us here again.”’ 


CHAPTER XLV. 


FATHER AND CHILD. 


‘“TELL Miss Faith,when she comes in, that I shall be glad 
to see her,” said Admiral Darling to his trusty butler, one 
hot afternoon in August. He had just come home from a 
long, rough ride, to spend at least one day in his own house, 
and after overhauling his correspondence, went into the din- 
ing-room, as the coolest in the house, to refresh himself a 
little with a glass of light wine before going up to dress for 
dinner. There he sat in an arm-chair, and looked at his 
hands, which were browned by the sun, and trembling from 
a long period of heavy work and light sleep. He was get- 
ting too old to endure it with impunity, yet angry with him- 
self for showing it. But he was not thinking of himself alone. 

‘*T hope she will be sensible” —he was talking to himself, 
as elderly people are apt to do, especially after being left to 
themselves; ‘‘I hope she will see the folly of it—of living all 
her life as the bride of a ghost; and herself such a beautiful, 
cheerful darling! Loving, warm-hearted, sweet-tempered., 
adoring children, and adored by them; obedient, gentle—I 
ean’t think of anything good that she hasn’t got, except 
common-sense. And even for that, I like her all the more; 
because it is so different from all the other girls. They have 
got too much—one lover out of sight, even for a month or 
two, gone fighting for his Country, what do they do but take 
up with another, as I very greatly fear our Dolly would ? 
But Faith— Why, my darling, how well you look!” 

‘‘How I wish that I could say the same of you, dear fa- 
ther!” said the lovely young woman, while kissing him, and 
smoothing with her soft hand his wrinkled forehead; ‘‘ you 
never used to have these little tucks and gathers here. I 
would rather almost that the French should come and de- 
vour us all, than see my father, whenever we do see him, 
once in a month, say, gauffred like this—as their laundresses 
do it—and getting reduced to the Classical shape, so that I 
can put one arm round him.” 


SPRINGHAVEN. : 335 


‘‘ My darling,” said the Admiral, though proud at heart 
of the considerable reduction of his stomach, ‘‘ you should 
not say such things to me, to remind me how very old I am!” 

Fathers are crafty, and daughters childish, as behooves the 
both of them. The Admiral knew, as well as if he had 
ordered it, what Faith would do. And she must have per- 
ceived his depth, if only she had taken a moment to think of 
it. Because when she plumped, like a child, into his arms, 
how came his arms to be so wide open? and when two great 
tears rolled down her cheeks, how sprang his handkerchief 
so impromptu out from beneath his braided lappet ? 

‘Tell me what harm I have done,” she asked, with a 
bright smile dawning through the dew of her dark eyes; 
‘“what have I done to vex you, father, that you say things 
fit to make me cry? And yet I ought to laugh, because I 
know so well that you are only fishing for compliments. 
You are getting so active that I shall be frightened to go 
for a walk ora ride with you. Only I do love to see you 
look fat, and your darling forehead smooth and white.” 

‘‘ My dear child, I must get up my substance. This very 
day I begin in earnest. Because I am to be a great man, 
Faith. How would you like to have to call me ‘Sir 
Charles’ ?” | 

‘‘ Not at all, darling; except when you deserve it, by being 
cross to me; and that never, never happens. I wish there 
was more chance of it.”’ 

‘Well, dear, if you won't, the other people must; for His 
Majesty has been graciously pleased to turn me into a Bar- 
onet. He says that I have earned it; and perhaps I have; 
at any rate, he put it so nicely that without being churlish 
I could not refuse. And it will be a good thing for Frank, 
I hope, by bringing him back from his democratic stuff. 
To myself it is useless; but my children ought to like it.” 

‘‘ And so they will, father, for your own dear sake. Let 
me be the first to salute you, father. Oh, Dolly will be in 
such a rage because you told me, without telling her!” 

‘‘T never thought of that,” said the Admiral, simply; ‘‘I 
am afraid that I shall get in for it. However, I have a 
right to please myself, and you need not tell her until I do. 
But that is not all my news, and not by any means the best 
of it. The King was reminded, the other day, of all that he 
and his family owe to the late Sir Edmond Scudamore, and 
better late than never, he has ordered your governess, as he 
called her, to be put on the list for a pension of £300 a year. 


336 SPRINGHAVEN. 


Nothing that once gets into his head can ever be got out 
of it,and he was shocked at seeing his old physician’s widow 
“gone out as a governess—gone out as a governess—great 
disgrace to the royal family!’ I am very glad that it hap- 
pened so.” | | 

‘‘Andsoam I. She ought to have had it long and long 
ago, especially after the sad misfortune of her husband. 
You will let me tell her? It will be such a pleasure.” 

‘‘Certainly, my dear; you are the very one to doit. Tell 
her that her eldest pupil is come with a little piece of news 
for her; it will make her smile-—she has a very pretty smile, 
which reminds me of the gallant Blyth. And now, my 
child, the third piece of news concerns yourself—your good, 
and dutiful, and exceedingly sensible self. Ahem!” cried 
the Admiral, as he always did, when he feared that he might 
have overstepped the truth. 

‘‘T know what it is; you need not tell me,” Faith an- 


swered, confirming his fear at once. ‘‘It is no use, father; it 
is no good at all—unless you intend to forget your own 
promise.’ 


‘“That I shall never do,” he replied, while looking at her 
sadly; ‘‘no, my dear child, I shall never attempt to. drive 
instead of lead you. But you have not heard me out as yet. 
You don’t even know who it is I mean.” 

‘‘Oh yes, I do; I know well enough, father. I am not 
like Dolly, universally admired. Because I do not want to 
be. You mean Lord Dashville—can you tell me that you 
don’t ?” 

‘“No, my dear’—Sir Charles was a little surprised .that 
Faith should be so quick, for (like most people of gentle 
nature) she was taken to be slow, because she never snapped— 
‘‘T cannot deny that it is Lord Dashville, because that is 
the man, and no other. But how you could tell surpasses 
me, and it shows that he must be very often in your mind:” 
the Admiral thought he had caught her there. ‘‘ Now can 
you say anything against him? Is he not honest, manly, 
single-minded, faithful as yourself, I do believe, good-look- 
ing, well-bred, a Tory, and. a gentleman, certain to make 
any woman happy whom he loves? Can you saya syllable 
against all that ?” 

‘‘No,” replied Faith—a very long, slow ‘‘no,” as if she 
only wished she could say something hard about him. 

‘* Very well,” her father went on, with triumph, ‘‘and can 
you deny that he is just the person you might have taken 


9 


SPRINGHAVEN. 337 


a great liking to—fallen in love with, as they call it—if 
only he had come before your mind was full of somebody 
else—a very fine young fellow, no doubt; but—my darling, 
I won't say a word against him, only you know what I mean 
too well. And are you forever to be like a nun because it 
has pleased the Lord to take him from you ?” 

‘Lord Dashville has not advanced himself in my good 
opinion, if he cares for that,” said Faith, starting sideways, 
as a woman always does, from the direct issue, ‘‘ by going 
to you, when I declined to have anything more to say to him.” 

‘My dear, you are unjust,” replied Sir Charles; ‘‘ not pur- 
posely, I know, for you are the most upright darling that 
can be,in general. But you accuse young Dashville of what 
he never did. It was his good mother, the Countess of 
Blankton, a most kind-hearted and lady-like person, without 
any nonsense about her, who gave me the best cup of tea 
I ever tasted, and spoke with the very best feeling possible. 
She put it so sweetly that I only wish you could have been 
there to hear her.” . 

‘Father, what is the good of it all? You hate turn- 
coats even worse than traitors. Would you like your daugh- 
ter to be one? And when she would seem to have turned 
her coat—for the ladies wear coats now, the horrid ugly 
things !—for the sake of position, and title, and all that. If 
Lord. Dashville had been a poor man, with his own way to 
make in the world, a plain Mister, there might have been 
more to be said for it. But to think that I should throw 
over my poor darling because he will come home without 
a penny, and perhaps tattoed, but at any rate turned black, 
for the sake of a coronet,and a heap of gold—oh, father, I 
shall break down, if you go on so!” 

‘My dear girl, I will not say a word to vex you. Butyou 
are famous for common-sense, as well as every other good 
quality, and I would ask you to employ just a little of it. 
Can you bear me to speak of your trouble, darling ?” 

‘*Oh yes, I am so well accustomed to it now; and I know 
that it is nothing compared to what thousands of people have 
to bear. Sometimes I am quite ashamed of giving way 
to it.” 

‘You do not give way to it, Faith. No person can possi- 
bly say that of you. You are my brave, unselfish, cheerful 
sweet-natured, upright, and loving child. Nobody knows, 
but you and I—and perhaps I know it even more than you 
do—the greatness of the self-command you use, to be pleasant 

15 


338 -SPRINGHAVEN. 


and gay and agreeable, simply for the sake of those around 
you.” 

‘‘Then, father,” cried Faith, who was surprised at this, 
for the Admiral had never said a word about such mat- 
ters, ‘‘ you think, after all, that I am—that I am almost as 
good as Dolly!” | 

‘“You jealous little vixen, I shall recall every word I have 
said in your favour! My child, and my pride, you are not 
only as good as Dolly, but my best hope is that when Dolly 
grows older she may be like you. Don’t cry, darling; I can’t 
stand crying, when it comes from eyes that so seldom do it. 
And now that you know what I think of you, allow me to 
think a little for you. I have some right to interfere in 
your life; you will allow that—won’t you 2?” ) 

‘‘Father, you have all right, and a thousand times as 
much, because you are so gentle about using it.” 

‘‘T calls that bad English, as Zeb Tugwell says when he 
doesn’t want to understand a thing. But, my pretty dear, 
you must remember that you will not have a father always. 
Who will look after you, when I am gone, except the Al- 
mighty ?—and He does not do it, except for the few who look 
after themselves. It is my duty to consider these points, 
and they override sentimentality. Tome it is nothing that 
Dashville will be an Earl, and a man of great influence, if 
he keeps up his present high character; but it is something 
to me that I find him modest, truthful, not led away by 
phantoms, a gentleman—which is more than a nobleman— 
and with his whole heart given to my dear child Faith.” 

Faith sighed heavily, partly for herself, but mainly, per- 
haps, for the sake of a fine heart sadly thrown away on her. 
‘‘T believe he is all that,” she said. 

‘‘In that case, what more can you have?” pursued the 
triumphant Admiral. ‘‘It is one of the clearest things I ever 
knew, and one of the most consistent’—consistent was a 
great word in those days—‘‘as well as in every way de- — 
sirable. Consider, not yourself—which you never do—but 
the state of the Country, and of Dolly. They have made me 
a baronet, for being away from home nearly every night of 
my life; andif I had Dashville to see to things here, I might 
stay away long enough to be a lord myself, like my late 
middy the present Duke of Bronte.” 

Faith laughed heartily. ‘‘ You call me jealous! My 
dear father, I know that you could have done a great deal 
more than Lord Nelson has, because he learned all that he 





SPRINGHAVEN. 339 


knows from you. And now whois it that really defends the 
whole south coast of England against the French? Is it 
Lord Nelson! He has as much as he can do to look after 
their fleet in the Mediterranean. Admiral Cornwallis and 
Sir Charles Darling are the real defenders of England.” 

*‘No, my dear, you must never say that, except of course 
in private. There may be some truth in it, but it would be 
laughed at in the present condition of the public mind. 
History may do me justice, but after all it is immaterial. 
A man who does his duty should be indifferent to the opin- 
ion of the public, which begins more and more to be formed 
less by fact than by the newspapers of the day. But let us 
return to more important matters. You are now in a very 
sensible frame of mind. You see what my wishes are about 
you, and how reasonable they are. I should be so happy, 
my darling child, if you would consider them sensibly, and 
yield some little of your romantic views. I would not ask 
you unless I were sure that this man loves you as you de- 
serve, and in his own character deserves your love.” 

‘*Then, father, will this content you, dear? Unless I 
hear something of Erle Twemlow, to show that he is liv- 
ing, and still holds to me, in the course of another twelve- 
month, Lord Dashville, or anybody else, may try—may try 
to take his place with me. Only I must not be worried— 
I mean, I must not hear another word about it, until the 
_ time has quite expired.” 

‘It is a very poor concession, Faith. Surely you might 
say halfa year. Consider, it is nearly three years now—” 

‘‘ No, papa, I should despise myself if I were so unjust to 
one so unlucky. And I only go so much from my own 
wishes because you are such a dear and good father. Not 
a bit of it for Lord Dashville’s sake.” 

‘Well, my poor darling,” the Admiral replied, for he 
saw that she was upon the brink of tears, and might hate 
Lord Dashville if further urged, ‘‘ half a loaf is better than 
no bread. If Dashville is worthy of your constant heart, 
he will stand this long trial of his constancy. This is the 
tenth day of August, 1804. I hope that the Lord may be 
pleased to spare me till the 10th of August, 1805. High 
time for them to come and lay the cloth. I am as hungry 
as a hunter.” 


340 SPRINGHAVEN. 


CHAPTER XLVI. 


CATAMARANS, 


NAPOLEON had shown no proper dread of the valiant 
British volunteers, but kept his festival in August, and car- 
ried on his seaside plans, as if there were no such fellows. 
Not content with that, he even flouted our blockading fleet 
by coming out to look at them. And if one of our frigates 
had shot straight, she might have saved millions of lives 
and billions of money, at the cost of one greatly bad life. 
But the poor ship knew not her opportunity, or she would 
rather have gone to the bottom than waste it. 

Now the French made much of this affair, according to 
their nature; and histories of it, full of life and growth, ran 
swiftly along the shallow shore,and even to Paris, the navel 
of the earth. Frenchmen of letters—or rather of papers— 
declared that all England was smitten with dismay; and so 
she might have been, if she had heard of it. But as our 
neighbours went home again, as soon as the water was six 
fathoms deep, few Englishmen knew that they had tried to 
smell a little of the sea-breeze, outside the smell of their in- 
shore powder. They were pleased to get ashore again, and 
talk it over, with vivid description of the things that did not 
happen. 

‘‘Such scenes as these tended much to agitate England,” 
writes a great French historian. ‘The British Press, ar- 
rogant and calumnious, as the Press always is in a free 
country, railed much at Napoleon and his preparations; but 
railed as one who trembles at that which he would fain ex- 
hibit as the object of his laughter.” It may have been so, 
but it is not to be seen in any serious journal of that time. 
He seems to have confounded coarse caricaturists with re- 
fined and thoughtful journalists, even as, in the account of 
that inshore skirmish, he turns a gun-brig into a British 
frigate. However, such matters are too large for us. 

It was resolved at any rate to try some sort of a hit at all 
these very gallant Frenchmen, moored under their own bat- 
teries, and making horse-marines of themselves, whenever 





SPRINGHAVEN. 341 


Neptune, the father of the horse, permitted. The jolly Eng- 
lish tars, riding well upon the waves, sent many a broad 
grin through a spy-glass at Muncher Crappo tugging hard 
to get his nag into his gun-boat and then to get him out 
again, because his present set of shoes would not be worn 
out in England. Every sailor loves a horse, regarding him 
as a boat on legs, and therefore knowing more about him 
than any landlubber may feign to know. 

But although they would have been loath to train a gun 
on the noble animal, who was duly kept beyond their range, 
all the British sailors longed to have a bout with the double 
tier of hostile craft moored off the shore within shelter of 
French batteries. Every day they could reckon at least 
two hundred sail of every kind of rig invented since the 
time of Noah, but all prepared to destroy instead of suc- 
couring the godly. It was truly grievous to see them there, 
and not be able to get at them, for no ship of the line or 
even frigate could get near enough to tackle them. Then 
the British Admiral, Lord Keith, resolved after much con- 
sultation to try what could be done with fire-ships. 

Blyth Seudamore, now in command of the Blonde, had 
done much excellent service, in cutting off stragglers from 
the French flotilla, and driving ashore near Vimereux some 
prames and luggers coming from Ostend. He began to 
know the French coast and the run of the shoals like a 
native pilot; for the post of the Blonde, and some other 
light ships, was between the blockading fleet and the block- 
aded, where perpetual vigilance was needed. This sharp 
service was the very thing required to improve his charac- 
ter, to stamp it with decision and self-reliance, and to burn- 
ish his quiet, contemplative vein with the very frequent 
friction of the tricks of mankind. These he now was strict- 
ly bound not to study, but anticipate, taking it as first postu- 
late that every one would cheat him, if permitted. Toa 
Scrimpy and screwy man, of the type most abundant, such a 
position would have done a deal of harm, shutting him up 
into his own shell harder, and flinting its muricated horns 
against the world. But with the gentle Scuddy, as the boys 
at school had called him, the process of hardening was bene- 
ficial, as it is with pure gold, which cannot stand the wear 
and tear of the human race until it has been reduced by 
them at least to the mark of their twenty carats. 

And now it was a fine thing for Scudamore—even as a 
man too philanthropic was strengthened in his moral tone 


342 _ S§PRINGHAVEN. 


(as his wife found out) by being compelled to discharge the 
least pleasant of the duties of a county sheriff—or if not a 
fine thing, at least it was a wholesome and durable correc- 
tive to all excess of lenience, that duty to his country and 
mankind compelled the gentle Scuddy to conduct the west- 
ern division of this night-attack. 

At this time there was in the public mind, which is quite 
of full feminine agility, a strong prejudice against the use 
of fire-ships. Red-hot cannon-balls, and shrapnel, langrage, 
chain-shot, and Greek-fire—these and the like were all fair 
warfare, and France might use them freely. But England 
(which never is allowed to do, without hooting and execra- 
tion, what every other country does with loud applause)— 
England must rather burn off her right hand than send a fire- 
ship against the ships full of fire for her houses, her cot- 
tages, and churches. Lord Keith had the sense to laugh at 
all that stuff, but he had not the grand mechanical powers 
which have now enabled the human race, not to go, but to 
send one another to the stars. A clumsy affair called a 
catamaran, the acephalous ancestor of the torpedo, was ex- 
pected to relieve the sea of some thousands of people who had 
no business there. This catamaran was a water-proof box 
about twenty feet long, and four feet wide, narrowed at the 
ends, liké a coffin for a'giant. It was filled with gunpow- 
der, and ballasted so that its lid, or deck, was almost awash ; 
and near its stern was a box containing clock movements 
that would go for about ten minutes, upon the withdrawal 
of a peg outside, and then would draw a trigger and ex- 
plode the charge. This wondrous creature had neither oar 
nor sail, but demanded to be towed to the tideward of the 
enemy, then have the death-watch set going, and be cast 
adrift within hail of the enemy’s line. Then as soon as it 
came across their mooring cables, its duty was to slide for a 
little way along them in a friendly manner, lay hold of them 
kindly with its long tail, which consisted of a series of 
grappling-hooks buoyed with cork, and then bringing up 
smartly alongside of the gun-boats, blow itself up, and carry 
them up with it. How many there were of these catama- 
rans is not quite certain, but perhaps about a score, the inten- 
tion being to have ten times as many,on the next occa- 
sion, if these did well. And no doubt they would have done 
well, if permitted; but they failed of their purpose, like the 
great Guy Fawkes, because they were prevented. 

For the French, by means of treacherous agents—of whom 





SPRINGHAVEN. 343 


perhaps Caryl Carne was one, though his name does not 
appear in the despatches—knew all about this neat little 
scheme beforehand, and set their wits at work to defeat it. 
Moreover, they knew that there were four fire-ships, one of 
which was the Peggy of Springhaven, intended. to add to 
the consternation and destruction wrought by the catamarans. 
But they did not know that, by some irony of fate, the least 
destructive and most gentle of mankind was ordered to take 
a leading part in shattering man, and horse, and even good 
dogs, into vapours. 

Many quiet horses, and sweet-natured dogs, whose want 
of breeding had improved their manners, lived in this part 
of the great flotilla, and were satisfied to have their home 
where it pleased the Lord to feed them. The horses were 
led to feed out of the guns, that they might not be afraid of 
them; and they struggled against early prejudice, to like 
wood as well as grass, and to get sea-legs. Man put them 
here to suit his own ideas; of that they were quite aware, 
and took it kindly, accepting superior powers, and inferior 
use of them, without a shade of question in their eyes. To 
their innocent minds it was never brought home that they 
were tethered here, and cropping clots instead of clover, for 
the purpose of inspiring in their timid friends ashore the 
confidence a horse reposes in a brother horse, but very wisely 
doubts about investing in mankind. For instance, when- 
ever a wild young animal, a new recruit for the cavalry, was 
haled against his judgment by a man on either side to the 
hollow-sounding gangway over dancing depth of peril, these 
veteran salts of horses would assure him, with a neigh from 
the billowy distance,that they were not drowned yet, but were 
walking on a sort of gate, and got their victuals regular. On 
the other hand, as to the presence of the dogs, that requires 
no explanation. Was there ever a time or place in which a 
dog grudged his sprightly and disinterested service, or failed 
to do his best when called upon? These French dogs, 
whom the mildest English mastiff would have looked upon, 
or rather would have shut his eyes at, as a lot of curs be- 
low contempt, were as full of fine ardour for their cause and 
country as any noble hound that ever sate like a statue on 
a marble terrace. 

On the first of October all was ready for this audacious 
squibbing of the hornet’s nest, and the fleet of investment 
(which kept its distance according to the weather and the 
tides) stood in, not bodily so as to arouse excitement, but a 


344 SPRINGHAVEN. 


ship at atime sidling in towards the coast, and traversing one 
another’s track, as if they were simply exchanging stations. 
The French pretended to take no heed, and did not call in a 
single scouting craft, but showed every sign of having all 
eyes shut. Nothing, however, was done that night, by rea- 
son perhaps of the weather; but the following night being 
favourable, and the British fleet brought as nigh as it durst 
come, the four fire-ships were despatched after dark, when 
the enemy was likely to be engaged with supper. The sky 
was conveniently overcast, with a faint hght wandering here 
and there, from the lift of the horizon, just enough to show 
the rig of a vessel and her length, at a distance of about a 
hundred yards. Nothing could be better—thought the Eng- 
lishmen; and the French were of that opinion too, espe- 
cially as Nelson was not there. 

Scudamore had nothing to do with the loose adventure 
of the fire-ships, the object of which was to huddle togeth- 
er this advanced part of the flotilla, so that the catamarans 
might sweep unseen into a goodly thicket of vessels, and 
shatter at least half a dozen at once. 

But somehow the scheme was not well carried out, though 
it looked very nice upon paper. One very great drawback, 
to begin with, was that the enemy were quite aware of all 
our kind intentions; and another scarcely less fatal was the 
want of punctuality on our part. All the floating coffins 
should have come together, like a funeral of fifty from a 
colliery; but instead of that they dribbled in one by one, © 
and were cast off by their tow-boats promiscuously. Secud- 
amore did his part well enough, though the whole thing 
went against his grain, and the four catamarans under his 
direction were the only ones that did their duty. The boats 
of the Blonde had these in tow, and cast them off hand- 
' somely at the proper distance, and drew the plugs which 
set their clock-springs going. But even of these four only 
two exploded, although the clocks were not American, and 
those two made a tremendous noise, but only singed a few 
French beards off. Except, indeed, that a fine old horse, 
with a white Roman nose and a bright chestnut mane, who 
was living in a flat-bottomed boat, broke his halter and 
rushed up to the bows, and gave vent to his amazement as 
if he had been gifted with a trumpet. 

Hereupon a dog, loath to be behind the times, seampered up 
to his side, and with his forefeet on the gunwale, contributed 
a howl of incalculable length and unfathomable sadness. 





SPRINGHAVEN. 345 


In the hurly of the combat and confusion of the night, 
with the dimness streaked with tumult, and the water gash- 
ed with fire, that horse and this dog might have gone on 
forever, bewailing the nature of the sons of men, unless a 
special fortune had put power into their mouths. One of 
the fire-ships, as scandal did declare, was that very ancient 
tub indeed—that could not float on its bottom—the Peggy 
of Springhaven, bought at thrice her value, through the 
influence of Admiral Darling. If one has to meet every 
calumny that arises, and deal with it before going further, 
the battle that lasted for a fortnight and then turned into 
an earthquake would be a quick affair compared with the 
one now in progress. Enough that the Peggy proved by 
the hght she gave, and her grand style of burning to the 
water’s edge before she blew up, that she was worth at least 
the hundred pounds Widow Shanks received for her. She 
startled the French more than any of the others, and the 
strong light she afforded in her last moments shone redly 
on the anguish of that poor horse and dog. There was no 
sign of any one to help them, and the flames in the back- 
ground redoubled their woe. 

Now this apparently deserted prame, near the centre of 
the line, was the Ville de Mayence; and the flag of Rear- 
Admiral Lacrosse was even now flying at her peak. ‘‘We 
must have her, my lads,” cried Scudamore, who was won- 
dering what to do next, until he descried the horse and dog 
and that fine flag; ‘‘let us board her, and make off with all 
of them.” 

The crew of his launch were delighted with that. To 
destroy is very good; but to capture is still better; and a 
dash into the midst of the enemy was the very thing they 
longed for. ‘“‘Ay, ay, sir,” they cried, set their backs to 
their oars, and through the broad light that still shone upon 
the waves, and among the thick crowd of weltering shad- 
ows, the launch shot like a dart to the side of the foe. 

‘*Kasy all! Throw a grapple on board,” cried the young 
commander; and as the stern swung round he leaped from 
it, and over the shallow bulwarks, and stood all alone on 
the enemy’s fore-deck. And alone he remained, for at that 
moment a loud crash was heard, and the launch filled and 
sank, with her crew of sixteen plunging wildly in the waves. 

This came to pass through no fault of their own, but a 
clever device of the enemy. Admiral Lacrosse, being called 
away, had left his first officer to see to the safety of the flag- 

15* 


346 SPRINGHAVEN. 


ship and her immediate neighbours, and this brave man had 
obtained permission to try a little plan of his own, if as- 
sailed by any adventurous British boats in charge of the 
vessels explosive. In the bows of some stout but handy 
boats he had rigged up a mast with a long spar attached, 
and by means of a guy at the end of that spar, a brace of 
heavy chain-shot could be swung up and pitched headlong 
into any boat alongside. While the crew of Scudamore’s 
launch were intent upon boarding the prame, one of these 
boats came swiftly from under her stern, and with one fling 
swamped the enemy. Then the Frenchmen laughed heart- 
ily, and offered oars and buoys for the poor British seamen 
to come up as prisoners. 

Seudamore saw that he was trapped beyond escape, for no 
other British boat was anywhere in hail. His first impulse 
was to jump overboard and help his own drowning men, but 
before he could do so an officer stood before him, and said, 
‘‘Monsieur is my prisoner. His men will be safe, and I 
cannot permit him to risk his own life. Mon Dieu, it is 
my dear friend Captain Scudamore!” 

‘‘ And you, my old friend, Captain Desportes! I see it is 
hopeless to resist ’’—for by this time a score of Frenchmen 
were round him—‘‘I can only congratulate myself that 
if I must fall, it is into such good hands.” 

‘“My dear friend, how glad I am to see you!” replied the 
French captain, embracing him warmly; ‘to you I owe 
more than to any man of your nation. I will not take your 
sword. No, no, my friend. You shall not be a prisoner, 
except in word. And how much you have advanced in the 
knowledge of our language, chiefly, I fear, at the expense of 
France! And now you will grow perfect, at the expense of 
England.” 


CHAPTER XLVII. 


ENTER AND EXIT. ° 


THE summer having been fine upon the whole, and a very 
fair quantity of fish brought in, Miss Twemlow had picked up 
a sweetheart, as the unromantic mothers of the place ex- 
pressed it. And the circumstances were of such a nature 
that very large interest was aroused at once, and not only 
so, but was fed well and grew fast. 





SPRINGHAVEN. 347 


The most complete of chronicles is no better than a sponge 
of inferior texture and with many mouths shut. Parts that 
are full of suctive power get no chance of sucking; other 
parts have a flood of juice bubbling at them, but are water- 
proof. This is the only excuse—except one—for the shame- 
ful neglect of the family of Blocks, in any little treatise 
pretending to give the dullest of glimpses at Springhaven. 

The other excuse—if self-accusation does not poke a 
finger through it—is that the Blockses were mainly of the 
dry land, and never went to sea when they could help it. 
If they had lived beyond the two trees and the stile that 
marked the parish boundary upon the hill towards Lon- 
don, they might have been spotless, and grand, and even 
honest, yet must have been the depth of the hills below 
contempt. But they dwelt in the village for more genera- 
tions than would go upon any woman’s fingers, and they did 
a little business with the fish caught by the others, which 
enabled it to look after three days’ journey as if it swam 
into town upon its own fins. The inventions for wronging 
mankind pay a great deal better than those for righting them. 

Now the news came from John Prater’s first, that a gentle- 
man of great renown was coming down from London city 
to live on fish fresh out of the sea. His doctors had ordered 
him to leave off butcher’s meat, and baker’s bread, and tea- 
grocer’s tea, and almost every kind of inland victuals, be- 
cause of the state of his—something big, which even Spring- 
haven could not pronounce. He must keep himself up, 
for at least three months, upon nothing but breezes of the sea, 
and malt-liquor, and farm-house bread and milk and new- 
laid eggs, and anything he fancied that came out of the 
sea, shelly, or scaly, or jellified, or weedy. News from a 
public-house grows fast—as seeds come up quicker for soak- 
ing—and a strong competition for this gentleman arose; but 
he knew what he was doing, and brought down his cook and 
house-maid, and disliking the noise at the Darling Arms, 
took no less than five rooms at the house of Matthew Blocks, 
on the rise of the hill, where he could see the fish come in. 

He was called at once Sir Parsley Sugarloaf, for his name 
--was Percival Shargeloes; and his cook rebuked his house- 
maid sternly, for meddling with matters beyond her sphere, 
when she told Mrs. Blocks that he was not Sir Percival, 
but only Percival Shargeloes, Esquire, very high up in the 
Corporation, but too young to be Lord Mayor of London 
for some years. He appeared to be well on the right side of 


348 SPRINGHAVEN. 


forty; and every young lady on the wrong side of thirty 
possessing a pony, or even a donkey, with legs enough to 
come down the hill, immediately began to take a rose-colour- 
ed view of the many beauties of Springhaven. 

If Mr. Shargeloes had any ambition for title, it lay rather 
-in a military direction. He had joined a regiment of City 
Volunteers, and must have been a Captain, if he could have 
stood the drill. But this, though not arduous, had outgone 
his ambition, nature having gifted him with a remarkable 
power of extracting nourishment from food, which is now 
called assimilation. He was not a great feeder—people so 
blest seldom are—but nothing short of painful starvation 
would keep him lean. He had consulted all the foremost 
physicians about this, and one said, “‘ take acids,” another 
said, ‘‘ walk twenty miles every day with two Witney blank- 
ets on,” a third said, ‘‘thank God for it, and drink before 
you eat,” and a fourth (a man of wide experience) bade 
him marry the worst-tempered woman he knew. Then they 
all gave him pills to upset his stomach; but such was its 
power that it assimilated them. Despairing of these, he con- 
sulted a Quack, and received the directions which brought 
him to Springhaven. Anda lucky day for him it was, as he 
confessed for the rest of his life, whenever any ladies asked 
him. 

Because Miss Twemlow was intended for him by the 
nicest adjustment of nature. How can two round things 
fit together, except superficially ? And in that case one must 
be upper and the other under; which is not the proper thing 
in matrimony, though generally the prevailing one. But 
take a full-moon and a half-moon, or even a square and a 
tidy triangle—with manners enough to have one right angle 
—and when you have put them into one another’s arms, there 
they stick, all the firmer for friction. Jack Spratt and his 
wife are a case in point; and how much more pointed the 
case becomes when the question is not about what is on the 
plate, but the gentleman is in his own body fat, and the 
lady in her elegant person lean! 

Mr. Sugarloaf—which he could not bear to be called—be- 
ing an ardent admirer of the Church, and aware that her - 
ministers know what is good, returned with great speed the 
Rector’s call, having earnest hopes of some heart-felt words - 
upon the difference between a right and left handed sole. 
One of these is ever so much better than the other—ac- 
cording to our evolutionists—because when he was a cod, a 





C4 


@ SPRINGHAVEN. 349 


few milliards of years back, he chose the right side to begin 
lying down on, that his descendants in the thirty-millionth 
generation might get flat. His wife, from sheer perversity, 
lay down upon the other side, and this explains how some 
of their descendants pulled their eyes through their heads 
to one side, and some (though comparatively few) to the 
other. And the worst of it is that the fittest for the fry- 
ing-pan did not survive this well-intended involution, ex- 
cept at a very long figure in the market. 

As it fell out upon that day, Miss Twemlow was sitting 
in the drawing-room alone, waiting till her mother’s hair 
was quite done up, her own abundant locks being not done 
.up at all, for she had lately taken to set her face against 
‘all foreign fashions. ‘‘I have not been introduced to the 
King,” she said, *‘nor even to the Queen, like those forward 
Darlings, and I shall do my hair to please myself.” When 
her father objected, she quenched him with St. Paul; and 
even her mother, though shocked, began to think that Eliza 
knew what she was about. The release of her fine hair, 
which fell in natural waves about her stately neck, made 
her look nearly ten years younger than she was, for by 
this time she must have been eight-and-twenty. The ladies 
of the Carne race, as their pictures showed (until they 
were sold to be the grandmothers of dry-salters), had al- 
ways been endowed with shapely necks, fit columns for 
their small, round heads. And this young lady’s hair, 
with no constraint but that of a narrow band across the 
fore..ead, clustered and gleamed like a bower of acanthus 
round that Parian column, 

Mr. Shargeloes, having obeyed his orders always to dine 
early, was thrilled with a vision of poetry and romance as 
he crossed the first square of the carpet. The lady sat just 
where the light fell best from a filtered sunbeam to illumine 
her, without entering into the shady parts; and the poetry 
of her attitude was inspired by some very fine poetry upon 
her lap. ‘“‘I don’t care what the doctors say, I shall marry 
that girl,” said Mr. Shargeloes to himself. 

He was a man who knew his own mind, and a man with 
that gift makes others know it. Miss Twemlow clenched 
in the coat upon his back the nail she had driven through 
his heart, by calling him, at every other breath, ‘‘ Colonel 
Shargeloes.” He said he was not that; but she felt that 
he was, as indeed every patriotic man must be. Her con- 
tempt for every man who forsook his country in this bitter, 


rey 
350 SPRINGHAVEN. 


bitter strait was at once so ruthless and so bewitching that 
he was quite surprised into confessing that he had given 
£10,000, all in solid gold, for the comfort of the Royal Vol- 
unteers, as soon as the autumnal damps came on. He could 
not tell such an elegant creature that what he had paid for 
was flannel drawers, though she had so much strength of 
mind that he was enabled to tell her before very long. 

A great deal of nonsense is talked about ladies who are 
getting the better of their first youth, as if they then hung 
themselves out as old slates for any man to write his name 
on. The truth is that they have better judgment then, less 
trouble in their hearts about a gentleman’s appearance, and 
more inquiry in their minds as to his temper, tastes, and 
principles, not to mention his prospects of supporting them. 
And even as concerns appearance, Mr. Shargeloes was very 
good. Nature had given him a fine, stout frame, and a very 
pleasant countenance; and his life in the busy world had 
added that quickness of decision and immediate sense of 
right which a clever woman knows to be the very things 
she wants. Moreover, his dress, which goes a very long 
way into the heart of a lady, was most correct and partic- 
ular. For his coat was of the latest Bond Street fashion, 
the ‘‘ Jean de Brie,” improved and beautified by suggestions 
from the Prince of Wales himself. Bright claret was the 
colour, and the buttons were of gold, bright enough to show 
‘tthe road before him as he walked. The shoulders were 
padded, as if a jam pot stood there, and the waist buttoned 
tight, too tight for any happiness, to show the bright lati- 
clave of brocaded waistcoat. Then followed breeches of 
rich purple padusoy, having white satin bows at the knee, 
among which the little silver bells of the Hessian boots 
jingled.. 

Miss Twemlow was superior to all small feeling, but had 
great breadth of sympathy with the sterling truth in fash- 
ion. The volume of love, like a pattern-book, fell open, and 
this well-dressed gentleman was engraved upon her heart. 
The most captious young chit, such as Dolly herself, could 
scarcely have called him either corpulent or old. Every 
day he could be seen to be growing younger, with the aid 
of fresh fish as a totally novel ingredient in his system; his 
muscle increased with the growth of brain-power, and the 
shoemaker was punching a fresh hole in his belt, an inch 
farther back, every week he stopped there. After buckling 
up three holes, he proposed. Miss Twemlow referred him 














































































































SS 


Ts 
\\ es 


\ Sse 








“He WAS A MAN WHO KNOW HIS OWN MIND.” 


352 SPRINGHAVEN. 


to her dear papa; and the Rector took a week to inquire 
and meditate. ‘*Take a month, if you like,” said Mr. Shar- 
geloes. 

This reply increased the speed. Mr. Twemlow had the 
deepest respect for the Corporation, and to live to be the 
father of a Lord Mayor of London became a new ambition 
to lead on his waning years. ‘‘Come and dine with us on 
Saturday, and we will tell you all about it,” he said, with a 
pleasant smile and warm shake of the hand; and Shar- 
geloes knew that the neck and the curls would bend over 
the broad gold chain some day. 

,How grievous it is to throw a big stone into a pool which 
has plenty of depth and length and width for the rings to 
travel pleasantly, yet not to make one ring, because of wind 
upon the water! In the days that were not more than two 
years old, Springhaven could have taken all this news, with 
a swiftly expanding and smoothly fluent circle, with a lift 
of self-importance at the centre of the movement, and a 
heave of gentle interest in the far reflective corners. Even 
now, with a tumult of things to consider, and a tempest of 
judgment to do it in, people contrived to be positive about 
a quantity of things still pending. Sir Parsley Sugarloaf 
had bought Miss Twemlow for £50,000, they said, and he 
made her let her curls down so outrageous, because she was 
to be married at Guildhall, with a guinea at the end of ev- 
ery hair. Miss Faith would be dirt-cheap at all that mon- 
ey; but as for Miss Eliza, they wished him better knowledge, 
which was sure to come, when it was no good to him. 

‘“What a corner of the world this is for gossip!” Mr. 
Shargeloes said, pleasantly, to his Eliza, having heard from 
his cook, who desired no new mistress, some few of the 
things said about him. ‘‘I am not such a fool as to care 
what they say. But I am greatly surprised at one thing. 
You know that I am a thorough Englishman; may I tell 
you what I think, without offending you? It is a delicate 
_ matter, because it concerns a relative of your own, my dear.” 

‘‘T know what you mean. You will not offend me. 
Percival, I know how straightforward you are, and how 
keen of perception. I have expected this.” 

‘“And yet it seems presumptuous of me to say that you 
are all blind here, from the highest to the lowest. Except 
indeed yourself, as I now perceive. I will tell you my 
suspicions, or more than suspicions—my firm belief—about 
your cousin, Mr. Carne. I can trust you to keep this even 





SPRINGHAVEN. 353 


from your father. Caryl Carne is a spy, in the pay of the 
French.” 

‘‘T have long thought something, though not quite so bad 
as that,’ Miss Twemlow answered, calmly; ‘* because he has 
behaved to us so very strangely. My mother is his own 
father’s sister, as you know, and yet he has never dined with 
us more than once, and then he scarcely said a word to any 
one. And he never yet has asked us to visit him at the 
castle; though for that we can make all allowance, of course, 
because of its sad condition. Then everybody thought he 
had taken to smugeling, and after all his losses, no one 
blamed him, especially as all the Carnes had done it, even 
when they were the owners of the land. But ever since 
poor Mr. Cheeseman, our church-warden, tried to destroy 
himself with his own rope, all the parish began. to doubt 
about the smugeling, because it pays so well and makes the 
people very cheerful. But from something he had seen, 
my father felt quite certain that the true explanation was 
smugeling.” 

‘‘TIndeed! Do you know at all what it was he saw, and 
when, and under what cireumstances?” Mr. Shargeloes put 
these questions with more urgency than Miss Twemlow 
liked. 

‘Really I cannot tell you all those things; they are 
scarcely of general interest. My dear father said little about 
it: all knowledge is denied in this good world to women. 
But no doubt he would tell you, if you asked him, when 
there were no ladies present.”’ 

‘*T will,” said Mr. Shargeloes. ‘‘ He is most judicious; 
he knows when to speak, and when to hold his tongue. 
And I think that you combine with beauty one of those two 
gifts—which is the utmost to be expected.” 

‘‘Percival, you put things very nicely, which is all that 
could be expected of aman. But do take my advice in this 
matter, and say no more about it.” 

Mr. Shargeloes feigned to comply, and perhaps at the mo- 
ment meant to do so. But unluckily he was in an enter- 
prising temper, proud of recovered activity, and determined 
to act up to the phosphate supplied by fish diet. Therefore 
when the Rector, rejoicing in an outlet for his long pent-up 
discoveries, and regarding this sage man as one of his fam- 
ily, repeated the whole of his adventure at Carne Castle, 
Mr. Shargeloes said, briefly, ‘‘ It must be seen to.” 

‘*Stubbard has been there,” replied Mr. Twemlow, repent- 


354 SPRINGHAVEN. 


ing perhaps of his confidence; ‘‘Stubbard has made an offi- 
cial inspection, which relieves us of all concern with it.” 

