DE HOOGE’S SPRUIT
In Italy Joy Ogilvie learned to the full, consciously and
unconsciously, all the lessons which a younger civilisation can learn
from an elder. To the sympathetic there are lessons in everything;
every spot that a stranger foot has pressed has something to teach.
Especially to one coming from the rush of strenuous life, which is the
note of America, the old-world calm and luxury of repose have lessons
in toleration which can hardly be otherwise acquired. In the great
battle of life we do not match ourselves against individuals but
against nations and epochs; and when it is finally borne in on us that
others, fashioned as we ourselves and with the same strength and
ambitions and limitations, have lived and died and left no individual
mark through the gathering centuries, we can, without sacrifice of
personal pride, be content to humbly take each his place.
The month spent at and round Naples had been a never-ending dream of
delight; and this period of quiescence told on her naturally sensuous
nature. Already she had accepted the idea of a man worthy of love; and
the time went to the strengthening of the image. There was a subtle
satisfactoriness in the received idea; the wealth of her nature had
found a market--of a kind. That is to say: she was satisfied to
export, and that was the end of her thoughts--for the present.
Importation might come later,
“The mind’s Rialto hath its merchandise.”
None of the family ever alluded to Lord Athlyne in the presence of her
father. Each in her own way knew that he would not like the idea; and
so the secret--it had by this very reticence grown to be a secret by
now--was kept.
On the voyage back to New York Joy’s interest in Lord Athlyne became
revived by the surroundings. They had not been able to secure cabins
in the _Cryptic_; and so had come by the Hamburg-American Line from
Southampton. By this time Aunt Judy’s interest in the matter had begun
to wane. To her it had been chiefly a jest, with just that spice of
earnest which came from the effect which she supposed the episode
would have on Joy’s life. As Joy did not ever allude to the matter she
had almost ceased to remember it.
It was Joy’s duty--she thought of it as her privilege--to make her
father’s morning cocktail which he always took before breakfast. One
morning it was brought by Judy. Colonel Ogilvie thanking her asked why
he had the privilege of her ministration. Unthinkingly she answered:
“Oh it’s all right. The Countess made it herself, but she asked me to
take it to you as she is feeling the rolling of the ship and wants to
keep in bed.”
“The who?” asked the Colonel his brows wrinkled in wonder. “What
Countess? I did not know we had one on board.”
“Lady Athlyne of course. Oh!” she had suddenly recollected herself. As
she saw she was in for an explanation she faced the situation boldly
and went on:
“That is the name you know, that we call Joy.”
“The name you call Joy--the Countess! Lady Athlyne! What on earth do
you mean, Judy? I don’t understand.” In a laughing, offhand way, full
of false merriment she tried to explain, her brother-in-law listening
the while with increasing gravity. When she had done he said quietly:
“Is this one of your jokes, Judy; or did this Countess make two
cocktails?” He stopped and then added: “Forgive me I should not have
said that. But is it a joke, dear?”
“Not a bit!” she answered spiritedly. “That is, this particular
occasion is not a joke. It is the whole thing that is that.”
“A joke to take … Is there a real man of the name of the Earl of
Athlyne?”
“I believe so,” she said this faintly; she had an idea of what was
coming.
“Then Judith I should like some rational explanation of how you come
to couple my daughter’s name in such a way with that of a strange man.
It is not seemly to say the least of it. Does my daughter allow this
to be done?”
“Oh Colonel, it is only a joke amongst ourselves. I hope you won’t
make too much of it.”
“Too much of it! I couldn’t make enough of it! If the damned fellow
was here I’d shoot him!”
“But, my God, the man doesn’t know anything about it; no more than you
did a minute ago.” Miss Judith was really alarmed; she knew the
Colonel. He waved his hand as though dismissing her from the argument:
“Don’t worry yourself, my dear: this is a matter amongst men. We know
how to deal with such things!” He said no more on the subject, but
talked during breakfast as usual. When he rose to go on deck Judy
followed him timidly. When they were away from the few already on deck
she touched him on the arm.
“Give me just a minute?” she entreated.
“A score if you like, my dear!” he answered heartily as he led her to
a seat in a sheltered corner behind the saloon skylight, and sat
beside her. “What is it?”
