I
A philosophical man will go far before he discover a pastime more
grateful or better soothing to his mind than painting in water-colours.
I have heard angling preached up for a better; and when I answered on
behalf of water-colours that it does not matter how ill you do it, was
replied to that the same holds with angling if cheerfully practised.
Well, then, at angling I make a cast and hitch my line over a bough, or
it drops into some thicket, and thereat how can a man keep tranquil?
No, no: I had liefer stain paper any day of the week.
On Saturday afternoon, the 10th of August, 1644--a very fair hot
day--while I sat in the pleasant shady church of Boconnoc, near by Lord
Mohun's house in Cornwall, copying down the writings on the monuments
and the scutcheons in the windows in their right colours, it came into
my mind to consider much that had happened to me in two years: how
that fate had made a soldier of me, a plain Essex squire; how that,
not content, it had promoted me to command a troop in his Majesty's
regiment of horse; how that I, who had often desired to visit Cornwall
for the sake of its ancient monuments, but had never thought (being by
habit lethargic) to make so far a journey, was not only arrived there,
but had leisure to follow my studies amid the fret and drilling of a
great army.
Yet it was all very simple. On the 1st of August we had marched with
his Majesty across the passes of the Tamar, the Earl of Essex giving
ground before us and daily withdrawing his forces closer around Fowey;
where, having a good harbour, he could easily fetch his victuals in
from the sea. I will not tell how little by little we prevented him,
and at last, surprising a fort by the harbour's entry, cut him off
from aid of his shipping. All this was to come. Meanwhile, though pent
in a few miles of ground, he had a fair back-door for his needs. The
campaign was brought to a lock, and for almost two weeks we pushed
matters half-heartedly; I believe, because the King had hopes of
bringing the enemy to terms. Many letters came and went by trumpet;
but in our camp on the moors over Boconnoc we did little from day to
day save meet and picquer with small bodies of the rebel horse.
My duties giving me leisure, I turned to recreation; and Lord! how
good it seemed to be antiquary again after two years of soldiering!
That afternoon I played with my box of paints as a child who comes
home for his first holidays, and takes down his familiar toys from the
shelf. "Let others," said I, forgetting all the distractions of our
poor realm of England, "let others have the making of history so I may
keep the enjoying of it!" They were famous scutcheons, too, that I sat
a-copying, the Mohuns having been Earls of Somerset, Lords of Dunster,
and a great family in their day. Mohun, indeed, had come with the
Conqueror--
_Le viel William de Moion
Ont avec li maint compagnon_,
said the rhyme, as I remembered: and, behold! a fair monument against
the north wall of the chancel (where I began) carried the royal coat of
England and France with a label, impaling the ground _or_ and engrailed
cross _sable_ of the Mohuns--this for a Philippa of their house that
married with Edward, Duke of York, slain at Agincourt: and, beside it,
Courtenay's three torteaux and FitzWilliam's three bendlets, Bevill
and Brewer, Strange and Redvers, a coat _vert_ with three bucks' heads
having their antlers depressed (which I took for Hayre), and another
coat to set an antiquary thinking, for it bore _azure_ a bend _or_,
with a label of three points _gules_. "Scrope or Grosvenor," said I to
myself, looking up from my work towards the East windows, where the
same scutcheon was repeated. "I wonder which claims you in these parts."
The shield that bore this famous device had it quartered on the
sinister side with Courtenay and Redvers; and impaling these on the
dexter side were, quarterly: (1) A space patched with clear glass
(originally Mohun, no doubt); (2) _Vert_ three stags' heads _or_
(?Hayre); (3) _azure_ three bendlets _or_ (FitzWilliam); (4) a device
which again puzzled me. It seemed to be an arm habited in a maunch, or
sleeve, _ermine_, holding in the hand a golden flower.
Now while I painted, an old man had been moving about the far end
of the church, whom I took for the sexton. I had passed him in the
churchyard outside, when he was scything down the grass upon a grave;
and had noted no more of his back than that he wore the clothes of a
hind with a scrap of sacking over his shoulders--nor perhaps would have
noted so much as this, had not his clothing seemed over-warm for the
time of year.
But now, while I stood conning the coats in the East window, he drew
towards me and spoke, stretching forward a hand timidly, almost
touching my elbow.
"Sir," said he, and his voice and face bore instant witness together of
gentle birth, "I am gladly at your service if anything there perplex
you." With that he nodded towards the coats-of-arms.
In a trice I had recovered myself. "Then you, too, have a taste for
such trifles?" answered I. "We are well met, Sir."
He shook his head, avoiding my look. You might have called his a noble
face, but more than anything else it was patient. "I belong to these
parts," said he; "and would ask a stranger to use my small knowledge:
but, for myself, all such things may pass with me into oblivion, and I
say 'Amen.'"
Said I then, "Maybe you can tell me of that coat in the fourth quarter
dexter--the hand grasping a gold fleur-de-lys."
