CHAPTER V. A LETTER FROM HOME
While this discussion was going on, Martin was seated in his own room,examining the contents of his letter-bag, which the post had justdelivered to him. A very casual glance at his features would havediscovered that the tidings which met his eye were very rarely of apleasant character. For the most part the letters were importunateappeals for money, subscriptions, loans, small sums to be repaid whenthe borrower had risen above his present difficulties, aids to effectsome little enterprise on whose very face was failure. Then there werethe more formal demands for sums actually due, written in the perfectionof coercive courtesy, subjecting the reader to all the tortures of amoral surgical operation, a suffering actually increased by the verydexterity of the manipulator. Then came, in rugged hand and gnarledshape, urgent entreaties for abatements and allowances, patheticpictures of failing crops, sickness and sorrow! Somewhat in contrast tothese in matter--most strikingly unlike them in manner--was a short notefrom Mr. Maurice Scanlan. Like a rebutting witness in a cause, he spokeof everything as going on favorably; prices were fair, the oat crop areasonable one. There was distress, to be sure, but who ever saw theWest without it? The potatoes had partially failed; but as there was agreat deal of typhus and a threat of cholera, there would be fewer toeat them. The late storms had done a good deal of mischief, but as thetimber thrown down might be sold without any regard to the entail, somethousand pounds would thus be realized; and as the gale had carried awaythe new pier at Kilkieran, there would be no need to give a bounty tothe fishermen who could not venture out to sea. The damage done to thehouse and the conservatories at Cro' Martin offered an opportunity tocongratulate the owner on the happiness of living in a milder climate;while the local squabbles of the borough suggested a pleasant contrastwith all the enjoyments of a life abroad.
On the whole, Mr. Scanlan's letter was rather agreeable than thereverse, since he contrived to accompany all the inevitable ills offortune by some side-wind consolations, and when pushed hard for these,skilfully insinuated in what way "things might have been worse." If theletter did not reflect very favorably on either the heart or brain thatconceived it, it well suited him to whom it was addressed. To screenhimself from whatever might irritate him, to escape an unpleasantthought or unhappy reflection, to avoid, above all things, the slightestapproach of self-censure, was Martin's great philosophy; and he esteemedthe man who gave him any aid in this road. Now newspapers might croaktheir dark predictions about the coming winter, prophesy famine, fever,and pestilence; Scanlan's letter, "written from the spot," by "one whoenjoyed every opportunity for forming a correct opinion," was there,and _he_ said matters were pretty much as usual. The West of Ireland hadnever been a land of milk and honey, and nobody expected it ever wouldbe,--the people could live in it, however, and pay rents too; and asMartin felt that he had no undue severity to reproach himself with,he folded up the epistle, saying that "when a man left his house andproperty for a while, it was a real blessing to have such a fellow asScanlan to manage for him;" and truly, if one could have his consciencekept for a few hundreds a year, the compact might be a pleasant one. Buteven to the most self-indulgent this plan is impracticable; and so mightit now be seen in Martin's heightened color and fidgety manner, andthat even _he_ was not as much at ease within as he wished to persuadehimself he was.
Amid the mass of correspondence, pamphlets and newspapers, one note,very small and neatly folded, had escaped Martin's notice till the verylast; and it was only as he heaped up a whole bundle to throw into thefire that he discovered this, in Mary's well-known hand. He held itfor some time ere he broke the seal, and his features assumed a sadder,graver cast than before. His desertion of her--and he had not blinkedthe word to himself--had never ceased to grieve him; and howeverdisposed he often felt to throw upon others the blame which attached tohimself here, he attempted no casuistry, but stood quietly, without oneplea in his favor, before his own heart.
The very consciousness of his culpability had prevented him writing toher as he ought; his letters were few, short, and constrained. Not allthe generous frankness of hers could restore to him the candid ease ofhis former intercourse with her; and every chance expression he used wasconned over and canvassed by him, lest it might convey some sentiment,or indicate some feeling foreign to his intention. At length so painfulhad the task become that he had ceased writing altogether, contentinghimself with a message through Kate Henderson,--some excuse about hishealth, fatigue,-and so forth, ever coupled with a promise that hewould soon be himself again, and as active a correspondent as she coulddesire.
To these apologies Mary always replied in a kindly spirit. Whateversorrow they might have cost her she kept for herself; they neverawakened one expression of impatience, not a word of reproach. Sheunderstood him thoroughly,--his easy indolence of disposition, hisdislike to a task, his avoidance of whatever was possible to defer;more even than all these, his own unforgiveness of himself for his parttowards her. To alleviate, so far as she might, the poignancy of thelast, was for a while the great object of all her letters; and soshe continued to expatiate on the happy life she was leading, hercontentment with the choice she had made of remaining there, throwingin little playful sallies of condolence at her uncle's banishment, andjestingly assuring him how much happier he would be at home!