“Lucius you have always been very good to me. All these years that I
have lived in your house as your very sister you never had a word for
me that wasn’t kind …” He interrupted her, laying his hand on hers
which was on the arm of her deck chair:
“Why else, my dear Judy! You and I have always been the best of
friends. And my dear you have never brought anything but sunshine and
sweetness into the house. Your merriment has kept care away from us
whenever he tried to show his nose … Why my dear what is it? There!
You mustn’t cry!” As he spoke he had taken out a folded silk
pocket-handkerchief and was very tenderly wiping her eyes. Judy went
on sobbing a little at moments:
“I have always tried to make happiness, and I have never troubled you
with asking favours, have I?”
“No need to ask, Judy. All I have is yours just as it is Sally’s or
Joy’s.” Suddenly she smiled, her eyes still gleaming with recent
tears:
“I am asking a favour now--by way of a change. Lucius on my
_honour_--and I know no greater oath with you than that--this has been
a perfectly harmless piece of fun. It arose from a remark of that nice
Irish stewardess on the _Cryptic_ that no one was good enough to marry
Joy except one man: the young nobleman whom she had nursed. And she
really came to believe that it would come off. She says she has some
sort of foreknowledge of things.” The Colonel smiled:
“Granted all this, my dear; what is it you want me to do?”
“To do nothing!” she answered quickly. Then she went with some
hesitation:
“Lucius you are so determined when you take up an idea, and I know you
are not pleased with this little joke. You are mixing it up with
honour--the honour that you fight about; and if you go on, it may
cause pain to us all. We are only a pack of women, after all, and you
mustn’t be hard on us.”
“Judy, my dear, I am never hard on a woman, am I?”
“No! Indeed you’re not,” she avowed heartily. “You’re the very
incarnation of sweetness, and gentleness, and tenderness, and chivalry
with them … But then you take it out of the men that cross you!”
“That’s as a gentleman should be, I take it” he said reflectively,
unconsciously stroking his white moustache. Then he said briskly:
“Now Judy seriously tell me what you wish me to do or not to do. I
must have _some_ kind of clue to your wishes, you know.” As she was
silent for the moment he went on gravely. “I think I understand, my
dear. Be quite content, I take it all for a joke and a joke between us
it shall remain. But I must speak to Joy about it. There are some
things which if used as subjects for jokes lead to misunderstandings.
Be quite easy in your mind. You know I love my daughter too well to
give her a moment’s pain that I can spare her. Thank you Judy for
speaking to me. I might have misunderstood and gone perhaps too far.
But you know how sensitive--‘touchy’ Joy calls it--about my name and
my family I am; and I hope you will always bear that in mind. And
besides my dear, there is the other gentleman to be considered. He
too, may have a word to say. As he is a nobleman he ought to be
additionally scrupulous about any misuse of his name; and of course I
should have to resent any implication made by him against any member
of my family!”
“Good Lord!” said Judy to herself, as he stood up and left her with
his usual courtly bow. “What a family to deal with. This poor little
joke is as apt to end in bloodshed as not. The Colonel is on the
war-path already; I can see that by his stateliness!”
Colonel Ogilvie thought over the matter for a whole day before he
spoke to Joy; he was always very grave and serious regarding subjects
involving honour and duty.
Joy knew that he had something on his mind from his abstraction, and
rather kept out of his way. This was not on her own account for she
had no idea that she was involved in the matter, but simply because it
was her habit to sympathise with him and to think of and for him. She
was just a little surprised when the next afternoon he said to her as
they stood together at the back of the wheel-house over the screw, the
quietest place on the ship for a talk:
“Joy dear, I want you to listen to me a minute.”
“Yes, Daddy!”
“About that joke you had on the _Cryptic_.”
“Yes, Daddy.” She was blushing furiously; she understood now.
“My dear, I don’t object to your having any little harmless romance of
that kind. I don’t suppose it would make any difference if I did. A
young girl will have her dreaming quite independent of her old daddy.
Isn’t it so, little girl?”
“I suppose so, dear Daddy, since you say it.” She nestled up close to
him comfortably as she spoke: this was nicer talk than she expected.
“But there is one thing that you must be careful about: There must be
no names!”
“How do you mean, Daddy?”
