Book: The Blue Pavilions

S >> Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller Couch >> The Blue Pavilions




"Damn Tristram! That youngster strikes me as causing a fuss quite
out of proportion to his intrinsic worth."

"Well, but--"

"My dear Jack, I have reasons for wishing Tristram back. You needn't
ask what they are, because I shan't tell you; but they're at least
as intelligible as all the reasons you can find in that volume."
He caught it out of his friend's hand, and read: "_June 12th.--T.
to-day refused his biscuit and milk at six in the morning, but took
it an hour later. Peevish all night; in part (I think) because not
yet recovered of his weaning, and also because his teeth (second pair
on lower jaw) are troubling him. Query: If the biscuit should be
boiled in the milk, or milk merely poured over the biscuit_--" Here
he glanced up, and seeing the anguish on the hunchback's face, handed
back the book.

"I beg your pardon, Jack. But get your hat and come along."

"You forget, Jemmy. We gave our word, you know."

Captain Runacles stared.

"Trouble has unhinged your wits, my friend. Did you seriously
imagine I intended to disclose to his Majesty the proposal we heard
last night?"

"What, then?"

"My notion was that we should go and offer him our swords and our
services in ransom for Tristram. He may rebuff us. On the other
hand, there's a chance that he will not. You remember that he began,
yesterday, by offering you this way of escape. You are to take me
with you and beg for a renewal of that offer. Maybe he'll demur.
You'll then point out that you have two men's service to tender him
in lieu of one. I _have_ smelt powder in my time, Jack, and I once
had the luck to run De Ruyter's pet captain through the sword-arm and
to carry his ship. It's the very devil that I never could master the
fellow's Dutch name sufficiently to remember it; but his Majesty--who
has a greater grasp of his mother tongue--may be able to recall it,
and the recollection may turn the scale. Anyhow, we'll try."

"You can serve this William?"

"I can; for the matter stands thus: We go and say, 'Your Majesty has
laid hands on a young man. Will it please your Majesty to take two
old men in exchange?' We're a couple of old hulks, Jack; but we may
serve, as well as a youngster, to be battered by the French."

"But suppose that this plot breaks out?--I mean that which the Earl
hinted at."

"My friend, that proposal may be divided into two parts. The first
is mutiny; the second is desertion to the French. How do you like
them? Could you stand by and help either?"

"Why, no," answered Captain Barker, with a brightening face;
"because, after all, one could always die first."

"To be sure. Make haste, then, and fetch your hat, or we shall be
too late to save the boy."

Captain Runacles waited at the foot of the garden, while his friend
hurried into the house and returned in something like glee.

"We are lucky. Narcissus tells me his Majesty is sleeping ashore at
Thomas Langley's house in Church Street. It seems that his cabin was
not put rightly in order aboard the _Mary_ yacht, and he won't embark
until he has broken his fast."

"Come along, then!" said Captain Jemmy, opening the gate. "We may
catch him before he goes on board."

But scarcely had the pair set foot in the road outside when a voice
commanded them to halt.

In front of them, barring the highway towards Harwich, stood a
sergeant, with half a dozen soldiers at his back. They seemed to
have sprung out of the hedge.

"Pardon, gentlemen; but you are walking towards Harwich."

"We are."

"My orders are to forbid it."

"Who gave you that order?"

"The General."

"What? The Earl of Marlborough?"

"Yes."

"So this is how he trusts our word!" muttered Captain Runacles.
"But, excuse me," he added aloud, "our business is with his Majesty."

"I am truly sorry, gentlemen."

"You decline to let us pass?"

"I hope you will not insist."

"Well, but I have an idea. You can march us into Harwich as your
prisoners. Take us into his Majesty's presence--that's all I ask,
and I don't care how it's done. You shall have our _parole_ if you
please."

The sergeant shook his head. "It's against my orders."

"Then we must try to pass you."

"Suffer me to point out that we are seven to two."