"Willingly," said he. "That is another device of the Mohuns, who in
later times changed it for the sable cross engrailed. At the first they
bore a man's hand in a sleeve: the flower it grasps came to them in
this way: There was a certain Reginald Mohun, Lord of Dunster, who gave
himself entirely to good works and founded a great abbey at Newenham,
on the Somerset border. That was in Henry the Third's time--I think in
twelve hundred and forty-six or, maybe, fifty. Having seen his abbey
consecrated, he passed to the Court of Rome, which in those days was
held at Lyons, to have his charters confirmed, and he happened there
in Lent, when the Pope's custom was, on a day after hearing _Laetare
Jerusalem_, to give a rose or flower of gold to the most honourable
man then to be found at his court. They made inquiry that year and
found the most honourable to be this Reginald Mohun, of whom the Pope
asked what rank he bore in England. Mohun answered, 'a plain Knight
bachelor.' 'Fair son,' said the Pope, 'hardly can I give you then this
flower, which has never been given to one below a King or a Duke,
or, at least, an Earl; therefore we will that you shall be Earl of
Este'--which, as you know, is Somerset. Mohun answered, 'Holy Father, I
have not wherewithal to maintain that title.' So the Pope gave him two
hundred marks a year out of the Peter's pence; and so the Mohuns added
golden flowers to their arms."
"I thank you, Sir," said I. "But whose is this other noble coat of
_azure_ with the bend _or_? Did Grosvenor ever wed in these parts? Or
Scrope?"
"Neither," said he. "That coat is mine."
"Yours?" I cried, surprised out of good manners. "But this, Sir, is the
very coat over which Scrope and Grosvenor contended."
"Any are welcome to it now," he answered. "But it is Carminowe, and I
am Carminowe."
"I ought to have known of a third claimant," said I, musing. "I have
indeed heard of Carminowe: but I had thought the family to be long
since perished."
He drew back a little and scanned me. "_Finis rerum_," said he quietly.
"It comes to all; but sometimes it lingers, and--as with me--lingers
overlong. I believe, Sir, that you are a Captain in his Majesty's
Troop, and will have seen your share of fighting and of life in camp.
Your present occupation proves you to be a contemplative man. Will you
answer if I put to you a question or two?"
"Willingly," said I.
"You are unmarried?"
"I am."
"And you volunteered for the King's service in a hot-fit of loyalty;
or maybe in a hot-fit of indignation at the perils threatening him, or
against the insolence of Parliament? You had come to an age when with
cooling judgment these fits grow rare, yet have not quite given over
their patient to the calm of middle life.--You will tell me if I guess
amiss?"
"But on the contrary, Sir," said I; "you have read me correctly. 'Twas
in a passion of loyalty that I took up arms."
"And in the quest of it," he went on, "you fancied that all the
currents of your nature had been swept into a fresh channel; that you
were a new man; that this upheaving strife altered the face of all
things, and you along with it."
"Why, and so it has!" cried I.
"Nay, but think awhile! You have marched and countermarched for--how
long?--two years?--two years of that period of life when honest
thoughtful men turn to making account with themselves, try to learn why
they were sent into the world and what to do, observe the hopes and
ambitions of their fellows, prove their own limits, and so set up their
rest against old age and death. You rode from home under a sudden
persuasion that your business in the world, and the business of all
these thousands of different men, was to defend his Majesty. How long
this persuasion held you I will not guess; yet I do not doubt that, as
the days went by, you observed all these particles of an army returning
to their true natures--the young gentlemen of your troop picquering
in bravado, or in mere love of a skirmish, because their blood is
hot; coarser fellows lusting to break heads for the sake of plunder;
craftier knaves, who know that war is insanely wasteful, robbing their
own side at less risk; calculators such as Wilmot, Grenville, Goring,
playing for high stakes under the fence of warfare, which of itself
interests them not a jot. As for you, Sir--I took note of your horse
just now at the churchyard gate. You see well to his grooming."
"I groom him always with my own hand," said I.
"To be sure--a man of method, strict and punctual in all soldierly
duties! But the savour has gone out of them. Where the treasure is,
there will the heart lie also." He nodded toward my drawings.
Now there lurked a nettle of truth in his words, and it stung me.
"And where may your treasure lie, Sir?" I asked pretty sharply.
"Come," said he, and led the way out into the churchyard. The sun
was fast declining, and the light fell in warm beams against the
gravestones and over the belted trees that ringed the prospect. He
waved a hand.
"From the high land above us, Sir, you may look almost to two seas;
and between these two seas all was once Carminowe's. Two hundred years
before the Normans came, Carminowe was a great man; and for four
hundred years after."
"A wide treasure," said I.
"You will not find my heart hid beneath a single turf of it, but here
only," said he, and pointed; and I looked down upon a green grave.
"I think that I understand, Sir," said I, as gently as might be. "He
was your son."
He bent his head. Yet anon shook it, patiently dissenting. "He was my
son; the child of my old age. But, to understand, you must first be
father to such an one, and outlive him."
