THE LAST BULLETIN
To Britannia this was but feeble comfort, even if she heard of it. She
had lost her pet hero, the simplest and dearest of all the thousands
she has borne and nursed, and for every penny she had grudged him in the
flesh, she would lay a thousand pounds upon his bones. To put it
more poetically, her smiles were turned to tears--which cost her
something--and the laurel drooped in the cypress shade. The hostile
fleet was destroyed; brave France would never more come out of harbour
to contend with England; the foggy fear of invasion was like a morning
fog dispersed; and yet the funds (the pulse of England) fell at the loss
of that one defender.
It was a gloomy evening, and come time for good people to be in-doors,
when the big news reached Springhaven. Since the Admiral slept in the
green churchyard, with no despatch to receive or send, the importance of
Springhaven had declined in all opinion except its own, and even Captain
Stubbard could not keep it up. When the Squire was shot, and Master Erle
as well, and Carne Castle went higher than a lark could soar, and folk
were fools enough to believe that Boney would dare put his foot down
there, John Prater had done a most wonderful trade, and never a man who
could lay his tongue justly with the pens that came spluttering from
London had any call for a fortnight together to go to bed sober at his
own expense. But this bright season ended quite as suddenly as it had
begun; and when these great “hungers”--as those veterans were entitled
who dealt most freely with the marvellous--had laid their heads together
to produce and confirm another guinea's worth of fiction, the London
press would have none of it. Public interest had rushed into another
channel; and the men who had thriven for a fortnight on their tongues
were driven to employ them on their hands again.
But now, on the sixth of November, a new excitement was in store for
them. The calm obscurity of night flowed in, through the trees that
belonged to Sir Francis now, and along his misty meadows; and the only
sound in the village lane was the murmur of the brook beside it, or the
gentle sigh of the retiring seas. Boys of age enough to make much
noise, or at least to prolong it after nightfall, were away in the
fishing-boats, receiving whacks almost as often as they needed them; for
those times (unlike these) were equal to their fundamental duties.
In the winding lane outside the grounds of the Hall, and shaping its
convenience naturally by that of the more urgent brook, a man--to show
what the times were come to--had lately set up a shoeing forge. He had
done it on the strength of the troopers' horses coming down the hill so
fast, and often with their cogs worn out, yet going as hard as if they
had no knees, or at least none belonging to their riders. And although
he was not a Springhaven man, he had been allowed to marry a Springhaven
woman, one of the Capers up the hill; and John Prater (who was akin to
him by marriage, and perhaps had an eye to the inevitable ailment of a
man whose horse is ailing) backed up his daring scheme so strongly that
the Admiral, anxious for the public good, had allowed this smithy to be
set up here.
John Keatch was the man who established this, of the very same family
(still thriving in West Middlesex) which for the service of the state
supplied an official whose mantle it is now found hard to fill; and the
blacksmith was known as “Jack Ketch” in the village, while his forge was
becoming the centre of news. Captain Stubbard employed him for battery
uses, and finding his swing-shutters larger than those of Widow Shanks,
and more cheaply lit up by the glow of the forge, was now beginning, in
spite of her remonstrance, to post all his very big proclamations there.
“Rouse up your fire, Ketch,” he said that evening, as he stood at the
door of the smithy, with half a dozen of his children at his heels.
“Bring a dozen clout-nails; here's a tremendous piece of news!”
The blacksmith made a blaze with a few strokes of his bellows, and swung
his shutter forward, so that all might read.
“GREAT AND GLORIOUS VICTORY. Twenty line-of-battle ships destroyed or
captured. Lord Nelson shot dead. God save the King!”
“Keep your fire up. I'll pay a shilling for the coal,” cried the
Captain, in the flush of excitement. “Bring out your cow's horn, and
go and blow it at the corner. And that drum you had to mend, my boy and
girl will beat it. Jack, run up to the battery, and tell them to blaze
away for their very lives.”
