IN EARLY MORN
One Saturday morning in the month of August, an hour and a half before
sunrise, Carne walked down to the big yew-tree, which stood far enough
from the brink of the cliff to escape the salt, and yet near enough
to command an extensive sea-view. This was the place where the young
shoemaker, belonging to the race of Shanks, had been scared so sadly
that he lost his sweetheart, some two years and a half ago; and this was
the tree that had been loved by painters, especially the conscientious
Sharples, a pupil of Romney, who studied the nicks and the tricks of
the bole, and the many fantastic frets of time, with all the loving
care which ensured the truth of his simple and powerful portraits. But
Sharples had long been away in the West; and Carne, having taste for
no art except his own, had despatched his dog Orso, the fiercer of the
pair, at the only son of a brush who had lately made ready to encamp
against that tree; upon which he decamped, and went over the cliff, with
a loss of much personal property.
The tree looked ghostly in the shady light, and gaunt armstretch of
departing darkness, going as if it had not slept its sleep out. Now
was the time when the day is afraid of coming, and the night unsure of
going, and a large reluctance to acknowledge any change keeps everything
waiting for another thing to move. What is the use of light and shadow,
the fuss of the morning, and struggle for the sun? Fair darkness has
filled all the gaps between them, and why should they be sever'd into
single life again? For the gladness of daybreak is not come yet, nor
the pleasure of seeing the way again, the lifting of the darkness leaves
heaviness beneath it, and if a rashly early bird flops down upon the
grass, he cannot count his distance, but quivers like a moth.
“Pest on this abominable early work!” muttered Carne with a yawn, as he
groped his way through the deep gloom of black foliage, and entered the
hollow of the ancient trunk; “it is all very well for sailors, but too
hard upon a quiet gentleman. Very likely that fellow won't come for two
hours. What a cursed uncomfortable maggoty place! But I'll have put
the sleep he has robbed me of.” He stretched his long form on the rough
bench inside, gathered his cloak around him, and roused the dull echo of
the honey-combed hollow with long loud snores.
“Awake, my vigilant commander, and behold me! Happy are the landsmen, to
whom the stars bring sleep. I have not slept for three nights, and the
fruits are here for you.”
It was the lively voice of Renaud Charron; and the rosy fan of the dawn,
unfolded over the sea and the gray rocks, glanced with a flutter of
shade into the deep-ribbed tree. Affecting a lofty indifference, Carne,
who had a large sense of his own dignity, rose slowly and came out into
the better light. “Sit down, my dear friend,” he said, taking the sealed
packet; “there is bread and meat here, and a bottle of good Macon. You
are nearly always hungry, and you must be starved now.”
Charron perceived that his mouth was offered employment at the expense
of his eyes; but the kernel of the matter was his own already, and he
smiled to himself at the mystery of his chief. “In this matter, I should
implore the tree to crush me, if my father were an Englishman,” he
thought; “but every one to his taste; it is no affair of mine.” Just as
he was getting on good terms with his refreshment, Carne came back, and
watched him with a patronising smile.
“You are the brother of my toil,” he said, “and I will tell you as
much as it is good for you to know. A few hours now will complete our
enterprise. Napoleon is at Boulogne again, and even he can scarcely
restrain the rush of the spirits he has provoked. The first Division is
on board already, with a week's supplies, and a thousand horses, ready
to sail when a hand is held up. The hand will be held up at my signal,
and that I shall trust you to convey to-night, as soon as I have settled
certain matters. Where is that sullen young Tugwell? What have you done
with him?”
“Wonderfully clever is your new device, my friend,” Charron replied,
after a long pull at the bottle. “To vanquish the mind by a mind
superior is a glory of high reason; but to let it remain in itself
and compel it to perform what is desired by the other, is a stroke of
genius. And under your pharmacy he must do it--that has been proved
already. The idea was grand, very noble, magnificent. It never would
have shown itself to my mind.”
“Probably not. When that has been accomplished, we will hang him for a
traitor. But, my dear friend, I have sad news for you, even in this hour
of triumph. The lady of your adoration, the Admiral's eldest daughter,
Faith, has recovered the man for whom she has waited four years, and she
means to marry him. The father has given his consent, and her pride is
beyond description. She has long loved a mystery--what woman can help
it? And now she has one for life, a husband eclipsed in his own hair.
My Renaud, all rivalry is futile. Your hair, alas, is quite short and
scanty. But this man has discovered in Africa a nut which turns a man
into the husk of himself. No wonder that he came out of the sea all
dry!”
“Tush! he is a pig. It is a pig that finds the nuts. I will be the
butcher for that long pig, and the lady will rush into the arms of
conquest. Then will I possess all the Admiral's lands, and pursue the
fine chase of the rabbits. And I will give dinners, such dinners, my
faith! Ha! that is excellent said--embrace me--my Faith will sit at the
right side of the table, and explain to the English company that such
dinners could proceed from nobody except a French gentleman commingling
all the knowledge of the joint with the loftier conception of the hash,
the mince--the what you call? Ah, you have no name for it, because
you do not know the proper thing. Then, in the presence of admiring
Englishmen, I will lean back in my chair, the most comfortable chair
that can be found--”
“Stop. You have got to get into it yet,” Carne interrupted, rudely; “and
the way to do that is not to lean back in it. The fault of your system
has always been that you want to enjoy everything before you get it.”
“And of yours,” retorted Charron, beginning to imbibe the pugnacity of
an English landlord, “that when you have got everything, you will enjoy
what? Nothing!”
