AN OLD MAN MASTERFUL
Deventer and I came upon Rhoda Polly while we were getting our breath
after the rush upstairs. We were old friends, and Rhoda Polly did not
even put aside her rifle to greet us.
"Come from school without leave--run away--good!" she exclaimed. "Have
you made it all right with father?"
"Not yet--that is--the fact is---we thought you might as well come along
with us, Rhoda Polly."
"You think there will be a storm, Hugh?"
"Sure of it, but at least you can tell the Pater that Cawdor here is no
prodigal. He comes with his father's blessing and a whole pile of paper
money."
"Father is among his entrenchments on the roof," said the girl; "better
wait till he comes down. He is never quite himself when he is up there
and the wind is blowing. Now tell me what made you run away?"
"We are going to enlist among Garibaldi's volunteers, and fight for
France--at least that's what Cawdor says. But I mean to stay here till
all is safe for mother and you."
At this moment Rhoda Polly nudged us. There was a sound of heavy decided
footsteps grating on the steel ladder which led to the roof, then a
thump and the noise of feet stamping on the floor above us.
"He has been lying behind the chimney till he is stiff," whispered Rhoda
Polly. "Give him time to limber himself."
For a minute all was quiet along the Potomac, and then a mighty voice
was heard demanding "those two young rascals."
Deventer's smile was somewhat forced, and it might only have been the
moonlight, but he certainly looked both sick and white about the gills.
I was not greatly affected, but then I had not had his discipline. My
case and credit were clear. All the same, it was obvious that the Dennis
Deventer who captained his forces against the insurgents within the
walls of Chateau Schneider, and the seeker after knowledge who prowled
about my father's library or listened modestly to his interminable
expositions, were very different persons.
"Better not keep him waiting," said Rhoda Polly. "I will take you. He
has a room for himself fitted up on the third floor."
At the opening of the door we saw a long table covered with guns and
revolvers, each ready to the hand, while behind the centre ran a
continuous mountain range of ammunition in packets of gay-coloured
green, red, and yellow.
"What's all this, boys?" said Dennis Deventer gruffly, as soon as he
caught sight of us. "Now, you Rhoda Polly, hold your tongue! You are not
put up to tell their story. Come--out with it. What is it?"
He thrust his hands through his crisping mane of hair with quick,
nervous movements.
"Come, get it into word, Master Hugh Deventer. You were put to do your
duty at school. Why didn't you stay put?"
Hugh Deventer had a difficulty about articulation. He was bold and brave
really, besides being extraordinarily strong of body, but something in
the tones of his father's voice seemed to make all these qualities,
which I had seen proved so often, of no use to him. I looked at Rhoda
Polly, and, to my amazement, even she appeared a little anxious. I began
vaguely to understand the difference among parents, and to realise that
with a father of the calibre of the Old Man Masterful I might have
turned out a very different sort of son.
Finally Deventer managed to stammer out his account of the retreat of
the troops and the hoisting of the Red Flag.
"I knew that they would be besieging you," he said, "so I came. I could
not stop there doing mathematics, hearing the shots go off, and thinking
what might be happening to my mother and the girls!"
I could see in a moment that he had taken good ground with his father.
The strong muscular hands were laid flat on the table, with a loud clap
which made the pistols spring.
"You did pretty well in your examinations--they tell me?"
"Second--Cawdor was first. He coached me, or I should never have got
within smelling distance. As it was we halved the honours, and were
asked to dine with the _proviseur_ and professors when we got back."
"You look a perfect ox for strength. Let me see if you can lift this
table without disturbing anything."
Deventer smiled for the first time, and after trying about for a little
time so as to find the proper centre of gravity, he lifted the table,
guns, ammunition and all, holding them with flexible arm on the level of
his father's eyes. I think he was perfectly happy at that moment.
Old Dennis did not smile like his son. He only nodded, and said, "Yes,
you may be useful. Can you shoot?"
"Fairly," Deventer admitted, "but not so well as Cawdor; and you should
just see him send the Frenchmen's foils twirling to the roof of the
gymnasium. He has fought three duels, Pater, and won every time. Even
the Frenchmen could not deny it!"
"Gilt-edged nonsense--duelling," old Dennis broke out, "though your
grandfather was out a score of times in County Down in his day. But what
do you do when the Frenchmen challenge you?"
"Oh," cried Hugh gleefully, "I just chase them or their seconds till I
catch them, and then I spank them till they agree that honour is
satisfied. Generally by that time they are crying with rage, but that
does not matter. However, they mostly let me alone now."
"Well done, Hugh," said his father; "have something to eat, and then
come up and find me on the roof. We ought to have something lively to
amuse you before the morning. By the way, Cawdor, what does your father
say to all this?"
Deventer forestalled me, for he was anxious that I should say nothing
about the draught from the window or my father's sending me off.
"His father sent him along with his blessing, and eight hundred and
fifty francs."
"Well," rapped out the old man with the mane of grey hair, "you can keep
the blessing, but I will take care of the money for you."