"Thank you. But this is an affair of conscience."

"Nevertheless--"

"Confound it, sir!" broke in the little hunchback. "You are here, it
seems, to frustrate our intentions; but I'm hanged if you shall
criticise them too. Guard, sirs, if you please!"

And whipping out their swords, these indomitable old gentlemen fell
with fury on their seven adversaries and engaged them.

The struggle, however, lasted but a minute. Six bayonets are not to
be charged with a couple of small-swords; and just as Captain Barker
was on the point of spitting himself like an over-hasty game chicken,
the sergeant raised his side-arm and dealt him a cut over the head.
Hat and wig broke the blow somewhat; but the little man dropped with
a moan and lay quite still in the road.

Hearing the sound, Captain Jemmy turned, dropped his sword, and ran
to lift his friend. The stroke had stunned him, and a trickle of
blood ran from a slight scalp-wound and mingled with the dust.

"Jack, Jack!" sobbed his friend, kneeling and peering eagerly into
his face. The hunchback opened his eyes a little and stared up
vacantly.

As he did so the dull roar of heavy guns broke out in the direction
of Harwich, shaking the earth under Captain Jemmy's feet. It was the
town's parting salute to his Majesty King William the Third. And at
the same moment the leading ship of the royal squadron swung out of
harbour on the ebb-tide and, rounding the Guard Sandbank, stood
majestically towards the open sea, her colours streaming and white
canvas bellying over the blue waters.



CHAPTER VIII.


FATHER AND SON.

Tristram, meanwhile, was lying in darkness on board the _Good
Intent_, a frigate of twenty-six guns, converted for the nonce into a
transport-ship to accommodate three companies of his Majesty's Second
Household Regiment, the Coldstreams. To this regiment the Earl had
thought fit to attach him at first, not only on account of his fine
inches, but also to keep him out of his father's way, being unwilling
that the two should meet until he had visited the Blue Pavilions and
endeavoured to bring Captain Barker and Captain Runacles to terms.

It cannot be said that his first acquaintance with military life had
lifted Tristram's spirits. The frigate--to which he had been
conveyed without further resistance--struck him as smelling extremely
ill below decks; and he was somewhat dashed by the small amount of
room at his service. Moreover, the new suit into which he was
promptly clapped, though brilliant in colour, had been made for a
smaller man, and obstructed his breathing, which would have been
difficult enough in any case. On the gun-deck, where he found
himself, it was impossible to stand upright and equally impossible to
lie at length, every foot of room between the tiers of nine-pounders
being occupied by kits, knapsacks, chests and mattresses littered
about in all conceivable disorder, and the intervals between these
bridged by the legs of his brothers-in-arms. As the Coldstreams were
an exceedingly well-grown regiment, and for the most part deeply
absorbed just then in dicing, quarrelling, chuck-penny and lively
discussions on the forthcoming campaign, Tristram had found the
utmost difficulty in avoiding the sheaves of legs between him and the
empty mattress assigned for his use. In his dejection of spirits it
was a comfort to find that none of his future comrades turned a head
to observe him. He cast himself down on the mattress and gave vent
to a profound sigh.

"Alas, Sophia!" he ingeminated, "how liable to misconception--though
doubtless wise on the whole--are the rulings of Providence, which in
one short hour has torn me from your soft embrace to follow a calling
which I foresee I shall detest!"

Unluckily this emotion, though warranted by his circumstances, proved
too great for the ready-made suit which he wore. At the first sigh
two buttons burst from his jacket, one of which flew a full twelve
inches and gently struck the cheek of a Dutch sergeant who was taking
forty winks upon the adjacent mattress.

"Vat the devil for?" exclaimed Sergeant Klomp, opening his eyes and
glaring upon the recruit.

"I beg your pardon," said Tristram.

"Zat was in fon, hey?"

"On the contrary--"

"Vat for, if not?"

