THE DUEL.
Tom Elliot was a very bad sample of the cavalier party. Trained in
camps, he had learned betimes to seek his happiness in wine, dice, loose
speech, and morals to match. As in France, the successors of the Sullys
and Du Plessis Mornays had become the coxcombs of the Fronde, and the
grandson of Bras-de-Fer was known as Bras-de-Laine, so the character and
conduct of men like Hyde, Ormonde, and Falkland furnished no example to
such as Villiers and Wilmot, whose only ideal of imitation was
scurrilous mimicry. Where the elder cavaliers had been proud to serve
their king, the rising generation was content if it could amuse him; and
with that Charles was satisfied.
Thus Elliot had learned that for such an escapade as his last he might
easily obtain forgiveness. It was not that Charles was, even in youth, a
sincere or warm friend. His easy good nature had its root in
self-indulgence. Clarendon, who knew him and his family _intus et in
cute_, has pointed this out in one of his best character sentences.
"They were too much inclined to love men at first sight," so writes the
faithful servant of the Stuarts. "They did not love the conversation of
men of more years than themselves. They did not love to deny, ... not
out of bounty or generosity, which was a flower that did never grow
naturally in the heart of either family--that of Stuart or the other of
Bourbon--and when they prevailed with themselves to make some pause
rather than to deny, importunity removed all resolution." [_Continuation
of Life_, p. 339, fol. ed.]
And there were not wanting particular reasons to dispose Charles to
favour and forgiveness in this instance. Though Elliot had concealed the
fact at Maufant, he was in fact a married man. His wife was the daughter
of the Mrs. Wyndham who had been the king's nurse. To this family
connection he owed his first introduction to the royal household, which
had been constantly improved by his lawless and pushing nature. A
contemporary remarked of Elliot that "he was not one who would receive
any injury from his modesty." The late king's grave and virtuous mind
had been greatly alienated by these things, and he had once dismissed
him from his family. The passionate youth had recovered his position
owing to the Wyndham influence, but he came back with illwill in his
heart. The memory of the royal martyr inspired him with scant reverence,
nor did he feel either respect or compassion for the queen-mother. From
these sentiments, however, one advantage flowed. Elliot was bitterly
opposed to Jermyn and the French interest, and made use of his
opportunities about the king's person to strengthen him in a like
opposition. So it came to pass that, after sulking an hour, the facile
master not only pardoned the petulant servant, but promoted him to be a
groom of the bedchamber; and the return was made in an increased
persistence in efforts on Elliot's part to amuse the king and flatter
all his propensities, whether political or personal.
The "Indian summer," or _été de S. Martin_, was at its height in Jersey,
when Carteret, obtaining Charles's ready acquiescence, resolved on
ordering a general review of the militia. Soon after daybreak on the
30th October the population began streaming in from all parishes, under
the mild splendour of a cloudless heaven. The scene was on the sands of
S. Aubin's Bay, between the Mont Patibulaire and Millbrook. On the right
wing stood two squadrons of mounted infantry, with their standards
displayed in the morning breeze. On the left were the parish batteries,
with their guns, caissons, and tumbrils. In the centre were the Cornish
body guard and the militia infantry in battalion six deep, while the
reserve and recruits brought up the rear. All but the last-named carried
matches for their firearms, which were loaded with blank cartridge. The
supports carried pikes. The drums beat, the colours flew, as Charles and
his staff, surrounded by an escort of the mounted infantry, emerging
from the south gate of the castle, rode along the low-water causeway.
Mme. de Maufant and her sister, mounted on sober but well-bred nags, and
accompanied by some of their farm hands in gala costume, occupied a
foremost place among the spectators. But the appearance of the castle
_cortège_ threatened their comfort, if not their safety. For the public
excitement grew from moment to moment, "and those behind cried forward!
and those before cried back!" The younger and more excitable especially,
spurred by the fine weather and the novel spectacle, pressed eagerly to
the front, mixed with mothers of scrofulous children, desirous of
gaining for them the healing virtue of the royal touch. The king's
horse, short of work, and participating in the general excitement,
reared and curvetted in the crowd, but was reined in by his skillful
rider.
