We must now return to the little parlour of Van Noost, the
leaden-statue-maker, and suppose that an hour or two has passed since
we left him and his companion there together. We have but paused,
indeed, to tell a story by the way. In the meantime, Van Noost had
rolled about from one part of his house to the other, eager to show
every sort of hospitality and attention to his guest. He had called a
somewhat buxom cook to conference in his workshop, and had whispered
instructions and directions to a man and two or three boys who aided
him in his labours, and who instantly issued forth, by the back door
of the house, upon what may justly be termed a foraging expedition,
taking their way towards Mayfair and Shepherd's market, though be it
understood that Mayfair then actually consisted of fields, on which
the fair, till within late years, had been held. In the immediate
neighbourhood were a number of public-houses, taverns, and eating-shops,
of which one was the notorious Dog and Duck.
Notwithstanding all the precautions he had taken, good Van Noost
thought fit to apologise beforehand for the scantiness and meanness of
the only fare which he should have to set before his distinguished
guest; but Smeaton laughed lightly, laying his hand upon Van Noost's
shoulder, and saying--
"I should be little worthy of the name of a soldier, my good friend,
if I could not appreciate the excellence of horse-flesh and dead cat
in a besieged fortress, in which light I suppose we may look upon your
house, as you have taken the pains to lock the door. Whatever you can
give me will be very acceptable; for, to say sooth, I had so much to
do this morning that I have not broken my fast."
The meal, when it was set upon the table, however, belied Van Noost's
disparaging excuses. It was not only abundant, but very savoury,
although there was an hereditary smack of Dutch cookery in the dishes
which might not have recommended them in general to English palates.
Wine, Van Noost had none; but the beer was very good; and after
dinner, the worthy entertainer produced from a cupboard in the corner
a large black bottle, with a neck like a crane and a body like a
goose, which he pressed upon his companion, assuring him that it was
filled with genuine old Dutch Cinnamon, the like of which was not to
be found in England. As the liquor was potent, however, and Smeaton
thought he might as well keep his head cool, he declined the spirit,
and left Van Noost to enjoy it himself.
Looking out through the low window, after the meal was over, Smeaton
cast his eyes up and down the road before the house, and then, turning
to Van Noost, remarked--
"That man is no longer there; and I think I might as well take my
departure."
"Oh, he is hanging about somewhere near, depend upon it, my Lord,"
replied Van Noost. "I beseech you not to hazard yourself in the street
till after dark. They will track you home, to a certainty; and then
the first thing that greets you to-morrow may be a warrant for the
Tower."
Smeaton seemed to entertain no great apprehension of such a result,
remarking that with him there was no pretence for so violent a step.
"I would not willingly have them discover my abode, however," he
remarked, "for they might hamper my movements. I think I shall return
to France at once, Van Noost," he added, thoughtfully.
"Not surely before you have seen Lord Oxford?" said the other, with a
look of surprise.
"Perhaps not," answered Smeaton; "but that can be done to-night. The
letter I bear will gain me admission at any hour, without raising
suspicion in him or any other person as to my real business."
"And even then, my good Lord," observed Van Noost, "if I might humbly
be permitted to advise, you would still wait awhile--not in London,
not in London, but in some quiet country place, where you would not be
known, and yet could receive intelligence of all that passes, and be
ready for any occasion, I am but a poor statuary, it is true, better
acquainted with the arms of Apollo and the ankles of Venus than with
the limbs of policy; but still I think it is better to be on the spot,
especially when there is no real danger. At all events, you would be
able to judge more of the temper of the people and the chances of
success."
"I have judged of the temper of the people already," replied Smeaton,
with a significant smile. "I mean of the people of London. I might,
indeed, see something more of the country gentlemen, though I much
doubt their wit if not their wishes, their discretion rather than
their devotion. As to the population of this city, the mob that we
saw, shouting 'Long live Oxford!' would in three months shout as gaily
at his execution."
"Ay, ay," remarked Van Noost, "the people are always fickle, I know
well. The time may come when even leaden statues may be out of
fashion." And he sighed deeply at the very thought of such a
catastrophe.
At that moment something seemed to catch Smeaton's eye, as he still
stood near the window looking out into the road. His face became
eager, his brow knitted, his eyes flashed, his lips curled, and his
nostrils expanded. The next instant, he threw up the sash, leaped out
into the garden, crossed it at a run, (knocking down two leaden
soldiers and a wood-nymph,) vaulted over the rustic fence, and,
exclaiming vehemently, "How dare you strike that boy so cruelly, sir?"
caught by the collar a man who had just knocked down, with a
tremendous blow, a young lad in gentlemanly attire, who still lay upon
the ground, as if stunned. Smeaton shook the man violently, and the
latter replied, in a sharp and insolent tone, struggling to get free:
"Why did he switch my leg then, and dirt all my stockings?"
