TIME AND PLACE
In a matter like that French invasion, which had been threatened for
such a time, and kept so long impending, “the cry of wolf” grows stale
at last, and then the real danger comes. Napoleon had reckoned upon
this, as he always did upon everything, and for that good reason he had
not grudged the time devoted to his home affairs. These being settled
according to his will, and mob turned into pomp as gaily as grub turns
into butterfly, a strong desire for a little more glory arose in his
mighty but ill-regulated mind. If he could only conquer England, or even
without that fetch her down on her knees and make her lick her own dust
off the feet of Frenchmen, from that day forth all the nations of the
earth must bow down before him. Russia, Prussia, Austria, Spain, though
they might have had the power, never would have plucked the spirit up,
to resist him hand in hand, any more than skittle-pins can back one
another up against the well-aimed ball.
The balance of to-be or not-to-be, as concerned our country (which many
now despise, as the mother of such disloyal children), after all that
long suspension, hung in the clouds of that great year; and a very
cloudy year it was, and thick with storms on land and sea. Storm was
what the Frenchmen longed for, to disperse the British ships; though
storm made many an Englishman, pulling up the counterpane as the window
rattled, thank the Father of the weather for keeping the enemy ashore
and in a fright. But the greatest peril of all would be in the case of
fog succeeding storm, when the mighty flotilla might sweep across before
our ships could resume blockade, or even a frigate intercept.
One of the strangest points in all this period of wonders, to us who
after the event are wise, is that even far-sighted Nelson and his
watchful colleagues seem to have had no inkling of the enemy's main
project. Nelson believed Napoleon to be especially intent on Egypt;
Collingwood expected a sudden dash on Ireland; others were sure that
his object was Jamaica; and many maintained that he would step ashore
in India. And these last came nearest to the mark upon the whole, for a
great historian (who declares, like Caryl Carne, that a French invasion
is a blessing to any country) shows that, for at least a month in the
spring of 1805, his hero was revolving a mighty scheme for robbing poor
England of blissful ravage, and transferring it to India.
However, the master of the world--as he was called already, and meant
soon to be--suddenly returned to his earlier design, and fixed the vast
power of his mind upon it. He pushed with new vigour his preparations,
which had been slackened awhile, he added 30,000 well-trained soldiers
to his force already so enormous, and he breathed the quick spirit
of enterprise into the mighty mass he moved. Then, to clear off all
obstacles, and ensure clear speed of passage, he sent sharp orders to
his Admirals to elude and delude the British fleets, and resolved to
enhance that delusion by his own brief absence from the scene.
Meanwhile a man of no importance to the world, and of very moderate
ambition, was passing a pleasant time in a quiet spot, content to
be scarcely a spectator even of the drama in rehearsal around him.
Scudamore still abode with M. Jalais, and had won his hearty friendship,
as well as the warm good-will of that important personage Madame Fropot.
Neither of these could believe at first that any Englishman was kind
and gentle, playful in manner, and light-hearted, easily pleased, and
therefore truly pleasing. But as soon as they saw the poor wounded ox
brought home by a ford, and settled happily in the orchard, and received
him as a free gift from their guest, national prejudices dwindled very
fast, and domestic good feeling grew faster. M. Jalais, although a sound
Frenchman, hated the Empire and all that led up to it; and as for
Madame Fropot, her choicest piece of cookery might turn into cinders,
if anybody mentioned conscription in her presence. For she had lost
her only son, the entire hope of her old days, as well as her only
daughter's lover, in that lottery of murder.
Nine out of ten of the people in the village were of the same way of
thinking. A great army cannot be quartered anywhere, even for a week,
without scattering brands of ill-will all around it. The swagger of the
troops, their warlike airs, and loud contempt of the undrilled swain,
the dash of a coin on the counter when they deign to pay for anything,
the insolent wink at every modest girl, and the coarse joke running
along apish mouths--even before dark crime begins, native antipathy is
sown and thrives. And now for nearly four years this coast had never
been free from the arrogant strut, the clanking spur, and the loud
guffaw, which in every age and every clime have been considered the
stamp of valour by plough-boys at the paps of Bellona. So weary was the
neighbourhood of this race, new conscripts always keeping up the pest,
that even the good M. Jalais longed to hear that the armament lay at
the bottom of the Channel. And Scudamore would have been followed by the
good wishes of every house in the village, if he had lifted his hat and
said, “Good-bye, my dear friends; I am breaking my parole.”
