ORDEAL OF AUDIT
England saw the growing danger, and prepared, with an even mind and
well-girt body, to confront it. As yet stood up no other country to help
or even comfort her, so cowed was all the Continent by the lash, and
spur of an upstart. Alone, encumbered with the pack of Ireland, pinched
with hunger and dearth of victuals, and cramped with the colic of
Whiggery, she set her strong shoulder to the wheel of fortune, and so
kept it till the hill was behind her. Some nations (which owe their
existence to her) have forgotten these things conveniently; an
Englishman hates to speak of them, through his unjust abhorrence of
self-praise; and so does a Frenchman, by virtue of motives equally
respectable.
But now the especial danger lay in the special strength of England.
Scarcely any man along the coast, who had ever come across a Frenchman,
could be led (by quotations from history or even from newspapers) to
believe that there was any sense in this menace of his to come and
conquer us. Even if he landed, which was not likely--for none of them
could box the compass--the only thing he took would be a jolly good
thrashing, and a few pills of lead for his garlic. This lofty contempt
on the part of the seafaring men had been enhanced by Nelson, and throve
with stoutest vigour in the enlightened breasts of Springhaven.
Yet military men thought otherwise, and so did the owners of crops and
ricks, and so did the dealers in bacon and eggs and crockery, and even
hardware. Mr. Cheeseman, for instance, who left nothing unsold that he
could turn a penny by, was anything but easy in his mind, and dreamed
such dreams as he could not impart to his wife--on account of her
tendency to hysterics--but told with much power to his daughter Polly,
now the recognised belle of Springhaven. This vigilant grocer and
butterman, tea, coffee, tobacco, and snuffman, hosier also, and general
provider for the outer as well as the inner man, had much of that
enterprise in his nature which the country believes to come from London.
His possession of this was ascribed by all persons of a thoughtful turn
to his ownership of that well-built schooner the London Trader. Sailing
as she did, when the weather was fine, nearly every other week, for
London, and returning with equal frequency, to the women who had never
been ten miles from home she was a mystery and a watchword. Not one of
them would allow lad of hers to join this romantic galleon, and tempt
the black cloud of the distance; neither did Mr. Cheeseman yearn (for
reasons of his own about city prices) to navigate this good ship with
natives. Moreover, it was absurd, as he said, with a keen sense of his
own cheapness, to suppose that he could find the funds to buy and ply
such a ship as that!
Truth is a fugitive creature, even when she deigns to be visible, or
even to exist. The truth of Mr. Cheeseman's statement had existed, but
was long since flown. Such was his worth that he could now afford to buy
the London Trader three times over, and pay ready money every time. But
when he first invested hard cash in her--against the solid tears of his
prudent wife--true enough it was that he could only scrape together one
quarter of the sum required. Mrs. Cheeseman, who was then in a condition
of absorbing interest with Polly, made it her last request in this
world--for she never expected to get over it--that Jemmy should not
run in debt on a goose-chase, and fetch her poor spirit from its grave
again. James Cheeseman was compelled--as the noblest man may be--to
dissemble and even deny his intentions until the blessed period of
caudle-cup, when, the weather being pleasant and the wind along the
shore, he found himself encouraged to put up the window gently. The
tide was coming in with a long seesaw, and upon it, like the baby in the
cradle full of sleep, lay rocking another little stranger, or rather a
very big one, to the lady's conception.
Let bygones be bygones. There were some reproaches; but the weaker
vessel, Mrs. Cheeseman, at last struck flag, without sinking, as she
threatened to do. And when little Polly went for her first airing, the
London Trader had accomplished her first voyage, and was sailing in
triumphantly with a box of “tops and bottoms” from the ancient firm in
Threadneedle Street, which has saved so many infants from the power that
cuts the thread. After that, everything went as it should go, including
this addition to the commercial strength of Britain, which the lady was
enabled soon to talk of as “our ship,” and to cite when any question
rose of the latest London fashion. But even now, when a score of years,
save one, had made their score and gone, Mrs. Cheeseman only guessed and
doubted as to the purchase of her ship. James Cheeseman knew the value
of his own counsel, and so kept it; and was patted on both shoulders by
the world, while he patted his own butter.
