THE SALT-MARSH
When a man has reached his mature age he can rest at that point of
vantage, and cast his eyes back at the long road along which he has
travelled, lying with its gleams of sunshine and its stretches of shadow
in the valley behind him. He knows then its whence and its whither, and
the twists and bends which were so full of promise or of menace as he
approached them lie exposed and open to his gaze. So plain is it all
that he can scarce remember how dark it may have seemed to him, or how
long he once hesitated at the cross roads. Thus when he tries to recall
each stage of the journey he does so with the knowledge of its end, and
can no longer make it clear, even to himself, how it may have seemed to
him at the time. And yet, in spite of the strain of years, and the many
passages which have befallen me since, there is no time of my life which
comes back so very clearly as that gusty evening, and to this day I
cannot feel the briny wholesome whiff of the seaweed without being
carried back, with that intimate feeling of reality which only the sense
of smell can confer, to the wet shingle of the French beach.
When I had risen from my knees, the first thing that I did was to put my
purse into the inner pocket of my coat. I had taken it out in order to
give a gold piece to the sailor who had handed me ashore, though I have
little doubt that the fellow was both wealthier and of more assured
prospects than myself. I had actually drawn out a silver half-crown,
but I could not bring myself to offer it to him, and so ended by giving
a tenth part of my whole fortune to a stranger. The other nine
sovereigns I put very carefully away, and then, sitting down upon a flat
rock just above high water mark, I turned it all over in my mind and
weighed what I should do. Already I was cold and hungry, with the wind
lashing my face and the spray smarting in my eyes, but at least I was no
longer living upon the charity of the enemies of my country, and the
thought set my heart dancing within me. But the castle, as well as I
could remember, was a good ten miles off. To go there now was to arrive
at an unseemly hour, unkempt and weather-stained, before this uncle whom
I had never seen. My sensitive pride conjured up a picture of the
scornful faces of his servants as they looked out upon this bedraggled
wanderer from England slinking back to the castle which should have been
his own. No, I must seek shelter for the night, and then at my leisure,
with as fair a show of appearances as possible, I must present myself
before my relative. Where then could I find a refuge from the storm?
You will ask me, doubtless, why I did not make for Etaples or Boulogne.
I answer that it was for the same reason which forced me to land
secretly upon that forbidding coast. The name of de Laval still headed
the list of the proscribed, for my father had been a famous and
energetic leader of the small but influential body of men who had
remained true at all costs to the old order of things. Do not think
that, because I was of another way of thinking, I despised those who had
given up so much for their principles. There is a curious saint-like
trait in our natures which draws us most strongly towards that which
involves the greatest sacrifice, and I have sometimes thought that if
the conditions had been less onerous the Bourbons might have had fewer,
or at least less noble, followers. The French nobles had been more
faithful to them than the English to the Stuarts, for Cromwell had no
luxurious court or rich appointments which he could hold out to those
who would desert the royal cause. No words can exaggerate the
self-abnegation of those men. I have seen a supper party under my
father's roof where our guests were two fencing-masters, three
professors of language, one ornamental gardener, and one translator of
books, who held his hand in the front of his coat to conceal a rent in
the lapel. But these eight men were of the highest nobility of France,
who might have had what they chose to ask if they would only consent to
forget the past, and to throw themselves heartily into the new order of
things. But the humble, and what is sadder the incapable, monarch of
Hartwell still held the allegiance of those old Montmorencies, Rohans,
and Choiseuls, who, having shared the greatness of his family, were
determined also to stand by it in its ruin. The dark chambers of that
exiled monarch were furnished with something better than the tapestry of
Gobelins or the china of Sevres. Across the gulf which separates my old
age from theirs I can still see those ill-clad, grave-mannered men, and
I raise my hat to the noblest group of nobles that our history can show.
To visit a coast-town, therefore, before I had seen my uncle, or learnt
whether my return had been sanctioned, would be simply to deliver myself
into the hands of the _gens d'armes_, who were ever on the look-out for
strangers from England. To go before the new Emperor was one thing and
to be dragged before him another. On the whole, it seemed to me that my
best course was to wander inland, in the hope of finding some empty barn
or out-house, where I could pass the night unseen and undisturbed. Then
in the morning I should consider how it was best for me to approach my
uncle Bernac, and through him the new master of France.
