Читать книгу The Span o' Life: A Tale of Louisbourg & Quebec - William McLennan - Страница 12

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HOW I TAKE TO THE ROAD AGAIN, AND OF THE COMPANY I FALL IN WITH

I fully expected an outburst from Lady Jane the moment we were in the coach, but all she said was:

“Such a man! I have known women silly and vain; I have known women cruel and brainless; but such a combination of the qualities I never expected to meet in man; it makes me blush for the vices of my sex!”

“Do not scold him, dear, do not scold him!” cried Margaret, joyously. “My heart is too full of thankfulness to hear a word against him.”

“My dear Mistress—Margaret,” said I, “I would not for the world dash your joy, but there is still much to do, for I doubt if even the King could give a pardon off-hand in this fashion. Remember, England is not France.”

“Oh, do not say it is useless!” she cried, in sudden alarm.

“Not useless, certainly. I doubt, however, if the presentation of that scrap of paper before the gates of Fort William would reward you with anything more than the most bitter of disappointments and a broken heart. It was an easy way enough for his Grace to rid himself of our importunities, but we'll make it more effective than he guesses. Now is the time for the Vicomte to play his part. He is in a position where, with many anxious to do him favours, he can readily place this in the proper channel where it will go through the necessary hands, of which we know nothing, and could not reach if we did; he can so place it without reflection on his position, without suspicion of his motive, and I'm certain you can count upon his best efforts in your service.”

“Come, come, Hughie!” broke in Lady Jane; “you needn't be trying to take credit to yourself for what Gaston is only too ready to do. That your flattering and ready tongue stood us in good stead with this silly noddy I'll not dispute, but I can readily see as clearly as he says he can; and though your suggestion is good, it should end there. Let Gaston make his offers himself.”

So I laughed, and at once abandoned that line of approach. Lady Jane might not always have control of her temper, but she knew every move a man might make, even before he realised it himself, as in the present instance; possibly this was the reason she was so tolerant of my sex.

However, I had but little time for such reflections. The more I thought over the end of our interview with the Duke the less I liked it, and on comparing impressions with Lady Jane on our arrival at Essex Street, she quite agreed that I was in a ticklish position. London was then infested with spies, most of whom had a keen scent for what the failure of our late enterprise had now fixed as treason, and despite my precaution in keeping out of questionable resorts and company, I knew that in my case 'twas little more difficult to smoke the Jacobite, than the gentleman, in whatever disguise I might assume.

“Hughie, I'm not one for silly alarms,” said Lady Jane, “but I mistrust that doddering old pantaloon, and 'you must build a high wall to keep out fear.' You've done all you can here, and I doubt but you've got yourself in a rare coil in the doing of it. Now to undo it as best we may.”

“I'll not deny that things look 'unchancy,' as we say in the North, Cousin Jane; but, for the life of me, I don't see how they are to be bettered by anything I can do now.”

“My heart! But men are slow to see ahead! We will be away out of this the moment we are assured of this young callant's safety, in a week or so at most, I hope. I will take ship from Harwich, and you shall journey with us as my servant, my courier.”

“Do you think that is absolutely necessary, cousin?”

“Hughie, Hughie, how long will you continue to walk with Vanity?”

“Just so long as I must lie down with Adversity, cousin. Cannot you understand it is humiliating for a man of my condition to go masquerading about the country as a lackey?”

“Not so readily as I can understand the awkwardness of being laid by the heels, Master Hughie. Now don't have any more nonsense! Do you start off this very night for Huntingdon, and lie at the Bell Inn there, until you hear from me. It will not be for more than a week. Let me see, yes, 'Simpkin' will be a good name for you.”

“Do I look like Simpkin?” I returned, indignantly.

“My certes, no! You look more like the Grand Turk at the moment,” she answered, laughing. “But you must conceal your rank, my lord, by your modesty and 'Mr. Simpkin,' until I can offer it a more effective covering in a suit of bottle-green livery.”

“I trust your ladyship will not require any reference as to character?”

“It is written on your face, sir. There! I will countersign it for you,” whereat she put her two hands on my cheeks and kissed me.

“'Pon my soul, Cousin Jane, I don't wonder the men raved over you!” I said, in admiration.

“No, poor things, it doesn't take much to set them off at the best of times. But do not begin your flatteries, Hughie; even age is no warrant for common-sense when it meets with old gratifications. Be off, now, and get back here for supper, ready for your travels.”

I hurried off to my old lodgings, and soon made such preparation for my journey as was necessary.

When I parted from Mistress Routh I said: “I have learned during the time spent under your roof how irrevocable your resolve is, and have accepted it as absolutely as yourself, but now that I am going away from England, which I shall probably never set foot in again, and it is still more probable that we may never meet, I have one promise to exact which you cannot refuse. It is presumable my way in life will be in some degree successful, and that my son may some day need such aid as I may be able to give him; he is yours while you live, but promise me when your time comes you will tell him who his father is. Because you have chosen a different way of life from mine, do not be tempted to allow the boy to go to strangers when you know he has a heart waiting to love and cherish him. I have never done a dishonourable action in my life, so far as I can judge, and, if only for his sake, I will always try and keep my conscience free to make the same affirmation. A message to Mr. Drummond, the banker, in Charing Cross, will always find me. Can you refuse?”

