IN VIEW OF CAPTAIN PEIRCE
"IN this brilliant assemblage of rank and fashion, though lightened by
the fire of genius and radiant with feminine charms, there is for me
but one star of greatest magnitude, before which all lesser orbs fade
into insignificance."
So spoke Captain Peirce in the ears of Polly Keene, and he felt that
he had expressed himself with the utmost elegance. Gentlemen in those
days were prone to more flowing speech than they are in these, and
such speeches did not necessarily mean much. Ninety years later, the
grandson or great-grandson of Captain Peirce would merely drag his
moustache and mutter, "Awfully pretty girl!" But the two modes of
expression, though rather unlike, probably implied and imply much the
same in the end.
Captain Peirce did not pull his moustache. It was not the fashion, and
he had none to pull. He bent a little nearer to Polly; and that was the
moment when Jack's glance followed Molly's.
Polly did not seem to repulse him. She did not even exert herself to
turn her head away. She had so much of this sort of thing. One flowery
speech more or less made very little difference. Had it not been for
the pressure put upon her by Mrs. Bryce, Polly would not have imagined
that Captain Peirce meant anything seriously. She stood in one of
her most graceful attitudes, toying with a fan; and the light from
innumerable wax candles fell upon her fair round arms.
"Can you by any chance divine who that star of greatest magnitude may
be, sweet Polly?"
This was audacious, and Captain Peirce fully expected a rebuff in
consequence.
It did not come so soon as he expected. A thrill ran through Polly,
almost amounting to a shiver. She was instantaneously carried back, as
a few minutes earlier Molly had been, bridging at a leap four long slow
years.
"Sweet Polly, may I speak?" Captain Ivor had said.
The voices were different. Ivor's was deep and quiet, with clear
enunciation; while that of Captain Peirce was some semitones higher in
key, with a rapid and rather indistinct intonation.
The other face, too, came up before Polly's mind—a face generally of
still outlines, grave and handsome, with eyes which looked other men
straight in the face, and level brows, not quick to frown, though
when they did there was no mistake about it, and a smile as quiet
as his voice. Captain Peirce was of smaller and slighter make, and
his features as well as his tone underwent much more rapid changes.
An impulsive man altogether; not bad-looking; and he had a certain
fascination of manner too when he chose to exert it. Polly was not
oblivious to the fascination while it lasted. Perhaps she liked his
unequivocal admiration, and did not dislike to feel her power over him.
But that flash of vivid recollection—did it arise from some subtle
connection between her mind and Molly's?—brought with it a totally
different look from any that Captain Peirce had seen upon her face.
Perhaps he might be excused for imagining that the change of expression
was due to his own words.
"Sweet Polly, you will not be one of the cruel fair who—"
This was going too far. Polly woke up from her dream. She withdrew one
step, and dropped a suggestion of a curtsey.
"Your pardon, sir. My name is Miss Keene, as you are aware."
"Ah! adored one—so hard-hearted to your humble slave!"
"My word, Albert!" and the heavy hand of his uncle, the Admiral, fell
with a smart slap upon the Captain's shoulder. "So, you do not fail to
make hay while the sun shines! But there's such a thing as poaching in
another's preserves, man. Ha, ha, Miss Polly! Well, and what news from
abroad of the unfortunate prisoners, eh?"
Captain Peirce wore the look of a thunder-cloud under this
interruption. He dared not openly resent it; not only because young
men in those times were far more submissive to older men than now, but
because, also, had he aroused the Admiral's ire, he would have drawn
upon them the attention of the whole room. Admiral Peirce was known
to be hasty in temper, and not slow to speak his mind. So he glowered
silently, and Polly looked with a smile into the battered face of the
old sailor, now on shore for a brief spell.
"Nay, sir, I have not heard for this very long while from any of
them, and it is but seldom we may hope to hear. Letters go astray by
hundreds. Doubtless they write, as do we—to no purpose."
"Ay, ay, trust Boney for that! He'll not help forward the post. Well,
well, every lane has its turning; and Boney will come to his turning
sooner or later. Nay, indeed, has he not already—at the glorious Battle
of Trafalgar, of immortal memory?"