He wore an apron of the purest white, with shoulder-straps of linen
tape, and upon his counter he had a desk, with a carved oak rail in
front of it and returned at either end. The joy of his life was here to
stand, with goodly shirt sleeves shining, his bright cheeks also shining
in the sun, unless it were hot enough to hurt his goods. He was not a
great man, but a good one--in the opinion of all who owed him nothing,
and even in his own estimate, though he owed so much to himself. It was
enough to make any one who possessed a shilling hungry to see him so
clean, so ready, and ruddy among the many good things which his looks
and manner, as well as his words, commended. And as soon as he began
to smack his rosy lips, which nature had fitted up on purpose, over a
rasher, or a cut of gammon, or a keg of best Aylesbury, or a fine red
herring, no customer having a penny in his pocket might struggle hard
enough to keep it there. For the half-hearted policy of fingering
one's money, and asking a price theoretically, would recoil upon the
constitution of the strongest man, unless he could detach from all
cooperation the congenial researches of his eyes and nose. When the
weather was cool and the air full of appetite, and a fine smack of salt
from the sea was sparkling on the margin of the plate of expectation,
there was Mr. Cheeseman, with a knife and fork, amid a presence of
hungrifying goods that beat the weak efforts of imagination. Hams of
the first rank and highest education, springs of pork sweeter than the
purest spring of poetry, pats of butter fragrant as the most delicious
flattery, chicks with breast too ample to require to be broken, and
sometimes prawns from round the headland, fresh enough to saw one
another's heads off, but for being boiled already.
Memory fails to record one-tenth of all the good things gathered there.
And why? Because hope was the power aroused, and how seldom can memory
endorse it! Even in the case of Mr. Cheeseman's wares there were people
who said, after making short work with them, that short weight had
enabled them to do so. And every one living in the village was surprised
to find his own scales require balancing again every time he sent his
little girl to Cheeseman's.
This upright tradesman was attending to his business one cold day in
May, 1803, soon after Nelson sailed from Portsmouth, and he stood with
his beloved pounds of farm-house butter, bladders of lard, and new-laid
eggs, and squares of cream-cheese behind him, with a broad butter-spathe
of white wood in his hand, a long goose-pen tucked over his left ear,
and the great copper scales hanging handy. So strict was his style,
though he was not above a joke, that only his own hands might serve
forth an ounce of best butter to the public. And whenever this was
weighed, and the beam adjusted handsomely to the satisfaction of the
purchaser, down went the butter to be packed upon a shelf uninvaded by
the public eye. Persons too scantily endowed with the greatest of all
Christian virtues had the hardihood to say that Mr. Cheeseman here
indulged in a process of high art discovered by himself. Discoursing
of the weather, or the crops, or perhaps the war, and mourning the
dishonesty of statesmen nowadays, by dexterous undersweep of keen steel
blade, from the bottom of the round, or pat, or roll, he would have away
a thin slice, and with that motion jerk it into the barrel which he kept
beneath his desk.
“Is this, then, the establishment of the illustrious Mr. Cheeseman?”
The time was yet early, and the gentleman who put this question was in
riding dress. The worthy tradesman looked at him, and the rosy hue upon
his cheeks was marbled with a paler tint.
“This is the shop of the 'umble James Cheeseman,” he answered, but not
with the alacrity of business. “All things good that are in season, and
nothing kept unseasonable. With what can I have the honor of serving
you, sir?”
“With a little talk.” The stranger's manner was not unpleasantly
contemptuous, but lofty, and such as the English shopman loves, and
calls “aristocratic.”
“To talk with a gentleman is a pleasure as well as an honour,” said
Cheeseman.
“But not in this public establishment.” The visitor waved both hands as
he spoke, in a style not then common with Englishmen--though they are
learning eloquent gesticulation now. “It is fine, Mr. Cheeseman; but it
is not--bah, I forget your English words.”
“It is fine, sir, as you are good enough to observe”--the humble James
Cheeseman was proud of his shop--“but not, as you remarked, altogether
private. That can hardly be expected, where business is conducted to
suit universal requirements. Polly, my dear, if your mother can spare
you, come and take my place at the desk a few minutes. I have business
inside with this gentleman. You may sell almost anything, except butter.