Charles was in his purple velvet, with no token of a military purpose.
But on his left rode a gigantic guardsman in full panoply, while Elliot
came on the right (but with his horse half a length behind) in gorgeous
array, though more for show than for service. In his silver helmet
fluttered a lissom ostrich plume, his shining cuirass was damascened
with gold, which metal also glittered on the hilt of his sword. The tops
of his buff boots and gauntlets were fringed with costly Brussels point.
As they approached the crushed and alarmed ladies, a militia officer
rushing to their aid from his place between the guns and the nearest
company of foot, came into involuntary contact with the glistening groom
of the chamber. The lace of the later's boot caught in the steel
shoulder piece of the infantry officer, and was torn. Irritated and
excited Elliot brought down his hand upon the unconscious offender, and
dealt him a heavy blow on the side of the face. At this sight--with
nerves already overstrung--Marguerite became unable to control her
usually placid steed; and Alain le Gallais--for he was the militia
officer--was diverted from his instinctive but imprudent impulse of
immediate retaliation, by seeing the young lady slip from her saddle
into his arms.
The little incident was over in an instant, and the king passed on, but
not without taking it all in with the observation natural to him.
"A comely wench, Tom!" he said to his companion, "and one that seemeth
to know thee. But it seems that others gather what thou fellest."
"Faith, sir," answered Elliot, smilingly, "I have given him his wage
beforehand. It is well that he should do my work."
There was no time for longer or plainer speech. The guns began a royal
salute, their muzzles fortunately directed towards the sea--for many of
the pieces had been charged for ball practice. This somewhat dangerous
demonstration was followed by a dropping fire of blank cartridge from
the matchlocks of the foot, and then by general acclamations of "Vive le
Roi" from all ranks. Then Philip de Carteret, Seigneur of S. Ouen, being
called to the front, received the congratulations of the king on the
appearance of the forces, in which, under the lieutenant-governor, his
uncle, he held the chief command. He was then bidden to kneel, touched
with the royal sword, and told to "Rise, Sir Philip de Carteret." The
eighteen stand of colours were displayed on the outer sides of the
columns. Again the drums beat, the trumpets blew, and with the same
state as that in which he had arrived, the king was escorted back to the
castle.
As soon as Charles and his followers had been relieved of their full
dress they renewed the conversation in which they had been interrupted
on the sands, Elliot first endeavouring to improve the occasion into an
argument against the king's remaining in Jersey.
"That malapert bumpkin will be no friend either to me or to your
majesty," he said. "At himself I snap my fingers. But it seems to me
there are some two thousand of them who cry 'Vive le Roi' for half a
pistole, but would cry 'Vivent nous autres' for nothing. If the French
land here they will turn against you at once. If the Parliament prevail
they will submit, willy nilly. And your majesty may feel no ailment, yet
have to be attended by the surgeon who cured your father."
"Whither should I go hence?" asked the other. "The news of Ireland is
hardly such as to give colour to Ormonde's invitation."
"I have told you what to do, sir, but got small thanks for my pains.
Think on it well. Now, by your leave I must attend to affairs of my own.
May I find you in a wiser mood when I return!"
"Farewell, then, Tom," said Charles. "But beware of poaching on a Jersey
manor!"
"There are no game laws here, or if there be the keeper is away." With
these words Elliot retired with a careless bow, and the king waved his
hand gaily as he disappeared.
The forward young man bent his way, as often before, in the direction of
Maufant. On entering the garden he saw the lady of the manor--a rose
among the roses, as Malherbe might have said. The moment she perceived
Elliot she stood sternly, and with dilated eye before the entry of the
house, as if to bar the way, the united blazon of her husband's
ancestors and her own appearing above her head like a crest of battle.
"Why so stern, fair lady?" demanded the courtier, saluting her, "And why
alone?"
"My sister is not here," said Mme. de Maufant, answering but the second
of Elliot's questions. "She has spoken with you for the last time, Mr.