And with that he held out his hand. Quite instinctively I gave it to
him, without thinking what I was doing. Then, the next moment, I
regretted the act and strove to undo it. I remembered muttering
something about fighting for France and joining the levies of Garibaldi,
when I should need all the money I could get.
But old Dennis calmly locked my banknotes away in his safe, and assured
me that I might 'list if I liked, but that it would be a downright
fool's trick to carry about so much money among a parcel of Italians. He
would send it on to me as I wanted it--twenty francs at a time. I could
pick it up as I went, either at a bank, or from a correspondent of the
Small Arms firm.
Once left to ourselves, Rhoda Polly seemed to think that we had come
rather well out of the scrape.
"But it was Cawdor being there that saved you," said Rhoda Polly.
"Father got so keen about Angus not spending his father's money, that he
forgot about you. Now, you have only to run straight and do as you are
bid----"
"Do you think I shall be able to go with Cawdor when this simmers down?
I want to wear the red blouse as much as he does."
"As to that I don't know," said Rhoda Polly. "I don't believe he took it
that you wanted to go soldiering as well. He means to put you into the
works--fair field--no favour--up at five in the morning, breakfast in a
tin can--that sort of thing--and as for Garibaldi's red jackets, he will
sell them guns, but I rather fancy he will keep his son at home."
"Well," said Deventer, "I shall be ready for the works all in good time,
but if Cawdor goes off with Garibaldi, I go. I could not stay behind.
Nor could even the Pater keep me. He would not chain me to a wall,
and----"
"At any rate," broke in the watchful Rhoda Polly, "here you are now, and
the better you please the commander-in-chief the better chance there
will be for you afterwards when the time comes. I shall do what I can
for you, Hugh."
"Thanks, old girl," said Deventer. "Where are Hannah and Liz?"
"Where should they be but in bed, where, of course, I ought to be also.
Only I have a dispensation to get what sleep I can in the daytime. I can
see in the dark better than anyone in the house. I saw them gathering
for the attack under the shadow of the pines on Thursday night, an hour
after the moon had gone down. The Pater said it was a near shave, and
spoke about my 'high-power vision' as if it were an attachment he had
had fitted before I was born."
The defence of the Chateau was undertaken by the entire English-speaking
colony of Aramon. The wives and children of the overseers and foremen
were lodged in the rooms looking on the inner quadrangle, but took their
meals in the great hall floored with many-coloured marbles. Their
husbands and the younger unmarried men looked in occasionally when they
could get off, ate what snacks stood handy on the sideboard and
disappeared.
It was their duty to keep a watch over the workshops of the Company, and
on the roof of the stables were half a dozen mitrailleuses ready to
sweep the open square which lay out flat as a billiard-board beneath the
windows of the Chateau Schneider, surrounded by workshops and
storehouses on every side.
But a far more dangerous task was the raid through the ateliers
themselves, which Dennis Deventer ordered to be made at irregular
intervals.
"The divils would be breaking up the Company's machinery if I did not
keep all their little plans in the back of my head. And that's none so
easy, young Cawdor, for mark me this, 'tis easy to keep track of what a
clever man will imagine to do. You have only to think what you would do
yourself in his place. But you never know where ignorant stupid fools
will break out, and that's the danger of it, Angus me lad!"
"But," I said, "they cannot all be such fools, for with my own eyes I
saw them send the regular soldiers to the rightabout."
"The regular soldiers--raw levies mostly, I tell you," burst out old
Dennis fiercely. "I should know, for I armed them man by man out of my
own gun-sheds and rifle-racks. And I tell ye that beyond a few
instruction sergeants from the artillery, there was divil a man among
them who could point a chassepot or lay a piece. Our noisy
revolutionaries simply frightened them out of the town, and if it had
not been for our little stock company here, the biggest manufacturing
arsenal in France would have been in their hands. Even as it is they
have found enough rifles to arm themselves, but so far we have saved the
mitrailleuses and the field artillery. The deputation which came from
Marseilles did not go away very much the richer."
"But what is it that they want, sir?" I asked.
Dennis Deventer looked at me straight between the eyes.
"They want what they ought to have, Angus me boy, and what they should
have, if I were not a servant of the Small Arms Company."
I was taken aback at his answer, though I had heard something like it
from my father. But in his case I had taken it for mere poetry or
philosophy, and so thought no more about it. But a man like Dennis
Deventer, who was fighting these very insurgents--why, I tell you it was
a curious thing to listen to, and made me wonder if I had heard aright.
The old man continued, his bold blue eyes looking straight over my
shoulder as if he saw something beyond me.
"You ask me why in that case I am fighting men who are in the right?
Right is right, and wrong is wrong, you say. But bide a moment, Master
Angus. I agree that these poor devils should have better wages, shorter
hours, and a chance to lead the lives of human beings. I agree that at
least half of the net profits we make ought to go to the men who made
every penny. The proportion would not be too large. I should be willing
that my own share should be cut down to help this along. But, also,
Angus me lad, I know that murder and arson are not the best way for men
to get their rights. General insurrection is still worse. They have
tried to kill me, who am their best friend. That is nothing. It belongs
to the business of manager. It is one of our risks. But they have also
tried to break the machinery and to set fire to the buildings. They
would burn Aramon if they could--they are so ill-advised. And what for?