"And on land too, sir,—in time our brave soldiers will have the best of
it, and will gain the reward that is due to their valour," suggested
Polly.
Captain Peirce's opportunity was gone; and though Polly did not appear
to avoid him, yet he found no second chance. Jack and Molly, looking
on, saw this little episode, and they wondered—had the old Admiral
acted accidentally or on purpose, and was Polly glad or sorry? Neither
question received an answer.
In the small hours of morning, when dancing was ended, Mrs. Bryce drove
home with the two girls, in the fine yellow coach, which was considered
to be a suitable "equipage" for one in her position. Mr. Bryce, having
a cold, had not gone with them. The girls retired to their room, and
Molly would have liked to question her companion, had she dared. But
Polly, with all her sweetness, could hold folks aloof if she chose; and
this night she did choose. She was very pale and tired—sad too, Molly
thought, now that the excitement was over. Few words passed between
them before they crept into bed.
Was that a sound of smothered weeping? Molly was all but asleep when it
aroused her. She listened carefully.
"Polly!" No answer. "Polly, are you awake?"
A pause, and then—"You must go to sleep, Molly."
"You are not crying, Polly?"
Polly's hand gently pressed hers, but Polly's face was turned away,
and another short break took place before she replied, in a tone of
strained cheerfulness—
"'Tis far too late. We may not lie and talk now. Go to sleep and dream.
No,—not one little word more."
Molly had to obey. Yet she felt sure that soon again she heard the tiny
smothered sound which had suggested tears. She lay long listening. Was
Polly thinking of Denham Ivor? Or could it be a question of Captain
Peirce?
* * * * * * *
This side of life went on, and had to go on, even in such a period of
stormy unrest, of perpetual warfare between nations. Men and maidens
love and mate, work has to be done, hopes rise and sink, even the
lesser amusements and gaieties and the small daily occupations of
existence do not cease, though the whole world may be at loggerheads.
The deadly duel between Napoleon and Britain continued; and while
Britain was supreme on the ocean, Napoleon was all but irresistible
upon land. Of all the nations England alone withstood him; and at
this date she fearlessly faced Europe in arms. For the Continent had
crouched beneath the arm of the tyrant, and was tamely ranged on his
side.
In the year 1807 Great Britain had not a single ally. Sweden, the last
remaining, had been compelled by Russia to break away. One brother of
Napoleon's was king of Holland; another was king of Westphalia; a third
was king of Naples; while lesser European kingdoms and the congeries
of little German states had well-nigh disappeared into the vortex, and
French soldiers swaggered about the streets of Berlin.
Great Britain was neither crushed nor intimidated. She had flung off
the fear of invasion; and her ships triumphantly ranged the seas. She
had, indeed, as yet been less successful on land than at sea. Many a
battle had been gained, many a deed of splendid valour had been done.
But while one expedition after another had been despatched hither and
thither, with intent to undermine and weaken the enormous power of
Napoleon, most of these had failed to give any serious check to his
advances. England had an Army inadequate to her needs, both in numbers
and in military equipment; and the expeditions sent were invariably too
small for the work they had to do.
All this while the inner life of the nation flowed on. Taxes were
heavy, food was dear, much suffering existed; yet the spirit of the
people neither failed nor faltered. They were cheery and full of
courage, looking forward with high hope to a better state of things. In
a little while, surely, justice would be meted out, and the cause of
liberty would prevail.
Even in England Napoleon was not without his enthusiastic admirers.
There are always some whose party feeling is stronger than their
patriotism; and some others who will sentimentally put a man upon a
pedestal, with regard to his intellect only, apart from questions of
character. But the mass of the people was in deadly earnest. The nation
as a whole was ready to fight Buonaparte to the last coin in its purse,
the last drop of blood in its body.
One more tragic story had yet to be told. One more apparent failure,
which contained in itself the heroic germ of coming victory, had yet
to be lived through. One more great Englishman was to die, in the very
moment of a success which at the time could scarcely be read otherwise
than as a defeat. Then the turn of the tide would have begun.