"My dear Walter," his father exclaimed as he embraced his son, as he
scrambled on shore, "you have behaved like a hero, indeed, but you
oughtn't to have done it.
"And you too, Larry. You both deserve a sound thrashing for the fright
you have given us."
"They may have frightened you, sir," the officer said; "but assuredly, I
owe my life to these brave lads. I have scarcely thanked them yet, for
indeed, until I felt my foot on the rock, I had but small hopes of
reaching shore safely in that cock boat of theirs. After feeling that
great ship so helpless against the waves, it seemed impossible that a
mere eggshell could float over them.
"My name, sir, is Colonel L'Estrange, at your service."
"My name is Davenant, colonel, and I am truly glad that my son has
rescued you; but the sooner you are up at my place, the better, sir. This
is no weather for standing talking in shirtsleeves."
They now made their way along the rock back to the shore, and then
hurried to the village. There they learned that six men had succeeded in
getting to shore along the rope, before the vessel broke up.
Telling Larry he had best have a glass of hot spirits, and then turn into
bed at once, and that he was to come up to the house the first thing in
the morning, Mr. Davenant, with the priest, Colonel L'Estrange, and
Walter made his way up to the house, to which the men who had reached the
shore had been already taken.
The party were met at the door by Mrs. Davenant, who had been extremely
anxious, for Godfrey had been sent home by his father as soon as the
wreck went to pieces, and had brought the news of Walter's doings, up to
that time.
"He is quite safe, Katherine," Mr. Davenant said, "but you mustn't stop,
either to scold him or praise him, at present.
"Hurry off, Walter, and get between the blankets. I will bring you up
some hot spiced wine directly.
"Katherine, this is Colonel L'Estrange, whom Walter has brought ashore in
his boat. You will excuse him, at present, for he has been for hours
exposed to the storm, and must be half frozen as well as half drowned.
"Now, colonel, if you will come along with me, you will find a bed with
hot blankets ready, and, I doubt not, a blazing fire.
"Ah, here is the spiced wine. Take a draught of that before you go
upstairs. You can have another, after you are in bed."
Three more survivors from the wreck were presently brought up. They had
been washed ashore on planks, as indeed had many others, but the rest had
all been beaten to death against the rocks by the breakers.
Walter slept late the next morning, and, when he came downstairs, found
that the others had already finished breakfast. When he had eaten his
meal, and listened to the gentle scolding which his mother gave him for
risking his life, he joined his father, who was, with Colonel L'Estrange,
pacing backwards and forwards on the terrace in front of the house. The
first fury of the storm was over, but it still blew strongly, and a very
heavy sea was running.
"Ah, my young friend," Colonel L'Estrange said, advancing, "I am glad to
see you, and to be able to thank you more warmly than I was able to do
last night, when the very words seemed frozen on my lips, for having
saved my life. It was a gallant deed, and one which your father may well
be proud of. It showed not only bravery of the highest kind, but coolness
and judgment, which are virtues even more rare. I predict a brilliant
future for you, and if, in any way, my aid may be of use to you, believe
me, it will be at your service."
"It was well you were a good swimmer, sir," Walter said, "for we could
not have helped you, if you had not been able to help yourself, for the
sea was covered with pieces of wreck, and as the boat was only covered
with canvas, the slightest touch from one of the jagged ends would have
made a hole in it. I am very much obliged to you for your kind offer of
assistance; but, at present, we have not made up our minds what I am to
be.
"Have we, father?"
"No, indeed, Walter. You have told me that you would like, at any rate
for a time, to see something of the world before settling down here for
life; but it is no easy matter to say what is best for you to do. Ireland
offers but little field for anyone's ambition. Since King James came to
the throne, and especially since Tyrconnell became governor, things have
been a little more favourable for us; and I have hopes, yet, that justice
will be done to the Catholic population of this unhappy country.
"Is it not monstrous, Colonel L'Estrange, that the very men who had a
hand in the rebellion against King Charles the First, should still be in
possession, during the reign of his son, of the lands which were taken
from my father because he was loyal to his king? And so it is all over
Ireland. The descendants of Cromwell's men lord it in the homes of those
who were faithful to King Charles."
"It certainly seems so, sir," Colonel L'Estrange said; "but I am no
politician. I am simply a soldier, and obey orders; but I own that it
does seem a cruel injustice, that the great portion of the lands of this
country should be held by the descendants of Cromwell's soldiers, while
the lawful owners, whose only fault was that they were loyal to their
king, should still be dispossessed of it."
