They were well pleased at the prospect of spirited adventures, although Paddy made some complaints because there was no chance of a great ogre whom he could assail. He wished to destroy a few giants in order to prove his loyalty to the cause. However, I soothed him out of this mood, showing him where he was mistaken, and presently we were all prepared and only waited for the coming of Doctor Chord.
When the little philosopher appeared, however, I must truly say that I fell back a-gasping. He had tied some sort of a red turban about his head, and pulled a black cocked hat down over it until his left eye was wickedly shaded. From beneath his sombre cloak a heavy scabbard protruded. “I have come; I am ready,” said he in a deep voice.
“Bedad, you have!” cried I, sinking into a chair. “And why didn’t a mob hang you on the road, little man? How did you reach here safely? London surely never could stand two glimpses of such a dangerous-looking pirate. You would give a sedan-chair the vapours.”
He looked himself over ruefully. “’Tis a garb befitting the dangerous adventure upon which I engaged,” said he, somewhat stiff in the lip.
“But let me make known to you,” I cried, “that when a man wears a garb befitting his adventure he fails surely. He should wear something extraneous. When you wish to do something evil, you put on the coat of a parson. That is the clever way. But here you are looking like a gallows-bird of the greatest claim for the rope. Stop it; take off the red thing, tilt your hat until you look like a gentleman, and let us go to our adventure respectably.”
“I was never more surprised in my life,” said he sincerely. “I thought I was doing a right thing in thus arraying myself for an experience which cannot fail to be thrilling and mayhap deadly. However, I see you in your accustomed attire, and in the apparel of your men-servants I see no great change from yesterday. May I again suggest to you that the adventure upon which we proceed may be fraught with much danger?”
“A red rag around your temples marks no improvement in our risks,” said I. “We will sally out as if we were off to a tea-party. When my father led the forlorn hope at the storming of Würstenhausenstaffenberg, he wore a lace collar, and he was a man who understood these matters. And I may say that I wish he was here. He would be a great help.”
In time the Doctor removed his red turban and gradually and sadly emerged from the more sanguine part of his paraphernalia and appeared as a simple little philosopher. Personally I have no objection to a man looking like a brigand, but my father always contended that clothes serve no purpose in real warfare. Thus I felt I had committed no great injustice in depriving Chord of his red turban.
We set out. I put much faith in the fact that we had no definite plans, but to my great consternation Doctor Chord almost at once began to develop well-laid schemes. As we moved toward the scene of our adventure he remarked them to me.
“First of all,” said he, “a strong party should be stationed at the iron gates, not only to prevent a sally of the garrison, but to prevent an intrepid retainer from escaping and alarming the city. Furthermore—”
“My gallant warrior,” said I, interrupting him, “we will drop this question to the level of a humdrum commercial age. I will try to compass my purpose by the simple climbing of a tree, and to that end all I could need from you is a stout lift and a good word. Then we proceed in the established way of making signs over a wall. All this I explained to you fully. I would not have you think I am about to bombard my lady-love’s house.”
With a countenance of great mournfulness he grumbled: “No fascines have been prepared.”
“Very good,” said I. “I will climb the tree without the aid of fascines.”
As luck would have it, there was a little inn not very far from the Earl’s house and on the lonely avenue lined with oaks. Here I temporarily left Jem Bottles and Paddy, for I feared their earnestness, which was becoming more terrible every minute. In order to keep them pacified I gave instructions that they should keep a strict watch up the avenue, and if they saw any signs of trouble they were to come a-running and do whatever I told them. These orders suggested serious business to their minds, and so they were quite content. Their great point was that if a shindy was coming they had a moral right to be mixed up in it.
Doctor Chord and I strolled carelessly under the oaks. It was still too early for Lady Mary’s walk in the garden, and there was an hour’s waiting to be worn out. In the mean time I was moved to express some of my reflections.
“’Tis possible — nay, probable — that this is a bootless quest,” said I dejectedly. “What shadow of an assurance have I that Lady Mary will walk in the garden on this particular morning? This whole thing is absolute folly.”