Elliot. I hope that I too have the same advantage. You should go home,
Monsieur, to your wife."
Elliot started, but quickly recovering himself, said, with an insolent
smile, "Always thinking of marriage, these dear creatures. Ah, ah!
madame, sits the wind in that quarter? You thought the poor Scots
gentleman might be caught by the rosy cheeks of a Jersey farm girl. _Pas
si bête_."
Rose pointed to the garden archway. "If you do not relieve me of your
presence this very instant," she said, pale and panting, "my farm
labourers shall drive you out with cudgels."
"It shall not need, madame, to pay me this last attention, so worthy of
your habits. 'Au revoir, madame!'" And with a profound and mocking
reverence the wanton cavalier slowly retreated, leaving Rose to sink,
half fainting, into a stone seat by the house door.
Elliot strode off, smarting with the sting of his well-merited
humiliation. A brief moment of reflection was enough to show its
probable origin. It was evident that the secret of his marriage had
found its way to the manor, where the court he had been paying to
Marguerite had consequently ceased to be regarded as a harmless
gallantry, and come to be taken for insult, as indeed it deserved. Nor
was it difficult to go on to guess the channel of this information. Le
Gallais was Marguerite's acknowledged lover, the person who would
benefit by the removal of a fascinating dog like Elliot--a formidable
rival, as he flattered himself such as he must be to a bumpkin officer
of militia. How Le Gallais could have learned the fact of his having a
wife in France might be a harder question, but it was one that was not
material. Revenge would be equally sweet, whether that were answered or
not.
Full of these thoughts the groom of the chamber stalked on to S. Helier.
On reaching the quay, he came to "The White Ship"--a tavern frequented
alike by the officers of the garrison and by those of the island
militia. The parlour was full of men, some in uniform, some in plain
clothes, smoking, drinking, playing cards--a scene of Teniers. One of
the first faces on which his eye fell was that of Le Gallais, who sprang
from his chair on Elliot's entrance, but was restrained by his
neighbours, and sat down watching the intruder's movements with glaring
eye. Striding up to the hearth, and standing with his back to it, the
cavalier broke into a forced laugh.
"Strange company you keep, gentlemen. I spy one among you whom you had
better put forth without delay."
"Whom mean you?" asked the patch-wearing Querto. "'May I not take mine
ease in mine inn?' as the fat fellow says in the play. May not a plain
soldier choose his own company?"
"A soldier is a gentleman, and should keep company with gentlemen,"
answered the flushed youth. "Mr. Le Gallais is no mate for cavaliers. I
say to his face that he is a cropeared rebel, a busybody, and a
pestilent knave."
"I appeal to you, Major Querto," said Le Gallais, roused from his
temporary pause, and turning to the major, whom indeed he had brought to
the place, and for whose refreshment he was providing.
"Appeal me no appeals," said the Major, with a truculent look. "No man
shall appeal to Dick Querto till he is purged of such epitaphs."
Confusion reigned. Le Gallais looked about him for a friendly face, and
presently saw sympathy on that of a fellow-countryman and brother
officer.
"Captain Bisson," he said, "you will speak to Mr. Elliot's friend."
Elliot flung out of the house, followed by Querto and two or three
Royalist officers, Le Gallais, and Bisson in the rear. They walked
towards the beach, and on their arriving at the foot of the Gallows
Hill--near where the picquet-house now stands--an Irish officer came
from Elliot's group and met Bisson, hat in hand.
"Are the gentlemen to fight now?" he asked.
"The sooner the better," answered Bisson.
"Will it be a _pas de deux_, or will we all join the dance?"
"Surely, a combat of two," gravely replied the islander. "We do not
understand Paris fashions here. With you and me, sir, there need be no
quarrel."
"Sure, and we could have an elegant fight without quarrelling," muttered
the Irishman, with a disappointed frown. "But 'anything for a quiet
life' is my motto. This is a mighty fine place, I'm thinking, where two
brave fellows can cut each other's throats in peace and without
disturbance." Major Querto stood by with the air of an indispensable
umpire.