"But I think better times are coming," Mr. Davenant said. "There can be
no doubt of the king's leaning towards our religion. He has been
restrained from carrying his goodwill towards us into effect, by his
privy councillors and by the English party here, whose interest it is to
prevent any change being made, and who constantly misrepresent the
feelings of this country. From the days when Strongbow first landed, this
island has been the prey of adventurers, whose only object has been to
wrest the land from the native population."
"But you are yourself a descendant of one of the early English settlers,
Mr. Davenant."
"That is true enough," Mr. Davenant said smiling, "and, no doubt, he was
as bad as the rest of them; but, you see, we have held the land for some
centuries now, and, like the other descendants of Strongbow's men, have
come to look at matters from the Irish point of view, rather than the
English. However, I hope for better times."
"You haven't heard the news, then, about the Prince of Orange?"
"No; what is the news?" Mr. Davenant asked. "There have been rumours, for
years, that he intended to make a bid for the English throne; but I have
heard nothing else."
"There was a report, before I left London, that he has already sailed
from Holland," Colonel L'Estrange replied; "and, indeed, I have no doubt
the rumour is well founded."
"But he will never succeed," Mr. Davenant said eagerly. "He will be put
down as easily as Monmouth was."
"I do not know," Colonel L'Estrange said gravely. "The Protestant feeling
in England is very strong. Monmouth was vain and empty headed, and he
wrecked his own cause. The Dutchman is a different sort of man
altogether, and one thing is certain: if King James can make a mess of
matters, he is sure to do so. The Stuarts have always been feeble and
indecisive, and James is the most feeble and indecisive of them. If
William succeeds in effecting a landing, I think his chance of success is
a good one."
"He may reign in England," Mr. Davenant broke in passionately, "but he
will not reign in Ireland.
"But forgive me," he broke off. "I forgot, for a moment, that you are an
Englishman, and my guest."
"You need not apologize, Mr. Davenant. As I said, I am a soldier and no
politician. My ancestors were royalists, and I have no great love for the
Dutch stadtholder, who will be supported in England by the class who rose
against King Charles. At the same time, it is difficult to feel much
enthusiasm for the Stuarts. The first was a pedant. The second threw away
his chances, over and over again, by his duplicity and want of faith. The
third was utterly selfish and unprincipled. The fourth is a gloomy bigot.
Charles was, and James is, a pensioner of France. How can men be ready to
sacrifice everything for such a race as this?"
"That is not the way in which we look at it in Ireland," Mr. Davenant
said. "The wars here are waged under various pretences. Someone is goaded
into rebellion, false charges are preferred wholesale, or there is a
religious pretext; but we all know what is at the bottom of them all,
simply the greed of English adventurers for Irish land; and, not content
with having dispossessed the ancient owners of three-fourths of the
cultivated land of the country, they want the remainder, and under the
pretence that we, the descendants of the early settlers, are in sympathy
with our Irish neighbours, they have marked us out for destruction, and
already a great portion of our estates is in the hands of Cromwell's men.
So gross have been the abuses, that the commission, which the king
appointed to inquire into the seizure of our estates, only ventured to
sit one day, for the proofs brought forward were so overwhelmingly strong
that it was seen at once that, did the inquiry continue, it would be made
manifest to all the world that justice could be satisfied by nothing less
than a clear sweep of all those men who have seized our estates.
"If Ireland rises in favour of King James, it will not be for any love
for the Stuarts; but it will be to recover the land which has been
illegally wrested from us, and which, if Dutch William and his Whig
adherents gain the upper hand, will be taken from us forever. The
religious element will, of course, count for much. Already we have
suffered persecution for our religion; and, if the Whigs could have their
way, they would stamp it out utterly, with fire and sword. Things have
looked better, during the last five or six years, than they have done
since Cromwell first put foot in Ireland. We have begun to hope for
justice. Tyrconnell has stood up for us, and, with the goodwill of James,
has gained many concessions. We have now what we never had before, an
Irish army. The land thieves have been fairly alarmed, for they have seen
that the long delayed justice will be done us at last. Many have sold
back their lands to the original owners, and have left the country.
Others are only holding out for better terms. Another ten years of
James's reign, and things would have righted themselves; but, if the
Dutchman ascends the throne of England, there is no hope for Ireland,
save in the sword."
"Well, we must hope it will not come to that," Colonel L'Estrange said.