"A mere accident," answered Smeaton. "He came up the road, swinging
his cane about, and merely touched you by accident. Stand still! You
shall not go till I know who is your master. The boy is bleeding."
"I shan't stand still," answered the man. "Take off your hand, or I'll
serve you as I did him." At the same moment, he, in his turn, grasped
Smeaton by the collar, and made an effort to trip him up.
His opponent, however, was younger, more active, and not a whit less
strong, though his figure appeared a good deal slighter to the eye,
from the symmetry with which it was formed. A struggle ensued, but it
lasted not a minute, and at the end, the running footman--for such was
Smeaton's opponent--was lying on his back in the dust.
The boy had by this time partly raised himself; and, clapping his
hands with childlike satisfaction, exclaimed:
"Well done, well done!"
A little crowd had now collected, but Smeaton noticed nothing at the
moment except his adversary, and he once more demanded in a stern
tone,
"Who is your master?"
The man was silent, but one of the bystanders exclaimed:
"He's one of the Earl of Stair's men. Don't you see his colours?"
"Ay, I am one of the Earl of Stair's men," growled the footman,
rising; "and he will make you pay for what you have done. There are
eyes upon you, master."
"He shall punish you or take the act upon himself," answered Smeaton.
At the same moment Van Noost pulled his sleeve, whispering:
"You had better come in, sir; yen had better come in. This is a bad
business."
"Come, young gentleman," said Smeaton, laying his hand kindly on the
boy's arm, "come in here with us, and let us see if he has hurt you
much."
The boy followed mechanically; Van Noost locked the gate, which he had
opened; the footman went away grumbling, with two or three children
running after him to look at him, keeping, however, at a wary
distance; and the little crowd which had collected gradually
dispersed.
Once in the house, Smeaton and Van Noost applied themselves to stop
the bleeding of a wound of no great extent or consequence which the
boy had received on his head in falling, and the former asked him a
number of questions, to which he received answers neither nonsensical
nor without pertinence, but somewhat strange and uncommon. Shakspeare
would probably have called them "simple answers," for the meaning of
that word simple was not so limited in his day as in ours; yet there
was an occasional touch of shrewdness in his replies, which savoured
not at all of the simpleton. He used, it is true, expressions
sometimes childlike, sometimes not altogether intelligible to those
unaccustomed to his way of talking, but often poetical, or perhaps I
should rather say figurative. His head he invariably called "his
noddle." The ground on which he had fallen he spoke of as "mother
earth." The fist of the man who had struck him he denominated "his
poulter," and the blow "a dunder." He bore the pain well, and seemed
to care little for the accident, but at the same time exhibited a
degree of enthusiastic gratitude towards Smeaton (more than
commensurate with the service which had hem rendered) for interfering
on his behalf, and especially for avenging him on the bully who had
struck him.
"Ay, ay," he said, looking eagerly in Smeaton's face, "it was good to
teach the coulter-head that he's not too long to lie on mother earth."
In a few minutes he seemed quite recovered; and Van Noost poured him
out a little of his Dutch Cinnamon, which, though Smeaton rather
disapproved of the remedy, had a marvellous effect in restoring the
boy's spirits.
Nevertheless he appeared somewhat eager to be gone; and his companions
were not particularly disposed to detain him when they found that he
was not seriously injured. Van Noost saw him to the garden-gate, and,
on his return, perceived that his companion had fallen into a fit of
thought, in which he continued for a moment or two after his host
entered.
"I have made up my mind, Van Noost," said Smeaton, at length. "There
are circumstances in which it is as well to take the bull by the
horns. It is evident that your good friend, the Earl of Stair, has
recognised me. Although we never interchanged a word in our lives, he
has seen me more than once. I will not play at hide-and-seek with him.
I will go to him to-night, and demand that this man shall be
discharged for the outrage he has committed."
Van Noost looked astonished--nay, aghast. "But, my dear lord," he
exclaimed, "think, for Heaven's sake, of what you are doing. Were it
to take a city or to save an empire, it might be worth while to get
into the inside of a wooden horse and be wheeled into the lion's den,
like the Greek gentlemen in days of old; but, to punish a running
footman, I cannot say that the object is worthy of the risk. Bethink
you of your policy, noble lord."
"It is the most politic course, Van Noost," replied Smeaton. "I have
nothing to fear but a little inconvenience consequent upon discovery.
