E-text prepared by Lionel Sear
THE BLUE PAVILIONS.
by
Arthur Thomas Quiller Couch (Q).
This e-text was prepared from a reprint of a version published in1891.
TO A FORMER SCHOOLFELLOW.
MY DEAR ----,
I will not write your name, for we have long been strangers; and I,at any rate, have no desire to renew our friendship. It is now tenyears and more from the end of that summer term when we shook handsat the railway-station and went east and west with swelling hearts;and since then no report has come of you. In the meantime you mayhave died, or grown rich and esteemed; but that you have remained theboy I knew is clearly beyond hope.
You were a genius then, and wrote epic poetry. I assume that youhave found it worth while to discontinue that habit, for I never seeyour name among the publishers' announcements. But your poetry usedto be magnificent when you recited it in the shadow of the desertedfives-court; and I believe you spoke sincerely when you assured methat my stories, too, were something above contempt.
To the boy that was you I would dedicate a small tale, crammed withhistorical inaccuracy. To-day, no doubt, you would recognise thestory of Captain Seth Jermy and the _Nightingale_ frigate, and pointout that I have put it seventeen years too early. But in those daysyou would neither have known nor cared. And the rest of the book isfar belated.
Q.
Shiplake, 20 _November_, 1891.
CONTENTS.
Chap.
DEDICATION.
I. CAPTAIN JOHN AND CAPTAIN JEMMY.
II. THE DICE-BOX.
III. THE TWO PAVILIONS.
IV. THE TWO PAVILIONS (continued).
V. A SWARM OF BEES.
VI. THE EARL OF MARLBOROUGH SEEKS RECRUITS.
VII. THE CAPTAINS MAKE A FALSE START.
VIII. FATHER AND SON.
IX. THE FOUR MEN AT THE "WHITE LAMB".
X. THE TRIBULATIONS OF TRISTRAM.
XI. THE GALLEY "L'HEUREUSE".
XII. WILLIAM OF ORANGE.
XIII. CAPTAIN SALT EFFECTS ONE SURPRISE AND PLANS TWO MORE.
XIV. THE GALLEYS AND THE FRIGATE.
XV. BACK AT THE BLUE PAVILIONS.
THE BLUE PAVILIONS.
CHAPTER I.
CAPTAIN JOHN AND CAPTAIN JEMMY.
At noonday, on the 11th of October, 1673, the little seaport ofHarwich, beside the mouth of the River Stour, presented a very livelyappearance. More than a hundred tall ships, newly returned from theDutch War, rode at anchor in the haven, their bright masts swaying inthe sunshine above the thatched and red-tiled roofs of the town.Tarry sailors in red and grey kersey suits, red caps and flat-heeledshoes jostled in the narrow streets and hung about St. Nicholas'sChurchyard, in front of the Admiralty House, wherein the pursers satbefore bags and small piles of money, paying off the crews.Soldiers crowded the tavern doors--men in soiled uniforms of theAdmiral's regiment, the Buffs and the 1st Foot Guards; some withbandaged heads and arms, and the most still yellow after theirseasickness, but all intrepidly toasting the chances of Peace and thegirls in opposite windows. Above their laughter, and along everystreet or passage opening on the harbour--from Cock and Pye Quay,from Lambard's stairs, the Castleport, and half a dozen otherlanding-stages--came wafted the shouts of captains, pilots,boatswains, caulkers, longshore men; the noise of artillery andstores unlading; the tack-tack of mallets in the dockyard, where SirAnthony Deane's new ship the _Harwich_ was rising on the billyways,and whence the blown odours of pitch and hemp and timber, minglingwith the landward breeze, drifted all day long into the townsfolk'snostrils, and filled their very kitchens with the savour of the sea.
In the thick of these scents and sounds, and within a cool doorway,before which the shadow of a barber's pole rested on the cobbles,reclined Captain John Barker--a little wry-necked gentleman, with aprodigious hump between his shoulders, and legs that dangled twoinches off the floor. His wig was being curled by an apprentice atthe back of the shop, and his natural scalp shone as bare as abilliard-ball; but two patches of brindled grey hair stuck out fromhis brow above a pair of fierce greenish eyes set about with acomplexity of wrinkles. Just now, a coating of lather covered hisshrewish underjaw.