For this, though encouraged by the popular voice, he was not
sufficiently liberal, but stayed within bounds of space and time more
carefully than if he had been watched. Captain Desportes, who had been
in every way a true friend to him, came to see him now and then, being
now in command of a division of the prames, and naturally anxious for
the signal to unmoor. Much discourse was held, without brag on either
side, but with equal certainty on both sides of success. And in one of
these talks the Englishman in the simplest manner told the Frenchman all
that he had seen on Christmas Eve, and his own suspicions about it.
“Understand this well,” continued Scudamore; “if I discover any
treachery on the part of my own countrymen, I shall not be able to stop
here on the terms that have been allowed me. Whatever the plan may be,
I shall feel as if I were a party to it, if I accepted my free range
and swallowed my suspicions. With your proceedings I do not meddle,
according to fair compact, and the liberal conditions offered. But to
see my own countrymen playing my country false is more than I could
stand. You know more of such things than I do. But if you were an
Englishman, could you endure to stand by and hide treachery, for the
sake of your own comfort?”
“Beyond a doubt, no,” Captain Desportes answered, spreading his hand
with decision: “in such a case I should throw up my parole. But a mere
suspicion does not justify an act so ungracious to the commander, and
personally so unkind to me. I hoped that bright eyes might persuade you
to forego hard knocks, and wear none but gentle chains among us. Nature
intended you for a Frenchman. You have the gay heart, and the easy
manner, and the grand philosophy of our great nation. Your name is
Blyth, and I know what that intends.”
Scudamore blushed, for he knew that Madame Fropot was doing her best to
commit him with a lovely young lady not far off, who had felt a tender
interest in the cheerful English captive. But after trying to express
once more the deep gratitude he felt towards those who had been so
wonderfully kind and friendly, he asked with a smile, and a little sigh
behind it, what he must do, if compelled by duty to resign his present
privileges.
“My faith! I scarcely know,” replied Desportes; “I have never had such
a case before. But I think you must give me a written notice, signed by
yourself and by M. Jalais, and allow a week to pass, and then, unless
you have heard from me, present yourself to the commandant of the
nearest post, which must be, I suppose, at Etaples. Rather a rough man
he is; and I fear you will have reason for regret. The duty will then
remain with him. But I beg you, my dear friend, to continue as you are.
Tush, it is nothing but some smuggler's work.”
Scudamore hoped that he might be right, and for some little time was not
disturbed by any appearance to the contrary. But early in the afternoon
one day, when the month of March was near its close, he left his books
for a little fresh air, and strolled into the orchard, where his friend
the ox was dwelling. This worthy animal, endowed with a virtue denied to
none except the human race, approached him lovingly, and begged to draw
attention to the gratifying difference betwixt wounds and scars. He
offered his broad brow to the hand, and his charitable ears to be
tickled, and breathed a quick issue of good feeling and fine feeding,
from the sensitive tucks of his nostrils, as a large-hearted smoker
makes the air go up with gratitude.
But as a burnt child dreads the fire, the seriously perforated animal
kept one eye vigilant of the northern aspect, and the other studious
of the south. And the gentle Scuddy (who was finding all things happy,
which is the only way to make them so) was startled by a sharp jerk of
his dear friend's head. Following the clue of gaze, there he saw, coming
up the river with a rollicking self-trust, a craft uncommonly like that
craft which had mounted every sort of rig and flag, and carried every
kind of crew, in his many dreams about her. This made him run back to
his room at once, not only in fear of being seen upon the bank, but also
that he might command a better view, with the help of his landlord's old
spy-glass.
Using this, which he had cleaned from the dust of ages, he could clearly
see the faces of the men on board. Of these there were six, of whom five
at least were Englishmen, or of English breed. As the pilot-boat drew
nearer, and the sunlight fell upon her, to his great surprise he became
convinced that the young man at the tiller was Dan Tugwell, the son
of the captain of Springhaven. Four of the others were unknown to him,
though he fancied that he had seen two of them before, but could not
remember when or where. But he watched with special interest the tall
man lounging against the little door of the cuddy in the bows, whose
profile only was presented to him. Then the boat canted round towards
the entrance of the creek, and having his glass upon the full face of
the man, he recognised him as Caryl Carne, whom he had met more than
once at Springhaven.
His darkest suspicions were at once redoubled, and a gush of latent
jealousy was added to them. In happier days, when he was near his
lady-love, some whispers had reached him about this fellow, whose
countenance had always been repulsive to him, arrogant, moody, and
mysterious. His good mother also, though most careful not to harass
him, had mentioned that Carne in her latest letter, and by no means in
a manner to remove his old misgivings. As a matter now of duty to his
country and himself, the young sailor resolved to discover, at any risk,
what traitorous scheme had brought this dark man over here.
