THE FISHERMAN'S REST
§1
And whilst the whole of Europe was in travail with the repercussion of
the gigantic upheaval that was shaking France to its historic
foundations, the last few years had seen but very little change in this
little corner of England.
_The Fisherman's Rest_ stood where it had done for two centuries and
long before thrones had tottered and anointed heads fallen on the
scaffold. The oak rafters, black with age, the monumental hearth, the
tables and high-backed benches, seemed like mute testimonies to good
order and to tradition, just as the shiny pewter mugs, the foaming ale,
the brass that glittered like gold, bore witness to unimpaired
prosperity and an even, well-regulated life.
Over in the kitchen yonder, Mistress Sally Waite, as she now was, still
ruled with a firm if somewhat hasty hand, the weight of which, so the
naughty gossips averred, even her husband, Master Harry Waite, had
experienced more than once. She still queened it over her father's
household, presided over his kitchen, and drove the young scullery
wenches to their task with her sharp tongue and an occasional slap. But
_The Fisherman's Rest_ could not have gone on without her. The copper
saucepans would in truth not have glittered so, nor would the
home-brewed ale have tasted half so luscious to Master Jellyband's
faithful customers, had not Mistress Sally's strong brown hands drawn it
for them, with just the right amount of creamy foam on the top and not a
bit too much.
And so it was still many a "Ho, Sally! 'Ere Sally! 'Ow long'll you be
with that there beer!" or "Say, Sally! A cut of your cheese and
home-baked bread; and look sharp about it!" that resounded from end to
end of the long, low-raftered coffee-room of _The Fisherman's Rest_, on
this fine May day of the year of grace 1794.
Sally Waite, her muslin cap set at a becoming angle, her kerchief primly
folded over her well-developed bosom, and her kirtle neatly raised above
a pair of exceedingly shapely ankles, was in and out of the room, in and
out of the kitchen, tripping it like a benevolent if somewhat
substantial fairy, bandying chaff here, administering rebuke there, hot,
panting and excited.
§2
The while mine host, Master Jellyband--perhaps a shade more portly of
figure, a thought more bald of pate, these last two years--stood with
stubby legs firmly planted upon his own hearth, wherein, despite the
warmth of a glorious afternoon, a log fire blazed away merrily. He was
giving forth his views upon the political situation of Europe generally
with the self-satisfied assurance born of complete ignorance and true
British insular prejudice.
Believe me, Mr. Jellyband was in no two minds about "them murderin'
furriners over yonder" who had done away with their King and Queen and
all their nobility and quality, and whom England had at last decided to
lick into shape.
"And not a moment too soon, hark'ee, Mr. 'Empseed," he went on
sententiously. "And if I 'ad my way, we should 'ave punished 'em proper
long before this--blown their bloomin' Paris into smithereens, and
carried off the pore Queen afore those murderous villains 'ad 'er pretty
'ead off of 'er shoulders!"
Mr. Hempseed, from his own privileged corner in the inglenook, was not
altogether prepared to admit that.
"I am not for interfering with other folks' ways," he said, raising his
quaking treble so as to stem effectually the torrent of Master Jellyband's
eloquence. "As the Scriptures say----"
"Keep your dirty fingers from off my waist!" came in decisive tones from
Mistress Sally Waite, whilst the shrill sound made by the violent
contact of a feminine hand against a manly cheek froze the Scriptural
quotation on Mr. Hempseed's lips.
"Now then, now then, Sally!" Mr. Jellyband thought fit to say in stern
tones, not liking his customers to be thus summarily dealt with.
"Now then, father," Sally retorted, with a toss of her brown curls, "you
just attend to your politics, and Mr. 'Empseed to 'is Scriptures, and
leave me to deal with them impudent jackanapes. You wait!" she added,
turning once more with a parting shot directed against the discomfited
offender. "If my 'Arry catches you at them tricks, you'll see what you
get--that's all!"
"Sally!" Mr. Jellyband admonished more sternly this time. "You'll 'ave
my lord Hastings 'ere before 'is dinner is ready."
Which suggestion so overawed Mistress Sally that she promptly forgot the
misdoings of the forward swain and failed to hear the sarcastic chuckle
which greeted the mention of her husband's name. With an excited little
cry, she ran quickly out of the room.
Mr. Hempseed, loftily unaware of interruption, concluded his sententious
remark:
"As the Scriptures say, Mr. Jellyband: 'Ave no fellowship with the
unfruitful work of darkness.' I don't 'old not with interfering.