The dress of this unlovely old gentleman well became his rank ascaptain of his Majesty's frigate the _Wasp_, but went very ill withhis figure--being, indeed, a square-cut coat of scarlet, laced withgold, a long-flapped blue waistcoat, black breeches and stockings.Enormous buckles adorned the thick-soled shoes which he drummedimpatiently against the legs of his chair.
The barber--a round, bustling fellow--stropped his razor and prattledgossip. On a settle to the right a couple of townsmen smoked,listened, and waited their turn with an educated patience.
"Changes, indeed, since you left us, Captain John," the barber began,his razor hovering for the first scrape.
"Wait a moment. You were about to take hold of me by the nose.If you do it, I'll run you through. I thought you'd like to bewarned, that's all. Go on with your chatter."
"Certainly, Captain John--'tis merely a habit--"
"Break yourself of it."
"I will, sir. But, as I was saying, the changes will astonish youthat have been at sea so long. In the first place, a riding-poststarted from hence to London and from London hither a-gallop withbrazen trumpet and loaded pistols, to keep his Majesty certifiedevery day of the Fleet's doings, and the Fleet of his Majesty'swishes; and all Harwich a-tremble half the night under itsbedclothes, but consoled to find the King taking so much notice ofit. And the old jail moved from St. Austin's Gate, and a new onebuilding this side of Church Street, where Calamy's Store used tostand--with a new town-hall, too--"
Here, as he paused to scrape the captain's cheek, one of the twotownsmen on the settle--a square man in grey, with a red waistcoat--withdrew the long pipe from his mouth and groaned heavily.
"What's that?" asked the hunchback snappishly.
"That, sir, is Mr. Pomphlett," the barber explained. "He disapprovesof the amount spent in decorating the new hall with pillars, rails,balusters, and what not; for the king's arms, to be carved over themayor's seat and richly gilt, are to be a private gift of Mr. IsaacBetts, and the leathern fire-buckets to be hung round the wall--"
Mr. Pomphlett emitted another groan, which the barber good-naturedlytried to drown in talk. Captain Barker heard it, however.
"There it is again!"
"Yes, sir. You see Mr. Pomphlett allows his public spirit to runhigh. He says--"
The little captain jerked round in his chair, escaping a gash by ahair's-breadth, and addressed the heavy citizen--
"Mr. Pomphlett, sir, it was not for the sake of listening to yourobservations upon public affairs that I came straight off my ship tothis shop, but to hear the news."
The barber coughed. Mr. Pomphlett feebly traced a curve in the airwith his pipe-stem, and answered sulkily--
"I s-said nun-nothing. I f-felt unwell."
"He suffers," interposed Mr. Pomphlett's neighbour on the settle, along-necked man in brown, "from the wind; don't you, Pomphlett?"
Mr. Pomphlett nodded with an aggrieved air, and sucked his pipe.
"Death," continued the man in brown, by way of setting theconversation on its legs again, "has been busy in Harwich, Barker."
"Ah! now we come to business! Barber, who's dead?"
"Alderman Croten, sir."
"Tut-tut. Croten gone?"
"Yes, sir; palsy took him at a ripe age. And Abel's gone, the TownCrier; and old Mistress Pinch's bad leg carried her from us lastChristmas Day, of all days in the year; and young Mr. Eastwell wassnatched away by a ch
ain-shot in the affair with the Smyrna fleet;and Mistress Salt--that was daughter of old Sir Jabez Tellworthy, andbroke her father's heart--she's a widow in straitened circumstances,and living up at the old house again--"
"_What!_"
Captain Barker bounced off his chair like a dried pea from a shovel.
"There now! Your honour's chin is wounded."
"P'sh! give me your towel." He snatched it from the barber's arm andmopped away the blood and lather from his jaw. "Mistress Salt awidow? When? How?"
"I thought, maybe, your honour would know about it."
"Don't think. Roderick Salt dead? Tell me this instant, or--"
"He was drowned, sir, in a ditch, they tell me, but two months afterhe sailed with his company of Foot Guards, in the spring of thisyear. It seems 'twas a ditch that the Marshal Turenne had themisfortune to forget about--"
"My hat--where is it? Quick!"
Already Captain Barker had plucked the napkin from his throat, caughtup his sword from a chair, and was buckling on the belt in atremendous hurry.
"But your honour forgets the wig, which is but half curled; and yourhonour's face shaved on the one side only."
