What an extraordinary world it is! Men in general are mere shellfish,
unapproachable except at certain tender points; such as the eyes of the
crab, or the soft yellow skin under an alligator's gullet,--Achilles'
heels which have been neglected by the mothers of those sapient reptiles
when they were dipped in Styx. But perhaps it is as well as it is; for
if a man were tender all over, and once began to think of all the misery
that is going on around him, the faces he would make would be horrible
to see. Reader, at this very moment there are thousands dying in agony,
there are many starving for lack of food, there is a whole host of
gentle hearts watching the expiring lamp of life in the eyes of those
most dearly loved, there are multitudes of noble spirits and mighty
minds struggling in doubt for to-morrow's daily crust, there is crime,
folly, sorrow, anguish, shame, remorse, despair, around us on every
side; and yet we are as merry as a grasshopper unless somebody snaps off
one of our own legs. There is not an instant of time that does not bring
with it a thousand waves of agony over the stormy sea of human
existence; and yet every man's light boat dances on, and the mariner
sings, till one of the many billows overwhelms him. It is quite as well
as it is.
Some, however, are blessed--or cursed, as it may be--with a faculty of
feeling for others; and that boy, as he took his way up from the shore
toward the little hillock of sand on which a bonfire of pine logs was
blazing,--with two heavy bags on his arms, and the rain dashed by the
fierce wind in his face,--could not help thinking of the roofless heads
and chilled hearts he knew were in the world.
"Poor souls!" he thought; "in an hour I shall be warm and dry and
comfortable, and to-morrow all this will be forgotten; but for them
there is no comfort, no better to-morrow."
Stay a minute, my lad! Do not go too fast and reckon without your host,
either for yourself or others. Joy may light up the dim eye, hope fan
the aching brow; and you,--after all you have seen and undergone even in
your short life,--how dare you count upon the events of the next
hour,--nay, of the next moment?
He climbed the hill stoutly but slowly; for it was steep, and his bags
were heavy. The wicked wind, too, fought with him all the way up, and
the rain, which had lately begun to fall, came loaded with small
particles of hail, as if it sought to aid the wind in keeping him back
till their united force could put out the beacon-fire. But the pine was
full of resin, and it burned on, with the flame and the smoke whirled
about by the wind but never extinguished, until at length he stood on
the windward side of the fire and looked round, as if expecting to see
the man who lighted it.
There was no one there, however; and the youth, who, it must be
acknowledged, was of a somewhat eager and impatient temper and apt to
come to hasty conclusions, fancied for a moment or two that those he
should have found there had grown weary of waiting in that boisterous
night, and had left him to enjoy its pleasures or its terrors by
himself. A moment after, however, as the flame swayed a little more to
the westward, he caught a glimpse of the ground on the other side of the
hill sinking rapidly down into a little dell where some less arid soil
seemed to have settled,--enough at least to bear some scanty herbage, a
few low bushes, and some thin pines; and there, amongst the latter,
appeared a small fixed light. It might be a candle in a cottage-window,
and probably was; for it was too red for a jack-o'lantern.
"Ah! I can at least find out where I am," thought the lad; "but I dare
say the men are there, taking care of their own skins and little caring
about mine."
Thus thinking, he began to descend, and had not proceeded far when a
voice hailed him in French. The lad made no answer, but went on; for, to
say sooth, he was somewhat moody with all the events of the last three
or four days.
"Is that you, Master Ned, I say?" repeated the voice, in English, but
with a very strong foreign accent.
"Ay, ay!" replied the youth; "but how the devil did you expect me to
find you if you did not stay by the fire?"
"Oh, we kept a good look-out," answered a stout man of some
five-and-thirty years of age, who was advancing to meet him. "We have
waited for you by the fire long enough these two last nights; and, as we
could see any one who came across the blaze, there was no use of our
getting frozen, or melted, or blown away on the top of the hill. But
what has made you so long behind? You were to have been here on Tuesday
night: so the letters said. What kept you?"
"Head-winds all the way from Ushant," replied the boy. "But let us go
on, Jargeau, for we must be far from the town, and time enough has been
lost already."
"Well, come down to the cottage," said the other, in a musing sort of
tone. "You want something to refresh you while the horses are being
saddled. Here; let me carry your bags." And as he spoke he laid his hand
upon one of the large leather-covered cases.
"Not that one," said the boy, sharply, pushing away his hand: "here; you
may take this." The man laughed, saying, "Ay, as sharp as ever!" and
they descended to the pines, where the light still glimmered behind one
of the few remaining panes of glass in the window of a dilapidated
cottage, on the leeward side of which stood three horses, tethered but
without their saddles.
The interior of the building offered no very cheerful aspect; but,
seeing that the boy had not eaten any thing for the last twelve hours,
that he was weary, wet, and cold, the sight of a very tolerable supply
of viands on the floor,--for there was furniture of no kind within,--and
a large black bottle fitted to hold at least a gallon, was very
consolatory.
The only other objects which the cottage contained were the rosin candle
fixed into a split log, and a lean but apparently strong man of perhaps
forty, whose face had evidently had at least a ten years' intimacy with
the brandy-flask. He was stretched out at length upon the ground, but
with his head and arm within reach of the viands and bottle; and though,
in answer to some observations of his comrade of the watch, he swore
manfully that he had touched neither, yet he wiped his mouth upon the
sleeve of his coat, as if he felt that something might be clinging to
his lips which would contradict him.
"Ah, Master Ned!" he exclaimed, in French, but without moving from where
he lay, "I am right glad you have come, for my throat is as dry as an
ear of rye, and Jargeau there would not have the cold meat touched nor
the bottle broached till you came."
