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diff --git a/6230.txt b/6230.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0c1e938 --- /dev/null +++ b/6230.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2693 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook The Battle Of The Strong, by G. Parker, v1 +#57 in our series by Gilbert Parker + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**EBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers***** + + +Title: The Battle Of The Strong [A Romance of Two Kingdoms], Volume 1. + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Release Date: August, 2004 [EBook #6230] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 10, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BATTLE OF THE STRONG, PARKER, V1 *** + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> + + + + + +THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG + +[A ROMANCE OF TWO KINGDOMS] + +By Gilbert Parker + + + + +CONTENTS: + +THE INVASION + +ELEVEN YEARS AFTER + +IN FRANCE--NEAR FIVE MONTHS AFTER + +IN JERSEY FIVE YEARS LATER + +DURING ONE YEAR LATER + +IN JERSEY--A YEAR LATER + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +This book is a protest and a deliverance. For seven years I had written +continuously of Canada, though some short stories of South Sea life, and +the novel Mrs. Falchion, had, during that time, issued from my pen. It +looked as though I should be writing of the Far North all my life. +Editors had begun to take that view; but from the start it had never been +my view. Even when writing Pierre and His People I was determined that I +should not be cabined, cribbed, and confined in one field; that I should +not, as some other men have done, wind in upon myself, until at last each +succeeding book would be but a variation of some previous book, and I +should end by imitating myself, become the sacrifice to the god of the +pin-hole. + +I was warned not to break away from Canada; but all my life I had been +warned, and all my life I had followed my own convictions. I would +rather not have written another word than be corralled, bitted, saddled, +and ridden by that heartless broncho-buster, the public, which wants a +man who has once pleased it, to do the same thing under the fret of whip +and spur for ever. When I went to the Island of Jersey, in 1897, it was +to shake myself free of what might become a mere obsession. I determined +that, as wide as my experiences had been in life, so would my writing be, +whether it pleased the public or not. I was determined to fulfil myself; +and in doing so to take no instructions except those of my own +conscience, impulse, and conviction. Even then I saw fields of work +which would occupy my mind, and such skill as I had, for many a year to +come. I saw the Channel Islands, Egypt, South Africa, and India. In all +these fields save India, I have given my Pegasus its bridle-rein, and, so +far, I have no reason to feel that my convictions were false. I write of +Canada still, but I have written of the Channel Islands, I have written +of Egypt, I have written of England and South Africa, and my public--that +is, those who read my books--have accepted me in all these fields without +demur. I believe I have justified myself in not accepting imprisonment +in the field where I first essayed to turn my observation of life to +account. + +I went to Jersey, therefore, with my teeth set, in a way; yet happily and +confidently. I had been dealing with French Canada for some years, and a +step from Quebec, which was French, to Jersey, which was Norman French, +was but short. It was a question of atmosphere solely. Whatever may be +thought of The 'Battle of the Strong' I have not yet met a Jerseyman who +denies to it the atmosphere of the place. It could hardly have lacked +it, for there were twenty people, deeply intelligent, immensely +interested in my design, and they were of Jersey families which had been +there for centuries. They helped me, they fed me with dialect, with +local details, with memories, with old letters, with diaries of their +forebears, until, if I had gone wrong, it would have been through lack of +skill in handling my material. I do not think I went wrong, though I +believe that I could construct the book more effectively if I had to do +it again. Yet there is something in looseness of construction which +gives an air of naturalness; and it may be that this very looseness which +I notice in 'The Battle of the Strong' has had something to do with +giving it such a great circle of readers; though this may appear +paradoxical. When it first appeared, it did not make the appeal which +'The Right of Way' or 'The Seats of the Mighty' made, but it justified +itself, it forced its way, it assured me that I had done right in shaking +myself free from the control of my own best work. The book has gone on +increasing its readers year by year, and when it appeared in Nelson's +delightful cheap edition in England it had an immediate success, and has +sold by the hundred thousand in the last four years. + +One of the first and most eager friends of 'The Battle of the Strong' was +Mrs. Langtry, now Lady de Bathe, who, born in Jersey, and come of an old +Jersey family, was well able to judge of the fidelity of the life and +scene which it depicted. She greatly desired the novel to be turned into +a play, and so it was. The adaptation, however, was lacking in much, and +though Miss Marie Burroughs and Maurice Barrymore played in it, success +did not attend its dramatic life. + +'The Battle of the Strong' was called an historical novel by many +critics, but the disclaimer which I made in the first edition I make +again. 'The Seats of the Mighty' came nearer to what might properly be +called an historical novel than any other book which I have written save, +perhaps, 'A Ladder of Swords'. 'The Battle of the Strong' is not without +faithful historical elements, but the book is essentially a romance, in +which character was not meant to be submerged by incident; and I do not +think that in this particular the book falls short of the design of its +author. There was this enormous difference between life in the Island of +Jersey and life in French Canada, that in Jersey, tradition is heaped +upon tradition, custom upon custom, precept upon precept, until every +citizen of the place is bound by innumerable cords of a code from which +he cannot free himself. It is a little island, and that it is an island +is evidence of a contracted life, though, in this case, a life which has +real power and force. The life in French Canada was also traditional, +and custom was also somewhat tyrannous, but it was part of a great +continent in which the expansion of the man and of a people was +inevitable. Tradition gets somewhat battered in a new land, and +even where, as in French Canada, the priest and the Church have such +supervision, and can bring such pressure to bear that every man must +feel its influence; yet there is a happiness, a blitheness, and an +exhilaration even in the most obscure quarter of French Canada which +cannot be observed in the Island of Jersey. In Jersey the custom of five +hundred years ago still reaches out and binds; and so small is the place +that every square foot of it almost--even where the potato sprouts, and +the potato is Jersey's greatest friend--is identified with some odd +incident, some naive circumstance, some big, vivid, and striking +historical fact. Behind its rugged coasts a little people proudly hold +by their own and to their own, and even a Jersey criminal has more +friends in his own environment than probably any other criminal anywhere +save in Corsica; while friendship is a passion even with the pettiness +by which it is perforated. + +Reading this book again now after all these years, I feel convinced that +the book is truly Jersiais, and I am grateful to it for having brought me +out from the tyranny of the field in which I first sought for a hearing. + + + + +NOTE + +A list of Jersey words and phrases used herein, with their English or +French equivalents, will be found at the end of the book. The Norman and +patois words are printed as though they were English, some of them being +quite Anglicised in Jersey. For the sake of brevity I have spoken of the +Lieutenant-Bailly throughout as Bailly; and, in truth, he performed all +the duties of Bailly in those days when this chief of the Jurats of the +Island usually lived in England. + + + + +PROEM + +There is no man living to-day who could tell you how the morning broke +and the sun rose on the first day of January 1800; who walked in the +Mall, who sauntered in the Park with the Prince: none lives who heard and +remembers the gossip of the moment, or can give you the exact flavour of +the speech and accent of the time. Down the long aisle of years echoes +the air but not the tone; the trick of form comes to us but never the +inflection. The lilt of the sensations, the idiosyncrasy of voice, +emotion, and mind of the first hour of our century must now pass from the +printed page to us, imperfectly realised; we may not know them through +actual retrospection. The more distant the scene, the more uncertain the +reflection; and so it must needs be with this tale, which will take you +back to even twenty years before the century began. + +Then, as now, England was a great power outside these small islands. +She had her foot firmly planted in Australia, in Asia, and in America-- +though, in bitterness, the American colonies had broken free, and only +Canada was left to her in that northern hemisphere. She has had, in her +day, to strike hard blows even for Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. But +among her possessions is one which, from the hour its charter was granted +it by King John, has been loyal, unwavering, and unpurchasable. Until +the beginning of the century the language of this province was not our +language, nor is English its official language to-day; and with a pretty +pride oblivious of contrasts, and a simplicity unconscious of mirth, its +people say: "We are the conquering race; we conquered England, England +did not conquer us." + +A little island lying in the wash of St. Michael's Basin off the coast of +France, Norman in its foundations and in its racial growth, it has been +as the keeper of the gate to England; though so near to France is it, +that from its shores on a fine day may be seen the spires of Coutances, +from which its spiritual welfare was ruled long after England lost +Normandy. A province of British people, speaking still the Norman-French +that the Conqueror spoke; such is the island of Jersey, which, with +Guernsey, Alderney, Sark, Herm, and Jethou, form what we call the Channel +Isles, and the French call the Iles de la Manche. + + + + +Volume 1. + + +CHAPTER I + +In all the world there is no coast like the coast of Jersey; so +treacherous, so snarling; serrated with rocks seen and unseen, tortured +by currents maliciously whimsical, encircled by tides that sweep up from +the Antarctic world with the devouring force of a monstrous serpent +projecting itself towards its prey. The captain of these tides, +travelling up through the Atlantic at a thousand miles an hour, enters +the English Channel, and drives on to the Thames. Presently retreating, +it meets another pursuing Antarctic wave, which, thus opposed in its +straightforward course, recoils into St. Michael's Bay, then plunges, as +it were, upon a terrible foe. They twine and strive in mystic conflict, +and, in rage of equal power, neither vanquished nor conquering, circle, +mad and desperate, round the Channel Isles. Impeded, impounded as they +riot through the flumes of sea, they turn furiously, and smite the cliffs +and rocks and walls of their prison-house. With the frenzied winds +helping them, the island coasts and Norman shores are battered by their +hopeless onset: and in that channel between Alderney and Cap de la Hague +man or ship must well beware, for the Race of Alderney is one of the +death-shoots of the tides. Before they find their way to the main again, +these harridans of nature bring forth a brood of currents which +ceaselessly fret the boundaries of the isles. + +Always, always the white foam beats the rocks, and always must man go +warily along these coasts. The swimmer plunges into a quiet pool, the +snowy froth that masks the reefs seeming only the pretty fringe of +sentient life to a sleeping sea; but presently an invisible hand reaches +up and grasps him, an unseen power drags him exultingly out to the main-- +and he returns no more. Many a Jersey boatman, many a fisherman who has +lived his whole life in sight of the Paternosters on the north, the +Ecrehos on the east, the Dog's Nest on the south, or the Corbiere on the +west, has in some helpless moment been caught by the unsleeping currents +which harry his peaceful borders, or the rocks that have eluded the +hunters of the sea, and has yielded up his life within sight of his own +doorway, an involuntary sacrifice to the navigator's knowledge and to the +calm perfection of an admiralty chart. + +Yet within the circle of danger bounding this green isle the love of home +and country is stubbornly, almost pathetically, strong. Isolation, pride +of lineage, independence of government, antiquity of law and custom, and +jealousy of imperial influence or action have combined to make a race +self-reliant even to perverseness, proud and maybe vain, sincere almost +to commonplaceness, unimaginative and reserved, with the melancholy born +of monotony--for the life of the little country has coiled in upon +itself, and the people have drooped to see but just their own selves +reflected in all the dwellers of the land, whichever way they turn. +A hundred years ago, however, there was a greater and more general +lightness of heart and vivacity of spirit than now. Then the song of the +harvester and the fisherman, the boat-builder and the stocking-knitter, +was heard on a summer afternoon, or from the veille of a winter night +when the dim crasset hung from the roof and the seaweed burned in the +chimney. Then the gathering of the vraic was a fete, and the lads and +lasses footed it on the green or on the hard sand, to the chance +flageolets of sportive seamen home from the war. This simple gaiety was +heartiest at Christmastide, when the yearly reunion of families took +place; and because nearly everybody in Jersey was "couzain" to his +neighbour these gatherings were as patriarchal as they were festive. + + .......................... + +The new year of seventeen hundred and eighty-one had been ushered in by +the last impulse of such festivities. The English cruisers lately in +port had vanished up the Channel; and at Elizabeth Castle, Mont Orgueil, +the Blue Barracks and the Hospital, three British regiments had taken up +the dull round of duty again; so that by the fourth day a general +lethargy, akin to content, had settled on the whole island. + +On the morning of the fifth day a little snow was lying upon the ground, +but the sun rose strong and unclouded, the whiteness vanished, and there +remained only a pleasant dampness which made sod and sand firm yet +springy to the foot. As the day wore on, the air became more amiable +still, and a delicate haze settled over the water and over the land, +making softer to the eye house and hill and rock and sea. + +There was little life in the town of St. Heliers, there were few people +upon the beach; though now and then some one who had been praying beside +a grave in the parish churchyard came to the railings and looked out upon +the calm sea almost washing its foundations, and over the dark range of +rocks, which, when the tide was out, showed like a vast gridiron +blackened by fires. Near