In the well-sanded parlour of a small but neat inn, called the "Rose
of Sharon," on the evening of the same day whereof we have just been
speaking, and in the village, or town, as perhaps we should call it,
of Bishop's Merton--for it was beginning to give itself the airs of a
great place--sat two personages finishing their supper, about
half-past nine o'clock. Their food was a cold sirloin of roast
beef--for the English nation were always fond of that plain and
substantial commodity--and their drink was good English ale, the most
harmonious accompaniment to the meat. The elder of the two was a
hard-featured, somewhat morose-looking personage, but of a hale, fresh
complexion, with a quick grey eye. There was a great deal of thought
upon the brow; and round the mouth were some strongly defined lines,
we might almost call them furrows. He was as thin and spare, too, as a
pair of tongs, but apparently strong and active for his age, and his
long limbs and breadth of chest spoke considerable original powers. He
was dressed altogether in black; and though a tall steeple-crowned hat
lay on a chair by his side, he wore while sitting at meat, a small
round cap of dark cloth, in the shape of a half pumpkin, on the top of
his head. He had also a good strong sword leaning on the chair beside
him, habited like himself in black, with steel points and hilt.
The other was a younger man, very different in appearance; a good deal
taller than his companion, and apparently more vigorous; his face
decorated with an immense pair of moustaches, and a somewhat pointed
beard, both of that indistinct hue which may be called whey-colour.
His hair floated upon his shoulders in the style of the Cavaliers;
but, to say the truth, it seemed somewhat unconscious of the comb; and
his dress, too, displayed that sort of dirty finery which by no means
prepossesses the wary usurer or experienced tradesman with the idea of
great funds at command on the part of the wearer. His doublet of
soiled leather displayed a great number of ornamented buttons, and
shreds of gold lace; his collar and hand-ruffles were of lace which
had once been of high price, but had seen service probably with more
masters than one, and had borne away in the conflict with the world
many a hole and tear, more honourable in flag or standard than in
human apparel. Ranging by his side, and ready for action, was an
egregious rapier, with a small dagger placed beside it, as if to set
off its length to greater advantage. On his legs were a large pair of
jack-boots, which he seldom laid aside, and there is even reason to
suppose that they covered several deficiencies; and hanging on a peg
behind was a broad beaver, very unlike the hats usually worn in
England at the time, ornamented with a long red feather.
As to his countenance and its expression, both were very peculiar. The
features in themselves were not bad--the eyes large, and somewhat
prominent. The nose, which was so pre-eminent as to form the chief
object in the expanse of his countenance, whichever way his face was
turned, was not altogether ill-shaped, and might have passed muster
amongst the ordinary noses of the world, had it not been that it was
set in the midst of a patch of red, which seemed to have transferred
itself from the cheeks to unite in the centre of the face. The
expression was bold, swaggering, and impudent; but a touch of shrewd
cunning was there, diversified every now and then by a quick, furtive
look around, which seemed to show that the worthy gentleman himself,
like a careful sentinel, was always upon the watch.
Certainly, seldom were there ever seen companions more opposite than
were there seated at supper on the present occasion; and yet it not
unfrequently happens, in this strange life of ours, that
circumstances, inclination, or wayward fortune, makes our comrade of
the way the man, of all others, least like one's self; and of all the
great general principles which are subject to exceptions, that which
has the most is the fact of birds of a feather flocking together.
"I have done," said the elder of the two, laying down his knife.
"Pooh, nonsense!" cried the other; "you haven't eaten half-a-pound. I
shan't have done this half-hour. I am like a camel, Master Randal.
Whenever I have an opportunity, I lay in a store in my own stomach for
the journey."
"Or like an ass," replied the other gentleman, "who takes more upon
his back than he can carry."
"No, not like an ass either," replied the man with the great
moustaches, "for an ass bears the food for other people--I for myself.
How can you or I tell whether we shall get another meal for the next
three days? 'Tis always right to prepare for the worst; and therefore,
so long as my stomach will hold and the beef endure, I will go on."