"I am ready to fight the battles of England on the Continent, but civil
war, with all its horrors, sickens me; and civil war here is not like our
civil war in England. There were no race animosities there, no memory of
cruel wrongs on one side or the other. Men fought for a principle, but
there were no atrocities committed, on either side, like those which have
devastated Germany. The peasant ploughed the land, and the trader kept
open his shop unmolested. It is true that, towards the end, there were
confiscations of the property of those who still continued the strife,
and a few executions of individuals; but, taking it as a whole, no war
has ever caused so little suffering, to the people at large, as did the
civil war in England; but assuredly, a war in Ireland now, like those
which have gone before, would be marked by the foulest atrocities,
massacres, and destruction on both sides."
"Yes," Mr. Davenant said, "I must own that, for downright brutal and
bloody ferocity, the wars in Ireland rival those of the Huns."
Walter had listened in silence to this conversation. His father now
turned to him.
"Have you heard whether Larry has recovered from his adventure of
yesterday as well as you have?"
"No, father, I have not heard anything about it. I came out here directly
I finished my breakfast. How are the people who were brought up here?"
"They are going on well, Walter, but they were all so bruised, as they
were being drawn up through the surf, that it will be some days before
any of them can leave their beds.
"How many had you on board, colonel?"
"I did not see the list of passengers, but there were twelve or fourteen
aft, and, from what I saw, I should think as many more forward. There
were twenty-three men in the crew. I suppose, altogether, there were some
fifty on board."
"Are you going to make a long stay in Ireland?"
"No; I shall only remain here a week or two. I am the bearer of some
letters from the king to Tyrconnell; and that reminds me that I must be
making my way on to Dublin."
"I will ride in with you," Mr. Davenant said. "I must tell my friends
this news that you bring. It seems to me to be most serious. I will have
a horse round for you here, in half an hour, if that will suit you."
"Perfectly," Colonel L'Estrange replied. "That will just give me time to
walk round to the village, to see the lad you call Larry, for I could not
go without thanking him for the share he had in preserving my life.
"Perhaps you will go down with me, Walter, and show me his house?"
When they reached the shore, they found the whole population of the
village engaged in dragging up the spars, planks, and pieces of timber
with which the rocks were strewn.
"There is Larry," Walter said. "It is evident that there's nothing the
matter with him."
Larry was, indeed, just coming up, dragging a piece of timber behind him;
while, in his left hand, he held a large bundle of fragments of wood, of
different sizes, which, as well as the timber, he was taking home for
firing.
"Larry, come here. The English gentleman wants to speak to you."
The boy dropped his wood, and came up.
"My lad," Colonel L'Estrange said, "I am greatly indebted to you for your
work of last night. Take this," and he placed a purse of ten guineas in
Larry's hand.
"And remember that I am still greatly your debtor, and that if, at any
future time, you should be in a position in which my aid may be useful,
you have only to let me know, and I will stand your friend."
The sum appeared to Larry to be enormous.
"Long life to yer honour, and it's proud I am to have been of service to
such a grand gentleman. It's thankful I am for your kindness, and if ever
you want a boy to do a job for you, it's myself that will be proud to do
it. As to yesterday, I just came because the young squire tould me to,
and thankful I am that he got back safe to shore, for, if we had been
drowned, I don't know whatever I should have said to the squire."
Two days after the shipwreck, Walter and John Whitefoot met at the place
which they had agreed on, when they last saw each other four days before.
"I heard of your brave deed on the night of the storm, Walter. Everyone
is talking of it; and even my grandfather, who has seldom a good word for
any of you at the Castle, said that it was a noble deed. It was as much
as I could do not to say, 'Yes, he is a friend of mine;' for I felt proud
of you, I can tell you."
"It is all nonsense, John. I have often been out in a curragh in bad
weather, though never in quite such a storm as that; but, once launched,
she rode lightly enough, and scarce shipped a spoonful of water."
"I should like to have been there," John said; "but I should have been no
use. My people have always been against my going down to the sea, deeming
it a pure waste of time, except that they let me go down to swim. I can
do that well, you know; but they have always forbidden my going out in
boats. Now, you see, it is proved that it is not a waste of time, for you
have been able to save many lives. The thought must make you very happy."
"Well, I don't know that it does, particularly," Walter said carelessly.
"Of course, I was glad at the time, but I have not thought much about it
one way or the other, since. You see, the news that has come has driven
everything else out of our heads."
"Is it true, then, the report that we heard yesterday, that William of
Orange has set out for England?"
"Yes, it is true enough; and I am afraid, by what I hear, that it is
likely to cause all sorts of troubles."
"I suppose," John said gravely; "and of course, in this matter my people
think differently from yours. You know we agreed that we would never talk
on these subjects, but I am afraid the time is coming when there will be
nothing else to be talked of."