by, some loitering sailors watched the yawl- +rigged fishing craft from Holland, and the codfish-smelling cul-de-poule +schooners of the great fishing company which exploited the far-off fields +of Gaspe in Canada. + +St. Heliers lay in St. Aubin's Bay, which, shaped like a horseshoe, had +Noirmont Point for one end of the segment and the lofty Town Hill for +another. At the foot of this hill, hugging it close, straggled the town. +From the bare green promontory above might be seen two-thirds of the +south coast of the island--to the right St. Aubin's Bay, to the left +Greve d'Azette, with its fields of volcanic-looking rocks, and St. +Clement's Bay beyond. Than this no better place for a watchtower could +be found; a perfect spot for the reflective idler and for the sailorman +who, on land, must still be within smell and sound of the sea, and loves +that place best which gives him widest prospect. + +This day a solitary figure was pacing backwards and forwards upon the +cliff edge, stopping now to turn a telescope upon the water and now upon +the town. It was a lad of not more than sixteen years, erect, well- +poised, having an air of self-reliance, even of command. Yet it was a +boyish figure too, and the face was very young, save for the eyes; these +were frank but still sophisticated. + +The first time he looked towards the town he laughed outright, freely, +spontaneously; threw his head back with merriment, and then glued his eye +to the glass again. What he had seen was a girl of about five years of +age with a man, in La Rue d'Egypte, near the old prison, even then called +the Vier Prison. Stooping, the man had kissed the child, and she, +indignant, snatching the cap from his head, had thrown it into the stream +running through the street. Small wonder that the lad on the hill +grinned, for the man who ran to rescue his hat from the stream was none +other than the Bailly of the island, next in importance to the +Lieutenant-Governor. + +The lad could almost see the face of the child, its humorous anger, its +wilful triumph, and also the enraged look of the Bailly as he raked the +stream with his long stick, tied with a sort of tassel of office. +Presently he saw the child turn at the call of a woman in the Place du +Vier Prison, who appeared to apologise to the Bailly, busy now drying his +recovered hat by whipping it through the air. The lad on the hill +recognised the woman as the child's mother. + +This little episode over, he turned once more towards the sea, watching +the sun of late afternoon fall upon the towers of Elizabeth Castle and +the great rock out of which St. Helier the hermit once chiselled his +lofty home. He breathed deep and strong, and the carriage of his body +was light, for he had a healthy enjoyment of all physical sensations and +all the obvious drolleries of life. A broad sort of humour was written +upon every feature; in the full, quizzical eye, in the width of cheek- +bone, in the broad mouth, and in the depth of the laugh, which, however, +often ended in a sort of chuckle not entirely pleasant. It suggested a +selfish enjoyment of the odd or the melodramatic side of other people's +difficulties. + +At last the youth encased his telescope, and turned to descend the hill +to the town. As he did so, a bell began to ring. From where he was he +could look down into the Vier Marchi, or market-place, where stood the +Cohue Royale and house of legislature. In the belfry of this court- +house, the bell was ringing to call the Jurats together for a meeting of +the States. A monstrous tin pan would have yielded as much assonance. +Walking down towards the Vier Marchi the lad gleefully recalled the +humour of a wag who, some days before, had imitated the sound of the bell +with the words: + +"Chicane--chicane! Chicane--chicane!" + +The native had, as he thought, suffered somewhat at the hands of the +twelve Jurats of the Royal Court, whom his vote had helped to elect, and +this was his revenge--so successful that, for generations, when the bell +called the States or the Royal Court together, it said in the ears of the +Jersey people--thus insistent is apt metaphor: + +"Chicane--chicane! Chicane--chicane!" + +As the lad came down to the town, trades-people whom he met touched their +hats to him, and sailors and soldiers saluted respectfully. In this +regard the Bailly himself could not have fared better. It was not due to +the fact that the youth came of an old Jersey family, nor by reason that +he was genial and handsome, but because he was a midshipman of the King's +navy home on leave; and these were the days when England's sailors were +more popular than her soldiers. + +He came out of the Vier Marchi into La Grande Rue, along the stream +called the Fauxbie flowing through it, till he passed under the archway +of the Vier Prison, making towards the place where the child had snatched +the hat from the head of the Bailly. + +Presently the door of a cottage opened, and the child came out, followed +by her mother. + +The young gentleman touched his cap politely, for though the woman was +not fashionably dressed, she was distinguished in appearance, with an air +of remoteness which gave her a kind of agreeable mystery. + +"Madame Landresse--" said the young gentleman with deference. + +"Monsieur d'Avranche--" responded the lady softly, pausing. + +"Did the Bailly make a stir? I saw the affair from the hill, through my +telescope," said young d'Avranche, smiling. + +"My little daughter must have better manners," responded the lady, +looking down at her child reprovingly yet lovingly. + +"Or the Bailly must--eh, Madame?" replied d'Avranche, and, stooping, he +offered his hand to the child. Glancing up inquiringly at her mother, +she took it. He held hers in a clasp of good nature. The child was so +demure, one could scarcely think her capable of tossing the Bailly's hat +into the stream; yet looking closely, there might be seen in her eyes a +slumberous sort of fire, a touch of mystery. They were neither blue nor +grey, but a mingling of both, growing to the most tender, greyish sort of +violet. Down through generations of Huguenot refugees had passed sorrow +and fighting and piety and love and occasional joy, until in the eyes of +this child they all met, delicately vague, and with the wistfulness of +the early morning of life. + +"What is your name, little lady?" asked d'Avranche of the child. + +"Guida, sir," she answered simply. + +"Mine is Philip. Won't you call me Philip?" + +She flashed a look at her mother, regarded him again, and then answered: + +"Yes, Philip--sir." + +D'Avranche wanted to laugh, but the face of the child was sensitive and +serious, and he only smiled. "Say 'Yes, Philip', won't you?" he asked. + +"Yes, Philip," came the reply obediently. + +After a moment of speech with Madame Landresse, Philip stooped to say +good-bye to the child. "Good-bye, Guida." + +A queer, mischievous little smile flitted over her face--a second, and it +was gone. + +"Good-bye, sir--Philip," she said, and they parted. Her last words kept +ringing in his ears as he made his way homeward. "Good-bye, sir--Philip" +--the child's arrangement of words was odd and amusing, and at the same +time suggested something more. "Good-bye, Sir Philip," had a different +meaning, though the words were the same. + +"Sir Philip--eh?" he said to himself, with a jerk of the head--"I'll be +more than that some day." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +The night came down with leisurely gloom. A dim starlight pervaded +rather than shone in the sky; Nature seemed somnolent and gravely +meditative. It brooded as broods a man who is seeking his way through a +labyrinth of ideas to a conclusion still evading him. This sense of +cogitation enveloped land and sea, and was as tangible to feeling as +human presence. + +At last the night seemed to wake from reverie. A movement, a thrill, ran +through the spangled vault of dusk and sleep, and seemed to pass over the +world, rousing the sea and the earth. There was no wind, apparently no +breath of air, yet the leaves of the trees moved, the weather-vanes +turned slightly, the animals in the byres roused themselves, and +slumbering folk opening their eyes, turned over in their beds, and +dropped into a troubled doze again. + +Presently there came a long moaning sound from the tide, not loud but +rather mysterious and distant--a plaint, a threatening, a warning, a +prelude? + +A dull labourer, returning from late toil, felt it, and raised his head +in a perturbed way, as though some one had brought him news of a far-off +disaster. A midwife, hurrying to a lowly birth-chamber, shivered and +gathered her mantle more closely about her. She looked up at the sky, +she looked out over the sea, then she bent her head and said to herself +that this would not be a good night, that ill-luck was in the air. "The +mother or the child will die," she said to herself. A 'longshoreman, +reeling home from deep potations, was conscious of it, and, turning round +to the sea, snarled at it and said yah! in swaggering defiance. A young +lad, wandering along the deserted street, heard it, began to tremble, and +sat down on a block of stone beside the doorway of a baker's shop. He +dropped his head on his arms and his chin on his knees, shutting out the +sound and sobbing quietly. + +Yesterday his mother had been buried; to-night his father's door had been +closed in his face. He scarcely knew whether his being locked out was an +accident or whether it was intended. He thought of the time when his +father had ill-treated his mother and himself. That, however, had +stopped at last, for the woman had threatened the Royal Court, and the +man, having no wish to face its summary convictions, thereafter conducted +himself towards them both with a morose indifference. + +The boy was called Ranulph, a name which had passed to him through +several generations of Jersey forebears--Ranulph Delagarde. He was being +taught the trade of ship-building in St. Aubin's Bay. He was not beyond +fourteen years of age, though he looked more, so tall and straight and +self-possessed was he. + +His tears having ceased soon, he began to think of what he was to do +in the future. He would never go back to his father's house, or be +dependent on him for aught. Many plans came to his mind. He would +learn his trade of ship-building, he would become a master-builder, then +a shipowner, with fishing-vessels like the great company sending fleets +to Gaspe. + +At the moment when these ambitious plans had reached the highest point of +imagination, the upper half of the door beside him opened suddenly, and +he heard men's voices. He was about to rise and disappear, but the words +of the men arrested him, and he cowered down beside the stone. One of +the men was leaning on the half-door, speaking in French. + +"I tell you it can't go wrong. The pilot knows every crack in the coast. +I left Granville at three; Rulle cour left Chaussey at nine. If he lands +safe, and the English troops ain't roused, he'll take the town and hold +the island easy enough." + +"But the pilot, is he certain safe?" asked another voice. Ranulph +recognised it as that of the baker Carcaud, who owned the shop. "Olivier +Delagarde isn't so sure of him." + +Olivier Delagarde! The lad started. That was his father's name. He +shrank as from a blow--his father was betraying Jersey to the French! + +"Of course, the pilot, he's all right," the Frenchman answered the baker. +"He was to have been hung here for murder. He got away, and now he's +having his turn by fetching Rullecour's wolves to eat up your green- +bellies. By to-morrow at seven Jersey 'll belong to King Louis." + +"I've done my promise," rejoined Carcaud the baker; "I've been to three +of the guard-houses on St. Clement's and Grouville. In two the men are +drunk as donkeys; in another they sleep like squids. Rullecour he can +march straight to the town and seize it--if he land safe. But will he +stand by 's word to we? You know the saying: 'Cadet Roussel has two +sons; one's a thief, t'other's a rogue.' There's two Rullecours-- +Rullecour before the catch and Rullecour after!" + +"He'll be honest to us, man, or he'll be dead inside a week, that's all." + +"I'm to be Connetable of St. Heliers, and you're to be harbour-master-- +eh?" + +"Naught else: you don't catch flies with vinegar. Give us your hand-- +why, man, it's doggish cold." + +"Cold hand, healthy heart. How many men will Rullecour bring?" + +"Two thousand; mostly conscripts and devil's beauties from Granville and +St. Malo gaols." + +"Any signals yet?" + +"Two--from Chaussey at five o'clock. Rullecour 'll try to land at Gorey. +Come, let's be off. Delagarde's there now." + +The boy stiffened with horror--his father was a traitor! The thought +pierced his brain like a hot iron. He must prevent this crime, and warn +the Governor. He prepared to steal away. Fortunately the back of the +man's head was towards him. + +Carcaud laughed a low, malicious laugh as he replied to the Frenchman. + +"Trust the quiet Delagarde! There's nothing worse nor still waters. +He'll do his trick, and he'll have his share if the rest suck their +thumbs. He doesn't wait for roasted larks to drop into his mouth--what's +that!" It was Ranulph stealing away. + +In an instant the two men were on him, and a hand was clapped to his +mouth. In another minute he was bound, thrown onto the stone floor of +the bakehouse, his head striking, and he lost consciousness. + +When he came to himself, there was absolute silence round him-deathly, +oppressive silence. At first he was dazed, but at length all that had +happened came back to him. + +Where was he now? His feet were free; he began to move them about. He +remembered that he had been flung on the stone floor of the bakeroom. +This place sounded hollow underneath--it certainly was not the bakeroom. +He rolled over and over. Presently he touched a wall--it was stone. He +drew himself up to a sitting posture, but his head struck a curved stone +ceiling. Then he swung round and moved his foot along the wall--it +touched iron. He felt farther with his foot-something clicked. Now he +understood; he was in the oven of the bakehouse, with his hands bound. +He began to think of means of escape. The iron door had no inside latch. +There was a small damper covering a barred hole, through which perhaps he +might be able to get a hand, if only it were free. He turned round so +that his fingers might feel the grated opening. The edge of the little +bars was sharp. He placed the strap binding his wrists against these +sharp edges, and drew his arms up and down, a difficult and painful +business. The iron cut his hands and wrists at first, so awkward was the +movement. But, steeling himself, he kept on steadily. + +At last the straps fell apart, and his hands were free. With difficulty +he thrust one through the bars. His fingers could just lift the latch. +Now the door creaked on its hinges, and in a moment he was out on the +stone flags of the bakeroom. Hurrying through an unlocked passage into +the shop, he felt his way to the street door, but it was securely +fastened. The windows? He tried them both, one on either side, but +while he could free the stout wooden shutters on the inside, a heavy iron +bar secured them without, and it was impossible to open them. + +Feverish with anxiety, he sat down on the low counter, with his hands +between his knees, and tried to think what to do. In the numb +hopelessness of the moment he became very quiet. His mind was confused, +but his senses were alert; he was in a kind of dream, yet he was acutely +conscious of the smell of new-made bread. It pervaded the air of the +place; it somehow crept into his brain and his being, so that, as long as +he might live, the smell of