"It was accidental, I assure you. I was unbosoming myself--"

"So; I will deach you to onbosom yourself of his Majesty's buttons.
Agsidental! You shall not be agsidental to me!" Sergeant Klomp
rolled his eyes, and, picking up his cane, which lay beside him, rose
to his feet and advanced with menace on his face.

Tristram hastily applied his syllogism. "It is right," he said to
himself, "to resist when molested in a peaceful occupation.
Sighing is a peaceful occupation. Therefore I must resist this man."
In obedience to this valid conclusion he hit Sergeant Klomp in the
stomach as he advanced, caught the cane out of his hand and
belaboured him the entire length of the gun-deck. It was impossible
to do this without discommoding the legs of the company and annoying
them beyond measure. And consequently, at the end of ten minutes,
Tristram found himself in irons in the lazarette, condemned to pass
the night with two drunken men, whose snores were almost comforting
in the pitchy darkness; for, as he told himself, human propinquity,
if not exactly sympathy, is the first step towards it. He had been
listening to this snoring for four hours, when a hatchway above him
was lifted, and a lantern shone down into the lazarette. It was
carried by a corporal, who came cautiously down the ladder, lighting
the footsteps of an officer who followed and held a handkerchief to
his nose, for the smell of the bilge was overpowering.

"Pah!" exclaimed this officer, as he arrived at the ladder's foot,
and peered around. "Set the light down on the floor and leave us.
What a hole!"

He waited whilst the corporal re-ascended the ladder and disappeared;
then, picking up the lantern, held it aloft and let its rays shine
full on Tristram's face.

"Ah," he said, after regarding our hero in silence for a few seconds,
"it is unmistakable!" And with that he sighed heavily.

"Pardon me, sir," said Tristram, "but the sight of me appears to
cause you sorrow."

"On the contrary, it fills me with joy."

"I am glad to hear you say so, because, as I am fastened here in
these irons, it would have been out of my power to relieve you of my
presence. Since you are glad, however--"

"Unspeakably."

"--You would do me a great favour by saying why."

"Because--look at me, dear lad--because you are my only son!"

"In that I really think you must be mistaken. There are two
gentlemen yonder in the corner who at present are asleep. Are you
quite sure one of these is not the object of your search?"

"Quite sure, my dear lad. It is unmistakable, as I said. You are
Tristram?"

"I am; though I don't see why it should be unmistakable."

"Those eyes--that voice! It is impossible you should not be
Margaret's son!"

"My mother's name was Margaret," Tristram answered; "that's true
enough. She died when I was born."

"Tristram," said his visitor, lowering the lantern and bowing his
head, "I was her unworthy husband, and am your father, Roderick
Salt."

"That would certainly be plausible, but for one difficulty."

"What is it?"

"My father was drowned some months before I was born."

"You are mistaken. He was partially drowned, but not quite."

"I admit that alters the case."

"Shall I tell you how it happened?"

"By all means, sir; for I think the story must be interesting.
At the same time I ought to warn you that I already possess a father,
on whom you can scarcely improve."

"To whom do you refer?"

"He is called Captain Barker by those who love him less than I."

"Is it he, then, that has brought you up? Curse him!"

Tristram opened his eyes. "Why should you curse him?" he asked.

"Because he has stolen your love from me."

"But--excuse me--it is only this moment that I have heard you were
competing for it."

"He has told you evil concerning me."

"On the contrary, he has never uttered your name. It was my nurse
who told me one day that you were drowned; and even this turns out to
be a mistake, as you were about to prove."

"My son, your words and bearing cut me to the heart. It is no less
than I have deserved, perhaps; though, could you know all, I am sure
you would judge me leniently. But at least I can give you some small
proof of my love. Let me first release you from those irons."

He set the lantern on the floor, drew a small key from his pocket and
unlocked his son's fetters.

"Thank you. That is decidedly more agreeable," said Tristram,
stretching his stiffened limbs.