The discovery being already made, all the danger that can be incurred
is incurred already. A part of it may be obviated by boldness. But see
who that is ringing at your bell."
Van Noost instantly ran to the window and looked towards the little
gate, a large bell, hanging at its side, having been just rung
violently.
"It is the boy again," he said, "and a gentleman with two servants.
What shall I do?"
"Oh, let them in, let them in," cried Smeaton, in a gay and
indifferent tone. "Now that I have resolved to throw off disguise, I
may as well hold a levee."
Not without very apparent unwillingness, the worthy statuary called
one of his workmen, and bade him open the garden-gate and give
admission to the strangers. He did not perform the office himself; for
he would be seized with sudden fits of self-importance when he thought
it necessary to keep up his dignity. The boy and the gentleman who
accompanied him were speedily admitted to the garden; and, leaving the
two servants at the gate, walked on to the house, and were introduced
unannounced into Van Noost's little parlour.
"That is he, that is he," cried the boy, pointing to Smeaton, who had
remained seated till they entered; and the gentleman by whom the lad
was accompanied, a well-dressed middle-aged man, advanced, holding out
his hand, and saying--"I have to thank you, sir, for your generous
interference on behalf of my son."
Taking his offered hand, Smeaton replied with a smile,
"I am sorry that it was not called into activity sooner, or I might
have spared him a very heavy blow; but I had not the slightest idea
that a great powerful man like that would think of striking a young
gentleman of your son's age, for an offence which was, evidently,
merely accidental."
"It is too much the habit with our great men, sir," observed the
other, "to keep bullies and bruisers in their service. But the Earl of
Stair shall hear of this, and learn that, though we are under a
foreign king, his creatures must be a little more considerate of the
feelings and rights of Englishmen."
"I know nothing of Lord Stair except by report." said Smeaton; "but,
from all I have heard, I should not suppose he was one to countenance
such outrageous conduct in his servants; and I shall, certainly,
request him to dismiss this man on account of his insolence to
myself."
"I shall insist upon it," replied the other.
"Although he may never have heard the name of Sir John Newark, yet my
possessions and my station in the country will not permit of my being
insulted in the person of my son with impunity."
Smeaton smiled slightly as he rejoined--
"I shall hold out no threat, Sir John; but, dealing with Lord Stair as
one gentleman with another, shall make it my request that he dismisses
that man, as one who disgraces his service. I do not think he will
refuse; but, of course, in your own case, you will act as you think
fit. Now, to speak of pleasanter subjects," he continued, holding out
his hand to the boy; "I did not know, my young friend, when I
interfered in your behalf, that I was serving the son of a gentleman
to whom I bear a letter from one of his intimate friends."
The boy caught his hand, and shook it eagerly, exclaiming--
"I'm glad of that--I'm glad of that; I was sure my father would like
you. You gave the coulter-head a fine fall. I heard all his bones
crack and rattle as he tumbled. I should have liked to give him a
kick; but that would not have been fair when he was down, you know."
"May I ask, then, to whom I have the pleasure of speaking?" inquired
Sir John Newark, who had been eyeing his companion with some
curiosity.
"I am called Colonel Henry Smeaton," replied that gentleman; "though
my military rank, I suppose, will not be acknowledged in this country,
as it has been gained in the service of the House of Austria."
Sir John Newark shook him heartily by the hand, with the air and
warmth of an old friend.
"I am most happy to see you, Colonel Smeaton," he said. "I have
already received a letter, giving me information that you would
probably come to see me at my poor house." Then, dropping his voice to
a whisper, he added, "from Lord Bolingbroke."
"The letter I bear is from the Duke of Ormond," said Smeaton, in a
colder tone, the name of Bolingbroke appearing to have no great charms
for him. "Will you say where I shall have the honour of delivering it,
for at this moment it is not about me?"
"Nowhere, I trust, but at my poor manor-house at Ale," replied Sir
John. "It is a pleasure that I have promised myself; and I was even
now on the eve of hastening back thither for the purpose of meeting
you on your arrival. My son was walking from his school to meet me, in
order to go down with me to-morrow, when he was assaulted. But I think
you told me, my dear Richard," he continued, "that this other
gentleman had been very kind to you also."
And he looked towards Van Noost, who had been standing near the window
while the conversation took place.
"O yes," answered the boy. "He gave me some nice stuff, and cockered
me up famously; but it was the other that made the big bully take
measure of the paving-stones."
"Will you not be seated, Sir John," said Van Noost, putting a chair
for the knight, "and allow me to give you a glass of the nice stuff,
as your son calls it, which did him so much good?"