"By the Lord, you have broached it, though!" exclaimed the other, who
had been stooping down: "the neck is quite wet, you vagabond; and, if we
did not need you, I would give you a touch of my knife for disobeying my
orders. But come, Master Ned, sit down on the floor and eat. There is
enough left in the bottle for you, at all events; and, on my soul, he
shall not have another drop till both you and I have finished."
The other man only laughed, and the boy applied himself to the food with
a good will. When he had eaten silently for some ten minutes, he
stretched out his hand, saying, "Give me the bottle, Jargeau: I will
have one draught of wine, and then I am ready. Pierrot, get up and put
the saddles on the horses."
"No wine will you get here," replied Jargeau; "but this is better for
you, wet as you are,--as good eau-de-vie as ever came from Tonnay
Charente. Take a good drink: you will need it."
"Get up and saddle the horses," said the boy before he drank, addressing
somewhat sharply the lean gentleman on the ground. "Have you forgotten
St. Martin's, good Pierrot?"
"I will have my drink first," answered the other, grinning. "I brought
the bottle here; and drop for drop all round is fair play."
As the quickest mode of ending all dispute, the youth drank and gave the
bottle to Pierrot; but it remained so long at his lips that Jargeau
snatched it angrily from him, swearing he would not leave a drop. He
seemed loath to part with it, but at length raised his long limbs from
the floor, and, lighting another rosin candle, went forth to perform his
task.
"And now, Master Ned," said Jargeau, "I have news for you which you may
be will not like. You are not going to La Rochelle to-night. There is no
one there whom you want to see."
"I must go," said the boy, thoughtfully, as if speaking to himself. "I
must go."
"But just listen, Master Ned," said Jargeau. "I know you are somewhat
hard-headed; but what is the use of going to a place where there is no
one to deal with? Now, the Prince de Soubise and the Duc de Rohan are
both at the Chateau of Mauzé; and with them are all the people you want
to see."
The lad paused and mused for several minutes without making any answer,
and Jargeau pressed him to take some more of the brandy, saying that he
would have a ride of thirty miles. But still he replied nothing, till at
length, awaking from his reverie, he asked, "Who is to guide me? I do
not know the way to Mauzé."
"Oh, Pierrot is here for the very purpose," answered Jargeau: "he will
guide you, and though, by one way or another, he will find means to make
all you leave of the brandy disappear, you know he is never drunk enough
not to find his way."
Master Ned, as they called him, again fell into thought for a moment or
two, and then answered, "It would be better for you to go yourself. But
perhaps you are wanted in Rochelle?"
"No," answered the other, in an indifferent tone; "I have got to go to
Fontenay, where some of our friends--you understand?--are to have a
meeting to-morrow night."
"Then you must be there, of course," replied Master Ned; "but, if
Pierrot is to ride thirty miles with me, the poor devil had better have
some food. He has tasted nothing but the brandy."
"That is enough for him," answered Jargeau: "he cares nothing for meat
when he can get drink."
"Well, then, let him have enough of what he likes best," answered the
lad; "and in the mean time I will get a cloak out of the bag, for we
shall have a wet ride as well as a long one." Thus saying, he rose, took
the bags into the farther corner of the cabin, and certainly took a
cloak out of one of them. Whether he brought forth any thing else I do
not say; but the cloak was soon over his shoulders, and a moment after
Pierrot appeared at the door, saying that the beasts were saddled.
"Here, Pierrot," exclaimed the lad; "come in and devour that chicken,
and then you shall have some more of the devil's drops."
"Take some more yourself, Ned," said Jargeau: "'tis the only way to
prevent catching the fever."
The lad assented, and, taking the bottle with both hands, put it to his
lips; but whether any of its contents passed beyond them I am doubtful,
seeing that the throat, which was fully exposed by his falling collar,
showed no signs of deglutition. He then handed the liquor to Pierrot,
who by this time had torn a large fat fowl to pieces and swallowed
one-half of it. The brandy fared still worse; for, although Jargeau
frowned upon him fiercely while he drank, the bottle, whatever remained
of the contents when he put it to his mouth, left that organ quite
empty.
"You drunken beast, you have swallowed it all!" said Jargeau.
"True," answered Pierrot, with a watery and somewhat swimming eye: "my
mouth is not large, but it is deep. I wish the Pertuis d'Antioche could
be filled with the same stuff and my mouth be laid at the other end.
There would be only one current then, Monsieur Jargeau."
The lad and the elderman both eyed him keenly as he spoke; but, strange
to say, the sight seemed to please the former more than the latter, and,
as they issued forth to mount, Jargeau drew Pierrot aside and said
something to him in a low but angry voice.
The lad took not the slightest notice of this little interlude, but,
advancing to where the horses stood with bent heads, not liking the rain
at all, he selected the one which seemed to him the strongest and best,
without asking consent of any one, placed his bags, tied together with a
strong leathern thong, over the pommel of the saddle, and then sprang
into his seat. "Come on, Pierrot!" he cried; "we have far to ride, it
seems, and but little time." Jargeau advanced to his side and said, in a
whisper, "That beast is half drunk. Take care of him. You remember it is
the Chateau of Mauzé you are going to. He may turn refractory."
"Oh, no fear," replied Master Ned. "I can drive him as well as any other
ass. I have driven him before. Mauzé?--that is upon the road to Niort,
is it not?"
"Yes," answered the other. "Where the road forks, keep to the right, and
then straight on: you cannot miss it. I think the moon will get the
better of the clouds and shine out."
"Good!" said the youth. "We want a little light."
Thus saying, he struck the horse with his heel, and the beast started
forward. Pierrot, who by this time had contrived to mount, followed, and
Jargeau returned to the cottage, as he said, to put out the light.