In less than five minutes all the village was there, with the readers
put foremost, all reading together at the top of their voices, for the
benefit of the rest. Behind them stood Polly Cheeseman, peeping, with
the glare of the fire on her sad pale face and the ruddy cheeks of her
infant. “Make way for Widow Carne, and the young Squire Carne,” the loud
voice of Captain Zeb commanded; “any man as stands afront of her will
have me upon him. Now, ma'am, stand forth, and let them look at you.”
This was a sudden thought of Captain Tugwell's; but it fixed her rank
among them, as the order of the King might. The strong sense of justice,
always ready in Springhaven, backed up her right to be what she
had believed herself, and would have been, but for foul deceit and
falsehood. And if the proud spirit of Carne ever wandered around the
ancestral property, it would have received in the next generation a
righteous shock at descrying in large letters, well picked out with
shade: “Caryl Carne, Grocer and Butterman, Cheese-monger, Dealer in
Bacon and Sausages. Licensed to sell Tea, Coffee, Snuff, Pepper, and
Tobacco.”
For Cheeseman raised his head again, with the spirit of a true British
tradesman, as soon as the nightmare of traitorous plots and contraband
imports was over. Captain Tugwell on his behalf led the fishing fleet
against that renegade La Liberte, and casting the foreigners overboard,
they restored her integrity as the London Trader. Mr. Cheeseman shed a
tear, and put on a new apron, and entirely reformed his political views,
which had been loose and Whiggish. Uprightness of the most sensitive
order--that which has slipped and strained its tendons--stamped all
his dealings, even in the butter line; and facts having furnished a
creditable motive for his rash reliance upon his own cord, he turned
amid applause to the pleasant pastimes of a smug church-warden. And when
he was wafted to a still sublimer sphere, his grandson carried on the
business well.
Having spread the great news in this striking manner, Captain
Stubbard--though growing very bulky now with good living, ever since his
pay was doubled--set off at a conscientious pace against the stomach of
the hill, lest haply the Hall should feel aggrieved at hearing all
this noise and having to wonder what the reason was. He knew, and was
grateful at knowing, that Carne's black crime and devilish plot had
wrought an entire revulsion in the candid but naturally too soft mind
of the author of the Harmodiad. Sir Francis was still of a liberal mind,
and still admired his own works. But forgetting that nobody read them,
he feared the extensive harm they might produce, although he was now
resolved to write even better in the opposite direction. On the impulse
of literary conscience, he held a council with the gardener Swipes, as
to the best composition of bonfire for the consumption of poetry. Mr.
Swipes recommended dead pea-haulm, with the sticks left in it to
ensure a draught. Then the poet in the garden with a long bean-stick
administered fire to the whole edition, not only of the Harmodiad,
but also of the Theiodemos, his later and even grander work. Persons
incapable of lofty thought attributed this--the most sage and practical
of all forms of palinode--to no higher source than the pretty face and
figure, and sweet patriotism, of Lady Alice, the youngest sister of
Lord Dashville. And subsequent facts, to some extent, confirmed this
interpretation.
The old house looked gloomy and dull of brow, with only three windows
showing light, as stout Captain Stubbard, with his short sword swinging
from the bulky position where his waist had been, strode along the
winding of the hill towards the door. At a sharp corner, under some
trees, he came almost shoulder to shoulder with a tall man striking into
the road from a foot-path. The Captain drew his sword, for his nerves
had been flurried ever since the great explosion, which laid him on his
back among his own cannon.
“A friend,” cried the other, “and a great admirer of your valour,
Captain, but not a worthy object for its display.”
“My dear friend Shargeloes!” replied the Captain, a little ashamed of
his own vigilance. “How are you, my dear sir? and how is the system?”
“The system will never recover from the tricks that infernal Carne has
played with it. But never mind that, if the intellect survives; we all
owe a debt to our country. I have met you in the very nick of time.