‘*Captain Stubbard is an ass. It is a burning shame that 
important affairs should be intrusted to such fellows. The 
country is in peril, deadly peril; and every Englishman is 
bound to act as if he were an officer.” | 

That very same evening Carne rode back to his ruins in a 
very grim state of mind. He had received from the Em- 
peror a curt and haughty answer to his last appeal for im- 
mediate action, and the prospect of another gloomy winter 
here, with dangers thickening round him, and no motion to 
enliven them, was almost more than he could endure. The 
nights were drawing in, and a damp fog from the sea had 
drizzled the trees, and the ivy, and even his own moustache 
with cold misery. © 

‘‘Bring me a lantern,” he said to old Jerry, as he swung 
his stiff legs from the back of the jaded horse, ‘‘and the 
little flask of oil with the feather in it. It is high time to 
put the Inspector's step in order.” 


Jerry Bowles, whose back and knees were bent with rheu- 


matism.and dull service, trotted (like a horse who has be- 
come too stiff to walk) for the things commanded, and came 
back with them. Then his master, without a word, strode 
towards the passage giving entry to the vaults which Stub- 
bard had not seen-—-the vaults containing all the powder, 
and the weapons for arming the peasantry of England, 
whom Napoleon fondly expected to rise in his favour at 
the sight of his eagles. 

‘‘How does it work? Quite stiff with rust. I thought 
so. Nothing is ever in order, unless I see toit myself. Give 
me the lantern. Now oil the bearings thoroughly. Put the 
feather into the socket, and work the pin in and out, that the 
oil may go all round. Now pour in some oil from the lp 
of the flask; but not upon the treadle, you old blockhead. 
Now do the other end the same. Ah, now it would go with 
the weight of a mouse! I have a great mind to make you 
try 16s” 

‘“What would you do, sir, if my neck was broken? Who 
would do your work, as I do ?” 

They were under an arch of mouldy stone, opening into 
the deep, dark vaults, where the faint light of the lantern 
glanced on burnished leather, brass, and steel, or fell without 
flash upon dull, round bulk. The old man, kneeling on the 
round chalk-flints set in lime for the flooring of the passage, 


Ge = 
a 





SPRINGHAVEN. 355 


was handling the first step of the narrow step-ladder leading 
to the cellar-depth. This top step had been taken out of 
the old oak mortice, and cut shorter, and then replaced in 
the frame, with an iron pin working in an iron collar, just 
as the gudgeon of a wheelbarrow revolves. Any one step- 
ping upon it unawares would go down without the aid of any 
other step. 

‘* Goes like spittle now, sir,”’ said old Jerry; ‘‘but I don’t 
want no more harm in this crick of life. The Lord be pleased 
to keep all them Examiners at home. Might have none to 
find their corpusses until next leap-year. I hope with all 
my heart they won’t come poking their long noses here.” 

‘‘ Well, I rather hope they will. They want a lesson in 
this neighbourhood,” muttered Carne, who was shivering, 
and hungry, and unsweetened. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 
MOTHER SCUDAMORE. 


IF we want to know how a tree or flower has borne the 
gale that flogged last night, or the frost that stung the 
morning, the only sure plan is to go and see. And the 
only way to understand how a friend has taken affliction 
is to go—if it may be done without intrusion—and let him 
tell you, if he likes. © 

Admiral Darling was so much vexed when he heard of. 
Blyth Scudamore’s capture by the French, and duty com- 
pelled him to inform the mother that he would rather have 
ridden a thousand miles upon barley-bread than face her. 
He knew how the whole of her life was now bound up with 
the fortunes of her son, and he longed to send Faith with 
the bad news, as he had sent her with the good before; but 
he feared that it might seem unkind. So he went himself, 
with the hope of putting the best complexion upon it, yet 
fully expecting sad distress, and perhaps a burst of weeping. 
But the lady received his tidings in a manner that sur- 
prised him. At first she indulged in a tear or two, but they 
only introduced a smile. 

‘‘In some ways it is a sad thing,” she said, “‘and will be 
a terrible blow to him, just when he was rising so fast in 
the service. But we must not rebel more than we can help, ~ 
against the will of the Lord, Sir Charles.” 


’ 


356 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘**How philosophical, and how commonplace!” thought 
the Admiral; but he only bowed, and paid her some com- 
pliment upon her common-sense. 

‘* Perhaps you scarcely understand my views, and perhaps 
Iam wrong in having them,” Lady Scudamore continued, 
quietly. ‘‘ My son’s advancement is very dear to me, and 
this will of course retard it. But I care most of all for his 
life, and now that will be safe fora long while. They never 
kill their prisoners, do they?” 

‘‘No,ma’am, no. They behave very well to them; better, 
I’m afraid, than we do to ours. They treat them quite as 
guests, when they fall into good hands. Though Napoleon 
himself is not too mild in that way.” 

‘My son has fallen into very good hands, as you yourself 
assure me—that Captain Desportes, a gallant officer and 
kind gentleman, as I know from your daughter's description. 
Blyth is quite equal to Lord Nelson in personal daring, 
and possibly not behind him in abilities. Consider how 
shockingly poor Nelson has been injured, and he feels con- 
vineed himself that they will have his life at last. No offi- 
cer can be a hero without getting very sad wounds, and per- 
haps losing his life. Every one who does his duty must at 
least be wounded.” 

The Admiral, who had never received a scratch, was not at 
all charmed with this view of naval duty; but he was too 
polite to enter protest, and only made one of his old-fashioned 
scrapes. 
~ “Tam sure every time I have heard a gun coming from 
the sea, and especially after dark,” the lady resumed, without 
thinking of him, ‘‘it has made me miserable to know that 
probably Blyth was rushing into some deadly conflict. But 
now I shall feel that he cannot do that; and I hope they 
will keep him until the fighting grows milder. He used to 
send me all his money, poor dear boy! And now I shall 
try to send him some of mine, if it can be arranged about 
bank-notes. And now I can do it very easily, thanks to 
_ your kindness, Sir Charles, his father’s best friend, and his 
own, and mine.” ) 

Lady Scudamore shed another tear or two, not of sorrow, 
but of pride, while she put her hand into her pocket, asif to 
begin the remittance at once. ‘‘ You owe me no thanks, 
ma’am,”’ said the Admiral, smiling; ‘‘if any thanks are due, 
they are due to the King, for remembering at last what he 
should have done before.” 





SPRINGHAVEN. 357 


‘“Would he ever have thought of me, but for you? It 
is useless to talk in that way, Sir Charles; it only increases 
the obligation, which I must entreat you not to do. How 
I wish I could help you in anything!” 

‘“Every day you are helping me,” he replied, with truth; 
‘although Iam away too often to know all about it, or even 
to thank you. I hope my dear Faith has persuaded you 
not to leave us for the winter, as you threatened.” 

‘‘Haith can persuade me to anything she pleases. She 
possesses the power of her name,” replied the lady; ‘‘ but 
the power is not called for, when the persuasion is so pleas- 
ant. For a month, I must be away to visit my dear moth- 
er, as I always have done at this time of year; and then, 
but for one thing, I would return most gladly. For I am 
very selfish, you must know, Sir Charles-—-I have a better 
chance of hearing of my dear son at these headquarters of 
the defence of England, than I should have even in London.” 

** Certainly,” cried the Admiral, Who magnified his office; 
‘*such a number of despatches pass through my hands; and 
if I can’t make them out, why, my daughter Dolly can. I 
don’t suppose, Lady Scudamore, that even when you lived 
in the midst of the world you ever saw any girl half so clever 
asmy Dolly. I don’t let her know it—that would never do, 
of course—but she always gets the best of me, upon almost 
any question.” 

Sir Charles, for the moment, forgot his best manners, and 
spread his coat so that one might see between his legs. ‘‘I 
stand like this,” he said, ‘‘ and she stands there; and I take 
her to task for not paying her bills—for some of those fel- 
lows have had to come to me, which is not as it should be 
in a country place, where people don’t understand the 
fashionable system. She stands there, ma’am, and I feel as 
sure as if I were an English twenty-four bearing down upon 
a Frenchman of fifty guns, that she can only haul her col- 
ours down and rig out gangeway ladders—when, bless me and 
keep me! I am carried by surprise, and driven under hatch- 
ways, and if there is a guinea in my hold, it flies into the 
enemy’s locker! If it happened only once, I should think 
nothing of it.- But when I know exactly what is coming, 
and have double-shotted every gun, and set up hammock- 
nettings, and taken uncommon care to have the weather- 
gage, tis the devil, Lady Scudamore—excuse me, madam— 
‘tis the devil to a ditty-bag that I have her at my mercy. 
And yet it always comes to money out of pocket, madam!” 


358 . SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘‘She certainly has a great power over gentlemen”— 
Blyth’s mother smiled demurely, as if she were sorry to 
confess it; ‘‘ but she is exceedingly young, Sir Charles, and 
every allowance must be made for her.” 

‘‘ And by the Lord Harry, she gets it, madam. She takes 
uncommonly good care of that. But what is the one thing 
you mentioned that would prevent you from coming back 
to us with pleasure ?” 

‘‘T scarcely like to speak of it. But it is about that self- 
same Dolly. She is not fond of advice, and she knows how 
quick she is, and that makes her resent a word from slower 
people. She has taken it into her head, I fear, that I am 
here as a restraint upon her; a sort of lady spy, a duenna, 
a dictatress, all combined in one, and all unpleasant. This 
often makes me fancy that I have no right to be here. And 
then your sweet Faith comes, and all is smooth again.” 

‘‘Dolly has the least little possible touch of the vixen 
about her. I have found it out lately,” said the Admiral, 
as if he were half doubtful still; ‘‘ Nelson told me so, and 
I was angry with him. But I believe he was right, as he 
generally is. His one eye sees more than a score of mine 
would. But,my dear madam, if that is your only objection 
to coming back to us, or rather to my daughters, I beg you 
not to let it weigh a feather’s weight with you. Or, at any 
rate, enhance the obligation to us, by putting it entirely on 
one side. Dolly has the very finest heart in all the world; 
not so steady perhaps as Faith’s, nor quite so fair to other 
people, but wonderfully warm, ma’am, and as sound as—as 
a roach.” 

Lady Scudamore could not help laughing a little, and she 
hoped for her son’s sake that this account was true. Her 
gratitude and good-will to the Admiral, as well as her duty 
to her son, made her give the promise sought for; and she 
began to prepare for her journey at once, that she might 
be back in good time for the winter. But she felt very 
doubtful, at leaving the Hall, whether she had done quite 
right in keeping her suspicions of Dolly from Dolly’s fa- 
ther. For with eyes which were sharpened by jealousy for 
the interests, or at least the affections, of her son, she had 
long perceived that his lady-love was playing a dangerous 
game with Caryl Carne. Sometimes she believed that she 
ought to speak of this, for the good of the family; because 
she felt the deepest mistrust and dislike of Carne, who strict- 
ly avoided her whenever he could; but on the other hand 





SPRINGHAVEN. 359 


she found the subject most delicate and difficult to handle. 
For she had taken good care at the outset not to be here 
upon any false pretences. At the very first interview with 
her host she had spoken of Blyth’s attachment to his young- 
er daughter, of which the Admiral had heard already from 
that youthful sailor. And the Admiral had simply said, 
as in Captain Twemlow’s case: *‘ Let us leave them to them- 
selves. I admire the youngman. If she likes him, I shall 
make no objection, when they are old enough, and things 
are favourable.” And now if she told him of the other 
love-affair, it would look like jealousy of a rival. Perhaps 
a hundred times a day, as her love for gentle Faith grew 
faster than her liking for the sprightly Dolly, she would 
sigh that her son did not see things like herself; but bitter 
affliction had taught her that the course of this life follows 
our own wishes about as much as another man’s dog heeds 
our whistle. But, for all that, this good lady hoped some 
day to see things come round as she would like to bring 
them. 

‘*No wonder that we like her son so much,” said Faith 
when they had done waving handkerchiefs at the great 
yellow coach going slowly up the hill, with its vast wick- 
er basket behind, and the guard perched over it with his 
blunderbus; ‘“‘he takes after his mother in so many ways. 
They are both so simple and unsuspicious, and they make 
the best of every one.” 

‘‘ Including themselves, I suppose,” answered Dolly. 
‘“ Well, I like people who have something on their minds, 
and make the worst of everybody. They have so much 
more to talk about.” 

‘You should never try to be sarcastic, dear. And you 
know that you don’t mean it. JI am sure you don’t like to 
have the worst made of yourself.” 

‘‘Oh, I have long: been used to that. And I never care 
about it, when I know it is not true. Jam sure that Mother 
Scudamore runs me down, when I am out of hearing. I 
never did like those perfect people.” af 

‘‘Mother Scudamore, indeed! You are getting into a low 
way of talking, which is not at all pretty in a girl. And I 
never heard her say an unkind word about you. Though 
she may not have found you quite so perfect as she hoped.” 

‘‘T tell you, Miss Darling,” cried Dolly, with her bright 
colour deepened, and her gray eyes flashing, “that I don’t 
care a—something that papa often says—what she thinks 


360 SPRINGHAVEN. 


about me, or you either. I know that she has come here 
to spy out all my ways.” 

‘* You should not have any to be spied out, Dolly,” Faith 
answered, with some sternness, and a keen look at her sis- 
ter, whose eyes fell beneath her gaze. ‘* You will be sorry, 
when you think of what you said to me, who have done 
nothing whatever to offend you. But that is a trifle com- 
pared with acting unfairly to our father. Father is the 
kindest man that ever lived; but he can be stern in great 
matters, 1 warn you. If he ever believes that you have 
deceived him, you will never be again to him what you have 
always been.” 

They had sent the carriage home that they might walk 
across the fields, and this little scene between the sisters took 
place upon a foot-path which led back to their grounds. 
Dolly knew that she was in the wrong, and that increased 
her anger. 

‘“So you are another spy upon me,I suppose. ‘Tis a 
pretty thing to have one’s sister for an old duenna. Pray 
who gave you authority to lord it over me?” 

‘*You know as well as I do”—Faith spoke with a smile 
of superior calmness, as Dolly tossed her head—‘‘ that I am 
about the last person in the world to be aspy. Neither do 
I ever lord it over you. If anything, that matter is very 
much the other way.. But being so much older, and your 
principal companion, it would be very odd of me, and as I 
think most unkind, if I did not take an interest in all your 
goings on.” 

‘“My goings on! What a lady-like expression! Who 
has got into a low way of talking now? Well, if you 
please, madam, what have you found out ?” 

‘‘T have found out nothing, and made no attempt to do 
so. But I see that you are altered very much from what 
you used to be; and I am sure that there is something on 
your mind. Why not tell me all about it? I would prom- 
ise to let it go no further, and I would not pretend to ad- 
vise, unless you wished. I am your only sister, and we 
have always been together. It would make you so much 
more comfortable, I am certain of that in your own mind, 
darling. And you know when we were little girls, dear 
mother on her death-bed put her hands upon our heads and 
said, ‘Be loving sisters always, and never let anything come 
between you.’ And for father’s sake, too, you should try 
to do it. Put aside all nonsense about spies and domineer- 





SPRINGHAVEN. 361 


ing, and trust me as your sister, that’s my own darling 
Dolly.” . 

“How can I resist you? I will make a clean breast of 
it;” Dolly sighed deeply, but a wicked smile lay ambushed 
in her bright eyes and upon her rosy lips. ‘‘The sad 
truth is that my heart has been quite sore since I heard 
the shocking tidings about poor old Daddy Stokes. He went 
to bed the other night with his best hat on, both his arms 
in an old muff he found in the ditch, and his leathern 
breeches turned inside out.” 

‘Then the poor old man had a cleaner breast than yours,” 
cried Faith, who had prepared her heart and eyes for tears 
of sympathy; ‘*‘ he goes upon his knees every night, stiff as 
they are, and his granddaughter has tohelp him up. Butas 
for you, you are the most unfeeling, mocking, godless, un- 
natural creature that ever never cared what became of any- 
body. Here we are at the corner where the path divides. 
You go home that way, and I'll go home by this.” 

‘Well, ’m so glad! I really did believe that it was 
quite impossible to put you in a rage. Now don’t be ina 
hurry, dear, to beg my pardon.” 

‘“Of that you may be quite sure,” cried Faith across the 
corner of the meadow where the paths diverged; ‘‘I never 
was less in a passion in my life; and it will be your place to 
apologize.” 

Dolly sent a merry laugh across the widening interval; 
and Faith, who was just beginning to fear that she had been 
in a passion, was convinced by that laugh that she had not. 
But the weight lifted from her conscience fell more heavily 
upon her heart. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 
EVIL COMMUNICATIONS. 


ALTHOUGH she pretended to be so merry, and really was 
so self-confident (whenever anybody wanted to help her), 
Miss Dolly Darling, when left to herself, was not like her- — 
self, as it used to be. Her nature was lively, and her spirit 
very high; every one had petted her, before she could have 
earned it by aught except childish beauty; and no one had 
left off doing it, when she was bound to show better claim to 
it. All this made doubt, and darkness, and the sense of not 

16 


362 SPRINGHAVEN. 


being her own mistress, very snappish things to her, and she 
gained relief—sweet-tempered as she was when‘ pleased—by 
a snap at others. For although she was not given, any 
more than other young people are, to plaguesome self- 
inspection, she could not help feeling that she was no longer 
the playful young Dolly that she loved so well. <A strong- 
er, and clearer, yet more mysterious will than her own 
had conquered hers; but she would not confess it, and 
yield entire obedience; neither could she cast it off. Her 
pride still existed, as strong as ever, whenever temper roused 
it; but there was too much of vanity in its composition, and 
too little of firm self-respect. Contempt from a woman she 
could not endure; neither from a man, if made manifest; but 
Carne so calmly took the upper hand, without any show of 
having it, that she fell more and more beneath his influence. 
He, knowing thoroughly what he was about, did nothing 
to arouse resistance. So far as he was capable of loving 
any one, he was now in love with Dolly. He admired her 
quickness, and pretty girlish ways, and gaiety of nature (so 
unlike his own), and most of all her beauty. He had made 
up his mind that she should be his wife when fitted for that 
dignity; but he meant to make her useful first, and he saw 
his way to do so. He knew that she acted more and more 
as her father’s secretary, for she wrote much faster than her 
sister Faith, and was quicker in catching up a meaning. 
Only it was needful to sap her little prejudices—candour, 
to wit, and the sense of trust, and above all, patriotic feeling. 
He rejoiced when he heard that Lady Scudamore was gone, 
and the Rector had taken his wife and daughter for change 
of air to Tunbridge Wells, Miss Twemlow being seriously 
out of health through anxiety about Mr. Shargeloes. For 
that gentleman had disappeared, without a line or message, 
just when Mr. Furkettle, the chief lawyer in the neighbour- 
hood, was beginning to prepare the marriage-settlement ; 
and although his cook and house-maid were furious at the 
story, Mrs. Blocks had said, and all the parish now believed, 
that Sir Parsley Sugarloaf had flown away to Scotland rath- 
er than be brought to book—that fatal part of the Prayer- 
book—by the Rector and three or four brother clergymen. 
This being so, and Frank Darling absorbed in London 
with the publication of another batch of poems, dedicated 
to Napoleon, while Faith stood aloof with her feelings hurt, 
and the Admiral stood off and on’in the wearisome cruise 
of duty, Carne had the coast unusually clear for the entry 





OF ae a 
a Ye. 
aie 444 


‘ 


os 
uy, 





” 


364 SPRINGHAVEN. 


and arrangement of his contraband ideas. He met the fair 
Dolly almost every day, and their interviews did not grow 
shorter, although the days were doing so. 

‘““You should have been born in France,” he said, one - 
bright November morning, when they sat more comfortable 
than they had any right to be, upon the very same seat 
where the honest but hapless Captain Scuddy had tried to 
venture to lisp his love; ‘‘that is the land you belong to, 
darling, by beauty and manners and mind and taste, and 
most of all by your freedom from prejudice, and great liber- 
ality of sentiment.” 

‘‘But I thought we were quite as good-looking in Eng- 
land ;” Dolly lifted her long black lashes, with a flash which 
might challenge the brilliance of any French eyes; ‘‘ but of 
course you know best. I know nothing of French ladies.” 

‘*Don’t be a fool, Dolly; Carne spoke rudely, but made 
up for it in another way. ‘‘ There never was a French 
girl to equal you in loveliness; but you must not suppose 
that you beat them all round. One point particularly you 
are far behind in. A French woman leaves all political 
questions, and national matters, and public affairs, entirely 
to her husband, or her lover, as the case may be. What- 
ever he wishes is the law for her. Thy gods shall be my 
gods.” 

‘‘But you said they had great liberality of sentiment, and 
now you say they have no opinions of their own! How 
can the two things go together ?” 

‘Very easily,” said Carne, who was accustomed to be baf- 
fled by such little sallies; ‘‘they take their opinions from 
their husbands, who are always liberal. This produces hap- 
piness on both sides—a state of things unknown in Eng- 
land. Let me tell you of something important, mainly as 
it concerns yourself, sweet Dolly. The French are certain 
to unite with England, and then we shall be the grandest 
nation in the world. No power in Europe can stand before 
us. All will be freedom, and civilization, and great ideas, 
and fine taste in dress. I shall recover the large estates, 
that would now be mine, but for usury and fraud. And 
you will be one of the first ladies in the world, as nature 
has always intended you to be.” 

‘“That sounds very well; but how is it tobe done? How 
can France unite with England, when they are bitter ene- 
mies? Is France to conquer England first? Or are we 
to conquer France, as we always used to do ?” 





SPRINGHAVEN., 365 


‘‘That would be a hard job now, when France is the mis- 
tress of the Continent. No, there need be no conquering, 
sweet Dolly, but only a little removal. The true interest 
of this country is—as that mighty party, the Whigs, per- 
ceive—to get rid of all the paltry forms and dry bones of a 
dynasty which is no more English than Napoleon is, and 
to join that great man in his warfare against all oppression. 
Your brother Frank is a leading spirit; he has long cast off 
that wretched insular prejudice which defeats all good. In 
the grand new scheme of universal right, which must pre- 
vail very shortly, Frank Darling will obtain that foremost 
place to which his noble views entitle him. You, as his 
sister, and my wife, will be adored almost as much as you 
could wish.” 

‘*Tt sounds very grand,” answered Dolly, with a smile, 
though a little alarmed at this turn of it; ‘‘ but what is to 
become of the King, and Queen, and all the royal family? 
And what is my father to do, and Faith? Although she 
has not behaved well to me.” 

‘*Those details will be arranged to everybody’s satisfac- 
tion. Little prejudices will subside, when it is seen that 
they are useless. Every possible care will be taken not to 
injure any one.” 

‘* But how is it all to be done 2” asked Dolly, whose mind 
was practical, though romantic. ‘* Are the French to land, 
and overrun the country? Iam sure I never should agree 
to that. Are all our defenders to be thrown into prison 2” 

‘*Certainly not. There will be no prisons. The French 
might have to land, as a matter of form; but not to overrun 
the country, only to secure British liberties and justice. All 
sensible people would hasten to join them, and any oppo- 
sition would be quenched at once. Then such a glorious 
condition of mankind would ensue as has never been known 
in this world—peace, wealth, universal happiness, gaiety, 
dancing everywhere, no more shabby clothes, no more dreary 
Sundays. How do you like the thought of it ?” 

‘* Well, some of it sounds very nice; but I don’t see the use 
of universal justice. Justice means having one’s own rights; 
-and it is impossible for everybody to do that, because of 
other people. And as for the French coming to put things 
right, they had better attend to their own affairs first. And 
as if any Englishman would permitit! Why,even Frank 
would mount his wig and gown (for he is a full-fledged bar- 
rister now, you know), and come and help to push them 


366 SPRINGHAVEN. 


back into the sea.. And I hope that you would do so too. 
Tam not going to marry a Frenchman. You belong tu an 
old English family, and you were born in England, and your 
name is English, and the property that ought to belong to 
you. I hope you don’t consider yourself a Frenchman be- 
cause your mother is a great French lady, after so many gen- 
erations of Carnes, all English, every bit of them. Iam an 
English girl, and I care very little for things that I don’t see 
—such as justice, liberty, rights of people, and all that. But 
I do care about my relations, and our friends, and the peo- 
ple that live here, and the boats, and all the trees, and the 
land that belongs to my father. Very likely you would want 
to take that away, and give it to some miserable French- 
man.” 

‘“Dolly, my dear, you must not be excited,” Carne an- 
swered, in the manner of a father; ‘‘ powerful as your com- 
prehension is, for the moment these things are beyond it. 
Your meaning is excellent, very good, very great; but to 
bring it to bear requires further information. We will 
sit by the side of the sea to-morrow, darling, if you grant 
me a view of your loveliness again; and there you will see 
things in a larger light than upon this narrow bench, with 
your father’s trees around us, and your father’s cows inquir- 
ing whether Iam good to eat. Getaway,cow! Doyou take 
me for a calf?” 

One of the cows best loved by Dolly, who was very fond 
of good animals, had come up to ask who this man was that 
had been sitting here so long with her. She was gifted with 
a white face and large soft eyes—even beyond the common 
measure of acow—short little horns, that she would scarcely 
think of pushing even at a dog (unless he made mouths at 
her infant), a flat, broad nose ever genial to be rubbed, and 
a delicate fringe of finely pointed yellow hairs around her 
pleasant nostrils and above her clovery lips. With single- 


hearted charity and enviable faith she was able to combine 


the hope that Dolly had obtained a lover as good as could 
be found upon a single pair of legs. Carne was attired with 
some bravery, of the French manner rather than the Eng- 


lish, and he wanted no butter on his velvet and fine lace. . 


So he swung round his cane of heavy snakewood at the cow, 
and struck her poor horns so sharply that her head went 
round. 

‘‘Is that universal peace, and gentleness, and justice ?” 
cried Dolly, springing up and hastening to console her cow. 


j 





SPRINGHAVEN,. 367 


‘Ts this the way the lofty French redress the wrongs of 
England? What had poor Dewlips done, I should like to 
know? Kiss me, my pretty, and tell me how you would 
like the French army to land, as a matter of form? The 
form you would take would be beef, [m afraid; not even 
good roast beef, but bouillon, potage, fricandeau, friture— 
anything one cannot taste any meat in; and that is how 
your wrongs would be redressed, after having had both your 
horns knocked off. And about the same fate for John Bull, 
your master, unless he keeps his horns well sharpened. Do 
I not speak the truth, monsieur ?” 

When Carne did anything to vex Miss Dolly—which hap- 
pened pretty often, for he could not stop to study much her 
little prejudices—she addressed him as if he were a French- 
man, never doubting that this must reduce him sadly in his 
self-esteem. 

‘‘Never mind matters political,” he said, perceiving that 
his power must not be pressed until he had deepened its 
foundations; ‘‘what are all the politics in the world com- 
pared with your good opinion, Beauty?” Dolly liked to be 
called ‘‘ Beauty,” and the name always made her try to de- 
serve it by looking sweet. ‘‘ You must be quite certain that 
I would do nothing to injure a country which contains my 
Dolly. And as for Madam Cow, I will beg her pardon, 
though my cane is hurt a great deal more than her precious 
horns are. Behold me snap it in twain, although it is the 
only handsome one I possess, because it has offended you!” 

‘‘Oh, what a pity! What a lovely piece of wood!” cried 
_ Dolly; and they parted on the best of terms, after a warm 
vow upon either side that no nasty politics should ever 
come between them. 

But Carne was annoyed and discontented. He came to 
the edge of the cliff that evening below his ruined castle; 
for there are no cliffs at Springhaven, unless the headland 
deserves that name; and there he sat gloomily for some 
hours, revolving the chances of his enterprise. The weath- 
er had changed since the morning, and a chill November 
wind began to urge the waves ashore. The sky was not 
very dark, but shredded with loose gray vapours from the 
west, where a heavy bank of clouds lay under the pale cres- 
cent of a watery moon. In the distance two British cruisers 
shone, light ships of outlook, under easy sail, prepared to 
send the signal for a hundred leagues, from ship to ship 
and cliff to cliff, if any of England’s foes appeared. They 


368 SPRINGHAVEN. 


shone upon the dark sea, with canvas touched by moon- 
light, and seemed ready to spring against the lowering sky, 
if it held any menace to the land they watched, or the long 
reach of water they had made their own. 

‘* A pest upon those watch-dogs!” muttered Carne. ‘‘They 
are always wide-awake, and forever at their stations. In- 
stead of growing tired, they get sharper every day. Even 
Charron can scarcely run through them now. But I know 
who could do it, if he could only be trusted. With a pilot- 
boat—it is a fine idea—a pilot-boat entered as of Pebbleridge. 
The Pebbleridge people hate Springhaven, through a feud 
of centuries, and Springhaven despises Pebbleridge. It 
would answer well, although the landing is so bad, and no 
anchorage possible in rough weather. I must try if Dan 
Tugwell will undertake it. None of the rest know the coast 
as he does, and few of them have the bravery. But Dan is 
a very sulky fellow, very difficult to manage. He will 
never betray us; he is wonderfully grateful; and after that 
battle with the press-gang, when he knocked down the offi- 
eer and broke his arm, he will keep pretty clear of the 
Union-jack. But he goes about moping, and wondering, 
and mooning, as if he were wretched about what he has te 
do. Bless my soul, where is my invention? Isee the way 
to have him under my thumb. Reason is an old coat hang- 
ing on a peg’; passion is the fool who puts it on and runs 
away with it. Halloa! Whoare you? And what do you 
want at such a time asthis? Surely you can see that Iam 
not at leisure now. Why, Tugwell, I thought that you 
were far away at sea!” : 

‘*So I was, sir; but she travels fast. I never would be- 
lieve the old London Trader could be driven through the 
water so. Sam Polwhele knows how to pile it on a craft, 
as well as he do uponaman,sir. IJ won’t serve under him 
no more, nor Captain Charcoal either. I have done my 
duty by you, Squire Carne, the same as you did by me, sir; 
and thanking you for finding me work so long, my mean- 
ing is to go upon the search to-morrow.” 

‘* What fools they must have been to let this fellow come 
ashore!” thought Carne, while he failed to see the wisest 
way to take it. ‘‘Tugwell, you cannot do this with any 
honour, after we have shown you all the secrets of our en- 
terprise. You know that what we do is of the very highest 
honour, kind and humane and charitable, though strictly 
forbidden by a most inhuman government. How would 





ences 


~~ 


Ss 


—— 


— 


S= 





os 
‘ y) 
A ) 















































































































































































































































































































































ISERS SHONE,” 


“IN THE DISTANCE TWO BRITISH CRU 


270 SPRINGHAVEN. 


you like, if you were a prisoner in France, to be debarred 
from all chance of getting any message from your family, 
your wife, your sweetheart, or your children, from year’s 
end to year’s end, and perhaps be dead for months without 
their knowing anything about it?” 

‘‘Well, sir, I should think it very hard indeed; though, 
if I was dead, I shouldn’t know much more about it. But, 
without reproach to you, I cannot make out altogether that 
our only business is to carry letters for the prisoners, as 
now may be in England, from their loving friends to com- 
mand in their native country. I won’t say against you, 
sir, if you say it is—that is, to the outside of all your knowl- 
edge. And twenty thousand of them may need letters by 
the sack. But what use they could make, sir, of cannon as 
big as I be, and muskets that would kill a man a hundred 
yards of distance, and bayonets more larger and more sharp- 
er than ever I see before, even with the Royal Volunteers— 
this goes out of all my calculation.” 


‘“Daniel, you have expressed your views, which are re- — 


markable—as indeed they always are—with your usual pre- 
cision. But you have not observed things with equal ac- 
curacy. Do you know when a gun is past service?” 

‘‘No, sir; I never was a poacher, nohow. Squire Dar- 
ling, that is to say, Sir Charles Darling now, according to a 
chap on board, he was always so good upon his land that no- 
body durst go a-poaching.” 

‘‘T mean acannon, Dan. They don’t poach with cannon 
yet, though they may come to do it, as the game-laws in- 
crease. Do you know when a cannon is unsafe to fire, 
though it may look as bright as ever, like a worn-out poker ? 
All those things that have frightened you are only meant 
for ornament. You know that every ancient building ought 
to have its armoury, as this castle always had, until they 
were taken away and sold. My intention is to restore it, 
when I can afford to do so. And having a lot of worn- 
out weapons offered me for next to nothing, I seized the 
chance of bringing them. When times are better, and the 
war is over, I may find time to arrange them. But that is 
not of much importance. The great point is to secure 
the delivery of letters from their native land to the brave 
men here as prisoners. I cannot afford to do that for noth- 
ing, though I make no profit out of it. I have so many 
things to think aout that I scarcely know which to consid- 


er first. And after all, what matters to us whether those 





SPRINGHAVEN. | ard 


poor men are allowed to die, and be buried like dogs, with- 
out knowledge of their friends?) Why should we run the 
risk of being punished for them ?” 

‘‘ Well, sir, that seems hard doctrine, if I may be allowed 
to say so, and not like your kind-heartedness. Our Govern- 
ment have no right to stop them of their letters.” 

‘It is a cruel thing. But how are we to help it? The 
London Trader is too large for the purpose, and she is 
under suspicion now. I tell you everything, Daniel, be- 
cause I know that you are a true-hearted fellow, and far 
above all blabbing. I have thought once or twice of ob- 
taining leave to purchase a stout and handy pilot-boat, 
with her license and all that transferred to us, and so run- 
ning toand fro when needful. The only risk then would be 
from perils of the sea; and even the pressmen dare not med- 
dle with a pilot-boat. By-the-bye, I have heard that you 
knocked some of them about. Tugwell, you might have 
got us all into sad trouble.” 

‘“Was I to think of what I was doing, Squire Carne, when 
they wanted to make a slave of me? I would serve King 
George with a good heart, in spite of all that father has said 
against it. But it must be with a free will, Squire Carne, 
and not to be tied hand and foot to it. How would you 
like that yourself, sir ?” 

‘“Well, I think I should have done as you did, Dan, if I 
had been a British sailor. But as to this pilot-boat, I must 
have a bold and good seaman to command it. A man who 
knows the coast, and is not afraid of weather. Of course 
we should expect to pay good wages; £3 a week, perhaps, 
and a guinea for every bag of letters landed safe. There 
are plenty of men who would jump at such a chance, Dan.” 

‘‘T1l be bound there are, sir. And it is more than I am 
worth, if you mean offering the place tome. It would suit 
me wonderful, if I was certain that the job was honest.” 

‘Daniel Tugwell”—Carne spoke with great severity—‘*‘I 
will not lose my temper, for I am sure you mean no insult. 
But you must be of a very low, suspicious nature, and quite 
unfit for any work of a lofty and unselfish order, if you can 
imagine that a man in my position, a man of my large sen- 
timents—”’ 

‘‘Oh, no, sir, no; it was not at all that”—Dan scarcely 
knew: how to tell what it was—‘‘it was nothing at all of 
that manner of thinking. I heartily ask your pardon, sir, 
if it seemed to go in that way.” 


372 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘Don’t do that,” replied Carne, ‘‘ because I can make al- 
lowances. I know what a fine nature is, and how it takes 
alarm at shadows. Iam always tender with honest scru- 


ples, because I find so many of them in myself. I should 


not have been pleased with you, if you had accepted my 
offer—although so advantageous, and full of romantic in- 
terest—until you were convinced of its honourable nature. 
I have no time for argument, and I am sorry that you must 
not come up to the castle for supper, because we have an 
old Springhaven man there, who would tell your father all 
about you, which you especially wish to avoid. Butif you 
feel inclined for this berth—as you sailors seem to call it— 
and hesitate through some patriotic doubts, though I cannot 
understand what they are, I will bring you a document (if 
you meet me here to-morrow night) from Admiral Sir 
Charles Darling, which I think will satisfy you.” 

‘‘And shall I be allowed to keep it, sir, to show, in case 
of trouble ?” 

‘“Very likely. But I cannot say for certain. Some of 
those official forms must be returned, others not; all de- 
pends upon their rules. Now go and make yourself com- 
fortable. How are you off for money ?” 

‘* Plenty, sir, plenty. I must not go where anybody 
knows me, or to-morrow half the talk at old Springhaven 
would be about me. Good-night, sir, and God bless you.” 


CHAPTER L. 
HIS SAVAGE SPIRIT. 


AT this time letters came very badly, not only to French 
prisoners in England, but even to the highest authorities, 
who had the very best means of getting them. Admiral 
Darling had often written to his old friend Nelson, but had 
long been without any tidings from him, through no de- 
fault on the hero’s part. Lord Nelson was almost as prompt 
with the pen as he was with the sword, but despatches were 
most irregular and uncertain. 

‘* Here at last we have him!” cried Sir Charles one morn- 
ing early in December; ‘‘and not more than five weeks old, 
I declare! Dolly, be ready, and call Faith down. Now 
read it, my dear, for our benefit. Your godfather writes a 
most excellent hand, considering that it is his left hand; 








“aM I TO READ EVERY WORD, PAPA 2” 


but my eyes are sore from so much night-work. Put on 
my specs, Dolly; I should like to see you in them.” 

‘‘Am I to read every word, papa, just as it comes? You 
know that he generally puts in words that are rather strong 
for me.” 

‘Nelson never thought or wrote a single word unfit for 
the nicest young lady. But you may hold up your hand 
if you come to any strong expressions, and we shall under- 
stand them.” 

‘‘Then I shall want both hands as soon as ever we come 
to the very first Frenchman. But this is what my godfa- 
ther says: 

“< Viorory, orr TouLon, October 31st, 1804. 

‘**My pEAR LinGo,—It was only yesterday that I re- 
ceived your letter of July 21st; it went in a Spanish smug- 
eling boat to the coast of Italy and returned again to Spain, 
not having met any of our ships. And now I hope that 


S74 . SPRINGHAVEN. 


you will see me before you see this letter. We are certain 
to be at war with Spain before another month is out, and 
I am heartily sorry for it, for I like those fellows better than 
the French, because they are not such liars. My successor 
has been appointed, I have reason to hope, and must be far 
on his way by this time; probably Keith, but I cannot say. 
Ministers cannot suppose that I want to fly the service; my 
whole life has proved the contrary; if they refuse, I shall 
most certainly leave in March or April, for a few months’ 
rest I must have, or else die. My cough is very bad, and 
my side where I was struck off Cape St. Vincent is very 
much swelled, at times a lump as large as my fist is brought 
on by violent coughing, but I hope and believe my lungs 
are sound. I hope to do good service yet, or else I should 
not care so much. But if I am in my‘grave, how can I 
serve the Country ? 

‘** You will say, this is not at all like Nelson, to write 
about nothing but his own poor self; and thank God, Lingo, 
I can say that you are right; for if ever a man lived for 
the good of England and the destruction of those’ ’’—here 
Dolly held a hand up—‘‘ ‘ Frenchmen, it is the man in front 
of this ink-bottle. The Lord has appointed me to that duty, 
and I shall carry out my orders. Mons. La Touche, who 
was preached about in France as the man that was to ex- 
tinguish me, and even in the scurvy English newspapers, 
but never dared to show his snivelly countenance outside 
of the inner buoys, is dead of his debosheries, for which 
I am deeply grieved, as I fully intended to send him to the 
devil. 

‘“*T have been most unlucky for some time now, and to 
tell the truth I may say always. But I am the last man 
in the world to grumble—as you, my dear Lingo, can testify. 
I always do the utmost, with a single mind, and leave the 
thought of miserable pelf to others, men perhaps who never 
saw a shotted cannon fired. You know who made eighty 
thousand pounds, without having to wipe his pig-tail—dirty 
things, I am glad they are gone out—but my business is to 
pay other people’s debts, and receive all my credits in the 
shape of cannon-balls. This is always so, and I should let 
it pass as usual, except for a blacker trick than I have ever 
known before. For fear of giving me a single chance of 
earning twopence, they knew that there was a million and 
a half of money coming into Cadiz from South America in 
four Spanish frigates, and instead of leaving me to catch 





SPRINGHAVEN. 375 


them, they sent out Graham Moore—you know him very 
well—with orders to pocket everything. This will create a 
war with Spain, a war begun with robbery on our part, 
though it must have come soon in any case. For every- 
where now, except where I am, that fiend of a Corsican is 
supreme. 

‘**There is nota sick man in this fleet, unless it is the one 
inside my coat. That har La Touche said he chased me 
and Iran. Ikeepa copy of his letter, which it would have 
been my duty to make him eat, if he had ventured out 
again. But he is gone to the lake of brimstone now, and I 
have the good feeling to forgive him. If my character is 
not fixed by this time, it is not worth my trouble to put the 
world right. Yesterday I took a look into the port within 
easy reach of their batteries. They lay like a lot of mice 
holed in a trap, but the weather was too thick to count them. 
They are certainly nearly twice our number; and if any 
one was here except poor little Nelson, I believe they would 
venture out. But my reputation deprives me always of 
any fair chance to increase it. 

