Tom Burke Of Ours, Volume II

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER XXXIII. THE LANDING

  With the crew of the cutter I had little intercourse. They wereJerseymen,--that hybrid race, neither French nor English,--who followedthe trade of spies and smugglers, and were true to nothing save theirown interests. The skipper, a coarse, ill-featured fellow, in no respectsuperior to the others, leisurely perused the letter De Beauvais gaveme on my departure; then, tearing it slowly, threw the pieces into thefire.

  "What, then, is this?" said he, taking up a sealed packet, which I nowfor the first time perceived was fastened to my knapsack. "It seemsmeant for me; look at the address, 'Jacques Oloquette, on board the"Rouge Galant."'" And so saying, he broke the seal, and bent over thecontents.

  "Oh," cried he, in a voice of triumphant delight, "this is a prize worthhaving,--the English signal-book!" And he held up the little volumewhich Paul Dupont had rescued from the "Fawn."

  "How came it here?" said I, horror-struck at the loss the poor sailorhad sustained.

  "Old Martin, of the 'Star,' tells me he stole it from a marine of theGuard, and that it cost him twenty-four flasks of his best Pomardbefore the fellow and his companions were drunk enough to make the theftpracticable."

  I remembered at once the eagerness of the landlord for my departure, andthe hurried anxiety of his wish that morning might find me miles off onmy journey, as well as the care he bestowed on strapping my knapsack,and saw how all had occurred.

  "I knew most of them already," continued the skipper. "But here is onewill serve our turn well now,--the very thing we wanted, for itsaves all delay and stoppage. That flag is the signal for Admiraltydespatches, which are often brought by small craft like ours when theycan't spare cruisers. We 'll soon rig it out, you 'll see, and run downChannel with all our canvas set."

  He went aft as he spoke; and in a few seconds the cutter's head wasdirected straight towards the English coast, while, crowding on moresail, she seemed to fly through the water.

  The cheering freshness of the sea-breeze, the sense of danger past,the hope of escape, all combining, raised my spirits and elevated mycourage; but through all, I felt grieved beyond measure at the lossof poor Paul Dupont,--the prize the honest fellow valued next to lifeitself, if not above it, taken from him in the very moment of hisexultation! Besides, I could not help feeling that suspicion must lighton me from my sudden disappearance; and my indignation was deep, tothink how such an imputation would tarnish the honor of that service Igloried in so much. "How far may such a calumny spread?" thought I. "Howmany lips may repeat the tale, and none be able to deny it?" Deep as wasmy regret at the brave Breton's loss, my anger for its consequenceswas still deeper; and I would willingly have perilled all my hope ofreaching England to have been able to restore the book into Paul's ownhand.

  These feelings did not tend to draw me closer in intimacy with theskipper; whose pleasure at the acquisition was only heightened by thesubtlety of its accomplishment, and who seemed never so happy as whenrepeating some fragment of the landlord's letter, and rejoicing at thediscomfiture the brave sailor must have experienced on discoveringhis loss. To witness the gratification a coarse nature feels in someunworthy but successful action, is the heaviest penalty an honorablemind can experience when unhappily its possessor has been in any wayaccessory to the result. With these reflections I fell off to sleep, andnever woke till the bright sun was shining over the white-crested water,and the craft breasting the waves with a strong breeze upon her canvas.

  As we held on down Channel, we passed several ships of war beating upfor Spithead; but our blue bunting, curiously streaked with white, was asignal which all acknowledged, and none ventured to retard. Thus passedthe first day: as night was falling, we beheld the Needles on our lee,and with a freshening breeze, held on our course.

  A second morning broke. And now the sea was covered with the white sailsof a magnificent fleet, bound for the West Indies; at least, so theskipper pronounced it. It was indeed a glorious sight to see the mightyvessels obeying the signals of the flag-ship, and shaping their coursethrough the blue water as if instinct with life and reason. They werefar seaward of us, however; for now we hugged the land, as the skipperwas only desirous of an opportunity to land me unobserved before heproceeded on his own more immediate enterprise,--the smuggling of somehogsheads of brandy on the coasts of Ireland.

  Left to my own thoughts,--the memories of my past life,--I dreamed awaythe hours unconsciously, and as the time sped on, I knew not of itsflight. Some strange sail, seen from afar off, would for an instantarouse my attention; but it was a mere momentary effect, and I fell backinto my musings, as though they had never been interrupted. As I lookback upon that voyage now, and think of the dreamy listlessness in whichits hours were passed, I can half fancy that certain periods of ourlives are destined to sustain the part which night performs in our dailyexistence, and by their monotony contribute to that renewal of energyand vigor so essential after times of labor and exertion. It seemed tome as though, the period of exertion past, I was regaining in rest andrepose the power for future action; and I canvassed every act ofthe past to teach me more of my own heart, and to instruct me for myguidance in life after.