In whatever mood, however, she wrote, there was a striking absence ofwhatever could fret or grieve her uncle throughout all her letters. Sheselected every pleasant topic and the favorable side of every theme totell of. She never forgot any little locality which he had been partialto, or any of the people who were his favorites; and, in fact, it mighthave seemed that the great object she had in view was to attach him moreand more to the home he had left, and strengthen every tie that boundhim to his own country. And all this was done lightly and playfully, andwith a pleasant promise of the happiness he should feel on the day ofhis return.
These letters were about the pleasantest incidents in Martin's presentlife; and the day which brought him one was sure to pass agreeably,while he made vigorous resolutions about writing a reply, and sometimesgot even so far as to open a desk and ruminate over an answer. It sochanced that now a much longer interval had occurred since Mary's lastletter, and the appearance of the present note, so unlike the voluminousepistle she usually despatched, struck him with a certain dismay. "PoorMolly," said he, as he broke the seal, "she is growing weary at last;this continued neglect is beginning to tell upon her. A little more,and she 'll believe--as well she may--that we have forgotten heraltogether."
The note was even briefer than he had suspected. It was written, too,in what might seem haste, or agitation, and the signature forgotten.Martin's hand trembled, and his chest heaved heavily as he read thefollowing lines:--
"Cro' Martin, Wednesday Night
"Dearest Uncle,--You will not suffer these few lines to remainunanswered, since they are written in all the pressure of a greatemergency. Our worst fears for the harvest are more than realized; atotal failure in the potatoes--a great diminution in the oat crop; theincessant rains have flooded all the low meadows, and the cattle arealmost without forage, while from the same cause no turf can be cut, andeven that already cut and stacked cannot be drawn away from the bogs.But, worse than all these, typhus is amongst us, and cholera, they say,coming. I might stretch out this dreary catalogue, but here is enough,more than enough, to awaken your sympathies and arouse you to action.There is a blight on the land; the people are starving--dying. If everysense of duty was dead within us, if we could harden our hearts againstevery claim of those from whose labor we derive ease, from whose toil wedraw wealth and leisure, we might still be recalled to better thingsby the glorious heroism of these poor people, so nobly courageous, sopatient are they in their trials. It is not now that I can speak ofthe traits I have witnessed of their affection, their charity, theirself-denial, and their daring--but now is the moment to show them thatwe, who have been dealt with more favorably by fortune, are not devoidof the qualities which ado
rn their nature.
"I feel all the cruelty of narrating these things to you, too far awayfrom the scene of sorrow to aid by your counsel and encourage by yourassistance; but it would be worse than cruelty to conceal from youthat a terrible crisis is at hand, which will need all your energy tomitigate.
"Some measures are in your power, and must be adopted at once. Theremust be a remission of rent almost universally, for the calamity hasinvolved all; and such as are a little richer than their neighborsshould be aided, that they may be the more able to help them. Somestores of provisions must be provided to be sold at reduced rates, oreven given gratuitously. Medical aid must be had, and an hospitalof some sort established. The able-bodied must be employed on somepermanent work; and for these, we want power from you and some presentmoneyed assistance. I will not harrow your feelings with tales ofsufferings. You have seen misery here--enough, I say--you have witnessednothing like this, and we are at but the beginning.
"Write to me at once yourself--this is no occasion to employ adeputy--and forgive me, dearest uncle, for I know not what faults ofpresumption I may have here committed. My head is confused; the crashof misfortunes has addled me, and each succeed so rapidly on each other,that remedies are scarcely employed than they have to be abandoned.When, however, I can tell the people that it is their own old friend andmaster that sends them help, and bids them to be of good cheer,--whenI can show them that, although separated by distance, your heart neverceases to live amongst them,--I know well the magic working of such aspell upon them, and how, with a bravery that the boldest soldier neversurpassed, they will rise up against the stern foes of sickness andfamine, and do battle with hard fortune manfully.
"You have often smiled at what you deemed my exaggerated opinion ofthese poor people,--my over-confidence in their capacity for good.Oh--take my word for it--I never gave them credit for one half theexcellence of their natures. They are on their trial now, and nobly dothey sustain it!
"I have no heart to answer all your kind questions about myself,--enoughthat I am well; as little can I ask you about all your doings in Paris.I 'm afraid I should but lose temper if I heard that they were pleasantones; and yet, with my whole soul, I wish you to be happy; and withthis,
"Believe me your affectionate
"Mr. Repton has written me the kindest of letters, full of good adviceand good sense; he has also enclosed me a check for L100, with an offerof more if wanted. I was low and depressed when his note reached me,but it gave me fresh energy and hope. He proposed to come down here ifI wished; but how could I ask such a sacrifice,--how entreat him to facethe peril?"