The wind had freshened meanwhile into a gale, and it was so dark upon
the seaward side that I could only catch the white flash of a leaping
wave here and there in the blackness. Of the lugger which had brought
me from Dover I could see no sign. On the land side of me there seemed,
as far as I could make it out, to be a line of low hills, but when I
came to traverse them I found that the dim light had exaggerated their
size, and that they were mere scattered sand-dunes, mottled with patches
of bramble. Over these I toiled with my bundle slung over my shoulder,
plodding heavily through the loose sand, and tripping over the creepers,
but forgetting my wet clothes and my numb hands as I recalled the many
hardships and adventures which my ancestors had undergone. It amused me
to think that the day might come when my own descendants might fortify
themselves by the recollection of that which was happening to me, for in
a great family like ours the individual is always subordinate to the
race.
It seemed to me that I should never get to the end of the sand-dunes,
but when at last I did come off them I heartily wished that I was back
upon them again; for the sea in that part comes by some creek up the
back of the beach, forming at low tide a great desolate salt-marsh,
which must be a forlorn place even in the daytime, but upon such a night
as that it was a most dreary wilderness. At first it was but a softness
of the ground, causing me to slip as I walked, but soon the mud was over
my ankles and half-way up to my knees, so that each foot gave a loud
flop as I raised it, and a dull splash as I set it down again. I would
willingly have made my way out, even if I had to return to the
sand-dunes, but in trying to pick my path I had lost all my bearings,
and the air was so full of the sounds of the storm that the sea seemed
to be on every side of me. I had heard of how one may steer oneself by
observation of the stars, but my quiet English life had not taught me
how such things were done, and had I known I could scarcely have
profited by it, since the few stars which were visible peeped out here
and there in the rifts of the flying storm-clouds. I wandered on then,
wet and weary, trusting to fortune, but always blundering deeper and
deeper into this horrible bog, until I began to think that my first
night in France was destined also to be my last, and that the heir of
the de Lavals was destined to perish of cold and misery in the depths of
this obscene morass.
I must have toiled for many miles in this dreary fashion, sometimes
coming upon shallower mud and sometimes upon deeper, but never making my
way on to the dry, when I perceived through the gloom something which
turned my heart even heavier than it had been before. This was a
curious clump of some whitish shrub--cotton-grass of a flowering
variety--which glimmered suddenly before me in the darkness. Now, an
hour earlier I had passed just such a square-headed, whitish clump; so
that I was confirmed in the opinion which I had already begun to form,
that I was wandering in a circle. To make it certain I stooped down,
striking a momentary flash from my tinder-box, and there sure enough was
my own old track very clearly marked in the brown mud in front of me.
At this confirmation of my worst fears I threw my eyes up to heaven in
my despair, and there I saw something which for the first time gave me a
clue in the uncertainty which surrounded me.
It was nothing else than a glimpse of the moon between two flowing
clouds. This in itself might have been of small avail to me, but over
its white face was marked a long thin V, which shot swiftly across like
a shaftless arrow. It was a flock of wild ducks, and its flight was in
the same direction as that towards which my face was turned. Now, I had
observed in Kent how all these creatures come further inland when there
is rough weather breaking, so I made no doubt that their course
indicated the path which would lead me away from the sea. I struggled
on, therefore, taking every precaution to walk in a straight line, above
all being very careful to make a stride of equal length with either leg,
until at last, after half an hour or so, my perseverance was rewarded by
the welcome sight of a little yellow light, as from a cottage window,
glimmering through the darkness. Ah, how it shone through my eyes and
down into my heart, glowing and twinkling there, that little golden
speck, which meant food, and rest, and life itself to the wanderer!
I blundered towards it through the mud and the slush as fast as my weary
legs would bear me. I was too cold and miserable to refuse any shelter,
and I had no doubt that for the sake of one of my gold pieces the
fisherman or peasant who lived in this strange situation would shut his
eyes to whatever might be suspicious in my presence or appearance.
As I approached it became more and more wonderful to me that any one
should live there at all, for the bog grew worse rather than better, and
in the occasional gleams of moonshine I could make out that the water
lay in glimmering pools all round the low dark cottage from which the
light was breaking. I could see now that it shone through a small
square window. As I approached the gleam was suddenly obscured, and
there in a yellow frame appeared the round black outline of a man's head
peering out into the darkness. A second time it appeared before I
reached the cottage, and there was something in the stealthy manner in
which it peeped and whisked away, and peeped once more, which filled me
with surprise, and with a certain vague apprehension.