new-made bread would fetch back upon him the +nervous shiver and numbness of this hour of danger. + +As he waited, he heard a noise outside, a clac-clac! clac-clac! which +seemed to be echoed back from the wood and stone of the houses in the +street, and then to be lifted up and carried away over the roofs and out +to sea---clac-clac! clac-clac! It was not the tap of a blind man's +staff--at first he thought it might be; it was not a donkey's foot on the +cobbles; it was not the broom-sticks of the witches of St. Clement's Bay, +for the rattle was below in the street, and the broom-stick rattle is +heard only on the roofs as the witches fly across country from Rocbert to +Bonne Nuit Bay. + +This clac-clac came from the sabots of some nightfarer. Should he make a +noise and attract the attention of the passer-by? No, that would not do. +It might be some one who would wish to know whys and wherefores. He +must, of course, do his duty to his country, but he must save his father +too. Bad as the man was, he must save him, though, no matter what +happened, he must give the alarm. His reflections tortured him. Why had +he not stopped the nightfarer? + +Even as these thoughts passed through the lad's mind, the clac-clac had +faded away into the murmur of the stream flowing by the Rue d'Egypte to +the sea, and almost beneath his feet. There flashed on him at that +instant what little Guida Landresse had said a few days before as she lay +down beside this very stream, and watched the water wimpling by. +Trailing her fingers through it dreamily, the child had said to him: + +"Ro, won't it never come back?" She always called him "Ro," because when +beginning to talk she could not say Ranulph. + +Ro, won't it never come back? But while yet he recalled the words, +another sound mingled again with the stream-clac-clac! clac-clac! +Suddenly it came to him who was the wearer of the sabots making this +peculiar clatter in the night. It was Dormy Jamais, the man who never +slept. For two years the clac-clac of Dormy Jamais's sabots had not been +heard in the streets of St. Heliers--he had been wandering in France, +a daft pilgrim. Ranulph remembered how these sabots used to pass and +repass the doorway of his own home. It was said that while Dormy Jamais +paced the streets there was no need of guard or watchman. Many a time +had Ranulph shared his supper with the poor beganne whose origin no one +knew, whose real name had long since dropped into oblivion. + +The rattle of the sabots came nearer, the footsteps were now in front of +the window. Even as Ranulph was about to knock and call the poor +vagrant's name, the clac-clac stopped, and then there came a sniffing at +the shutters as a dog sniffs at the door of a larder. Following the +sniffing came a guttural noise of emptiness and desire. Now there was no +mistake; it was the half-witted fellow beyond all doubt, and he could +help him--Dormy Jamais should help him: he should go and warn the +Governor and the soldiers at the Hospital, while he himself would speed +to Gorey in search of his father. He would alarm the regiment there at +the same time. + +He knocked and shouted. Dormy Jamais, frightened, jumped back into the +street. Ranulph called again, and yet again, and now at last Dormy +recognised the voice. + +With a growl of mingled reassurance and hunger, he lifted down the iron +bar from the shutters. In a moment Ranulph was outside with two loaves +of bread, which he put into Dormy Jamais's arms. The daft one whinnied +with delight. + +"What's o'clock, bread-man?" he asked with a chuckle. + +Ranulph gripped his shoulders. "See, Dormy Jamais, I want you to go to +the Governor's house at La Motte, and tell them that the French are +coming, that they're landing at Gorey now. Then to the Hospital and tell +the sentry there. Go, Dormy--allez kedainne!" + +Dormy Jamais tore at a loaf with his teeth, and crammed a huge crust into +his mouth. + +"Come, tell me, will you go, Dormy?" the lad asked impatiently. + +Dormy Jamais nodded his head, grunted, and, turning on his heel with +Ranulph, clattered up the street. The lad sprang ahead of him, and ran +swiftly up the Rue d'Egypte, into the Vier Marchi, and on over the Town +Hill along the road to Grouville. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +Since the days of Henry III of England the hawk of war that broods in +France has hovered along that narrow strip of sea dividing the island of +Jersey from the duchy of Normandy. Eight times has it descended, and +eight times has it hurried back with broken pinion. Among these +truculent invasions two stand out boldly: the spirited and gallant attack +by Bertrand du Guesclin, Constable of France; and the freebooting +adventure of Rullecour, with his motley following of gentlemen and +criminals. Rullecour it was, soldier of fortune, gambler, ruffian, and +embezzler, to whom the King of France had secretly given the mission to +conquer the unconquerable little island. + +From the Chaussey Isles the filibuster saw the signal light which the +traitor Olivier Delagarde had set upon the heights of Le Couperon, where, +ages ago, Caesar built fires to summon from Gaul his devouring legions. + +All was propitious for the attack. There was no moon--only a meagre +starlight when they set forth from Chaussey. The journey was made in +little more than an hour, and Rullecour himself was among the first to +see the shores of Jersey loom darkly in front. Beside him stood the +murderous pilot who was leading in the expedition, the colleague of +Olivier Delagarde. + +Presently the pilot gave an exclamation of surprise and anxiety--the +tides and currents were bearing them away from the intended landing- +place. It was now almost low water, and instead of an immediate shore, +there lay before them a vast field of scarred rocks, dimly seen. He gave +the signal to lay-to, and himself took the bearings. The tide was going +out rapidly, disclosing reefs on either hand. He drew in carefully to +the right of the rock known as L'Echiquelez, up through a passage scarce +wide enough for canoes, and to Roque Platte, the south-eastern projection +of the island. + +You may range the seas from the Yugon Strait to the Erebus volcano, and +you will find no such landing-place for imps or men as that field of +rocks on the southeast corner of Jersey called, with a malicious irony, +the Bane des Violets. The great rocks La Coniere, La Longy, Le Gros +Etac, Le Teton, and the Petite Sambiere, rise up like volcanic monuments +from a floor of lava and trailing vraic, which at half-tide makes the sea +a tender mauve and violet. The passages of safety between these ranges +of reef are but narrow at high tide; at half-tide, when the currents are +changing most, the violet field becomes the floor of a vast mortuary +chapel for unknowing mariners. + +A battery of four guns defended the post on the landward side of this +bank of the heavenly name. Its guards were asleep or in their cups. +They yielded, without resistance, to the foremost of the invaders. But +here Rullecour and his pilot, looking back upon the way they had come, +saw the currents driving the transport boats hither and thither in +confusion. Jersey was not to be conquered without opposition--no army +of defence was abroad, but the elements roused themselves and furiously +attacked the fleet. Battalions unable to land drifted back with the +tides to Granville, whence they had come. Boats containing the heavy +ammunition and a regiment of conscripts were battered upon the rocks, and +hundreds of the invaders found an unquiet grave upon the Banc des +Violets. + +Presently the traitor Delagarde arrived and was welcomed warmly by +Rullecour. The night wore on, and at last the remaining legions were +landed. A force was left behind to guard La Roque Platte, and then the +journey across country to the sleeping town began. + +With silent, drowsing batteries in front and on either side of them, the +French troops advanced, the marshes of Samares and the sea on their left, +churches and manor houses on their right, all silent. Not yet had a blow +been struck for the honour of this land and of the Kingdom. + +But a blind injustice was, in its own way, doing the work of justice. +On the march, Delagarde, suspecting treachery to himself, not without +reason, required of Rullecour guarantee for the fulfilment of his pledge +to make him Vicomte of the Island when victory should be theirs. +Rullecour, however, had also promised the post to a reckless young +officer, the Comte de Tournay, of the House of Vaufontaine, who, under +the assumed name of Yves Savary dit Detricand, marched with him. +Rullecour answered Delagarde churlishly, and would say nothing till the +town was taken--the ecrivain must wait. But Delagarde had been drinking, +he was in a mood to be reckless; he would not wait, he demanded an +immediate pledge. + +"By and by, my doubting Thomas," said Rullecour. "No, now, by the blood +of Peter!" answered Delagarde, laying a hand upon his sword. + +The French leader called a sergeant to arrest him. Delagarde instantly +drew his sword and attacked Rullecour, but was cut down from behind by +the scimitar of a swaggering Turk, who had joined the expedition as aide- +de-camp to the filibustering general, tempted thereto by promises of a +harem of the choicest Jersey ladies, well worthy of this cousin of the +Emperor of Morocco. + +The invaders left Delagarde lying where he fell. What followed this +oblique retribution could satisfy no ordinary logic, nor did it meet the +demands of poetic justice. For, as a company of soldiers from Grouville, +alarmed out of sleep by a distracted youth, hurried towards St. Heliers, +they found Delagarde lying by the roadside, and they misunderstood what +had happened. Stooping over him an officer said pityingly: + +"See--he got this wound fighting the French!" With the soldiers was the +youth who had warned them. He ran forward with a cry, and knelt beside +the wounded man. He had no tears, he had no sorrow. He was only sick +and dumb, and he trembled with misery as he lifted up his father's head. +The eyes of Olivier Delagarde opened. + +"Ranulph--they've killed--me," gasped the stricken man feebly, and his +head fell back. + +An officer touched the youth's arm. "He is gone," said he. "Don't fret, +lad, he died fighting for his country." + +The lad made no reply, and the soldiers hurried on towards the town. + +He died fighting for his country! So that was to be the legend, Ranulph +meditated: his father was to have a glorious memory, while he himself +knew how vile the man was. One thing however: he was glad that Olivier +Delagarde was dead. How strangely had things happened! He had come to +stay a traitor in his crime, and here he found a martyr. But was not he +himself likewise a traitor? Ought not he to have alarmed the town first +before he tried to find his father? Had Dormy Jamais warned the +Governor? Clearly not, or the town bells would be ringing and the +islanders giving battle. What would the world think of him! + +Well, what was the use of fretting here? He would go on to the town, +help to fight the French, and die that would be the best thing. He +knelt, and unclasped his father's fingers from the handle of the sword. +The steel was cold, it made him shiver. He had no farewell to make. He +looked out to sea. The tide would come and carry his father's body out, +perhaps-far out, and sink it in the deepest depths. If not that, then +the people would bury Olivier Delagarde as a patriot. He determined that +he himself would not live to see such mockery. + +As he sped along towards the town he asked himself why nobody suspected +the traitor. One reason for it occurred to him: his father, as the whole +island knew, had a fishing-hut at Gorey. They would imagine him on the +way to it when he met the French, for he often spent the night there. He +himself had told his tale to the soldiers: how he had heard the baker and +the Frenchman talking at the shop in the Rue d'Egypte. Yes, but suppose +the French were driven out, and the baker taken prisoner and should +reveal his father's complicity! And suppose people asked why he himself +did not go at once to the Hospital Barracks in the town and to the +Governor, and afterwards to Gorey? + +These were direful imaginings. He felt that it was no use; that the lie +could not go on concerning his father. The world would know; the one +thing left for him was to die. He was only a boy, but he could fight. +Had not young Philip d'Avranche; the midshipman, been in deadly action +many times? He was nearly as old as Philip d'Avranche--yes, he would +fight, and, fighting, he would die. To live as the son of such a father +was too pitiless a shame. + +He ran forward, but a weakness was on him; he was very hungry and +thirsty-and the sword was heavy. Presently, as he went, he saw a stone +well near a cottage by the roadside. On a ledge of the well stood a +bucket of water. He tilted the bucket and drank. He would have liked to +ask for bread at the cottage-door, but he said to himself, Why should he +eat, for was he not going to die? Yet why should he not eat, even if he +were going to die? He turned his head wistfully, he was so faint with +hunger. The force driving him on, however, was greater than hunger--he +ran harder. . . . But undoubtedly the sword was heavy! + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +In the Vier Marchi the French flag was flying, French troops occupied it, +French sentries guarded the five streets entering into it. Rullecour, +the French adventurer, held the Lieutenant-Governor of the isle captive +in the Cohue Royale; and by threats of fire and pillage thought to force +capitulation. For his final argument he took the Governor to the +doorway, and showed him two hundred soldiers with lighted torches ready +to fire the town. + +When the French soldiers first entered the Vier Marchi there was Dormy +Jamais on the roof of the Cohue Royale, calmly munching his bread. When +he saw Rullecour and the Governor appear, he chuckled to himself, and +said, in Jersey patois: "I vaut mux alouonyi l'bras que l'co," which is +to say: It is better to stretch the arm than the neck. The Governor +would have done more wisely, he thought, to believe the poor beganne, and +to have risen earlier. Dormy Jamais had a poor opinion of a governor who +slept. He himself was not a governor, yet was he not always awake? He +had gone before dawn to the Governor's house, had knocked, had given +Ranulph Delagarde's message, had been called a dirty buzard, and been +sent away by the crusty, incredulous servant. Then he had gone to the +Hospital Barracks, was there iniquitously called a lousy toad, and had +been driven off with his quartern loaf, muttering through the dough the +island proverb "While the mariner swigs the tide rises." + +Had the Governor remained as cool as the poor vagrant, he would not have +shrunk at the sight of the incendiaries, yielded to threats, and signed +the capitulation of the island. But that capitulation being signed, and +notice of it sent to the British troops, with orders to surrender and +bring their arms to the Cohue Royale, it was not cordially received by +the officers in command. + +"Je ne comprends pas le francais," said Captain Mulcaster, at Elizabeth +Castle, as he put the letter into his pocket unread. + +"The English Governor will be hanged, and the French will burn the town," +responded the envoy. "Let them begin to hang and burn and be damned, for +I'll not surrender the castle or the British flag so long as I've a man +to defend it, to please anybody!" answered Mulcaster. + +"We shall return in numbers," said the Frenchman, threateningly. + +"I shall be delighted: we shall have the more to kill," Mulcaster +replied. + +Then the