“I gather that there has been a joke amongst some of you as to calling
you the Countess or Lady Athlyne, or some of that kind of foolishness.
My dear child, that is not right. You are not the Countess, nor Lady
Athlyne, nor Lady anything. A name my dear when it is an honourable
one is a very precious possession. A woman must cherish the name she
does possess as a part of her honour.”
“I am proud of my name, Father, very, very proud of it; and I always
shall be!” She had drawn herself upright and had something of her
father’s splendid personal pride. The very use of the word ‘Father’
instead of ‘Daddy’ showed that she was conscious of formality.
“Quite right, little girl. That is your name now; and will in a way
always be. But you may marry you know; and then your husband’s name
will be your name, and you will on your side be the guardian of his
honour. We must never trifle with a name, dear. Those people who go
under an alias are to my mind the worst of criminals.”
“Isn’t that rather strong, Daddy, when murder and burglary and theft
and wife-beating and cheating at cards are about!” She felt that she
was through the narrow place now and could go back to her raillery.
But her father was quite grave. He walked up and down a few paces as
though arranging his thoughts and words. When he spoke he did so
carefully and deliberately:
“Not so, little girl. These, however bad they may be, are individual
offences and are punished by law. But a false name--even in jest, my
dear--is an offence against society generally, and hurts and offends
every one. And in addition it is every one of the sins you have named;
and all the others in the calendar as well.”
“How on earth do you make out that, Daddy?”
“Take them in order as you mentioned them. Murder, burglary, theft,
wife-beating, cheating at cards! What is murder? Killing without
justification! Does not one who approaches another in false guise kill
something? The murderer takes the life; the other kills what is often
more than life: self respect, belief in human nature, faith. One only
kills the body; but the other kills the soul. Burglary and theft are
the same offence differently expressed; theft is the meaner crime that
is all. Well, disguise is the thief’s method. Sometimes he relies on
absence of others, sometimes on darkness, sometimes on a mask,
sometimes on the appearance or identity of some one else. But he never
deals with the normal condition of things; pretence of some kind must
always be his aid. The man, therefore, who relies on pretence, when he
knows that the truth would be his undoing, is a thief.”
“Daddy you argue as well as a Philadelphia lawyer!”
“I don’t believe much in lawyers!” said the old man dryly. “As to
wife-beating!”
“I’m afraid you’ve struck a snag there, Daddy! There isn’t much
pretence about that crime, anyhow!”
“Not at all, my dear. That comes within the category of murder. The
man who descends to that abominable crime would kill the woman if he
dared. He is a coward as well as a murderer, and should be killed like
a mad dog!”
“Bravo! Daddy. I wish there was a man like you to deal with them in
every county. But how about cheating at cards. _That’s_ a poser, I
think!”
“No trouble about that, Joy. It _is_ cheating at cards.”
“How do you argue that out, Daddy?”
“Any game of cards is a game of honour. So many cards, so much skill
in playing them according to the recognised rules of the game; and,
over all, a general belief in the honour of all the players. I have
seen a man shot across a handkerchief--in honourable duel, my
dear--for hesitating markedly at poker when he stood pat on a ‘full
house.’ That was pretence, and against the laws of honour; and he paid
for it with his life.” Joy wrinkled her brows; “I see it’s quite
wrong, father, but I don’t quite see how it fits into the argument,”
she said.
“That is simple enough, daughter. As I say, it is a pretence. Don’t
you see that after all a game of cards is a simple thing compared with
the social life of which it is only an occasional episode. If a
man,--or a woman either, Joy--misleads another it must be with some
intention to deceive. And in that deception, and by means of it, there
is some gain--something he or she desires and couldn’t otherwise get.
Isn’t that plain enough!”
“All right, Father; I quite see. I understand now what you mean. I did
not ever look at things in quite that way. Thank you very much, dear,
for warning me so kindly too. I’ll stop the joke, and not allow it to
go on--so far as I can stop it.”
“How do you mean? Does anyone else know it?”
“I may have written to one or two girls at home, Daddy. You know girls
are always fond of such foolishness.”
“Had you not better write to them and tell them not to mention it.”
“Good Gracious! Why you dear, old goose of a Daddy it is evident you
don’t know girls. That would be the very way to make things buzz. Oh
no! we’ll simply drop it; and they’ll soon forget it. I may have to
tell them something else, though, to draw them away from it.”