If any one wants that, they must wait till I come back.”
A very pretty damsel, with a cap of foreign lace both adorning and
adorned by her beautiful bright hair, came shyly from a little door
behind the counter, receiving with a quick blush the stranger's earnest
gaze, and returning with a curtsey the courteous flourish of his
looped-up riding-hat. “What a handsome gentleman!” said Polly to
herself; “but there is something very sad and very wild in his
appearance.” Her father's conclusion was the same, and his heart misgave
him as he led in this unexpected guest.
“There is no cause for apologies. This place is a very good one,”
the stranger replied, laying down his heavy whip on the table of a
stone-floored room, to which he had been shown. “You are a man of
business, and I am come upon dry business. You can conjecture--is it not
so?--who I am by this time, although I am told that I do not bear any
strong resemblance to my father.”
He took off his hat as he spoke, shook back his long black hair, and
fixed his jet-black eyes upon Cheeseman. That upright dealer had not
recovered his usual self-possession yet, but managed to look up--for he
was shorter by a head than his visitor--with a doubtful and enquiring
smile.
“I am Caryl Carne, of Carne Castle, as you are pleased to call it. I
have not been in England these many years; from the death of my father I
have been afar; and now, for causes of my own, I am returned, with hope
of collecting the fragments of the property of my ancestors. It appears
to have been their custom to scatter, but not gather up again. My
intention is to make a sheaf of the relics spread by squanderers, and
snapped up by scoundrels.”
“To be sure, to be sure,” cried the general dealer; “this is vastly to
your credit, sir, and I wish you all success, sir, and so will all who
have so long respected your ancient and honourable family, sir. Take a
chair, sir--please to take a chair.”
“I find very little to my credit,” Mr. Carne said, dryly, as he took the
offered chair, but kept his eyes still upon Cheeseman's; “but among that
little is a bond from you, given nearly twenty years agone, and of which
you will retain, no doubt, a vivid recollection.”
“A bond, sir--a bond!” exclaimed the other, with his bright eyes
twinkling, as in some business enterprise. “I never signed a bond in all
my life, sir. Why, a bond requires sureties, and nobody ever went surety
for me.”
“Bond may not be the proper legal term. It is possible. I know nothing
of the English law. But a document it is, under hand and seal, and your
signature is witnessed, Mr. Cheeseman.”
“Ah well! Let me consider. I begin to remember something. But my memory
is not as it used to be, and twenty years makes a great hole in it. Will
you kindly allow me to see this paper, if you have it with you, sir?”
“It is not a paper; it is written upon parchment, and I have not brought
it with me. But I have written down the intention of it, and it is as
follows:
“'This indenture made between James Cheeseman (with a long description),
of the one part, and Montagu Carne (treated likewise), of the other
part, after a long account of some arrangement made between them,
witnesseth that in consideration of the sum of 300 pounds well and truly
paid by the said Montagu Carne to Cheeseman, he, the said Cheeseman,
doth assign, transfer, set over, and so on, to the said Carne, etc., one
equal undivided moiety and one half part of the other moiety of and in a
certain vessel, ship, trading-craft, and so forth, known or thenceforth
to be known as the London Trader, of Springhaven, in the county of
Sussex, by way of security for the interest at the rate of five per
cent. per annum, payable half-yearly, as well as for the principal sum
of 300 pounds, so advanced as aforesaid.'”
“If it should prove, sir, that money is owing,” Mr. Cheeseman said, with
that exalted candour which made a weak customer condemn his own eyes and
nose, “no effort on my part shall be wanting, bad as the times are,
to procure it and discharge it. In every commercial transaction I
have found, and my experience is now considerable, that confidence, as
between man and man, is the only true footing to go upon. And how can
true confidence exist, unless--”
“Unless a man shows some honesty. And a man who keeps books such as
these,” pursued the visitor, suggesting a small kick to a pile of
ledgers, “can hardly help knowing whether he owes a large sum or whether
he has paid it. But that is not the only question now. In continuation
of that document I find a condition, a clause provisional, that it
shall be at the option of the aforesaid Montagu Carne, and his
representatives, either to receive the interest at the rate before
mentioned and thereby secured, or, if he or they should so prefer, to
take for their own benefit absolutely three-fourths of the net profits,
proceeds, or other increment realised by the trading ventures, or other
employment from time to time, of the said London Trader. Also there is a
covenant for the insurance of the said vessel, and a power of sale, and
some other provisions about access to trading books, etc., with which
you have, no doubt, a good acquaintance, Mr. Cheeseman.”