captive Lieutenant-Governor was sent to Major Peirson at the +head of his troops on the Mont es Pendus, with counsel to surrender. + +"Sir," said he, "this has been a very sudden surprise, for I was made +prisoner before I was out of my bed this morning." + +"Sir," replied Peirson, the young hero of twenty-four, who achieved death +and glory between a sunrise and a noontide, "give me leave to tell you +that the 78th Regiment has not yet been the least surprised." + +From Elizabeth Castle came defiance and cannonade, driving back Rullecour +and his filibusters to the Cohue Royale: from Mont Orgueil, from the +Hospital, from St. Peter's came the English regiments; from the other +parishes swarmed the militia, all eager to recover their beloved Vier +Marchi. Two companies of light infantry, leaving the Mont es Pendus, +stole round the town and placed themselves behind the invaders on the +Town Hill; the rest marched direct upon the enemy. Part went by the +Grande Rue, and part by the Rue d'Driere, converging to the point of +attack; and as the light infantry came down from the hill by the Rue des +Tres Pigeons, Peirson entered the Vier Marchi by the Route es Couochons. +On one side of the square, where the Cohue Royale made a wall to fight +against, were the French. Radiating from this were five streets and +passages like the spokes of a wheel, and from these now poured the +defenders of the isle. + +A volley came from the Cohue Royale, then another, and another. The +place was small: friend and foe were crowded upon each other. The +fighting became at once a hand-to-hand encounter. Cannon were useless, +gun-carriages overturned. Here a drummer fell wounded, but continued +beating his drum to the last; there a Glasgow soldier struggled with a +French officer for the flag of the invaders; yonder a handful of Malouins +doggedly held the foot of La Pyramide, until every one was cut down by +overpowering numbers of British and Jersiais. The British leader was +conspicuous upon his horse. Shot after shot was fired at him. Suddenly +he gave a cry, reeled in his saddle, and sank, mortally wounded, into the +arms of a brother officer. + +For a moment his men fell back. + +In the midst of the deadly turmoil a youth ran forward from a group of +combatants, caught the bridle of the horse from which Peirson had fallen, +mounted, and, brandishing a short sword, called upon his dismayed and +wavering followers to advance; which they instantly did with fury and +courage. It was Midshipman Philip d'Avranche. Twenty muskets were +discharged at him. One bullet cut the coat on his shoulder, another +grazed the back of his hand, a third scarred the pommel of the saddle, +and still another wounded his horse. Again and again the English called +upon him to dismount, for he was made a target, but he refused, until +at last the horse was shot under him. Then once more he joined in the +hand-to-hand encounter. + +Windows near the ground, such as were not shattered, were broken by +bullets. Cannon-balls embedded themselves in the masonry and the heavy +doorways. The upper windows were safe, however: the shots did not range +so high. At one of these, over a watchmaker's shop, a little girl was to +be seen, looking down with eager interest. Presently an old man came in +view and led her away. A few minutes of fierce struggle passed, and then +at another window on the floor below the child appeared again. She saw a +youth with a sword hurrying towards the Cohue Royale from a tangled mass +of combatants. As he ran, a British soldier fell in front of him. The +youth dropped the sword and grasped the dead man's musket. + +The child clapped her hands on the window. + +"It's Ro--it's Ro!" she cried, and disappeared again. + +"Ro," with white face, hatless, coatless, pushed on through the melee. +Rullecour, the now disheartened French general, stood on the steps of the +Cohue Royale. With a vulgar cruelty and cowardice he was holding the +Governor by the arm, hoping thereby to protect his own person from the +British fire. + +Here was what the lad had been trying for--the sight of this man +Rullecour. There was one small clear space between the English and the +French, where stood a gun-carriage. He ran to it, leaned the musket on +the gun, and, regardless of the shots fired at him, took aim steadily. +A French bullet struck the wooden wheel of the carriage, and a splinter +gashed his cheek. He did not move, but took sight again, and fired. +Rullecour fell, shot through the jaw. A cry of fury and dismay went up +from the French at the loss of their leader, a shout of triumph from the +British. + +The Frenchmen had had enough. They broke and ran. Some rushed for +doorways and threw themselves within, many scurried into the Rue des Tres +Pigeons, others madly fought their way into Morier Lane. + +At this moment the door of the watchmaker's shop opened and the little +girl who had been seen at the window ran into the square, calling out: +"Ro! Ro!" It was Guida Landresse. + +Among the French flying for refuge was the garish Turk, Rullecour's ally. +Suddenly the now frightened, crying child got into his path and tripped +him up. Wild with rage he made a stroke at her, but at that instant his +scimitar was struck aside by a youth covered with the smoke and grime of +battle. He caught up the child to his arms, and hurried with her through +the melee to the watchmaker's doorway. There stood a terror-stricken +woman--Madame Landresse, who had just made her way into the square. +Placing the child, in her arms, Philip d'Avranche staggered inside the +house, faint and bleeding from a wound in the shoulder. The battle of +Jersey was over. + +"Ah bah!" said Dormy Jamais from the roof of the Cohue Royale; "now I'll +toll the bell for that achocre of a Frenchman. Then I'll finish my +supper." + +Poising a half-loaf of bread on the ledge of the roof, he began to slowly +toll the cracked bell at his hand for Rullecour the filibuster. + +The bell clanged out: Chicane-chicane! Chicane-chicane! + +Another bell answered from the church by the square, a deep, mournful +note. It was tolling for Peirson and his dead comrades. + +Against the statue in the Vier Marchi leaned Ranulph Delagarde. An +officer came up and held out a hand to him. "Your shot ended the +business," said he. "You're a brave fellow. What is your name?" + +"Ranulph Delagarde, sir." + +"Delagarde--eh? Then well done, Delagardes! They say your father was +the first man killed. We won't forget that, my lad." + +Sinking down upon the base of the statue, Ranulph did not stir or reply, +and the officer, thinking he was grieving for his father, left him alone. + + + + +ELEVEN YEARS AFTER + +CHAPTER V + +The King of France was no longer sending adventurers to capture the +outposts of England. He was rather, in despair, beginning to wind in +again the coil of disaster which had spun out through the helpless +fingers of Neckar, Calonne, Brienne and the rest, and was in the end to +bind his own hands for the guillotine. + +The Isle of Jersey, like a scout upon the borders of a foeman's country, +looked out over St. Michael's Basin to those provinces where the war of +the Vendee was soon to strike France from within, while England, and +presently all Europe, should strike her from without. + +War, or the apprehension of war, was in the air. The people of the +little isle, living always within the influence of natural wonder and the +power of the elements, were deeply superstitious; and as news of dark +deeds done in Paris crept across from Carteret or St. Malo, as men-of-war +anchored in the tide-way, and English troops, against the hour of +trouble, came, transport after transport, into the harbour of St. +Heliers, they began to see visions and dream dreams. One peasant heard +the witches singing a chorus of carnage at Rocbert; another saw, towards +the Minquiers, a great army like a mirage upon the sea; others declared +that certain French refugees in the island had the evil eye and bewitched +their cattle; and a woman, wild with grief because her child had died +of a sudden sickness, meeting a little Frenchman, the Chevalier du +Champsavoys, in the Rue des Tres Pigeons, thrust at his face with her +knitting-needle, and then, Protestant though she was, made the sacred +sign, as though to defeat the evil eye. + +This superstition and fanaticism so strong in the populace now and then +burst forth in untamable fury and riot. So that when, on the sixteenth +of December 1792, the gay morning was suddenly overcast, and a black +curtain was drawn over the bright sun, the people of Jersey, working in +the fields, vraicking among the rocks, or knitting in their doorways, +stood aghast, and knew not what was upon them. + +Some began to say the Lord's Prayer, some in superstitious terror ran to +the secret hole in the wall, to the chimney, or to the bedstead, or dug +up the earthen floor, to find the stocking full of notes and gold, which +might, perchance, come with them safe through any cataclysm, or start +them again in business in another world. Some began fearfully to sing +hymns, and a few to swear freely. These latter were chiefly carters, +whose salutations to each other were mainly oaths, because of the extreme +narrowness of the island roads, and sailors to whom profanity was as +daily bread. + +In St. Heliers, after the first stupefaction, people poured into the +streets. They gathered most where met the Rue d'Driere and the Rue +d'Egypte. Here stood the old prison, and the spot was called the Place +du Vier Prison. + +Men and women with breakfast still in their mouths mumbled their terror +to each other. A lobster-woman shrieking that the Day of Judgment was +come, instinctively straightened her cap, smoothed out her dress of +molleton, and put on her sabots. A carpenter, hearing her terrified +exclamations, put on his sabots also, stooped whimpering to the stream +running from the Rue d'Egypte, and began to wash his face. A dozen of +his neighbours did the same. Some of the women, however, went on +knitting hard, as they gabbled prayers and looked at the fast-blackening +sun. Knitting was to Jersey women, like breathing or tale-bearing, life +itself. With their eyes closing upon earth they would have gone on +knitting and dropped no stitches. + +A dusk came down like that over Pompeii and Herculaneum. The tragedy of +fear went hand in hand with burlesque commonplace. The grey stone walls +of the houses grew darker and darker, and seemed to close in on the +dumfounded, hysterical crowd. Here some one was shouting command to +imaginary militia; there an aged crone was offering, without price, +simnels and black butter, as a sort of propitiation for an imperfect +past; and from a window a notorious evil-liver was frenziedly crying that +she had heard the devil and his Rocbert witches revelling in the prison +dungeons the night before. Thereupon a long-haired fanatic, once a +barber, with a gift for mad preaching, sprang upon the Pompe des +Brigands, and declaring that the Last Day was come, shrieked: + + "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me! He hath sent me to proclaim + liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that + are bound!" + +Some one thrust into his hand a torch. He waved it to and fro in his +wild harangue; he threw up his arms towards the ominous gloom, and with +blatant fury ordered open the prison doors. Other torches and candles +appeared, and the mob trembled to and fro in delirium. + +"The prison! Open the Vier Prison! Break down the doors! Gatd'en'ale-- +drive out the devils! Free the prisoners--the poor vauriens!" the crowd +shouted, rushing forward with sticks and weapons. + +The prison arched the street as Temple Bar once spanned the Strand. They +crowded under the archway, overpowered the terror-stricken jailer, and, +battering open the door in frenzy, called the inmates forth. + +They looked to see issue some sailor seized for whistling of a Sabbath, +some profane peasant who had presumed to wear pattens in church, some +profaner peasant who had not doffed his hat to the Connetable, or some +slip-shod militiaman who had gone to parade in his sabots, thereby +offending the red-robed dignity of the Royal Court. + +Instead, there appeared a little Frenchman of the most refined and +unusual appearance. The blue cloth of his coat set off the extreme +paleness of a small but serene face and high round forehead. The hair, +a beautiful silver grey which time only had powdered, was tied in a queue +behind. The little gentleman's hand was as thin and fine as a lady's, +his shoulders were narrow and slightly stooped, his eye was eloquent and +benign. His dress was amazingly neat, but showed constant brushing and +signs of the friendly repairing needle. + +The whole impression was that of a man whom a whiff of wind would blow +away; with the body of an ascetic and the simplicity of a child. The +face had some particular sort of wisdom, difficult to define and +impossible to imitate. He held in his hand a tiny cane of the sort +carried at the court of Louis Quinze. Louis Capet himself had given it +to him; and you might have had the life of the little gentleman, but not +this cane with the tiny golden bust of his unhappy monarch. + +He stood on the steps of the prison and looked serenely on the muttering, +excited crowd. + +"I fear there is a mistake," said he, coughing a little into his fingers. +"You do not seek me. I--I have no claim upon your kindness; I am only +the Chevalier Orvilliers du Champsavoys de Beaumanoir." + +For a moment the mob had been stayed in amazement by this small, rare +creature stepping from the doorway, like a porcelain coloured figure from +some dusky wood in a painting by Claude. In the instant's pause the +Chevalier Orvilliers du Champsavoys de Beaumanoir took from his pocket a +timepiece and glanced at it, then looked over the heads of the crowd +towards the hooded sun, which now, a little, was showing its face again. + +"It was due at eight, less seven minutes," said he; "clear sun again was +set for ten minutes past. It is now upon the stroke of the hour." + +He seemed in no way concerned with the swaying crowd before him-- +undoubtedly they wanted naught of him, and therefore he did not take +their presence seriously; but, of an inquiring mind, he was absorbed in +the eclipse. + +"He's a French sorcerer! He has the evil eye! Away with him to the +sea!" shouted the fanatical preacher from the Pompe des Brigands. + +"It's a witch turned into a man!" cried a drunken woman from her window. +"Give him the wheel of fire at the blacksmith's forge." + +"That's it! Gad'rabotin--the wheel of fire'll turn him back to a hag +again!" + +The little gentleman protested, but they seized him and dragged him from +the steps. Tossed like a ball, so light was he, he grasped the gold- +headed cane as one might cling to life, and declared that he was no +witch, but a poor French exile, arrested the night before for being +abroad after nine o'clock, against the orders of the Royal Court. + +Many of the crowd knew him well enough by sight, but they were too +delirious to act with intelligence now. The dark cloud was lifting a +little from the sun, and dread of the Judgment Day was declining; but as +the pendulum swung back towards normal life again, it carried with it the +one virulent and common prejudice of the country--radical hatred of the +French--which often slumbered but never died. + +The wife of an oyster-fisher from Rozel Bay, who lived in hourly enmity +with the oyster-fishers of Carteret, gashed his cheek with the shell of +an ormer. A potato-digger from Grouville parish struck at his head with +a hoe, for the Granvillais had crossed the strait to the island the year +before, to work in the harvest fields for a lesser wage than the +Jersiais, and this little French gentleman must be held responsible for +that. The weapon missed the Chevalier, but laid low a centenier, who, +though a municipal officer, had in the excitement lost his head like his +neighbours. This but increased the rage against the foreigner, and was +another crime to lay to his charge. A smuggler thereupon kicked him in +the side. + +At that moment there came a cry of indignation from a girl at an upper +window of the Place. The Chevalier evidently knew her, for even in his +hard case he smiled; and then he heard another voice ring out over the +heads of the crowd, strong, angry, determined. + +From the Rue d'Driere a tall athletic man was hurrying. He had on his +shoulders a workman's han basket, from which peeped a ship-builder's +tools. Seeing the Chevalier's danger, he dropped his tool-basket through +the open window of a house and forced his way through the crowd, roughly +knocking from under them the feet of two or three ruffians who opposed +him. He reproached the crowd, he berated them, he handled them fiercely. +By a dexterous strength he caught the little gentleman up in his arms, +and, driving straight on to the open door of the smithy, placed him +inside, then blocked the passage with his own body. + +It was a strange picture: the preacher in an ecstasy haranguing the +foolish rabble, who now realised, with an unbecoming joy, that the Last +Day was yet to face; the gaping, empty prison; the open windows crowded +with excited faces; the church bell from the Vier Marchi ringing an +alarm; Norman lethargy roused to froth and fury: one strong man holding +two hundred back! + +Above them all, at a hus in the gable of a thatched cottage, stood the +girl whom the Chevalier had recognised, anxiously watching the affray. +She was leaning across the lower closed half of the door, her hands in +apprehensive excitement clasping her cheeks. The eyes were bewildered, +and, though alive with pain, watched the scene below with unwavering +intensity. + +Like all mobs this one had no reason, no sense. They were baulked in +their malign intentions, and this man, Maitre Ranulph Delagarde, was the +cause of it--that was all they knew. A stone was thrown at Delagarde as +he stood in the doorway, but it missed him. + +"Oh-oh-oh!" the girl exclaimed, shrinking. "O shame! O you cowards!" +she added, her hands now indignantly beating on the hus. Three or four +men rushed forward on Ranulph. He hurled them back. Others came on with +weapons. The girl fled for an instant, then reappeared with a musket, as +the people were crowding in on Delagarde with threats and execrations. + +"Stop! stop!" cried the girl from above, as Ranulph seized a black- +smith's hammer to meet the onset. "Stop, or I'll fire!" she called +again, and she aimed her musket at the foremost assailants. + +Every face turned in her direction, for her voice had rung out clear as +music. For an instant there was silence--the levelled musket had a +deadly look, and the girl seemed determined. Her fingers, her whole +body, trembled; but there was no mistaking the strong will, the indignant +purpose. + +All at once in the pause another sound was heard. It was a quick tramp, +tramp, tramp! and suddenly under the prison archway came running an +officer of the King's navy with a company of sailors. The officer, with +drawn sword, his men following with cutlasses, drove a way through the +mob, who scattered before them like sheep. + +Delagarde threw aside his hammer, and saluted the officer. The little +Chevalier made a formal bow, and hastened to say that he was not at all +hurt. With a droll composure he offered snuff to the officer, who +declined politely. Turning to the window where the girl stood, the new- +comer saluted with confident gallantry. + +"Why, it's little Guida Landresse!" he said under his breath--"I'd know +her anywhere. Death and Beauty, what a face!" Then he turned to Ranulph +in recognition. + +"Ranulph Delagarde, eh?" said he good-humouredly. "You've forgotten me, +I see. I'm Philip d'Avranche, of the Narcissus." + +Ranulph had forgotten. The slight lad Philip had grown bronzed, and +stouter of frame. In the eleven years since they had been together at +the Battle of Jersey, events, travel, and responsibility had altered him +vastly. Ranulph had changed only in growing very tall and athletic and +strong; the look of him was still that of the Norman lad of the isle, +though the power and intelligence of his face were unusual. + +The girl in the cottage doorway had not forgotten at all. The words that +d'Avranche had said to her years before, when she was a child, came to +her mind: "My name is Philip; call me Philip." + +The recollection of that day when she snatched off the Bailly's hat +brought a smile to her lips now, so quickly were her feelings moved one +way or another. Then she grew suddenly serious, for the memory of the +hour when he saved her from the scimitar of the Turk came to her, and her +heart throbbed hotly. But she smiled again, though more gently and a +little wistfully now. + +Philip d'Avranche looked up towards her once more, and returned her +smile. Then he addressed the awed crowd. He did not spare his language; +he unconsciously used an oath or two. He ordered them off to their +homes. When they hesitated (for they were slow to acknowledge any +authority save their own sacred Royal Court) the sailors advanced on them +with drawn cutlasses, and a moment later the Place du Vier Prison was +clear. Leaving a half-dozen sailors on guard till the town corps should +arrive, d'Avranche prepared to march, and turned to Delagarde. + +"You've done me a good turn, Monsieur d'Avranche," said Ranulph. + +"There was a time you called me Philip," said d'Avranche, smiling. "We +were lads together." + +"It's different now," answered Delagarde. + +"Nothing is different at all, of course," returned d'Avranche carelessly, +yet with the slightest touch of condescension, as he held out his hand. +Turning to the Chevalier, he said: "Monsieur, I congratulate you on +having such a champion"--with a motion towards Ranulph. "And you, +monsieur, on your brave protector"--he again saluted the girl at the +window above. + +"I am the obliged and humble servant of monsieur, and monsieur," +responded the little gentleman, turning from one to the other with a +courtly bow, the three-cornered hat under his arm, the right foot +forward, the thin fingers making a graceful salutation. "But I--I think +--I really think I must go back to prison. I was not formally set free. +I was out last night beyond the hour set by the Court. I lost my way, +and--" + +"Not a bit of it," d'Avranche interrupted. "The centeniers are too free +with their jailing here. I'll be guarantee for you, monsieur." He +turned to go. + +The little man shook his head dubiously. "But, as a point of honour, I +really think--" + +D'Avranche laughed. "As a point of honour, I think you ought to +breakfast. A la bonne heure, monsieur le chevalier!" + +He turned again to the cottage window. The girl was still there. The +darkness over the sun was withdrawn, and now the clear light began to +spread itself abroad. It was like a second dawn after a painful night. +It tinged the face of the girl; it burnished the wonderful red-brown hair +falling loosely and lightly over her forehead; it gave her beauty a touch +of luxuriance. D'Avranche thrilled at the sight of her. + +"It's a beautiful face," he said to himself as their eyes met and he +saluted once more. + +Ranulph had seen the glances passing between the two, and he winced. +He remembered how, eleven years ago, Philip d'Avranche had saved the girl +from death. It galled him that then and now this young gallant +should step in and take the game out of his hands--he was sure that +himself alone could have mastered this crowd. + +"Monsieur--monsieur le chevalier!" the girl called down from the window, +"grandpethe says you must breakfast with us. Oh, but come you must, or +we shall be offended!" she added, as Champsavoys shook his head in +hesitation and glanced towards the prison. + +"As a point of honour--" the little man still persisted, lightly touching +his breast with the Louis Quinze cane, and taking a step towards the +sombre prison archway. But Ranulph interfered, drew him gently inside +the cottage, and, standing in the doorway, said to some one within: + +"May I come in also, Sieur de Mauprat?" + +Above the pleasant welcome of a quavering voice came another, soft and +clear, in pure French: + +"Thou art always welcome, without asking, as thou knowest, Ro." + +"Then I'll go and fetch my tool-basket first," Ranulph said cheerily, his +heart beating more quickly, and, turning, he walked across the Place. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +The cottage in which Guida lived at the Place du Vier Prison was in +jocund contrast to the dungeon from which the Chevalier Orvilliers du +Champsavoys de Beaumanoir had complacently issued. Even in the hot +summer the prison walls dripped moisture, for the mortar had been made of +wet sea-sand, which never dried, and beneath the gloomy tenement of crime +a dark stream flowed to the sea. But the walls of the cottage were dry, +for, many years before, Guida's mother had herself seen it built from +cellar-rock to the linked initials over the doorway, stone by stone, and +every corner of it was as free from damp as the mielles stretching in +sandy desolation behind to the Mont es Pendus, where the law had its way +with the necks of criminals. + +In early childhood Madame Landresse had come with her father into exile +from the sunniest valley in the hills of Chambery, where flowers and +trees and sunshine had been her life. Here, in the midst of blank and +grim stone houses, her heart travelled back to the chateau where she +lived before the storm of persecution drove her forth; and she spent her +heart and her days in making this cottage, upon the western border of St. +Heliers, a delight to the quiet eye. + +The people of the island had been good to her and her dead husband during +the two short years of their married life, and had caused her to love the +land which necessity made her home. Her child was brought up after the +fashion of the better class of Jersey children, wore what they wore, ate +what they ate, lived as they lived. She spoke the country patois in the +daily life, teaching it to Guida at the same time that she taught her +pure French and good English, which she herself had learned as a child, +and cultivated later here. She had done all in her power to make Guida +Jersiaise in instinct and habit, and to beget in her a contented +disposition. There could be no future for her daughter outside this +little green oasis of exile, she thought. Not that she lacked ambition, +but in the circumstances she felt that ambition could yield but one +harvest to her child, which was marriage. She herself had married a poor +man, a master builder of ships, like Maitre Ranulph Delagarde, but she +had been very happy while he lived. Her husband had come of an ancient +Jersey family, who were in Normandy before the Conqueror was born; a man +of genius almost in his craft, but scarcely a gentleman according to the +standard of her father, the distinguished exile and now retired +watchmaker. If Guida should chance to be as fortunate as herself, she +could ask no more. + +She had watched the child anxiously, for the impulses of Guida's +temperament now and then broke forth in indignation as wild as her tears +and in tears as wild as her laughter. As the girl grew in health and +stature, she tried, tenderly, strenuously, to discipline the sensitive +nature, bursting her heart with grief at times because she knew that +these high feelings and delicate powers came through a long line of +ancestral tendencies, as indestructible as perilous and joyous. + +Four things were always apparent in the girl's character: sympathy with +suffering, kindness without partiality, a love of nature, and an intense +candour. + +Not a stray cat wandering into the Place du Vier Prison but found an +asylum in the garden behind the cottage. Not a dog hungry for a bone, +stopping at Guida's door, but was sure of one from a hiding-place in the +hawthorn hedge of the garden. Every morning you might have seen the +birds in fluttering, chirping groups upon the may-tree or the lilac- +bushes, waiting for the tiny snow-storm of bread to fall from her hand. +Was he good or bad, ragged or neat, honest or a thief, not a deserting +sailor or a homeless lad, halting at the cottage, but was fed from the +girl's private larder behind the straw beehives among the sweet lavender +and the gooseberry-bushes. No matter how rough the vagrant, the +sincerity and pure impulse of the child seemed to throw round him a +sunshine of decency and respect. + +The garden behind the house was the girl's Eden. She had planted upon +the hawthorn hedge the crimson monthly rose, the fuchsia, and the +jonquil, until at last the cottage was hemmed in by a wall of flowers; +and here she was ever as busy as the bees which hung humming on the sweet +scabious. + +In this corner was a little hut for rabbits; in that, there was a hole +dug in the bank for a hedgehog; in the middle a little flower-grown +enclosure for cats in various stages of health or convalescence, and a +small pond for frogs; and in the midst of all wandered her faithful dog, +Biribi by name, as master of the ceremonies. + +Madame Landresse's one ambition had been to live long enough to see her +child's character formed. She knew that her own years were numbered, for +month by month she felt her strength going. And yet a beautiful tenacity +kept her where she would be until Guida was fifteen years of age. Her +great desire had been to live till the girl was eighteen. Then--well, +then might she not perhaps leave her to the care of a husband? At best, +M. de Mauprat could not live long. He had at last been forced to give up +the little watchmaker's shop in the Vier Marchi, where for so many years, +in simple independence, he had wrought, always putting by, from work done +after hours, Jersey bank-notes and gold, to give Guida a dot, if not +worthy of her, at least a guarantee against reproach when some great man +should come seeking her in marriage. But at last his hands trembled +among the tiny wheels, and his eyes failed. He had his dark hour by +himself, then he sold the shop to a native, who thenceforward sat in the +ancient exile's place; and the two brown eyes of the stooped, brown old +man looked out no more from the window in the Vier Marchi: and then they +all made their new home in the Place du Vier Prison. + +Until she was fifteen Guida's life was unclouded. Once or twice her +mother tried to tell her of a place that must soon be empty, but her +heart failed her. So at last the end came like a sudden wind out of the +north; and it was left to Guida Landresse de Landresse to fight the fight +and finish the journey of womanhood alone. + +This time was the turning-point in Guida's life. What her mother had +been to the Sieur de Mauprat, she soon became. They had enough to live +on simply. Every week her grandfather gave her a fixed sum for the +household. Upon this she managed, that the tiny income left by her +mother might not be touched. She shrank from using it yet, and besides, +dark times might come when it would be needed. Death had once surprised +her, but it should bring no more amazement. She knew that M. de +Mauprat's days were numbered, and when he was gone she would be left +without one near relative in the world. She realised how unprotected her +position would be when death came knocking at the door again. What she +would do she knew not. She thought long and hard. Fifty things occurred +to her, and fifty were set aside. Her