The _escrime_ of those days had not attained its later refinements. The
combatants were placed opposite to each other, each flinging a cloak
about his left arm, to serve as a shield, and they prepared to encounter
in what would seem a fashion of "rough-and-tumble" to our modern
masters.
Both were brave men, and in the bloom of manhood. Elliot was the taller,
but Le Gallais, some seven or eight years older, far exceeded in
strength and weight. After scant ceremony the thrusting began. Feet
trampled, steel rang. A furious pass from the Jerseyman was with
difficulty caught in Elliot's cloak, and the sword for a moment
hampered. Before Le Gallais could extricate it, Elliot, with a savage
cry, ran in upon him, drawing back his elbow, so as to stab his
adversary with a shortened sword. A scuffle ensued, of which no
bystander could follow with his eye the full details, till the Scot's
sword was seen to turn upwards, and the point to pierce his own throat.
Each combatant fell backwards, Le Gallais bleeding from the left hand,
and Elliot spouting black gore from a severed artery.
At that instant cries name from the outside of the ring, "The guard!"
On which the spectators hastened to disperse, while the
Lieutenant-Governor rode up at the head of a mounted patrol. Elliot was
taken from the ground in a dying state, and Le Gallais arrested, and
ordered to Mont Orgueil, to await the arrival of the magistrate, who
should make the preliminary inquiry.
Left in that irksome durance, but with wound duly cared for, Alain had
abundant time to muse over the mistakes and misfortunes of the past.
After the inquiry he was necessarily committed for trial at the next
criminal session; and fell at first into a semi-mechanical existence.
But slowly the twin stars of memory and hope rose out of the dark, while
conscious integrity began to clear the moral æther. He tried in vain to
cherish remorse, but Elliot's treachery overbore the effort; slowly calm
returned.
It was true that the news of Elliot's fraud had been made known to the
ladies of Maufant by himself. But as he thought over the matter in the
solitude of his chilly cell, he could not see any reason to blame
himself on that account. Hearing from Querto--who was connected with the
family--that Elliot was unquestionably a married man, he had only done
his duty in warning Rose and her sister against the groom of the
chamber. He would not admit to himself that jealousy had influenced him
in so doing. As Lempriere's agent, as the old friend of the family, he
could not have done otherwise. All was over between him and Marguerite,
yet he could not forget that, by the wish of the young lady's friends,
if not by her own, he had once been her affianced husband. As for the
death of the courtier, it was not in itself a subject for much regret;
and, further, it had been wholly the consequence of the dead man's own
actions, from his deceit towards the ladies to his final ferocity and
foul play in an encounter of his own provoking.
While Alain Le Gallais thus sought comfort by the road of reason and of
conscience, his heart continued very sore. But on the morrow of his
commitment an event occurred which changed his cheer, and made his
prison for an instant more lovely than a palace. All the Jerseymen were
acquainted with each other, and the prison warder, though fully meaning
to keep his captive, did not by any means understand his duty to extend
to making such detention a punishment to a man whom he liked, and who
had not yet been condemned. So when Mme. de Maufant and her sister
presented themselves at the gate, seeking admission to Alain's cell, the
worthy jailor unhesitatingly showed them into his own parlour, and
fetched Alain to them, only taking the precaution of turning the door
key upon the outside as he left them alone with the priser, on the
understanding that they should call him from the window when they wished
to leave.
Pale as death, her lovely eyes ringed with dark shades, poor Marguerite
fell upon Alain's breast, without pretence of coyness.
"Alain, mon ami!" she cooed in her soft rich voice, "can you give me
your pardon?"
How far Alain believed this sudden revelation cannot certainly be told.
All that he felt able to do was to strain the girl to his heart and be
silent. Rose stood discreetly at the window; but finding that the lovers
had no more to say to each other, she by and by broke silence.
"We shall not leave you to suffer for us," she said. "Carteret is
without scruple and without mercy. As a friend of Michael's, he will
seek every loophole for your ruin. I have already seen the Advocate
Falle. He says that you will be tried for murder next week, and that if
Carteret presides you are no better than a dead man."