“Hm!” said her father. She looked at him with a sly archness:
“I suppose, Daddy, it wouldn’t do to have it that an Italian Grand
Duke proposed for me--to you of course!”
“Certainly not, Miss Impudence! I’m not to be drawn into any of your
foolish girls’ chatter. There, run away and let me smoke in peace!”
She turned away, but came back.
“Am I forgiven, Daddy?”
“Forgiven! Lord bless the child, why there’s nothing to forgive. I
only caution. I know well that my little girl is clear grit, straight
through; and I trust her as I do myself. Why Joy, darling” he put his
arm affectionately round her shoulder “you are my little girl! The
only one I have or ever shall have; and so, God willing, you shall be
to me to the end.”
“Thank you dear, dear Daddy. And I pray so too. I shall always be your
little girl to you and shall come to you to cheer you or to be
comforted myself. Mother has of late taken to treating me like a
grown-up which she always keeps firing off at me so that I don’t know
whether I am myself or not. But whatever I am to anyone else, I never
shall be anything to you but your ‘little girl!’”
And that compact was sealed then and there with a kiss.
Nine months later whilst Colonel Ogilvie was in the library of his own
house, “Air” in Airlville, Joy came in and closed the door carefully;
she came close and whispered:
“Am I still your little girl, Daddy?”
“Always my dear! always!”
“Then you don’t mind having a secret with me?”
“_Mind_ my dear! I love it. What is it you want to tell me?” She took
a folded newspaper from her pocket and handed it to him, saying:
“I came across this in the New York _Tribune_. Read it!” Colonel
Ogilvie turned it over with a rueful look as he said:
“The whole of it!”
“Oh Daddy, don’t be tiresome; of course not.” Her father’s face
brightened:
“Then you read what you want me to know. Your eyes are better than
mine!” Joy at once began to read:
“From our own Correspondent, Capetown. Some details of the lamentable
occurrence at de Hooge’s Spruit which was heliographed from the front
yesterday have now come to hand. It appears that a battery of field
artillery was ordered to proceed from Bloomgroot to Neswick escorted
by a Squadron of mixed troops taken from the Scottish Horse and the
Mounted Yeoman. When they had begun to cross the river, which here
runs so rapidly that great care has to be observed lest the horses
should be swept away, a terrific fusillade from an entrenched force of
overwhelming numbers was opened on them. Colonel Seawright who
commanded ordered a retreat until the disposition of the enemy could
be ascertained. But before the manœuvre could be effected the British
force was half wiped out. Accurate fire had been concentrated on the
artillery horses, and as the guns were all on the river bank ready for
the crossing it was impossible to rescue them. Gallant efforts were
made by the gunners and the cavalry escort, but in the face of the
hail of bullets the only result was a terrible addition to the list of
killed and wounded. Seeing that the ground was partly clear, a number
of Boers crept out of cover and tried to reach the guns. At this our
troops made another gallant effort and the Boers disappeared. Still it
was almost hopeless to try to save the guns. One only of the battery
was saved and this by as gallant an effort on the part of one young
officer as has been as yet recorded in the war. Captain Lord Athlyne”
Here Joy looked up for an instant and saw a frown suddenly darken her
father’s brow--“who was tentatively in command of a yeomanry troop
took a great coil of rope one end of which was held by some of his
men. When he was ready he rode for the guns at a racing pace, loosing
the rope as he went. It was a miracle that he came through the
terrific fire aimed at him by the Boer sharp-shooters. Having gained
the last gun, behind which there was a momentary shelter, he attached
the end of the rope. Then mounting again he swept like a hurricane
across the zone of fire. There was a wild cheer from the British, and
a number of horsemen began to ride out whilst the firing ran along the
front of the waiting line. But the instant the rope was attached the
men began to pull and the gun actually raced along the open space. In
the middle of his ride home the gallant Irishman’s cap was knocked off
by a bullet. He reined up his charger, dismounted and picked up the
cap _and dusted it_ with his handkerchief before again mounting.
Despite their wounds and the chagrin of defeat the whole force cheered
him as he swept into the lines.