mother's immediate relatives in +France were scattered or dead. There was no longer any interest at +Chambery in the watchmaking exile, who had dropped like a cherry-stone +from the beak of the blackbird of persecution upon one of the Iles de la +Manche. + +There remained the alternative more than once hinted by the Sieur de +Mauprat as the months grew into years after the mother died--marriage; +a husband, a notable and wealthy husband. That was the magic destiny de +Mauprat figured for her. It did not elate her, it did not disturb her; +she scarcely realised it. She loved animals, and she saw no reason to +despise a stalwart youth. It had been her fortune to know two or three +in the casual, unconventional manner of villages, and there were few in +the land, great or humble, who did not turn twice to look at her as she +passed through the Vier Marchi, so noble was her carriage, so graceful +and buoyant her walk, so lacking in self-consciousness her beauty. More +than one young gentleman of family had been known to ride through the +Place du Vier Prison, hoping to get sight of her, and to offer the view +of a suggestively empty pillion behind him. + +She had, however, never listened to flatterers, and only one youth of +Jersey had footing in the cottage. This was Ranulph Delagarde, who had +gone in and out at his will, but that was casually and not too often, +and he was discreet and spoke no word of love. Sometimes she talked to +him of things concerning the daily life with which she did not care to +trouble Sieur de Mauprat. In ways quite unknown to her he had made her +life easier for her. She knew that her mother had thought of Ranulph for +her husband, although she blushed whenever--but it was not often--the +idea came to her. She remembered how her mother had said that Ranulph +would be a great man in the island some day; that he had a mind above all +the youths in St. Heliers; that she would rather see Ranulph a master +ship-builder than a babbling ecrivain in the Rue des Tres Pigeons, a +smirking leech, or a penniless seigneur with neither trade nor talent. +Guida was attracted to Ranulph through his occupation, for she loved +strength, she loved all clean and wholesome trades; that of the mason, +of the carpenter, of the blacksmith, and most of the ship-builder. Her +father, whom she did not remember, had been a ship-builder, and she knew +that he had been a notable man; every one had told her that. + + ......................... + +"She has met her destiny," say the village gossips, when some man in the +dusty procession of life sees a woman's face in the pleasant shadow of a +home, and drops out of the ranks to enter at her doorway. + +Was Ranulph to be Guida's destiny? + +Handsome and stalwart though he looked as he entered the cottage in the +Place du Vier Prison, on that September morning after the rescue of the +chevalier, his tool-basket on his shoulder, and his brown face enlivened +by one simple sentiment, she was far from sure that he was--far from +sure. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +The little hall-way into which Ranulph stepped from the street led +through to the kitchen. Guida stood holding back the door for him to +enter this real living-room of the house, which opened directly upon the +garden behind. It was so cheerful and secluded, looking out from the +garden over the wide space beyond to the changeful sea, that since Madame +Landresse's death the Sieur de Mauprat had made it reception-room, +dining-room, and kitchen all in one. He would willingly have slept there +too, but noblesse oblige and the thought of what the Chevalier Orvilliers +du Champsavoys de Beaumanoir might think prevented him. Moreover, there +was something patriarchal in a kitchen as a reception-room; and both he +and the chevalier loved to watch Guida busy with her household duties: at +one moment her arms in the dough of the kneading trough; at another +picking cherries for a jelly, or casting up her weekly accounts with a +little smiling and a little sighing. + +If, by chance, it had been proposed by the sieur to adjourn to the small +sitting-room which looked out upon the Place du Vier Prison, a gloom +would instantly have settled upon them both; though in this little front +room there was an ancient arm-chair, over which hung the sword that the +Comte Guilbert Mauprat de Chambery had used at Fontenoy against the +English. + +So it was that this spacious kitchen, with its huge chimney, and paved +with square flagstones and sanded, became like one of those ancient +corners of camaraderie in some exclusive inn where gentlemen of quality +were wont to meet. At the left of the chimney was the great settle, or +veille, covered with baize, "flourished" with satinettes, and spread with +ferns and rushes, and above it a little shelf of old china worth the +ransom of a prince at least. Opposite the doorway were two great +armchairs, one for the sieur and the other for the Chevalier, who made +his home in the house of one Elie Mattingley, a fisherman by trade and by +practice a practical smuggler, with a daughter Carterette whom he loved +passing well. + +These, with a few constant visitors, formed a coterie: the huge, grizzly- +bearded boatman, Jean Touzel, who wore spectacles, befriended smugglers, +was approved of all men, and secretly worshipped by his wife; Amice +Ingouville, the fat avocat with a stomach of gigantic proportions, the +biggest heart and the tiniest brain in the world; Maitre Ranulph +Delagarde, and lastly M. Yves Savary dit Detricand, that officer of +Rullecour's who, being released from the prison hospital, when the hour +came for him to leave the country was too drunk to find the shore. By +some whim of negligence the Royal Court was afterwards too lethargic to +remove him, and he stayed on, vainly making efforts to leave between one +carousal and another. In sober hours, none too frequent, he was rather +sorrowfully welcomed by the sieur and the chevalier. + +When Ranulph entered the kitchen his greeting to the sieur and the +chevalier was in French, but to Guida he said, rather stupidly in the +patois--for late events had embarrassed him--"Ah bah! es-tu gentiment?" + +"Gentiment," she answered, with a queer little smile. "You'll have +breakfast?" she said in English. + +"Et ben!" Ranulph repeated, still embarrassed, "a mouthful, that's all." + +He laid aside his tool-basket, shook hands with the sieur, and seated +himself at the table. Looking at du Champsavoys, he said: + +"I've just met the connetable. He regrets the riot, chevalier, and says +the Royal Court extends its mercy to you." + +"I prefer to accept no favours," answered the chevalier. "As a point of +honour, I had thought that, after breakfast, I should return to prison, +and--" + +"The connetable said it was cheaper to let the chevalier go free than to +feed him in the Vier Prison," dryly explained Ranulph, helping himself to +roasted conger eel and eyeing hungrily the freshly-made black butter +Guida was taking from a wooden trencher. "The Royal Court is stingy," he +added. "'It's nearer than Jean Noe, who got married in his red +queminzolle,' as we say on Jersey--" + +But he got no further at the moment, for shots rang out suddenly before +the house. They all started to their feet, and Ranulph, running to the +front door, threw it open. As he did so a young man, with blood flowing +from a cut on the temple, stepped inside. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +It was M. Savary dit Detricand. + +"Whew--what fools there are in the world! Pish, you silly apes!" the +young man said, glancing through the open doorway again to where the +connetable's men were dragging two vile-looking ruffians into the Vier +Prison. + +"What's happened, monsieur?" said Ranulph, closing the door and bolting +it. + +"What was it, monsieur?" asked Guida anxiously, for painful events had +crowded too fast that morning. Detricand was stanching the blood at his +temple with the scarf from his neck. + +"Get him some cordial, Guida--he's wounded!" said de Mauprat. + +Detricand waved a hand almost impatiently, and dropped upon the veille, +swinging a leg backwards and forwards. + +"It's nothing, I protest--nothing whatever, and I'll have no cordial, not +a drop. A drink of water--a mouthful of that, if I must drink." + +Guida caught up a hanap of water from the dresser, and passed it to him. +Her fingers trembled a little. His were steady enough as he took the +hanap and drank off the water at a gulp. Again she filled it and again +he drank. The blood was running in a tiny little stream down his cheek. +She caught her handkerchief from her girdle impulsively, and gently wiped +it away. + +"Let me bandage the wound," she said eagerly. Her eyes were alight with +compassion, certainly not because it was the dissipated French invader, +M. Savary dit Detricand,--no one knew that he was the young Comte de +Tournay of the House of Vaufontaine, but because he was a wounded fellow- +creature. She would have done the same for the poor beganne, Dormy +Jamais, who still prowled the purlieus of St. Heliers. + +It was clear, however, that Detricand felt differently. The moment she +touched him he became suddenly still. He permitted her to wash the blood +from his temple and forehead, to stanch it first with brandied jeru- +leaves, then with cobwebs, and afterwards to bind it with her own +kerchief. + +Detricand thrilled at the touch of the warm, tremulous fingers. He had +never been quite so near her before. His face was not far from hers. +Now her breath fanned him. As he bent his head for the bandaging, he +could see the soft pulsing of her bosom, and hear the beating of her +heart. Her neck was so full and round and soft, and her voice--surely +he had never heard a voice so sweet and strong, a tone so well poised, +so resonantly pleasant. + +When she had finished, he had an impulse to catch the hand as it dropped +away from his forehead, and kiss it; not as he had kissed many a hand, +hotly one hour and coldly the next, but with an unpurchasable kind of +gratitude characteristic of this especial sort of sinner. He was just +young enough, and there was still enough natural health in him, to know +the healing touch of a perfect decency, a pure truth of spirit. Yet he +had been drunk the night before, drunk with three noncommissioned +officers--and he a gentleman, in spite of all, as could be plainly seen. + +He turned his head away from the girl quickly, and looked straight into +the eyes of her grandfather. + +"I'll tell you how it was, Sieur de Mauprat," said he. "I was crossing +the Place du Vier Prison when a rascal threw a cleaver at me from a +window. If it had struck me on the head--well, the Royal Court would +have buried me, and without a slab to my grave like Rullecour. I burst +open the door of the house, ran up the stairs, gripped the ruffian, and +threw him through the window into the street. As I did so a door opened +behind, and another cut-throat came at me with a pistol. He fired--fired +wide. I ran in on him, and before he had time to think he was out of the +window too. Then the other brute below fired up at me. The bullet +gashed my temple, as you see. After that, it was an affair of the +connetable and his men. I had had enough fighting before breakfast. +I saw your open door, and here I am--monsieur, monsieur, monsieur, +mademoiselle!" He bowed to each of them and glanced towards the table +hungrily. + +Ranulph placed a seat for him. He viewed the conger eel and limpets with +an avid eye, but waited for the chevalier and de Mauprat to sit. He had +no sooner taken a mouthful, however, and thrown a piece of bread to +Biribi the dog, than, starting again to his feet, he said: + +"Your pardon, monsieur le chevalier, that brute in the Place has knocked +all sense from my head! I've a letter for you, brought from Rouen by one +of the refugees who came yesterday." He drew from his breast a packet +and handed it over. "I went out to their ship last night." + +The chevalier looked with surprise and satisfaction at the seal on the +letter, and, breaking it, spread open the paper, fumbled for the eye- +glass which he always carried in his waistcoat, and began reading +diligently. + +Meanwhile Ranulph turned to Guida. "To-morrow Jean Touzel and his wife +and I go to the Ecrehos Rocks in Jean's boat," said he. "A vessel was +driven ashore there three days ago, and my carpenters are at work on her. +If you can go and the wind holds fair, you shall be brought back safe by +sundown--Jean says so too." + +Of all boatmen and fishermen on the coast, Jean Touzel was most to be +trusted. No man had saved so many shipwrecked folk, none risked his life +so often; and he had never had a serious accident. To go to sea with +Jean Touzel, folk said, was safer than living on land. Guida loved the +sea; and she could sail a boat, and knew the tides and currents of the +south coast as well as most fishermen. + +M. de Mauprat met her inquiring glance and nodded assent. She then said +gaily to Ranulph: "I shall sail her, shall I not?" + +"Every foot of the way," he answered. + +She laughed and clapped her hands. Suddenly the little chevalier broke +in. "By the head of John the Baptist!" said he. + +Detricand put down his knife and fork in amazement, and Guida coloured, +for the words sounded almost profane upon the chevalier's lips. + +Du Champsavoys held up his eye-glass, and, turning from one to the other, +looked at each of them imperatively yet abstractedly too. Then, pursing +up his lower lip, and with a growing amazement which carried him to +distant heights of reckless language, he said again: + +"By the head of John the Baptist on a charger!" He looked at Detricand +with a fierceness which was merely the tension of his thought. If he had +looked at a wall it would have been the same. But Detricand, who had an +almost whimsical sense of humour, felt his neck in affected concern as +though to be quite sure of it. "Chevalier," said he, "you shock us--you +shock us, dear chevalier." + +"The most painful things, and the most wonderful too," said the +chevalier, tapping the letter with his eye-glass; "the most terrible and +yet the most romantic things are here. A drop of cider, if you please, +mademoiselle, before I begin to read it to you, if I may--if I may--eh?" + +They all nodded eagerly. Guida handed him a mogue of cider. The little +grey thrush of a man sipped it, and in a voice no bigger than a bird's +began: + + "From Lucillien du Champsavoys, Comte de Chanier, by the hand of a + faithful friend, who goeth hence from among divers dangers, unto my + cousin, the Chevalier du Champsavoys de Beaumanoir, late Gentleman + of the Bedchamber to the best of monarchs, Louis XV, this writing: + + "MY DEAR AND HONOURED Cousin"--The chevalier paused, frowned a + trifle, and tapped his lips with his finger in a little lyrical + emotion--"My dear and honoured cousin, all is lost. The France we + loved is no more. The twentieth of June saw the last vestige of + Louis's power pass for ever. That day ten thousand of the sans- + culottes forced their way into the palace to kill him. A faithful + few surrounded him. In the mad turmoil, we were fearful, he was + serene. 