‘**And now, my dear Lingo, allow me to inquire how 
you are getting on with your Coast-defence. I never did 
attach much importance to their senseless invasion scheme. 
The only thing to make it formidable would be some infernal 
traitor on the coast, some devilish spy who would keep them 
well informed, and enable them to land where least expected. 
If there is such a scoundrel, may the Lord Almighty’ ”— 
here both Dolly’s hands went up, with the letter in them, 
and her face turned as white as the paper. 
 ‘*T have often told you, as you may remember, that 

Springhaven is the very place I should choose, if I were com- 
mander of the French flotilla. It would turn the flank of 
all the inland defences, and no British ship could attack 
their intrenchments, if once they were snug below the win- 
dows of the Hall. But they are not likely to know this, 
thank God; and if they did, they would have a job to get 
there. However, it is wise to keep asharp lookout, for they 
know very well that I am far away. 

‘**“ And now that I have got to your own doors, which I 
heartily hope to do, perhaps before you see this, let me ask 
for yourself and all your dear family. Lingo, the longer I 
live the more I feel that all the true happiness of life is 
found at home. My glory is very great, and satisfies me, 
except when it scares the enemy; but I very often feel that 


376 SPRINGHAVEN. 


_ I would give it all away for a quiet life among those who 

love me. Your daughter Faith is a sweet young woman, 
just what I should wish for a child of mine to be. And 
Horatia, my godchild, will turn out very well, if a sharp: 
hand is kept over her. But she takes after me; she is dar- 
ing and ambitious, and requires a firm hand at the helm. 
Read this to her, with my love, and I dare say she will only 
laugh at it. If she marries to my liking, she will be down 
for a good thing in my will, some day. God bless us all. 
Amen. Amen. Yours affectionately, 

‘** NELSON AND BRONTE.’” 


‘“Take it to heart, my dear; and so must I,” said the Ad- 
miral, laughing at the face his daughter made; ‘* your god- 
father is a most excellent judge of everybody’s character 
except his own. But, bless me, my dear, why, you are cry- 
ing! You silly little thing! Iwas only in fun. You shall 
marry to his liking, and be down for the good thing. Look 
up, and laugh at everybody, my darling. No one laughs 
so merrily as my pretty Dolly. Why, Faith, what does she 
mean by this ?” 

To the coaxing voice of her father, and the playful glance 
that she used to play with, Dolly had not rushed up at all, 
either with mind, or, if that failed, with body, as she always 
used todo. She hurried towards the door, as if she longed 
to be away from them; and then, as if she would rather not 
make any stir about it, sat down and pretended to have 
caught her dress in something. 

‘“The only thing is to let her go on as she likes, ” Faith 
said aloud, so that Dolly might hear all of it; ‘‘I have done 
all I can, but she believes herself superior. She cannot bear 
any sort of contradiction, and she expects one to know what 
she says, without her saying it. There is nothing to be 
done but to treat her the same way. If she is left to herself, 
she may come back to it.” 

‘‘ Well, my dear children,” said the Admiral, much alarmed 
at the prospect of a broil between them, such as he remem- 
bered about three years back, ‘‘I make no pretence to un- 
derstand your ways. If you were boys, it would be differ- 
ent altogether. But the Almighty has been pleased to 
make you girls, and very good ones too; in fact, there are 
none to be found better. You have always been bound 
up with one another and with me; and every one admires 
all the three of us. So that we must be content if a little 





SPRINGHAVEN, 377 


thine arises, not to make too much of it, but bear with one 
another, and defy anybody to come in between us. Kiss 
one another, my dears, and be off; for I have much corre- 
spondence to attend to, besides the great Nelson’s, though 
I took him first, hoping forsomething sensible. ButI have 
not much to learn about Springhaven, even from his lord- 
ship. However, he is a man in ten thousand, and we must 
not be vexed about any of his crotchets, because he has 
never had children to talk about; and he gets out of sound- 
ings when he talks about mine. I wish Lady Scudamore 
was come back. She always agrees with me, and she takes 
a great load off my shoulders.” 

_ The girls laughed at this, as they were meant todo. 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 femi- 
nine 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 laugh- 
ing 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 de- 
lightful, 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 
todo. English prisoners in France were treated sometimes 
very badly, which they took good care to proclaim to Eu- 
rope; 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 cen- 
tury of intercourse, good-will, and admiration has left us still 
inquisitive about each other. 

Napoleon felt such confidence in his plans for the con- 
quest 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 cap- 
ture 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 Kurope. 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, asif he could scarcely believe 
them. Napoleon looked—not insignificant (that was impos- 


SPRINGHAVEN. 379 


sible 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 perpetu- 
ally. 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 hate- 
ful 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.” 

‘Tt 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 Parlia- 


380 SPRINGHAVEN. 


ment, 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 pa- 
rading to and fro, and getting very tired of it ?” 

‘“Your Majesty’s officers know that best,’ Scudamore an- 
swered, with his pleasant, open smile. ‘‘I have been a pris- 
oner 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 false- 
hoods 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 i 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 anx- 
iety in England ?” 

‘“'Yes, sire,a great deal. But we hope not to allow your 
Majesty’s armament to enter and increase it.” z 

‘* 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 impres- 
sion,” said the French sailor, when he rejoined Scudamore, — 
after a few words with the Master of the State; ‘‘all you © 





SPRINGHAVEN. . 381 


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 sub- 
jects. 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 land- . 
lord 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 ?” 

‘‘T call them very liberal, and very handsome,” Seud- 
amore 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 friend- 
ship.” 3 

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 arrange- 
ment 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, ac- 
cording 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 do- 
ings, 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 





382 SPRINGHAVEN. 


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 pleas- 
antly 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 al- 
though M. Jalais’s trees were leafless now, they had sleeved 
their bent arms with green velvetry of moss. 

Scudamore brought his comfortable chair to the nook be- 
tween these windows, and there, with a book or two belong- 
ing 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 ey- 
erybody into his own teetotum. The Providence that guides 
the world showed mercy in sending that engine of destruc- 
tion 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 
egos, 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 wrin- 
kled 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. 





j 


SPRINGHAVEN. 383 


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 gen- 
erally 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 dis- 
tance they are most efficient, and can make out objects that 
would puzzle keener organs. And so it was that Scud- 
amore, 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 lands- 
men know a man from a woman at the measure of a fur- 
long, 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 were 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 


384 SPRINGHAVEN. 


fell, and the bows swung round, and her figure was drawn 
upon the tideway. She was now within half a mile of M. 
Jalais’s 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 thorough- 
ly 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 nar- 
row 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. ‘‘Iam 
justly forbidden,” he thought, as it grew dark, ‘‘to visit the 
camp, or endeavour to learn anything done by the army of 


« G9UUVAdd VSIG LAVUO ATLLIT SOOLYALSAW AHL SHLONIN MGA V NI,, 














































































































































































































































































































386 - SPRINGHAVEN. 


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 uncom- 
fortable 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 a 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 lan- 
guage, for he saw that he must have been hard-shouted at in 
French, was allowed without any more disturbance of the 





SPRINGHAVEN. 387 


system to supply a little glad refreshment. The sorely af- 
flicted animal licked his lips, and looked up for another hat- 
ful. 

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 tili then. 

Pursuing his search, with grateful eyes pursuing him, he 
soon discovered where the boat had grounded, by the im- 
press of her keel and forefoot on the stiff, retentive mud. 
He could even see where a hawser had been made fast to a 
stanch 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 te 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 pos- 
sible, as a Christmas present to M. Jalais. 


CHAPTER LII. 
KIND INQUIRIES. 


THAT notable year, and signal mark in all the great an- 
nals 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; sinkingseven of strong hearts, 
and quailing of spirits that had never quailed before; pas- 
sionate outery for peace without honour, and even without 
safety; savage murmurings at wise measures and at the bur- 
dens 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, sput- 
tering namby-pamby? Britannia now is always wrong, in 


388 SPRINGHAVEN. 


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 1s the philanthropy of Communists. 

But while the anxious people who had no belief in for- 
eigners 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 at- 
tempted 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 Jet 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 pot 1s that the com- 
monest 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. 

But now he did his duty softly, as if some of it had 
been done to him; and if anybody thanked him for a fine 
discourse, he never endeavoured to let him have it all again. 
So far was he gone from his natural state that he would 
rather hear nothing about himself than be praised enough to 
demand reply; and this shows a world-wide depression to 
have arrived in the latitude of a British waistcoat. How- 





SPRINGHAVEN, 389 


ever, he went through his work, as a Briton always does, 
until he hangs himself; and he tried to try some of the high- 
er consolation, which he knew so well how to administer 
to others. 

Those who do not understand the difference of this might 
have been inclined to blame him; but all who have seen a 
clever dentist with the toothache are aware that his knowl- 
edge adds acuteness to the pain. Mr. Twemlow had borne 
great troubles well, and been cheerful even under long sus- 
pense; but now a disappointment close at home, and the 
grief of beholding his last hopes fade, were embittered by 
mystery and dark suspicions. In despair at last of recov- 
ering his son, he had fastened upon his only daughter the 
interest of his declining life; and now he was vexed with 
misgivings about her, which varied as frequently as she did. 
It was very unpleasant to lose the chance of having a 
grandchild capable of rocking in a silver cradle; but that 
was a trifle compared with the prospect of having no grand- 
child at all, and perhaps not even a child to close his eyes. 
And even his wife, of long habit and fair harmony, from 
whom he had never kept any secret—frightful as might 
be the cost to his honour—even Mrs. Twemlow shook her 
head sometimes, when the arrangement of her hair permit- 
ted it, and doubted whether any of the Carne Castle Carnes 
would have borne with such indignity. 

‘“Prosecute him, prosecute him,” this good lady always 
said. ‘‘ You ought to have been a magistrate, Joslua—the 
first magistrate in the Bible was that—and then you would 
have known how to do things. But because you would 
have to go to Sir Charles Darling—whose Sir can never put 
him on the level of the Carnes—you have some right feel- 
ine against taking out a summons. In that I agree with 
you; it would be very dreadful here. But m London he 
might be punished, I am sure; and I know a great deal 
about the law, for I never had any one connected with me 
who was not a magistrate; the Lord Mayor has a Court 
of his own for trying the corporation under the chair; and 
if this was put properly before him by a man like Mr, Fur- 
kettle, upon the understanding that he should not be paid 
unless he won his case, I am sure tlhe result would be three 
years’ imprisonment. By that time he would have worn 
out his coat with jailer’s keys upon it, which first attracted 
our poor Eliza; or if he was not allowed to wear it, it would 
go out of fashion, and be harmless. No one need know a 


390 SPRINGHAVEN. 


word about it here, for Captain Stubbard would oblige us 
gladly by cutting it out of the London papers. My dear, 
you have nobody ill in the parish; I will put up your 
things, and see you off to-morrow. We will dine late on 
Friday, to suit the coach; and you will be quite fit for 
Sunday work again, if you keep up your legs on a chair all 
Saturday.” 

“Tf ever I saw a straightforward man,” Mr. Twemlow 
used to answer, ‘‘it was poor Percival Shargeloes. He is 
gone to a better world, my dear. And if he continued to 
be amenable to law, this is not a criminal, but a civil case.”’ 

‘‘ A nice case of civility, Joshua! But you always stand 
up for your sex. Does the coach take people to a better 
world? A stout gentleman, like him, was seen inside the 
coach, muffled up in a cravat of three colours, and eating 
at frequent intervals.” 

‘“The very thing poor Percival never did. That disposes 
to my mind of that foolish story. My dear, when all truth 
comes to light, you will do justice to his memory.” 

‘Yes, I dare say. But I should like to do it now. If 
you entertain any dark ideas, it is your duty to investigate 
them. Also to let me share them, Joshua, as I have every 
right to do.” 

This was just what the Rector could not do; otherwise 
he might have been far more happy. Remembering that 
last conversation with his prospective son-in-law, and the 
poor man’s declaration that the suspicious matter at the 
castle ought to be thoroughly searched out at once, he nour- 
ished a dark suspicion, which he feared to impart to his 
better half, the aunt of the person suspected. But the long- 
er he concealed it, the more unbearable grew this misery to 
a candid nature, until he was compelled, in self-defence, to 
allow it some sort of outlet. ‘‘I will speak to the fellow 
myself,” he said, heartily disliking the young man now, 
‘“and judge from his manner what next I ought to do.” 

This resolution gave him comfort, much as he hated any 
interview with Carne, who treated him generally with cold 
contempt. And, like most people who have formed a de- 
cision for the easing of the conscience, he accepted very pa- 
tiently the obstacles encountered. In the first place, Carne 
was away upon business; then he was laid up with a heavy 
cold; then he was much too hard at work (after losing so 
much time) to be able to visit Springhaven; and to seek 
him in his ruins was most unsafe, even if one liked to do 


le 


SPRINGHAVEN. 391 


it. For now it was said that two gigantic dogs, as big as a 
bull and as fierce as a tiger, roved among the ruins all day, 
and being always famished, would devour in two minutes 
any tempting stranger with a bit of flesh or fat on him. 
The Rector, patting his gaiters, felt that instead of a pastor 
he might become a very sweet repast to them, and his deli- 
cacy was renewed and deepened. He was bound to wait 
until his nephew appeared at least inside his parish. 

Therefore the time of year was come almost to the middle 
of February when Mr. Twemlow at last obtained the chance 
he required and dreaded. He heard that his nephew had 
been seen that day to put up his horse in the village, and 
would probably take the homeward road as soon as it grew 
too dark to read. So he got through his own work (con- 
sisting chiefly of newspaper, dinner, and a cool clay pipe, to 
equalize mind with matter), and having thus escaped the 
ladies, off he set by the lobby door, carrying a good thick 
stick. As the tide would be up, and only deep sand left 
for the heavy track of the traveller, he chose the inland 
way across the lower part of the Admiral’s grounds, lead- 
ing to the village by a narrow plank bridge across the little 
stream among some trees. Here were banks of earth and 
thicket, shadowy dells where the primrose grew, and the 
cuckoo-pint, and wood-sorrel, and perhaps in summer the 
glowworm breathed her mossy gleam under the black- 
berries. 

And here Parson Twemlow was astonished, though he 
had promised himself to be surprised no more, after all he 
had been through lately. As he turned a sharp corner by 
an ivied tree, a breathless young woman ran into his arms. 

‘“Oh!” cried the Rector, for he was walking briskly, with 
a well-nourished part of his system forward—‘‘oh, I hope 
you have not hurt yourself. No doubt it was my fault. 
Why, Dolly! Whatahurry you are in! And all alone— 
all alone, almost after dark !” | 

‘“To be sure; and that makes me in such a hurry;” Miss 
Dolly was in sad confusion. ‘‘But I suppose I am safe 
in my father’s own grounds.” 

‘*From everybody, except yourself, my dear,” Mr. Twem- 
low replied, severely. ‘‘Is your father aware, does your 
sister know, that you are at this distance from the house 
after dark, and wholly without a companion 2?” 

_ “Tt is not after dark, Mr. Twemlow; although it is get- 
ting darker than I meant it to be. JI beg your pardon for 


392 SPRINGHAVEN. 


terrifying you. I hope you will meet with no other perils! 
Good-night! Or at least I mean, good-afternoon !” 

‘‘The brazen creature!” thought Mr. Twemlow, as the girl 
without another word disappeared. ‘* Not even to offer me 
any excuse! But I suppose she had no fib handy. She will 
come to no good, I am very much afraid. Maria told me 
that she was getting very wilfui; but I had no idea that it 
was quite so bad as this. Iam sorry for poor Scudamore, 
who thinks her such an angel. I wonder if Carne is at 
the bottom of this? There is nothing too bad for that dark 
young man. I shall ascertain at any rate whether he is in 
the village. But unless I look sharp I shall be too late to 
meet him. Oh, I can’t walk so fast as I did ten years 
ago.” 

Impelled by duty to put best leg foremost, and taking 
a short-cut above the village, he came out upon the lane 
leading towards the castle, some half-mile or so beyond the 
last house of Springhaven. Here he waited to recover 
breath, and prepare for what he meant to say, and he was 
sorry to perceive that light would fail him for strict ob- 
servation of his nephew’s face. But he chose the most open 
spot he could find, where the hedges were low, and nothing 
overhung the road. 

Presently he heard the sound of hoofs approaching leis- 
urely up the hill, and could see from his resting-place that 
Carne was coming, sitting loosely and wearily on his high 
black horse. Then the Rector, to cut short an unpleasant 
business, stood boldly forth and hailed him. 

‘‘No time for anything now,” shouted Carne; ‘‘ too late 
already. Do you want my money? You are come to the 
wrong man for that; but the right one, I can tell you, for a 
bullet.” | 

‘*Caryl, it is I, your uncle Twemlow, or at any rate the 
husband of your aunt. Put up your pistol, and speak to 
mea minute. I have something important to say to you. 
And I never can find you at the castle.” 

‘‘Then be quick, sir, if you please; Carne had never con- 
descended to call this gentleman his uncle. ‘‘I have little 
time to spare. Out with it.” 

‘“You were riding very slowly fora man in a hurry,” said 
the Rector, annoyed at his roughness. ‘*‘ But I will not 
keep you long, young man. For some good reasons of your 
own you have made a point of avoiding us, your nearest 
relatives in this country, and to whom you addressed your- 











““MERE WERE BANKS OF THICKET, SHADOWY DELLS WHERE THE PRIMROSE GREW.” 


> 


394 SPRINGHAVEN. 


self before you landed in a manner far more becoming. 
Have I ever pressed my attentions upon you 2” 

‘*No, I confess that you have not done that. You per- 
ceived as a gentleman how little there was in common be- 
tween the son of a devoted Catholic and a heretic clergy- 
man.” 

‘‘That is one way to put it,” Mr. Twemlow answered, 
smiling in spite of his anger at being called a heretic; ‘* but 
I was not aware that you had strong religious views. How- 
ever that may be, we should have many things in common, 
as Englishmen, at a time like this. But what I came to 
speak of is not that. We can stiil continue to get on with- 
out you, although we would rather have met with friendly 
feeling and candour, as becomes relatives. But little as you 
know of us, you must be well aware that your cousin Eliza 
was engaged to be married to a gentleman from London, 
Mr. Percival Shargeloes, and that he—” 

‘‘T am sure I wash her all happiness, and congratulate 
you, my dear sir, as. well as my aunt Maria. I shall call, 
as soon as possible, to offer my best wishes. It was very 
kind of you to tell me. Good-night, sir, good-night! There 
is a Shower coming.”’ 

‘* But,” exclaimed the Rector, nonplussed for the moment 
by this view of the subject, yet standing square before the 
horse, ‘‘Shargeloes has disappeared. What have you done 
with him ?” 

Carne looked at his excellent uncle as if he had much 
doubt about his sanity. ‘‘Try to explain yourself, my dear 
sir. Try to connect your ideas,” he said, ‘‘and offer me the 
benefit another time. My horse is impatient; he may strike 
you with his foot.” 

‘“Tf he does, I shall strike him upon the head,” Mr. 
Twemlow replied, with his heavy stick ready. “It will 
be better for you to hear me out. Otherwise I shall pro- 
cure a search-warrant, and myself examine your ruins, of 
which I know every crick and cranny. And your aunt 
Maria shall come with me, who knows every stone even 
better than you do. That would be a very different thing 
from an overhauling by Captain Stubbard. I think we 
should find a good many barrels and bales that had paid ° 
no duty.” d 

‘‘My dear uncle,” cried Carne, with more affection than - 
he ever yet had shown, ‘‘that is no concern of yours; you 
-have no connection with the Revenue; and I am sure that 


Nae 


\y 


i 


Ni) 


\\ 


ANNAN 


CANN 
i ANS 


i 


ih 
Whine aN 


DOLLY! WHAT A HURRY YOU ARE IN!” 





396 SPRINGHAVEN. 


Aunt Maria would be loath to help in pulling down the 
family once more. Butdoas you please. Jam accustomed 
to ill-fortune. Only I should lke to know what this is 
about poor Cousin Eliza. If any man has wronged her, 
leave the case tome. You have no son now, and the honour 
of the family shall not suffer in my bands. I will throw 
up everything, busy as I am, to make such a rascal bite 
the dust. And Eliza so proud, and so upright herself!” 

“Caryl,” said his uncle, moved more than he liked to 
show by this fine feeling, ‘‘ you know more, I see, than you 
liked to show at first, doubtless through good-will to us. 
Your dear aunt wished to keep the matter quiet, for the sake 
of poor Eliza, and her future chances. ButIsaid—No. Let 
us have it all out. If there is wrong, we have suffered, 
not done it. Concealment is odious to every honest mind.” 

‘‘Deeply, deeply odious. Upon that point there can be 
no two opinions”’-—he forgets his barrels, thought the Ree- 
tor—‘‘ but surely this man, whatever his name is—Charley- 
goes—must have been hiding from you something in his 
own history. Probably he had a wife already. City men 
often do that when young, and then put their wives some- 
where when they get rich,and pay visits, and even give 
dinners, as if they were bachelors to be sought after. Was 
Charleygoes that sort of a man ?” 

‘‘His name is ‘Shargeloes,’ a name well known, as I am 
assured, in the highest quarters. And he certainly was not 
sought after by us, but came to me with an important ques- 
tion bearing.on ichthyology. He may be a wanderer, as 
you suggest, and as all the ladies seem to think. But my 
firm belief is to the contrary. And my reason for asking 
you about him isa very clear one. He had met you twice, 
and felt interest in you as a future member of our family. 
You had never invited him to the eastle; and the last in- 
tention he expressed in my hearing was to call upon you 
without one. Has he met with an accident in your cellars ? 
Or have your dogs devoured him? He carried a good deal 
of flesh, in spite of all he could do to the contrary; and any 
man naturally might endeavour to hush up such an in- 
cident. Tell me the truth, Caryl. And we will try to 
meet it.” 

‘‘My two dogs (who would never eat any one, though 
they might pull down a stranger, and perhaps pretend to 
bite him) arrived here the first week in January. When 
did Charleygoes disappear? I am riot up in dates, but it 


SPRINGHAVEN. 397 


must have been weeks and weeks before that time. And 
I must have heard of it, if it had happened. I may give you 
my honour that Orso and Leo have not eaten Charleygoes.” 

‘“You speak too lightly of a man in high position, who 
would have been Lord Mayor of London if he had never 
come to Springhaven. But, living or dead, he shall never be 
that now. Can you answer me, in the same straightfor- 
ward manner, as to an accident in your cellars; which, as 
a gentleman upon a private tour, he had clearly no right to 
intrude upon 2” 

‘‘T can answer you quite as clearly. Nothing accidental 
has happened in my cellars. You may come and see them, 
if you have any doubt about it. And you need not apply 
for a search-warrant.” 

‘‘God forbid, my dear fellow,” cried the uncle, ‘‘that I 
should intrude upon any little matters of delicacy, such ‘as 
are apt to arise between artificial laws and gentlemen who 
happen to live near the sea, and to have large places that 
require restoring! I shall go home with a lighter heart. 
There is nothing in this world that brings the comfort of 
straightforwardness.”’ 


CHAPTER LIII. 
TIME AND PLACE. 


In a matter like that French invasion, which had been 
. threatened for such a time, and kept so long impending, 
‘‘the ery of wolf” grows stale at last, and then the real 
danger comes. Napoleon had reckoned upon this, as he al- 
ways did upon everything, and for that good reason he had 
not grudged the time devoted to his home affairs. These 
being settled according to his will, and mob turned into 
pomp as gaily as grub turns into butterfly, a strong desire 
for a little more glory arose in his mighty but ill- regulated 
mind. If he could only conquer England, or even without 
that fetch her down on her knees and make her lick her 
own dust off the feet of Frenchmen, from that day forth all 
the nations of the earth must bow down before him.  Rus- 
sia, Prussia, Austria, Spain, though they might have had 
the power, never would have plucked the spirit up to resist 
him hand in hand, any more than skittle-pins can back one 
another up against the well-aimed ball. 


398 SPRINGHAVEN. 


The balance of to-be or not-to-be, as concerned our coun- 
try (which many now despise, as the mother of such disloyal 
children), after all that long suspension, hung in the clouds 
of that great year; and a very cloudy year it was, and thick 
with storms on land and sea. Storm was what the French- 
men longed for, to disperse the British ships; though storm 
made many an Englishman, pulling up the counterpane as 
the window rattled, thank the Father of the weather for 
keeping the enemy ashore and ina fright. But the greatest 
peril of all would be in the case of fog succeeding storm, 
when the mighty flotilla might sweep across before our 
ships could resume blockade, or even a frigate intercept. 

One of the strangest points in all this period of wonders, 
to us who after the event are wise, is that even far-sighted 
Nelson and his watchful colleagues seem to have had no 
inkling of the enemy’s main project. Nelson believed Na- 
poleon to be especially intent on Egypt; Collingwood ex- 
pected a sudden dash on Ireland; others were sure that his 
object was Jamaica; and many maintained that he would 
step ashore in India. And these last came nearest to the 
mark upon the whole, for a great historian (who declares, 
like Caryl Carne, that a French invasion is a blessing to 
any country) shows that, for at least a month in the spring 
of 1805, his hero was revolving a mighty scheme for rob- 
bing poor England of blissful ravage, and transferring it to 
India. 

However, the master of the world—as he was called al- 
ready, and meant soon to be—suddenly returned to his ear- 
lier design, and fixed the vast power of his mind upon it. 
He pushed with new vigour his preparations, which had 
been slackened awhile, he added 30,000 well-trained soldiers 
to his force already so enormous, and he breathed the quick 
spirit of enterprise into the mighty mass he moved. Then, 
to clear off all obstacles, and insure clear speed of passage, 
he sent sharp orders to his Admirals to elude and delude 
the British fleets, and resolved to enhance that delusion by 
his own brief absence from the scene. 

Meanwhile a man of no importance to the world, and of 
very moderate ambition, was passing a pleasant time in a 
quiet spot, content to be scarcely a spectator even of the 
drama in rehearsal around him. Scudamore still abode 
with M. Jalais, and had won his hearty friendship, as well 
as the warm good-will of that important personage Madame 
Fropot. Neither of these could believe at first that any 


SPRINGHAVEN, 399 


Englishman was kind and gentle, playful in manner, and 
light-hearted, easily pleased, and therefore truly pleasing. 
But as soon as they saw the poor wounded ox brought home 
by a ford, and settled happily in the orchard, and received 
him asa free gift from their guest, national prejudices dwin- 
dled very fast, and domestic good feeling grew faster. M. 
Jalais, although a sound Frenchman, hated the Empire and 
all that led up to it; and as for Madame Fropot, her choicest 
piece of cookery might turn into cinders, if anybody men- 
tioned conscription in: her presence. For she had lost her 
only son, the entire hope of her old days, as well as her only 
daughter's lover, in that lottery of murder. 

Nine out of ten of the people in the village were of the 
same way of thinking. A great army cannot be quartered 
anywhere, even for a week, without scattering brands of 
ill-will all around it. The swagger of the troops, their war- 
like airs, and loud contempt of the undrilled swain, the dash 
of a coin on the counter when they deign to pay for any- 
thing, the insolent wink at every modest girl, and the coarse 
joke running along apish mouths—even before dark crime 
begins, native antipathy is sown and thrives. And now 
for nearly four years this coast had never been free from 
the arrogant strut, the clanking spur, and the loud gutfaw, 
which in every age and every clime have been considered 
the stamp of valour by plough-boys at the paps of Bellona. 
So weary was the neighbourhood of this race, new conscripts 
always keeping up the pest, that even the good M. Jalais 
longed to hear that the armament lay at the bottom of the 
Channel. And Scudamore wouid have been followed by 
the good wishes of every house in the village. if he had lifted 
his hat and said, ‘‘ Good-bye, my dear friends; I am break- 
ing my parole.” 

For this, though encouraged by the popular voice, he 
was not sufficiently liberal, but stayed within bounds of 
space and time more carefully than if he had been watched. 
Captain Desportes, who had been in every way a true friend 
to him, came to see him now and then, being now in com- 
mand of a division of the prames, and naturally anxious for 
the signal to unmoor. Much discourse was held, without 
brag on either side, but with equal certainty on both sides 
of success. And in one of these talks the Englishman in 
the simplest manner told the Frenchman all that he had 
seen on Christmas Eve, and his own suspicions about it. 

‘* Understand this well,” continued Scudamore; ‘‘if I dis- 


400 _ SPRINGHAVEN. 


cover any treachery on the part of my own countrymen, I 
shall not be able to stop here on the terms that have been 
allowed me. Whatever the plan may be, I shall feel as 
if I were a party to it, if I accepted my free range and swal- 
lowed my suspicions. With your proceedings I do not med- 
dle, according to fair compact, and the liberal conditions 
offered. But to see my own countrymen playing my coun- 
try false is more than I could stand. You know more of 
such things than I do. But if you were an Englishman, 
could you endure to stand by and hide treachery, for the 
sake of your own comfort ?” 

‘‘Beyond a doubt, no,” Captain Desportes answered, 
spreading his hands with decision: ‘‘in such a case I should 
throw up my parole. But a mere suspicion does not justify 
an act so ungracious to the commander, and personally so 
unkind to me. I hoped that bright eyes might persuade 
you to forego hard knocks, and wear none but gentle chains 
among us. Nature intended you for a Frenchman. You 
have the gay heart, and the easy manner, and the grand phi- 
losophy of our great nation. Your name is Blyth, and I 
know what that intends.” 

Scudamore blushed, for he knew that Madame Fropot 
was doing her best to commit him with a lovely young lady 
not far off, who had felt a tender interest in the cheerful 
English captive. But after trying to express once more the 
deep gratitude he felt towards those who had been so won- 
derfully kind and friendly, he asked with a smile, and a Lit- 
tie sigh behind it, what he must do, if compelled by duty to 
resign his present privileges. | 

‘*My faith! I scarcely know,” replied Desportes; ‘“‘I have 
never had such a case before. But I think you must give 
me a written notice, signed by yourself and by M. Jalais, 
and allow a week to pass, and then, unless you have heard 
from me, present yourself to the commandant of the nearest 
post, which must be, I suppose, at Etaples. Rather a rough 
man he is; and I fear you will have reason for regret. The 
duty will then remain with him. But I beg you, my dear 
friend, to continue as you are. Tush, it is nothing but some 
smuggler’s work.” 

Scudamore hoped that he might be right, and for some 
little time was not disturbed by any appearance to the con- 
trary. But early in the afternoon one day, when the month 
of March was near its close, he left his books for a little. 
fresh air, and strolled into the orchard, where his friend the 


SPRINGHAVEN. 401 


ox was dwelling. This worthy animal, endowed with a 
virtue denied to. none except the human race, approached 
him lovingly, and begged to draw attention to the grati- 
fying difference betwixt wounds and scars. He offered his 
broad brow to the hand, and his charitable ears to be tickled, 
and breathed a quick issue of good feeling and fine feeding, 
from the sensitive tucks of his nostrils, as a large-hearted 
smoker makes the air go up with gr atitude. 

But as a burnt child dreads the fire, the seriously partite 
ted animal kept one eye vigilant of the northern aspect, and 
the other studious of the south. And the gentle Scuddy 
(who was finding all things happy, which is the only way 
to make them so) was startled by a sharp jerk of his dear 
friend's head. Following the clue of gaze, there he saw, 
coming up the river with a rollicking self-trust, a craft un- 
commonly like that craft which had mounted every sort 
of rig and flag, and carried every kind of crew, in his many 
dreams about her. This made him run back to his room at 
once, not only in fear of being seen upon the bank, but also 
that he might command a better view, with the help of his 
landlord’s old spy-glass. 

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 con- 
vinced 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 pro- 
file 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. Tis 
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 


402 SPRINGHAVEN. 


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 F'ropot 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; hut he twirled 
his hght 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 composeasong. But. 
this made him think of that old-fashioned place Spring- 
haven; and sadness fell upon him, that the son of its cap- 
tain 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 fig- 
ure of 8 with less noise than a skater makes. The tide be- 
ing 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 com- 
pany of trees, which could not have put up with the tyr- 
anny 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 grayness, a fosse of Nature's dig- 
ging, deeply lined with wood and thicket, offered snug har- 
bouragé to craft and fraud. 

Scudamore had taken care to learn the ups and dimaek of 
the river-side ere this, and knew them now as well as a na- 
tive, 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 


SPRINGHAVEN, 403 


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 impa- 
tiently 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 in- 
terview 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 val- 
ley 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 


404 SPRINGHAVEN. 


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 oc- 
cupied 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 ene- 
my. But Ishall 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. Ishall command the invasion, 
and it will be for England to find a man to set against me.” 

‘‘Hngland 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 can- 
not do it, how can the poor England? Once let your Maj- 
esty 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 no- 
tice. 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 


SPRINGHAVEN. 405 


‘was that? I heard a sound up yonder. MHasten up, and 
cee 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 Em- 
peror’s glance and signal, sprang up the bank, with the 
help of some bushes, drew his sword and passed it be- 
tween 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 
Kmperor 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 instruc- 
tions, 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. Youare 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. TLondon will 
be in our hands by the middle of July at the latest, prob- 
ably much earlier, and then Captain Carne shall name his 
own reward. Meanwhile forget not any word of what I 
said. Make the passage nomore. 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 


406 SPRINGHAVEN. 


over by the 20th of May a letter to me, under care of 
Decrés, 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 trinmph written prema- 
turely 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—especial- 
ly after running as if his wind could turn a vane—was sit- 
ting 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 mag- 
nified 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 


SPRINGHAVEN. 407 


‘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, af- 
forded by his captors to save themselves trouble, but a spe- 
cial 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 sec- 
_retary”’ 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 recon- 
cile private honour with the sense of public duty; and, re- 
turning to his room, wrote a careful letter (of which he kept 
a copy) to his friend Desportes, now on board, and com- 
manding the flag-ship 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 de- 
livery 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 Des- 
portes, 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 


A408 SPRINGHAVEN. 


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, for- 
got all about him. 

Captain Secuddy now found himself in quarters i: un- 
der 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 veg- 
etables, and sometimes to have overripened them. There-— 
fore he began to lose substance, and his cheeks became stran- 
gers 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 Cam- 
bridge, began to frame a table of cubic measure, and consid- 
er the ratio of his body to that window, or rather to the aper- 
ture thereof. One night, when his supper had been quite 
forgotten by everybody except himself, he lay awake think- 
ing 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 be- 
tween the bars. And now it was high time to feel that as- 
surance, 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 


SPRINGHAVEN. 409 


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 fling- 
ing 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 bot- 
tom of agrassy ditch. There he lay quiet to rest his bruises, 
and watch whether any alarm were 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’s 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 pres- 
ent. 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 

18 


' 410 SPRINGHAVEN. 


Nature’s memory. A great many things had been left be- 
hind, mainly for their own good, no doubt—some of the ani- 
mal, some of the vegetable, some of the mineral kingdom 
even—yet none of them started for anarchy. All were con- 
tent 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 con- 
tent with the present state of things as he can be with any- 
thing, 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 kind- 
ness in theair. 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 down- 
war ds, 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 mid- 
night. 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 midstream, 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 

























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































412 SPRINGHAVEN, 


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 pro- 
vincial French, ‘‘The fisherman, Auguste Baudry, of Mon- 
treuil!” 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 be- 
fore dawn—but that depends upon the weather—and the 
sleep of weary men is often in its prime at that time. Scud- 
amore (although his life, and all that life hangs on from 
heaven, were quivering at the puff of every breeze) was en- 
abled 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 un- 
stepped 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, Scud- 
amore fetched along the inner row of piles, for he durst not 
pass under the drawbridge, steering his boat toan 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 al- 
most despaired of it, through the lower tier of the sup- 
porters. He was quit of that formidable barrier now; but 


SPRINGHAVEN. 413 


a faint flush of dawn and of reflection from the sea com- 
pelled him to be very crafty. Instead of pushing straight- 
way 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 sur- 
veyed 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. 

The young man knelt and said his morning prayer, with 
one hand still upon the tiller; for, like most men who 
have fought well for England, he had stanch faith in the 
Power that has made and guides the nations, until they 
rebel against it. So far his success had been more than his 
own unaided hand might work, or his brain with the utmost 
of its labours second. Of himself he cast all thoughts 
away, for his love seemed lost, and his delight was gone; the 
shores of his country, if he ever reached them, would con- 
tain no pleasure for him; but the happiness of millions 
might depend upon his life, and first of all that of his mother. 

All by himself in this frail old tub, he could scarcely hope 
to cross the Channel, even in the best of weather, and if he 
should escape the enemy, while his scanty supplies held out. 
He had nothing to subsist on but three small loaves, and 
a little kee of cider, and an old tar tub which he had filled 
with brackish water, upon which the oily curdle of the tar 
was floating. But, for all that, he trusted that he might 
hold out, and retain his wits long enough to do good service. 

The French coast, trending here for leagues and leagues 
nearly due north and south, is exposed to the long accumu- 
lating power of a western gale, and the mountain roll of 
billows that have known no check. If even a smart breeze 
from the west sprang up, his rickety little craft, intended 
only for inland navigation, would have small chance of 
living through the tumult. But his first care was to give a 
wide berth to the land and the many French vessels that 
were moored or moving, whether belonging to the great 
flotilla, or hastening to supply its wants. Many a time 
he would have stood forth boldly, as fast as the breeze and 
tide permitted; but no sooner had he shaped a course for 
the open sea than some hostile sail appeared ahead and 
forced him to bear away until she was far onward. ‘Thus, 
after a long day of vigilance and care, he was not more 


A14 SPRINGHAVEN. 


than five miles from land when the sun set, and probably 
farther from the English coast than when he set forth in the 
morning’; because he had stood towards the south of west all 
day, to keep out of sight of the left wing of the enemy; and 
as the straight outline of the coast began to fade, he supposed 
himself to be about half-way between the mouth of the 
Canche and that of the little Authie. 

Watching with the eyes of one accustomed to the air 
the last communication of the sun, and his postscript (which, 
like a lady’s, is the gist of what he means), Scudamore per- 
ceived that a change of weather might come shortly, and 
must come erelong. There was nothing very angry in the 
sky, nor even threatening; only a general uncertainty and 
wavering; ‘‘I wish you well all round,” instead of ‘* Here’s 
a guinea apiece for you.” Scuddy understood it, and re- 
solved to carry on. 

Having no compass, and small knowledge of the coast— 
which lay out of range of the British investment—he had 
made up his mind to lie by for the night, or at any rate to 
move no more than he could help, for fear of going alto- 
gether in the wrong direction. He could steer by the stars 
—as great mariners did, when the world was all discovery— 
so long as the stars held their skirts up; but, on the other 
hand, those stars might lead him into the thick of the ene- 
my. Of this, however, he must now take his chance, rath- 
er than wait and let the wind turn against him. For his 
main hope was to get into the track where British frigates, 
and ships of light draught like his own dear Blonde, were 
upon patrol, inside of the course of the great war chariots, 
the ships of the line, that drave heavily. Revolving much 
grist in the mill of his mind, as the sage Ulysses used to do, 
he found it essential to supply the motive power bodily. One 
of Madame Fropot’s loaves was very soon disposed of, and 
a good draught of sound cider helped to renew his flagging 
energy. 

Throughout that night he kept wide-awake, and man- 
aged to make fair progress, steering, as well as he could 
judge, a little to the west of north. But before sunrise the 
arrears of sleep increased at compound interest, and he 
lowered his sail, and discharged a part of the heavy sum 
scored against him. But when he awoke, and glanced 
around him with eyes that resented scanty measure, even a 
sleepy glance sufficed to show much more than he wished to 
see. Both sky and sea were overcast with doubt, and alarm, 


SPRINGHAVEN. 415 


and evil foreboding. A dim streak lay where the land had 
been, and a white gleam quivered from the sunrise on the 
waves, as if he were spreading water-liles instead of scatter- 
ing roses. As the earth has its dew that foretells a bright - 
day—whenever the dew is of the proper sort, for three 
kinds are established now—so the sea has a flit of bloom in 
the early morning (neither a colour, nor a sparkle, nor a va- 
pour) which indicates peace and content for the day. But 
now there was no such fair token upon it, but a heavy and 
surly and treacherous look, with lumps here and there; asa 
man who intends to abuse us thrusts his tongue to get sharp 
in his cheek. 

Scudamore saw that his poor old boat, scarcely sound 
enough for the men of Gotham, was already complaining 
of the uncouth manners of the strange place to which she 
had been carried in the dark. That is to say, she was begin- 
ning to groan, at a very quiet slap in the cheeks, or even a 
thoroughly well-meaning push in the rear. 

‘“You are welcome to groan, if you don’t strain,” ex- 
claimed the heartless Captain Scuddy. 

Kven as he spoke he beheld a trickle of water glistening 
down the forward bends, and then a little rill, and then 
a spurt, as if a serious leak were sprung. He found the 
source of this, and contrived to caulk it with a strand of 
tarred rope for the present; but the sinking of his knife 
into the forward timber showed him that a great part of the 
bows was rotten. If a head-sea arose, the crazy old frame 
would be prone to break in bodily, whereas if he attempted 
to run before the sea, already beginning to rise heavily from 
_ the west, there was nothing to save the frail craft from be- 
ing pooped. On every side it was a bad lookout, there was 
every sign of a gale impending, which he could not even 
hope to weather, and the only chance of rescue lay in the 
prompt appearance of some British ship. 