"You were suffering before I came?"

"Why, truly," Tristram replied, shrugging his shoulders as he glanced
around; "I find military life duller than I expected. And since this
is the first night I have spent from home--"

"My poor boy! Doubtless, too, you were brooding on what would happen
to-morrow morning."

"Say rather on what happened this morning," corrected Tristram, his
thoughts reverting to Sophia.

"But surely the prospect of to-morrow's punishment--"

"Oh, will there be a punishment to-morrow?"

"Why, you kicked a sergeant from one end of his Majesty's ship to the
other! Did you imagine you could do that with impunity?"

"I assure you he deserved it."

"Nevertheless, you would have been flogged on deck to-morrow had I
not come with a pardon."

"You astonish me: and really you have been very kind to me.
Still, it would have been quite unjust."

Captain Salt regarded his son quietly for a moment or two. In truth
he was somewhat staggered by this simplicity.

"You wish to escape from this service?" he asked.

"I dislike it more and more. Besides--"

"Tell me your desires; for, believe me, my son, I have no dearer wish
than to further them."

Tristram held out a hand and took his father's.

"Forgive me, sir, for my coldness just now. Remember that I had
never seen, had scarcely heard of, you before. You are very good to
me. I believe, by looking in your eyes, that you love me; and I
believe--I know--that in time I should love you greatly in return.
But you must pardon that which I am going to say. Sir, I cannot help
loving best those who have dealt lovingly with me all my life. I was
homesick--" he broke off, as a lump rose in this throat.

"You shall go home," said Captain Salt.

Still holding his hand, Tristram stared at him incredulously.

"Why should you doubt me, my son? Do you think I despise those
feelings, or can neglect them? No; I honour them, though bitterly
regretting that, as fate has willed it, they can never be entertained
for me."

"Don't say that, my father."

"Why should I blink the truth?" Captain Salt turned and brushed away
a fictitious tear. "No, Tristram; you shall go back to those you
love better. I only ask you to be patient for a few days; for,
indeed, I have but a certain amount of influence with those who
enlisted you to-day against your will. Listen. Early to-morrow the
squadron sets sail. If the wind holds we shall be within the Maese
by Sunday morning. As soon as your regiment disembarks you shall be
a free man: for not till then shall I have an opportunity of speaking
with his Majesty. The squadron will be returning at once to this
port, and I trust you may return with it. In the meantime you must
give me your word to remain where you are; for though the punishment
is remitted, you are still under arrest. I have seen your captain,
however, and you will find matters made very light for you.
The sentry will bring you food and drink."

He stopped, for Tristram had fallen on one knee and was passionately
kissing his hand.

"How ill you must think of me!" he murmured; "and how can I thank
you?"

"By keeping one tender thought or two for a father who held aloof
from you, while it was for your good, and came to you when, for the
first time, you wanted him. Mine has been a hard life, Tristram, and
not altogether a good one. By asking you to share it, I had done you
Heaven knows what injury."

This was true enough, and it struck the speaker as so pathetic that
he managed even to squeeze up a tear.

"But come," he went on, with a sudden change to vivacity, "tell me
how you happened into this scrape?"

And so, with the lantern between them casting long spokes of light on
the ship's timbers, the rafters and the two drunken sleepers in the
corner, father and son sat and talked for the better part of an hour;
at the end of which time Captain Salt, who dexterously managed to do
nine-tenths of the listening, was pretty well posted in the affairs
of the Blue Pavilions and their inmates, and knew almost as much of
Tristram's past history as if he had spent a day with the
thirty-seven green volumes. It was past two in the morning when he
arose to return to his own ship.

At parting he kissed Tristram on both cheeks. "Farewell, dear lad!"
he said, with a manner that was admirably paternal. "We shall not
meet again till the ships cast anchor in the Maese. Meanwhile steel
your heart and look forward to a better fortune."