To escape the long circuit by the upper bridge, he had obtained leave,
through M. Jalais, to use an old boat which was kept in a bend of the
river about a mile above the house. And now, after seeing that English
boat make for the creek where she had been berthed on Christmas Eve, he
begged Madame Fropot to tell his host not to be uneasy about him, and
taking no weapon but a ground-ash stick, set forth to play spy upon
traitors. As surely as one foot came after the other, he knew that every
step was towards his grave, if he made a mistake, or even met bad luck;
but he twirled his light stick in his broad brown hand, and gently
invaded the French trees around with an old English song of the days
when still an Englishman could compose a song. But this made him think
of that old-fashioned place Springhaven; and sadness fell upon him, that
the son of its captain should be a traitor.
Instead of pulling across the river, to avoid the splash of oars he
sculled with a single oar astern, not standing up and wallowing in the
boat, but sitting and cutting the figure of 8 with less noise than a
skater makes. The tide being just at slack-water, this gave him quite
as much way as he wanted, and he steered into a little bight of the
southern bank, and made fast to a stump, and looked about; for he durst
not approach the creek until the light should fade and the men have
stowed tackle and begun to feed. The vale of the stream afforded shelter
to a very decent company of trees, which could not have put up with the
tyranny of the west wind upon the bare brow of the coast. Most of these
trees stood back a little from the margin of high tide, reluctant to see
themselves in the water, for fear of the fate of Narcissus. But where
that clandestine boat had glided into gloom and greyness, a fosse of
Nature's digging, deeply lined with wood and thicket, offered snug
harbourage to craft and fraud.
Scudamore had taken care to learn the ups and downs of the riverside ere
this, and knew them now as well as a native, for he had paid many visits
to the wounded ox, whom he could not lead home quite as soon as he had
hoped, and he had found a firm place of the little river, easy to cross
when the tide was out. With the help of this knowledge he made his way
to the creek, without much risk of being observed, and then, as he came
to the crest of the thicket, he lay down and watched the interlopers.
There was the boat, now imbedded in the mud, for the little creek was
nearly dry by this time. Her crew had all landed, and kindled a fire,
over which hung a kettle full of something good, which they seemed to
regard with tender interest; while upon a grassy slope some few yards to
the right a trooper's horse was tethered. Carne was not with them, but
had crossed the creek, as the marks of his boots in the mud declared;
and creeping some little way along the thicket, Scudamore descried
him walking to and fro impatiently in a little hollow place, where the
sailors could not see him. This was on Scudamore's side of the creek,
and scarcely fifty yards below him. “He is waiting for an interview
with somebody,” thought Scuddy: “if I could only get down to that little
shanty, perhaps I should hear some fine treason. The wind is the right
way to bring me every word he says.”
Keeping in shelter when the traitor walked towards him, and stealing on
silently when his back was turned, the young sailor managed to ensconce
himself unseen in the rough little wattle shed made by his own hands for
the shelter of his patient, when a snow-storm had visited the valley of
the Canche last winter. Nothing could be better fitted for his present
purpose, inasmuch as his lurking-place could scarcely be descried from
below, being sheltered by two large trees and a screen of drooping
ivy, betwixt and below which it looked no more than a casual meeting
of bushes; while on the other hand the open space beneath it was curved
like a human ear, to catch the voice and forward it.
While Scudamore was waiting here and keenly watching everything, the
light began to falter, and the latest gleam of sunset trembled with the
breath of Spring among the buds and catkins. But the tall man continued
his long, firm stride, as if the watch in his pocket were the only thing
worth heeding. Until, as the shadows lost their lines and flowed into
the general depth, Carne sprang forward, and a horse and rider burst
into the silence of the grass and moss and trees.
Carne made a low obeisance, retired a little, and stood hat in hand,
until it should please the other man to speak. And Scudamore saw, with a
start of surprise, that the other man was Napoleon.
This great man appeared, to the mild English eyes that were watching
him so intently, of a very different mood and visage from those of their
last view of him. Then the face, which combined the beauty of Athens
with the strength of Rome, was calm, and gentle, and even sweet, with
the rare indulgence of a kindly turn. But now, though not disturbed with
wrath, nor troubled by disappointment, that face (which had helped to
make his fortune, more than any woman's had ever done for her) was cast,
even if the mould could be the same, in a very different metal. Stern
force and triumphant vigour shone in every lineament, and the hard
bright eyes were intent with purpose that would have no denial.