“Daddy I call that something like a man! Don’t you?” Her colour was
high and her eyes were blazing. She looked happy when her father
echoed her enthusiasm:
“I do! daughter. That was the action of a gallant gentleman!” There
was a silence of perhaps half a minute. Then Colonel Ogilvie spoke:
“But why, my dear, did you tell this to _me_?”
“I had to tell some one, Daddy. It is too splendid to enjoy all one’s
self; and I was afraid if I told Mother she might not
understand--she’s only a woman you know, and might put a wrong
construction on my telling her, and so worry herself about me. And I
didn’t dare to tell Aunt Judy, for she’s so chock full of romance that
she would have simply gone crazy and chaffed me out of all reason.
There is no holding back Aunt Judy when she is chasing after a
romance! And besides, Daddy dear” here she took his arm and looked up
in his face “I wanted you to know that Lord Athlyne is a gentleman.”
Her father frowned:
“Why should I know--or care?”
“Not on your own part Daddy--but--but only because I want you to. It
is hard to explain, but I think you took a prejudice against him from
the first; and you see it makes it less awkward to be coupled with a
man’s name, when the name and the man are good ones.” The Colonel’s
frown was this time one of puzzlement.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand. You never saw the man. Why should you
dislike less to be coupled with him because he did a brave thing?
Besides, the whole thing is mere nonsense.”
“Of course it is, Daddy. All nonsense. But it is better to be good
nonsense than bad nonsense!”
“Look here daughter--my little girl--I’m afraid you have got or may
get too fond of thinking of that fellow. Take care!”
“Oh, that’s all right, Daddy. He is only an abstraction to me. But
somehow he interests me. Don’t you be worrying about me. I promise you
solemnly that I will tell you everything I hear about him. Then you
can gauge my feelings, and keep tab of my folly.”
“All right; little girl! There can’t be anything very dangerous when
you tell your father all about it.”
It was three months before Joy mentioned the name of Lord Athlyne
again to her father. One morning she came to him as he sat smoking in
the garden at Air. Her eyes were glistening, and she walked slowly and
dejectedly. In her hand she held a copy of the New York _Tribune_. She
held it out, pointing with her finger to a passage.
“Read it for me, little girl!” In answer she said with a break in her
voice:
“You read it, Daddy. Don’t make me. It hurts me; and I should only
break down. It is only a dream I know; but it is a sad dream and is
over all too soon!” Colonel Ogilvie read the passage which was an
account of the fighting at Durk River in which numbers of the British
were carried away by the rapid stream, the hale and those wounded by
the terrible fire of the Boers alike. The list of the missing was
headed by a name he knew.
“Major the Earl of Athlyne, of the Irish Hussars.”
The old gentleman rose up as stiff as at the salute and raised his hat
reverently as he said:
“A very gallant gentleman. My heart is with you, my little girl! A
dream it may have been; but a sad ending to any dream!”
A week after Joy sought her father again, in the garden. This time her
step was buoyant, her face radiant, and her eyes bright. The moment
her father saw he felt that it had something to do with what he called
in his own mind “that infernal fellow.” When she was close to him she
said in a low voice that thrilled:
“He is not dead, Daddy! He was wounded and carried down the river and
was captured by the Boers and taken up to Pretoria. They have put him
in the Birdcage. Beasts! It’s all here in the _Tribune_.”
Colonel Ogilvie was distinctly annoyed. When he could look on Lord
Athlyne as dead he could admire his bravery, and even tolerate the
existence that had been. But this chopping and changing--this being
dead and coming to life again--was disturbing. What sort of fellow was
he that couldn’t make up his mind on any subject? Couldn’t he remain
dead like a gentleman? He had died like one; wasn’t that enough! Joy
saw that he was not pleased. She was too glad for the moment to take
her father’s attitude to heart; but every instinct in her told her not
to remain. So she laid the paper on his knee and said quietly:
“I’ll leave it with you, Daddy. You can read it yourself; it’s worth
reading. You are glad, I know, because your little girl is glad that
there is one more brave man in the world.”
Just as she was going her father called her back. When she was close
he said in a kindly manner but with great gravity:
“No more mentioning names now, little girl!” She put her finger to her
lip as registering a vow of secrecy. Then she blew a kiss at him and
tripped away.