Yesterday was Guy Fawkes' Day, and I wanted to be married then; but
the people were not ready. I intend to have it now on New-Year's Day,
because then I shall always remember the date. I am going up here to
make a strange request, and I want you to say that it is right and
proper. An opinion from a distinguished sailor will go a long way
with the daughters of an Admiral. I want the young ladies to be my
bridesmaids--and then for the little ones, your Maggy and your Kitty. I
am bound to go to London for a month to-morrow, and then I could order
all the bracelets and the brooches, if I were only certain who the
blessed four would be.”
“I never had any bridesmaids myself, and I don't know anything about
them. I thought that the ladies were the people to settle that.”
“The ladies are glad to be relieved of the expense, and I wish to start
well,” replied Shargeloes. “Why are ninety-nine men out of a hundred
henpecked?”
“I am sure I don't know, except that they can't help it. But have you
heard the great news of this evening?”
“The reason is,” continued the member of the Corporation, “that they
begin with being nobodies. They leave the whole management of their
weddings to the women, and they never recover the reins. Miss Twemlow
is one of the most charming of her sex; but she has a decided character,
which properly guided will be admirable. But to give it the lead at the
outset would be fatal to future happiness. Therefore I take this affair
upon myself. I pay for it all, and I mean to do it all.”
“What things you do learn in London!” the Captain answered, with a sigh.
“Oh, if I had only had the money--but it is too late to talk of that.
Once more, have you heard the news?”
“About the great battle, and the death of Nelson? Yes, I heard of all
that this morning. But I left it to come in proper course from you. Now
here we are; mind you back me up. The Lord Mayor is coming to be my best
man.”
The two sisters, dressed in the deepest mourning, and pale with long
sorrow and loneliness, looked wholly unfit for festive scenes; and as
soon as they heard of this new distress--the loss of their father's
dearest friend, and their own beloved hero--they left the room, to have
a good cry together, while their brother entertained the visitors. “It
can't be done now,” Mr. Shargeloes confessed; “and after all, Eliza is
the proper person. I must leave that to her, but nothing else that I can
think of. There can't be much harm in my letting her do that.”
It was done by a gentleman after all, for the worthy Rector did it. The
bride would liefer have dispensed with bridesmaids so much fairer than
herself, and although unable to advance that reason, found fifty others
against asking them. But her father had set his mind upon it, and
together with his wife so pressed the matter that Faith and Dolly, much
against their will, consented to come out of mourning for a day, but not
into gay habiliments.
The bride was attired wonderfully, stunningly, carnageously--as Johnny,
just gifted with his commission, and thereby with much slang, described
her; and in truth she carried her bunting well, as Captain Stubbard told
his wife, and Captain Tugwell confirmed it. But the eyes of everybody
with half an eye followed the two forms in silver-grey. That was the
nearest approach to brightness those lovers of their father allowed
themselves, within five months of his tragic death; though if the old
Admiral could have looked down from the main-top, probably he would have
shouted, “No flags at half-mast for me, my pets!”
Two young men with melancholy glances followed these fair bridesmaids,
being tantalized by these nuptial rites, because they knew no better.
One of them hoped that his time would come, when he had pushed his great
discovery; and if the art of photography had been known, his face would
have been his fortune. For he bore at the very top of it the seal and
stamp of his patent--the manifest impact of a bullet, diffracted by the
power of Pong. The roots of his hair--the terminus of blushes, according
to all good novelists--had served an even more useful purpose, by
enabling him to blush again. Strengthened by Pong, they had defied the
lead, and deflected it into a shallow channel, already beginning to
be overgrown by the aid of that same potent drug. Erle Twemlow looked
little the worse for his wound; to a lady perhaps, to a man of science
certainly, more interesting than he had been before. As he gazed at the
bride all bespangled with gold, he felt that he had in his trunk the
means of bespangling his bride with diamonds. But the worst of it was
that he must wait, and fight, and perhaps get killed, before he could
settle in life and make his fortune. As an officer of a marching
regiment, ordered to rejoin immediately, he must flesh his sword in
lather first--for he had found no razor strong enough--and postpone the
day of riches till the golden date of peace.