“At any rate,” said the Doctor, “now that you already have walked this great distance, it will be little additional trouble to climb a tree.”
He had encouraged me to my work at exactly the proper moment.
“You are right,” said I, taking him warmly by the hand, “I will climb the tree in any case.”
As the hour approached we began to cast about for the proper oak. I am sure they were all the same to me, but Doctor Chord was very particular.
“’Tis logical to contend,” said he, “that the question of the girth of the tree will enter importantly into our devices. For example, if a tree be so huge that your hands may not meet on the far side of it, a successful ascension will be impossible. On the other hand, a very slim tree is like to bend beneath your weight, and even precipitate you heavily to the ground, which disaster might retard events for an indefinite period.”
“Science your science, then,” said I. “And tell me what manner of tree best suits the purpose of a true lover.”
“A tree,” said the Doctor, “is a large vegetable arising with one woody stem to a considerable height. As to the appearance and quality of a tree, there are many diversifications, and this fact in itself constitutes the chief reason for this vegetable being of such great use to the human family. Ships are made of nought but trees, and if it were not for ships we would know but little of the great world of which these English islands form less than a half. Asia itself is slightly larger than all Scotland, and if it were not for the ships we would be like to delude ourselves with the idea that we and our neighbours formed the major part of the world.”
With such wise harangues the Doctor entertained my impatience until it was time for me to climb a tree. And when this time came I went at my work without discussion or delay.
“There,” said I resolutely, “I will climb this one if it kills me.”
I seized the tree; I climbed. I will not say there was no groaning and puffing, but any how I at last found myself astride of a branch and looking over the wall into the Earl of Westport’s garden.
But I might have made myself less labour and care by having somebody paint me a large landscape of this garden and surveyed it at my leisure. There I was high in a tree, dangling my legs, and staring at smooth lawns, ornamental copses, and brilliant flower-beds without even so much as a dog to enliven the scene. “O’Ruddy,” said I to myself after a long time, “you’ve hung yourself here in mid-air like a bacon to a rafter, and I’ll not say much to you now. But if you ever reach the ground without breaking your neck, I’ll have a word with you, for my feelings are sorely stirred.”
I do not know how long I sat in the tree engaged in my bitter meditation. But finally I heard a great scudding of feet near the foot of the tree, and I then saw the little Doctor bolting down the road like a madman, his hat gone, his hair flying, while his two coat-tails stuck out behind him straight as boards.
My excitement and interest in my ally’s flight was so great that I near fell from my perch. It was incomprehensible that my little friend could dust the road at such speed. He seemed only to touch the ground from time to time. In a moment or two he was literally gone, like an arrow shot from the bow.
But upon casting my bewildered glance downward I found myself staring squarely into the mouth of a blunderbu
ss. The mouth of this blunderbuss, I may say, was of about the width of a fair-sized water-pitcher; in colour it was bright and steely. Its appearance attracted me to such an extent that I lost all idea of the man behind the gun. But presently I heard a grim, slow voice say, —
“Climb down, ye thief.”
The reason for little Doctor Chord’s hasty self-removal from the vicinity was now quite clear, and my interest in his departure was no longer speculative.
CHAPTER XXIV
“Climb down, ye thief,” said the grim, slow voice again. I looked once more into the mouth of the blunderbuss. I decided to climb. If I had had my two feet square on the ground, I would have taken a turn with this man, artillery or no artillery, to see if I could get the upper hand of him. But neither I nor any of my ancestors could ever fight well in trees. Foliage incommodes us. We like a clear sweep for the arm, and everything on a level space, and neither man in a tree. However, a sensible man holds no long discussions with a blunderbuss. I slid to the ground, arriving in a somewhat lacerated state. I thereupon found that the man behind the gun was evidently some kind of keeper or gardener. He had a sour face deeply chiselled with mean lines, but his eyes were very bright, the lighter parts of them being steely blue, and he rolled the pair of them from behind his awful weapon.
“And for whom have you mistaken me, rascal?” I cried as soon as I had come ungracefully to the ground and found with whom I had to deal.