"Tell Captain Martin I wish to speak to him," said Martin, as hefinished the perusal of this letter. And in a few minutes after, thatgallant personage appeared, not a little surprised at the summons.
"I have got a letter from Mary here," said Martin, vainly endeavoringto conceal his agitation as he spoke, "which I want to show you. Mattersare in a sad plight in the West. She never exaggerates a gloomy story,and her account is very afflicting. Read it."
The Captain lounged towards the window, and, leaning listlessly againstthe wall, opened the epistle.
"You have not written to her lately, then?" asked he, as he perused theopening sentence.
"I am ashamed to say I have not; every day I made a resolution; butsomehow--"
"Is all this anything strange or new?" broke in the Captain. "I 'mcertain I have forty letters from my mother with exactly the same story.In fact, before I ever broke the seal, I 'd have wagered an equalfifty that the potatoes had failed, the bogs were flooded, the roadsimpassable, and the people dying in thousands; and yet, when spring cameround, by some happy miracle they were all alive and merry again!"
"Read on," said Martin, impatiently, and barely able to control himselfat this heartless commentary.
"Egad! I 'd have sworn I had read all this before, except these samesuggestions about not exacting the rents, building hospitals, and soforth; that _is_ new. And why does she say, 'Don't write by deputy'? Who_was_ your deputy?"
"Kate Henderson has written for me latterly."
"And I should say she 's quite equal to that sort of thing; she dashesoff my mother's notes at score, and talks away, too, all the time she 'swriting."
"That is not the question before us," said Martin, sternly.
"When I sent for you to read that letter, it was that you might adviseand counsel me what course to take."
"If you can afford to give away a year's income in the shape of rent,and about as much more in the shape of a donation, of course you 'requite free to do it. I only wish that your generosity would begin athome, though; for I own to you I 'm very hard-up at this moment." Thisthe Captain spoke with an attempted jocularity which decreased withevery word, till it subsided into downright seriousness ere he finished.
"So far from being in a position to do an act of munificence, I amsorely pressed for money," said Martin.
The Captain started; the half-smile with which he had begun to receivethis speech died away on his lips as he asked, "Is this really thecase?"
"Most truly so," said Martin, solemnly.
"But how, in the name of everything absurd--how is this possible? Bywhat stratagem could you have spent five thousand a year at Cro' Martin,and your estate was worth almost three times as much? Giving a very widemargin for waste and robbery, I 'd say five thousand could not be madeaway with there in a twelvemonth."
"Your question only shows me how carelessly you must have read myletters to you, in India," said Martin; "otherwise you could not havefailed to see the vast improvements we have been carrying out on theproperty,--the roads, the harbors, the new quarries opened, the extentof ground covered by plantation,--all the plans, in fact, which Mary hadmatured--"
"Mary! Mary!" exclaimed the Captain. "And do you tell me that all thesethings were done at the instigation of a young girl of nineteen ortwenty, without any knowledge, or even advice--"
"And who said she was deficient in knowledge?" cried Martin. "Take upthe map of the estate; see the lands she has reclaimed; look at theswamps you used to shoot snipe over bearing corn crops; see the thrivingvillage, where once the boatmen were starving, for they dared notventure out to sea without a harbor against bad weather."
"Tell me the cost of all this. What's the figure?" said the Captain;"that's the real test of all these matters, for if _your_ income couldonly feed this outlay, I pronounce the whole scheme the maddest thingin Christendom. My mother's taste for carved oak cabinets and historicalpictures is the quintessence of wisdom in comparison."
Martin was overwhelmed and silent, and the other went on,--"Half thefellows in 'ours' had the same story to tell,--of estates wasted,and fine fortunes squandered in what are called improvements. If thepossession of a good property entails the necessity to spend it all inthis fashion, one is very little better than a kind of land-steward toone's own estate; and, for my part, I 'd rather call two thousand a yearmy own, to do what I pleased with, than have a nominal twenty, of whichI must disburse nineteen."
"Am I again to remind you that this is not the question before us?" saidMartin, with increased sternness.
"That is exactly the very question," rejoined the Captain. "Mary herecoolly asks you, in the spirit of this same improvement-scheme, torelinquish a year's income, and make a present of I know not how muchmore, simply because things are going badly with them, just as ifeverybody has n't their turn of ill-fortune. Egad, I can answer for it,_mine_ has n't been flourishing latterly, and yet I have heard of nobenevolent plan on foot to aid or release me!"
To this heartless speech, uttered, however, in most perfect sincerity,Martin made no reply whatever, but sat with folded arms, deep incontemplation. At length, raising his head, he asked, "And have you,then, no counsel to give,--no suggestion to make me?"
"Well," said he, suddenly, "if Mary has not greatly overcharged all thisstory--"
"That she has not," cried Martin, interrupting him. "There 's not aline, not a word of he
r letter, I 'd not guarantee with all I 'm worthin the world."