"I am afraid so, too, John. My father thinks that there will be civil war
again."
"Of course my grandfather is delighted," John said quietly. "He has been
greatly disturbed in his mind, for some months, owing to the leanings of
King James towards the Irish, which seem to point to his having to give
up no small portion of the lands."
"We thought so too, John; and although it is your father who would lose,
and mine who would gain, I don't think that even you can deny that it
would be reasonable. Your grandfather got the land from mine because he
fought for Cromwell against the king, and Cromwell got the best of it.
Well, it seems only reasonable that, when the king again came to the
throne, those who fought for him should get their own again."
"It does seem so, Walter, I must own; and I am sure I should not have
cared, for myself, if the land was given back again to your father
tomorrow. Then I suppose we should go back to England; and, as I know my
grandfather has done well, and has laid by a good deal of money, they
could take a farm there; and there would be more chance of their letting
me enter upon some handicraft. I would rather that, by a great deal, than
farming. All these books you have lent me, Walter, have shown me what
great and noble deeds there are to be done in the world--I don't mean in
fighting, you know, but in other ways. And they make the life here,
toiling on the farm from sunrise to sunset, with no object save that of
laying by every year more money, seem terribly empty and worthless.
"By the way, my grandfather was, yesterday evening, rating my father
because, instead of always keeping me hard at work, he allowed me once or
twice a week to be away for hours wasting my time--which means, though he
didn't know it, going about with you. My father said stoutly that he did
not think the time was altogether wasted, for that, in the last two
years, I had made a notable advance in learning, and he was satisfied
that I had benefited much by these intervals of recreation. Thereupon my
grandfather grumbled that I was too fond of reading, and that I was
filling my mind with all sorts of nonsense, whereas true wisdom was to be
found in one book only.
"My father said that was true of religious wisdom, but that, for the
advancement of the world, it was needed that men should learn other
things. Of course, my grandfather had three or four texts ready at hand;
but my father had him by saying: 'You see, father, all the commands
issued to the Jews are not strictly applicable to us--for example, they
were ordered not to use horses; and I do not remember that Cromwell felt
that he was doing wrong, when he raised his ironsides.' That was a poser,
and so the matter dropped."
Ten days later, when the boys met, John said:
"This is the last time we shall meet for some time, Walter, for I am
going up to Derry to stay with a cousin of my father, who is settled
there and exercises the trade of a currier. I said, some months ago, that
I should like to learn a trade, but everyone was against it, then. They
seemed to think that, as I should some day have the land, it was flying
in the face of Providence to think of anything else. But I suppose the
fact that everything is so unsettled now, and that there is no saying
what may come of these events in England, may have made them think
differently.
"At any rate, my father said to me yesterday: 'We have been talking over
what you said, about wishing to learn a trade. If all goes on well, there
is no occasion for you to learn any business save that of farming; but
none can say what the Lord may not have in store for us, or what troubles
may come upon us. In any case, it will do you no harm to see a little of
the world outside our farm; and, therefore, your grandfather and I have
settled that you shall go for a few months to my cousin, who, as you
know, is a currier in Derry. He has often written, asking you to go and
stay with him, seeing that he has no children of his own. Learn what you
can of his business; and if it should be that you find it more to your
liking than farming, I should not be one to hold you back from following
the bent of your inclinations.
"'But this is between ourselves. My father's ideas on these subjects you
know, and it would cause much trouble, did he think that you had any idea
of not following in the path in which he and I have trod. But to me it
seems better that each should go on the path towards which his mind is
turned--that is, when he has made quite sure, after long reflection and
prayer, that it is no idle whim but a settled earnest desire. If, then,
after your visit to your uncle, you feel that you are truly called to
follow a life other than that you would lead here, I shall not oppose
you. The Lord has blessed our labours. The land is fertile, and I can
well provide the moneys that will be needful to start you, either in
business with my cousin, or in such way as may appear best.'
"I thanked him gravely, but indeed, Walter, I had difficulty in
restraining myself from shouting with joy, for a life like that of my
father and grandfather here would be very grievous to me. I have no
desire to gain greater wealth than we have, but I long for a higher life
than this."
"I don't know, John," Walter said doubtfully. "Unless, as you say, these
troubles make a difference, you will be a large landowner some day; and
these bitternesses will die out in time, and you will take a very
different position from that which your grandfather holds. Of course, we
regard him as a usurper, but you know, in the third generation the
grandson of a usurper becomes a legitimate monarch. My ancestors usurped
the land from the native Irish by the sword, just as your grandfather did
from us; but we came, in time, to be regarded as the natural lords of the
soil, and so will you. But to be a currier! That strikes me as a
tremendous come down!"