"The man who never knows when he has enough," answered his companion,
"is sure, sooner or later, either to want or have too much, and one is
as bad as the other."
"Oh, your pardon, your pardon!" cried the tall man; "give me the too
much. I will always find means to dispose of it--I am of the _too much
faction_. It's my battle-cry, my rallying word. Give me the too much
by all means. Did you ever see a carpenter cut out a door? Did you
ever see a tailor cut out a coat? Did you ever see a blacksmith forge
a horse-shoe? They always take too much to begin with. There are
plenty of bags in the world always wide open for superfluities; but,
to say truth, I never found I had too much yet: that's an epoch in my
history which is to come."
"Because, like other fools, you never know when you have enough,"
replied the man called Randal; "and as for your future history, it
will form but a short tale, easily told."
"I know what you would say--I know what you would say," replied the
other: "that the last act will find me in the most elevated situation
I have ever filled, though I may still be a dependant. But I can tell
you, my good friend, that in my many dangerous expeditions and
important occupations, I have escaped the cross piece of timber and
the line perpendicular so often, that I fear I am reserved for another
fate, and am in great dread every time I go upon the water."
"You are quite safe," replied the other, with a grim smile: "I'll
wager a thousand pounds upon your life, in a worm-eaten boat, with a
hole in the bottom. But hemp, hemp, I would have you beware of hemp!
'Oddslife! to hear you talk of your dangerous expeditions and
important occupations---- Cease, cease! I would sleep in peace,
to-night and you will give me an indigestion."
"Pshaw!" cried the other; "you have no more stomach than a pipped hen;
and as to my exploits, what land have I not visited? what scenes have
I not seen? To whom, if not to me, was owing the defence of Rochelle?
To whom----"
"Hush, hush!" said his companion; "tell the tale to others. I would as
soon drink vinegar, or eat stale cabbage, as hear lies four times
repeated, even with a variation."
"Lies!" cried the other; "thunder and lightning, sir----"
"There, there," cried his companion, quietly waving his hand: "that
will do; no more of it. Thunder and lightning will do nothing at your
bidding; so the less you have to do with them the better, lest you
burn your fingers. Try to be an honest man, leave off lying; don't
swagger but when you are drunk; and perchance you may be permitted to
hold the horses while other men fight."
"Well, there is no use in quarrelling with a maggot," replied his tall
comrade; and, taking to his knife again, he commenced a new inroad on
the beef, in assailing which, at least, he kept his word with a
laudible degree of fidelity.
In the mean while, the gentleman in black turned his shoulder to the
table, and fell into deep thought. But after a moment or two he opened
his lips, with an oracular shake of the head, not exactly addressing
his speech to his companion, but more apparently to the hilt of his
own sword, the point of which he had brought round between his feet,
and the blade of which he twirled round and round with his hands while
he was speaking.
"Nine out of ten of them," he said, "are either rank fools or
cold-hearted knaves, presumptuous blockheads, who think they have a
right to command, because they have not wit enough to obey; or cunning
scoundrels, who aim alone at their own interests, when they are
affecting to serve only their country, and yet are fools enough not to
see that the good of the whole is the good of every part."
"Who, who, who? Whom do you mean?" answered the other.
"English gentlemen," replied the man in black; "English gentlemen, I
say."
"Complimentary, certainly," remarked his comrade; "and by no means too
general or comprehensive. I dare say it's very, true, though. So
here's to your health, Master Randal."
"Let my health alone," said Randal, "and take care of your own; for if
you drink much more of that old ale, your head to-morrow morning will
be as heavy as the barrel from which it comes, and I shall have to
pump upon you to make you fit for any business whatsoever. Come,
finish your supper, and take a walk with me upon the hill. But whom
have we here? One of the rebels, I take it. Now, mind your part, but
do not lie more than your nature absolutely requires."