Kven in this sad plight his courage and love of native 
land prevailed against the acceptance of aid from French- 
men, if any should approach to offer it. Rather would he 
lie at the bottom of the Channel, or drift about among con- 
tending fishes, than become again a prisoner with his secret 
in his mind, and no chance of sending it to save his country. 
Asa forlorn hope, he pulled out a stump of pencil, and wrote 
on the back of a letter from his mother a brief memorandum 
of what he had heard, and of the urgency of the matter. 
Then taking a last draught of his tarry water, he emptied 


416 SPRINGHAVEN. 


the little tub, and fixed the head in, after he had enclosed his 
letter. Then he fastened the tub to an oar, to improve the 
chance of its being observed, and laid the oar so that it 
would float off, in case of the frail boat foundering. The 
other oar he kept at hand to steer with, as long as the boat 
should live, and to help him to float, when she should have 
disappeared. 

This being done, he felt easier in his mind, as a man who 
has prepared for the worst should do. He renewed his vig- 
our, which had begun to flag under constant labour and 
long solitude, by consuming another of his loaves, and 
taking almost the last draught of his cider, and after that 
he battled throughout the dreary day against the increase of 
bad weather. Towards the afternoon he saw several ships, 
one of which he took to be a British frigate; but none of 
them espied his poor labouring craft, or at any rate showed 
signs of doing so. Then a pilot-boat ran by him, standing 
probably for Boulogne, and at one time less than a league 
away. She appeared to be English, and he was just about 
to make signal for aid, when a patch im her foresail almost 
convinced him that she was the traitor of the Canche return- 
ing. She was probably out of her proper course in order 
to avoid the investing fleet, and she would run inside it 
when the darkness fell. Better to go to the bottom than in- 
voke such aid; and he dropped the oar with his neckerchief 
upon it, and faced the angry sea again and the lonely despair 
of impending night. 

What followed was wiped from his memory for years, 
and the loss was not much to be regretted. When he tried 
to think about it, he found nothing but a roaring of wind 
and of waves in his ears, a numbness of arms as he laboured 
with the oar tholed abaft to keep her heavy head up, a 
prickly chill in his legs as the brine in the wallowing boat 
ran up them, and then a gréat wallop and gollop of the 
element too abundant round him. 

But at last, when long years should have brought more 
wisdom, he went poaching for supper upon Welsh rabbits. 
That night all the ghastly time came back, and stood min- 
ute by minute before him. Every swing of his body, and 
sway of his head, and swell of his heart, was repeated, the 
buffet of the billows when the planks were gone, the numb 
grasp of the slippery oar, the sucking down of legs which 
seemed turning into sea-weed, the dashing of dollops of surf 
into mouth and nose closed ever so carefully, and then the 


a 


SPRINGHAVEN. 417 


last sense of having fought a good fight, but fallen away 
from human arms, into ‘‘O Lord, receive my spirit!” 


—— 


CHAPTER LV. 
IN SAVAGE GUISE. 


‘‘A MAN came out of the sea to-day, and made me believe 
we were all found out,” said the gay Charron to the gloomy 
Carne, a day or two after poor Scudamore’s wreck. ‘‘I- 
never beheld a more strange-looking creature as the owner 
of our human face divine, as some of your poets have found 
to say. He has hair from his head all down to here”—the 
little Captain pointed to a part of his system which would 
have been larger in more tranquil times—‘‘and his clothes 
were so thin that one was able to see through them, and the 
tint of his face was of roasted sugar, such as it is not to 
obtain in England. A fine place for fat things, but not for 
thin ones.” 

‘‘My friend, you arouse my curiosity,” the master of the 
feast, which was not a very fat one, answered, as he lazily 
crossed his long legs; ‘‘ you are always apprehensive about 
detection, of which I have ceased to entertain all fear, dur- 
ing the short time that remains. This stranger of yours 
must have beén very wet, if he had just appeared out of the 
sea. Was it that which made his clothes transparent, like 
those of the higher class of ladies ?” 

‘“You have not the right understanding of words. He 
was appeared out of the sea, but the wood of a boat was 
spread between them. He was as dry as I am; and that is 
saying much, with nothing but this squeezing of bad apples 
for to drink.” 

‘‘ Ah, we shall have better soon. What an impatient 
throat it is! Well, what became of this transparent man, 
made of burnt sugar, and with hair below his belt ?” 

‘‘T tell you that you take it in a very different way. But 
he was a long man, as long almost as you are, and with 
much less of indolence in the moving of his legs. It was 
not sincerely wise for me to exhibit myself, in the land. I 
was watching for a signal from the sea, and a large ship, 
not of the navy, but of merchants, was hanging off about 
a league and delaying for her boat. For this reason I pre- 
vented him from seeing me, and that created difficulty of 

18* 
» 


418 SPRINGHAVEN. 


“my beholding him. But he was going along the basin of 
the sea towards Springhaven—'‘ Springport’ it is designated 
by the Little Corporal; ah ha, how the language of the 
English comes left to him!” 

‘‘ And how right it comes to you, my friend, through your 
fine self-denial in speaking it with me! It is well for our 
cause that it is not sincerely wise for you to exhibit yourself 
in the land, or we should have you making sweet eyes at 
English young ladies, and settling down to roast beef and 
nut-brown ale. Fie, then, my friend! where is your patri- 
otism ?” 

‘‘ These English young ladies,” said the Frenchman, una- 
bashed, “‘are very fine, in my opinion—very fine indeed; 
and they could be made to dress, which is sincerely an ex- 
ternal thing. By occasion, I have seen the very most 
belle, and charming and adorable of all the creatures ever 
made by the good God. And if she was to say to me, 
‘Abandon France, my Captain, and become my good hus- 
band ’—and she has the money also—the fair France would 
go to the bottom, and the good ship Charron hoist the Union- 
jack.” 

‘‘This becomes serious :”’ Carne had long learned to treat 
his French colleague with a large contempt: ‘‘I shall have 
to confine you in the Yellow Jar, my friend. But what 
young lady has bewitched you so, and led your most pow- 
erful mind astray ?” 

‘*T will tell you. Iwill make no secret of it. You have 
none of those lofty feelings, but you will be able in another 
to comprehend them. It is the daughter of the Coast-De- 
fender—Admiral Charles Sir Darling.” 

‘‘ Admiral Darling has two daughters. Which of them 
has the distinguished honour of winning the regard of Cap- 
tain Charron ?” 

‘‘If there are two, it is so much more better. If I suc- 
ceed not with one, I will try with the other. But the one 
who has made me captive for the present is the lady with 
the dark hair done up like this.” 

In a moment Charron had put up his hair, which was 
thick but short, into a double sheaf; and Carne knew at 
once that it was Faith whose charms had made havoc of the 
patriotism of his colleague. Then he smiled and said, ‘“‘ My 
friend, that is the elder daughter.” 

‘‘T have some knowledge of the laws of England,” the 
Frenchman continued, complacently; ‘‘the elder will have 


we 





“WE MAY BE TRIUMPHANT WITH THEIR LADIES.” 


the most money, and [am not rich, though I am courageous. 
In the confusion that ensues I shall have the very best 
chance of commending myself; and I contide in your hon- 
ourable feeling to give me the push forward by occasion. 
Say, is it well conceived, my friend? We never shall con- 
quer these Englishmen, but we may be triumphant with 
their ladies.”’ 

‘‘It is a most excellent scheme of invasion,” Carne an- 
swered, with his slow, sarcastic smile, “and you may rely 
on me for what you call the push forward, if a Frenchman 
ever needs it with a lady. But I wish to hear more about 
that brown man.” 

‘‘I can tell you no more. But the matter is strange. 
Perhaps he was visiting the fat Captain Stoobar. I feel 
no solicitude concerning him with my angel. She would 
never look twice at such a savage.” 

But the gallant French Captain missed the mark this time. 
The strange-looking man with the long brown beard quitted 
the shore before he reached the stepping-stones, and, making 


420 SPRINGHAVEN. 


a short-cut across the rabbit-warren, entered the cottage of 
Zebedee Tugwell, without even stopping to knock at the 
door. The master was away, and so were all the children; 
but stout Mrs. Tugwell, with her back to the door, was tend- 
ing the pot that hung over the fire. At the sound of a foot- 
step she turned round, and her red face grew whiter than 
the ashes she was stirring. 

‘*Oh, Mr. Erle, is it you, or your ghostie?” she cried, as she 
fell against the door of the brick oven. ‘‘Do’e speak, for 
God’s sake, if He have given the power to ’e.”’ 

‘‘He has almost taken it away again, so far as the Eng- 
lish language goes,” Erle Twemlow answered, with a smile 
which was visible only in his eyes, through long want of a 
razor; ‘‘but I am picking up a little. Shake hands, Kezia, 
and then you will know me. Though I have not quite re- 
covered that art as yet.” 

‘Oh, Mr. Erle!” exclaimed Zebedee’s wife, with tears 
ready to start for his sake and her own, ‘“‘ how many a time 
I’ve had you on my knees, afore I was blessed with any of 
my own, and a bad sort of blessing the best of ’em proves. 
Not that I would listen to a word again’ him. I suppose 
you never did happen to run again’ my Dan’el, in any of 
they furrin parts, from the way they makes the hair grow. 
I did hear tell of him over to Pebbleridge; but not likely, so 
nigh to his own mother, and never come no nigher. And 
if they furrin parts puts on the hair so heavily, who could 
’a known him to Pebbleridge? They never was like we be. 
They’d as lief tell a lie as look at you, over there.” 

In spite of his own long years of trouble, or perhaps by 
reason of them, Erle Twemlow, eager as he was to get on, . 
listened to the sad tale that sought for his advice, and de- 
parted from wisdom—as good-nature always does—by offer- 
ing useless counsel—counsel that could not be taken, and 
yet was far from being worthless, because it stirred anew the 
fount of hope, towards which the parched affections creep. 

‘*But Lor bless me, sir, I never thought of you!” Mrs. 
Tugwell exclaimed, having thought out herself. ‘* What 
did Parson say, and your mother, and Miss Faith? It must 
’a been better than a play to see them.” 

‘“Not one of them knows a word about it yet; nor any- 
body in Springhaven, except you, Kezia. You were as good 
as my nurse, you know; I have never had a chance of writ- 
ing to them, and I want you to help me to let them know 
it slowly.” 


SPRINGHAVEN. 421 


‘‘Oh, Mr. Erle, what a lovely young woman your Miss 
Faith is grown up by now! Some thinks more of Miss 
Dolly, but, to my mind, you may as well put a mackerel 
before a salmon, for the sake of the stripes and the glitter- 
ing. Now what can I do to make you decent, sir, for them 
duds and that hair is barbarious? My Tabby and Debby 
will be back in half an hour, and them growing up into 
young maidens now.” 

Twemlow explained that after living so long among sav- 
ages in a burning clime, he had found it impossible to wear 
thick clothes, and had been rigged up in some Indian stuff 
by the tailor of the ship which had rescued him. But now 
he supposed he must reconcile himself by degrees to the old 
imprisonment. But as for his hair, that should never be 
touched, unless he was restored to the British Army, and 
obliged to do as the others did. With many little jokes of 
a homely order, Mrs. Tugwell, regarding him still as a child, 
supplied him with her husband’s summer suit of thin duck, 
which was ample enough not to gall him; and then she 
sent her daughters with a note to the Rector, begging him 
to come at seven o’clock to meet a gentleman who wished 
to see him upon important business, near the plank bridge 
across the little river. Erle wrote that note, but did not 
sign it; and after many years of happy freedom from the 
pen, his handwriting was so changed that his own father 
would not know it. What he feared was the sudden shock 
to his good mother; his father’s nerves were strong, and 
must be used as buffers. 

‘* Another trouble, probably; there is nothing now but 
trouble,” Mi. Twemlow was thinking, as he walked unwill- 
ingly towards the place appointed. ‘‘I wish I could only 
guess what I can have done to deserve all these trials, as I 
become less fit to bear them. I would never have come to 
this lonely spot, except that it may be about Shargeloes. 
Everything now is turned upside down; but the Lord knows 
best, and I must bear it. Sir, who are you? And what do 
you want me for ?” 

At the corner where Miss Dolly had rushed into the Rec- 
tor’s open arms so fast, a tall man, clad in white, was stand- 
ing, with a staff about eight feet long in his hand. MHayvy- 
ing carried a spear for four years now, Captain Twemlow 
found no comfort in his native land until he had cut the 
tallest growth in Admiral Darling’s osier bed, and peeled it, 
and shaved it to a seven-sided taper. He rested this point 


422 SPRINGHAVEN. 


in a socket of moss, that it might not be blunted, and then 
replied: 

‘‘Father, you ought to know me, although you have 
grown much stouter in my absence; and perhaps I am 
thinner than I used to be. But the climate disagreed with 
me, until I got to like it.” 

‘‘Hrle! Do you mean to say you are my boy Erle ?” 
The Rector was particular about hisclothes. ‘‘ Don’t think 
of touching me. You are hair all over, and I dare say 
never had a comb. I won’t believe a word of it until you 
prove it.” 

‘“Well, mother will know me, if you don’t.” The young 
man answered calmly, having been tossed upon so many 
horns of adventure that none could make a hole in him. 
‘‘T thought that you would have been glad to see me; and 
I managed to bring a good many presents; only they are 
gone onto London. They could not be got at, to land them 
with me; but Captain Southcombe will be sure to send 
them. You must not suppose, because I am empty-handed 
now—”’ 

‘“My dear son,” cried the father, deeply hurt, ‘‘do you 
think that your welcome depends upon presents? You have 
indeed fallen into savage ways. Come, and let me examine 
you through your hair; though the light is scarcely strong 
enough now to go through it. To think that you should be 
my own Erle, alive after such a time, and with such a lot of 
hair! Only, if there ‘is any palm-oil on it—this is my last 
new coat but one.” 

‘‘ No, father, nothing that you ever can have dreamed of. 
Something that will make you a bishop, if you like, and me 
a member of the House of Lords. But I did not find it 
out myself—which makes success more certain.” 

"i They have taught you some great truths, my dear 
boy. The man who begins a thing never gets on. But I 
am so astonished that I know not ‘what I say. I ought to 
have thanked the Lord long ago. Have you got a place 
without any hair upon it large enough for me to kiss 
you ?” 

Erle Twemlow, whose hand in spite of all adventures 
trembled a little upon his spear, lifted his hat and found 
‘ smooth front, sure to be all the smoother for a father’s 

iss. 

“Let us go home,” said the old man, trying to exclude 
all excitement from his throat and heart; ‘‘but you must 


| 
: 
1 
. 





SPRINGHAVEN. 423 


stay outside until I come to fetch you. I feel a little anx- 
ious, my dear boy, as to how your dear mother will get 
over it. She has never been strong since the bad news 
came about you. And somebody else has to be considered. 
But that must stand over till to-morrow.” 


CHAPTER LVI. 
THE SILVER VOICE. 


MANy shrewd writers have observed that Britannia has 
a special luck—which the more devout call Providence—in 
holding her own, against not only her true and lawful ene- 
mies, but even those of her own bosom who labour most to 
ruin her. And truly she had need of all her fortune now, to 
save her from the skulking traitor, as well as the raging ad- 
versary. : 

‘“Now I will have my revenge,” said Carne, ‘‘on all who 
have outraged and plundered me. Crows—carrion-crows 
—I will turn them into owls without a nest. Prowling owls, 
to come blinking even now at the last of my poor relics! 
Charron, what did that fellow say to old Jerry, the day I 
tied the dogs up ?” 

‘* He said, my dear friend, that he missed from the paint- 
ings which he had taken to his house the most precious of 
them all—the picture of your dear grandmother, by a man 
whose name it is hard to pronounce, but a Captain in the 
British Army, very much fond of beloving and painting 
all the most beautiful ladies; and since he had painted the 
mother of Vash—Vash—the man that conquered England 
in America—all his work was gone up to a wonderful price, 
and old Sheray should have one guinea if he would exhibit 
to him where to find it. _Meedle or Beedle—he had set his 
heart on getting it. He declared by the good God that 
he would have it, and that you had got it under a tomb- 
stone.”’ 

‘‘A sample of their persecutions! You know that I have 
never seen it, nor even heard of the Captain Middleton who 
went on his rovings from Springhaven. And, again, about 
my own front-door, or rather the door of my family for 
some four centuries, because it was carved as they cannot 
carve now, it was put into that vile Indenture. I care very 
little for my ancestors—benighted Britons of the county 


424 SPRINGHAVEN. 


type—but these things are personal insults tome. I seldom 
talk about them, and I will not do so now.” 

‘“My Captain, you should talk much about it. That 
would be the good relief to your extensive mind. Revenge 
is not of the bright French nature; but the sky of this isl- 
and procreates it. My faith! how I would rage at England, 
if it were not for the people, and their daughters! We 
shall see; in a few days more we shall astonish the fat 
John Bull; and then his little kittens—what do you call 
them ?—calves of an ox, will come running to us.” 

‘‘Hnough of your foolish talk,” said Carne. ‘‘ The wom- 
en are as resolute as the men. Even when we have taken 
London, not an English woman will come near us, until all 
the men have yielded. Go down to your station and watch 
for the boat. Iexpect an important despatch to-night. But 
I cannot stay here for the chance of it.. I have business in 
Springhaven.” 

His business in Springhaven was to turn young love to 
the basest use, to make a maiden (rash and flighty, but not 
as yet dishonourable) a traitor to her friends and fatherland, 
and most of all to her own father. He had tried to poison 
Dolly’s mind with doses of social nonsense—in which he 
believed about as much as a quack believes in his own pills 
—but his main reliance now was placed in his hold upon 
her romantic heart, and in her vague ambitions. Pure and 
faithful love was not to be expected from his nature; but 
he had invested in Dolly all the affection he could spare 
from self. He had laboured long, and suffered much, and 
the red crown of his work was nigh. 

Riding slowly down the hill about half a mile from the 
village, Carne saw a tall man coming towards him with a 
firm, deliberate walk. The stranger was dressed very light- 
ly, and wore a hat that looked like a tobacco leaf, and car- 
ried a long wand in his hand, as if he were going to keep 
order in church. These things took the eye afar, but at 
shorter range became as nothing, compared with the aspect 
of the man himself. This was grand, with its steadfast gaze 
—no stare, but-a calm and kind regard—its large tranquil- 
lity and power of receiving without believing the words of 
men; and most of all in the depth of expression reserved by 
experience in the forest of its hair. 

Carne was about to pass in silent wonder and uneasi- 
ness, but the other gently laid the rod across his breast and 
stopped him, and then waited for him to ask the reason why. 





‘BuT THE OTHER GENTLY LAID THE ROD ACROSS HIS BREAST.” 


‘‘Have you any business with me, good sir?’ Carne 
would have spoken rudely, but saw that rudeness would 
leave no mark upon a man like this. ‘‘Ifso, I must ask you 
to be quick. And perhaps you will tell me who you are.” 

‘‘T think that you are Caryl Carne,” said the stranger, 
not unpleasantly, but as if it mattered very little who was 
Caryl Carne, or whether there was any such existence. 

Carne stared fiercely, for he was of touchy temper; but he 
might as well have stared at a bucket of water in the hope 
of deranging its tranquillity. ‘‘You knowme. ButIdon’t 
know you,” he answered at last, with a jerk of his reins. 

‘‘Be in no hurry,” said the other, mildly; ‘‘ the weather 
is fine, and time plentiful. I hope to have much pleasant 


426 SPRINGHAVEN. 


knowledge of you. I have the honour to be your first 
cousin, Erle Twemlow. Shake hands with your kinsman.” 

Carne offered his hand, but without his usual grace and 
self-possession. 'Twemlow took it in his broad brown palm, 
in which it seemed to melt away, firm though it was and 
muscular. 

‘‘T was going up to call on you,” said Twemlow, who had 
acquired a habit of speaking as if he meant all the world 
to hear. ‘‘I feel a deep interest in your fortunes, and hope 
to improve them enormously. You shall hear all about it 
when I come up. _ I have passed four years in the wilds of 
Africa, where no white man ever trod before, and I have 
found out things no white man knows. We call those peo- 
ple savages, but they know a great deal more than we do. 
Shall I call to-morrow, and have a long talk?” 

‘‘T fear,” replied Carne, who was cursing his luck for 
bringing this fellow home just now, ‘‘that I shall have no 
time for a week or two. I am engaged upon important 
business now, which will occupy my whole attention. Let 
me see! You are staying at the rectory, I suppose. The 
best plan will be for me to let you know when I can af- 
ford the pleasure of receiving you. Ina fortnight, or three 
weeks at the latest—” 

** Very well. I am never ina hurry. And I want to 
go to London to see about my things. But I dare say you 
will not object to my roving about the old castle now and 
then. I loved the old place as a boy, and IJ know every 
erick and cranny and snake-hole in it.” 

‘‘How glad they must have been to see you—restored 
from the dead, and with such rich discoveries! But you 
must be more careful, my good cousin, and create no more 
anxiety. Glad as I shall be to see you, when time allows 
that indulgence, I must not encourage you to further rov- 
ings, which might end in your final disappearance. Two 
boar-hounds, exceedingly fierce and strong, and compelled 
by my straitened circumstances to pick up their own liv- 
ing, are at large on my premises night and day, to remon- 
strate with my creditors. We fear that they ate a man last 
night, who had stolen a valuable picture, and was eager for 
another by the same distinguished artist. His boots and hat 
were found unhurt; but of his clothes not a shred remained, 
to afford any pattern for inquiry. What would my feelings 
be if Aunt Maria arrived hysterically in the pony-carriage, 
and at great personal risk inquired—” 


SPRINGHAVEN. 427 


‘“I fear no dogs,” said Erle Twemlow, without any flash 
of anger in his steadfasteyes. ‘‘Ican bring any dog to lick 
my feet. But I fear any man who sinks lower than a dog, 
by obtaining a voice and speaking les with it. If you 
wish, for some reason of your own, to have nought to do 
with me, you should have said so; and I might have re- 
spected you afterwards. But flimsy excuses and trumpery 
lies belong to the lowest race of savages, who live near the 
coast, and have been taught by Frenchmen.” 

Erle Twemlow stood, as he left off speaking, just before 
the shoulder of Carne’s horse, ready to receive a blow, if 
offered, but without preparation for returning it. But 
Carne, for many good reasons—which occurred to his mind 
long afterwards—controlled his fury, and consoled his 
self-respect by repaying in kind the contempt he re- 
ceived, 

‘“ Well done, Mr. Savage!” he said, with a violent effort 
to look amiable. ‘‘ You and I are accustomed to the oppo- 
site extremes of society, and the less we meet, the better. 
When a barbarian insults me, 1 take it as a foul word from 
a clodhopper, which does not hurt me, but may damage his 
own self-respect, if he cherishes such an illusion. Perhaps 
you will allow me to ride on, while you curb your very nat- 
ural curiosity about a civilized gentleman.” 

Twemlow made no answer, but looked at him with a gen- 
tle pity, which infuriated Carne more than the keenest in- 
sult. He lashed his horse, and galloped down the hill, 
while his cousin stroked his beard, and looked after him 
with sorrow. 

‘‘Kverything goes against me now,” thought Caryl Carne, 
while he put up his horse and set off for the Admiral’s 
Roundhouse. ‘‘I want to be cool as a cucumber, and that 
insolent villain has made pepper of me. What devil sent 
him here at such a time.” , 

For the moment it did not cross his mind that this man 
of lofty rudeness was the long-expected lover of Faith Dar- 
ling, and therefore in some sort entitled to a voice about 
the doings of the younger sister. By many quiet sneers, © 
and much expressive silence, he had set the brisk Dolly up 
against the quiet Faith, as a man who understands fowl 
nature can set even two young pullets pulling each other’s 
hackles out. 

‘‘So you are come at last!” said Dolly. ‘‘No one who 
knows me keeps me waiting, because I am not accustomed 


425 SPRINGHAVEN. ‘ 
to it, I expect to be called for at any moment, by matters 
of real importance—not like this.” 

‘‘Your mind is a little disturbed,” replied Carne, as he 
took her hand and kissed it, with less than the proper rapt- 
ure; ‘‘is it because of the brown and hairy man just re- 
turned from Africa ?” 

‘‘Not altogether. But that may be something. He is 
not a man to be laughed at. I wish you could have seen 
my sister.” 

‘‘T would rather see you; and I have no love of savages. 
He is my first cousin, and that affords me a domestic right to 
object to him. Asa brother-in-law I will have none of him.” 

‘“You forget,” answered Dolly, with a flash of her old 
spirit, which he was subduing too heavily, ‘‘that a matter 
of that sort depends upon us, and our father, and not upon 
the gentlemen. If the gentlemen don’t like it, they can 
always go away.” 

‘*How can they go, when they are chained up like a dog? 
Women may wander from this one to that, because they 
have nothing to bind them; but a man is of steadfast ma- 
terial.” 

‘‘Erle Twemlow is, at any rate—though it is hard to see 
his material through his hair; but that must come off, and 
I mean to do it. He is the best-natured man I have ever 
yet known, except one; and that one had got nothing to 
shave. Men never seem to understand about their hair, and 
the interest we feel concerning it. But it does not matter 
very much compared to their higher principles.” : 

‘‘That is where I carry every vote, of whatever sex you 
please” —Carne saw that this girl must be humoured for the 
moment. ‘‘Anybody can see what I am.  Straightfor- 
ward, and ready to show my teeth. Why should an honest 
man live in a bush 2” 

‘‘FWaith, likes it very much; though she always used to 
say that it did seem so unchristian. Could you manage 
to come and meet him, Caryl? We shall have a little din- 
ner on Saturday, I believe, that every one may see Erle 
Twemlow. His beloved parents will be there, who are 
gone quite wild about him. Father will be at home for 
once; and the Marquis of Southdown, and some officers, and 
Captain Stubbard and his wife will come, and perhaps my 
brother Frank, who admires you so much. You shall have 
an invitation in the morning.” 

‘‘Such delights are not for me,” Carne answered, with a 


SPRINGHAVEN. 429 


superior smile; “‘unhappily my time is tooimportant. But 
perhaps these festivities will favour me with the chance 
of a few words with my darling. How I long to see her, 
and how little chance I get!” 

‘* Because, when you get it, you spend three quarters of 
the time in arguing, and the rest in finding fault. I am 
sure I go as far as anybody can; and -I won’t take you into 
my father’s Roundhouse, because I don’t think it would be 
proper.” 

‘‘Ladies alone understand such subjects; and a gentle- 
man is thankful that they do. I am quite content to be 
outside the Roundhouse—so called because it is square, per- 
haps—though the wind is gone back to the east again, as it 
always does now in an English summer, according to a man 
who has studied the subject—Zebedee Tugwell, the captain 
of the fleet. Dolly, beloved, and most worthy to be more 
so, clear your bright mind from all false impressions, whose 
only merit is that they are yours, and allow it to look 
clearly at a matter of plain sense.” 

She was pleased to have compliments paid to her mind, 
even more than to her body—because there was no doubt 
about the merits of the latter—and she said: ‘‘ That is very 
nice. Go on.” | 

‘* Well, beauty, you know that I trust you in everything, 
because of your very keen discretion, and freedom from 
stupid little prejudice. Ihave been surprised at times, when 
I thought of it in your absence, that any one so young, 
who has never been through any course of political econ- 
omy, should be able to take such a clear view of subjects 
which are far beyond the intellect of even the oldest la- 
dies. But it must be your brother; no doubt he has helped 
you to—” 

‘“Not he!” cried the innocent Dolly, with fine pride; 
‘‘T rather look down upon his reasoning powers; though I 
never could make such a pretty tink of rhymes—like the 
bells of the sheep when the ground is full of turnips.” 

‘“He approves of your elevated views,” said Carne, look- 
ing as grave as a crow at a church clock; ‘‘they may not 
have come from him, because they are your own, quite as 
much as his poetry is his. But he perceives their truth, 
and he knows that they must prevail. Ina year or two 
we shall be wondering, sweet Dolly, when you and I sit side 
by side, as the stupid old King and Queen do now, that it 
ever has been possible for narrow-minded nonsense to pre- 


430. SPRINGHAVEN. 


vail as it did until we rose above it. We shall be admired 
as the benefactors, not of this country only, but of the 
whole world.” 

Miss Dolly was fairly endowed with common-sense, but 
often failed to use it. She would fain have said now, 
‘“That sounds wonderfully fine; but what does it mean, 
and how are we to work it?” But unluckily she could not 
bring herself to say it. And when millions are fooled by 
the glibness of one man—even in these days of wisdom— 
who can be surprised at a young maid’s weakness ? 

‘You wish me to help you in some way,” she said; 
‘‘your object is sure to be good; and you trust me in ev- 
erything, because of my discretion. Then why not tell me 
everything ?” 

‘You know everything,” Carne replied, with a smile of 
affection and sweet reproach. ‘‘My object is the largest 
that a man can have; and until I saw you, there was not 
the least taint of self-interest in my proceedings. But now 
it is not for the universe alone, for the grandeur of human- 
ity, and the triumph of peace, that I have to strive, but 
also for another little somebody, who has come—I am 
ashamed to say—to outweigh all the rest in the balance 
of my too tender heart.” 

This was so good, and so well delivered, that the lady 
of such love could do no less than vouchsafe a soft hand 
and a softer glance, instead of pursuing hard reason. 

‘‘ Beauty, it is plain enough to you, though it might. 
not be so to stupid people,” Carne continued, as he pressed 
her hand, and vanquished the doubt of her inquiring eyes 
with the strength of his resolute gaze, ‘‘ that bold measures 
are sometimes the only wise ones. Many English girls 
would stand aghast to hear that it was needful for the good 
of England that a certain number, a strictly limited number, 
of Frenchmen should land upon this coast.” 

‘*T should rather think they would!” cried Dolly; “‘ and 
I would be one of them—you may be quite sure of that.” 

‘“For a moment you might, until you came to under- 
stand.” Carne’s voice always took a silver tone when his 
words were big with roguery; as the man who is touting 
for his neighbour’s bees strikes the frying-pan softly at first, 
to tone the pulsations of the murmuring mob. ‘‘ But every 
safeguard and every guarantee that can be demanded by the 
widest prudence will be afforded before a step is taken. In 
plain truth, a large mind is almost shocked at such deference 


SPRINGHAVEN. 431 


to antique prejudice. But the feelings of old women must 
be considered; and our measures are fenced with such se- 
curities that even the most timid must be satisfied. There 
must be a nominal landing, of course, of a strictly limited 
number, and they must be secured for a measurable period 
from any ill-judged interruption. But the great point of 
all is to have no blood-guiltiness, no outbreak of fanatic 
natives against benefactors coming in the garb of peace. A 
truly noble offer of the olive-branch must not be misinter- 
preted. It is the finest idea that has ever been conceived ; 
and no one possessing a liberal*mind can help admiring the 
perfection of this plan. For the sake of this country, and 
the world, and ourselves, we must contribute our little 
share, darling.” 

Carne, with the grace of a lofty protector, as well as 
the face of an ardent lover, drew the bewildered maiden 
towards him, and tenderly kissed her pretty forehead, hold- 
ing up his hand against all protest. 

‘*Tt is useless to dream of drawing back,” he continued ; 
‘“my beauty and my poor outcast self are in the same boat, 
and must sail on to suecess—such success as there never has 
been before, because it will bless the whole world, as well as 
Secure our own perfect happiness. You will be more than 
the Queen of England. Statues of you will be set up every- 
where; and where could the sculptors find such another 
model? I may count upon your steadfast heart, I know, 
and your wonderful quickness of perception.” 

‘Yes, if I could only see that everything was right. But 
I feel that I ought to consult somebody of more experience 
in such things. My father, for instance, or my brother 
Frank, or even Mr. Twemlow, or perhaps Captain Stubbard.” 

‘Tf you had thought of it a little sooner, and allowed me 
time to reason with them,” Carne rephed, with a candid 
smile, ‘‘that would have been the very thing I should have 
wished, as taking a great responsibility from me. But alas, 
it would be fatal now. The main object now is to remove 
all chance of an ill-judged conflict, which would rum all 
good feeling, and cost many valuable lives, perhaps even 
that of your truly gallant father. No, my Dolly, you must 
not open your beautiful lips to any one. The peace and 
happiness of the world depend entirely upon your discretion. 
All will be arranged to a nicety, and a happy result is cer- 
tain. Only I must see you about some small points, as well 
as to satisfy my own craving. On Saturday you have 


432 SPRINGHAVEN. 


that dinner-party, when somebody will sit by your side in- 
stead of me. How miserably jealous I shall be! When the 
gentlemen are at their wine, you must console me by slip- 
ping away from the ladies, and coming to the window of 
the little room where your father keeps his papers. I shall 
quit everything and watch there for you among the shrubs, 
when it grows dark enough.”’ . 


CHAPTER LVIL. 


BELOW THE LINE. 


OF the British Admirals then on duty, Collingwood alone, 
so far as now appears, had any suspicion of Napoleon’s real 
plan. 

‘‘T have always had an idea that Ireland alone was the 
object they have in view,” he wrote in July, 1805, ‘‘and still 
believe that to be their ultimate destination—that they [7. e., 
the Toulon fleet] will now liberate the Ferrol squadron from 
Calder, make the round of the bay, and, taking the Roche- 
fort people with them, appear off Ushant, perhaps with thirty- 
four sail, there to be joined by twenty more. Cornwallis 
collecting his out-squadrons may have thirty and upwards. 
This appears to be a probable plan; for unless it is to bring 
their great fleets and armies to some point of service—some 
rash attempt at conquest—they have been only subjecting 
them to chance of loss; which I do not believe the Corsican 
would do, without the hope of an adequate reward. This 
summer is big with events.” 

This was written to Lord Nelson upon his return to Europe, 
after chasing that Toulon fleet to the West Indies and back 
again. And a day or two later the same Vice-Admiral 
wrote to his friend very clearly, as before: 

‘“Truly glad will I be to see you, and to give you my best 
opinion on the present state of affairs, which are in the high- 
est degree intricate. But reasoning on the policy of the 
present French Government, who never aim at little things 
while great objects are in view, I have considered the inva- 
sion of Ireland as the real mark and butt of all their opera- 
tions. The flight to the West Indies was to take off the naval 
force, which is the great impediment to their undertaking. 
The Rochefort squadron’s return confirmed me. I think 
they will now collect their force at Ferrol—which Calder 


SPRINGHAVEN. 433 


tells me is in motion—pick up those at Rochefort, who, I 
am told, are equally ready, and will make them above thirty 
sail; and then, without going near Ushant or the Channel 
fleet, proceed to Ireland. Detachments must go from the 
Channel fleet to succour Ireland, when the Brest fleet — 
twenty-one I believe of them—will sail, either to another 
part of Ireland, or up the Channel—a sort of force that has 
not been seen in those seas, perhaps ever.” 

Lord Nelson just lately had suffered so much from the 
disadvantage of not ‘‘following his own head, and so being 
much more correct in judgment than following the opinion 
of others,” that lis head was not at all in a receptive state; 
and like all who have doubted about being right, and found 
the doubt wrong, he was hardened into the merits of his 
own conclusion. ‘‘ Why have I gone on a goose-chase ?” 
he asked. ‘‘ Because I have twice as many ears as eyes.” 

This being so, he stuck fast to the conviction which he 
had nourished all along, that the scheme of invasion was 
a sham, intended to keep the British fleet at home, while the 
enemy ravaged our commerce and colonies afar. And by 
this time the country, grown heartily tired of groundless 
alarms and suspended menace, was beginning to view with 
contempt a camp that was wearing out its own encamp- 
ment. Little was it dreamed in the sweet rose-gardens of 
England, or the fragrant hay-fields, that the curl of blue 
smoke while the dinner was cooking, the call of milkmaids, 
the haymaker’'s laugh, or the whinny of Dobbin between his 
mouthfuls, might be turned (ere a man of good appetite was 
full) into foreign shouts, and shriek of English maiden, 
crackling homestead, and blazing stack-yard, blare of trum- 
pets, and roar of artillery, cold flash of steel, and the soft, 
warm trickle of a father’s or a husband’s blood. 

But the chance of this hung upon a hair just now. One 
hundred and sixty thousand soldiers—the finest sons of Mars 
that demon has ever yet begotten—fifteen thousand warlike 
horses, ready to devour all the oats of England, cannons 
that never could be counted (because it was not always safe 
to go near them), and ships that no reckoner could get to 
the end of, because he was always beginning again. 

Who was there now to meet all these? Admiral Darling, 
and Captain Stubbard, and Zebedee Tugwell (if he found 
them intrusive), and Erle Twemlow, as soon as he got his 
things from London. There might be a few more to come 
forward, as soon as they saw the necessity; but Mr. John 

19 


434 SPRINGHAVEN. 


Prater could not be relied on—because of the trade he might 
expect to drive; Mr. Shargeloes had never turned up again; 
and as for poor Cheeseman, he had lost himself so entirely 
now that he made up the weight of a pound of sausages, 
in the broad summer light, with a tallow candle. Like oth- 
ers concerned in this history, he had jumped at the stars, 
and cracked his head against a beam, in manner to be re- 
corded. 

The country being destitute thus of defenders—for even 
Stubbard’s battery was not half manned, because it had 
never been wanted—the plan of invasion was thriving well, 
in all but one particular. The fleet under Villeneuve was 
at large, so was that under Lallemand, who had superseded 
Missiessy, so was the force of Gravina and another Spanish 
admiral; but Ganteaume had failed to elude the vigilance 
of that hero of storms, Cornwallis. Napoleon arrived at 
Boulogne on the 8rd of August, and reviewed his troops, 
in a line on the beach some eight miles long. A finer sight 
he had never seen, and he wrote in his pride: ‘‘ The English 
know not what is hanging over their ears. If we are mas- 
ters of the passage for twelve hours, England is conquered.” 
But all depended on Villeneuve, and happily he could not 
depend upon his nerves. 

Meanwhile the young man who was charged with a mes- 
sage which he would gladly have died to discharge was far 
away, eating out his heart in silence, or vainly relieving it 
with unknown words. At the last gasp, or after he ceased 
to gasp for the time, and was drifting insensible, but happily 
with his honest face still upward, a Dutchman, keeping a 
sharp lookout for English cruisers, espied him. He was 
taken on board of a fine bark bound from Rotterdam for 
Java, with orders to choose the track least infested by that 
ravenous shark Britannia. Scudamore was treated with 
the warmest kindness and the most gentle attention, for the 
captain’s wife was on board, and her tender heart was moved 
with compassion. Yet even so, three days passed by, with 
no more knowledge of time on his part than the face of a 
clock has of its hands; and more than a week was gone be- 
fore both body and mind were in tone and tune again. By 
that time the stout Dutch bark, having given a wide berth to 
the wakes of war, was forty leagues west of Cape Finisterre, 
under orders to touch no land short of the Cape, except for 
fresh water at St. Jago. 

Blyth Scudamore was blest with that natural feeling of 


SPRINGHAVEN. 435 


preference for one’s own kin and country which the much 
larger minds of the present period flout, and scout as bar- 
barous. Happily our periodical blight is expiring, like 
cuckoo-spit, in its own bubbles; and the time is returning 
when the bottle-blister will not be accepted as the good ripe 
peach. Scudamore was of the times that have been (and 
perhaps may be coming again, in the teeth and the jaw of 
universal suffrage), of resolute, vigorous, loyal people, hold- 
ing fast all that God gives them, and declining to be led by 
the tail, by a gentleman who tacked their tail on as his 
handle. 

This certainty of belonging still to a firm and substantial 
race of men (whose extinction would leave the world nothing 
to breed from) made the gallant Scudamore so anxious to do 
his duty that he could not do it. Why do we whistle to a 
horse overburdened with a heavy load uphill? That his 
mind may grow tranquil, and his ears train forward, his 
eyes lose their nervous contraction, and a fine sense of lei- 
sure pervade him. But if he has a long hill to surmount, 
with none to restrain his ardour, the sense of duty grows 
stronger than any consideration of his own good, and the 
best man has not the conscience needful to understand half 
his emotions. 

Thus the sense of duty kept Blyth Scudamore full of mis- 
ery. Every day carried him further from the all-impor- 
tant issues; and the-chance of returning in time grew faint, 
and fainter at every sunset. The kindly Dutchman and his 
wife were aware of some burden on his mind, because of 


its many groaning sallies while astray from judgment. But 


as soon as his wits were clear again, and his body fit to sec- 
ond them, Blyth saw that: he could not crave their help 
against the present interests of their own land. Holland 
was at enmity with England, not of its own accord, but 
under the pressure of the man who worked so hard the 
great Kuropean mangle. Captain Van Oort had picked up 
some English, and his wife could use tongue and ears in 
French, while Scudamore afforded himself and them some 
little diversion by attempts in Dutch. Being of a wonder- 
fully happy nature—for happiness is the greatest wonder in 
this world—he could not help many a wholesome laugh, in 
spite of all the projects of Napoleon. 