"To die for you and Marguerite is not so hard," said the young man, with
a smile.
"You shall do nothing of the sort," cried Rose, warmly, "listen to me.
The day is setting in for rain and storm. At five in the afternoon it
will be dark. Then one of us will come back with John Le Vesconte, of La
Rosière, who is your match in stature, and who will be admitted on
account of his being of kin to us. He will change clothes with you, and
will remain in your stead while you come out of prison in his. He is in
favour with Carteret, and will be quit for a fine, which I will gladly
pay."
As she stood, warm and bright with zeal, and intellect flushing in her
eye, Alain thought that, with all his troubles, her exiled lord was a
happy man. But he had to think of his own case. Placing the broken form
of Marguerite tenderly in a chair, he stood up and looked full in Rose's
face, his hands joined, almost in an attitude of prayer.
"Do not tempt me," he said, in a low, but determined voice. "I will not
put another in my place to save my life, nor even to please Michael
Lempriere's wife. Moreover, John Valpy, the jailor here--who is somewhat
of my family, too, for our fathers married cousins--has dealt tenderly
with me, and I will not do what would bring ruin upon him. Tempt me no
more," he repeated hastily, seeing Rose about to interrupt him. "My mind
is fully made up."
"But for her sake," pleaded Mme. de Maufant, eyeing the almost senseless
girl with yearning pity. "Think of her young life, bound up with yours."
"Alas!" answered he, "who knows what maidens mean? She has been excited
by all that has befallen, and will doubtless be sorry for me, and
remember me. But her life can never be bound but by herself. Briefly, I
will not be saved on the terms you offer. Existence for me is without
value, honour is not."
After this speech, delivered in a tone of conviction, Rose could say no
more. For her part, Marguerite was helpless. Her nerves had broken in
the excitement of the whole scene, and by the time that Alain had done
speaking, she was on the edge of a fit of violent hysterics. When her
sister had succeeded, by the aid of the jailor's wife, hastily summoned,
in restoring a little calm, Marguerite insisted upon being taken away.
Alain was left unshaken in his resolve, and Rose, weary of the
unsuccessful interview, removed her sister to their temporary lodgings
in the town. Leaving her there in the careful hands of the woman of the
place--an old acquaintance--she hurried off to Hill-street, where she
had another consultation with the Advocate Falle.
The result was soon apparent. To whatever motive Carteret may have
yielded, he did not preside at the trial of Le Gallais, leaving the
task--as indeed he usually did--to the Lieutenant-Bailiff. The record of
the trial has perished, along with many public papers of those troublous
times. But thus much we know, that Alain Le Gallais was tried before the
Lieutenant-Bailiff and six jurats, and, in spite of a strenuous defence
by Advocate Falle, was found guilty and sentenced to death.
It would be impossible to describe the anguish of the ladies of Maufant,
who had remained in town during these proceedings. Rose had already
spent in the conduct of the case money that she could ill afford. But
she knew that her husband would never forgive her if she neglected any
means of delivering their champion. Nor was she in any way disposed to
do so. Secret service money was laid out to the full extent of Mme. de
Maufant's powers of borrowing.
Meanwhile the political horizon grew darker day by day. Charles fretted
and yawned; but he continued to attend Divine service in the town
church. He also dined in public, "touched" for the king's evil, and
exercised such functions of royalty (as understood in that period of
transition) as the conditions of the place permitted. Just before the
end of the Stuart dynasty kingship in England was in much the same
condition among the English as it is now among the German nations. The
monarch was still regarded as the head of the feudal State, while a
number of the leading men were beginning to perceive more or less
clearly that society had passed out of a condition in which it could be
deeply or permanently swayed by the absolute will of one individual,
however highly placed by what one called the Divine pleasure, and
another the accident of birth. Among the personal prerogatives of the
Crown was the pardon of persons condemned to death.