The last words of this speech were, as may be supposed, spoken in a
low voice, an addition having been suddenly made to the party in the
room where they were sitting.
The personage who entered was the same thin, self-denying-looking
gentleman who had passed poor Arrah Neil, as she sat by the fountain
in the morning, and had in his own mind, charitably furnished her with
a lodging in the stocks. That we may not have to return in order to
relate this gentleman's previous history hereafter, we may as well
pause here for a moment to say the few words that are needed on the
subject, especially as some reference may be made to his former life
in another place.
Master Dry, of Longsoaken, as he was now called, had risen from an
humble origin, and, though now a wealthy man, had commenced his career
as the errand-boy of a grocer, or rather general dealer, in the
village of Bishop's Merton. His master was a rigid man, a Puritan of
the most severe cast, and his master's wife a buxom dame, given
somewhat to the good things of life, especially of a fluid kind, which
she employed the ingenuity of young Ezekiel Dry in obtaining for her,
unknown to her more abstemious better-half. He thus acquired some
small skill in deceiving sharp eyes; and it was whispered that his
worthy patron did not fail to give him further improvement in this
peculiar branch of science, by initiating him into the mystery of the
difference between a yard measure and a yard of tape or ribbon,
between a pound weight and a pound of sugar or butter; between which,
as the learned reader is aware, there is a great and important
distinction.
As worthy Ezekiel Dry grew up into a young man, his master settled
down into an old one; and at length Death, who, like his neighbours in
a country town, is compelled occasionally to go to the chandler's
shop, called one morning at the door of Ezekiel's master, and would
not be satisfied without his full measure.
The usual course of events then took place. There was a widow, and a
shopman; the widow was middle-aged and wealthy, the shopman young and
poor; and Mr. Dry became a married man, and master of the shop. During
a probation of twenty years, which his state of matrimony lasted, he
did not altogether escape scandal; but in those times, as in others,
very rigid piety (at least in appearance) was not always accompanied
by very rigid morality; and those people who conceived that they might
exist separately, looked upon the latter as of very little consequence
where the former was pre-eminent.
At length, after having resisted time and strong waters (which her
second husband never denied her in any quantity) to the age of nearly
seventy, Mrs. Dry slept with her ancestors; and Mr. Dry went on
flourishing, till at length he sold his house and shop to another
pillar of the conventicle, and bought a good estate in the near
neighbourhood, called Longsoaken. He still kept up his connection with
his native town, however, became a person of the highest consideration
therein, took part in all its councils, managed many of its affairs,
was acquainted with all its news, and was the stay of the Puritans,
the terror of the parson, and the scorn of the Cavaliers.
It was his usual custom, as he still remained a widower, to look into
the "Rose of Sharon" every fine afternoon--less, as he said, to take
even the needful refreshment of the body, than to pause and meditate
for half-an-hour, before he retired to his own house; but it was
remarked that, on these occasions, he invariably had a small measure
of some kind of liquid put down beside him, and consulted the host
upon the affairs of everybody in the place.
In the present instance, Mr. Dry had received immediate information
that two strangers had appeared at the "Rose of Sharon" between eight
and nine, and he had hastened up from Longsoaken without loss of time;
but he had spent nearly half-an-hour with the landlord in an inner
chamber, inquiring into all the particulars of their appearance and
demeanour. Now, the landlord had lost more than one good customer in
consequence of the unpleasant interference of his respected neighbour,
who had occasionally caused some of the most expensive visiters at his
house to be committed as "malignants;" but as he dared not show any
resistance or make any remonstrance to a person so high in authority
as Master Dry, of Longsoaken, his only course was to defend the
characters of his guests as far as was safe. But the worthy host was a
timid man, and never ventured to pronounce a decided opinion in the
presence of his betters.
In answer, therefore, to the questions now addressed to him, he
replied, "Oh dear, no, worshipful sir! That is to say--for one cannot
be certain of anything in this ungodly world--they do not look like it
at all. Malignants are always gay in their apparel, and the gentleman
is dressed just like yourself, all in black. He has got a Geneva
skullcap, too, I should not wonder if he were a gifted man like
yourself."