The other young man had no solace of wealth, even in the blue distance,
to whisper to his troubled heart. Although he was a real “Captain
Scuddy” now, being posted to the Danae, 42-gun frigate, the capacity of
his cocked hat would be tried by no shower of gold impending. For mighty
dread of the Union-jack had fallen upon the tricolor; that gallant flag
perceived at last that its proper flight was upon dry land, where as yet
there was none to flout it. Trafalgar had reduced by 50 per cent. the
British sailor's chance of prize-money.
Such computations were not, however, the chief distress of Scudamore.
The happiness of his fair round face was less pronounced than usual,
because he had vainly striven for an interview with his loved one. With
all her faults he loved her still, and longed to make them all his own.
He could not help being sadly shocked by her fatal coquetry with the
traitor Carne, and slippery conduct to his own poor self. But love in
his faithful heart maintained that she had already atoned for that
too bitterly and too deeply; and the settled sorrow of her face, and
listless submission of her movements, showed that she was now a very
different Dolly. Faith, who had always been grave enough, seemed gaiety
itself in comparison with her younger sister, once so gay. In their
simple dresses--grey jaconet muslin, sparely trimmed with lavender--and
wearing no jewel or ornament, but a single snow-drop in the breast, the
lovely bridesmaids looked as if they defied all the world to make them
brides.
But the Rector would not let them off from coming to the breakfast
party, and with the well-bred sense of fitness they obeyed his bidding.
Captain Stubbard (whose jokes had missed fire too often to be satisfied
with a small touch-hole now) was broadly facetious at their expense;
and Johnny, returning thanks for them, surprised the good company by his
manly tone, and contempt of life before beginning it. This invigorated
Scudamore, by renewing his faith in human nature as a thing beyond
calculation. He whispered a word or so to his friend Johnny while Mr.
and Mrs. Shargeloes were bowing farewell from the windows of a great
family coach from London, which the Lord Mayor had lent them, to make
up for not coming. For come he could not--though he longed to do so, and
all Springhaven expected him--on account of the great preparations in
hand for the funeral of Lord Nelson.
“Thy servant will see to it,” the boy replied, with a wink at his
sisters, whom he was to lead home; for Sir Francis had made his way down
to the beach, to meditate his new poem, Theriodemos.
“His behaviour,” thought Dolly, as she put on her cloak, “has been
perfect. How thankful I feel for it! He never cast one glance at me. He
quite enters into my feelings towards him. But how much more credit to
his mind than to his heart!”
Scudamore, at a wary distance, kept his eyes upon her, as if she had
been a French frigate gliding under strong land batteries, from which
he must try to cut her out. Presently he saw that his good friend Johnny
had done him the service requested. At a fork of the path leading to the
Hall, Miss Dolly departed towards the left upon some errand among
the trees, while her brother and sister went on towards the house.
Forgetting the dignity of a Post-Captain, the gallant Scuddy made a cut
across the grass, as if he were playing prisoner's base with the boys
at Stonnington, and intercepted the fair prize in a bend of the brook,
where the winter sun was nursing the first primrose.
“You, Captain Scudamore!” said the bridesmaid, turning as if she could
never trust her eyes again. “You must have lost your way. This path
leads nowhere.”
“If it only leads to you, that is all that I could wish for. I am
content to go to nothing, if I may only go with you.”
“My brother sent me,” said Dolly, looking down, with more colour on her
cheeks than they had owned for months, and the snow-drop quivering on
her breast, “to search for a primrose or two for him to wear when he
dines at the rectory this evening. We shall not go, of course. We have
done enough. But Frank and Johnny think they ought to go.”
“May I help you to look? I am lucky in that way. I used to find so many
things with you, in the happy times that used to be.” Blyth saw that her
eyelids were quivering with tears. “I will go away, if you would rather
have it so. But you used to be so good-natured to me.”
“So I am still. Or at least I mean that people should now be
good-natured to me. Oh, Captain Scudamore, how foolish I have been!”