“Have mistaken ye for naught,” replied the man proudly. “Ye be the thief of the French pears, ye be.”
“French pears — French — French what?” I cried.
“Ay, ye know full well,” said he, “and now ye’ll just march.”
Seeing now plainly that I was in the hands of one of Lord Westport’s gardeners, who had mistaken me for some garden-thief for whom he had been on the look-out, I began to expostulate very pointedly. But always this man stolidly faced me with the yawning mouth of the blunderbuss.
“And now ye’ll march,” said he, and despite everything I marched. I marched myself through the little door in the wall, and into the gardens of the Earl of Westport. And the infernal weapon was clamped against the small of my back.
But still my luck came to me even then, like basket falling out of a blue sky. As, in obedience to my captor’s orders, I rounded a bit of shrubbery, I came face to face with Lady Mary. I stopped so abruptly that the rim of the on-coming blunderbuss must have printed a fine pink ring on my back. I lost all intelligence. I could not speak. I only knew that I stood before the woman I loved, while a man firmly pressed the muzzle of a deadly firearm between my shoulder-blades. I flushed with shame, as if I really had been guilty of stealing the French pears.
Lady Mary’s first look upon me was one of pure astonishment. Then she quickly recognized the quaint threat expressed in the attitude of the blunderbuss.
“Strammers,” she cried, rushing forward, “what would you be doing to the gentleman?”
“’Tis no gentleman, your la’ship,” answered the man confidently. “He be a low-born thief o’ pears, he be.”
“Strammers!” she cried again, and wrested the blunderbuss from his hands. I will confess that my back immediately felt easier.
“And now, sir,” she said, turning to me haughtily, “you will please grant me an explanation of to what my father is indebted for this visit to his private grounds?”
But she knew; no fool of a gardener and a floundering Irishman could keep pace with the nimble wits of a real woman. I saw the pink steal over her face, and she plainly appeared not to care for an answer to her peremptory question. However, I made a grave reply which did not involve the main situation.
“Madam may have noticed a certain deluded man with a bell-mouthed howitzer,” said I. “His persuasions were so pointed and emphatic that I was induced to invade these gardens, wherein I have been so unfortunate as to disturb a lady’s privacy, — a thing which only causes me the deepest regret.”
“He be a pear-thief,” grumbled Strammers from a distance. “Don’t ye take no word o’ his, your la’ship, after me bringing ‘im down from out a tree.”
“From out a tree?” said Lady Mary, and she looked at me, and I looked at her.
“The man is right, Lady Mary,” said I significantly. “I was in a tree looking over the garden wall.”
“Strammers,” said she with decision, “wait for me in the rose-garden, and speak no single word to anybody until I see you again. You have made a great mistake.”
The man obediently retired, after saluting me with an air of slightly dubious apology. He was not yet convinced that I had not been after his wretched French pears.
But with the withdrawal of this Strammers Lady Mary’s manner changed. She became frightened and backed away from me, still holding the gardener’s blunderbuss.
“O sir,” she cried in a beautiful agitation, “I beg of you to leave at once. Oh, please!”
But here I saw it was necessary to treat the subject in a bold Irish way.
“I’ll not leave, Lady Mary,” I answered. “I was brought here by force, and only force can make me withdraw.”
A glimmer of a smile came to her face, and she raised the blunderbuss, pointing it full at my breast. The mouth was still the width of a water-jug, and in the fair inexperienced hands of Lady Mary it was like to go off at any moment and blow a hole in me as big as a platter.
“Charming mistress,” said I, “shoot!”
For answer she suddenly flung the weapon to the grass, and, burying her face in her hands, began to weep. “I’m afraid it’s l-l-loaded,” she sobbed out.
In an instant I was upon my knees at her side and had taken her hand. Her fingers resisted little, but she turned away her head.
“Lady Mary,” said I softly, “I’m a poor devil of an Irish adventurer, but — I love you! I love you so that if I was dead you could bid me rise! I am a worthless fellow; I have no money, and my estate you can hardly see for the mortgages and trouble upon it; I am no fine suitor, but I love you more than them all; I do, upon my life!”