"That may be a mere disguise," said Mr. Dry.
"Then, malignants are always roystering blades," continued the
landlord; "calling for all manner of things, beginning with wine, and
ending with strong waters. Now, these good people have nought but beef
and ale; though, doubtless, as all godly men may do for the comfort of
the inner man, they will take something more warming before they go;
but, as yet, one tankard of ale is all they have had."
"That looks well," said Mr. Dry, oracularly; "not that I would condemn
any man for using creature comforts in moderation, according to his
necessity. Some men's complexion, if of a cold and melancholy nature,
does require such helps. I myself am driven to it--but what more, my
friend? Are they grave in their discourse?"
"As heart could wish," replied the landlord. "I should take them
rather for the most pious and humble----"
"I will see them myself," interrupted Dry, who began to suspect the
landlord. "It is not easy to deceive my eyes."
But the worthy host contrived to detain his worshipful fellow-townsman
for some five minutes longer, in order that the guests might finish
their meal in peace, by opening a conversation relative to the return
of "the poor silly girl, Arrah Neil," as he called her, in regard to
whom he had shrewd suspicions that Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, entertained
sentiments not quite so rigid as those which his words in the morning
might seem to imply.
On this part of their conversation, however, I shall not dwell, as it
would be neither very instructive nor very amusing, but will return
once more to the parlour of the inn which Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken,
entered with a staid and stately step, his two eyes bent upon the
ground, as if he were in deep meditation. The younger of the two
guests in the parlour lolled in his chair and bit his lip. The elder
considered Mr. Dry attentively, but suffered him to enter the room and
approach the table without saying a word. Neither did he make any
movement of limb or feature, but remained cold, stiff, and dry, as if
his limbs and his countenance were made of wood. Mr. Dry, however,
always recollected that he was a man in authority; and great success
in life, where there is any weakness of character, is sure to produce
a confident self-importance, very comfortable to the possessor
thereof, though not particularly agreeable to his friends and
companions.
As neither of the others uttered a word, then, he began the
conversation himself without farther ado.
"I trust we are brethren, sir," he said, addressing the gentleman whom
we have called Randal.
"I trust we are so," replied the other.
"Ahem!" said Mr. Dry, "my name is Dry, sir; Dry, of Longsoaken."
"You may be soaked long enough," murmured the man at the table to
himself; not loud enough to be heard; "you may be soaked long enough
before you are moistened, Mr. Dry."
But his companion, who saw his lips move, gave him a grave look and
replied to the intruder, "I am happy to hear it, sir. It is a godly
name, which I have heard of before. Will you never have done with that
beef, Master Barecolt?"
"But this mouthful, but this mouthful," replied the gentleman at the
table, "and then I am with you."
"One word before you go," said Mr. Dry: "you seem, sir, a godly and
well-disposed man, and I doubt not have been led into the right way;
but there is an air of prelatic malignancy about this person at the
table."
"You are altogether mistaken, worthy Dry," said the good gentleman who
had been paying such devoted attention to the beef; "there is nothing
malignant about my nature, and the air you talk of is but a remnant of
French manners caught while I was serving our Calvinistic brethren in
that poor, benighted land. In me, sir, you behold him whom you may
have heard of--who in the morning preached to the people in the
beleaguered city of Rochelle, from the 2nd verse of the 24th chapter
of the book of Joshua, 'Your fathers dwelt on the other side of the
flood in old time;' and who in the evening led them out to battle, and
smote the Philistines hip and thigh. That is to say, broke through the
stockade, and defeated two regiments of the guards."
"I have heard of the deed," replied Mr. Dry.
"Then you must have heard likewise," said the gentleman at the table,
rising up at full length, and making the intruder a low bow, "of
Master Deciduous Barecolt."