'Feel,' said Louis, placing his hand on his bosom, 'feel + whether this is the beating of a heart shaken by fear.' Ah, my + friend, your heart would have clamped in misery to hear the Queen + cry: 'What have I to fear? Death? it is as well to-day as to- + morrow; they can do no more!' Their lives were saved, the day + passed, but worse came after. + + "The tenth of August came. With it too, the end-the dark and bloody + end-of the Swiss Guard. The Jacobins had their way at last. The + Swiss Guard died in the Court of the Carrousel as they marched to + the Assembly to save the King. Thus the last circle of defence + round the throne was broken. The palace was given over to flame and + the sword. Of twenty nobles of the court I alone escaped. France + is become a slaughter-house. The people cried out for more liberty, + and their liberators gave them the freedom of death. A fortnight + ago, Danton, the incomparable fiend, let loose his assassins upon + the priests of God. Now Paris is made a theatre where the people + whom Louis and his nobles would have died to save have turned every + street into a stable of carnage, every prison and hospital into a + vast charnel-house. One last revolting thing alone remains to be + done--the murder of the King; then this France that we have loved + will have no name and no place in our generation. She will rise + again, but we shall not see her, for our eyes have been blinded with + blood, for ever darkened by disaster. Like a mistress upon whom we + have lavished the days of our youth and the strength of our days, + she has deceived us; she has stricken us while we slept. Behold a + Caliban now for her paramour! + + "Weep with me, for France despoils me. One by one my friends have + fallen beneath the axe. Of my four sons but one remains. Henri was + stabbed by Danton's ruffians at the Hotel de Ville; Gaston fought + and died with the Swiss Guard, whose hacked and severed limbs were + broiled and eaten in the streets by these monsters who mutilate the + land. Isidore, the youngest, defied a hundred of Robespierre's + cowards on the steps of the Assembly, and was torn to pieces by the + mob. Etienne alone is left. But for him and for the honour of my + house I too would find a place beside the King and die with him. + Etienne is with de la Rochejaquelein in Brittany. I am here at + Rouen. + + "Brittany and Normandy still stand for the King. In these two + provinces begins the regeneration of France: we call it the War of + the Vendee. On that Isle of Jersey there you should almost hear the + voice of de la Rochejaquelein and the marching cries of our loyal + legions. If there be justice in God we shall conquer. But there + will be joy no more for such as you or me, nor hope, nor any peace. + We live only for those who come after. Our duty remains, all else + is dead. You did well to go, and I do well to stay. + + "By all these piteous relations you shall know the importance of the + request I now set forth. + + "My cousin by marriage of the House of Vaufontaine has lost all his + sons. With the death of the Prince of Vaufontaine, there is in + France no direct heir to the house, nor can it, by the law, revert + to my house or my heirs. Now of late the Prince hath urged me to + write to you--for he is here in seclusion with me--and to unfold to + you what has hitherto been secret. Eleven years ago the only nephew + of the Prince, after some naughty escapades, fled from the Court + with Rullecour the adventurer, who invaded the Isle of Jersey. From + that hour he has been lost to France. Some of his companions in + arms returned after a number of years. All with one exception + declared that he was killed in the battle at St. Heliers. One, + however, maintains that he was still living and in the prison + hospital when his comrades were set free. + + "It is of him I write to you. He is--as you will perchance + remember--the Comte de Tournay. He was then not more than seventeen + years of age, slight of build, with brownish hair, dark grey eyes, + and had over the right shoulder a scar from a sword thrust. It + seemeth little possible that, if living, he should still remain in + that Isle of Jersey. He may rather have returned to obscurity in + France or have gone to England to be lost to name and remembrance + --or even indeed beyond the seas. + + "That you may perchance give me word of him is the object of my + letter, written in no more hope than I live; and you can well guess + how faint that is. One young nobleman preserved to France may yet + be the great unit that will save her. + + "Greet my poor countrymen yonder in the name of one who still waits + at a desecrated altar; and for myself you must take me as I am, with + the remembrance of what I was, even + + "Your faithful friend and loving kinsman, + + "CHANIER." + + "All this, though in the chances of war you read it not till + wintertide, was told you at Rouen this first day of September 1792." + + +During the reading, broken by feeling and reflective pauses on the +chevalier's part, the listeners showed emotion after the nature of each. +The Sieur de Mauprat's fingers clasped and unclasped on the top of his +cane, little explosions of breath came from his compressed lips, his +eyebrows beetled over till the eyes themselves seemed like two glints of +flame. Delagarde dropped a fist heavily upon the table, and held it +there clinched, while his heel beat a tattoo of excitement upon the +floor. Guida's breath came quick and fast--as Ranulph said afterwards, +she was "blanc comme un linge." She shuddered painfully when the +slaughter and burning of the Swiss Guards was read. Her brain was so +swimming with the horrors of anarchy that the latter part of the letter +dealing with the vanished Count of Tournay passed by almost unheeded. + +But this particular matter greatly interested Ranulph and de Mauprat. +They leaned forward eagerly, seizing every word, and both instinctively +turned towards Detricand when the description of de Tournay was read. + +As for Detricand himself, he listened to the first part of the letter +like a man suddenly roused out of a dream. For the first time since the +Revolution had begun, the horror of it and the meaning of it were brought +home to him. He had been so long expatriated, had loitered so long in +the primrose path of daily sleep and nightly revel, had fallen so far, +that he little realised how the fiery wheels of Death were spinning in +France, or how black was the torment of her people. His face turned +scarlet as the thing came home to him now. He dropped his head in his +hand as if to listen more attentively, but it was in truth to hide his +emotion. When the names of Vaufontaine and de Tournay were mentioned, he +gave a little start, then suddenly ruled himself to a strange stillness. +His face seemed presently to clear; he even smiled a little. Conscious +that de Mauprat and Delagarde were watching him, he appeared to listen +with a keen but impersonal interest, not without its effect upon his +scrutinisers. He nodded his head as though he understood the situation. +He acted very well; he bewildered the onlookers. They might think he +tallied with the description of the Comte de Tournay, yet he gave the +impression that the matter was not vital to himself. But when the little +Chevalier stopped and turned his eye-glass upon him with sudden startled +inquiry, he found it harder to keep composure. + +"Singular--singular!" said the old man, and returned to the reading of +the letter. + +When he ended there was absolute silence for a moment. Then the +chevalier lifted his eye-glass again and looked at Detricand intently. + +"Pardon me, monsieur," he said, "but you were with Rullecour--as I was +saying." + +Detricand nodded with a droll sort of helplessness, and answered: "In +Jersey I never have chance to forget it, Chevalier." + +Du Champsavoys, with a naive and obvious attempt at playing counsel, +fixed him again with the glass, pursed his lips, and with the importance +of a greffier at the ancient Cour d'Heritage, came one step nearer to his +goal. + +"Have you knowledge of the Comte de Tournay, monsieur?" + +"I knew him--as you were saying, Chevalier," answered Detricand lightly. + +Then the Chevalier struck home. He dropped his fingers upon the table, +stood up, and, looking straight into Detricand's eyes, said: + +"Monsieur, you are the Comte de Tournay!" + +The Chevalier involuntarily held the silence for an instant. Nobody +stirred. De Mauprat dropped his chin upon his hands, and his eyebrows +drew down in excitement. Guida gave a little cry of astonishment. But +Detricand answered the Chevalier with a look of blank surprise and a +shrug of the shoulder, which had the effect desired. + +"Thank you, Chevalier," said he with quizzical humour. "Now I know who I +am, and if it isn't too soon to levy upon the kinship, I shall dine with +you today, chevalier. I paid my debts yesterday, and sous are scarce, +but since we are distant cousins I may claim grist at the family mill, +eh?" + +The Chevalier sat, or rather dropped into his chair again. + +"Then you are not the Comte de Tournay, monsieur," said he hopelessly. + +"Then I shall not dine with you to-day," retorted Detricand gaily. + +You fit the tale," said de Mauprat dubiously, touching the letter with +his finger. + +"Let me see," rejoined Detricand. "I've been a donkey farmer, a +shipmaster's assistant, a tobacco pedlar, a quarryman, a wood merchant, +an interpreter, a fisherman--that's very like the Comte de Tournay! On +Monday night I supped with a smuggler; on Tuesday I breakfasted on soupe +a la graisse with Manon Moignard the witch; on Wednesday I dined with +Dormy Jamais and an avocat disbarred for writing lewd songs for a +chocolate-house; on Thursday I went oyster-fishing with a native who +has three wives, and a butcher who has been banished four times for not +keeping holy the Sabbath Day; and I drank from eleven o'clock till +sunrise this morning with three Scotch sergeants of the line--which is +very like the Comte de Tournay, as you were saying, Chevalier! I am five +feet eleven, and the Comte de Tournay was five feet ten--which is no +lie," he added under his breath. "I have a scar, but it's over my left +shoulder and not over my right--which is also no lie," he added under his +breath. "De Tournay's hair was brown, and mine, you see, is almost a +dead black--fever did that," he added under his breath. "De Tournay +escaped the day after the Battle of Jersey from the prison hospital, I +was left, and here I've been ever since--Yves Savary dit Detricand at +your service, chevalier." + +A pained expression crossed over the Chevalier's face. "I am most sorry; +I am most sorry," he said hesitatingly. "I had no wish to wound your +feelings." + +"Ah, it is de Tournay to whom you must apologise," said Detricand +musingly, with a droll look. + +"It is a pity," continued the Chevalier, "for somehow all at once I +recalled a resemblance. I saw de Tournay when he was fourteen--yes, +I think it was fourteen--and when I looked at you, monsieur, his face +came back to me. It would have made my cousin so happy if you had been +the Comte de Tournay and I had found you here." The old man's voice +trembled a little. "We are growing fewer every day, we Frenchmen of the +ancient families. And it would have made my cousin so happy, as I was +saying, monsieur." + +Detricand's manner changed; he became serious. The devil-may-care, +irresponsible shamelessness of his face dropped away like a mask. +Something had touched him. His voice changed too. + +"De Tournay was a much better fellow than I am, chevalier," said he--" +and that's no lie," he added under his breath. "De Tournay was a fiery, +ambitious, youngster with bad companions. De Tournay told me he repented +of coming with Rullecour, and he felt he had spoilt his life--that he +could never return to France again or to his people." + +The old Chevalier shook his head sadly. "Is he dead?" he asked. + +There was a slight pause, and then Detricand answered: "No, still +living." + +"Where is he?" + +"I promised de Tournay that I would never reveal that." + +"Might I not write to him?" asked the old man. "Assuredly, Chevalier." + +"Could you--will you--despatch a letter to him from me, monsieur?" + +"Upon my honour, yes." + +"I thank you--I thank you, monsieur; I will write it to-day." + +"As you will, Chevalier. I will ask you for the letter to-night," +rejoined Detricand. "It may take time to reach de Tournay; but he shall +receive it into his own hands." + +De Mauprat trembled to his feet to put the question he knew the Chevalier +dreaded to ask: + +"Do you think that monsieur le comte will return to France?" + +"I think he will," answered Detricand slowly. + +"It will make my cousin so happy--so happy," quavered the little +Chevalier. "Will you take snuff with me, monsieur?" He offered his +silver snuff-box to his vagrant countryman. This was a mark of favour +he showed to few. + +Detricand bowed, accepted, and took a pinch. "I must be going," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +At eight o'clock the next morning, Guida and her fellow-voyagers, bound +for the Ecrehos Rocks, had caught the first ebb of the tide, and with a +fair wind from the sou'-west had skirted the coast, ridden lightly over +the Banc des Violets, and shaped their course nor'-east. Guida kept the +helm all the way, as she had been promised by Ranulph. It was still more +than half tide when they approached the rocks, and with a fair wind there +should be ease in landing. + +No more desolate spot might be imagined. To the left, as you faced +towards Jersey, was a long sand-bank. Between the rocks and the sand- +bank shot up a tall, lonely shaft of granite with an evil history. It +had been chosen as the last refuge of safety for the women and children +of a shipwrecked vessel, in the belief that high tide would not reach +them. But the wave rose up maliciously, foot by foot, till it drowned +their cries for ever in the storm. The sand-bank was called "Ecriviere," +and the rock was afterwards known as the "Pierre des Femmes." + +Other rocks less prominent, but no less treacherous, flanked it--the Noir +Sabloniere and the Grande Galere. To the right of the main island were a +group of others, all reef and shingle, intersected by treacherous +channels; in calm lapped by water with the colours of a prism of crystal, +in storm by a leaden surf and flying foam. These were known as the +Colombiere, the Grosse Tete, Tas de Pois, and the Marmotiers; each with +its retinue of sunken reefs and needles of granitic gneiss lying low in +menace. Happy the sailor caught in a storm and making for the shelter +the little curves in the island afford, who escapes a twist of the +current, a sweep of the tide, and the impaling fingers of the submarine +palisades. + +Beyond these rocks lay Maitre Ile, all gneiss and shingle, a desert in +the sea. The holy men of the early Church, beholding it from the shore +of Normandy, had marked it for a refuge from the storms of war and the +follies of the world. So it came to pass, for the honour of God and the +Virgin Mary, the Abbe of Val Richer builded a priory there: and there now +lie in peace the bones of the monks of Val Richer beside the skeletons of +unfortunate gentlemen of the sea of later centuries--pirates from France, +buccaneers from England, and smugglers from Jersey, who kept their trysts +in the precincts of the ancient chapel. + +The brisk air of early autumn made the blood tingle in Guida's cheeks. +Her eyes were big with light and enjoyment. Her hair was caught close by +a gay cap of her own knitting, but a little of it escaped, making a +pretty setting to her face. + +The boat rode under all her courses, until, as Jean said, they had put +the last lace on her bonnet. Guida's hands were on the tiller firmly, +doing Jean's bidding promptly. In all they were five. Besides Guida and +Ranulph, Jean and Jean's wife, there was a young English clergyman of the +parish of St. Michael's, who had come from England to fill the place of +the rector for a few months. Word had been brought to him that a man was +dying on the Ecrehos. He had heard that the boat was going, he had found +Jean Touzel, and here he was with a biscuit in his hand and a black-jack +of French wine within easy reach. Not always in secret the Reverend +Lorenzo Dow