“Here approaches Strammers in quest of his blunderbuss,” she answered calmly. “Perhaps we had better give it to him.”
I sprang to my feet, and, sure enough, the thick-headed ninepin of a gardener was nearing us.
“Don’t ye trust ‘im, your la’ship!” he cried. “I caught ‘im in a tree, I did, and he be a bad lot!”
Lady Mary quelled him, and he at once went away with his blunderbuss, still muttering his many doubts. But still one cannot drop a love declaration and pick it up again with the facility of a tailor resuming his work on a waistcoat. One can’t say: “Where was I? How far had I gone before this miserable interruption came?” In a word I found mysef stammering and stuttering and wasting moments too precious for words.
“Lady Mary—” I began. “Lady Mary — I love you, Lady Mary! Lady Mary—”
It was impossible for me to depart from this rigmarole and express the many things with which my heart was full. It was a maddening tongue-tie. The moments seemed for me the crisis of my existence, and yet I could only say, “Lady Mary, I love you!” I know that in many cases this statement has seemed to be sufficient, but as a matter of fact I was full of things to say, and it was plain to me that I was losing everything through the fact that my silly tongue clung to the roof of my mouth.
I do not know how long the agony endured, but at any rate it was ended by a thunderous hammering upon the little door in the garden-wall. A high Irish voice could be heard:
“And if ye be not leaving him out immediately, we will be coming over the wall if it is ten thousand feet high, ye murdering rogues.”
Lady Mary turned deadly pale. “Oh, we are lost,” she cried.
I saw at once that the interview was ended. If I remained doughtily I remained stupidly. I could come back some other day. I clutched Lady Mary’s hand and kissed it. Then I ran for the door in the garden wall. In a moment I was out, and I heard her frantically bol
ting the door behind me.
I confronted Paddy and Jem. Jem had in his hands a brace of pistols which he was waving determinedly. Paddy was wetting his palms and resolutely swinging a club. But when they saw me their ferocity gave way to an outburst of affectionate emotion. I had to assert all my mastership to keep Paddy from singing. He would sing. Sure, if they had never heard an Irish song it was time they did.
“Paddy,” said I, “my troubles are on me. I wish to be thinking. Remain quiet.”
Presently we reached the little inn, and from there the little Doctor Chord flew out like a hawk at a sparrow.
“I thought you were dead,” he shouted wildly. “I thought you were dead.”
“No,” said I, “I am not dead, but I am very thirsty.” And, although they were murmuring this thing and that thing, I would have no word with them until I was led to the parlour of the inn and given a glass.
“Now,” said I, “I penetrated to the garden and afterwards I came away and I can say no more.”
The little Doctor was very happy and proud.
“When I saw the man with the blunderbuss,” he recounted, “I said boldly: ‘Sirrah, remove that weapon! Exclude it from the scene! Eliminate it from the situation!’ But his behaviour was extraordinary. He trained the weapon in such a manner that I myself was in danger of being eliminated from the situation. I instantly concluded that I would be of more benefit to the cause if I temporarily abandoned the vicinity and withdrew to a place where the climatic conditions were more favourable to prolonged terms of human existence.”
“I saw you abandoning the vicinity,” said I, “and I am free to declare that I never saw a vicinity abandoned with more spirit and finish.”
“I thank you for your appreciation,” said the Doctor simply. Then he leaned to my ear and whispered, barring his words from Jem and Paddy, who stood respectfully near our chairs. “And the main object of the expedition?” he asked. “Was there heavy firing and the beating down of doors? And I hope you took occasion to slay the hideous monster who flourished the blunderbuss? Imagine my excitement after I had successfully abandoned the vicinity! I was trembling with anxiety for you. Still, I could adopt no steps which would not involve such opportunities for instant destruction that the thought of them brought to mind the most horrible ideas. I pictured myself lying butchered, blown to atoms by a gardener’s blunderbuss. Then the spirit of self-sacrifice arose in me, and, as you know, I sent your two servants to your rescue.”
Complete Works of Stephen Crane Page 79