"Well, I don't know what its name is," retorted the boy; "but I know it
tasted like drinking gingerbread--hot and sweet--and a very nice taste
besides."
"Dutch Cinnamon, I'll warrant," said Sir John Newark, laughing, and
seating himself. "We are not very much accustomed to such things in my
house. So he might well not know what it was. I have almost forgotten
the taste of it; but I know it is very good; and I do not at all
object, sir, to try your store."
Now, be it known to the reader that, at that period of history, the
greater part of the English nation had became afflicted with a disease
from which they are not altogether free even yet, although a great
physician has lately been amongst them, undertaking its especial cure.
The disease I mean is, dram-drinking, which, for some time, affected
not only the lower but many of the higher classes. So that there was
nothing at all extraordinary in Sir John Newark consenting to drink a
glass of very strong spirit even before he had dined. But that worthy
gentleman was not without his own particular motives in anything he
did, and frequently covered, or attempted to cover, them by an air of
frank and straightforward affability. At present, indeed, he seemed to
have no thought but of Van Noost's good liquor, watching him as he
brought from the corner-cupboard both the long-necked bottle I have
before mentioned, and an exceedingly thin wine-glass, with a tall
stalk lightly cut and gilt.
"It pours out like cream," observed Sir John, as his host held the
neck of the bottle over the glass.
"Ay, this is none of your poisonous drugs such as they sell at the
chandlers' shops and the barbers', made out of the lees of old wine,
or damaged sugar," replied Van Noost, still pouring; "none of your
aqua mirabilis, or aqua salts, or plague-water, or colic-water, but
genuine Dutch Cinnamon, imported by my good father in his own
sea-stock. Take it, Sir John. I am sure it will do your heart good."
Sir John drank, and praised, and drank again; and then, turning to
Smeaton, who was speaking with his son, he said--
"You are hard drinkers on the Continent, I believe, Colonel Smeaton,
and would beat us Englishmen at a match any day."
"Not in the countries where I have principally resided," returned
Smeaton. "I mean Spain, and some of the Austrian States. I have heard,
indeed, of certain fearful orgies amongst the French officers in
Spain; but I know little of France or Frenchmen, having merely passed
through the country once or twice, and that very rapidly."
"Did you ever chance in your travels to meet with a gentleman named
Somerville--Richard Somerville?" asked Sir John Newark, in a careless
tone.
Smeaton shook his head, replying--
"No, I never did. In what country is he residing?"
"I really can hardly tell," returned Sir John Newark; "for, though he
is a distant relation of mine, we have not held much communication
together for many years. France or Lorraine, I believe, was the last
country in which he was heard of."
"I think I do remember," remarked Smeaton, in a musing tone, "having
heard the name mentioned at Nancy. But they said he had gone to seek
his fortunes amongst the Spaniards in the New World. Somerville--yes,
that was the name surely."
"Ay, very probable," said Sir John Newark. "I think a rumour of his
intention reached me. You never were in those golden countries
yourself, were you?"
"Never," replied Smeaton. "The journey is somewhat far; and, as I am
well contented with what I have, I feel no inclination to banish
myself from civilization in pursuit of wealth."
"I should like to see the country where gold grows," observed Sir John
Newark's son, looking earnestly at Smeaton. "If I were a lord in
golden land, I would give you a whole tree."
"Thank you, my dear lad," said Smeaton, laughing. "I fear, however, I
should have some difficulty in eating the fruit of that tree."
"Why, golden pippins--they would be golden pippins!" cried the boy,
clapping his hands at the thought. "I wish I had some now; but they
are not ripe yet."
The conversation then took another turn. Sir John Newark became
actually gay and jocular, pressed upon Smeaton his invitation to his
house at Ale, and did not depart till he had obtained from him a
conditional promise to go down and spend a fortnight with him, if he
determined to remain any time in England. He shook his new friend by
the hand, at parting, with considerable warmth; but there was a degree
of hearty cordiality in the boy's grasp of Smeaton's hand, which
pleased him better.
"You must and shall come down," said the boy, in a whisper; "and I'll
show you all the coves and the paths among the rocks and over the
cliffs, where nobody ever perches but I, and the sea-mews, and the
fishing-hawks. Old Jones Skinner, the smuggler, broke his neck there;
and people are afraid ever since; but you are not afraid of anything,
I am sure."
"I trust not," answered Smeaton; and thus they parted.
When they were gone, Van Noost, who had been, for him, remarkably
silent and reserved, broke forth, upon the character of Sir John
Newark.