“Don't say so, don't think it, don't believe it for a moment,” said
Scudamore, scarcely knowing what he said, as she burst into a storm of
sobbing. “Oh, Dolly, Dolly, you know you meant no harm. You are breaking
your darling heart, when you don't deserve it. I could not bear to look
at you, and think of it, this morning. Everybody loves you still, as
much and more than ever. Oh, Dolly, I would rather die than see you cry
so terribly.”
“Nobody loves me, and I hate myself. I could never have believed I
should ever hate myself. Go away, you are too good to be near me. Go
away, or I shall think you want to kill me. And I wish you would do it,
Captain Scudamore.”
“Then let me stop,” said the Captain, very softly. She smiled at the
turn of his logic, through her tears. Then she wept with new anguish,
that she had no right to smile.
“Only tell me one thing--may I hold you? Not of course from any right to
do it, but because you are so overcome, my own, own Dolly.” The Captain
very cleverly put one arm round her, at first with a very light touch,
and then with a firmer clasp, as she did not draw away. Her cloak was
not very cumbrous, and her tumultuous heart was but a little way from
his.
“You know that I never could help loving you,” he whispered, as she
seemed to wonder what the meaning was. “May I ever hope that you will
like me?”
“Me! How can it matter now to anybody? I used to think it did; but I
was very foolish then. I know my own value. It is less than this. This
little flower has been a good creature. It has been true to its place,
and hurt nobody.”
Instead of seeking for any more flowers, she was taking from her breast
the one she had--the snow-drop, and threatening to tear it in pieces.
“If you give it to me, I shall have some hope.” As he spoke, he looked
at her steadfastly, without any shyness or fear in his eyes, but as one
who knows his own good heart, and has a right to be answered clearly.
The maiden in one glance understood all the tales of his wonderful
daring, which she never used to believe, because he seemed afraid to
look at her.
“You may have it, if you like,” she said; “but, Blyth, I shall never
deserve you. I have behaved to you shamefully. And I feel as if I could
never bear to be forgiven for it.”
For the sake of peace and happiness, it must be hoped that she conquered
this feminine feeling, which springs from an equity of nature--the
desire that none should do to us more than we ever could do to them.
Certain it is that when the Rector held his dinner party, two gallant
bosoms throbbed beneath the emblem of purity and content. The military
Captain's snow-drop hung where every one might observe it, and some
gentle-witted jokes were made about its whereabouts that morning.
By-and-by it grew weary on its stalk and fell, and Erle Twemlow never
missed it. But the other snow-drop was not seen, except by the wearer
with a stolen glance, when people were making a loyal noise--a little
glance stolen at his own heart. He had made a little cuddy there
inside his inner sarcenet, and down his plaited neck-cloth ran a sly
companionway to it, so that his eyes might steal a visit to the joy that
was over his heart and in it. Thus are women adored by men, especially
those who deserve it least.
“Attention, my dear friends, attention, if you please,” cried the
Rector, rising, with a keen glance at Scuddy. “I will crave your
attention before the ladies go, and theirs, for it concerns them
equally. We have passed through a period of dark peril, a long time
of trouble and anxiety and doubt. By the mercy of the Lord, we have
escaped; but with losses that have emptied our poor hearts. England has
lost her two foremost defenders, Lord Nelson, and Admiral Darling. To
them we owe it that we are now beginning the New Year happily, with the
blessing of Heaven, and my dear daughter married. Next week we shall
attend the grand funeral of the hero, and obtain good places by due
influence. My son-in-law, Percival Shargeloes, can do just as he pleases
at St. Paul's. Therefore let us now, with deep thanksgiving, and one
hand upon our hearts, lift up our glasses, and in silence pledge the
memory of our greatest men. With the spirit of Britons we echo the last
words that fell from the lips of our dying hero--'Thank God, I have
done my duty!' His memory shall abide for ever, because he loved his
country.”
The company rose, laid hand on heart, and deeply bowing, said--“Amen!”
THE END.