Little things seldom jump into bigness till a man sets his 
microscope at them. According to the everlasting harmo- 
nies, Blyth had not got a penny, because he had not got 


436 SPRINGHAVEN. 


a pocket to put it in. A pocketful of money would have 
sent him to the bottom of the sea, that breezy April night, 
when he drifted for hours, with eyes full of salt, twinkling 
feeble answer to the twinkle of the stars. But he had made 
himself light of his little cash left,in his preparation for a 
slow decease, and perhaps the fish had paid tribute with it 
to the Ceesar of this Millennium. Captain Van Oort was 
a man of his inches in length, but in breadth about one 
third more, being thickened and spread by the years that do 
this to a body containing a Christian mind. ‘You will 
never get out of them,” said Mrs. Van Oort, when he got 
into her husband’s large smallelothes; but he who had often 
jumped out of a tub felt no despair about jumping out of 
two. In every way Scudamore hoped for the best—which 
is the only right course for a man who has done his own 
best, and is helpless. 

Keeping out of the usual track of commerce, because of 
the privateers and other pests of war waylaying it, they met 
no sail of either friend or foe until they cast anchor at St. 
Jago. Here there was no ship bound for England, and lit- 
tle chance of finding one, for weeks or perhaps for months 
to come. The best chance of getting home lay clearly in 
going yet farther away from home, and so he stuck to the 
good ship still, and they weighed for the Cape on-the 12th 
of May. Everything set against poor Scuddy—wind, and 
wave, and the power of man. It had been the 16th of April 
when he was rescued from the devouring sea; some days 
had been spent by the leisurely Dutchman in providing 
fresh supplies, and the stout bark’s favourite maxim seemed 
to be, ‘‘the more haste the less speed.” Baffling winds and 
a dead calm helped to second this philosophy, and the first 
week of June was past before they swung to their moorings 
in Table Bay. 

‘“What chance is there now of my doing any good 2” the 
young Englishman asked himself, bitterly. ‘‘This place is 
again in the hands of the Dutch, and the English ships 
stand clear of it, or only receive supplies by stealth. Iam 
friendless here, I am penniless; and worst of all, if I even 
get a passage home, there will be no home left. Too late! 
too late! What use is there in striving ?” 

Tears stood in his blue eyes, which were gentle asa lady’s; 
and his forehead (usually calm and smooth and ready for the 
flicker of a very pleasant smile) was as grave and deter- 
mined as the brow of Caryl Carne. Captain Van Oort 





SPRINGHAVEN. 437 


would have lent him five hundred guilders with the greatest 
pleasure, but Scudamore would not take more than fifty, to 
support him until he could obtain a ship. Then with hearty 
good-will, and lifelong faith in each other, the two men part- 
ed, and Scudamore’s heart was uncommonly low—for a sub- 
stance that was not a *‘Jack-in-the-box’—as he watched 
from the shore the slow fading into dreamland of the Kat- 
terina. 

Nothing except patriotic feeling may justify a man, who 
has done no harm, in long-continued misery. The sense 
of violent bodily pain, or of perpetual misfortune, or of the 
baseness of all in whom he trusted, and other steady influx 
of many-fountained sorrow, may wear him for a time, and 
even fetch his spirit lower than the more vicarious woe can 
do. But the firm conviction that the family of man to which 
one belongs, and is proud of belonging, has fallen into the 
hands of traitors, eloquent liars, and vile hypocrites, and 
cannot escape without crawling in the dust—this produces 
a large, deep gloom, and a crushing sense of doom beyond 
philosophy. Scudamore could have endured the loss and 
the disillusion of his love—pure and strong as that power 
had been—but the ruin of his native land would turn his 
lively heart into a lump of stone. 

For two or three days he roved about among the people 
of the water -side—boatmen, pilots, shipping agents, store- 
keepers, stevedores, crimps, or any others likely to know 
anything to help him. Some of these could speak a little 
English, and many had some knowledge of French; but all 
shook their heads at his eagerness to get to England. ‘* You 
may wait weeks, or you may wait months,” said the one who 
knew most of the subject; ‘‘ we are very jealous of the Eng- 
lish ships. That country swallows up the sea so. It has 
been forbidden to supply the English ships ; but for plenty 
money it is done sometimes; but the finger must be placed 
upon the nose, and upon the two eyes what you call the 
guinea ; and in six hours where are they? Swallowed up 
by the mist from the mountain. No, sir! If you have the 
ereat money, it is very difficult. But if you have not that, 
it is impossible.” 

‘‘T have not the great money; and the little money also 
has escaped from a quicksand in the bottom of my pocket.” 

‘‘Then you will never get to England, sir,” this gentle- 
man answered, pleasantly; ‘‘and unless I have been told 
things too severely, the best man that lives had better not 


438: SPRINGHAVEN. 


oo there, without a rock of gold in his pocket grand enough 
to fill a thousand quicksands.”’ 

Scudamore lifted the relics of his hat, and went in search 
of some other Job’s comforter. Instead of a passage to Eng- 
land, he saw in a straight line before him the only journey 
which a mortal may take without paying his fare. 

To save himself from this gratuitous tour, he earned a 
little money in a porter’s gang, till his quick step roused 
the indignation of the rest. With the loftiest perception 
of the rights of man, they turned him out of that employ- 
ment (for the one ‘‘sacred principle of labour” is to play), 
and he, understanding now the nature of democracy, per- 
ceived that of all its many short-cuts to starvation, the one 
with the fewest elbows to it is—to work. 

While he was meditating upon these points—which per- 
sons of big words love to call ‘* questions of political econo- 
my ’—his hat, now become a patent ventilator, sat according 
to ren on the back of his head. exposing his large, calm 
forehead, and the kind honesty of his countenance. Then 
he started’ a little, for his nerves were not quite as strong 
as when they had good feeding, at the sudden sense of being 
scrutinized by the most piercing gaze he had ever encoun- 
tered. 

The stranger was an old man of tall, spare frame, wearing 
a shovel-hat and long black gown drawn in with a belt, 
and around his bare neck was a steel chain supporting an 
ebony cross. With asmile, which displayed the firm angles 
of his face, he addressed the young man in a language which 
Scudamore could not understand, but believed to be Port- 
uguese. 

‘“Thy words I am not able to understand. But the Latin 
tongue, as it is pronounced in England, I am able to inter- 
pret, and to speak, not too abundantly.” Scudamore spoke 
the best Latin he could muster at a moment’s notice, for he 
saw that this gentleman was a Catholic priest, and probably 
therefore of good education. 

‘‘Art thou, then, an Englishman, my son 2?” the stranger 
replied, in the same good tongue. ‘‘ From thy countenance 
and walk that opinion stood fast in my mind at first sight 
of thee. Every Englishman is to me beloved, and every 
Frenchman unfriendly—-as many, at least, as now govern 
the state. Father Bartholomew is my name, and though 
most men here are heretical, among the faithful I avail suf- 
ficiently. What saith the great Venusian? ‘In straitened 


SPRINGHAVEN. 439 


fortunes quit thyself as a man of spirit and of mettle.’ I 
find thee in straitened fortunes, and would gladly enlarge 
thee, if that which thou art doing is pleasing to the God om- 
nipotent.”’ . 

_ After a few more words, he led the hapless and hungry 
Englishman to a quiet little cot which overlooked the noble 
bay, and itself was overlooked by a tall flag-staff bearing 
the colours of Portugal. Here, in the first place, he regaled 
his guest with the flank of a kid served with cucumber, and 
fruit gathered early, and some native wine, scarcely good 
enough for the Venusian bard, but as rich as ambrosia to 
Scudamore. Then he supplied him with the finest tobacco 
that ever ascended in spiral incense to the cloud-compelling 
Jove. Atevery soft puff, away flew the blue-devils, pagan, 
or Christian, or even scientific ; and the brightness of the 
sleep-forbidden eyes returned, and the sweetness of the smile 
so long gone hence in dread of trespass. Father Barthol- 
omew, neither eating, drinking, nor smoking, till the sun 
should set—for this was one of his fast-days—was heartily 
- pleased with his guest’s good cheer, and smiled with the 
large benevolence which a lean face expresses with more 
decision than a plump and jolly one. ‘And now, my son,” 
he began again, in Latin more fluent and ciassical than the 
sailor could compass after Cicero thrown by, ‘‘ thou hast re- 
turned thanks to Almighty God, for which I the more es- 
teem thee. Oblige me, therefore, if it irk thee not, among 
smoke of the genial Nicotium, by telling thy tale, and ex- 
plaining what hard necessity hath driven thee to these dis- 
tant shores. Fear not, for thou seest a lover of England, 
and hater of France the infidel.” 

Then Scudamore, sometimes hesitating and laughing at 
his own bad Latin, told as much of his story as was need- 
ful, striving especially to make clear the importance of his 
swift return, and his fear that even so it would be too late. 

‘‘Man may believe himself too late, but the Lord ariseth 
early,” the good priest answered, with a smile of courage 
refreshing the heart of the Englishman. ‘‘ Behold how the 
hand of the Lord is steadfast over those who serve him! 
To-morrow I might have been far away; to-day I am in 
time to help thee. Whilst thou wert feeding, I received 
the signal of a swift ship for Lisbon, whose captain is my 
friend, and would neglect nothing to serve me. This night 
he will arrive, and with favourable breezes, which have set 
in this morning, he shall spread his sails again to-morrow, 


440 SPRINGHAVEN. 


though he meant to linger perhaps for three days. Be of 
good cheer, my son; thou shalt sail to-morrow. I will 
supply thee with all that is needful, and thank God for a 
privilege so great. Thou shalt have money as well for the 
passage from Lisbon to England, which is not long. Re- 
member in thy prayers—for thou art devout—that old man, 
Father Bartholomew.” 


CHAPTER LVIII. 


IN EARLY MORN. 


ONE Saturday morning in the month of August, an hour 
and a half before sunrise, Carne walked down to the big 
yew-tree, which stood far enough from the brink of the cliff 
to escape the salt, and yet near enough to command an ex- 
tensive sea-view. This was the place where the young shoe- 
maker, belonging to the race of Shanks, had been scared so 
sadly that he lost his sweetheart, some two years and a half 
ago; and this was the tree that had been loved by painters, 
especially the conscientious Sharples, a pupil of Romney, 
who studied the nicks and the tricks of the bole, and the 
many fantastic frets of time, with all the loving care which 
insured the truth of his simple and powerful portraits. But 
Sharples had long been away in the West; and Carne, hav- 
ing taste for no art except his own, had despatched his dog 
Orso, the fiercer of the pair, at the only son of a brush who 
had lately made ready to encamp against that tree; upon 
which he decamped, and went over the cliff, with a loss of 
much personal property. 

The tree looked ghostly in the shady light, and gaunt 
armstretch of departing darkness, going as if it had not slept 
its sleep out. Now was the time when the day is afraid of 
coming, and the night unsure of going, and a large reluc- 
tance to acknowledge any change keeps everything waiting 
for another thing to move. What is the use of light and 
shadow, the fuss of the morning, and struggle for the sun ? 
_ Fair darkness has filled all the gaps between them, and why 

should they be sever’d into single life again? For the 
gladness of daybreak is not come yet, nor the pleasure of 
seeing the way again, the lifting of the darkness leaves heav- 
iness beneath it, and if arashly early bird flops down upon the 
grass, he cannot count his distance, but quivers like a moth. 








SPRINGHAVEN. 441 


‘*Pest on this abominable early work!” muttered Carne 
with a yawn, as he groped his way through the deep gloom 
of black foliage, and entered the hollow of the ancient trunk; 
‘‘itis all very well for sailors, but too hard upon a quiet gen- 
tleman. Very likely that fellow won't come for two hours. 
What acursed uncomfortable, maggoty place! But Dll have 
out the sleep he has robbed me of.” He stretched his long 
form on the rough bench inside, gathered his cloak around 
him, and roused the dull echo of the honey-combed hollow 
with long, loud snores. 

‘‘ Awake, my vigilant commander, and behold me! Hap- 
py are the landsmen, to whom the stars bring sleep. I have 
not slept for three nights, and the fruits are here for you.” 

It was the lively voice of Renaud Charron; and the rosy 
fan of the dawn, unfolded over the sea and the gray rocks, 
glanced with a flutter of shade into the deep-ribbed tree. 
Affecting a lofty indifference, Carne, who had a large sense 
of his own dignity, rose slowly and came out into the better 
light. ‘‘Sit down, my dear friend,” he said, taking the 
sealed packet; ‘‘ there is bread and meat here, and a bottle 
of good Magon. You are nearly always hungry, and you 
must be starved now.” 

Charron perceived that his mouth was offered employ- 
ment at the expense of his eyes; but the kernel of the matter 
was his own already, and he smiled to himself at the mys- 
tery of his chief. ‘'In this matter, I should implore the 
tree to crush me, if my father were an Englishman,” he 
thought; ‘“‘but every one to his taste; it is no affair of 
mine.” Just as he was getting on good terms with his 
refreshment, Carne came back, and watched him with a pat- 
ronizing’ smile. 

‘*'You are the brother of my toil,” he said, ‘Sand I will 
tell you as much as it is good for you to know. A few 
hours now will complete our enterprise. Napoleon is at 
Boulogne again, and even he can scarcely restrain the rush 
of the spirits he has provoked. The first Division is on 
board already, with a week’s supplies, and a thousand horses, 
ready to sail when a hand is held up. The hand will be 
held up at my signal, and that I shall trust you to convey 
to-night, as soon as I have settled certain matters. Where 
is that sullen young Tugwell? What have you done with 
him 2” | 

‘Wonderfully clever is your new device, my friend,” 
Charron replied, after a long pull at the bottle. ‘‘To van- 

19% 


442 SPRINGHAVEN. 


quish the mind by a mind superior is a glory of high reason ; 
but to let it remain in itself and compel it to perform what 
is desired by the other, is a stroke of genius. And under 
your pharmacy he must do it—that has been proved al- 
ready. The idea was grand, very noble, magnificent. It 
never would have shown itself to my mind.” 

‘“Probably not. When that has been accomplished, we 
will hang him for a traitor. But, my dear friend, I have 
sad news for you, even in this hour of triumph. The lady 
of your adoration, the Admiral’s eldest daughter, Faith, has 
recovered the man for whom she has waited four years, and 
she means to marry him. The father has given his consent, 
and her pride is beyond description. She has long loved a 
mystery—what woman can help it? And now she has one 
for life, a husband eclipsed in his own hair. My Renaud, 
all rivalry is futile. Your hair, alas, is quite short and 
scanty. But this man has discovered in Africa a nut which 
turns a man into the husk of himself. No wonder that he 
came out of the sea all dry!” 

‘Tush! he is a pig. It is a pig that finds the nuts. I 
will be the butcher for that long pig, and the lady will rush 
into the arms of conquest. Then will I possess all the Ad- 
miral’s lands, and pursue the fine chase of the rabbits. And 
I will give dinners, such dinners, my faith! Ha! that is 
excellent said—embrace me—my Faith will sit at the right 
side of the table, and explain to the English company that 
such dinners could proceed from nobody except a French 
gentleman commingling all the knowledge of the joint with. 
the loftier conception of the hash, the mince—the what you 
eall? Ah, you have no name for it, because you do not 
know the proper thing. Then, in the presence of admiring 
Englishmen, I will lean back in my chair, the most comfort- 
able chair that can be found—” 

‘‘Stop. You have got to get into it yet,” Carne inter- 
rupted, rudely ; ‘‘and the way to do that is not to lean back 
init. The fault of your system has always been that you 
want to enjoy everything before you get it.” 

‘And of yours,” retorted Charron, beginning to imbibe 
the pugnacity of an English landlord, ‘‘ that when you have 
got everything, you will enjoy what? Nothing!” 

‘“Even a man of your levity hits the nail on the head 
sometimes,” said Carne, ‘‘ though the blow cannot be a very 
heavy one. . Nature has not fashioned me for enjoyment, 
and therefore affords me very little. But some little I do 


- 


» 





SPRINGHAVEN. 443 


expect in the great inversion coming, in the upset of the 
scoundrels who have fattened on my flesh, and stolen my 
land, to make country gentlemen—if it were possible—of 
themselves. It will take a large chimney to burn their title- 
deeds, for the robbery has lasted for a century. But I hold 
the great Emperor’s process signed for that; and if you 
come to my cookery, you will say that I am capable of en- 
joyment. Fighting I enjoy not, as hot men do, nor guz- 
zling, hor swigging, nor singing of songs; for all of which 
you have a talent, my friend. But, the triumph of quiet 
skill I like; and I love to turn the balance on my enemies. 
Of these there are plenty, and among them all who live in 
that fishy little hole down there.”’ 

Carne pointed, contemptuously at Springhaven, that poor 
little village in the valley. But the sun had just lifted lis 
impartial face above the last highland that baulked lis con- 
templation of the home of so many and great virtues; and 
in the brisk moisture of his early salute the village in the 
vale looked lovely. For a silvery mist was flushed with 
rose, like a bridal veil warmed by the blushes of the bride, 
and the curves of the land, like adewy palm leaf, shone and 
sank alternate. 

‘‘ What a rare blaze they will make!” continued Carne, 
as the sunlight glanced along the russet thatch, and the blue 
smoke arose from the earliest chimney. ‘‘ Every cottage 
there shall be a bonfire, because it has cast off allegiance to 
me. The whole race of Darling will be at my merey—the 
pompous old Admiral, who refused to call on me till his 
idiot of a son persuaded him—that wretched poetaster, who 
reduced me to the ignominy of reading his own rubbish to 
him—and the haughty young woman that worships a savage 
who has treated me with insult. I have them all now in 
the hollow of my hand, and a thorough good crumpling is 
prepared for them. The first house to burn shall be Zebedee 
Tugwell’s, that conceited old dolt of a fishing fellow, who 
gives me a nod of suspicion, instead of pulling off his dirty 
hat tome. Then we blow up the church, and old Twem- 
low’s house, and the Admiral’s, when we have done with it. 
The fishing-fleet, as they call their wretched tubs, will come 
home, with the usual fuss, to-night, and on Monday it shall 
be ashes. How like you my programme? Is it complete?” 

‘“Too much, too much complete; too barbarous,” answered 
the kindly hearted Frenchman. ‘‘ What harm have all the 
poor men done to you?) And what insanity to provoke ene- 


444 SPRINGHAVEN. 


mies of the people all around who would bring us things to 
eat! And worse—if the houses are consumed with fire, 
where will be the revenue that is designed for me, as the 
fair son of the Admiral? No, no; I will allow none of that. 
When the landing is made, you will not be my master. 
Soult will have charge of the subjects inferior, and he is not 
a man of rapine. To him will I address myself in favour 
of the village. ‘Thus shall I ascend in the favour of my 
charming, and secure my property.” 

‘‘Captain, I am your master yet, and I will have no in- 
terference. No more talk; but obey me to the letter. There 
is no sign of any rough weather, I suppose? You sailors 
see things which we do not observe.” 

‘“This summer has not been of fine weather, and the sky is 
always changing here. But there is not any token of a tem- 
pest now. Though there is a little prospect of rain always.” 

‘‘Tf it rains, all the better, for it obscures the sea. You 
have fed enough now to last even you till the evening; or 
if not, you can take some with you. Remain to the west- 
ward, where the cliffs are higher, and look out especially for 
British ships of war that may be appearing up Channel. 
Take this second spy-glass; it is quite strong enough. But 
first of all tell Perkins to stand off again with the pilot-boat, 
as if he were looking out for a job, and if he sees even a 
frigate coming eastward, to run back and let you know by 
a signal arranged between you. Dan Tugwell, I see, was 
shipped yesterday on board of Prame No. 801, a very handy 
vessel, which will lead the van, and five hundred will fol- 
low in her track on Sunday evening. My excellent uncle 
will be at the height of his eloquence just when his favourite 
Sunday-school boy is bringing an addition to his congrega- 
tion. But the church shall not be blown up until Monday, 
for fear of premature excitement. By Monday night about 
two hundred thousand such soldiers as Britain could never 
produce will be able to quell any childish excitement such 
as Great Britain is apt to give way to.” | 

‘‘ But what is for me, this same Saturday night? I like 
very much to make polite the people, and to marry the most 
beautiful and the richest; but not to kill more than there is 
to be helped.” 

‘‘The breaking of the egg may cut the fingers that have 
been sucked till their skin is gone. You have plagued me 
all along with your English hankerings, which in your post 
of trust are traitorous.” 


SPRINGHAVEN. 445 


Charron was accustomed to submit to the infinitely 
stronger will of Carne. Moreover, his sense of discipline 
often checked the speed of his temper. But he had never 
been able to get rid of a secret contempt for his superior, as 
a traitor to the race to which he really belonged, at least in 
the Frenchman’s opinion. And that such a man should 
charge him with treachery was more than his honest. soul 
could quite endure, and his quick face flushed with indigna- 
tion as he spoke: 

‘*Your position, my commander, does not excuse such. 
words. You shall answer for them, when I am discharged - 
from your command; which, I hope, will be the case next 
week. To be spoken of as a traitor by you is very grand.” 

‘‘Take it as you please,” Carne replied, with that cold, 
contemptuous smile which the other detested. ‘‘ For the 
present, however, you will not be grand, but carry out the 
orders which I give you. As soon as it 1s dark, you will 
return, keep the pilot-boat in readiness for my last despatch, 
with which you will meet the frigate Torche about mid- 
night, as arranged on Thursday. All that and the signals 
you already understand. Wait for me by this tree, and I 
may go with you; but that will depend upon circumstances. 
I will take good care that you shall not be kept starving; 
for you may have to wait here three or four hours for me. 
But be sure that you do not go until I come.” 

‘‘ But what am I to do if I have seen some British ships, 
or Perkins kas given me token of them ?” 

‘*Observe their course, and learn where they are likely to 
be at nightfall. There will probably be none. All I fear 
is that they may intercept the Torche. Farewell, my friend, 
and let your sense of duty subdue the small sufferings of 
temper.” 


CHAPTER LIX. 
NEAR OUR SHORES. 


‘‘THIS is how it is,” said Captain Tugwell, that same day, 
to Erle Twemlow: ‘‘the folk they goes on with a thing, till 
a man as has any head left twists it round on his neck, with 
his chin looking down his starn-post. Then the enemy 
cometh, with his spy-glass and his guns, and afore he can 
look round, he hath nothing left to look for.” 

‘‘Then you think, Tugwell, that the danger is not over? 


= 


446 SPRINGHAVEN. 


—that the French mean business even now, when every one 
is tired of hearing of it? I have been away so long that I 
know nothing. But the universal opinion is—” 

‘‘Opinion of the universe be dashed!” Master Zebedee an- 
swered, with a puff of smoke. ‘‘ We calls ourselves the uni- 
verse, when we be the rope that drags astarn of it. Cappen, 
to my mind there is mischief in the wind, more than there 
hath been for these three years; and that’s why you see me 
here, instead of going with the smacks. Holy Scripture 
saith a dream cometh from the Lord; leastways, to a man 
of sense, as hardly ever dreameth. The wind was so bad 
again us, Monday afternoon, that we put off sailing till the 
Tuesday, and Monday night I lay on my own bed, without 
a thought of nothing but to sleep till five o'clock. I hadn’t 
taken nothing but a quart of John Prater’s ale—and you 
know what his measures is—not a single sip of grog; but 
the Hangel of the Lord he come and stand by me in the 
middle of the night. And he took me by the hand, or if he 
didn’t it come to the same thing of my getting there, and he 
set me up in a dark high place, the like of the yew-tree near 
Carne Castle. And then he saith, ‘ Look back, Zeb;’ and I 
looked, and behold Springhaven was all afire, like the bot- 
tomless pit, or the thunder-storm of Egypt, or the cities of 
Sodom and Gomorrah. “And two figures was jumping about 
in the flames, like the furnace in the plain of Dura, and one 
of them was young Squire Carne, and the other was my son 
Daniel, as behaveth below his name. And I called out, 
‘Daniel, thou son of Zebedee and Kezia Tugwell, come forth 
from the burning fiery furnace;’ but he answered not, nei- 
ther heeded me. And then Squire Darling, Sir Charles is 
now the name of him, out he come from his Round-house, 
and by the white gate above high-water mark, to order out 
the fire, because they was all his own cottages. But while 
he was going about, as he doth for fear of being hard upon 
any one, out jumps Squire Carne, from the thickest of the 
blazes, and takes the poor Squire by the forepart of his neck, 
which he liketh to keep open when he getteth off of duty, 
and away with him into the burning fiery furnace made of 
his own houses! That was more than I could put up with, 
even under the Hangel, and I give such a kick that Kezia, 
though she saith she is the most quietest of women, felt 
herself a-foreed to bounce me up.” 

‘“A dream of that sort deserves notice,’ answered Erle, 
who had passed many months among sailors; ‘Sand over 


SPRINGHAVEN. 447 


and above that, I see proofs of a foolish security in England, 
and of sharp activity in France. Last Monday I was only 
five miles from Boulogne, on board of our frigate the Mel- 
pomene, for I wanted the captain’s evidence to help me in 
my own affairs; and upon my word I was quite amazed at 
the massing of the French forces there, and the evident 
readiness of their hundreds of troop-ships. Scores of them 
even had horses on board, for I saw them quite clearly with 
a spy-glass. But the officers only laughed at me, and said 
they were tired of seeing that. And another thing I don’t 
like at all is the landing of a French boat this side of Peb- 
bleridge. Iwas coming home after dark one night, and as 
soon as they saw me they pushed off, and pretended to be 
English fishermen; but if ever I saw Frenchmen, these were 
French; and I believe they had a ship not far away, for I 
saw a light shown and then turned off. JI examined the 
place in the morning, and saw the footprints of men on a 
path up the cliff, as if they had gone inland towards Carne 
Castle. When the Admiral came home, I told him of it; 
but he seemed to think it was only some smuggling.” 

‘“ Ah, there’s smooglin’ of a bad kind over there, to my 
belief. I wouldn’t tell your honour not a quarter what I 
thinks, because of the young gentleman being near akin to 
you. Buta thing or two have come to my ears, very much 
again a young squire over that way. A man as will do 
what he have done is a black one in some ways; and if — 
some, why not in all ?” 

‘*Tell me what you mean,” said Twemlow, sternly. ‘‘ Af- 
ter saying so much, you are bound to say more. Caryl Carne 
is no friend of mine, although he is my cousin. I dislike the 
man, though It know but little of him.” 

‘‘For sartin then a kind gentleman like you won’t like 
him none the better for betraying of a nice young maid as 
put her trust in him, as lively and pretty a young maid as 
ever stepped, and might have had the pick of all the young 
men in the parish.” 

‘“What!” exclaimed Erle, with a sudden chill of heart, 
for Faith had not concealed from him her anxiety about 
Dolly. ‘* Tugwell, do you mean to say—” 
 ** Yes, sir; only you must keep it to yourself, for the 
sake of the poor young thing; though too many knows it 
already, I’m afeared. And that was how poor Jem Cheese- 
man changed from a dapper money-turning man, as pleas- 
ant as could be, to a down-hearted, stick-in-doors, honest- 


448 SPRINGHAVEN. 


weighted fellow. Poor little Polly was as simple as a dove, 
and her meant to break none of the Lord’s commandments, 
unless it was a sin to look so much above her. He took her 
aboard her father’s trading -craft, and made pretence to 
marry her across the water, her knowing nothing of the 
lingo, to be sure; and then when there come a thumping 
boy, and her demanded for the sake of the young ’un that 
her marriage should be sartified in the face of all the world, 
what does he do but turn round and ask her if she was fool 
enough to suppose that a Carne had married a butter-man’s 
daughter? With a few words more, she went off of her 
head, and have never been right again, they say; and her 


father, who was mighty proud to have a grandson heir to 


an old ancient castle, he was so took aback with this disap- 
pointment that he puzzled all the village, including of me, 
as I am free to own, by jumping into his own rope. ’Twas 
only now just that I heard all this; and as the captain of 
this here place, I shall ask leave of Cheeseman to have it 
out with Master Carne, as soon as may be done without 
hurting the poor thing. If she had been my child, the rope 
should have gone round his neck first, if it come to mine 
therearter !” 

*' The villain Twemlow used a strong, short word, 
without adding heavily, it may be hoped, to the score against 
him. ‘‘And to think that all this time he has been daring 
to address himself— But never mind that now. It will be 
a bad time for him when I catch him by himself, though I 
must not speak of Polly. Poor little Polly! what a pretty 
child she was! I used to carry sugar-plums on purpose for 
her. Good-bye, Tugwell; I must think about all this.” 

‘‘And so must I, sir. What a strapping chap ’a be!” 
Captain Zebedee continued to himself, as Twemlow strode 
away with the light step of a mountain savage, carrying a 
long staff from force of habit, and looking even larger than 
himself from the flow of chestnut hair and beard around him. 
‘Never did see such a hairy chap. Never showed no signs 
of it when ’a was a lad, and Miss ’Liza quite smooth in the 
front of her neck. Must come of Hottentot climate, I 
reckon. They calls it the bush, from the folk been so 
bushy. I used to think as my beard was a pretty good ex- 
ample; but, Lord bless me and keep me, it would all go on 
his nose! If ’a spreadeth that over the face of Squire Carne, 
’a will ravish him, as the wicked doth ravish the poor.” 

Twemlow had many sad things to consider, and among 





1? 


—_ —— 


SPRINGHAVEN. 449 


them the impending loss of this grand mane. After divers 
delays, and infinitude of forms, and much evidence of things 
self-evident—in the spirit which drove Sir Horatio Nelson 
to pin a certificate of amputation to the sleeve of his lost 
arm—this Twemlow had established that he was the Twem- 
low left behind upon the coast of Africa, and having been 
captured in the service of his country, was entitled at least 
to restoration. In such a case small liberality was shown 
in those days, even as now prevaileth, the object of all in 
authority being to be hard upon those who are out of it. 
At last, when he was becoming well weary, and nothing but 
an Englishman’s love of his country and desire to help in 
her dangers prevented him from turning to private pursuits 
—wherein he held a key to fortune—he found himself re- 
stored to his rank in the Army, and appointed to another 
regiment, which happened to be short of officers. Then he 
flung to the winds, until peace should return, his prospect of 
wealth beyond reckoning, and locked in a black leather 
trunk materials worth their weight in diamonds. But, as 
life is uncertain, he told his beloved one the secret of his 
great discovery, which she, in sweet ignorance of mankind, 
regarded as of no importance. 

But as wars appear and disappear, nations wax and wane, 
and the holiest principles of one age become the scoff of the 
next, yet human nature is the same throughout, it would be 
wrong to cast no glance—even with the I'rench so near our 
shores—at the remarkable discovery of this young man, and 
the circumstances leading up to it. For with keen insight 
into civilized thought, which yearns with the deepést re- 
morse for those blessings which itself has banished, he knew 
that he held a master-key to the treasuries of Croesus, My- 
cerinus, Attalus, and every other King who has dazzled the 
world with his talents. The man who can minister to 
human needs may, when he is lucky, earn a little towards 
his own; the man who contributes to the pleasure of his 
fellows must find reward in his own; but he who can grati- 
fy the vanity of his race is the master of their pockets. 

Twemlow had been carried from the deadly coast (as be- 
fore related by Captain Southcombe) to the mountainous 
district far inland, by the great King Golo of the Quack- 
- was nation, mighty warriors of lofty stature. Here he was 
treated well, and soon learned enough of their simple lan- 
guage to understand and be understood; while the King, 
who considered all white men as of canine origin, was 


450 SPRINGHAVEN. 


pleased with him, and prepared to make him useful. Then 
Twemlow was sent, with an escort of chiefs, to the land of 
the Houlas, as a medicine-man, to win Queen Mabonga for 
the great King Golo. But she—so strange is the perversity 
of women—beholding this man of a pearly tint, as fair as 
the moon, and as soft as a river—for he took many months 
to get properly tanned—with one long gaze of amazement 
yielded to him what he sought for another. A dwarf and 
a whipster he might be among the great darkies around her 
—for he had only six feet and one inch of stature, and forty- 
two inches round the chest—but, to her fine taste, tone and 
quality more than covered defect of quantity. The sight of 
male members of her race had never moved her, because she 
had heard of their wickedness; but the gaze of this white 
man, so tender and so innocent, set her on a long course of 
wondering about herself. Then she drew back, and passed 
into the private hut behind, where no one was allowed to 
disturb her. For she never had felt like this before, and 
she wanted nobody to notice it. 

But the Houla maidens, with the deepest interest in mat- 
ters that came home to them outside their understanding, 
held council with their mothers, and these imparted to the 
angelic stranger, as plainly as modesty permitted, the dis- 
tressing results of his whiteness, and implored him to de- 
part, before further harm was done. Twemlow perceived 
that he had tumbled into a difficult position, and the only 
way out of it was to make off. Giving pledges to return in 
two moons at the latest, he made his salaam to the sensitive 
young Queen, whose dignity was only surpassed by her 
grace, and expecting to be shortened by the head, returned 
with all speed to the great King Golo. Honesty is the best 
policy—as we all know so well that we forbear to prove it 
—and the Englishman saw that the tale would be darker 
from the lips of his black attendants. The negro monarch 
was of much-enduring mind, but these tidings outwent his 
philosophy. He ordered Twemlow’s head to come off by 
dinner-time, and, alas, that royal household kept very early 
hours; and the poor captain, corded to a tree, sniffed sadly 
the growth of good roast, which he never should taste, and 
could only succeed in succession of fare. For although that 
enlightened King had discarded the taste of the nations 
around him, it was not half so certain as the prisoner could 
have wished that his prejudice would resist the relish of a 
candid rival in prime condition. 


SPRINGHAVEN. 451 


While Twemlow was dwelling upon this nice question, 
and sympathizing deeply with the animal on the spit, Tuloo, 
the head councillor of the realm, appeared, an ancient negro 
full of wisdom and resource. Discovering that the white 
man set more value on his head than is usual with these 
philosophers, he proposed conditions which were eagerly ac- 
cepted, and, releasing the captive, led him into his own hut. 
Here the man of wisdom spat three times into his very am- 
ple bosom, to exorcise evil spells, and took from a hole in 
the corner something which he handled very carefully, and 
with a touch as light as possible. Following everything 
with his best eyes, Twemlow perceived in the hand of Tuloo 
a spongy-looking substanee of conical form, and in colour 
and size very like a morel, but possessing a peculiar golden 
glow. ‘‘Kneel here, my son, and move not until I tell 
you,” the old man whispered, and was obeyed. Then he 
stripped off all covering from the white neck and shoulders, 
and beginning immediately below the eyes, brushed all the 
cheeks and the chin, throat and neck and upper part of the 
bosom, with the substance in his hand, from which a yellow 
powder passed, moist rather than dusty, into the open pores. 
‘*In one moon you will be a beast of the woods, and in two 
you shall return to the Queen that loves you,” said Coun- 
cillor Tuloo, with a sly little grin. 

But Twemlow was robbed of no self-respect by the growth 
of a forest about him; and when he was sent again to Queen 
. Mabonga, and the dewy glance of love died at the very first 
wink into a stony glare—because of his face being covered 
with hair—he said to himself that he knew where he could 
inflict a very different impression upon ladies. For these 
cannot have too much hair in England, at the back of their 
own heads, and front of their admirers’. 

Councillor Tuloo was gifted with a deep understanding of 
a thing which looks shallow to a man who has never yet 
heard of false bottoms. He said to King Golo: “‘I know 
what women are. As long as she never had thought about 
men, you might crawl, and be only a hog to her. But her 
eyes have been opened to this white man, and there is room 
for a black one to go into them. And unless you are at 
hand, it will be done by some one else.” 

In short, all was managed so beautifully that in six more 
moons the coy Mabonga split the Durra straw with King 
Golo, amid vast rejoicings and in din almost equal to that 
which a wedding in Wales arouses. But from time to time 


452 SPRINGHAVEN. 


it was considered needful to keep up her Majesty’s repulsion 
by serving Erle Twemlow with another dose of that which 
would have created for the Ene lish fair capillary attraction. 
Thus he became a great favourite with the King, who lis- 
tened with deep interest to his descriptions of the houseful 
of beads and buttons to be earned in England by a little 
proper management of Tuloo’s magic dust. Before very 
long it was arranged that as soon as a good supply of Pong 
could be collected, Twemlow should be sent back to the coast 
and placed under the charge of Bandeliah, who was now a 
tributary of this great King. And here he might have 
waited years and years—for the trading station was aban- 
doned now—but for the benevolence of Captain Southcombe, 
who, being driven to the eastward of his course upon one of 
his returns from India, stood in a little farther to inquire 
about his friend, and with no small pleasure conveyed him 
home. 





CHAPTER LX. 


NO DANGER, GENTLEMEN. 


THE little dinner at Springhaven Hall, appointed for that 
same Saturday, had now grown into a large one. Carne 
had refused Dolly’s offer to get him an invitation, and for 
many reasons he was not invited. He ought to have been 
glad of this, because he did not want to be there; but his 
nature, like a saw’s, was full of teeth, and however he was 
used, he grated. But without any aid of his teeth, a good 
dinner, well planned and well served, bade fair in due 
course to be well digested also by forty at least of the forty- 
two people who sat down to consider it. For as yet the 
use of tongue was understood, and it was not allowed to 
obstruct by perpetual motion the duties of the palate. And 
now every person in the parish of high culture — which 
seems to be akin to the Latin for a knife, though a fork ex- 
pels nature more forcibly—as well as many others of 
locality less favoured, joined in this muster of good peo- 
ple and good things. At the outset, the Admiral had: in- 
tended nothing more than a quiet recognition of the good- 
ness of the Lord in bringing home a husband for the daugh- 
ter of the house; but what Englishman can forbear the 
pleasure of killing two birds with one stone ? 

It was Stubbard who first suggested this, and Sir Charles 


SPRINGHAVEN. 453 


at once saw the force of it, especially with the Marquis of 
Southdown coming. Captain Stubbard had never admired 
anybody, not even himself—without which there is no hap- 
piness—much less Mr. Pitt, or Lord Nelson, or the King, 
until justice was done to the race of Stubbard, and their 
hands were plunged into the Revenue. But now, ever since 
the return of the war to its proper home in England, this 
Captain had been paid well for doing the very best thing 
that a man can do, 2. e., nothing. He could not help de- » 
siring to celebrate this, and as soon as he received his invi- 
tation, he went to the host and put it clearly. The Admi- 
ral soon entered into his views, and as guests were not farmed 
by the head as yet at tables entertaining self-respect, he per- 
ceived the advantage of a good dinner scored to his credit 
with forty at the cost of twenty; and Stubbard’s proposal 
seemed thoroughly well timed, so long was it now since 
the leaders of Defence had celebrated their own vigilance. 
Twenty-two, allowing for the ladies needful, were thus 
added to the score of chairs intended, and the founder of 
the feast could scarcely tell whether the toast of the even- 
ing was to be the return of the traveller, or the discomfiture 
of Boney. That would mainly depend upon the wishes of 
the Marquis, and these again were likely to be guided by 
the treatment he had met with from the government late- 
ly and the commanders of his Division. 

This nobleman was of a character not uncommon eighty 
years ago, but now very rare among public men, because a 
more flexible fibre has choked it. Steadfast, honourable, 
simple, and straightforward, able to laugh without bitter- 
ness at the arrogant ignorance of mobs, but never to smile 
at the rogues who led them, scorning all shuffle of words, 
foul haze, and snaky maze of evasion, and refusing to be- 
lieve at first sight that his country must be in the wrong 
and her enemies in the right, he added to all these exter- 
minated foibles a leisurely dignity now equally extinct. 
Trimmers, time-servers, and hypocrites feared him, as thieves 
fear an honourable dog; and none could quote his words 
against one another. This would have made him un- 
popular now, when perjury means popularity. For the 
present, however, self-respect existed, and no one thought 
any the worse of his lordship for not having found him a 
liar. Especially with ladies, who insist on truth in men as 
a pleasant proof of their sex, Lord Southdown had always 
been a prime favourite, and an authority largely misquoted. 


454 SPRINGHAVEN. 


And to add to his influence, he possessed a quick turn of 
temper, which rendered it very agreeable to agree with him. 

Lord Southdown was thinking, as he led Miss Darling 
to her chair at the head of the table, that he never had seen 
a more pleasing young woman, though he grieved at her 
taste in preferring the brown young man on her left to his 
elegant friend Lord Dashville. Also he marvelled at hear- 
ing so much, among the young officers of his acquaintance, 
concerning the beauty of the younger sister, and so little 
about this far sweeter young person—at least in his opinion. 
For verily Dolly was not at her best; her beautiful colour 
was gone, her neck had lost its sprightly turn, and her large 
gray eyes moved heavily instead of sparkling. ‘That girl 
las some burden upon her mind,” he thought as he watched 
her with interest and pity; ‘‘she has put on her dress any- 
how, and she does.not even look to sce who is looking at 
her!” 

For the ‘‘Belle of all Sussex,” as the young sparks en- 
titled her, was ill at ease with herself, and ready to quarrel 
with every one except herself. She had conscience enough 
to confess, whenever she could not get away from it, that 
for weeks and months she had been slipping far and farther 
from the true and honest course. Sometimes, with a pain 
like a stitch in the side, the truth would spring upon her; 
and perhaps for a moment she would wonder at herself, 
-and hate the man misleading her. But this happened 
chiefly when he was present, and said or did something to 
vex her; and then he soon set it to nghts again, and made 
everything feel delightful. And this way of having her 
misgivings eased made them easier when they came again 
with no one to appease them. For she began to think of 
what he had done, and how kind and considerate his mind 
must be, and how hard it must seem to mistrust him. 