Refusing Carne's aid, he remained on his horse, and stroked his mane for
a moment, for he loved any creature that served him well, and was tender
of heart when he could afford it; which added to his power with mankind.
“Are all your men well out of earshot?” he asked; and receiving
assurance from Carne, went on. “Now you will be satisfied at length. You
have long been impatient. It is useless to deny it. All is arranged, and
all comes to a head within three months, and perhaps within two. Only
four men will know it besides yourself, and three of those four are
commanders of my fleet. A short time will be occupied in misleading
those British ships that beleaguer us; then we concentrate ours, and
command the Channel; if only for three days, that will be enough. I
depart for Italy in three days or in four, to increase the security of
the enemy. But I shall return, without a word to any one, and as fast
as horses can lay belly to the ground, when I hear that our ships have
broken out. I shall command the invasion, and it will be for England to
find a man to set against me.”
“England will have difficulty, sire, in doing that,” Carne answered,
with a grim smile, for he shared the contempt of English Generals then
prevalent. “If the Continent cannot do it, how can the poor England?
Once let your Majesty land, and all is over. But what are your Majesty's
orders for me? And where do you propose to make the landing?”
“Never ask more than one question at a time,” Napoleon answered, with
his usual curtness; “my orders to you are to return at once. Prepare
your supplies for a moment's notice. Through private influence of
some fair lady, you have command of the despatches of that officer at
Springport, who has the control of the naval forces there. Ha! what
was that? I heard a sound up yonder. Hasten up, and see if there is any
listener. It seemed to be there, where the wood grows thick.”
Blyth Scudamore, forgetful of himself, had moved, and a dry stick
cracked beneath his foot. Carne, at the Emperor's glance and signal,
sprang up the bank, with the help of some bushes, drew his sword and
passed it between the wattles, then parted them and rushed through, but
saw no sign of any one. For Scuddy had slipped away, as lightly as a
shadow, and keeping in a mossy trough, had gained another shelter. Here
he was obliged to slink in the smallest possible compass, kneeling
upon both knees, and shrugging in both shoulders. Peering very sharply
through an intertwist of suckers (for his shelter was a stool of hazel,
thrown up to repair the loss of stem), he perceived that the Emperor had
moved his horse a little when Carne rejoined and reassured him. And this
prevented Scudamore from being half so certain as he would have liked to
be, about further particulars of this fine arrangement.
“No,” was the next thing he heard Napoleon say whose power of saying
“no” had made his “yes” invincible; “no, it is not to be done like that.
You will await your instructions, and not move until you receive them
from my own hand. Make no attempt to surprise anybody or anything, until
I have ten thousand men ashore. Ten thousand will in six hours attain to
fifty thousand, if the shore proves to be as you describe; so great is
the merit of flat-bottomed boats. Your duty will be to leave the right
surprise to us, and create a false one among the enemy. This you must do
in the distance of the West, as if my Brest fleet were ravaging there,
and perhaps destroying Plymouth. You are sure that you can command the
signals for this?”
“Sire, I know everything as if I sat among it. I can do as I please with
the fair secretary; and her father is an ancient fool.”
“Then success is more easy than I wish to have it, because it will not
make good esteem. If Nelson comes at all, he will be too late, as he
generally is too early. London will be in our hands by the middle of
July at the latest, probably much earlier, and then Captain Carne shall
name his own reward. Meanwhile forget not any word of what I said. Make
the passage no more. You will not be wanted here. Your services are far
more important where you are. You may risk the brave Charron, but not
yourself. Send over by the 20th of May a letter to me, under care of
Decres, to be opened by no hand but mine, upon my return from Italy, and
let the messengers wait for my reply. Among them must be the young man
who knows the coast, and we will detain him for pilot. My reply will fix
the exact date of our landing, and then you will despatch, through the
means at your command, any English force that might oppose our landing,
to the West, where we shall create a false alarm. Is all this clear to
you? You are not stupid. The great point is to do all at the right time,
having consideration of the weather.”
“All is clear, and shall be carried out clearly, to the best of your
Majesty's humble servant's power.”
Napoleon offered his beautiful white hand, which Carne raised to his
lips, and then the Emperor was gone. Carne returned slowly to the
boat, with triumph written prematurely on his dark stern face; while
Scudamore's brisk and ruddy features were drawn out to a wholly unwonted
length, as he quietly made his way out of the covert.