“No; it is only justice. Your claim comes after mine. I promise I will not die without telling the boy who you are.”

For herself she resolutely refused to take a shilling more than was due for my lodging, but I succeeded in forcing her acceptance of a matter of twenty pounds, the last of my own money, not Lady Jane's, to be used for the boy. She stood beside me silent and unmoved while I kissed him in his sleep, and when I parted from her she said, “Good-bye, Captain Geraldine,” with a composure I fain would have assumed myself, but it was impossible.

The supper at Lady Jane's was gay enough, even the Vicomte contributing his modicum of entertainment, no doubt stimulated thereto by the thought of my near departure, and surely, when a man may give pleasure by his goings as well as by his comings, he is in a position to be envied. I sang Jacobite songs that evening with an expression that would have carried conviction to the Duke of Cumberland himself, and when I took my departure with the Vicomte after midnight, I left a veritable hot-bed of sedition behind.

My companion, though outwardly civil, took my little pleasantries with so ill a grace that I was in a measure prepared for his words at our parting before the coach-office.

“Chevalier, you are a man of many charming parts; I trust you will long be spared to exercise them in quarters where they may fail to give offence to any one.”

“My dear Vicomte,” I replied, “Providence has bestowed on me only my poor talents, but has not granted me the power to provide appreciation in others. Still, if you should feel at any time that I am answerable for your personal short-comings, do not, I pray, let any false delicacy stand in your way. I should be complimented in sustaining such an argument.” At which he only bowed in his stateliest manner, and wishing me a safe journey, bent his steps towards St. James's Street.

I must confess such a quarrel would have been infinitely to my taste, but unfortunately there would have been no satisfaction to me, even had I pushed it to a successful issue. My way towards Margaret was stopped by a much more serious obstacle than any man who ever drew sword. Did the Vicomte but know this, possibly my connection with Lady Jane might not have appeared to him so radical a reason for keeping the peace between us. With these thoughts and others germane to them I whiled away the time until the coach was ready, and at the dead hour of two in the morning we rolled out of London on our way to Huntingdon, where we arrived at eight the following evening.

I put up at the Bell, which was comfortable enough, and made shift to employ my time through the long week before me in some manner that would reasonably account for my stay in a dull country town which offered no attractions to a man of fashion.

At length my letters reached me, and my gorge rose at the address:

Mr. Simpkin, Lying at the Bell Inn, Huntingdon.

Now it had never cost me a second thought to travel as a pedlar when making my escape from Scotland, but this wishy-washy nonentity of a name annoyed me beyond measure. Think you, did ever “Mr. Simpkin” salute at Fontenoy, or make a leg at Marly? I doubt it. Nor is it strange that a man, with no more vanity than myself, should find some little vexation at the perversity of Lady Jane in fastening this ridicule upon me. That it was intentional I could not doubt from her letter, for she rallied me upon it at every turn she could drag in. However, I had the consolation that I was to join her forthwith at Harwich, and my journey across the country over bad roads with a pair of wretched nags gave me more material discomforts to rail at, and by these means I brought myself to a frame of mind that I could at least imagine Lady Jane's enjoyment of her childish jest.

When I reached Newmarket, I found, to my disgust, it was impossible to go forward again that night, but was on the road bright and early the next morning; however, it was evening before I was set down at a decent-looking inn beside an arm of the sea, across which I saw the spires of Harwich twinkling a welcome to me in the setting sun.

Having settled with the post-boys, I desired the land-lord to attend me within.

“I see you have boats there, which is fortunate, for I wish to be set across the water at once,” I said, on his entry.

“That is impossible, your honour; it is too late.”

“Nonsense, my man. There is for a bottle of your best, and enough to make up to you my not remaining overnight. I must set off at once!”

“But, your honour, it can't be done. No boat is allowed to cross after sunset. The frigate lying there is for no other purpose than to prevent it. 'Tis on account of the smuggling.”

“Don't talk such rank nonsense to me, sir. Do I look like a smuggler?”

“No, your honour, you do not, so far as I can judge.”

“Then come, my man, I must be put across.”

“Oh, sir, 'tis of no use; I should be a ruined man,” cried the poor-spirited creature, almost snivelling.

Seeing this, I tried him on a new tack. “You scoundrel!” said I, laying my hand on my sword and advancing towards him threateningly, “if you fail to have me on my way before half an hour is over, I'll pink the soul out of you.”

“Oh Lord, sir, have a care what you do!” he shrieked in terror, and before I could intercept him he had thrown open the door into the adjoining room, where three officers sat at their wine before the fire.

“Captain Galway! Your honour! I am undone for upholding the law! Save me! Save me!”

“Damn you for a whining hound! What do you mean by rushing in like this?” roared the officer addressed, who I marked wore a naval uniform.