Another thing that urged her to keep on now, without 
making any fuss about it, was the wonderful style her 
sister Faith had shown since that hairy monster came back 
again. It was manifest that the world contained only one 
man of any high qualities, and nobody must dare to think 
even twice about any conclusion he laid down. He had 
said to her, with a penetrating glance—and it must have 
been that to get through such a thicket—that dangerous 
people were about, and no girl possessing any self-respect 
must think of wandering on the shore alone. The more 
she was spied upon and admonished, the more she would 


SPRINGHAVEN. 455 


do what she thought right; and a man who had lived 
among savages for years must be a queer judge of propriety. 
But, in spite of all these defiant thoughts, her heart was 
very low, and her mind in a sad flutter; and she could not 
even smile as she met her father’s gaze. Supposing that 
she was frightened at the number of the guests, and the 
noise of many tongues, and the grandeur of the people, the 
gentle old man made a little signal to her to come and have 
a whisper with him, as a child might do, under courtesy of 
the good company. But Dolly feigned not to understand, 
at the penalty of many a heart-pang. 

The dinner went on with a very merry sound, and a genu- 
ine strength of enjoyment, such as hearty folk have who 
know one another, and are met together not to cut capers of 
wit, but refresh their good-will and fine principles. And if 
any dinner-party can be so arranged that only five per 
cent. has any trouble on its mind, the gentleman who whips 
away the plates, at a guinea a mouth, will have to go home 
with a face of willow pattern. 

The other whose mind was away from her food, and reck- 
less of its own nourishment, was Blyth Scudamore’s mother, 
as gentle a lady as ever tried never to think of herself. In 
spite of all goodness, and faith in the like, she had enough 
to make her very miserable now, whenever she allowed 
herself to think about it, and that was fifty-nine minutes 
out of sixty. Fora brief account of her son’s escape from 
Ktaples had reached her, through the kindness of Captain 
Desportes, who found means to get a letter delivered to the 
Admiral. That brave French officer spoke most highly of 
the honourable conduct of his English friend, but had very 
small hope of his safety. For he added the result of his 
own inquiries to the statement of M. Jalais, and from these 
it was clear that poor Scuddy had set forth alone in a rick- 
ety boat, ill found and ill fitted to meet even moderate 
weather in the open Channel. Another young Englishman 
had done the like, after lurking in the forest of Hardelot, 
but he had been recaptured by the French at the outset of 
his hopeless voyage. Scudamore had not been so retaken; 
and the Captain (who had not received his letter until it 
was too late to interfere, by reason of his own despatch to 
Dieppe) had encountered a sharp summer gale just then, 
which must have proved fatal to the poor old boat. The 
only chance was that some English ship might have picked 
up the wanderer, and if so the highly respected Admiral 


456 SPRINGHAVEN. 


would have heard of it before he received this letter. As 
no such tidings had been received, there could be little 
doubt about the issue in any reasonable mind. But the 
heart of a woman is not a mind, or the man that is born 
of her might as well forego the honour. 

However, as forty people were quite happy, the wisest 
course is to rejoin them. The ladies were resolved upon 
this occasion to storm the laws of usage which required 
their withdrawal before the toasts began; and so many gen- 
tle voices challenged the garrison of men behind their bot- 
tles that terms of unusual scope were arranged. It was 
known that the Marquis would make a fine speech—short, 
and therefore all the finer—in proposing the toast of the 
evening, to wit, ‘‘ Our King and our Country.” Under the 
vigorous lead of Mrs. Stubbard, the ladies demanded to hear 
every word; after which they would go, and discuss their 
own affairs, or possibly those of their neighbours. But the 
gentlemen must endure their presence till his lordship had 
spoken, and the Admiral replied. Faith was against this 
arrangement, because she foresaw that it would make them 
very late; but she yielded to the wishes of so many of her 
cuests, consoled with the thought that she would be sup- 
ported by some one on her left hand, who would be her sup- 
port for life. 

When all had done well, except the two aforesaid, and 
good-will born of good deeds was crowning comfort with 
jocund pleasure, and the long oak table, rich of grain and 
dark with the friction of a hundred years, shone in the wa- 
vering flow of dusk with the gleam of purple and golden 
fruit, the glance of brilliant glass that puzzles the hght with 
its claim to shadow, and the glow of amber and amethyst 
wine decanted to settle that question—then the bold Admi- 
ral, standing up, said, ‘‘ Bring in the lights, that we may see 
his lordship.” 

‘‘T like to speak to some intelligence,” said the guest, who 
was shrewd at an answer. And Dolly, being quick at ocea- 
sion, seized it, and in the shifting of chairs left her own for 
some one else. 

The curtains were drawn across the western window, to 
close the conflict between God’s light and man’s, and then 
this well-known gentleman, having placed his bottle handily 
—for he never ‘‘ put wine into two whites,” to use his own 
expression—arose with his solid frame as tranquil as a rock, 
and his full-fronted head like a piece of it. Every gentle- 


SPRINGHAVEN. 457 


~ man bowed to his bow, and waited with silent respect for 
his words, because they would be true and simple. 

‘*My friends, I will take it for granted that we all love 
our country, and hate its enemies. We may like and re- 
spect them personally, for they are as good as we are; but 
we are bound to hate them collectively, as men who would ~ 
ruin all we love. For the stuff that is talked about freedom, 
democracy, march of intellect, and so forth, I have nothing 
to say, except to bid you look at the result among them- 
selves. Is there a man in France whose body is his own if 
he can carry arms, or his soul if it ventures to seek its own 
good? As for mind—there is only the mind of one man; 
a large one in many ways; in others a small one, because 
it considers its owner alone. 

‘*But we of England have refused to be stripped of all 
that we hold dear, at the will of a foreign upstart. We 
have fought for years, and we still are fighting, without any 
brag or dream of glory, for the rights of ourselves and of 
all mankind. There have been among us weak-minded fel- 
lows, babblers of abstract nonsense, and even, I grieve to say 
—traitors. But, on the whole, we have stood together, and 
therefore have not been trodden on. How it may end is 
within the knowledge of the Almighty only; but already 
there are signs that we shall be helped, if we continue to 
help ourselves. 

‘‘ And now for the occasion of our meeting here. We re- 
joice most heartily with our good host, the vigilant De- 
fender of these shores, at the restoration to his arms—or 
rather, to a still more delightful embrace—of a British offi- 
cer, who has proved a truth we knew already, that nothing 
stops a British officer. I see a gentleman struck so keenly 
with the force of that remark, because he himself has proved 
it, that I must beg his next neighbour to fill up his glass, 
and allow nothing to stop him from tossing it off. And as 
Iam getting astray from my text, I will clear my poor head 
with what you can see through.” 

The Marquis of Southdown filled his glass from a bottle 
of grand old Chambertin—six of which had been laid most 
softly in a cupboard of the wainscote for his use—and then 
he had it filled again, and saw his meaning brilliantly. 

‘‘Our second point is the defeat of the French, and of 
this we may now assure ourselves. They have not been 
defeated, for the very good reason that they never would 
come out to fight; but it comes to the same thing, because 

20 


458 SPRINGHAVEN. 


they are giving it over as a hopeless job. I have seen too 
many ups and downs to say that we are out of danger yet; 
but when our fleets have been chasing theirs all over the 
world, are they likely to come and meet us in our own 
waters? Nelson has anchored at Spithead, and is rushing 
up to London, as our host has heard to-day, with his usual 
impetuosity. Every man must stick to his own business, 
even the mighty Nelson; and-he might not meddle with 
Billy Blue, or anybody else up Channel. Still, Nelson is 
not the sort of man to jump into a chaise at Portsmouth if 
there was the very smallest chance of the French coming 
over to devour us. 

‘“Well, my friends, we have done our best, and have 
some right to be proud of it; but we should depart from 
our nature if we even exercised that right. The nature of . 
an Englishman is this—to be afraid of nothing but his own 
renown. Feeling this great truth, I will avoid offence by 
hiding as a crime my admiration of the glorious soldiers 
and sailors here, yet beg them for once to remember them- 
selves, as having enabled me to propose, and all present to 
pledge, the welfare of our King and Country.” 

The Marquis waved his glass above his head, without spats 
ing a single drop, although it was a bumper, then drained it 
at a draught, inverted it, and cleverly snapped it in twain 
upon the table, with his other hand laid on his heart, and 
a long low reverence to the company. Thereupon up stood 
squires and dames, and, repeating the good toast, pledged it, 
with a deep bow to the proposer; and as many of the gentle- 
men as understood the art, without peril to fair neighbours, 
snapped the glass. 

His lordship was delighted, and in the spirit of the mo- 
ment held up his hand, which meant, ‘‘ Silence, silence, till 
we all sing the National Anthem!” In a clear, loud voice 
he led off the strain, Erle Twemlow from his hairy depths 
struck in, then every man, following as he might, and with 
all his might, sustained it, and the ladies, according to their 
wont, gave proof of the heights they can scale upon rapture. 

The Admiral, standing, and beating time now and then: 
with his heel—though all the time deserved incessant beat- 
ing—enjoyed the performance a great deal more than if it 
had been much better, and joined in the main roar as loudly 
as he thought his position as host permitted. For although 
he was nearing the haven now of threescore vears and ‘ten, 
his throat and heart were so seaworthy that ‘he could very 


SPRINGHAVEN. 459 


sweetly have outroared them all. But while he was prepar- 
ing just to prove this, if encouraged, and smiling very pleas- 
antly at a friend who said, ‘‘ Strike up, Admiral,” he was 
called from the room, and in the climax of the roar slipped 
away for a moment, unheeded, and meaning to make due 
apology to his guests as soon as he came back. 


CHAPTER LXI. 
DISCHARGED FROM DUTY. 


WHILE loyalty thus rejoiced and throve in the warmth 
of its own geniality, a man who was loyal to himself alone, 
and had no geniality about him, was watching with con- 
tempt these British doings. Carne had tethered his stout 
black horse, who deserved a better master, in a dusky dell 
of dark-winged trees at the back of the eastern shrubbery. 
Here the good horse might rest unseen, and consider the 
mysterious ways of men; for the main approach was by the 
western road, and the shades of evening stretched their arms 
to the peaceful yawn of sunset. And here he found good 
stuff spread by nature, more worthy of his attention, and, 
tucking back his forelegs, fared as well as the iron between 
his teeth permitted. 

Then the master drew his green riding-coat of thin velvet 
closer round him, and buttoned the lappet in front, because 
he had heavy weight in the pockets. Keeping warily along 
the lines of shadow, he gained a place of vantage in the 
shrubbery, a spot of thick shelter having loops of outlook. 
Above and around him hung a curtain of many-pointed 
ilex, and before him a barberry bush, whose coral clusters 
caught the waning light. In this snug nook he rested calm- 
ly, leaning against the ilex trunk, and finished his little prep- 
arations for anything adverse to his plans. In a belt which 
was hidden by his velvet coat he wore a short dagger in a 
sheath of shagreen, and he fixed it so that he could draw it 
in a moment, without unfastening the riding-coat. Then 
from the pockets on either side he drew a pair of pistols, 
primed them well from a little flask, and replaced them with 
the butts beneath the lappets. ‘‘ Death for, at least three 
men,” he muttered, ‘‘if they are fools enough to meddle 
with me. My faith, these Darlings are grown very grand, 
on the strength of the land that belongs to us!” 


460 SPRINGHAVEN. 


For he heard the popping of champagne corks, and the 
clink of abundant silver, and tuning of instruments by the 
band, and he saw the flash of lights, and the dash of serving- 
men, and the rush of hot hospitality; and although he had 
not enough true fibre in his stomach to yearn for a taste of 
the good things going round, there can be little doubt, from 
what he did thereafter, that his gastric juices must have 
turned to gall. 

With all these sounds and sights and scents of things that 
he had no right to despise, his patience was tried foran hour 
and a half, or at any rate he believed so. The beautiful 
glow in the west died out, where the sun had been ripening 
his harvest-field of sheafy gold and awny cloud; and the 
pulse of quivering dusk beat slowly, so that a man might 
seem to count it, or rather a child, who sees such things, 
which later men lose sight of. The forms of the deepening 
distances against the departure of light grew faint, and prom- 
inent points became obscure, and lines retired into masses, 
while Carne maintained his dreary watch, with his mood 
becoming darker. As the sound of joyful voices, and of 
good-will doubled by good fare, came to his unfed vigil 
from the open windows of the dining-room, his heart was 
not enlarged at all, and the only solace for his lips was to 
swear at British revelry. For the dining-room was at the 
western end, some fifty yards away from him, and its prin- 
cipal window faced the sunset, but his lurking-place af- 
forded a view of the southern casements obliquely. Through 
these he had seen that the lamps were brought, and heard 
the increase of merry noise, the clapping of hands, and the 
jovial cheers at the rising of the popular Marquis, 

At last he saw a white kerchief waved at the window 
nearest to him, the window of the Admiral’s little study, 
which opened like a double door upon the eastern grass- 
plat. With an ill-conditioned mind, and body stiff and 
Jacking nourishment, he crossed the grass in a few long 
strides, and was admitted without a word. 

‘What a time you have been! I was giving it up,” he 
whispered to the trembling Dolly. ‘‘ Where are the can- 
dles? I must strike a light. Surely you might have 
brought one. Bolt the door, while I make a light, and close 
the curtains quietly, but leave the window open. Don’t 
shake, like a child that is going to be whipped. Too late 
now for nonsense. What are you afraid of? Silly child!” 

As he spoke he was striking a light in a little French 


SPRINGHAVEN. 461 


box containing a cube of jade, and with very little noise he 
lit two candles standing on the high oak desk. Dolly drew 
a curtain across the window, and then went softly to the 
door, which opened opposite the corner of a narrow passage, 
and made pretence to bolt it, but shot the bolt outside the 
socket. 

‘Come and let me look at you,” said Carne, for he knew 
that he had been rough with her, and she was not of the 
kind that submits to that. ‘‘ Beauty, how pale you look, 
and yet how perfectly lovely in this evening gown! I 
should like to kill the two gentlemen who sat next to you 
at dinner. Darling, you know that whatever I do is only 
for your own sweet sake.” 

‘‘If you please not to touch me, it will be better,” said 
the lady, not in a whisper, but a firm and quiet voice, al- 
though her hands were trembling; “‘ you are come upon 
business, and you should do it.” 

If Carne had but caught her in his arms, and held her 
to his heart, and vowed that all business might go to the 
devil while he held his angel so, possibly the glow of nobler 
feelings might have been lost in the fire of passion. But 
he kept his selfish end alone in view, and neglected the 
womanly road to it. 

‘*A despatch from London arrived to-day; I must see it,” 
he said, shortly; ‘‘as well as the copy of the answer sent. 
And then my beauty must insert a not in the order to be 
issued in the morning, or otherwise invert its meaning, 
simply to save useless bloodshed. The key for a moment, 
the key, my darling, of this fine old piece of furniture!” 

‘Ts it likely that I would give you the key? My father 
always keeps it. What right have you with his private 
desk? I never promised anything so bad as that.” 

‘‘T am not to be trifled with,” he whispered, sternly. 
‘*Do you think that I came here for kissing? The key 
I must have, or break it open; and how will you explain 
that away ?” 

His rudeness settled her growing purpose. The misery 
of indecision vanished; she would do what was right, if it 
cost her life. Her face was as white as her satin dress, but 
her dark eyes flashed with menace. 

‘‘There is a key that opens it,” she said, as she pointed 
to the bookcase; ‘‘ but I forbid you to touch it, sir.” 

Carne’s only reply was to snatch the key from the upper 
glass door of the book-shelvyes, which fitted the lock of the 


462 SPRINGHAVEN. 

Admiral’s desk, though the owner was not aware of it. In 
a moment the intruder had unlocked the high and massive 
standing -desk, thrown back the cover, and placed one can- 
dlestick among the documents. Many of them he brushed 
aside, as useless for his purpose, and became bewildered 
among the rest, for the Commander of the Coast-defence 
was not aman of order. He never knew where to put a 
thing, nor even where it might have put itself, but found a 
casual home for any paper that deserved it. This lack of 
method has one compensation, like other human defects, to 
wit, that it puzzles a clandestine searcher more deeply than 
cypher or cryptogram. Carne had the Admiral’s desk as 
wide as an oyster thrown back on his valve, and just 
being undertucked with the knife, to make him go down 
easily. Yet so great was the power of disorder that nothing 
could be made out of anything. ‘‘Watch at the door,” 
he had said to Dolly; and this suited her intention. 

For while he was thus absorbed, with his back towards 
her, she opened the door a little, and presently saw the 
trusty Charles come hurrying by, as if England hung upon 
his labours. ‘‘Tell my father to come here this moment; 
go softly, and say that I sent you.” As she finished her 
whisper she closed the door, without any sound, and stood 
patiently. 

‘‘Show me where it is; come and find it for me. Every- 
thing here is in the yilest mess,” cried Carne, growing 
reckless with wrath and hurry. ‘‘I want the despatch of 
this morning, and I find tailors’ bills, way to make water- 
proof blacking, a list of old women, and a stump of old pipe! 
Come here, this instant, and show me where it is.”’ 

‘Tf you forget your good manners,” answered Dolly, 
still keeping in the dark near the door, *‘I shall have to 
leave you. Surely you have practice enough in spying, to 
find what you want, with two candles.” 

Carne turned for a moment, and stared at her. Her atti- 
tude surprised him, but he could not believe in her courage 
to rebel. She stood with her back to the door, and met 
his gaze without a sign of fear. 

‘* There are no official papers here,” he said, after another 
short ransack; ‘‘ there must have been some, if this desk is 
the one. Have you dared to delude me by showing the 
wrong desk ?” 

Dolly met his gaze still, and then walked towards him. 
The band had struck up, and the company were singing 


a ae ae a = 


SPRINGHAVEN. 463 


‘with a fine patriotic roar, which rang very nobly in the dis- 
tance— ‘‘Britannia, rule the waves!” Dolly felt like a 
Briton as the words rolled through her, and the melody 
lifted her proud heart. 

‘* You have deluded yourself,” she said, standing proudly 
before the baffled spy; ‘‘ you have ransacked my father’s 
private desk, which I allowed you to do, because my father 
has no secrets... He leaves it open half the time, because 
he is a man of honour. He is not a man of plots, and wiles, 
and trickery upon women. And you have deluded your- 
self, in dreaming that a daughter of his would betray her 
Country.” 

‘‘ By the God that made me, I will have your life!” cried 
Carne in French, as he dashed his hand under his coat to 
draw his dagger; but the pressure of the desk had displaced 
that, so that he could not find it. She thought that her 
time was come, and shrieked-—for she was not at all heroie, 
and loved life very dearly—but she could not take her eyes 
from his, nor turn to fly from the spell of them; all she could 
do was to step back; and she did so into her father’s arms. 

‘“Ho!” cried the Admiral, who had entered with the 
smile of good cheer and good company glowing on his 
fine old countenance; ‘‘my Dolly and a stranger at my 
private desk! Mr.Carne! I have had a glass or two of 
wine, but my eyes must be playing me extraordinary tricks. 
A gentleman searching my desk, and apparently threaten- 
ing my dear daughter! Have the kindness to explain, be- 
fore you attempt to leave us.” 

If the curtain had:not been drawn across the window, 
Carne would have made his escape, and left the situation to 
explain itself. But the stuff was thick, and it got between 
his legs; and before he could slip away, the stout old Ad- 
miral had him by the collar with a sturdy grasp, attesting 
the substance of the passing generation. And a twinkle of 
good-humour was in the old eyes still—such a wonder was 
his Dolly that he might be doing wrong in laying hands 
of force upon a visitor of hers. Things as strange as this 
had been within his knowledge, and proved to be of little 
harm — with forbearance. But his eyes grew stern, as 
Carne tried to dash his hand off. 

“If you value your life, you will let me go,” said the 
young man to the old one. 

‘‘T will not let you go, sir, till you clear up this. <A gen- 
tleman must see that he is bound to do so. If I prove to 


464 SPRINGHAVEN. 


be wrong, I will apologize. What! Are you going to fire 
at me? You would never be such a coward!” 

He dropped upon the floor, with a bullet in his brain, 
and his course of duty ended. Carne dashed aside the cur- 
tain, and was nearly through the window, when two white 
arms were cast round his waist. He threw himself forward 
with all his might, and wrenched at the little hands clasped 
around him, but they held together lke clinched iron. 
‘* Will you force me to kill you?” ‘‘ You may, if you like” 
—was the dialogue of these lovers. . 

The strength of a fit was in her despair. She set her bent 
knees against the window-frame, and a shower of glass fell 
between them; but she flinched not from her convulsive 
grasp. ‘‘Let me come back, that I may shoot myself,” 
Carne panted, for his breath was straitened; ‘‘ what is 
life to me after losing you?” She made no answer, but 
took good care not to release so fond a lover. Then he 
threw himself back with all his weight, and she fell on 
the floor beneath him. Her clasp relaxed, and he was 
free; for her eyes had encountered her father’s blood, and 
she swooned away, and lay as dead. 

Carne arose quickly, and bolted the door. His breath 
was short, and his body trembling, but the wits of the trai- 
tor were active still. ‘*I must have something to show for 
all this,” he thought as he glanced at the bodies on the 
floor. ‘* Those revellers may not have heard this noise. I 
know where it is now, and I will get it.” | 

But the sound of the pistol and shriek of the girl had 
rung through the guests, when the wine was at their lips, 
and all were nodding to one another. Faith sprang up, 
and then fell back trembling, and several men ran towards 
the door. Charles, the footman, met them there, with 
his face whiter than his napkin, and held up his hands, but 
could not speak. Erle Twemlow dashed past him and 
down the passage; and Lord Southdown said: ‘*‘ Gentlemen, 
see to the ladies. There has been some iittle mishap, I fear. 
Bob, and Arthur, come with me.” 

Twemlow was first at the study door, and finding it fast- 
ened, struck with all his foree, and shouted, at the very 
moment when Carne stood before the true desk of office. 
‘*Good door, and good bolt,” muttered Carne; ‘‘ my rule is 
never to be hurried by noises. Dolly will be quiet fora 
quarter of an hour, and the old gentleman forever. All 
I want is about two minutes.” 







































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































466 SPRINGHAVEN. 


Twemlow stepped back a few yards, and then with a 
good start delivered a rushing kick; but the only result 
was a jar of his leg through the sole of his thin dress sandal. 

“The window!” cried the Marquis. ‘‘ We’ll stop here; 
you know the house; take tlre shortest cut to the window. 
Whoever is there, we shall have him so. I am too slow. 
Boy Bob, go with him.” 

‘“What a fool I was not to think of that!” shouted 
Twemlow, as he set off for the nearest house door, and un- 
luckily Carne heard him. He had struck up the ledge of 
‘the desk with the butt of the pistol he had fired, and pocket- 
ing a roll of fresh despatches, he strode across the body of 
the Admiral, and with a glance at Dolly—whose eyes were 
wide open, but her face drawn vaside, like a peach with a 
split stone—out he went. He smiled as he heard the thun- 
dering of full-bodied gentlemen against the study door, and 
their oaths, as they damaged their knuckles and knee-caps. 
Then he set off hot-foot, but was stopped by a figure advanc- 
ing from the corner of the house. 

This was not a graceful figure, as of gentle maiden, nor 
venerable and slow of foot, as that of an ancient mariner, 
but a man in the prime of strength, and largely endowed 
with that blessing —the mate of truth. Carne perceived 
that he had met his equal, and perhaps his better, in a 
bout of muscle, and he tried to escape by superior mind. _ 

‘“Twemlow, how glad I am that I have met you! You 
are the very man I wanted. There has been a sad accident 
in there with one of the Admiral’s pistols, and the dear old 
man is badly wounded. I am off for a doctor, for my horse 
is at hand. For God’s sake run in,and hold his head up, 
and try to stanch the bleeding. JIshall be back in half an 
hour with the man that lives at Pebbleridge. Don’t lose a 
moment. Particulars hereafter.” 

‘“Particulars now!” replied Twemlow, sternly, as he 
‘planted himself before his cousin. ‘‘ For years I have lived 
among liars.and they called a lie Crom, and worshipped it. 
If this is not Crom, why did you bolt the door ?” 

‘* You shall answer for this, when time allows. If the 
door was bolted, he must have done it. Let me pass; the 
last chance depends on my speed.” 

Carne made a rush to pass, but Twemlow caught him by 
the breast, and held him. ‘‘Come back,” he said, fiercely, 
‘‘and prove your words. Without that, you go no far- 
ther.” 





SPRINGHAVEN. 467 


_ Carne seized him by the throat, but his mighty beard, like 
a collar of hemp, protected him, and he brought his big 
brown fist like a hammer upon the traitor’s forehead. Carne 
wrenched at his dagger, but failed to draw it, and the two 
strong men rolled on the grass, fighting like two bull-dogs. 
Reason, and thought, and even sense of pain were lost in 
brutal fury, as they writhed, and clutched, and dug at one 
another, gashing their knuckles, and gnashing their teeth, 
frothing with one another’s blood, for Carne bit like a tiger. 
At length tough condition and power of endurance got the 
mastery, and Twemlow planted his knee upon the gasping 
breast of Carne. 

‘* Surrend—” he said, for his short breath could not fetch 
up the third syllable; and Carne with a sign of surrender 
lay on his back, and put his chin up, and shut his eyes as 
if he had fainted. Twemlow with self-congratulation 
waited a little to recover breath, still keeping his knee in 
the post of triumph, and pinning the foe’s right arm to 
his side. But the foe’s left hand was free, and with the 
eyes still shut, and a continuance of gasping, that left hand 
stole its way to the left pocket, quietly drew forth the sec- 
ond pistol, pressed back the hammer on the grass, and with 
a flash (both of eyes and of flint) fired into the victor’s 
forehead. The triumphant knee rolled off the chest, the 
body swung over, as a log is rolled by the woodman’s crow- 
bar,and Twemlow’s back was on the grass, and his eyes 
were closed to the moonlight. 

Carne scrambled up and shook himself, to be sure that all 
his limbs were sound. ‘* Ho, ho, ho!” he chuckled; ‘it is 
not so easy to beat me. Why, who are you? Down with 
vou, then!” 

Lord Robert Chancton, a lad of about sixteen, the eldest 
son of the Marquis, had lost his way inside the house, in 
trying to find a short-cut to the door, and coming up after 
the pistol was fired, made a very gallant rush at the enemy. 
With a blow of the butt Carne sent him sprawling; then 
dashing among the shrubs and trees, in another minute was 
in the saddle, and galloping towards the ancestral ruins. 

As he struck into the main road through the grounds, 
Carne passed and just missed by a turn of the bridle another 
horseman ascending the hill, and urging a weary animal. 
The faces of the men shot past each other within a short 
yard, and gaze met gaze; but neither in the dark flash knew 
the other, for a big tree barred the moonlight, But Carne, 


% = 


468 SPRINGHAVEN. 


in another moment, thought that the man who had passed 
must be Scudamore, probably fraught with hot tidings. 
And the thought was confirmed, as he met two troopers rid- 
ing as hard as ride they might; and then saw the beacon on 
the headland flare. From point to point, and from height 
to height, like a sprinkle of blood, the red lights ran; and 
the roar of guns from the moonlit sea made echo that they 
were ready. Then the rub-a-dub-dub of the drum arose, and 
the thrilling blare of trumpet; the great deep of the night 
was heaved and broken with the stir of human storm; and 
the stanchest and strongest piece of earth —our England 
—was ready to defend herself. 


CHAPTER LXII. 
THE WAY OUT OF IT. 


‘“ My father! my father! I must see my father. Who are 
you, that dare to keep me out? Let me know the worst, 


and try to bear it. What are any of you to him?” 


‘* But, my dear child,” Lord Southdown answered, hold- 
ing the door against poor Faith, as she strove to enter the 
room of death, ‘* wait just one minute, until we have lifted 
him to the sofa, and let us bring your poor sister out.” 

‘‘T have no sister. She has killed-my father, and the best 
thing she can do is to die. I feel that I could shoot her, if 
I had a pistol. Let me see him, where he lies.” 

‘*But, my poor dear, you must think of others. Your 
dear father is beyond all help. Your gallant lover lies on 
the grass. They hope to bring him round, God willing! 
Go where you can be of use.” 

‘‘ How cruel you are! You must want to drive me mad. 
Let his father and mother see to him, while I see to my own 
father. If you had a daughter, you would understand. Am 
Terying? Do I even tremble?” 

The Marquis offered his arm, and she took it in fear of 
falling, though she did not tremble; so he led her to her 
father’s last repose. The poor Admiral lay by the open win- 
dow, with his head upon a stool which Faith had worked. 
The ghastly wound was in his broad, smooth forehead, and 
his fair round cheeks were white with death. But the heart 
had not quite ceased to beat, and some remnant of the mind 
still hovered somewhere in the lacerated brain. Stubbard, 











v 


isi 


x’ 

































































Wie 









































‘‘THE TWO STRONG MEN ROLLED ON THE GRASS, FIGHTING LIKE TWO BULL-DOGS.”’ 


470 SPRINGHAVEN. 


sobbing like a child, was lifting and clumsily chafing one 
numb hand; while his wife, who had sponged the wound, 
_ was making the white curls wave with a fan she had shaped 
from a long official paper found upon the floor. 

Dolly was recovering from her swoon, and sat upon a 
stool by the bookcase, faintly wondering what had hap- 
pened, but afraid to ask or think. The corner of the book- 
case, and the burly form of Stubbard, concealed the window 
from her, and the torpid oppression which ensues upon a fit 
lay between her and her agony. Faith, as she passed, darted 
one glance at her, not of pity, not of love, but of cold con- 
tempt and satisfaction at her misery. 

Then Faith, the quiet and gentle maid, the tranquil and 
the self-controlled (whom every one had charged with want 
of heart, because she had borne her own grief so well), stood 
with the body of her father at her feet, and uttered an ex- 
ceeding bitter cry. The others had seen enough of grief, as 
every human being must, but nothing half so sad as this. 
They feared to look at her face, and durst not open lips to 
comfort her. 

‘‘Don’t speak. Don’t look at-him. You have no right 
here. When he comes to himself, he will want none but 
me. I have always done everything for him since dear 
mother died; and I shall get him to sit up. He will be so 
much better when he sits up. I can get him to do it, if you 
will only go. Oh, father, father, it is your own Faith come 
to make you well, dear, if you will only look at me!” 

As she took his cold limp hand and kissed it, and wiped 
* a red splash from his soft white hair, the dying man felt, by 
nature’s feeling, that he was being touched by a child of his. 
A faint gleam flitted through the dimness of his eyes, which 
he had not the power to close, and the longing to say “‘ fare- 
well” contended with the drooping of the underlip. She 
was sure that he whispered, ‘* Bless you, darling!” though 
nobody else could. have made it out; but a sudden rush of 
tears improved her hearing, as rain brings higher voices 
down. 

‘* Dolly too!” he seemed to whisper next; and Faith made 
a sign to Mrs. Stubbard. Then Dolly was brought, and fell. 
upon her knees, at the other side of her father, and did not — 
know how to lament as yet, and was scarcely sure of having 
anything to mourn. But she spread out her hands, as if for 
somebody to take them, and bowed her pale face, and closed 
her lips, that she might be rebuked without answering. © 


py Pe F - 


SPRINGHAVEN. 471 


Her father knew her; and his yearning was not to re- 
buke, but to bless and comfort her. He had forgotten every- 
thing, except that he was dying, with a daughter at each 
side of him. This appeared to make him very happy, about 
everything, except those two. He could not be expected to 
have much mind left; but the last of it was busy for his 
children’s good. Once more he tried to see them both, and 
whispered his last message to them—‘‘ Forgive and love each 
other.” | | 

Faith bowed her head, as his fell back, and silently offered 
to kiss her sister; but Dolly neither moved nor looked at her. 
‘* As you please,” said Faith; ‘‘and perhaps you would like 
to see a little more of your handiwork.” 

For even as she spoke, her lover’s body was carried past 
the window, with his father and mother on either side, sup- 
porting his limp arms and sobbing. Then Dolly arose, and 
with one hand grasping the selvage of the curtain, fixed one 
long gaze upon her father’s corpse. There were no tears in 
her eyes, no sign of anguish in her face, no proof that she 
knew or felt what she had done. And without a word she 
left the room. 

‘‘ Hard to the last, even hard to you!” cried Faith, as her 
tears fell upon the cold forehead. ‘‘ Oh, darling, how could 
you have loved her so ?” 

‘‘It is not hardness; it is madness. Follow your sister,” 
Lord Southdown said. ‘‘ We have had calamities enough.” 

But Faith was fighting with all her strength against an 
attack of hysterics, and fetching long gasps to control 
herself. ‘‘I will go,” replied Mrs. Stubbard; ‘‘ this poor 
child is quite unfit. What on earth is become of Lady 
Scudamore? A doctor’s widow might have done some 
good.” 

The doctor's widow was doing good elsewhere. In the 


first rush from the dining-room, Lady Scudamore had been 


pushed back by no less a person than Mrs. Stubbard; when 
at last she reached the study door she found it closed against 
her, and entering the next room, saw the flash of the pistol 
fired at Twemlow. Bravely hurrying to the spot by the 
nearest outlet she could find, she became at once entirely 
occupied with this new disaster. For two men who ran up 
with a carriage lamp declared that the gentleman was as 
dead as a door-nail, aud hastened te make good their words 
by swinging him up heels over head. But the lady made 
them set him down and support his head, while she bathed 


472 SPRINGHAVEN. 


the wound, and sent to the house for his father and moth- 
er, and when he could be safely brought in-doors, helped 
with her soft hands beneath his hair, and then became so 
engrossed with him that the arrival of her long-lost son was 
for several hours unknown to her. 

For so many things coming all at once were enough to 
upset any one. Urgent despatches came hot for the hand 
that now was cold forever; not a moment to lose, when 
time had ceased for the man who was to urge it. There 
were plenty of officers there, but no one clearly entitled 
to take command. Moreover, the public service clashed 
with the personal rage of the moment. Some were for rush- 
ing to the stables, mounting every horse that could be 
found, and seouring the country, sword in hand, for that 
infernal murderer. Some, having just descried the flash of 
beacon from the headland, and heard the alarm-guns from 
shore and sea, were for hurrying to their regiments, or 
ships, or homes and families (according to the headquarters 
of their life), while others put their coats on to ride for all 
the doctors in the county, who should fetch back the 
Admiral to this world, that he might tell everybody what 
to do. Scudamore stood with his urgent despatches in the 
large well-candled hall, and vainly desired to deliver them. 
‘* Send for the Marquis,” suggested some one. 

Lord Southdown came, without being sent for. ‘‘I shall 
take this duty upon myself,” he said, ‘‘as Lord-Lieutenant 
of the county. Captain Stubbard, as commander of the 
nearest post, will come with me and read these orders. 
Gentlemen, see that your horses are ready, and have all of 
the Admiral’s saddled. Captain Scudamore, you have dis- 
charged your trust, and doubtless ridden far and hard. My 
orders to you are a bottle of wine and a sirloin of roast beef 
at once.” 

For the sailor was now in very low condition, weary, 
and worried, and in want of food. Riding express, and 
changing horses twice, not once had he recruited the inner 
man, who was therefore quite unfit to wrestle with the 
power of sudden grief. When he heard of the Admiral’s 
death, he staggered as if a horse had stumbled under him, 
and his legs being stiff from hard sticking to saddle, had as 
much as they could do to hold him up. Yet he felt that he 
could not do the right thing now; he could not go and deal 
with the expedient victuals, neither might he dare intrude 
upon the ladies now; so he went out to comfort himself by 


QE a ia 





SPRINGHAVEN. 473 


attending to the troubles of his foundered horse, and by 
shedding unseen among the trees the tears which had gath- 
ered in his gentle eyes. 

According to the surest law of nature, that broken-down 
animal had been forgotten as soon as he was done with. 
He would have given his four legs—if he could legally 
dispose of them—for a single draught of sweet, delicious, 
rapturous, ecstatic water; but his bloodshot eyes sought 
vainly, and his welted tongue found nothing wet, except 
the flakes of his own salt foam. Until, with the help of 
the moon, a sparkle (worth more to his mind than all the 
diamonds he could draw)—a sparkle of the purest water 
gleamed into his dim eyes from the distance. Recalling 
to his mind’s eyes the grand date of his existence when he 
was a colt, and had a meadow to himself, with a sparkling 
river.at the end of it, he set forth in good faith, and, al- 
though his legs were weary, ‘‘ negotiated ”’—as the sporting 
writers say—the distance between him and the object of 
desire. He had not the least idea that this bad cost ten 
guineas—as much as his own good self was worth; for it 
happened to be the first dahlia seen in that part of the 
country. That gaudy flower at its first appearance made 
such a stir among gardeners that Mr. Swipes gave the 
Admiral no peace until he allowed him to order one. And 
so great was this gardener’s pride in his profession that he 
would not take an order for a rooted slip or cutting, from 
the richest man in the neighbourhood, for less than half a 
guinea. Therefore Mr. Swipes was attending to the plant 
with the diligence of a wet-nurse, and, the weather being 
dry, he had soaked it overhead, even before he did that duty 
to himself. 

A man of no teeth can take his nourishment in soup; and ~ 
nature, inverting her manifold devices—which she would 
much rather do than be beaten—has provided that a horse 
can chew his solids into liquids, if there is a drop of juice in 
their composition, when his artificial life has failed to supply 
him with the bucket. This horse, being very dry, laid his © 
tongue to the water-drops that sparkled on the foliage. He 
found them delicious, and he longed for more, and very soon 
his ready mind suggested that the wet must have come out 
of the leaves, and there must be more there. Proceeding on 
this argument, he found it quite correct, and ten guineas’ 
worth of dahlia was gone into his stomach by the time that 
Captain Scudamore came courteously to look after him. 


474 SPRINGHAVEN. 


Blyth, in equal ignorance of his sumptuous repast, gave 
him a pat of approval, and was turning his head towards 
the stable yard, when he saw a white figure gliding swiftly 
through the trees beyond the belt of shrubbery. Weary 
and melancholy as he was, and bewildered with the tumult 
of disasters, his heart bounded hotly as he perceived that 
the figure was that of his Dolly—Dolly, the one love of his 
life, stealing forth, probably to mourn alone the loss of her 
beloved father. As yet he knew nothing of her share in 
that sad tale, and therefore felt no anxiety at first about her 
purpose. He would not intrude upon her grief; he had no 
right to be her comforter; but still she should have some 
one to look after her, at that time of night, and with so much 
excitement and danger in the air. So the poor horse was 
again abandoned to his own resources, and being well used 
to such treatment, gazed as wistfully and delicately after the 
young man Scudamore as that young man gazed after his 
lady-love. 

To follow a person stealthily is not conducive to one’s 
. self-respect, but something in the lady’s walk and gesture 
impelled the young sailor to follow her. She appeared to 
be hastening, with some set purpose, and without any heed 
of circumstance, towards a part of the grounds where no 
house was, no living creature for company, nor even a bench 
to rest upon. There was no foot-path in that direction, nor 
anything to go to, but the inland cliff that screened the Hall 
from northeastern winds, and at its foot a dark pool having 
no good name in the legends of the neighbourhood. Even 
‘Parson Twemlow would not go near it later than the after- 
noon milking of the cows, and Captain Zeb would much 
rather face a whole gale of wind in a twelve-foot boat than 
give one glance at its dead calm face when the moon like a 
ghost stood over it. 

‘She is going towards Corpse-walk pit,” thought Secuddy 
—‘‘a cheerful place at this time of night! She might even 
fall into it unawares, in her present state of distraction. I 
‘am absolutely bound to follow her.” 

Duty fell in with his wishes, as it has a knack of doing. 
Forgetting his weariness, he followed, and became more anx- 
jous at every step. For the maiden walked as in a dream, 
without regard of anything, herself more like a vision than _ 
a good, substantial being. To escape Mrs. Stubbard she had 
gone upstairs and locked herself in her bedroom, and then 
shpped out without changing dress, but throwing a dark 




































































































































































































































































































































































\\ 


Y 
\ IN N 


5 STi tN 


{{| 
Kuti 
oH an ‘hy 


oh iN | 
i NN IN A\ 


il 0 i WM 
li 


























Ax Ce i i 














RAY 
oy] nat 












































me 
pan willy 
yi 

















Udi ih Hip 
j 


bt We ae in it beg i 


Ya 



































iN aa HHH) 


vl Wing i \ 
Wh ( iN » 
Hi MG (ci) 


it i y 








‘ 
i vil ei ee Hi 


Vin 


{} {i ir 





or RR ESE HE WR Reh 


CORPSE-WALK PIT. 





476 SPRINGHAVEN. 


mantle over it. This had fallen off, and she had not cared 
to stop or think about it, but went on to her death exactly 
as she went in to dinner. Her dress of white silk took the 
moonlight with a soft gleam like itself, and her clustering 
curls (released from fashion by the power of passion) fell, 
like the shadows, on her sweet white neck. But she never 
even asked herself how she looked; she never turned round 
to admire her shadow: to-morrow she would throw no 
shade, but be one; and how she looked, or what she was, 
would matter, to the world she used to think so much of, 
never more. 