Remember what the Scriptures say: 'E that committeth sin is of the
devil, and the devil sinneth from the beginning,'" he concluded with
sublime irrelevance, sagely nodding his head.
But Mr. Jellyband was not thus lightly to be confounded in his
argument--no, not by any quotation, relevant or otherwise!
"All very fine, Mr. 'Empseed," he said, "and good enough for
them 'oo, like yourself, are willin' to side with them murderin'
reprobates. . . ."
"Like myself, Mr. Jellyband?" protested Mr. Hempseed, with as much
vigour as his shrill treble would allow. "Nay, but I'm not for them
children of darkness----"
"You may be or you may not," Mr. Jellyband went on, nothing daunted.
"There be many as are, and 'oo'd say 'Let 'em murder,' even now. But I
say that them as 'oo talk that way are not true Englishmen; for 'tis we
Englishmen 'oo can teach the furriner just what 'e may do and what 'e
may not. And as we've got the ships and the men and the money, we can
just fight 'em as are not of our way o' thinkin'. And let me tell you,
Mr. 'Empseed, that I'm prepared to back my opinions 'gainst any man as
don't agree with me!"
For the nonce Mr. Hempseed was silent. True, a Scriptural text did hover
on his thin, quivering lips; but as no one paid any heed to him for the
moment its appositeness will for ever remain doubtful. The honours of
victory rested with Mr. Jellyband. Such lofty patriotism, coupled with
so much sound knowledge of political affairs, could not fail to leave
its impress upon the more ignorant and the less fervent amongst the
frequenters of _The Fisherman's Rest._
Indeed, who was more qualified to pass an opinion on current events than
the host of that much-frequented resort, seeing that the ladies and
gentlemen of quality who came to England from over the water, so as to
escape all them murtherin' reprobates in their own country, did most
times halt at _The Fisherman's Rest_ on their way to London or to Bath?
And though Mr. Jellyband did not know a word of French--no furrin lingo
for him, thank 'ee!--he nevertheless had mixed with all that nobility
and gentry for over two years now, and had learned all that there was to
know about the life over there, and about Mr. Pitt's intentions to put
a stop to all those abominations.
§3
Even now, hardly had mine host's conversation with his favoured
customers assumed a more domestic turn, than a loud clatter on the
cobblestones outside, a jingle and a rattle, shouts, laughter and
hustle, announced the arrival of guests who were privileged to make as
much noise as they pleased.
Mr. Jellyband ran to the door, shouted for Sally at the top of his
voice, with a "Here's my lord Hastings!" to add spur to Sally's hustle.
Politics were forgotten for the nonce, arguments set aside, in the
excitement of welcoming the quality.
Three young gallants in travelling clothes, smart of appearance and
debonair of mien, were ushering a party of strangers--three ladies and
two men--into the hospitable porch of _The Fisherman's Rest._ The little
party had walked across from the inner harbour, where the graceful masts
of an elegant schooner lately arrived in port were seen gently swaying
against the delicately coloured afternoon sky. Three or four sailors
from the schooner were carrying luggage, which they deposited in the
hall of the inn, then touched their forelocks in response to a pleasant
smile and nod from the young lords.
"This way, my lord," Master Jellyband reiterated with jovial
obsequiousness. "Everything is ready. This way! Hey, Sallee!" he called
again; and Sally, hot, excited, blushing, came tripping over from the
kitchen, wiping her hot, plump palms against her apron in anticipation
of shaking hands with their lordships.
"Since Mr. Waite isn't anywhere about," my lord Hastings said gaily, as
he put a bold arm round Mistress Sally's dainty waist, "I'll e'en have a
kiss, my pretty one."
"And I, too, by gad, for old sake's sake!" Lord Tony asserted, and
planked a hearty kiss on Mistress Sally's dimpled cheek.
"At your service, my lords, at your service!" Master Jellyband rejoined,
laughing. Then added more soberly: "Now then, Sally, show the ladies up
into the blue room, the while their lordships 'ave a first shake down in
the coffee-room. This way, gentlemen--your lordships--this way!"
The strangers in the meanwhile had stood by, wide-eyed and somewhat
bewildered in face of this exuberant hilarity which was so unlike what
they had pictured to themselves of dull, fog-ridden England--so unlike,
too, the dreary moroseness which of late had replaced the erstwhile
light-hearted gaiety of their own countrymen. The porch and the narrow
hall of _The Fisherman's Rest_ appeared to them seething with vitality.