Now I was casting about for a word or two of comfort, albeit knowing
how idle they needs must be, when I heard a galloping on the drive and
my name shouted lustily; and there came riding down to the gate from
northward our Colonel Digby, waving a paper in his hand.
"Wyvern!" he called, as he reined up. "I have a favour to ask, and have
ridden to ask it in person. Read you this letter; but first mount and
ride with me to the ridge."
So I untethered my horse, mounted and rode with him to the ridge.
"Tell me what you see yonder."
I stood up in my stirrups, shading my eyes. "I see," said I, "a troop
of horse on the third rise. To all appearance the riders are dressed in
white."
"They are in their shirts, the dogs! Now read their challenge: for they
attend on our answer."
"Tush!" said I, having glanced over the paper in my hand. 'Twas a
foolish challenge, signed by one Straughan, Colonel of Horse in the
Parliament forces, and dared us to a combat of cavalry, one hundred
upon each side--in shirt and breeches, each man carrying but one pistol
besides his sword. "Are we boys, that we should heed such braggart
nonsense?"
I heard a chuckle beside me, and looked down to see that old Carminowe
had run and caught up with us. He lifted the palm of his hand under
which he scanned the foe, and his eyes met mine mockingly.
"They have wind," said Digby, "of the Earl's letter." (That morning
a trumpet had returned with an answer to his Majesty's latest
propositions; and it ran that Essex had no authority from Parliament
to treat, nor could do so without breach of trust.) "And that wind has
overblown their vanity."
"Then, with submission, Colonel," I said, "I would send them no answer,
but let them cool in their shirts."
"And I agree," he answered. "But, as luck will have it, his Majesty has
dictated an answer, and that answer is already on its way."
"To what effect did his Majesty answer?"
"To the same as a certain King of Israel who said, 'Let the young men
arise and play before us.' There was no need to drum for volunteers,
neither."
"Nay," I grunted, "we had never yet a lack of hot-headed fools!" I
had no care to meet the gaze of old Carminowe, but I knew that it was
upon me: for he stood close by my stirrup. I knew moreover that it was
saying, "You, a staid man, mixt up in this folly! And this King who
forwards it for sport--is this he whom your life's business was to
defend?"
Now--as the army would understand it--our Colonel's seeking me in
person, when so many would have striven for the chance to shine under
his Majesty's eyes, was a high compliment; and the higher since certain
of the hottest young bloods had (as I heard later) stipulated for my
company. Yet for the moment I was angered, reading old Carminowe's
thought and knowing it to be true. I had no natural taste for this
bravery of mere fighting: and that I had arrived to be a man sought
out for fighting was but a proof how emptily the mass of men exalts it
above civil pursuits, seeing that my credit rested wholly on certain
habits of steadiness and caution that in any other business I should
have applied as cheerfully. I felt no desire at all to shine for his
Majesty's light approbation, albeit, two years ago, I had enlisted in
a fervour to die for his crown; and feeling my uneasiness under old
Carminowe's gaze, I cursed him silently for having read me better than
hitherto I had read myself.
But Digby would understand nothing of this. He was a good fighter and a
good fellow, bred and trained in military vanities.
So I answered him curtly that, if this folly were afoot and now
inevitable, I would come. I spoke too sourly perhaps, and my words, as
I could see, wounded him.
"My dear Wyvern," said he, "I thought of you at once, and rode for you
expressly. Other men are biting their mustachios at the bare chance of
it. The King himself will be looking on."
"You were always my friend," said I, as we spurred forward together.
* * * * *
I wish to waste no words over that foolish combat. We were a hundred
a side, drawn up in our shirt-sleeves on two opposing slopes, and we
encountered in the hollow between. Digby, who led us, had given the
word to hold our pistol-fire for close quarters, and I on the left
had wasted an harangue on my troopers to the same effect. But, once
the trumpets had sounded "charge," the whole affair became but a wild
paper-chase. At forty yards' distance some young fools on the extreme
right began popping off their pistols, and in half a dozen strides
this infection had run like a wildfire along one line. With ordinary
seasoned men of my own troop I had done far better; but these were the
picked fools of an army, and the main of them under twenty years old.
It is always short work between two bodies of horse meeting in full
shock: one swerves and flies, or else goes under; the other presses on:
there can be no other way. For me, I managed to unsaddle a man and
break through the enemy's right with three troopers after me. Wheeling
then, we saw the body of our friends in full flight; and a dozen of
our foes, wheeling at the same instant, bore down on us nimbly. We
spurred to meet them in second shock: but, as we encountered, one
clever round-pate, who had reserved his fire, sent a bullet through
my charger's shoulder-pin. I had at that instant a thrust to deliver
under the arm of another fellow, and the poor brute's fall took me at
unawares. I was flung heavily and stunned; and, the game being over, no
doubt his Majesty rode moodily off to supper. Like other Kings, he was
trained to sport; but I doubt if he ever arrived at enjoying it.