loved the good things of this world. + +The most notable characteristic of the young clergyman's appearance was +his outer guilelessness and the oddness of his face. His head was rather +big for his body; he had a large mouth which laughed easily, a noble +forehead, and big, short-sighted eyes. He knew French well, but could +speak almost no Jersey patois, so, in compliment to him, Jean Touzel, +Ranulph, and Guida spoke in English. This ability to speak English--his +own English--was the pride of Jean's life. He babbled it all the way, +and chiefly about a mythical Uncle Elias, who was the text for many a +sermon. + +"Times past," said he, as they neared Maitre Ile, "mon onc' 'Lias he +knows these Ecrehoses better as all the peoples of the world--respe d'la +compagnie. Mon onc' 'Lias he was a fine man. Once when there is a fight +between de Henglish and de hopping Johnnies," he pointed towards France, +"dere is seven French ship, dere is two Henglish ship--gentlemen-of-war +dey are call. Eh ben, one of de Henglish ships he is not a gentleman-of- +war, he is what you call go-on-your-own-hook--privator. But it is all de +same--tres-ba, all right! What you t'ink coum to pass? De big Henglish +ship she is hit ver' bad, she is all break-up. Efin, dat leetle privator +he stan' round on de fighting side of de gentleman-of-war and take de +fire by her loneliness. Say, then, wherever dere is troub' mon onc' +'Lias he is there, he stan' outside de troub' an' look on--dat is his +hobby. You call it hombog? Oh, nannin-gia! Suppose two peoples goes to +fight, ah bah, somebody must pick up de pieces--dat is mon onc' 'Lias! +He have his boat full of hoysters; so he sit dere all alone and watch dat +great fight, an' heat de hoyster an' drink de cider vine. + +"Ah, bah! mon onc' 'Lias he is standin' hin de door dat day. Dat is what +we say on Jersey--when a man have some ver' great luck we say he stan' +hin de door. I t'ink it is from de Bible or from de helmanac--sacre moi, +I not know.... If I talk too much you give me dat black-jack." + +They gave him the black-jack. After he had drunk and wiped his mouth on +his sleeve, he went on: + +"O my good-ma'm'selle, a leetle more to de wind. Ah, dat is right-- +trejous! . . . Dat fight it go like two bulls on a vergee--respe d'la +compagnie. Mon onc' 'Lias he have been to Hengland, he have sing 'God +save our greshus King'; so he t'ink a leetle--Ef he go to de French, +likely dey will hang him. Mon onc' 'Lias, he is what you call +patreeteesm. He say, 'Hengland, she is mine--trejous.' Efin, he sail +straight for de Henglish ships. Dat is de greates' man, mon onc' 'Lias +--respe d'la compagnie! he coum on de side which is not fighting. Ah +bah, he tell dem dat he go to save de gentleman-of-war. He see a +hofficier all bloodiness and he call hup: 'Es-tu gentiment?' he say. +'Gentiment,' say de hofficier; 'han' you?' 'Naicely, yank you!' mon onc' +'Lias he say. 'I will save you,' say mon onc' 'Lias--'I will save de +ship of God save our greshus King.' De hofficier wipe de tears out of his +face. 'De King will reward you, man alive,' he say. Mon onc' 'Lias he +touch his breast and speak out. 'Mon hofficier, my reward is here-- +trejous. I will take you into de Ecrehoses.' 'Coum up and save de +King's ships,' says de hofficier. 'I will take no reward,' say mon onc' +'Lias, 'but, for a leetle pourboire, you will give me de privator +--eh?' 'Milles sacres'--say de hofficier, 'mines saeres--de privator!' +he say, ver' surprise'. 'Man doux d'la vie--I am damned!' 'You are +damned trulee, if you do not get into de Ecrehoses,' say mon onc' 'Lias +--'A bi'tot, good-bye!' he say. De hofficier call down to him: 'Is dere +nosing else you will take?' 'Nannin, do not tempt me,' say mon onc' +'Lias. 'I am not a gourman'. I will take de privator--dat is my hobby.' +All de time de cannons grand--dey brow-brou! boum-boum!--what you call +discomfortable. Time is de great t'ing, so de hofficier wipe de tears +out of his face again. 'Coum up,' he say; 'de privator is yours.' + +"Away dey go. You see dat spot where we coum to land, Ma'm'selle +Landresse--where de shingle look white, de leetle green grass above? Dat +is where mon onc' 'Lias he bring in de King's ship and de privator. +Gatd'en'ale--it is a journee awful! He twist to de right, he shape to de +left trough de teeth of de rocks--all safe--vera happee--to dis nice +leetle bay of de Maitre Ile dey coum. De Frenchies dey grind dere teeth +and spit de fire. But de Henglish laugh at demdey are safe. 'Frien' of +my heart,' say de hofficier to mon onc' 'Lias, 'pilot of pilots,' he say, +'in de name of our greshus King I t'ank you--A bi'tot, good-bye!' he say. +'Tres-ba,' mon onc' 'Lias he say den, 'I will go to my privator.' 'You +will go to de shore,' say de hofficier. 'You will wait on de shore till +de captain and his men of de privator coum to you. When dey coum, de +ship is yours--de privator is for you.' Mon onc' 'Lias he is like a +child--he believe. He 'bout ship and go shore. Misery me, he sit on dat +rocking-stone you see tipping on de wind. But if he wait until de men of +de privator coum to him, he will wait till we see him sitting there now. +Gache-a-penn, you say patriote? Mon onc' 'Lias he has de patreeteesm, +and what happen? He save de ship of de greshus King God save--and dey +eat up his hoysters! He get nosing. Gad'rabotin--respe d'la compagnie-- +if dere is a ship of de King coum to de Ecrehoses, and de hofficier say +to me"--he tapped his breast--"'Jean Touzel, tak de ships of de King +trough de rocks,'--ah bah, I would rememb' mon onc' 'Lias. I would say, +'A bi'tot-good-bye.' . . . Slowlee--slowlee! We are at de place. +Bear wif de land, ma'm'selle! Steadee! As you go! V'la! hitch now, +Maitre Ranulph." + +The keel of the boat grated on the shingle. + +The air of the morning, the sport of using the elements for one's +pleasure, had given Guida an elfish sprightliness of spirits. Twenty +times during Jean's recital she had laughed gaily, and never sat a laugh +better on any one's countenance than on hers. Her teeth were strong, +white, and regular; in themselves they gave off a sort of shining mirth. + +At first the lugubrious wife of the happy Jean was inclined to resent +Guida's gaiety as unseemly, for Jean's story sounded to her as serious +statement of fact; which incapacity for humour probably accounted for +Jean's occasional lapses from domestic grace. If Jean had said that he +had met a periwinkle dancing a hornpipe with an oyster she would have +muttered heavily "Think of that!" The most she could say to any one was: +"I believe you, ma couzaine." Some time in her life her voice had +dropped into that great well she called her body, and it came up only now +and then like an echo. There never was anything quite so fat as she. +She was found weeping one day on the veille because she was no longer +able to get her shoulders out of the window to use the clothes-lines +stretching to her neighbour's over the way. If she sat down in your +presence, it was impossible to do aught but speculate as to whether she +could get up alone. Yet she went abroad on the water a great deal with +Jean. At first the neighbours gave out sinister suspicions as to Jean's +intentions, for sea-going with your own wife was uncommon among the +sailors of the coast. But at last these dark suggestions settled down +into a belief that Jean took her chiefly for ballast; and thereafter she +was familiarly called "Femme de Ballast." + +Talking was no virtue in her eyes. What was going on in her mind no one +ever knew. She was more phlegmatic than an Indian; but the tails of the +sheep on the Town Hill did not better show the quarter of the wind than +the changing colour of Aimable's face indicated Jean's coming or going. +For Mattresse Aimable had one eternal secret, an unwavering passion for +Jean Touzel. If he patted her on the back on a day when the fishing was +extra fine, her heart pumped so hard she had to sit down; if, passing her +lonely bed of a morning, he shook her great toe to wake her, she blushed, +and turned her face to the wall in placid happiness. She was so +credulous and matter-of-fact that if Jean had told her she must die on +the spot, she would have said "Think of that!" or "Je te crais," and +died. If in the vague dusk of her brain the thought glimmered that she +was ballast for Jean on sea and anchor on land, she still was content. +For twenty years the massive, straight-limbed Jean had stood to her for +all things since the heavens and the earth were created. Once, when she +had burnt her hand in cooking supper for him, his arm made a trial of her +girth, and he kissed her. The kiss was nearer her ear than her lips, but +to her mind it was the most solemn proof of her connubial happiness and +of Jean's devotion. She was a Catholic, unlike Jean and most people of +her class in Jersey, and ever since that night he kissed her she had told +an extra bead on her rosary and said another prayer. + +These were the reasons why at first she was inclined to resent Guida's +laughter. But when she saw that Maitre Ranulph and the curate and Jean +himself laughed, she settled down to a grave content until they landed. + +They had scarce reached the deserted chapel where their dinner was to be +cooked by Maitresse Aimable, when Ranulph called them to note a vessel +bearing in their direction. + +"She's not a coasting craft," said Jean. + +"She doesn't look like a merchant vessel," said Ranulph, eyeing her +through his telescope. "Why, she's a warship!" he added. + +Jean thought she was not, but Maitre Ranulph said "Pardi, I ought to +know, Jean. Ship-building is my trade, to say nothing of guns--I wasn't +two years in the artillery for nothing. See the low bowsprit and the +high poop. She's bearing this way. She'll be Narcissus!" he said +slowly. + +That was Philip d'Avranche's ship. + +Guida's face lighted, her heart beat faster. Ranulph turned on his heel. + +"Where are you going, Ro?" Guida said, taking a step after him. + +"On the other side, to my men and the wreck," he said, pointing. + +Guida glanced once more towards the man-o'-war: and then, with mischief +in her eye, turned towards Jean. "Suppose," she said to him archly, +"suppose the ship should want to come in, of course you'd remember your +onc' 'Lias, and say, 'A bi'tot, good-bye!"' + +An evasive "Ah bah!" was the only reply Jean vouchsafed. + +Ranulph joined his men at the wreck, and the Reverend Lorenzo Dow went +about the Lord's business in the little lean-to of sail-cloth and ship's +lumber which had been set up near to the toil of the carpenters. When +the curate entered the but the sick man was in a doze. He turned his +head from side to side restlessly and mumbled to himself. The curate, +sitting on the ground beside the man, took from his pocket a book, and +began writing in a strange, cramped hand. This book was his journal. +When a youth he had been a stutterer, and had taken refuge from talk in +writing, and the habit stayed even as his affliction grew less. The +important events of the day or the week, the weather, the wind, the +tides, were recorded, together with sundry meditations of the Reverend +Lorenzo Dow. The pages were not large, and brevity was Mr. Dow's +journalistic virtue. Beyond the diligent keeping of this record, he had +no habits, certainly no precision, no remembrance, no system: the +business of his life ended there. He had quietly vacated two curacies +because there had been bitter complaints that the records of certain +baptisms, marriages, and burials might only be found in the chequered +journal of his life, sandwiched between fantastic reflections and remarks +upon the rubric. The records had been exact enough, but the system was +not canonical, and it rested too largely upon the personal ubiquity of +the itinerary priest, and the safety of his journal--and of his life. + +Guida, after the instincts of her nature, had at once sought the highest +point on the rocky islet, and there she drank in the joy of sight and +sound and feeling. She could see--so perfect was the day--the line +marking the Minquiers far on the southern horizon, the dark and perfect +green of the Jersey slopes, and the white flags of foam which beat +against the Dirouilles and the far-off Paternosters, dissolving as they +flew, their place taken by others, succeeding and succeeding, as a +soldier steps into a gap in the line of battle. Something in these +rocks, something in the Paternosters--perhaps their distance, perhaps +their remoteness from all other rocks--fascinated her. As she looked at +them, she suddenly felt a chill, a premonition, a half-spiritual, half- +material telegraphy of the inanimate to the animate: not from off cold +stone to sentient life; but from that atmosphere about the inanimate +thing, where the life of man has spent itself and been dissolved, +leaving--who can tell what? Something which speaks but yet has no sound. + +The feeling which possessed Guida as she looked at the Paternosters was +almost like blank fear. Yet physical fear she had never felt, not since +that day when the battle raged in the Vier Marchi, and Philip d'Avranche +had saved her from the destroying scimitar of the Turk. Now that scene +all came back to her in a flash, as it were; and she saw again the dark +snarling face of the Mussulman, the blue-and-white silk of his turban, +the black and white of his waistcoat, the red of the long robe, and the +glint of his uplifted sword. Then in contrast, the warmth, brightness, +and bravery on the face of the lad in blue and gold who struck aside the +descending blade and caught her up in his arms; and she had nestled +there--in those arms of Philip d'Avranche. She remembered how he had +kissed her, and how she had kissed him--he a lad and she a little child +--as he left her with her mother in the watchmaker's shop in the Vier +Marchi that day. . . . And she had never seen him again until +yesterday. + +She looked from the rocks to the approaching frigate. Was it the +Narcissus coming--coming to this very island? She recalled Philip--how +gallant he was yesterday, how cool, with what an air of command! How +light he had made of the riot! Ranulph's strength and courage she +accepted as a matter of course, and was glad that he was brave, generous, +and good; but the glamour of distance and mystery were around d'Avranche. +Remembrance, like a comet, went circling through the firmament of eleven +years, from the Vier Marchi to the Place du Vier Prison. + +She watched the ship slowly bearing with the land. The Jack was flying +from the mizzen. They were now taking in her topsails. She was so near +that Guida could see the anchor a-cockbell, and the poop lanthorns. She +could count the guns like long black horns shooting out from a rhinoceros +hide: she could discern the figurehead lion snarling into the spritsail. +Presently the ship came up to the wind and lay to. Then she signalled +for a pilot, and Guida ran towards the ruined chapel, calling for Jean +Touzel. + +In spite of Jean's late protests as to piloting a "gentleman-of-war," +this was one of the joyful moments of his life. He could not loosen his +rowboat quick enough; he was away almost before you could have spoken his +name. Excited as Guida was, she could not resist calling after him: + +"'God save our greshus King! A bi'tot--goodbye!'" + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +A sort of chuckle not entirely pleasant +Sacrifice to the god of the pin-hole +What fools there are in the world + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BATTLE OF THE STRONG, PARKER, V1 *** + +********** This file should be named 6230.txt or 6230.zip *********** + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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