Suddenly she passed from the moonlight into the black- 
ness of a lonely thicket, and forced her way through it, 
without heed of bruise or rent. At the bottom of the steep 
lay the long dark pit, and she stood upon the brink and 
gazed into it. To a sane mind nothing could look less in- 
viting. All above was air and light, freedom of the wind and 
play of moon with summer foliage; all below was gloom 
and horror, cold, eternal stillness, and oblivion everlasting. 
Even the new white frock awoke no flutter upon that sullen 
breast. 

Dolly heaved a sigh and shuddered, but she did not hesi- 
tate. Her mind was wandering, but her heart was fixed to 
make atonement, to give its life for the life destroyed, and 
to lie too deep for shame or sorrow. Suddenly a faint gleam 
caught her eyes. The sob of self-pity from her fair young 
breast had brought into view her cherished treasures, bright 
keepsakes of the girlish days when many a lover worshipped 
her. Taking from her neck the silken braid, she kissed 
them, and laid them on the bank. ‘* They were all too good 
for me,” she thought; ‘‘they shall not perish with me.” 

Then, with one long sigh, she called up all her fleeting 
courage, and sprang upon a fallen trunk which overhung 
the water. ‘‘There will be no Dan to save me now,” she 
said as she reached the end of it. ‘* Poor Dan! He will 
be sorry for me. This is the way out of it.” 

Her white satin shoes for a moment shone upon the black 
bark of the tree, and, with one despairing prayer to Heaven, 
she leaped into the liquid grave. 

Dan was afar, but another was near, who loved her even 
more than Dan. Blyth Scudamore heard the plunge, and 
rushed to the brink of the pit, and tore his coat off. For - 
a moment he saw nothing but black water heaving silent- 
ly; then something white appeared, and moved, and a faint 


SPRINGHAVEN. 4 


cry arose, and a hopeless struggle with engulfing death 
began. 

‘*Keep still, don’t struggle, only spread your arms, and 
throw your head back as far as you can,” he cried, as he 
swam with long strokes towards her. But if she heard, she 
could not heed, as the lights of the deep sky came and 
went, and the choking water flashed between, and gurgled 
into her ears and mouth, and smothered her face with her 
own long hair. She dashed her poor helpless form about, 
and flung out her feet for something solid, and grasped in 
dim agony at the waves herself had made. Then her dress 
became heavily bagged with water, and the love of life 
was quenched, and the night of death enveloped her. With- 
out a murmur, down she went, and the bubbles of her breath 
came up. 

Scudamore uttered a bitter cry, for his heart was almost 
broken—within an arm’s-length of his love, and she was 
gone forever! For the moment he did not perceive that 
the clasp of despair must have drowned them both. Point- 
ing his hands and throwing up his heels, he made one vain 
dive after her, then he knew that the pit was too deep for 
the bottom to be reached in that way. He swam to the 
trunk from which Dolly had leaped, and judging the dis- 
tance by the sullen ripple, dashed in with a dive like a ter- 
rified frog. Like a bullet he sank to the bottom, and groped 
with three fathoms of water above him. Just as his lungs . 
were giving out, he felt something soft and limp and round. 
Grasping this by the trailing hair, he struck mightily up for 
the surface, and drew a long breath, and sustained above 
water the head that fell back upon his panting breast. 

Some three hours later, Dolly Darling lay in her own 
little bed, as pale as death, but sleeping the sleep of the 
world that sees the sun; while her only sister knelt by her 
side, weeping the tears of a higher world than that. ‘‘ How 
could I be so brutal, and so hard?” sobbed Faith. ‘If fa- 
ther has seen it, will he ever forgive me? His last words 
were—‘ forgive, and love.’”’ 


478 - §PRINGHAVEN. 


CHAPTER LXIII. 


THE FATAL STEP. 


As Carne rode up the hill that night towards his ruined 
castle, the flush of fieree excitement and triumphant strug- 
gle died away, and self-reproach and miserable doubt 
struck into him like ague. For the death of Twemlow—as 
he supposed—he felt no remorse whatever. Him he had 
shot in furious combat, and as a last necessity; the fellow 
had twice insulted him, and then insolently collared him. 


And Faith, who had thwarted him with Dolly, and been 


from the first his enemy, now would have to weep and wail, 
and waste her youth in constancy. All that was good; but 
he could not regard with equal satisfaction the death of 
the ancient Admiral. The old man had brought it upon 
himself by his stupid stubbornness; and looking fairly upon 
that matter, Carne scarcely saw how to blame himself. 
Still, it was a most unlucky thing, and must lead to a 
quantity of mischief. To-morrow, or at the latest Monday, 
.was to have crowned with grand success his years of toil 
and danger. There still might be the landing, and he 
would sail that night to hasten it, instead of arranging all 


ashore; but it could no longer be a triumph of crafty man- 


agement. The country was up, the Admiral’s death would 
spread the alarm and treble it; and, worst of all, in the hot 
pursuit of himself, which was sure to follow when people’s 
wits came back to them, all the stores and ammunition, 
brought together by so much skill and patience and hardi- 
hood, must of necessity be discovered and fall into the 


hands of the enemy. Farewell to his long-cherished hope 
of specially neat retribution, to wit, that the ruins of his 


family should be the ruin of the land which had rejected 
him! Then a fierce thought crossed his mind, and became 
at once a stern resolve. -If he could never restore Carne 
Castle, and dwell there in prosperity, neither should any of 
his oppressors. The only trace of his ancestral home should 
be a vast black hole in earth. 

For even if the landing still siecelienk: and the country 


' 
a 


SPRINGHAVEN. 479 


were subdued, he could never make his home there, after 
what he had done to-night. Dolly was lost to him forever; 
and although he had loved her with all the ardour he could 
spare from his higher purposes, he must make up his mind 
to do without her, and perhaps it was all the better for him. 
If he had married her, no doubt he could soon have taught 
her her proper place; but no one could tell how she might 
fly out, through her self-will and long indulgence. He would 
marry a French woman; that would be the best; perhaps 
cone connected with the Empress Josephine. As soon as he 
had made up his mind to this, his conscience ceased to trou- 
ble him. 

From the crest of the hill at the eastern gate many a 
bend of shore was clear, and many a league of summer sea 
lay wavering in the moonlight. Along the beach red torches 
flared, as men of the Coast-Defence pushed forth, and yellow 
flash of cannon inland signalled for the Volunteers, while 
the lights gleamed (like windows opened from the depth) 
where sloop and gun-boat, frigate and ship of the line, were 
crowding sail to rescue England. For the semaphore, and 
when day was out the beacon-lights, had glowed along the 
backbone of the English hills, and England called every 
Englishman to show what he was made of. 

‘“That will do. Enough of that, John Bull!” Defying 
his native land, Carne shook his fist in the native manner. 
‘‘Stupid old savage, I shall live to make you howl. This 
country has become too hot to hold me, and I'll make it 
hotter before I have done. Here, Orso and Leo, good dogs, 
good dogs! You could kill a hundred British bull-dogs. 
Mount guard for an hour, till I call you down the hill. 
You can pull down a score of Volunteers apiece, if they 
dare to come after me. I have an hour to spare, and I 
know how to employ it. Jerry, old Jerry Bowles, stir your 
crooked shanks. What are you rubbing your blear eyes 
at?” | 

The huge boar-hounds, who obeyed no voice but his, took 
post upon the rugged road (which had never been repaired 
since the Carnes were a power in the land), and sat side by 
side beneath the crumbling arch, with their long fangs glis- 
tening and red eyes rolling in the silver moonlight, while 
their deep chests panted for the chance of good fresh human 
victuals. Then Carne gave his horse to ancient Jerry, say- 
ing, ‘‘ Feed him, and take him with his saddle on to the old 
yew-tree in half an hour. “Wait there for Captain Charron, 


480 SPRINGHAVEN. 


and for me. You are not to go away till I come to you. 
Who is in the old place now? Think well before you an- 
swer me.” | 

‘*No one now in the place but her”—the old man lifted 
his elbow, as a coachman does in passing—‘‘and him down 
in the yellow jug. All the French sailors are at sea. Only 
she won’t go away; and she moaneth worse than_all the owls 
and ghosts. Ah, your honour should never ’a done that— 
respectable folk to Springhaven too!” 

‘*It was a slight error of judgment, Jerry. What a: 
mealy lot these English are, to make such a fuss about a. 
trifle! But I am too soft-hearted to blow her up. Tell her 
to meet me in half an hour by the broken dial, and to bring 
the brat, and all her affairs in a bundle such as she can carry, 
or kick down the hill before her. In half an hour, do you 
understand? And if you care for your stiff old bones, get 
out of the way by that time.” 

In that half-hour Carne gathered in small compass, and 
strapped up in a little *‘ mail’—as such light baggage then 
was called—all his important documents, despatches, letters, 
and papers of every kind, and the cash he was intrusted 
with, which he used to think safer at Springhaven. Then 
he took from a desk which was fixed to the wall a locket 
bright with diamonds, and kissed it, and fastened it beneath 
his neck-cloth. The wisp of hair inside it came not from 
any young or lovely head, but from the resolute brow of 
his mother, the woman who hated England. He should 
have put something better to his mouth; for instance, a 
good beef sandwich. But one great token of his perversion 
was that he never did feed well—a sure proof of the un- 
righteous man, as suggested by the holy Psalmist, and more 
distinctly put by Livy in the character he gives Hannibal. 

Regarding as a light thing his poor unfurnished stomach, 
Carne mounted the broken staircase, in a style which might 
else have been difficult. He had made up his mind to have 
one last look at the broad lands of his ancestors, from the 
last that ever should be seen of the walls they had reared 
and ruined. He stood upon the highest vantage-point that 
he could attain with safety, where a shaggy gnarl of the all- 
pervading ivy served as a friendly stay. To the right and 
left and far behind him all had once been their domain— 
every tree, and meadow, and rock that faced the moon, had 
belonged to his ancestors. ‘‘Is ita wonder that I am fierce?” 
he cried, with unwonted self-inspéétion ; ‘‘ who, that has been 


SPRINGHAVEN. . 481 


robbed as I have, would not try to rob in turn? The only 
thing amazing is my patience and my justice. But I will 
come back yet, and have my revenge.” 

Descending to his hyena den—as Charron always called 
it—he caught up his packet, and took a lantern, and a coil of 
tow which had been prepared, and strode forth for the last 
time into the sloping court behind the walls. Passing tow- 
ards the eastern vaults, he saw the form of some one by the 
broken dial, above the hedge of brambles, which had once 
been of roses and sweetbriar. ‘‘Oh, that woman! I had 
forgotten that affair!” he muttered, with annoyance, as he 
pushed through the thorns to meet her. 

Polly Cheeseman, the former belle of Springhaven, was 
leaning against the wrecked dial, with a child in her arms 
and a bundle at her feet. Her pride and gaiety had left her 
now, and she looked very wan through frequent weeping, 
and very thin from nursing. Her beauty (like her friends) 
had proved unfaithful under shame and sorrow, and little ~ 
of it now remained except the long brown tresses and the 
large blue eyes. Those eyes she fixed upon Carne with more 
of terror than of love in them; although the fear was such 
as turns with a very little kindness to adoring love. 

Carne left her to begin, for he really was not without 
shame in this matter; and Polly was far better suited than 
Dolly for a scornful and arrogant will like his. Deeply 
despising all the female race—as the Greek tragedian calls 
them--save only the one who had given him to the world, 
he might have been a God to Polly if he had but behaved as 
aman to her. She looked at him now with an imploring 
gaze, from the gentleness of her ill-used heart. 

Their child, a fine boy about ten months old, broke the si- 
lence by saying ‘‘ booh, booh,” very well, and holding out 
little hands to his father, who had often been scornfully 
kind to him. 

‘Oh, Caryl, Caryl, you will never forsake him!” cried the 
young mother, holding him up with rapture, and supporting 
his fat arms in that position; ‘‘ he is the very image of you, 
and he seems to know it. Baby,say ‘Da-da.’ There, he has 
put his mouth up, and his memory is so wonderful! Oh, 
Caryl, what do you think of that—and the first time of try- 
ing it by moonlight 2” 

‘There is no time for this nonsense, Polly. He is a won- 
derful baby, I dare say; and so is every baby, till he gets too 
old. You must obey orders, and be off with him.” 

21 


482 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘‘Oh, no! You are come to take us with you. There, I 
have covered his face up, that he may not suppose you look 
cross at me. Oh, Caryl, you would never leave him behind, 
even if you could do that tome. We are not grand people, 
and you can put us anywhere, and now I am nearly as well 
as ever. I have put up all his little things; it does not mat- 
ter about my own. I was never brought up to be idle, and 
Iean earn my own living anywhere; and it might be a real 
comfort for you, with the great people going against you, to 
have somebody, not very grand, of course, but as true to you 
as yourself, and belonging altogether to you. I know many 
people who would give their eyes for such a baby.” 

‘‘There is no time for this,” Carne answered, sternly ; 
‘‘my arrangements are made, and I cannot take you. I 
have no fault to find with you, but argument is useless.” 

‘“Yes, I know that, Caryl; and I am sure that I never 
would attempt to argue with you. You should have every- 
thing your own way, and I could attend to so many things 
that no man ever does properly. I will be a slave to you, 
and this little darling love you, and then you will feel that 
you have two to love you, wherever you go, and whatever 
youdo. Andif I spoke crossly when first I found out that 
—that I went away for nothing with you, you must have 
forgiven me by this time, and I never will remind you again 
of it; if I do, send me back to the place I belong to. I be- 
long to you now, Caryl, and so does he; and when we are 
away from the people who know me, I shall be pleasant and 
cheerful again. I was only two-and-twenty the day the 
boats came home last week, and they used to say the young 
men jumped into the water as soon as they caught sight of 
me. ‘Try to be kind to me, and I shall be so happy that I 
shall look almost as I used to do, when you said that the 
great ladies might be grander, but none of them fit to look 
into my looking-glass. Dear Caryl, I am ready; I don’t 
care where it is, or what I may have to put up with, so long 
as you will make room for your Polly, and your baby.” 

‘‘T am not at all a hard man,” said Carne, retreating as 
the impulsive Polly offered him the baby, *‘ but once for all, 
no more of this. I have quite forgiven any strong expres- 
sions you may have made use of when your head was lght; 
and if all goes well, I shall provide for you and the child, 
according to your rank in life. But now you must run 
down the hill, if you wish to save your life and his.” 

‘‘T have run down the hill already. I care not a pin for 


SPRINGHAVEN. 483 


my own life; and hard as you are you would never have 
the heart to destroy your own little Caryl. He may be 
called Caryl—you will not deny him that, although he has 
no right to be called Carne. Oh, Caryl, Caryl, you can be 
so good, when you think there is something to gain by it. 
Only be good to us now, and God will bless you for it, dar- 
ling. I have given up all the world for you, and you cannot 
have the heart to cast me off.” 

“What a fool the woman is! Have you ever known me 
change my mind? If you scorn your own life, through 
your own folly, you must care for the brat’s. If you stop 
here ten minutes, you will both be blown to pieces.” 

‘“Through my own folly! Oh, God in heaven, that you 
should speak so of my love for you! Squire Carne, you are 
the worst man that ever lived; and it serves me right for 
trusting you. But where am I to go?) Who will take me 
and support me, and my poor abandoned child ?” 

‘Your parents, of course, are your natural supporters. 
You are hurting your child by this low abuse of me. Now 
put aside excitement, and run home, like a sensible woman, 
_ before your good father goes to bed.” 

She had watched his face all the time, as if she could 
scarcely believe that he was in earnest, but he proved it by 
leaving her with a wave of his hat, and hastening back to his 
lantern. Then taking up that, and the coil of tow, but leav- 
ing his package against the wall, he disappeared in the nar- 
row passage leading to the powder vaults. Polly stood still 
by the broken dial, with her eyes upon the moon, and her 
arms around the baby, and a pang in her heart. which pre- 
vented her from speaking, or moving, or even knowing 
where she was. 

Then Carne, stepping warily, unlocked the heavy oak 
door at the entrance of the cellarage, held down his lan- 
tern, and fixed with a wedge the top step of the ladder, 
which had been made to revolve with a pin and collar at 
either end, as before described. After trying the step with 
his hand, to be sure that it was now wedged safely, he flung 
his coil into the vault and followed. Some recollection 
made him smile as he was going down the steps: it was that 
of a stout man lying at the bottom, shaken in every bone, 
yet sound as a grape ensconced in jelly. As he touched the 
bottom he heard a little noise as of some small substance 
falling, but seeing a piece of old mortar dislodged, he did not 
turn round to examine the place. If he had done so he 


484 SPRINGHAVEN. 


would have found behind the ladder the wedge he had just 
inserted to secure the level of the ‘* Inspector’s step.” 

Unwinding his coil of tow, which had been steeped in 
saltpetre to make a long fuse, with a toss of his long legs he 
crossed the barricade of solid oak rails about six feet high 
securely fastened across the vault, for the enclosure of the 
dangerous storage. Inside it was a passage, between chests 
of arms, dismounted cannon, and cases from every depart- 
ment of supply, to the explosive part of the magazine, the 
devourer of the human race, the pulp of the marrow of the 
Furies—gun powder. 

Of this there was now collected here, EN stored in tiers 
that reached the roof, enough to blow up half the people of 
England, or lay them all low with a bullet before it; yet not 
enough, not a millionth part enough, to move for the breadth 
of a hair the barrier betwixt right and wrong, which a very 
few barrels are enough to do witha man who has sapped the 
foundations. Treading softly for fear of a spark from his 
boots, and guarding the lantern well, Carne approached one 
of the casks in the lower tier, and lifted the tarpaulin. Then 
he slipped the wooden slide in the groove, and allowed some 
five or six pounds to run out upon the floor, from which the 
cask was raised by timber baulks. Leaving the slide partly 
open, he spread one end of his coil like a broad lamp-wick in 
the pile of powder which had run out, and put a brick upon 
the tow to keep it from shifting. Then he paid out the rest 
of the coil on the floor like a snake some thirty feet long, 
with the tail about a yard inside the barricade. With a very 
steady hand he took the candle from inside the horn, and 
kindled that tail of the fuse; and then, replacing his light, 
he recrossed the open timber-work, and swiftly remounted 
the ladder of escape. ‘‘ Twenty minutes’ or half an hour's 
grace,” he thought, ‘‘and long before that I shall be at the 
yew-tree.”’ 

But, as he planted his right foot sharply upon the top 
step of the ladder, that step swung back, and cast him heavi- 
ly backwards to the bottom. The wedge had dropped out, 
and the step revolved like the treadle of a fox-trap. 

For a minute or two he lay stunned and senseless, with 
the lantern before him on its side, and the candle burning a 
hole in the bubbly horn. Slowly recovering his wits, he 
strove to rise, as the deadly peril was borne in upon him. 
But instead of rising, he fell back again with a curse, and 
then a long-drawn groan; for pain (like the thrills of a man 


SPRINGHAVEN. 485 


on the rack) had got hold of him and meant to keep him. 
His right arm was snapped at the elbow, and his left leg 
just above the knee, and the jar of his spine made him feel 
-as if his core had been split out of him. - He had no fat, 
like Shargeloes, to protect him, and no sheath of hair like 
Twemlow’s. 

Writhing with anguish, he heard a sound which did not 
improve his condition. It. was the spluttering of the fuse, 
eating its merry way towards the five hundred casks of gun- 
powder. In the fury of peril he contrived to rise, and stood 
on his right foot with the other hanging limp, while he 
stayed himself with his left hand upon the ladder. Even if 
he could crawl up this, it would benefit him nothing. Be- 
fore he could drag himself ten yards, the explosion would 
overtake him. His only chance was to quench the fuse, or 
draw it away from the priming. With a hobble of agony 
he reachéd the barricade, and strove to lft his crippled 
frame over it. It was hopeless; the power of his back was 
gone, and his limbs were unable to obey his brain. Then 
he tried to crawl through at the bottom, but the opening of 
the rails would not admit his body, and the train of ductile 
fire had left only ash for him to grasp at. 

Quivering with terror, and mad with pain, he returned to 
the foot of the steps, and clung till a gasp of breath came 
back.: Then he shouted, with all his remaining power, ‘‘ Pol- 
ly! oh, Polly! my own Polly!” 

Polly had been standing, like a statue of despair, beside 
the broken dial. To her it mattered little whether earth 
should open and swallow her, or fire cast her up to heaven. 
But his shout aroused her from this trance, and her heart 
leaped up with the fond belief that he had relented, and was 
ealling her and the child to share his fortunes. There she 
stood in the archway and looked down, and the terror of 
the scene overwhelmed her. Through a broken arch be- 
yond the barricade pale moonbeams crossed the darkness, 
like the bars of some soft melody; in the middle the serpent 
coil was hissing with the deadly nitre; at the foot of the 
steps was her false lover—husband he had called himself— 
with his hat off, and his white face turned in the last sup- 
plication towards her, as hers had been turned towards him 
just now. Should a woman be as pitiless as a man ? 

‘‘Come down, for God’s sake, and climb that cursed wood, 
and pull back the fuse, pull it back from the powder. Oh, 
Polly! and then we will go away together.” 


486 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘‘Tt is too late. I will not risk my baby. You have 
made me so weak that I could never climb that fence. You 
are blowing up the castle which you promised to my baby; 
but you shall not blow up him. You told me to run away, 
and run I must. Good-bye; lam going to my natural sup- 
porters.” 

Carne heard her steps as she fled, and he fancied that he 
heard therewith a mocking laugh, but it was a sob, a hys- 
terical sob. She would have helped him, if she dared; but 
her wits were gone in panic. She knew not of his shattered 
limbs and horrible plight; and it flashed across her that this 
was another trick of his—to destroy her and the baby, while 
he fled. She had proved that all his vows were lies. 

Then Carne made his mind up to die like a man, for he 
saw that escape was impossible. Limping back to the fatal 
barrier, he raised himself to his full height, and stood proud- 
ly to see, as he put it, the last of himself. Not a quiver of 
his haughty features showed the bodily pain that racked 
him, nor a flinch of his deep eyes confessed the tumult mov- 
ing in his mind and soul. He pulled out his watch and laid 
it on the top rail of the oid oak fence: there was not enough 
light to read the time, but he could count the ticks he had 
to live. Suddenly hope flashed through his heart, like the 
crack of a gun, like a lightning fork—a big rat was biting 
an elbow of the yarn where some tallow had fallen upon it. 
Would he cut it, would he drag it away to his hole? would 
he pull it a little from its fatal end? He was strong enough 
to do it, if he only understood. The fizz of saltpetre dis- 
turbed the rat, and he hoisted his tail and skipped back to 
his home. 

The last thoughts of this unhappy man went back upon 
his early days; and things, which he had passed without 
thinking of, stood before him like his tombstone. None of 
his recent crimes came now to his memory to disturb it— 
there was time enough after the body for them—but trifles 
which had first depraved the mind, and slips whose repeti- 
tion had made slippery the soul, like the alphabet of death, 
grew plain to him. Then he thought of his mother, and 
crossed himself, and said a little prayer to the Virgin. 

* x * * * * 

Charron was waiting by the old yew-tree, and Jerry sat 
trembling, with his eyes upon the castle, while the black 
horse, roped to a branch, was mourning the scarcity of oats 
and the abundance of gnats. 


SPRINGHAVEN. 487 


‘*Pest and the devil, but the coast is all alive!” cried the 
Frenchman, soothing anxiety with solid and liquid com- 
forts. ‘‘ Something has gone wrong behind the tail of eve- 
rything. And there goes that big Stoobar, blazing with his 
sordid battery! Arouse thee, old Cheray! The time too late 
is over. Those lights thrice accursed will display our little 
boat, and John Bull is rushing with a thousand sails. The 
Commander is mad. They will have him, and us too. Shall 
I dance by a rope? It is the only dancing probable for me 
in England.” 

‘IT have never expected any good to come,” the old man 
answered, without moving. ‘‘The curse of the house is upon 
the young Squire. I saw it in his eyes this morning, the 
same as I saw in his father’s eyes, when the sun was going’ 
down the very night he died. I shall never see him more, 
sir, nor you either, nor any other man that bides to the right 
side of his coffin.” 

‘*Bah! what a set you are of funerals, you Englishmen! 
But if I thought he was in risk, I would stay to see the end 
Of 1f2 

‘‘ Here comes the end of it!’ the old man cried, leaping up 
and catching at a rugged cord of trunk, with his other hand 
pointing up the hill. From the base of the castle a broad 
blaze rushed, showing window and battlement, arch and 
tower, as in a flicker of the Northern lights. Then up went 
all the length of fabric, as a wanton child tosses his Noah’s 
ark. Keep and buttress, tower and arch, mullioned window 
and battlement, in a fiery furnace leaped on high, like the 
outburst of a voleano. Then, with a roar that rocked the 
earth, they broke into a storm of ruin, sweeping the heavens 
with a flood of fire, and spreading the sea with a mantle 
of blood. Following slowly in stately spires, and calmly 
swallowing everything, a fountain of dun smoke arose, and 
solemn silence filled the night. 

‘‘ All over now, thank the angels and the saints! My 
faith, but I made up my mind to join them,” cried Charron, 
who had fallen, or been felled by the concussion. ‘‘Cheray, 
art thou still alive?) The smoke is in my neck. I cannot 
liberate my words, but the lumps must be all come down by 
this time, without adding to the weight of our poor brains. 
Something fell in this old tree, a long way up, as high as 
where the crows build. It was like a long body, with one 
lez and one arm. I hope it was not the Commander; but 
one thing is certain—he is gone to heaven. Let us pray 


488 SPRINGHAVEN. 


that he may stop there, if St. Peter admits a man who was 
selling the keys of his country to the enemy. But we must 
do duty to ourselves, my Cheray. Let us hasten to the sea, 
and give the signal for the boat. La Torche will be a weak 
light after this.” 

‘‘T will not go. I will abide my time.” The old man 
staggered to a broken column of the ancient gateway which 
had fallen near them, and flung his arms around it. ‘‘I 
remember this since I first could toddle. The ways of the 
Lord are wonderful.” 

‘“Come away, you old fool,” cried the Frenchman; ‘I 
hear the tramp of soldiers in the valley. If they catch you 
here, it will be drum-head work, and you will swing before 
merning in the ruins.” 

‘‘T am very old. My timeis short. I would liefer hang 
from an English beam than deal any more with your out- 
landish lot.” | 

‘Farewell to thee, then! Thou art a faithful clod. Here 
are five guineas for thee, of English stamp. I doubt if na- 
poleons shall ever be coined in England.” 

He was off while he might—a gallant Frenchman, and an 
honest enemy; such as our country has respected always, 
and often endeavoured to turn into fast friends. But the 
old man stood and watched the long gap, where for centu- 
ries the castle of the Carnes had towered. And his sturdy 
faith was rewarded. 

‘‘T am starving ’’—these words came feebly from a gaunt, 
ragged figure that approached him. ‘* For three days my 
food has been forgotten; and, bad as it was, I missed it. - 
There came a great rumble, and my walls fell down. An- 
cient Jerry, I can go no farther. I am empty as a shank 
bone when the marrow-toast is serving. Your duty was to 
feed me, with inferior stuff at any rate.” 

‘“No, sir, no;” the old servitor was roused by the charge 
of neglected duty. ‘Sir Parsley, it was no fault of mine 
whatever. Squire undertook to see to all of it himself. 
Don’t blame me, sir; don’t blame me.” 

‘“ Never mind the blame, but make it good,” Mr. Shargeloes 
answered, meagrely, for he felt as if he could never be fat 
again. ‘‘WhatdoTIsee there? It is like a crust of bread, 
but I am too weak to stoop for it.” : 

‘“Come inside the tree, sir.” The old man led him, as a 
grandsire leads a famished child. ‘‘ What ashame to starve 
you, and you so hearty! But the Squire clean forgotten it, 


SPRINGHAVEN. 489 


I doubt, with his foreign tricks coming to this great blow-up. 
Here, sir, here; please to sit down a moment, while I light a 
candle. They French chaps are so wasteful always, and al- 
ways grumbling at good English victual. Here’s eneugh to 
feed a family Captain Charron has throwed by—bread, and 
good mutton, and pretty near half a ham, and a bottle or so 
of thin, nasty, foreign wine. Eat away, Sir Parsley; why, it 
does me good to see you. You feeds something like an Eng- 
lishman. But you know, sir, it were all your own fault at 
bottom, for coming among them foreigners a-meddling.” 

‘‘You are a fine fellow. You shall be my head butler,” 
Percival Shargeloes replied, while he made such a meal as 
he never made before, and never should make again, even 
when he came to be the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor 
of London. 


CHAPTER LXIV. 
WRATH AND SORROW. 


THE two most conspicuous men of the age were saddened 
and cast down just now—one by the natural kindly sorrow 
into which all men live for others, till others live into it for 
them ; and one by the petulant turns of fortune, twisting 
and breaking his best-woven web. Lord Nelson arrived at 
Springhaven on Monday, to show his affection for his dear 
old friend; and the Emperor Napoleon, at the same time, was 
pacing the opposite cliffs in grief and dudgeon. 

He had taken his post on some high white land, about a 
league southward of Boulogne, and with strong field-glasses, 
which he pettishly exchanged in doubt of their power and 
truth, he was scanning all the roadways of the shore and the 
trackless breadths of sea. His quick brain was burning for 
despatches overland—whether from the coast road past Kta- 
ples, or farther inland by the great route from Paris, or away 
to the southeast by special courier from the Austrian frontier 
-——as well as for signals out at sea, and the movements of the 
British ships, to show that his own were coming. He had 
treated with disdain the suggestions of his faithful Admiral 
Decrés, who had feared to put the truth too plainly, that the 
fleet ordered up from the west had failed, and with it the 
Master’s mighty scheme. Having yet to learn the lesson 
that his best plans might be foiled, he was furious when 
doubt was cast upon this pet design. Like-a giant of a spi- 

rab: 


490 SPRINGHAVEN, 


der at the nucleus of his web, he watched the broad fan of 

radiant threads, and the hovering of filmy woof, but without 

the mild philosophy of that spider, who is ver sed j in the very 
sad capriciousness of flies. 

Just within hearing (and fain to be ae in his present 
state of mind) were several young officers of the staff, mak- 
ing little mouths at one another, for want of better pastime, 
but looking as grave, when the mighty man glanced round, 
as schoolboys do under the master’s eye. ‘‘Send Admiral 
Decrés to me,’”’ the Emperor shouted, as he laid down his 
telescope and returned to his petulant to-and-fro. 

In a few minutes Admiral Decrés arrived, and after a sa- 
lute which was not acknowledged, walked in silence at his 
master’s side. The great man, talking to himself aloud, and 
reviling almost every one except himself, took no more no- 
tice of his comrade for some minutes than if he had been a 
poodle keeping pace with him. Then he turned upon him 
fiercely, with one hand thrown out, as if he would have liked 
to strike him. 

‘“What then is the meaning of all this?” He spoke too 
fast for the other to catch all his words. ‘*‘ You have lost me 
three days of it. How much longer will you conceal your 
knowledge? Carne’s scheme has failed, through treachery 
—probably his own. I never liked the man. He wanted 
to be the master of me—of me! I can do without him; it is 
all the better, if my fleet will come. I have three fleets, be- 
sides these. Any one of them would do. They would do, 
if even half their crews were dead, so long as they disturbed 
the enemy. You know where Villeneuve is, but you will 
not tell me.” 

‘*T told your Majesty what I thought,” M. Decrés replied, 
with dignity, ‘‘ but it did not please you to listen to me. 
Shall I now tell your Majesty what I know ?” Ligh 

‘‘Ha! You have dared to have secret despatches! You 
know more of the movements of my fleets than Ido! You 
have been screening him all along. Which of you is the 
worse traitor ?” 

‘Your Majesty will regret these words. Villeneuve and 
myself are devoted to you. I have not heard from him. 
I have received no despatches. But in a private letter just 
received, which is here at your Majesty’s service, I find these 
words, which your Majesty can see. ‘From my brother on 
the Spanish coast I have just heard. Admiral Villeneuve 
has sailed for Cadiz, believing Nelson to be in chase of him. 


aa 


SPRINGHAVEN. 491 


My brother saw the whole fleet crowding sail southward. 
No doubt it is the best thing they could do. If they came 
across Nelson, they would be knocked to pieces.’ Your Maj- 
esty, that is an opinion only; but it seems to be shared by 
M. Villeneuve.” 

Napoleon’s wrath was never speechless—except upon one 
great occasion—and its outburst put every other in the 
wrong, even while he knew that he was in the right. Re- 
garding Decrés with a glare of fury, such as no other eyes 
could pour, or meet—a glare as of burnished steel fired from 
a cannon—he drove him out of every self-defence or shelter, 
and shattered him in the dust of his own principles. It was 
not the difference of rank between them, but the difference 
in the power of their minds, that chased like a straw before 
the wind the very stable senses of the man who understood 
things. He knew that he was right, but the right was 
routed, and away with it flew all capacity of reason in the 
pitiless torrent of passion, like a man in a barrel, and the 
barrel in Niagara. 

M. Decrés knew not head from tail, in the rush of invec- 
tive poured upon him; but he took off his hat in soft search 
for his head, and to let in the compliments rained upon it. 

‘‘Tt is good,” replied the Emperor, replying to himself, as 
the foam of his fury began to pass; ‘‘you will understand, 
Decrés, that Iam not angry, but only lament that I have 
such a set of fools. You are not the worst. I have bigger 
fools than you. Alas that I should confess it!” 

Admiral Decrés put his hat upon his head, for the purpose 
of taking it off, to acknowledge the kindness of this compli- 
ment. It was the first polite expression he had received for 
half an hour. And it would have been the last, if he had 
dared to answer. 

‘‘Villeneuve cannot help it that he is a fool,” continued 
Napoleon, in a milder strain; *‘ but he owes it to his rank 
that he should not be a coward. Nelson is his black beast. 
Nelson has reduced him to a condition of wet pulp. I shall 
send a braver man to supersede him. Are French fleets for- 
ever to turn tail to an inferior force of stupid English? If I 
were on the seas, I would sweep Nelson from them. Our 
men are far braver, when they learn to spread their legs. 
As soon as I have finished with those filthy Germans, I will 
take the command of the fleets myself. It will be a bad 
day for that bragging Nelson. Give me pen and paper, 
and send Daru to me. I must conquer the Continent once 


492 SPRINGHAVEN. 


more, I suppose; and then I will return and deal with Eng- 
land.”’ 

In a couple of hours he had shaped and finished the plan 
of a campaign the most triumphant that even he ever 
planned and accomplished. Then his mind became satisfied 
with good work, and he mounted his horse, and for the last 
-time rode through the grandest encampment the sun has 
ever seen, distributing his calm, sweet smile, as if his nature 
were too large for tempests. 

* *k *k *k * *k 

On the sacred white coast, which the greatest of French- 
men should only approach as a prisoner, stood a man of less 
imperious mould, and of sweet and gentle presence—a man 
who was able to command himself in the keenest disappoint- 
ment, because he combined a quick sense of humour with 
the power of prompt action, and was able to appreciate his 
own great qualities without concluding that there were no 
other. His face, at all times except those of hot battle, was 
filled with quiet sadness, as if he were sent into the world 
for some great purpose beyond his knowledge, yet surely 
not above his aim. Years of deep anxiety and ever-urgent 
duty had made him look old before his time, but in no wise 
abated his natural force. He knew that he had duty before 
him still, and he felt that the only discharge was death. 

But now, in the tenderness of his heart, he had forgotten 
all about himself, and even for the moment about his coun- 
try. 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 Iam 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 


SPRINGHAVEN. 493 


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 any- 
body 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 2” 

‘“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. Iam ashamed to be talking of 
such trifles now; but I respect that man, he was so straight- 
forward. Ifmy 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, Iam told, and nothing could save his 
life except that he wore a new-fashioned periwig.”’ 

‘‘T would rather not talk of him now, Lord Nelson, al- 
though he had no periwig. JI 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.” 


494 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘*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 be- 
lieved that it could not do without me, although there are 
other men every bit as good, and in their own opinion supe- 
rior. 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. Ihave 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 but- 
tons 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 
loath 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. 

‘‘T 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.” 

‘‘T 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. 


SPRINGHAVEN. 495 


‘*T see by your eyes that itis young Tugweil. 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 2?” 

‘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 pri- 
vate 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. HKyven you must 
have often longed to send letters to those you loved in Eng- 
land; and you know how hard it isin 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 


496 SPRINGHAVEN. 


the men getting sleepy, he knocked them both down, and 
jumped overboard; for he can swim like a fish, or even bet- 
ter. 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 al- 
though 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 plen- 
ty 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.” 

‘‘Tt 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 success- 
fully. 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 Sep- 
tember, in his favourite ship the Victory, to take his last 
command. He knew that he never should come home, ex- 
cept as a corpse for burial, but he fastened his mind on the 


SPRINGHAVEN. 497 


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 head- 
lands 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 merri- 
ness. 

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 sparable. 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 dis- 
ease 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 grum- 
bles always. The boaster soon exhausts his subject; the 
grumbler has matter that lasts forever. 

Nelson had much of this national virtue. ‘‘ Half of them 
will get away,” he said to Captain Blackwood, of the Hurya- 
lus, who was come for his latest orders, ‘‘ because of that ras- 
eaily 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 


498 SPRINGHAVEN. 


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 asI do. Remem- 
ber 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 ene- 
mies. 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 al- 
ways 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 an- 
swered. His order was, ‘‘ Reserve your fire until you are 
sure of every shot.”” Then he took his stand upon the quar- 
ter-deck, assured of victory, and assured that his last  be- 
quest 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 na- 
tive village, which received him proudly when he came 
home. Placed at a gun on the upper deck, on the starboard 





SPRINGHAVEN. | 499 


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, be- 
have 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 French- 
man, adapting his desires as a spring-board to his conclu- 
sions, 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 Eng- 
lish ship which lay beyond than to the foe at the port-holes. 
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 uni- 
form, and advancing with a martial stride, cast into shade 
the mighty hero quietly walking at his left side. And Nel- 
son 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, 


500 SPRINGHAVEN. 


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. 

‘‘T hope you are not much hurt, my lord ?” said the Cap- 
tain, 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. 

‘‘T 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 quarter-deck, 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 stged 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.be- 
cause they retired out of sight to load, and only came for- 
ward to catch theiraim. However, by the exertions of our 
marines—who should have been at them long ago—these 
sharpshooters 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 


SPRINGHAVEN. 501 


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 condem- 
nation. 

The least resolute of them became depressed by this, being 
doubtless a Radical who had been taught that Vox populz is 
Vox Det. 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 English- 
man, 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 to- 
gether, 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 for- 
ward for a safe shot while they were loading. He pointed 
the long gun which had killed Nelson at the smart young 
offiger*on the poop, but the muzzle flew up ere he pulled the 
trigger, and Jeaning 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 de- 
prived the world of Nelson was thus despatched to a better 
one, three hours in front of his victim. 


| 502 SPRINGHAVEN. 


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 po- 
etically, her smiles were turned to tears— which cost her 
something—and the laurel drooped in the cypress shade. © 
The hostile fieet 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 
chad 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 to 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 
‘‘ bungers’”’—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 


SPRINGHAVEN. 503 


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 sea. 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 Spring- 
haven 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 Ad- 
miral, anxious for the public good, had allowed this smithy 
to be set up here. 

John Keatch was the man who established this, of the 
very same family (still thriving in West Middlesex) which 
for the service of the state supplied an official whose mantle 
it is now found hard to fill; and the blacksmith was known 
as ‘‘ Jack Ketch” in the village, while his forge was becom- 
ing the centre of news. Captain Stubbard employed him 
for battery uses, and finding his swing-shutters larger than 
those of Widow Shanks, and more cheaply ht up by the 
glow of the forge, was now beginning, in spite of her re- 
monstrance, to post all his very big proclamations there. 

‘‘ Rouse up your fire, Ketch,” he said that evening, as he 
stood at the door of the smithy, with half a dozen of his 
children at his heels. ‘‘ Bring a dozen clout-nails; here’s a 
tremendous piece of news!” 

The blacksmith made a blaze with a few strokes of his 
bellows, and swung his shutter forward, so that all might 
read. 

‘“GREAT AND GLORIOUS VICTORY. Twenty line- 
of-battle ships destroyed or captured. Lord Nelson shot 
dead. God save the King!” 

‘‘Keep your fire up. Ill pay a shilling for the coal,” 
cried the Captain, in the flush of excitement. ‘‘ Bring out 


504 SPRINGHAVEN. 


your cow’s horn, and go and blow it at the corner. And 
that drum you had to mend, my boy and girl will beat it. 
Jack, run up to the battery, and tell them to blaze away for 
their very lives.” 

In less than five minutes all the village was there, with 
the readers put foremost, all reading together at the top of 
their voices, for the benefit of the rest. Behind them stood 
Polly Cheeseman, peeping, with the glare of the fire on her 
sad pale face and the ruddy cheeks of her infant. ‘‘Make 
way for Widow Carne, and the young Squire Carne,” the 
loud voice of Captain Zeb commanded; ‘‘ any man as stands 
afront of her will have me upon him. Now, ma’am, stand 
forth, and let them look at you.” 