  "You can land now, whenever you please," said the skipper to me, as by afaint moonlight we moved along the waveless sea. "We can put you ashoreat any moment here."

  I started with as much surprise as though the thought had never occurredto me; and without replying, I leaned over the bulwark, and gazed at thefaint shadows of tall headlands about three miles distant.

  "How do you call that bluff yonder?" said I, carelessly.

  "Wicklow Head."

  "Wicklow Head! Ireland!" cried I, with a thrill of ecstasy my heart hadnever felt for many a day before. "Yes, yes; land me there,--now, atonce!" said I, as a thousand thoughts came rushing to my mind, and hopestoo vague for utterance, but palpable enough to cherish.

  With the speed their calling teaches, the crew lowered the boat, and asI took my place in the stern, pulled vigorously towards the shore. Asthe swift bark glided along the shallow sea, I could scarce restrainmy impatience from springing out and rushing on land. Without family orfriend, without one to welcome or meet me, still it was home,--the onlyhome I ever had.

  The sharp keel grated on the beach; its sound vibrated within my heart.I jumped on shore; a few words of parting, and the men backed theiroars; the boat slipped fast through the water. The cutter, too, gotspeedily under weigh again, and I was alone. Then the full torrent of myfeelings found their channel, and I burst into tears. Oh! they were nottears of sorrow; neither were they the outpourings of excessive joy.They were the utterance of a heart loaded with its own unrelievedgriefs, who now found sympathy on touching the very soil of home. I feltI was no longer friendless. Ireland, my own dear native country, wouldbe to me a place of kindred and family, and I fell upon my knees, andblessed it.

  Following a little path, which led slantingly up the cliff, I reachedthe top as day was beginning to break, and gained a view of the country.The range of swelling hills, dotted with cottages and waving withwood; the fields of that emerald green one sees not in other lands;the hedge-rows bounding the little farms,--all so unlike the spreadingplains of France,--struck me with delight, and it was with a rapture ofhappiness I called the land my country.

  Directing my steps towards Dublin, I set out at a good pace, butfollowing a path which led near the cliffs, in preference to thehighroad; for I was well aware that my appearance and dress would exposeme to curiosity, and perhaps subject me to more serious annoyance. Myfirst object was to learn some news of my brother; for although theties of affection had been long since severed between us, those of bloodstill remained, and I wished to hear of, and it might be to see him,once more. For some miles I had kept my eyes directed towards a littlecabin which crowned a cliff that hung over the sea; and this I reachedat last, somewhat wearied and hungry.

  As I followed a little footpath which conducted to the door, a fierceterrier rushed out as if to attack me, but was immediate
ly restrainedby the voice of a man within, calling, "Down, Vicksey! down, you baste!"and the same moment a stout, middle-aged man appeared at the door.

  "Don't be afeard, sir; she's not wicked, but we're unused to strangersdown here."

  "I should think so, friend, from my path," said I, throwing a glanceat the narrow footway I had followed for some miles, over hill andprecipice; "but I am unacquainted with the country, and was looking outfor some house where I might obtain a breakfast."

  "There's a town about three miles down yonder, and a fine inn, I 'mtould, sir," replied he, as he scrutinized my appearance with a shrewdeye; "but if I might make so bould, maybe you 'd as lief not go there,and perhaps you 'd take share of what we have here?"

  "Willingly," said I, accepting the hospitable offer as freely as it wasmade, and entered the cabin at once.

  A good-featured countrywoman and some young children were seated at thetable, where a large dish of potatoes and some fresh fish were smoking,a huge jug of milk occupying the middle of the board. The woman blushedas she heard that her husband had invited a gentleman to partake of hishumble meal; but the honest fellow cared little for the simple fare heoffered with so good a grace, and placed my chair beside his own withthe air of one who was more anxious for his guest's comfort than caringwhat impression he himself might make upon him.

  After some passing words about the season and the state of thetides,--for my host was a fisherman,--I turned the conversation on thepolitical condition of the country, avowing frankly that I had been forsome years absent, and was ignorant of what had occurred meantime.

  "'Twas that same I was thinking, sir," said he, replying to the firstand not the latter part of my remark. "When I saw your honor's face, andthe beard you wore, I said to myself you wor a Frenchman."