"Take care what you do with him, my Lord," he said. "He is not much to
be trusted; and, for Heaven's sake, do not let him know your real
name. First he has been one thing, then he has been another, just as
he thought it served his own interest. He was once very great with
Sunderland, in the old King's reign, and with the Duke of Shrewsbury
too. Then he paid court to the Duke of Marlborough; and then he was
one of Bolingbroke's men. I don't know whether he is a good enemy or
not; but I am certain he is not a good friend. He is shrewd, mighty
shrewd too, and has contrived to amass great wealth, and gain large
estates, by not the fairest means, they say."
"I will be careful, Van Noost," replied Smeaton, quietly; "but yet I
think I shall go. Much, however, will depend upon any interview with
Lord Stair. He has recognized me, I am sure--nothing escapes his keen
eyes--and I will soon see whether that recognition is likely to prove
dangerous. If so, I will stay and confront the danger here. If not, I
will go down to this Ale Manor for a time, and watch quietly the
course of events."
Van Noost shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head, saying,
"Well, my good Lord, well. You must have your own way, and put your
head into the lion's mouth, if you think fit; but it is an unpleasant
place to rest one's noddle in; and were I you, I certainly would not
try it."
Smeaton laughed, replying,
"I do not think the beast is dangerous; but we shall see. And now, my
good friend, I think I shall set out; for the shades of evening are
beginning to fall."
"Not yet, my Lord, not yet," cried Van Noost, who was evidently much
alarmed at his companion's determination. "It is but a cloud come over
the sky; and I would fain have you take a little more time to
consider. It is well enough for me to brave Lord Stair, and talk as
impudently to him as if I were his equal; first, because he can show
nothing against me, except that I love one King better than another,
and secondly, because I am too powerless and humble to be dangerous;
the man who will fight a boar, or a wolf, or even a lion, (saving your
presence,) will often turn aside not to tread on a beetle or a worm;
but with your Lordship, the case might be very different. You would
make a fine cast of the net; and they seem fond of taking great fish
just now."
"And very wise they are too," answered Smeaton, with a smile. "A large
fish is always better than a small one."
"Wrong, wrong, my dear Lord," exclaimed Van Noost. "Smelts for my
money; only they are so dear--a shilling a score--that I can't afford
them."
"But, my good friend," replied Smeaton, "you are much mistaken as to
my objects and my position, though I strove hard to explain to you
what they really are."
"Ah, some of my lead gets into my pate," said Van Noost, with a sigh;
"and when an idea is fixed there, it is as stiff as a river-god in a
fountain, and requires to be melted and re-cast, before it will take
another shape. But your Lordship was going to say--"
"Merely, my good friend," rejoined Smeaton, more gravely, "that I do
not come over here to stir up any rebellion in the land, but simply,
at the request of a very dear friend, to ascertain what are the real
feelings of the country, and especially of the leading men therein. I
have no dangerous papers about me; for I refused to be the bearer of
any such. As yet I have communicated with no one but yourself, my
object being simply to see with my own eyes, hear with my own ears,
and communicate to some who are dear to me the result of my
observations. Thus, although avowedly, as all my family have been, a
friend of nay legitimate Prince, I have given no excuse for treating
me as a rebel to existing authority. The faction that now rules the
land can take hold of no word or act of mine. My father, it is true,
was banished and proclaimed; but such is not the case with me; and I
have a right to walk my native country at liberty."
Van Noost was evidently not convinced; and he contrived to detain his
companion with arguments till the sun had actually set. Then, however,
Smeaton rose, saying:
"Now, Van Noost, I must really go; but I shall see you to-morrow
early, and we will talk farther."
"I will open the back door," said Van Noost, somewhat ruefully, "and
let your Lordship out through the garden into the fields. The first
turning on the right will take you straight up to the Dog and Duck;
and then you cannot miss your way."
"No, no, Van Noost," replied Smeaton. "The open way and the straight,
if you please, my good friend; unless you are afraid to have me seen
coming out of your house. I am tired of these maskings."
"Heaven forbid that I should be afraid, noble Lord," cried Van Noost
eagerly. "I would walk with your lordship to the Council Office
itself, if you liked; and, indeed, I think I had better go part of the
way with you."
Smeaton, however, declined all company; and, the door of the house and
gate of the garden having been opened, he issued forth into
Piccadilly, and took his way back towards St. James's street.
Van Noost looked after him for a moment or two, shook his head
gravely, and then, once more locking the garden-gate, set to work in
the twilight to put the leaden figures, which Smeaton had knocked
down, upon their legs again.