"In that case," resumed the Captain, in the same indolent tone, "theymust be in a sorry plight, and _I_ think ought to cut and run as fast asthey can. I know that's what _we_ do in India; when the cholera comes,we break up the encampment, and move off somewhere else. Tell Mary,then, to advise them to keep out of 'the jungle,' and make for the hillcountry.'"
Martin stared at the speaker for some seconds, and it was evident howdifficult he found it to believe that the words he had just listened towere uttered in deliberate seriousness.
"If you have read that letter, you certainly have not understood it,"said he at last, in a voice full of melancholy meaning.
"Egad, it's only too easy of comprehension," replied the Captain; "ofall things in life, there's no mistaking a demand for money."
"Just take it with you to your own room, Harry," said Martin, witha manner of more affection than he had yet employed. "It is my firmpersuasion that when you have re-read and thought over it, yourimpression will be a different one. Con it over in solitude, and thencome back and give me your advice."
The Captain was not sorry to adopt a plan which relieved him so speedilyfrom a very embarrassing situation, and, folding up the note, he turnedand left the room.
There are a great number of excellent people in this world who believethat "Thought," like "Ecarte," is a game which requires two people toplay. The Captain was one of these; nor was it within his comprehensionto imagine how any one individual could suffice to raise the doubts hewas called on to canvass or decide. "Who should he now have recourseto?" was his first question; and he had scarcely proposed it to himselfwhen a soft low voice said, "What is puzzling Captain Martin?--can I beof any service to him?" He turned and saw Kate Henderson.
"Only think how fortunate!" exclaimed he. "Just come in here to thisdrawing-room, and give me your advice."
"Willingly," said she, with a courtesy the more marked because hismanner indicated a seriousness that betokened trouble.
"My father has just dismissed me to cogitate over this epistle; asif, after all, when one has read a letter, that any secret or mysticalinterpretation is to come by all the reconsideration and reflection inthe world."
"Am I to read it?" asked Kate, as he placed it in her hand.
"Of course you are," said he.
"There is nothing confidential or private in it which I ought not tosee?"
"Nothing; and if there were," added he, warmly, "_you_ are one ofourselves, I trust,--at least _I_ think you so."
Kate's lips closed with almost stern % impressiveness, but her colornever changed at this speech, and she opened the letter in silence. Forsome minutes she continued to read with the same impassive expression;but gradually her cheek became paler, and a haughty, almost scornful,expression settled on her lips. "So patient are they in their trials,"said she, reading aloud the expression of Mary's note. "Is it notpossible, Captain Martin, that patience may be pushed a little beyond avirtue, and become something very like cowardice,--abject cowardice?And then," cried she impetuously, and not waiting for his reply, "tosay that now is the time to show these poor people the saving care andprotection that the rich owe them, as if the duty dated from the hour oftheir being struck down by famine, laid low by pestilence, or that thedebt could ever be acquitted by the relief accorded to pauperism! Whynot have taught these same famished creatures self-dependence, elevatedthem to the rank of civilized beings by the enjoyment of rights thatgive men self-esteem as well as liberty? What do you mean to do,sir?--or is that your difficulty?" cried she, hastily changing her toneto one of less energy.
"Exactly,--that is _my difficulty_. My father, I suspect, wishes me toconcur in the pleasant project struck out by Mary, and that, by way ofhelping _them_, we should ruin _ourselves_."
"And _you_ are for--" She stopped, as if to let him finish her questionfor her.
"Egad, I don't know well what I'm for, except it be self-preservation.I mean," said he, correcting himself, as a sudden glance of almostinsolent scorn shot from Kate's eyes towards him,--"I mean that I 'mcertain more than half of this account is sheer exaggeration. Mary isfrightened,--as well she may be,--finding herself all alone, andhearing nothing but the high-colored stories the people brings her, andlistening to calamities from morning to night."
"But still it _may_ be all true," said Kate, solemnly. "It may be--asMiss Martin writes--that 'there is a blight on the land.'"
"What's to be done, then?" asked he, in deep embarrassment.
"The first step is to ascertain what is fact,--the real extent of themisfortune."
"And how is that to be accomplished?" asked he.
"Can you not think of some means?" said she, with a scarcely perceptibleapproach to a smile.
"No, by Jove! that I cannot, except by going over there one's self."
"And why not that?" asked she, more boldly, while she fixed her largefull eyes directly upon him.
"If _you_ thought that I ought to go,--if you advised it and wouldactually say 'Go'--"
"Well, if I should?"
"Then I'd set off to-night; though, to say truth, neither the journeynor the business are much to my fancy."
"Were they ten times less so, sir, I'd say, 'Go,'" said she, resolutely.
"Then go I will," cried the Captain; "and I'll start within two hours."
The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. II (of II) Page 5