During the babel of explanations which followed from the terrified creature, I was by no means easy in my mind, for I could not but think the frigate was stationed there for a purpose that touched me more nearly than smuggling, and certainly King's officers were not the company I should have chosen. But hesitation would have been the height of folly. I advanced assuredly, and addressing the company, said:

“Gentlemen, your pardon, for I am afraid that I am really more to blame than this poor man, who it appears was only preventing an unintentional breach of the law on my part. The truth is, I am most anxious to cross over to Harwich to-night, and had no thought to meet with any obstacle in my design, least of all that I should be taken for a smuggler.”

There was a laugh at this, and he whom the inn-keeper had addressed as Captain Galway said, roundly enough:

“Thank God, sir, his Majesty's officers have still something above the excise to look after!”

“Then, sir,” I replied, though his words confirmed me in my suspicion, “I have but this moment paid for a bottle of our host's best; we can discuss it with your leave, and it may serve as footing for my interruption.”

There were bows on all sides at this, and my gentleman introduced himself as Captain Galway, commanding the Triumphant, now riding at anchor in the bay, and his friends as Major Greenway and Captain Hargreaves, of the 32d Regiment. In turn I introduced myself as Mr. Johnstone, for I was determined to have done with Mr. Simpkin, come what might.

“Ah!” drawled Captain Hargreaves, “one of the Johnsons of Worcester?”

“No,” I answered, shortly; “mine is the Border family, but I come direct from London.”

Much to my relief, our host now made his appearance with the wine, and put an end to this uncomfortable questioning. His sample proved excellent; so good that I doubted if even the smuggling story might not have some foundation, and so exact was it to Captain Galway's palate that before we had made an end of the second bottle he swore by all his gods, whose seats appeared to be chiefly in those parts which served for his most important corporate functions, that I should be put across the water though he had to do it himself.

So far everything seemed to run exactly to my liking; but when at his invitation I took my place in the stern-sheets of his boat, it was not without uneasiness I observed Captain Hargreaves draw him aside and whisper to him earnestly, and on his taking his place I saw his humour was altered.

He ordered his men to give way in a voice that suggested the clap of a prison door, and his first words to me were scarce reassuring:

“You are from the Border, you say, Mr. Johnstone? Possibly from the northern side?”

“Yes,” I answered, seeing what was before me, and cursing the ill luck that had drawn me into such a trap, but determined to put a bold face on it. “Yes, I am from Kirksmuir, beyond Lanark.”

“Then you may know my midshipman here, Mr. Lockhart, of Carnwath?” and he indicated a lad about eighteen beside me.

My heart sank within me, for this very boy's elder brother had unfortunately been drawn into this unhappy rebellion, and with him I had been intimate. I had been a constant guest at his father's house, and it was impossible to tell what this youngster might have heard.

“Mr. Lockhart's family is honourably known, sir, throughout our country, and I doubt not he can speak equally well of my own,” I returned, in my best manner, and fortunately for me the lad was either so bashful, or so busily employed in racking his brain to puzzle out what family mine was, that he could make no reply, and I went on, with my most careless air:

“Surely, Captain Galway, it is unnecessary to keep so far down with the tide as it sets. I would not take you out of your way for the world.”

“Oh, nonsense!” he cried, with a poor attempt at heartiness. “You shall come on board. We too seldom meet with one of your quality to part so easily. You must make your excuses to your friends. Say you were kept a prisoner.” And he laughed loudly at his wit.

Good heavens! how I despised the man who could make a jest of a fellow-creature in such a strait! Had I been a swimmer, I would have taken the chance of a plunge over the side; but in my case that would have been little short of suicide.

“Come, sir, come! You make a poor return for my offer of hospitality,” he continued, banteringly; “you are not at all the same man I took you for at the inn.”

“Pardon me,” I returned, quickly, for his last remark spurred me to my utmost effort, “you gentlemen who go down to the sea in ships forget that we landsmen find even the wobble of a boat discommoding. No man is the same with an uneasy stomach.”

“Next thing to an uneasy conscience—eh, Mr. Johnstone?”

“Worse, sir, far worse. You may forget the one at times, but the other is never at rest.”

“Oh, well, we are for a time now, at all events!” he cried, with a ring of triumph in his voice, as we slowed up alongside the great ship, and the sailors made us fast by the ladder.

“After you, sir,” said my tormentor, as he pointed upward, and, willy-nilly, I mounted the shaking steps with the horrid thought that perhaps it was the last ladder I should mount save one that would lead to a platform whence I would make my last bow to a howling mob at Tyburn.

“It is fast growing dark, sir; we will not stand on ceremony,” said the captain, leading to the cabin.

“Do not, I pray,” I answered, with some firmness, for now I was only anxious for the last act of the ghastly farce to end; the suspense was growing intolerable.

When wine and glasses were placed before us, the captain filled them both and raised his.

“'Pon my soul, Mr. Johnstone, I am sorry to lose so good a companion, but we must not put your landsman's endurance to too hard a proof. I wish you a safe arrival with all my heart! My men will put you ashore at once.”

I was so fluttered by the unexpected turn and the honest heartiness he threw into his words that I could scarce reply, but in some way I made my acknowledgments. In a few moments I was over the side and speeding towards the Harwich shore with all the force of six oars pulled by six impatient men, and I'll wager none among them was so impatient as the passenger they carried.