"I care nothing about coming up or coming down," John said simply. "I
long only for an honest mode of life, in which, instead of dwelling
solitary, and seeing no one from year to year save at our Sabbath
meetings, I may mix with others and take part in a more active and busy
life. In itself, I do not suppose that the trade of a currier is a very
pleasant one; but that matters little if, when work is done, one has
leisure for some sort of communication with others, and for improving
one's mind. It will be to me something like what going to court in London
would be to you, Walter. I am most grieved about my mother. She will miss
me sorely.
"She said to me last night, 'I fear somewhat, John, that the course I
have taken with you has greatly unfitted you for settling down here, as
we have done before you; but although I shall miss you sadly, I do not
blame myself for what I have done. I think myself, my son, that there are
higher lives than that spent in tilling the soil from boyhood to old age.
It is true the soil must be tilled. There must be ever hewers of wood and
drawers of water; but God has appointed for each his place, and I think,
my son, that you have that within you which would render the life with
which your father and grandfather have been well contented an irksome one
for you.
"'I have no fear that we shall be always separated. Your grandfather is
an old man, and when the Lord pleases to take him, your father and I will
be free to do as we choose, and can, if we like, dispose of this land and
quit this troubled country, and settle in England or elsewhere, near
where you may be. It is true that we shall get little for the land; for,
broad as are its acres, who will give much for a doubtful title? But
there is ample laid by for our old age, and I see not the sense of
labouring incessantly, as does your grandfather, merely to lay up stores
which you will never enjoy. Did I see any signs of a decrease in the
bitter animosity which parties feel towards each other here, I might
think differently; but there is no prospect of peace and goodwill
returning in your time, and therefore, no object in your father and I
toiling on for the rest of our lives, when the return of our labour will
be of little worth to you. Such being so, I do not regret that your
thoughts turn to the world of which you have read in books. The world is
but a secondary consideration to us, 'tis true, but I can see no special
goodness in a life of dull monotony.'"
"I wonder where your mother got hold of her ideas, John. She is so
different from most of your people."
"She is indeed," John agreed. "It was from her mother that she received
her teaching. I know she was not happy with her husband, who was as
gloomy and fanatical as is my grandfather, and she ever looked back to
the happy days of her girlhood in England. I think she did for my mother
just what my mother has done for me, only the difference is that she
never had sufficient influence with her husband to enable her to carry
out her views for her daughter, while my mother--"
"Has managed to have her own way," Walter laughed.
"I suppose so, and that in spite of my grandfather. Certainly I owe
everything to her, for I am sure, if it hadn't been for her, my father
would never have ventured to oppose the old man, even so far as to let me
know you. It makes one sad to think, Walter, that religion should
sometimes make those who think most of it tyrants in their families. My
grandfather is terribly earnest in his religion. There is no pretence or
mistake about it; but, for all that, or rather because of it, he would,
if he could, allow no one else to have a will or opinion of his own."
"I don't think it's the religion, John, but the manner of the religion.
My mother and grandmother are both as religious as anyone could be; but I
don't think I ever heard either of them say a hard word of a soul. Their
religion is a pleasure to them, and not a task, and I know that some
years ago, when we had a priest who was always denouncing the
Protestants, they very soon managed to get him changed for another.
"What a funny thing it is, to be sure, that people should quarrel about
their religion! After all, we believe all the same important things; and
as to others, what does it matter, provided we all do our best in the way
that seems right to us?"
But this was too liberal for John. He had been brought up in too strait a
sect to subscribe to such an opinion as this.
"I do think it makes a difference, Walter," he said slowly.
"I don't," Walter said. "It's just a matter of bringing up. If you had
been born in the Castle, and I had been born in your place, you would
have thought as I do, and I should have thought as you do; and of course,
still more if you had been born in a Catholic country like Italy, where
you would never have heard of Protestantism, and I had been born in a
Protestant country like Holland, where I should never have had a chance
of becoming a Catholic. Very few people ever change their religion. They
just live and die as they have been born and educated."
"It seems so," John said after a pause; "but the question is too deep for
us."
"Quite so," Walter laughed, "and I don't want to argue it.
"Well, when are you going to start?"
"I am off tomorrow morning. My father has an acquaintance in Dublin who
is starting for Derry, and I am to go in his charge."
For another hour the boys chatted together, and then, with mutual
promises of writing regularly, whenever they had the chance, they said
goodbye; and the following morning John started with his father to
Dublin, and next day journeyed north towards Derry.