On the morning of the day when Mr. Secretary Nicholas was ordered to
bring up the papers in the case of Rex _v._ Le Gallais, the
Lieutenant-Governor of the small territory to which Charles's sway was
for the present restricted had a long audience. The king had, in his
light way, lamented the loss of his petulant favourite. But Carteret
had, with less pains than he had looked for, succeeded in convincing the
facile and intelligent sovereign that for both the quarrel and its
result Tom Elliot had been alone answerable. Probability leads us to
suspect that Charles had his own reasons for the readiness with which he
accepted the governor's arguments. Among all the young king's heavy
faults, vindictiveness was not, at that time, in the faintest degree
traceable; but, besides that, he had learned, in the intercourse of the
last day or two before the fatal encounter, too much of Elliot's
nefarious designs upon Marguerite de St. Martin to suppose that he would
with decency punish the conduct of her defender. Nor need we wonder if a
bag of Rose Lempriere's pistoles lent weight, even to royal scruples.
"Odsfish, Sir George," he said, finally, "I believe that you must e'en
take the pardon of your choleric countryman."
"Your majesty is ever gracious," answered Carteret, with his best
quarter-deck reverence, "though under your pardon my countrymen are in
no respect to be taxed with ready choler. They are ever courteous and
patient. Only steadfast malice is what they cannot abide."
"I dare be bold to say that human nature hath its operation amongst
them," answered Charles, with his languid smile. "Give them what they
want and their temper is easy. But enough of this, Nicholas will draw
the pardon, and it shall be signed and sealed anon. But, further, take
order that there be no more duelling. And now, as touching another of
your prisoners, Major Querto?"
"The major was arrested among those present at the duel, in which it
hath been shown that he was not a participator," said Sir George; "but
letters have been found in his possession which hinder his release
without further inquiry."
"I can be the major's warrant," answered Charles. "He was a trooper in
Goring's horse, and rose by reason of his wife being chosen to nurse my
mother's last-born infant at Exeter. When her majesty retired into
France, Querto, raised to be a commissioned officer, remained in
Exeter. When that city was taken he followed his wife to France, from
whence he is now come, bringing letters from her majesty to me."
"By your leave, sir," answered Carteret, "your information lacks
completeness. Querto by no means repaired from Exeter to France. We have
searched his valise, and have taken therefrom a packet of papers, from
which it plainly appears that he is a false knave, who hath bubbled both
sides. There is among these papers a letter from Sir John Grenville, to
the effect that this fellow was to obtain money from the Parliament on a
false pretence of delivering Scilly into their hands. There is another
from Bulstrode Whitelock, in which the matter assumes a different and a
more heinous aspect. According to that paper, Querto had been to London,
and there undertaken, on the receipt of two thousand pounds, to aid in
the betrayal, not merely of Scilly, but of Jersey. He had taken handsell
of his price, and went to France, either to complete the bargain or else
to trade with Mazarin. I leave to your majesty to determine which."
The king moved uneasily in his chair. He shunned the governor's
searching eye, and affected to be watching a ship in the offing, of
which a view was commanded by his casement.
"That vessel appears to interest your majesty," said Carteret, "she
flies St. Andrew's Cross."
"I opine that it is the vessel of the Scots Commissioners," answered
Charles. "An it be so, we will receive them in council. Matters of great
moment may be awaiting their arrival. For the present, Sir George, I bid
you farewell."
It was now December. The "St. Martin's summer" of the Channel Islands
was almost over. The trees were losing their leaves. The last roses
lingered still only in sheltered nooks, rich as the Maufant garden. The
sky was, however, serene, and the sea calm, as the Scottish ship sailed
into the harbour. She had come over from Holland with a favouring wind,
bringing the Chief Commissioner of the Parliament and clergy of
Scotland, together with other gentlemen and officers, and an emissary
from the Duke of Lorraine. The result of their arrival demands another
chapter, for it seriously affected the fortunes of several persons
concerned in the events which our history relates. Our scene changes to
the ancient monastic chapel of the castle, in which the commissioners
were brought before the king in council.