“Even a man of your levity hits the nail on the head sometimes,” said
Carne, “though the blow cannot be a very heavy one. Nature has not
fashioned me for enjoyment, and therefore affords me very little. But
some little I do expect in the great inversion coming, in the upset of
the scoundrels who have fattened on my flesh, and stolen my land, to
make country gentlemen--if it were possible--of themselves. It will take
a large chimney to burn their title-deeds, for the robbery has lasted
for a century. But I hold the great Emperor's process signed for
that; and if you come to my cookery, you will say that I am capable
of enjoyment. Fighting I enjoy not, as hot men do, nor guzzling, nor
swigging, nor singing of songs; for all of which you have a talent, my
friend. But the triumph of quiet skill I like; and I love to turn the
balance on my enemies. Of these there are plenty, and among them all who
live in that fishy little hole down there.”
Carne pointed contemptuously at Springhaven, that poor little village
in the valley. But the sun had just lifted his impartial face above the
last highland that baulked his contemplation of the home of so many and
great virtues; and in the brisk moisture of his early salute the village
in the vale looked lovely. For a silvery mist was flushed with rose,
like a bridal veil warmed by the blushes of the bride, and the curves of
the land, like a dewy palm leaf, shone and sank alternate.
“What a rare blaze they will make!” continued Carne, as the sunlight
glanced along the russet thatch, and the blue smoke arose from the
earliest chimney. “Every cottage there shall be a bonfire, because it
has cast off allegiance to me. The whole race of Darling will be at my
mercy--the pompous old Admiral, who refused to call on me till his idiot
of a son persuaded him--that wretched poetaster, who reduced me to the
ignominy of reading his own rubbish to him--and the haughty young woman
that worships a savage who has treated me with insult. I have them all
now in the hollow of my hand, and a thorough good crumpling is prepared
for them. The first house to burn shall be Zebedee Tugwell's, that
conceited old dolt of a fishing fellow, who gives me a nod of suspicion,
instead of pulling off his dirty hat to me. Then we blow up the church,
and old Twemlow's house, and the Admiral's, when we have done with it.
The fishing-fleet, as they call their wretched tubs, will come home,
with the usual fuss, to-night, and on Monday it shall be ashes. How like
you my programme? Is it complete?”
“Too much, too much complete; too barbarous,” answered the kindly
hearted Frenchman. “What harm have all the poor men done to you? And
what insanity to provoke enemies of the people all around who would
bring us things to eat! And worse--if the houses are consumed with fire,
where will be the revenue that is designed for me, as the fair son of
the Admiral? No, no; I will allow none of that. When the landing is
made, you will not be my master. Soult will have charge of the subjects
inferior, and he is not a man of rapine. To him will I address myself in
favour of the village. Thus shall I ascend in the favour of my charming,
and secure my property.”
“Captain, I am your master yet, and I will have no interference. No more
talk; but obey me to the letter. There is no sign of any rough weather,
I suppose? You sailors see things which we do not observe.”
“This summer has not been of fine weather, and the sky is always
changing here. But there is not any token of a tempest now. Though there
is a little prospect of rain always.”
“If it rains, all the better, for it obscures the sea. You have fed
enough now to last even you till the evening; or if not, you can take
some with you. Remain to the westward, where the cliffs are higher, and
look out especially for British ships of war that may be appearing up
Channel. Take this second spy-glass; it is quite strong enough. But
first of all tell Perkins to stand off again with the pilot-boat, as
if he was looking out for a job, and if he sees even a frigate coming
eastward, to run back and let you know by a signal arranged between you.
Dan Tugwell, I see, was shipped yesterday on board of Prame No. 801, a
very handy vessel, which will lead the van, and five hundred will follow
in her track on Sunday evening. My excellent uncle will be at the height
of his eloquence just when his favourite Sunday-school boy is bringing
an addition to his congregation. But the church shall not be blown up
until Monday, for fear of premature excitement. By Monday night about
two hundred thousand such soldiers as Britain could never produce will
be able to quell any childish excitement such as Great Britain is apt to
give way to.”
“But what is for me, this same Saturday night? I like very much to make
polite the people, and to marry the most beautiful and the richest; but
not to kill more than there is to be helped.”
“The breaking of the egg may cut the fingers that have been sucked till
their skin is gone. You have plagued me all along with your English
hankerings, which in your post of trust are traitorous.”
Charron was accustomed to submit to the infinitely stronger will of
Carne. Moreover, his sense of discipline often checked the speed of his
temper. But he had never been able to get rid of a secret contempt for
his superior, as a traitor to the race to which he really belonged, at
least in the Frenchman's opinion. And that such a man should charge him
with treachery was more than his honest soul could quite endure, and his
quick face flushed with indignation as he spoke:
“Your position, my commander, does not excuse such words. You shall
answer for them, when I am discharged from your command; which, I hope,
will be the case next week. To be spoken of as a traitor by you is very
grand.”
“Take it as you please,” Carne replied, with that cold contemptuous
smile which the other detested. “For the present, however, you will not
be grand, but carry out the orders which I give you. As soon as it is
dark, you will return, keep the pilot-boat in readiness for my last
despatch, with which you will meet the frigate Torche about midnight, as
arranged on Thursday. All that and the signals you already understand.
Wait for me by this tree, and I may go with you; but that will depend
upon circumstances. I will take good care that you shall not be kept
starving; for you may have to wait here three or four hours for me. But
be sure that you do not go until I come.”
“But what am I to do if I have seen some British ships, or Perkins has
given me token of them?”
“Observe their course, and learn where they are likely to be at
nightfall. There will probably be none. All I fear is that they may
intercept the Torche. Farewell, my friend, and let your sense of duty
subdue the small sufferings of temper.”