So cautious were the movements of this sentinel, and so singular the
position of his watch-house, that I determined, in spite of my misery,
to see something more of him before I trusted myself to the shelter of
his roof. And, indeed, the amount of shelter which I might hope for was
not very great, for as I drew softly nearer I could see that the light
from within was beating through at several points, and that the whole
cottage was in the most crazy state of disrepair. For a moment I
paused, thinking that even the salt-marsh might perhaps be a safer
resting-place for the night than the headquarters of some desperate
smuggler, for such I conjectured that this lonely dwelling must be.
The scud, however, had covered the moon once more, and the darkness was
so pitchy black that I felt that I might reconnoitre a little more
closely without fear of discovery. Walking on tiptoe I approached the
little window and looked in.
What I saw reassured me vastly. A small wood fire was crackling in one
of those old-fashioned country grates, and beside it was seated a
strikingly handsome young man, who was reading earnestly out of a fat
little book. He had an oval, olive-tinted face, with long black hair,
ungathered in a queue, and there was something of the poet or of the
artist in his whole appearance. The sight of that refined face, and of
the warm yellow firelight which beat upon it, was a very cheering one to
a cold and famished traveller. I stood for an instant gazing at him,
and noticing the way in which his full and somewhat loose-fitting lower
lip quivered continually, as if he were repeating to himself that which
he was reading. I was still looking at him when he put his book down
upon the table and approached the window. Catching a glimpse of my
figure in the darkness he called out something which I could not hear,
and waved his hand in a gesture of welcome. An instant later the door
flew open, and there was his thin tall figure standing upon the
threshold, with his skirts flapping in the wind.
'My dear friends,' he cried, peering out into the gloom with his hand
over his eyes to screen them from the salt-laden wind and driving sand,
'I had given you up. I thought that you were never coming. I've been
waiting for two hours.'
For answer I stepped out in front of him, so that the light fell upon my
face.
'I am afraid, sir--' said I.
But I had no time to finish my sentence. He struck at me with both
hands like an angry cat, and, springing back into the room, he slammed
the door with a crash in my face.
The swiftness of his movements and the malignity of his gesture were in
such singular contrast with his appearance that I was struck speechless
with surprise. But as I stood there with the door in front of me I was
a witness to something which filled me with even greater astonishment.
I have already said that the cottage was in the last stage of disrepair.
Amidst the many seams and cracks through which the light was breaking
there was one along the whole of the hinge side of the door, which gave
me from where I was standing a view of the further end of the room, at
which the fire was burning. As I gazed then I saw this man reappear in
front of the fire, fumbling furiously with both his hands in his bosom,
and then with a spring he disappeared up the chimney, so that I could
only see his shoes and half of his black calves as he stood upon the
brickwork at the side of the grate. In an instant he was down again and
back at the door.
'Who are you?' he cried, in a voice which seemed to me to be thrilling
with some strong emotion.
'I am a traveller, and have lost my way.' There was a pause as if he
were thinking what course he should pursue.
'You will find little here to tempt you to stay,' said he at last.
'I am weary and spent, sir; and surely you will not refuse me shelter.
I have been wandering for hours in the salt-marsh.'
'Did you meet anyone there?' he asked eagerly.
'No.'
'Stand back a little from the door. This is a wild place, and the times
are troublous. A man must take some precautions.'
I took a few steps back, and he then opened the door sufficiently to
allow his head to come through. He said nothing, but he looked at me
for a long time in a very searching manner.
'What is your name?'
'Louis Laval,' said I, thinking that it might sound less dangerous in
this plebeian form.
'Whither are you going?'
'I wish to reach some shelter.'
'You are from England?'
'I am from the coast.'
He shook his head slowly to show me how little my replies had satisfied
him.
'You cannot come in here,' said he.
'But surely--'
'No, no, it is impossible.'
'Show me then how to find my way out of the marsh.'
'It is easy enough. If you go a few hundred paces in that direction you
will perceive the lights of a village. You are already almost free of
the marsh.'
He stepped a pace or two from the door in order to point the way for me,
and then turned upon his heel. I had already taken a stride or two away
from him and his inhospitable hut, when he suddenly called after me.
'Come, Monsieur Laval,' said he, with quite a different ring in his
voice; 'I really cannot permit you to leave me upon so tempestuous a
night. A warm by my fire and a glass of brandy will hearten you upon
your way.'
You may think that I did not feel disposed to contradict him, though I
could make nothing of this sudden and welcome change in his manner.
'I am much obliged to you, sir,' said I.
And I followed him into the hut.