Every one was talking, nobody seemed to listen; every one was merry, and
every one knew everybody else and was pleased to meet them. Sonorous
laughter echoed from end to end along the solid beams, black and shiny
with age. It all seemed so homely, so happy. The deference paid to the
young gallants and to them as strangers by the sailors and the innkeeper
was so genuine and hearty, without the slightest sign of servility, that
those five people who had left behind them so much class-hatred, enmity
and cruelty in their own country, felt an unaccountable tightening of
the heart, a few hot tears rise to their eyes, partly of joy, but partly
too of regret.
§4
Lord Hastings, the youngest and merriest of the English party, guided
the two Frenchmen toward the coffee-room, with many a jest in atrocious
French and kindly words of encouragement, all intended to put the
strangers at their ease.
Lord Anthony Dewhurst and Sir Andrew Ffoulkes--a trifle more serious and
earnest, yet equally happy and excited at the success of their perilous
adventure and at the prospect of reunion with their wives--lingered a
moment longer in the hall, in order to speak with the sailors who had
brought the luggage along.
"Do you know aught of Sir Percy?" Lord Tony asked.
"No, my lord," the sailor gave answer; "not since he went ashore early
this morning. 'Er Ladyship was waitin' for 'im on the pier. Sir Percy
just ran up the steps and then 'e shouted to us to get back quickly.
'Tell their lordships,' 'e says, 'I'll meet them at _The Rest._' And then
Sir Percy and 'er ladyship just walked off and we saw naun more of
them."
"That was many hours ago," Sir Andrew Ffoulkes mused with an inward
smile. He too saw visions of meeting his pretty Suzanne very soon, and
walking away with her into the land of dreams.
"'Twas just six o'clock when Sir Percy 'ad the boat lowered," the sailor
rejoined. "And we rowed quick back after we landed 'im. But the
_Day-Dream_, she 'ad to wait for the tide. We wurr a long while gettin'
into port."
Sir Andrew nodded.
"You don't know," he said, "if the skipper had any further orders?"
"I don't know, sir," the man replied. "But we mun be in readiness
always. No one knows when Sir Percy may wish to set sail again."
The two young men said nothing more, and presently the sailors touched
their forelocks and went away. Lord Tony and Sir Andrew exchanged
knowing smiles. They could easily picture to themselves their beloved
chief, indefatigable, like a boy let out from school, exhilarated by the
deadly danger through which he had once more passed unscathed, clasping
his adored wife in his arms and wandering off with her, heaven knew
whither, living his life of joy and love and happiness during the brief
hours which his own indomitable energy, his reckless courage, accorded
to the sentimental side of his complex nature.
Far too impatient to wait until the tide allowed the _Day-Dream_ to get
into port, he had been rowed ashore in the early dawn, and his beautiful
Marguerite--punctual to the assignation conveyed to her by one of those
mysterious means of which Percy alone knew the secret--was there ready
to receive him, to forget in the shelter of his arms the days of racking
anxiety and of cruel terror for her beloved through which she had again
and again been forced to pass.
Neither Lord Tony nor Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, the Scarlet Pimpernel's most
faithful and devoted lieutenants, begrudged their chief these extra
hours of bliss, the while they were left in charge of the party so
lately rescued from horrible death. They knew that within a day or
two--within a few hours, perhaps--Blakeney would tear himself away once
more from the clinging embrace of his exquisite wife, from the comfort
and luxury of an ideal home, from the adulation of friends, the
pleasures of wealth and of fashion, in order mayhap to grovel in the
squalor and filth of some outlandish corner of Paris, where he could be
in touch with the innocents who suffered--the poor, the terror-stricken
victims of the merciless revolution. Within a few hours, mayhap, he
would be risking his life again every moment of the day, in order to
save some poor hunted fellow-creature--man, woman or child--from death
that threatened them at the hands of inhuman monsters who knew neither
mercy nor compunction.
As for the nineteen members of the League, they took it in turns to
follow their leader where danger was thickest. It was a privilege
eagerly sought, deserved by all, and accorded to those who were most
highly trusted. It was invariably followed by a period of rest in happy
England, with wife, friends, joy and luxury. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, Lord
Anthony Dewhurst and my lord Hastings had been of the expedition which
brought Mme. de Serval with her three children and Bertrand Moncrif
safely to England, after adventures more perilous, more reckless of
danger, than most. Within a few hours they would be free to forget in
the embrace of clinging arms every peril and every adventure save the
eternal one of love, free to forswear everything outside that, save
their veneration for their chief and their loyalty to his cause.