This was a sudden thought of Captain Tugwell’s; but it 
fixed her rank among them, as the order of the King might. 
The strong sense of justice, always ready in Springhaven, 
backed up her rizht to be what she had believed herself, 
and would have been, but for foul deceit and falsehood. 
And if the proud spirit of Carne ever wandered around the 
ancestral property, it would have received in the next gen- 
eration a righteous shock at descrying in large letters, well 
picked out with shade: ‘‘Caryl Carne, Grocer and Butter- 
man, Cheesemonger, Dealer in Bacon and Sausages.  Li- 
censed to sell Tea, Coffee, Snuff, Pepper, and Tobacco.” 

For Cheeseman raised his head again, with the spirit of a 
true British tradesman, as soon as the nightmare of traitor- 
ous plots and contraband imports was over. Captain Tug- 


well on his behalf led the fishing fleet against that renegade — 


La Liberté, and casting the foreigners overboard, they re- 
stored her integrity as the London Trader. Mr. Cheeseman 
shed a tear, and put on a new apron, and entirely reformed 
his political views, which had been loose and Whiggish. 
Uprightness of the most sensitive order—that which has 
slipped and strained its tendons—stamped all his dealings, 
even in the butter line; and facts having furnished a credit- 
able motive for his rash reliance upon his own cord, he 
turned amid applause to the pleasant pastimes of a smug 
church-warden. And when’he was wafted to a still sub- 
limer sphere, his grandson carried on the business well. 
Having spread the great news in this striking manner, 
Captain Stubbard—though growing very bulky now with 
good living, ever since his pay was doubled—set off at a 
conscientious pace against the stomach of the hill, lest haply 
the Hall should feel aggrieved at hearing all this noise and 


EEE 


SPRINGHAVEN. 505 


having to wonder what the reason was. He knew, and was 
grateful at knowing, that Carne’s black crime and devilish 
plot had wrought an entire revulsion in the candid but 
naturally too soft mind of the author of the Harmodiad. 
Sir Francis was still of a liberal mind, and still admired his 
own works. But forgetting that nobody read them, he 
feared the extensive harm they might produce, although 
he was now resolved to write even better in the opposite 
direction. On the impulse of literary conscience, he held a 
council with the gardener Swipes, as to the best composition 
of bonfire for the consumption of poetry. Mr. Swipes rec- 
ommended dead pea-haulm, with the sticks left in it to 
insure a draught. Then the poet in the garden with a long 
bean-stick administered fire to the whole edition, not only 
of the Harmodiad, but also of the Theiodemos, his later and 
even grander work. Persons incapable of lofty thought at- 
tributed this—the most sage and practical of all forms of 
palinode—to no higher source than the pretty face and fig- 
ure, and sweet patriotism, of Lady Alice, the youngest sister 
of Lord Dashville. And subsequent facts, to some extent, 
confirmed this interpretation. 

The old house looked gloomy and dull of brow, with only 
three windows showing light, as stout Captain Stubbard, 
with his short sword swinging from the bulky position 
where his waist had been, strode along the winding of the 
hill towards the door. At asharp corner, under some trees, 
he came almost shoulder to shoulder with a tall man strik- 
ing into the road from a foot-path. The Captain drew 
his sword, for his nerves had been flurried ever since the 
ereat explosion, which laid him on his back among his own 
cannon. 

‘‘A friend,” cried the other, ‘‘and a great admirer of your 
valour, Captain, but not a worthy object for its display.” 

‘*My dear friend Shargeloes!” replied the Captain, a little 
ashamed of his own vigilance. ‘‘How are you, my dear 
sir? and how is the system 2?” 

‘‘The system will never recover from the tricks that in- 
fernal Carne has played with it. But never mind that, if 
the intellect survives; we all owe a debt to our country. I 
have met you in the very nick of time. Yesterday was Guy 
Fawkes’ Day, and I wanted to be married then; but the peo- 
ple were not ready. I intend to have it now on New- Year's 
Day, because then I shall always remember the date. Iam 
going up here to make a strange request, and I want you to 

22 


506 SPRINGHAVEN. 


say that it is right and proper. An opinion from a dis- 
tinguished sailor will go a long way with the daughters of 
an Admiral. I want the young ladies to be my bridesmaids 
—and then for the little ones, your Maggy and your Kitty. 
I am bound to go to London for a month to-morrow, and 
then I could order all the bracelets and the brooches, if I 
were only certain who the blessed four would be.” 

‘*T never had any bridesmaids myself, and I don’t know 
anything about them. I thought that the ladies were the 
people to settle that.” 

‘‘The ladies are glad to be relieved of the expense, and I 
wish to start well,” replied Shargeloes. ‘‘ Why are ninety- 
nine men out of a hundred henpecked ?” 

‘‘T am sure I don’t know, except that they can’t help it. 
But have you heard the great news of this evening ?” 

‘*The reason is,” continued the member of the Corpora- 
tion, ‘‘that they begin with being nobodies. They leave the 
whole management of their weddings to the women, and 
they never recover the reins. Miss Twemlow is one of the 
most charming of her sex; but she has a decided character, 
which properly guided will be admirable. But to give it 
the lead at the outset would be fatal to future happiness. 
Therefore I take this affair upon myself. I pay for it all, 
and I mean to do it all.” 

‘What things you do learn in London!” the Captain 
answered, with asigh. ‘‘Oh, if I had only had the money 
—but it is too late to talk of that. Once more, have you 
heard the news ?” 

‘‘ About the great battle, and the déath of Nelson? Yes, 
I heard of all that this morning. But I left it to come in 
proper course from you. Now here we are; mind you back 
meup. The Lord Mayor is coming to be my best man.” 

The two sisters, dressed in the deepest mourning, and pale 
with long sorrow and loneliness, looked wholly unfit for 
festive scenes; and as soon as they heard of this new dis- 
tress—the loss of their father’s dearest friend, and their own 
beloved hero-—they left the room, to have a good ery to- 
gether, while their brother entertained the visitors. ‘It 
can’t be done now,” Mr. Shargeloes confessed; ‘‘and, after 
all, Eliza is the proper person. I must leave that to her, 
but nothing else that I can think of. There can’t be much 
harm in my letting her do that.” 

It was done by a gentleman after all, for the worthy 
Rector did it. The bride would liefer have dispensed with 


SPRINGHAVEN. 507 


bridesmaids so much fairer than herself, and although un- 
able to advance that reason, found fifty others against ask- 
ing them. But her father had set his mind upon it, and 
together with his wife so pressed the matter that Faith and 
Dolly, much against their will, consented to come out of 
mourning for a day, but not.into gay habiliments. | 

The bride was attired wonderfully, stunningly, carnage- 
ously —as Johnny, just gifted with his commission, and 
thereby with much slang, described her; and in truth she 
carried her bunting well, as Captain Stubbard told his wife, 
and Captain Tugwell confirmed it. But the eyes of every- 
body with half an eye followed the two forms in silver-gray. 
That was the nearest approach to brightness those lovers of 
‘their father allowed themselves, within five months of his 
tragic death; though if the old Admiral could have looked 
down from the main-top, probably he would have shouted, 
‘No flags at half-mast for me, my pets!” 

Two young men with melancholy glances followed these 
fair bridesmaids, being tantalized by these nuptial rites, be- 
cause they knew no better. One of them hoped that his 
time would come, when he had pushed his great discovery ; 
and if the art of photography had been known, his face 
would have been his fortune. For he bore at the very top 
of it the seal and stamp of his patent—the manifest impact 
of a bullet, diffracted by the power of Pong. The roots of 
his hair—the terminus of blushes, according to all good nov- 
elists—had served an even more useful purpose, by enabling 
him to blushagain. Strengthened by Pong, they had defied 
the lead, and deflected it into a shallow channel, already 
beginning to be overgrown by the aid of that same potent 
drug. Erle Twemlow looked little the worse for his wound; 
to a lady perhaps, to a man of science certainly, more inter- 
esting than he had been before. As he gazed at the bride 
all bespangled with gold, he felt that he had in his trunk 
the means of bespangling his bride with diamonds. But 
the worst of it was that he must wait, and fight, and perhaps 
get killed, before he could settle in life and make his fortune. 
As an officer of a marching regiment, ordered to rejoin im- 
mediately, he must flesh his sword in lather first—for he had 
found no razor strong enough—and postpone the day of 
riches till the golden date of peace. 

The other young man had no solace of wealth, even in 
the blue distance, to whisper to his troubled heart. Al- 
though he was a real ‘‘ Captain Scuddy” now, being posted 


508 SPRINGHAVEN. 


to the Danaé, 42-gun frigate, the capacity of his cocked hat 
would be tried by no shower of gold impending. For 
mighty dread of the Union-jack had fallen upon the tri- 
color; that gallant flag perceived at last that its proper 
flight was upon dry land, where as yet there was none to 
flout it. Trafalgar had reduced by fifty per cent. the Brit- 
ish sailor’s chance of prize-money. 

Such computations were not, however, the chief distress 
of Scudamore. The happiness of his fair round face was 
less pronounced than usual, because he had vainly striven 
for an interview with his loved one. With all her faults 
he loved her still, and longed to make them all his own. 
He could not help being sadly shocked by her fatal coquetry — 
with the traitor Carne, and slippery conduct to his own poor 
self. But love in his faithful heart maintained that she had 
already atoned for that too bitterly and too deeply ; and the 
settled sorrow of her face, and listless submission of her 
movements, showed that she was now a very different Dolly. 
Faith, who had always been grave enough, seemed gaiety it- 
self in comparison with her younger sister, once so gay. In 
their simple dresses—grey jaconet muslin, sparely trimmed 
with lavender—and wearing no jewel or ornament, but a 
single snowdrop in the breast, the lovely bridesmaids looked 
as if they defied all the world to make them brides. 

But the Rector would not let them off from coming to 
the breakfast-party, and with the well-bred sense of fitness 
they obeyed his bidding. Captain Stubbard (whose jokes 
had missed fire too often to be satisfied with a small touch- 
hole now) was broadly facetious at their expense; and 
Johnny, returning thanks for them, surprised the good 
company by his manly tone, and contempt of life before 
beginning it. This invigorated Scudamore, by renewing 
his faith in human nature as a thing beyond calculation. 
He whispered a word or so to his friend Johnny while Mr. 
and Mrs. Shargeloes were bowing farewell from the windows 
of a great family coach from London, which the Lord Mayor 
had lent them, to make up for not coming. For come he 
could not—though he longed to do so, and all Springhayven 
expected him—on account of the great preparations in hand 
for the funeral of Lord Nelson. | 

‘“Thy servant will see to it,” the boy replied, with a wink 
at his sisters, whom he was to lead home; for Sir Francis 
had made his way down to the beach. 

‘His behaviour,” thought Dolly, as she put on her cloak, 








i 


f 






























































WHERE THE FIRST SNOWDROPS GREW. 


510 SPRINGHAVEN. 


‘“has been perfect. How thankful I feel for it! He never 
cast one glance at me. He quite enters into my feelings 
towards him. But how much more credit to his mind than 
to his heart!” 

Scudamore, at a wary distance, kept his eyes upon her, as 
if she had been a French frigate gliding under strong land 
batteries, from which he must try to cut her out. Presently 
he saw that his good friend Johnny had done him the ser- 
vice requested. Ata fork of the path leading to the Hall, 
Miss Dolly departed towards the left upon some errand 
among the trees, while her brother and sister went on tow- 
ards the house. Forgetting the dignity of a BRost-Captain, 
the gallant Scuddy made a cut across the grass, as if he were 
playing prisoner’s base with the boys at Stonnington, and 
intercepted the fair prize in a bend of the brook, where the 
winter sun was nursing the first primrose. 

‘You, Captain Scudamore!” said the bridesmaid, turning 
as if she could never trust her eyes again. ‘‘ You must 
have lost your way. This path leads nowhere.” 

‘‘ Tf it only leads to you, that is all that I could wish for. 
I am content to go to nothing, if I may only go with you.” 

‘“My brother sent me,” said Dolly, looking down, with 
more colour on her cheeks than they had owned for months, 
and the snowdrop quivering on her breast, ‘‘to search for a 
primrose or two for him to wear when he dines at the rec- 
tory this evening. We shall not go, of course. We have 
done enough. But Frank and Johnny think they ought to 

ro Wh 

‘‘May I help you to look? Iam lucky in that way. I 
used to find so many things with you, in the happy times 
that used to be.” Blyth saw that her eyelids were quivering 
with tears. ‘‘I will go away, if you would rather have it 
so. But you used to be so good-natured to me.” 

‘‘So Iam still. Or at least I mean that people should 
now be good-natured to me. Oh, Captain Scudamore, how 
foolish I have been!” 

‘Don’t say so, don’t think it, don’t believe it for a mo- 
ment,” said Scudamore, scarcely knowing what he said, as 
she burst into a storm of sobbing. ‘*‘Oh, Dolly, Dolly, you 
know you meant no harm. You are breaking your darling 
heart, when you don’t deserve it. I could not bear to look 
at you, and think of it, this morning. Everybody loves 
you still, as much and more than ever. Oh, Dolly, I would 
rather die than see you cry so terribly.” 


SPRINGHAVEN. 511 


‘“Nobody loves me, and I hate myself. I could never 
have believed I should ever hate myself. Go away, you are 
too good to be near me. Go away, or I shall think you 
want to kill me. And I wish you would do it, Captain 
Scudamore.” 

‘‘Then let me stop,” said the Captain, very softly. She 
smiled at the turn of his logic, through her tears. Then she 
wept with new anguish, that she had no right to smile. 

‘‘Only tell me one thing—may I hold you? Not of 
course from any right to do it, but because you are so over- 
come, my own, own Dolly.” The Captain very cleverly 
put one arm round her, at first with a very light touch, and 
then with a firmer clasp, as she did not draw away. Her 
cloak was not very cumbrous, and her tumultuous heart 
was but a little way from his. 

‘“You know that I never could help loving you,” he 
whispered, as she seemed to wonder what the meaning was. 
‘*May I ever hope that you will like me ?” 

‘‘Me! How can it matter now to anybody? I used to 
think it did; but I was very foolish then. I know my own 
value. It is less than this. This little flower has been a 
good creature. It has been true to its place, and hurt no- 
body.” 

Instead of seeking for any more flowers, she was taking’ 
from her breast the one she had—the snowdrop, and threat- 
ening to tear it in pieces. 

‘Tf you give it to me, I shall have some hope.” As he 
spoke, he looked at her steadfastly, without any shyness or 
fear in his eyes, but as one who knows his own good heart, 
and has a right to be answered clearly. The maiden in one 
glance understood all the tales of his wonderful daring, 
which she never used to believe, because he seemed afraid to 
look at her. , 

‘“You may have it, if you like,” she said; ‘** but, Blyth, I 
shall never deserve you. Ihave behaved to you shameful- 
ly. And I feel as if I could never bear to be forgiven for it.” 

For the sake of peace and happiness, it must be hoped 
that she conquered this feminine feeling, which springs 
from an equity of nature—the desire that none should do 
to us more than we ever could do to them. Certain it is 
that when the Rector held his dinner- party, two gallant 
bosoms throbbed beneath the emblem of purity and con- 
tent. The military Captain’s snowdrop hung where every 
one might observe it, and some gentle-witted jokes were 


512  §PRINGHAVEN. 


made about its whereabouts that morning. By-and-by it 
grew weary on its stalk and fell, and Erle Twemlow never 
missed it. But the other snowdrop was not seen, except by 
the wearer with a stolen glance, when people were making 
a loyal noise—a little glance stolen at his own heart. He 
had made a little cuddy there inside his inner sarcenet, and 
down his plaited neck-cloth ran a sly companion-way to it, 
so that his eyes might steal a visit to the joy that was over 
his heart and in it. Thus are women adored by men, es- 
pecially those who deserve it least. , 

‘‘Attention, my dear friends, attention, if you please,” 
cried the Rector, rising, with a keen glance at Scuddy. ‘‘I 
will crave your attention before the ladies go, and theirs, for 
it concerns them equally. We have passed through a pe- 
riod of dark peril, a long time of trouble and anxiety and 
doubt. By the mercy of the Lord, we have escaped; but 
with losses that have emptied our poor hearts. England 
has lost her two foremost defenders, Lord Nelson, and Ad- 
miral Darling. To them we owe it that we are now begin- 
ning the New Year happily, with the blessing of Heaven, 
and my dear daughter married. Next week we shall attend 
the grand funeral of the hero, and obtain good places by due 
influence. My son-in-law, Percival Shargeloes, can do just 
as he pleases at St. Paul’s. Therefore let us now, with deep 
thanksgiving, and one hand upon our hearts, lift up our 
glasses, and in silence pledge the memory of our greatest 
men. With the spirit of Britons we echo the last words 
that fell from the lips of our dying hero—‘ Thank God, I 
have done my duty!’ His memory shall abide forever, be- | 
cause he loved his country.” 

The company rose, laid hand on heart, and, deeply bow- 
ing, said—‘‘ Amen!” 


THE END. 


VALUABLE AND INTERESTING WORKS 


FOR 


PUBLIC & PRIVATE LIBRARIES, 


PusuisHep By HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 


te For a full List of Books suitable for Libraries published by Hanrer & Brotu- 
ERS, see Harper's CATALOGUE, Which may be had gratuitously on application 
to the publishers personally, or by letter enclosing Ten Cents in postage stamps. 

g- Harper & Brotuers will send their publications by mail, postage prepaid, on 
receipt of the price. 


MACAULAY’S ENGLAND. The History of England from the Ac- 
cession of James II. By Tuomas Bapineton Macautay. New 
Edition, from New Electrotvpe Plates. 5 vols., in a Box, 8vo, Cloth, 
with Paper Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $10 00; Sheep, 
$12 50; Half Calf, $21 25. Sold only in Sets. Cheap Edition, 
5 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2 50. 


MACAULAY’S MISCELLANEOUS WORKS. The Miscellaneous 

' Works of Lord Macaulay. From New Electrotype Plates. 5 vols., 
in a Box, 8vo, Cloth, with Paper Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt 
Tops, $10 00; Sheep, $12 50; Half Calf, $21 25. Sold only in 
Sets. 


HUME’S ENGLAND. History of England, from the Invasion of 
Julius Cesar to the Abdication of James II., 1688. By Davip 
Hume. New and Elegant Library Edition, from New Electrotype 
Plates. 6 vols., in a Box, 8vo, Cloth, with Paper Labels, Uncut 
Edges and Gilt Tops, $12 00; Sheep, $15 00; Half Calf, $25 50. 
Sold only in Sets. Popular Edition, 6 vols., in a Box, 12mo, Cloth, 
$3 00. 


GIBBON’S ROME. The History of the Decline and Fall of the Ro- 
man Empire. By Epwarp Gipson. With Notes by Dean MIL- 
MAN, M. Guizot, and Dr. WiLt1am SMITH. New Edition, from 
New Electrotype Plates. 6 vols., 8vo, Cloth, with Paper Labels, 
Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $12 00; Sheep, $15 00; Half Calf, 
$25 50. Sold only in Sets. Popular Edition, 6 vols., in a Box, 
12mo, Cloth, $3 00; Sheep, $6 00. 


GOLDSMITH’S WORKS. ~The Works of Oliver Goldsmith. Edited 
by Peter Cunnincuam, F.S.A. From New Electrotype Plates. 
4 vols., 8vo, Cloth, Paper Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, 
$8 00; Sheep, $10 00; Half Calf, $17 00. . 


2 Valuable Works for Public and Private Libraries. 





MOTLEY’S DUTCH REPUBLIC. | The Rise of the Dutch Republic. 
A History. By Joun Loturor Mortiey, LL.D., D.C.L. With a 
Portrait of William of Orange. Cheap Edition, 3 vols., in a Box. 
8vo, Cloth, with Paper Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $6 00; 
Sheep, $7 50; Half Calf, $12 75. Sold only in Sets. Original 
Library Edition, 3 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $10 50. 


MOTLEY’S UNITED NETHERLANDS. History of the United 
Netherlands: From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve 
Years’ Truce—1584-1609. With a full View of the English-Dutch 
Struggle against Spain, and of the Origin and Destruction of the 
Spanish Armada. By Joun Loturor Morttey, LL.D., D.C.L. 
Portraits. Cheap Edition, 4 vols., in a Box, 8vo, Cloth, with Paper 
Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $8 00; Sheep, $10 00; Half 
Calf, $17 00. Sold only in Sets. Original Library Edition, 4 vols., 
8vo, Cloth, $14 00. 


MOTLEY’S JOHN OF BARNEVELD. The Life and Death of John 
of Barneveld, Advocate of Holland. With a View of the Primary 
Causes and Movements of the ‘‘ Thirty Years’ War.” By Joun 
Lotnuror Morey, LL.D., D.C.L. Illustrated. Cheap Edition, 
2 vols., in a Box, 8vo, Cloth, with Paper Labels, Uncut Edges and 
Gilt Tops, $4 00; Sheep, $5 00; Half Calf, $8 50. Sold only in 
Sets. Original Library Edition, 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $7 00. 


HILDRETH’S UNITED STATES. History of the United States. 
First Series: From the Discovery of the Continent to the Or- 
ganization of the Government under the Federal Constitution. Sxc- 
onp Series: From the Adoption of the Federal Constitution to the 
End of the Sixteenth Congress. By Ricuarp HitpRetTH. Popular 
Edition, 6 vols., in a Box, 8vo, Cloth, with Paper Labels, Uncut 
Edges and Gilt Tops, $12 00; Sheep, $15 00; Half Calf, $25 50. 
Sold only in Sets. 


LODGE’S ENGLISH COLONIES IN AMERICA. English Colo- 
nies in America. A Short History of the English Colonies in Amer- 
ica. By Henry Casot Loper. New and Revised Edition. 8vo, 
Half Leather, $3 00. 


TREVELYAN’S LIFE OF MACAULAY. The Life and Letters of 
Lord Macaulay. By his Nephew, G. Orro TrevEetyan, M.P. 
With Portrait on Steel. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, Uncut Edges and Gilt 
Tops, $5 00; Sheep, $6 00; Half Calf, $9 50. Popular Edition, 
2 vols. in one, 12mo, Cloth, $1 75. 

TREVELYAN’S LIFE OF FOX. The Early History of Charles 


James Fox. By Groree Orro Trevetyan. 8vo, Cloth, Uncut 
Edges and Gilt Tops, $2 50; Half Calf, $4 75. 


Valuable Works for Public and Private Libraries. 3 


WRITINGS AND SPEECHES OF SAMUEL J. TILDEN. Edited 
_ by Joun BIGELow. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, Gilt Tops and Uncut Edges, 
$6 OO per set. 


GENERAL DIX’S MEMOIRS. Memoirs of John Adams Dix. Com- 
piled by his Son, Morean Dix. With Five Steel-plate Portraits. 
2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, Gilt Tops and Uncut Edges, $5 00. 


HUNT'S MEMOIR OF MRS. LIVINGSTON. <A Memoir of Mrs. 
Edward Livingston. With Letters hitherto Unpublished. By Lov- 
1sE Livingston Hunt. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25. 


GEORGE ELIOT’S LIFE. George Eliot’s Life, Related in her Let- 
ters and Journals. Arranged and Edited by her Husband, J. W. 
Cross. Portraits and Illustrations. In Three Volumes. 12mo, 
Cloth, $3 75. New Edition, with Fresh Matter. (Uniform with 
‘¢Harper’s Library Edition” of George Eliot’s Works.) 


PEARS’S FALL OF CONSTANTINOPLE. The Fall of Constan- 
tinople. Being the Story of the Fourth Crusade. By Epwiy 
Prars, LL.B. 8vo, Cloth, $2 50. 


RANKE’S UNIVERSAL HISTORY. The Oldest Historical Group 
of Nations and the Greeks. By Lroroitp von Ranxe. Edited by 
G. W. ProruHero, Fellow and Tutor of King’s College, Cambridge. 
Vol. I. 8vo, Cloth, $2 50. 


LIFE AND TIMES OF THE REV. SYDNEY SMITH. A Sketch 
of the Life and Times of the Rev. Sydney Smith. Based on Family 
Documents and the Recollections of Personal Friends. By Sruart 
J. Rei. With Steel-plate Portrait and Lllustrations. 8vo, Cloth, 
$3 00. 


STORMONTH’S ENGLISH DICTIONARY. A Dictionary of the 
English Language, Pronouncing, Etymological, and Explanatory : 
embracing Scientific and other Terms, Numerous Familiar Terms, 
and a Copious Selection of Old English Words. By the Rev. JAMEs 
StormontH. The Pronunciation Revised by the Rev. P. H. PHELpP, 
M.A. Imperial 8vo, Cloth, $6 00; Half Roan, $7 00; Full Sheep, 
$7 50. (New Edition.) 


' PARTON'S CARICATURE. Caricature and Other Comic Art, in 
All Times and Many Lands. By James Parton. 203 Illustrations. 
8vo, Cloth, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $5 00; Half Calf, $7 25. 


DU CHAILLU’S LAND OF THE MIDNIGHT SUN. Summer 
and Winter Journeys in Sweden, Norway, Lapland, and Northern 

Finland. By Pavurt B. Du Cnairiv. Illustrated. 2 vols., 8vo, 
Cloth, $7 50; Half Calf, $12 00: 


4 Valuable Works for Public and Private Libraries. 

LOSSING’S CYCLOPADIA OF UNITED STATES HISTORY. 
From the Aboriginal Period to 1876. By B. J. Lossine, LL.D. 
Illustrated by 2 Steel Portraits and over 1000 Engravings. 2 vols., 
Royal 8vo, Cloth, $10 00; Sheep, $12 00; Half Morocco, $15 00. 
(Sold by Subscription only.) 


LOSSING’S FIELD-BOOK OF THE REVOLUTION. Pictorial 
Field-Book of the Revolution; or, Illustrations by Pen and Pencil 
of the History, Biography, Scenery, Relics, and Traditions of the 
War for Independence. By Benson J. Lossine. 2 vols., 8vo, 
Cloth, $14 00; Sheep or Roan, $15 00; Half Calf, $18 00. 


LOSSING’S FIELD-BOOK OF THE WAR OF 1812. Pictorial 
Field-Book of the War of 1812; or, Illustrations by Pen and Pencil 
of the History, Biography, Scenery, Relics, and Traditions of the 
last War for American Independence. By Brnson J. Lossina. 
With several hundred Engrayings. 1088 pages, 8vo, Cloth, $7 00; 
Sheep or Roan, $8 50; Half Calf, $10 00. 


MULLER’S POLITICAL HISTORY OF RECENT TIMES (1816- 
1875). With Special Reference to Germany. By Witit1am MUL- 
LER. ‘Translated, with an Appendix covering the Period from 1876 
to 1881, by the Rev. Joun P. Perers, Ph.D. 12mo, Cloth, $3 00. 


STANLEY'S THROUGH THE DARK CONTINENT. Through 
the Dark Continent; or, The Sources of the Nile, Around the Great 
Lakes of Equatorial Africa, and Down the Livingstone River to the 
Atlantic Ocean. 149 Illustrations and 10 Maps. By H. M. Sran- 
LEY. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $10 00; Sheep, $12 00; Half Morocco, 
$15 00. 


STANLEY’S CONGO. The Congo and the Founding of its Free 
State, a Story of Work and Exploration. With over One Hundred 
Full-page and smaller Illustrations, Two Large Maps, and several 
smaller ones. By H. M. Srantey. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $10 00; 
Sheep, $12 00; Half Morocco, $15 00. 


GREEN’S ENGLISH PEOPLE. History of the English People. 
By Joun Richarp Green, M.A. With Maps. 4 vols., 8vo, Cloth, 
$10 00; Sheep, $12 00; Half Calf, $19 00. 


GREEN’S MAKING OF ENGLAND. The Making of England. 
By Joun Ricuarp GreEN. With Maps. 8vo, Cloth, $2 50; Sheep, 
$3 00; Half Calf, $3 75. 


GREEN’S CONQUEST OF ENGLAND. The Conquest of England. 
By Joun RicHarp GREEN. With Maps. 8vo, Cloth, $2 50; Sheep, 
$3 00; Half Calf, $3 75. 


Valuable Works for Public and Private Libraries. 5 





ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS. Edited by Joun Monrtry. 
The following volumes are now ready. Others will follow: 


JoHNSON. By L. Stephen.—GrBson. By J.C. Morison.—Scotr. By R. H. Hut- 
ton.—SHELLEY. By J. A. Symonds.—Goupsmitu. By W. Black.—Hwumg. By Pro- 
fessor Huxley.—Drror. By W. Minto.—Burns. By Principal Shairp.—SpEnser. 
By R.W. Church.—THackERAY. By A. Trollope.—Burkr. By J. Morley.—MILTon. 
By M. Pattison.—SouTHEy. By E. Dowden.—CuHavucer. By A. W. Ward.—Bunyan. 
By J. A. Froude.—CowPreErR. By G. Smith.—Porr. By L. Stephen.—Byron. By 
J. Nichols.—Locke. By T. Fowler.—Worpswortn. By F. W. H. Myers.—Haw- 
THORNE. By Henry James, Jr.—DrYDEN. By G. Saintsbury.—Lanpor. By S. Col- 
vin.— De Quincey. By DD. Masson.—Lams. By A. Ainger.—BrnTLEY. By R. C. 
Jebb.—DickEns. By A.W.Ward.—GRay. By E.W. Gosse.—Swirt. By L. Stephen. 
—STERNE. By H. D. Traill.—Macavutay. By J.C. Morison.—Fre.pine. By A. Dob- 
son.—SHERIDAN. By Mrs. Oliphant.—Appison. By W. J. Courthope.—Bacon. By 
R. W. Church.—Co.LeripGe. By H. D. Traill.—Sir Parwie Sipney. By J. A. Sy- 
monds. 12mo, Cloth, 75 cents per volume. , 


REBER’S HISTORY OF ANCIENT ART. History of Ancient 
Art. By Dr. Franz von Reser. Revised by the Author. Trans- 
lated and Augmented by Joseph Thacher Clarke. With 310 Illus- 
trations and a Glossary of Technical Terms, 8vo, Cloth, $3 50. 


REBER’S MEDILZVAL ART. History of Medieval Art. By Dr. 
FRANZ VON ReBeER. Translated and Augmented by Joseph Thacher 
Clarke. With 422 Illustrations, and a Glossary of Technical Terms. 
8vo, Cloth, $5 00. 


NEWCOMB’S ASTRONOMY. Popular Astronomy. By Simon 
~ Newcoms, LL.D. With 112 Engravings, and 5 Maps of the Stars. 
8vo, Cloth, $2 50; School Edition, 12mo, Cloth, $1 30. 


VAN-LENNEP’S BIBLE LANDS. Bible Lands: their Modern Cus- 
toms and Manners Illustrative of Scripture. By Hrnry J. Van- 
LrenNEP, D.D. 350 Engravings and 2 Colored Maps. 8vo, Cloth, 
$5 00; Sheep, $6 00; Half Morocco, $8 00. 


CESNOLA’S CYPRUS. Cyprus: its Ancient Cities, Tombs, and 
Temples. A Narrative of Researches and Excavations during Ten 
Years’ Residence in that Island. By L. P. pt Crsnota. With 
Portrait, Maps, and 400 Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, Extra, Uncut 
Edges and Gilt Tops, $7 50. 


TENNYSON’S COMPLETE POEMS. The Complete Poetical Works 
of Alfred, Lord Tennyson. With an Introductory Sketch by Anne 
Thackeray Ritchie. With Portraits and Illustrations. 8vo, Extra 
Cloth, Bevelled, Gilt Edges, $2 50. 


SHORT’S NORTH AMERICANS OF ANTIQUITY. The North 
Americans of Antiquity. Their Origin, Migrations, and Type of 

Civilization Considered. By Joun T. Snort. Illustrated. 8vo, 
Cloth, $3 00. 


6 | Valuable Works for Public and Private Libraries. 


GROTE’S HISTORY OF GREECE. 12 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $18 00; 
Sheep, $22 80; Half Calf, $39 00. 


FLAMMARION’S ATMOSPHERE. Translated from the French 
of CamILLeE FLrammarion. With 10 Chromo- Lithographs and 86 
Wood-cuts. 8vo, Cloth, $6 00; Half Calf, $8 25. 


BAKER'S ISMAILIA: a Narrative of the Expedition to Central Af- 
rica for the Suppression of the Slave-trade, organized by Ismail, 
Khedive of Egypt. By Sir Samuet W. Baker. With Maps, Por- 
traits, and Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00; Half Calf, $7 25. 


LIVINGSTONE’S ZAMBESI. Narrative of an Expedition to the 
Zambesi and its Tributaries, and of the Discovery of the Lakes 
Shirwa and Nyassa, 1858 to 1864. By Davip and Cuarves Liv- 
INGSTONE. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00; Sheep, $5 50; Half 
Calf, $7 25. 

LIVINGSTONE’S LAST JOURNALS. The Last Journals of Da- 
vid Livingstone, in Central Africa, from 1865 to his Death. Con- 
tinued by a Narrative of his Last Moments, obtained from his 
Faithful Servants Chuma and Susi. By Horace Waiter. With 
Portrait, Maps, and Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00; Sheep, $6 00. 


BLAIKIE’S LIFE OF DAVID LIVINGSTONE. Memoir of his 
Personal Life, from his Unpublished Journals and Correspondence. 
By W. G. Brarixiz, D.D. With Portrait and Map. 8vo, Cloth, 
$2 25. 

‘THE FRIENDLY EDITION ” of Shakespeare’s Works. Edited by 
W. J. Rorre. In 20 vols. Illustrated. 16mo, Gilt Tops and Un- 
cut Edges, Sheets, $27.00; Cloth, $30 00; Half Calf, $60 per Set. 


GIESELER’S ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY. A Text- Book of 
Church History. By Dr. Joun C. L. GiesELer. Translated from 
the Fourth Revised German Edition. Revised and Edited by Rev. 
Henry B. Smitn, D.D. Vols. I., II., HI., and 1V., 8vo, Cloth, 
#2 25 each; Vol. V., 8vo, Cloth, $3 00. Complete Sets, 5 vols., 
Sheep, $14 50; Half Calf, $23 25. 


CURTIS’S LIFE OF BUCHANAN. Life of James Buchanan, Fif- 
teenth President of the United States. By Grorer Ticknor Cur- 
Tis. With Two Steel Plate Portraits. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, Uncut 
Edges and Gilt Tops, $6 00. 


COLERIDGE’S WORKS. The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor — 
Coleridge. With an Introductory Essay upon his Philosophical and 
Theological Opinions. Edited by Professor W.G.T.SuHEpp. With 
Steel Portrait, and an Index. 7 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2 00 per vol- 
ume; $12 00 per set; Half Calf, $24 25. 


Valuable Works for Public and Private Libraries. 7 

GRIFFIS’S JAPAN. The Mikado’s Empire: Book I. History of 

Japan, from 660 B.C. to 1872 A.D. Book II. Personal Experiences, 

_ Observations, and Studies in Japan, from 1870 to 1874. With Two 

Supplementary Chapters: Japan in 1883, and Japan in 1886. By 

W. E.Grirris. Copiously Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $4 00; Half Calf, 
$6 25. 


SMILES’S HISTORY OF THE HUGUENOTS. The Huguenots: 
their Settlements, Churches, and Industries in England and Ireland. 
By Samvuev Smives. With an Appendix relating to the Huguenots 
in America. Crown, 8vo, Cloth, $2 00. 


SMILES’S HUGUENOTS AFTER THE REVOCATION. The Hu- 
guenots in France after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes; with 
a Visit to the Country of the Vaudois. By Samurx Suites. Crown 
8vo, Cloth, $2 00. 


SMILES’S LIFE OF THE STEPHENSONS. The Life of George 
Stephenson, and of his Son, Robert Stephenson; comprising, also, a 
History of the Invention and Introduction of the Railway Locomo- 
tive. By Samuret SmiLes. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $3 00. 


THE POETS AND POETRY OF SCOTLAND: From the Earliest 
to the Present Time. Comprising Characteristic Selections from 
the Works of the more Noteworthy Scottish Poets, with Biographi- 
cal and Critical Notices. By James Grant Wixtson. With Por- 
traits on Steel. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $10 00; Gilt Edges, $11 00. 


SCHLIEMANN’S ILIOS. Ilios, the City and Country of the Trojans. 
A Narrative of the Most Recent Discoveries and Researches made 
on the Plain of Troy. By Dr. Henry Scuiiemann. Maps, Plans, 
and Illustrations. Imperial 8vo, Hluminated Cloth, $12 00; Half 
Morocco, $15 00. ; 


SCHLIEMANN’S TROJA.- Troja. Results of the Latest Researches 
and Discoveries on the Site of Homer’s Troy, and in the Heroic Tu- 
muli and other Sites, made in the Year 1882, and a Narrative of a 
Journey in the Troad in 1881. By Dr. Henry Scuiiemann. Pref- 
ace by Professor A. H. Sayce. With Wood-cuts, Maps, and Plans. 
8yo, Cloth, $7 50; Half Morocco, $10 00. 


SCHWEINFURTH’S HEART OF AFRICA. Three Years’ Travels 
and Adventures in the Unexplored Regions of the Centre of Africa— 
from 1868 to 1871. By Grora ScuweinFurtTH. ‘Translated by 
ELLEN E. Frewer. Illustrated. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $8 00. 


NORTON’S STUDIES OF CHURCH-BUILDING. Historical Stud- 
ies of Church-Building in the Middle Ages. Venice, Siena, Flor- 
ence. By Cuaries Exior Norton. 8vo, Cloth, $3 00. 


8 Valuable Works for Public and Private Libraries. 

Pa eR IS a A a i es 

THE VOYAGE OF THE “CHALLENGER.” The Atlantic: an 
Account of the General Results of the Voyage during 1873, and the 
Early Part of 1876. By Sir Wrvitte TuHomson, K.C.B., F.R.S. 
Tilustrated. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $12 00. 


THE STUDENT’S SERIES. Maps and Illustrations. 12mo, Cloth: 
FraNnceE.—GIBBON.—GREECE.—RoME (by LippELL).—OLp Tes- 
TAMENT History. —NeEw ‘TesSTAMENT History. — STRICKLAND’S 
QUEENS OF ENGLAND.— ANCIENT HisToRY OF THE East. — Hat- 
LAMsS MippLe AcGrs. — HAaLtam’s CONSTITUTIONAL HisTORY OF 
ENGLAND.— LYELL’s ELEMENTS OF GEOLOGY.— MERIVALE’S GEN- 
ERAL History oF Rome.—Cox’s GENERAL HisToRY OF GREECE. 
—CLASSICAL DICTIONARY.—SKEAT’S ETYMOLOGICAL DICTIONARY.— 
Raw.inson’s AnciENT History. $1 25 per volume. 


Lewis's History or GermMany.—Ecc.iesiasticat History, Two 
Vols.—Humx’s Encranp.—Mopern Evrore. $1 50 per volume. 


Westcott and Hort’s GREEK TrsTaMENT, $1 00. 


THOMSON’S SOUTHERN PALESTINE AND JERUSALEM. 
Southern Palestine and Jerusalem. Biblical Illustrations drawn 
from the Manners and Customs, the Scenes and Scenery, of the 
Holy Land. By W. M. Tuomsoy, D.D. 140 Illustrations and 
Maps. Square 8vo, Cloth, $6 00; Sheep, $7 00; Half Morocco, 
$8 50; Full Morocco, Gilt Edges, $10 00. 


THOMSON’S CENTRAL PALESTINE AND PHCENICIA. Cen- 
tral Palestine and Phenicia. Biblical Illustrations drawn from the 
Manners and Customs, the Scenes and Scenery, of the Holy Land. 
By W. M. Tuomson, D.D. 130 Illustrations and Maps. Square 8vo, 
Cloth, $6 00; Sheep, $7 00; Half Morocco, $8 50; Full Morocco, 
$10 00. 


THOMSON’S LEBANON, DAMASCUS, AND. BEYOND JORDAN. 
Lebanon, Damascus, and beyond Jordan. Biblical Illustrations drawn 
from the Manners and Customs, the Scenes and Scenery, of the Holy 
Land. By W.M. Tuomson, D.D. 147 Illustrations and Maps. 
Square 8vo, Cloth, $6 00; Sheep, $7 00; Half Morocco, $8 50; 
Full Morocco, $10 00. 

Popular Edition of the above three volumes, 8vo, Ornamental Cloth, 
$9 00 per set. 


CYCLOPADIA OF BRITISH AND AMERICAN POETRY. Ed- 
ited by Epes Sarcent. Royal 8vo, 6 a es sa ta Colored 
Edges, $4 50; Half Leather, $5 00. 


EATON’S CIVIL SERVICE. Civil Service in Great Britain. A 
History of Abuses and Reforms, and their bearing upon American 
Politics. By Dorman B. Eaton. 8vo, Cloth, $2 50. 





‘ 


ae 
t bs w 
1 4 Aan and, de Ae 
es A 4 4 New fs 





c 


Ried ony a iy 























2 Bp We He EO HY tes 








iy 








Va oem 


WW fre es 








UO0eee er lb4 





OB WD ier ys Geriym aL 








= (5 Bh pyre ase nar be hm 


Qn PRU Le 




















OR Hes 


Meherustahe Oia 4 











88 TZ la eae ain