"I think I have, I think I have," said Mr. Dry.
"Then, again," cried Barecolt, "when I defended the pass in the
Cevennes, with only two godly companions, against the Count de Suza
and a hundred and fifty bloodthirsty Papists--you must surely have
heard of that exploit."
"I cannot say I have," replied Mr. Dry.
"Then, sir, you are ignorant of the history of Europe," answered the
other with a look of high indignation; "for trust the name of
Deciduous Barecolt is known from the mouth of the Elbe to the mouth of
the Danube, and will descend to posterity upon the stream of time,
only rendered imperishable by that which destroys other things.
Goodnight, Mr. Dry. Now, Master Randal, I am ready to accompany you.
Shall we sing a psalm before we go?"
"No," replied Randal abruptly, and picking up his hat, he led the way
out of the room.
The inn was situated near the extremity of the town; and at the
distance of about two hundred paces from the door, the two strangers
emerged from between the lines of houses, and found themselves among
the hedgerows. Without any hesitation as to the track which he was to
pursue, the younger gentleman mounted a stile to the right, and took a
path which, crossing the fields, wound gradually up over one slope
after another till it reached the brow of the hill on which Bishop's
Merton House was placed.
It was a fine clear moonlight night; and at the distance of about a
mile from the mansion, they caught a sight of its wide front,
extending along the hill till the wings were concealed by a little
wood, behind which, as they walked on, the whole building was speedily
lost.
"It is a fine old place," said Barecolt to his companion; "it always
puts me in mind of the Escurial."
"More likely puts you in mind of the stocks," said Randal; "for you
have both seen and felt the one, and never set eyes upon the other."
"How can you tell that I never saw it?" exclaimed his companion; "you
have not had the dandling of me ever since I was a baby in arms."
"Heaven forbid!" cried Randal; "but I am sure you never have seen it,
because you say you have. However, you must either speak truth
to-night or hold your tongue. I did not stop you in your course of
gasconade with that roundheaded knave at the inn, because I knew that
you must void a certain quantity of falsehood in the day, and it was
necessary to get rid of it before you came up here; for this young
lord is not one to take counterfeit coin."
"The monster!" exclaimed Barecolt; "there is not a more cruel or
barbarous creature in the earth than the man who drives from his door
all the sweet little children of the imagination which you call lies.
He is wanting in all human charity. Give me the generous and confiding
soul who believes everything that is said to him, and enjoys the story
of a traveller who relates to him wild scenes in lands he never has
visited, just as much as if it were all as true as history----"
"Which is itself a lie," rejoined the other. "Had this young man's
father been alive, you would have found a person after your own heart.
He was a man of vast capabilities of belief. His mind was but a
looking-glass, always representing what was before it; his religion
was in the last sermon he had heard, his politics in the last
broadsheet, his opinions those of his companions for the hour, his
taste the newest mode that he had seen. He was the quintessence of an
ordinary-minded man; but his son is a very different being."
Barecolt made no rash promise of abstaining from his favourite
amusement, but walked on for about a hundred yards in silence, till
suddenly his companion exclaimed, "Do you not see a strange light
shining through the wood before us? Hark, there is an alarum-bell!"
And hurrying his pace, he issued forth from the wood some three
hundred yards farther on, where the cause of the light they had
remarked became too visible.
Rising up from one of the flanking towers of the old house, in large
white volumes, to the very sky, was a tall column of smoke, spreading
out towards the top, while from the building itself poured forth the
rushing flame like a huge beacon, illuminating all the country round.
Each window in that tower and the neighbouring wing emitted the same
blaze; and it was very evident--although a number of persons were seen
moving about upon the terrace, engaged apparently in the endeavour to
extinguish the fire--that it was making its way rapidly towards the
rest of the house.
The two strangers ran as fast as possible to give assistance. But
before I pursue their adventures on that night, I must turn to speak
of all that had taken place within the mansion of Bishop's Merton
during the evening preceding the disaster which I have described.