  "You mistook there, then; I am your countryman, but have passed a goodmany years in France."

  "Fighting for Boney?" said he, as his eyes opened wide with surprise tobehold one actually before him who might have served under Napoleon.

  "Yes, my good friend, even so; I was in the army of the Emperor."

  "Tare an ages! then, are they coming over here now?" cried he, almostgasping in his eagerness.

  "No, no," replied I, gravely; "and be thankful, too, for it, for yourown and your children's sakes, that you see not a war raging in thefields and cities of your native land. Be assured, whatever wrongs yousuffer,--I will not dispute their existence, for, as I told you, I amignorant of the condition of the country,--but whatever they may be, youcan pay too dearly for their remedy."

  "But sure they 'd be on our side, would n't they?"

  "Of course they would; but think you that they 'd fight your battleswithout their price? Do you believe that Frenchmen so love you herethat they would come to shed their blood in your cause without their ownprospect of advantage?"

  "They hate the English, I'm tould, as bad as we do ourselves."

  "They do so, and with more of justice for their hate. But that dislikemight suffice to cause a war; it never would reward it. No, no; I knowsomething of the spirit of French conquest. I glory in the bravery andthe heroism that accomplished it; but I never wish to see my own countryat the mercy of France. Whose soldier would you become if the EmperorNapoleon landed here to-morrow?--his. Whose uniform would you wear,whose musket carry, whose pay receive, whose orders obey?--his, and hisonly. And how long, think you, would your services be limited to home?What should prevent your being sent away to Egypt, to Poland, or toRussia? How much favor would an Irish deserter receive from a Frenchcourt-martial, think you? No, good friend; while you have this warm roofto shelter you, and that broad sea is open for your industry and toil,never wish for foreign aid to assist you."

  I saw that the poor fellow was discouraged by my words, and graduallyled him to speak of those evils for whose alleviation he lookedto France. To my surprise, however, he descanted less on politicalgrievances than those which affect the well-being of the countrysocially. It was not the severity of a Government, but the absence ofencouragement to industry,--the neglect of the poor,--which afflictedhim. England was no longer the tyrant; the landlord had taken her place.Still, with the pertinacity of ignorance, he visited all the wrongs onthat land from which originally his first misfortunes came, and withperverse ingenuity would endeavor to trace out every hardship hesuffered as arising from the ill-will and hatred the Saxon bore him.

  It was easy to perceive that the arguments he used were not of his owndevising; they had been supplied by others, in whose opinion he hadconfidence; and though valueless and weak in reality, to him they wereall-convincing and unanswerable,--not the less, perhaps, that theyoffered that value to self-love which comes from attributing anyevils we endure to causes outside and independent of ourselves. These,confronted with extravagant hopes of what would ensue should nationalindependence be established, formed his code; and however refuted oneach point, a certain conviction, too deeply laid to be disturbed by anyopposing force, remained; and in his "Well, well, God knows best!and maybe we'll have better luck yet," you could perceive that he wasinaccessible to any appeal except from the quarter which ministered tohis discontent and disaffection.

  One thing was clear to me from all he said, that if the spirit of openresistance no longer existed towards England, it was replaced by asdetermined and as rancorous hatred,--a brooding, ill-omened dislike hadsucceeded, to the full as hostile, and far less easily subdued. How itwould end,--whether in the long-lingering fear which wastes the energiesand saps the strength of a people, or in the conflict of a civil war,the prospect was equally ruinous.

  Sadly pondering on these things, I parted with my humble host, and setout towards the capital. If my conversation with the Irishman had taughtme somewhat of the state of feeling then current in Ireland, it alsoconveyed another and very different lesson; it enabled me to take someaccount of the change years had effected in my own sentiments. As aboy, high-flown, vague, and unsettled ideas of national liberty andindependence had made me look to France as the emancipator of Europe.As a man, I knew that the lust of conquest had extinguished the love offreedom in Frenchmen; that they who trusted to her did but exchange thedominion of their old masters for the tyranny of a new one; while suchas boldly stepped forward in defence of their liberties, found thatthere was neither mercy nor compassion for the conquered.

  I had seen the Austrian prisoners and the Russian led captive throughthe streets of Paris; I had witnessed the great capital of Prussia inits day of mourning after Jena; and all my idolatry for the Generalscarce balanced my horror of the Emperor, whose vengeance hadsmitten two nations thus heavily: and I said within my heart, "May mycountrymen, whatever be their day of need, never seek alliance withdespotic France!"