The hunchback's answer was to snatch his wig from between theapprentice's tongs, clap it on his head, ram his hat on the top ofit, and flounce out at the shop door.
The streets were full of folk, but he passed through them at anamazing speed. His natural gait on shipboard was a kind ofanapaestic dance--two short steps and a long--and though the crowdinterrupted its cadence and coerced him to a quick bobbing motion, asof a bottle in a choppy sea, it hardly affected his pace. Here andthere he snapped out a greeting to some ship's captain or townsman ofhis acquaintance, or growled testily at a row of soldiers bearingdown on him three abreast. His angry green eyes seemed to clear apath before him, in spite of the grins which his hump and shamblinglegs excited among strangers. In this way he darted along HighStreet, turned up by the markets, crossed Church Street into WestStreet, and passed under the great gate by which the London Road leftthe town.
Beyond this gate the road ran through a tall ravelin and out upon abreezy peninsula between the river and the open sea. And hereCaptain Barker halted and, tugging off hat and wig, wiped his crownwith a silk handkerchief.
Over the reedy marsh upon his right, where a windmill waved its lazyarms, a score of larks were singing. To his left the gulls mewedacross the cliffs and the remoter sandbanks that thrust up theiryellow ridges under the ebb-tide. The hum of the little town soundeddrowsily behind him.
He gazed across the sandbanks upon the blue leagues of sea, andrubbed his fingers softly up and down the unshaven side of his face.
"H'm," he said, and then "p'sh!" and then "p'sh!" again; and, as ifthis settled it, readjusted his wig and hat and set off down the roadfaster than ever.
A cluster of stunted poplars appeared in the distance, and a longthatched house; then, between the trees, the eye caught sight of twoother buildings, exactly alike, but of a curious shape and colour.Imagine two round towers, each about forty feet in height, daubedwith a bright blue wash and surmounted with a high-pitched, conicalroof of a somewhat darker tint. Above each roof a gilt vaneglittered, and a flock of white pigeons circled overhead or,alighting, dotted the tiles with patches of silver.
A bend of the road broke up this cluster of trees and buildings.The long thatched house fell upon the left of the highway, and infront of it a sign-post sprang into view, with a drinking-troughbelow. Directly opposite, the two blue roofs ranged themselves sideby side, with long strips of garden and a thick privet hedge betweenthem and the road. And behind, in the direction of the marsh, thepoplars stretched in an irregular line.
Now the nearer of these blue pavilions was the home of CaptainBarker, who for more than two years had not crossed its threshold.Yet he neither paused by its small blue gate nor glanced up thegravelled path. Nor, though thirsty, did he turn aside to the porchof the Fish and Anchor Inn; but kept along the privet hedge until hecame to the second blue gate. Here he drew up and stood for a momentwith his hand on the latch.
A trim lawn stretched before him to the door of the pavilion, andhere, on a rustic seat before an equally rustic table, sat a longlean gentleman, in a suit of Lincoln green faced with scarlet, whogazed into a pewter tankard. His sword lay on the turf beside him,and a hat of soft cloth edged with feathers hung on the arm of thebench.
This long gentleman looked up as the gate clicked, stretched out hislegs, rose, and disappeared within the pavilion, returning after aminute with a jug of beer and a fresh tankard.
"Paid off your crew already?"
The little hunchback took a pull, answered "No" as he set down thetankard, and looked up at the weathercock overhead.
"Wind's in the south-east."
The long man looked at the little one and pursed up his mouth.His face proclaimed him of a like age with Captain Barker.It did not at all match his figure, being short as a bull-dog's; andlike a bull-dog he was heavily jowled. Many weathers had tanned hiscomplexion to a rich corn-colour. His name was Jeremy Runacles, andfor two years, that had ended on this very morning, he had commandedthe _Trident_ frigate. As he climbed down her ladder into his gig hehad left on the deck behind him a reputation for possessing a shortertemper than any three officers in his Majesty's service. At presenthis steel-blue eyes seemed gentle enough.
"You've something to tell," he said, after a minute's silence.
The hunchback kicked at a plantain in the turf for two minuteslonger, and asked--
"How's the little maid, Jemmy?"
"Grown. She's having her morning nap."
"She want's a mother."
"She'll have to do with a nurse."
"You don't want to marry again?"
"No."
"That's a lie."