Only to find themselves left stranded without work or wages.
"This is a flea-bite," he went on. "I defend the Chateau because of my
wife and daughters. But the business began when the men saw the masters
flaunting their riches, entertaining the Emperor and Empress at the cost
of millions on the very day when processes were being served from door
to door of the rows of cottages belonging to the Company. A man may burn
his hand or hurt his foot, but he must by no means get behind with his
rent. If we had not laid a dozen firebrands by the heels without
troubling the police, blood would have been shed in Aramon that day of
the Imperial reception."
Dennis Deventer had spoken with such determination and cold anger, that
it took me with a new surprise to see him spring like a boy up the steel
ladder on to the roof in answer to some call unheard by me.
Rhoda Polly followed, and Hugh and I did not stay behind. Rhoda Polly
gave us both a hand.
"Mind your feet," she whispered, "there are all sorts of things
scattered about."
I could hear the voice of Dennis Deventer somewhere in the darkness. The
stars were still keen and bright, though the morning of the Midi was
nigh to the breaking.
"Clear machine-guns three, four, and six," he ordered. "Train them on
the doors of the fitting-shed. There are lights over yonder I don't
like, and I can sniff the paraffin in the air!"
Deventer and I stood quite still with Rhoda Polly between us. Neither of
us knew what to do. We had received no word of command, and what we had
just heard had somehow dislocated our simple world of duty. We had
imagined all the right to be on one side, all the wrong on the other.
Now quite unexpectedly we saw the "tatter of scarlet" from a new angle.
Its colour heightened till it glowed like a ruby. After all it stood for
an idea--the ideal even which had brought us from school, and sent us on
our wild-goose chase for Garibaldi.
The weak were to be supported against the strong. Perhaps, after all,
those who had been long driven to the wall were at last to hold the
crown of the causeway.
Meanwhile, peering into the night we could see the dark masses of men
clustering about the street corners of Aramon. The stars were paling a
little when we saw them suddenly bunch together and run towards the long
tiled roofs of the fitting-sheds, filled with valuable new machinery.
Lanterns winked and tossed as they went, torches flamed high, and there
came to our ears a kind of smothered cheer.
"Are you there, Jack Jaikes?"
"Here, sir."
"Aim well in front of them, and let them have it as soon as they get
close to the buildings. The ricochet from the walls will scare them as
well as anything else."
There was no hesitation in the Old Man's fighting dispositions, whatever
he might think privately of the men's cause. He would protect his
master's property, and point out in the most practical way to the men
that they were going the wrong way about to get their wrongs redressed.
"B-r-r-r! B-r-r-r!" whirred and spluttered the mitrailleuses. These
first machine-guns made a curious noise like the explosion of many
sulphur matches held one after the other over a lamp chimney. The
effect, however, was wonderful. The black rush of men checked itself a
score of paces from the fitting-sheds. Several fell to the ground, with
a clatter of spilt petroleum cans, but the most turned tail and ran as
hard as possible for the shelter of the streets and the trees along the
boulevards.
One man only, very broad in the shoulders, bareheaded and belted with a
red sash, kept on. He was carrying a torch dipped with tar, and this he
thrust repeatedly under the doorway of the atelier.
"Give me Number 27, quick!" commanded Dennis Deventer. "I know who that
man is, and I am sorry, but he must be stopped."
Jack Jaikes placed the rifle in the old man's hand, and everybody held
their breaths. The lintel of the fitting-shed protected the fire-raiser
a little. We could see him thrusting with his torch till the sparks and
smoke almost enveloped him. Then he threw down the torch and ran heavily
back. He took hold of the first jar of petroleum which had been
abandoned in the flight, and was hastening back with it when Number 27
spoke. The man appeared to gather himself up. Then he made a spring
forwards, spilling the oil in a gush in the direction of the smouldering
torch.
But there came no answering burst of flame. The distance was too great.
Dennis watched a moment after reloading, then shook his head gloomily.
"He was a good workman too--yet that does not help a man when once the
maggot begins to gnaw underneath the brain pan."
The next day broke fresh and bright, with only that faint touch of
Camargue mist which the sun dissolves in his first quarter of an hour.
From the roof and northern balcony we could hear a curious thudding
sound in the direction of the moulding-works.
"The steam hammer," said Jack Jaikes; "pity we did not think to put her
out of gear."
When he came down the chief listened a moment with his better ear turned
towards the sound. Then he smiled ironically.
"They are trying to get a big field-gun ready for us. Luckily we have
sent off the last we had in store. But they can't do it. At least they
can't do it in time. There are good workmen and capital fitters among
them, but who is to do their calculations?"
"No matter," grumbled Jack Jaikes, half to himself, "they will go by
rule of thumb, and though their gun would not pass army tests, they will
make it big enough and strong enough to drive a solid shell in at one
side of this house and out at the other."
At that moment the girls came down for breakfast, and there was no more
talk about the insurgents, or the state of siege at Chateau Schneider.