That enterprising merchant, importer of commodities, and wholesale and
retail dealer was fond of assuring his numerous friends that “nothing
ever came amiss to him.” But some of them now would have doubted about
this if they had watched his face as carefully as Caryl Carne was
watching it. Mr. Cheeseman could look a hundred people in the face, and
with great vigour too, when a small account was running. But the
sad, contemptuous, and piercing gaze--as if he were hardly worth
penetrating--and the twirl of the black tuft above the lip, and the firm
conviction on the broad white forehead that it was confronting a rogue
too common and shallow to be worth frowning at--all these, and the facts
that were under them, came amiss to the true James Cheeseman.
“I scarcely see how to take this,” he said, being clever enough to
suppose that a dash of candour might sweeten the embroilment. “I will
not deny that I was under obligation to your highly respected
father, who was greatly beloved for his good-will to his neighbours.
'Cheeseman,' he used to say, 'I will stand by you. You are the only man
of enterprise in these here parts. Whatever you do is for the good of
Springhaven, which belonged to my family for centuries before those
new-fangled Darlings came. And, Cheeseman, you may trust to the honour
of the Carnes not to grind down a poor man who has his way to make.'
Them were his words, sir; how well I recollect them!”
“Too well almost,” replied the young man, coldly, “considering how
scanty was your memory just now. But it may save time, and painful
efforts of your memory, if I tell you at once that I am not concerned in
any way with the sentiments of my father. I owe him very little, as you
must be well aware; and the matter betwixt you and me is strictly one
of business. The position in which I am left is such that I must press
every legal claim to the extremest. And having the option under this
good document, I have determined to insist upon three-quarters of the
clear proceeds of this trading-ship, from the date of the purchase until
the present day, as well as the capital sum invested on this security.”
“Very well, sir, if you do, there is only one course left me--to go into
the Court of Bankruptcy, see all my little stock in trade sold up, and
start in life again at the age of fifty-seven, with a curse upon all old
families.”
“Your curse, my good friend, will not add sixpence to your credit. And
the heat you exhibit is not well adapted for calculations commercial.
There is one other course which I am able to propose, though I will not
give a promise yet to do so--a course which would relieve me from taking
possession of this noble ship which has made your fortune, and perhaps
from enforcing the strict examination of your trading-books, to which I
am entitled. But before I propose any such concession, which will be
a grand abdication of rights, one or two things become necessary.
For example, I must have some acquaintance with your character, some
certitude that you can keep your own counsel, and not divulge everything
that arrives within your knowledge; also that you have some courage,
some freedom of mind from small insular sentiments, some desire to
promote the true interests of mankind, and the destruction of national
prejudices.”
“Certainly, sir; all of those I can approve of. They are very glorious
things,” cried Cheeseman--a man of fine liberal vein, whenever two
half-crowns were as good as a crown. “We are cramped and trampled and
down-trodden by the airs big people give themselves, and the longing of
such of us as thinks is to speak our minds about it. Upon that point
of freedom, sir, I can heartily go with you, and every stick upon my
premises is well insured.”
“Including, I hope, the London Trader, according to your covenant. And
that reminds me of another question--is it well-found, well-manned, and
a good rapid ship to make the voyage? No falsehood, if you please, about
this matter.”
“She is the fastest sailer on the English coast, built at Dunkirk, and
as sound as a bell. She could show her taffrail, in light weather, to
any British cruiser in the Channel. She could run a fine cargo of French
cognac and foreign laces any day.”
“It is not my desire,” Caryl Carne replied, “to cheat the British
Revenue. For that purpose exist already plenty of British tradesmen. For
the present I impress upon you one thing only, that you shall observe
silence, a sacred silence, regarding this conversation. For your own
sake you will be inclined to do so, and that is the only sake a man pays
much attention to. But how much for your own sake you are obliged to
keep your counsel, you will very soon find out if you betray it.”