Before Captain Runacles could resent this, the little man turned hisback and took six paces to the party hedge and six paces back.
"I say, Jemmy, do you think we could fight?"
"Not decently."
"I was thinking that. I don't see another way out of it, though."
He kicked the plantain out of the ground, and, looking up, said verysoftly--"Meg's a widow."
Captain Jeremy Runacles sat down on the rustic bench. A hot flushhad sprung into his face and a light leapt in his eyes; but he saidnothing. Captain Barker cocked his head on one side and went on--
"Yes, you lied, Jemmy. That fellow, as I guess, ran off and lefther, finding that the old man had the courage to die without comingto reason. He went back to his regiment, sailed, and was drowned ina ditch. She's back at the old house, and in want."
"You've seen her?"
"Look here, Jemmy. You and I are a couple of tomfools; but we try toplay fair."
"Upon my soul, Jack," observed Captain Jemmy, rising to his feetagain, "we can't fight. You're too good a fellow to kill."
"H'mph, I was thinking that."
As if by consent, the pair began to pace up and down the turf, one oneither side of the gravelled path. At the end of three minutesCaptain Jack looked up.
"After all, you've been married once, whereas I--"
"That doesn't count," the other interrupted. "I married in anunguarded moment. I was huffed with Meg."
"No, I suppose it doesn't count."
They resumed their walk. Captain Jemmy was the next to speak.
"It seems to me Meg must decide."
"Yes, but we must start fair."
"The devil! we can't propose one in each ear. And if we race forit--"
"You must give me half a mile's start."
"But we can write."
"Yes; and deliver our letters together at the door."
"On the other hand, I've always heard that women look upon a writtenproposal of marriage as rather tame."
"That objection would hardly apply to two in one day. And, besides,she knows about us."
"We'll write," said Captain Jemmy.
He went into the pavilion to search for pens and paper, while CaptainBarker stepped down to the Fish and Anchor to borrow a bottle of ink.
"There must be preliminaries," the little man observed, returning andsetting the ink down in the centre of the rustic table, on whichalready lay a bundle of old quills and some quarto sheets of yellowpaper.
"As for instance?"
"_Imprimis_, a thick folio book for me to sit on. The carpenterbuilt this table after your measure."
"I will fetch one."
"Also more beer."
"I will draw some."
"Thirdly, a time-keeper. My stomach's empty, but it can hold out foranother hour. We'll give ourselves an hour; start together andfinish together."
Captain Runacles fished a silver whistle from his waistcoat pocketand blew on it shrilly. The blue and white door of the pavilion wasopened, and a slight old man in a blue livery appeared on the stepand came ambling down the path. The weight of an enormous head, onthe top of which his grey wig seemed to be balanced rather thanfitted, bowed him as he moved. But he drew himself up to salute thetwo captains.
"Glad to welcome ye, Captain John, along with master here. Hey, butyou've aged--the pair o' ye."
"Simeon," said his master, "draw us some beer. Aged, you say?"
"Aye--aged, aged: a trivial, remediless complaint, common to folk.Valiant deeds ye'll do yet, my masters; but though I likes to behopeful, the door's closin' on ye both. Ye be staid to the eye,noticeably staid. The first sign o't, to be marked at forty or so,is when a woman's blush pales before wine held to the light; thesecond, and that, too, ye've passed--"
"Hurry, you old fool! As it happens you've been proving us a pair ofraw striplings."
"Hee-hee," tittered the old man sardonically, and catching up thetankards trotted back to the house, with his master at his heels.Captain Barker, left alone, rearranged his neckcloth, contemplatedhis crooked legs for a moment with some disgust, and began to trot upand down the grass-plot, whistling the while with great energy and noregard for tune.
The pair reappeared in the doorway--Captain Runacles bearing anhour-glass and a volume of "Purchas," and Simeon the tankards,crowned with a creamy froth.
"Have you picked your quill?"
"Yes," answered the hunchback, settling himself on top of the brownfolio. "No, 'tis a split one."
The pens were old, and had lain with the ink dry upon them ever sincethe outbreak of the Dutch War. The two men were half a minute infinding a couple that would write. Then Captain Runacles turned thehour-glass abruptly; and for an hour there was no sound in thepavilion garden but the scratching of quills, the murmur of pigeonson the roof, and the creaking of the gilded vane above them.
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