He picked up the lantern and, climbing the ladder, nodded back
reassuringly as he lifted the hatch. At the same time he was
secretly a good deal perplexed; for in all that he had learnt there
was nothing to throw light on the Earl's words. "Now, why the devil
is the lad to be looked after?" he wondered. For in fact Tristram
had said nothing of the inheritance. And the reason for this was the
very simple one that he himself knew nothing about it, Captain Barker
and Captain Runacles having long ago agreed to keep it a secret from
him until he should come of age. They had arrived at this resolution
after many weeks of discussion, and beyond a doubt their wisdom had
been justified in the course of the last hour.

There was no perplexity visible, however, in the kindly smile which
Tristram beheld and returned with interest. A moment after he was
left in blank darkness. But, being by this time tired out, as well
as greatly comforted, he curled himself up on the bare floor, and
within five minutes had dropped off into a dreamless sleep.

It was morning when he awoke, though he could not tell the hour; for
the only light that reached his prison was filtered through the hatch
above, which somebody had kindly tilted open. The sounds that woke
him were those of feet moving to and fro in the captain's cabin
overhead, and, far forward in the ship, the clatter of boots as the
soldiers turned out. He looked about him and made two discoveries.
In the first place, his two drunken companions had vanished, or had
been removed; and secondly, their place was taken by a loaf and a tin
pannikin.

He reached out a hand for these, and began without hesitation the
first meal in his life of which the green volumes were to keep no
record. With less hunger he might have found it nauseous; for the
bread was incredibly mouldy and had been gnawed all round the crust
by rats, while the liquor in the pannikin was a mixture of fiery rum
and unclean water. The first gulp fetched the tears; but, after
sputtering a bit, he managed to swallow a good half of it. As he
breakfasted he heard a deal of muffled shouting above, and then a
distant clanking sound that was unfamiliar. The _Good Intent_ was
weighing anchor.

These noises, however, did not trouble Tristram, who was minded by
this time to bear his fortune with hardihood. Only the thought of
Sophia vexed him while he ate, and he sighed once or twice with a
violence that set the rats scampering. Then it struck him that his
morning prayers were unsaid, and, scrambling on his knees, he
committed himself to the care of Heaven, and afterwards felt still
easier at heart. Also, being a prudent youth in some respects, he
decided to reserve half of the loaf in case no more should be brought
for the day; and, because his hunger was excessive, it took some time
to decide on the amount to be set aside. Indeed, he was still
discussing this with himself when the _Good Intent_ shook with the
roar of the royal salute.

For the moment Tristram imagined that he must be in the midst of a
sea-fight at the very leat. But his apprehensions were presently
distracted by the motions of the ship under him--motions which at
length became erratic and even alarming. For the _Good Intent_ was
not only heaving up and down, but seemed to be tearing forward in a
series of vehement rushes, with intervals of languid indecision.
Tristram's stomach soon began to abhor these intervals, and in a
little while he found himself wondering to what end he had set aside
half a loaf from his breakfast. For, as it seemed to him, he was
going to die, and the sooner the better.

"Decidedly," he thought, "my breakfast was poisoned, else I could
never feel like this."

The _Good Intent_ took another lurch forward, and a clammy sweat
broke out on both sides of his forehead.

"If I have enemies so wicked," sighed he, "may God forgive them!"
And, uttering this Christian wish, he fell forward with his forehead
against the boards.

A little past noon the sentry brought him a fresh loaf, with a plate
of fat bacon and another pannikin. The sea being choppy, by this
time the vessel echoed from end to end with groans and lamentations.

"Is it a massacre?" Tristram asked, sitting up and regarding the man
with wild eyes. But the sight of the bacon, which was plentifully
doused with vinegar, conquered him afresh. The sentry chuckled and
went away.

To be short, our hero passed two-and-twenty hours in this extremity
of wretchedness, and was only aroused, early next morning, by a
corporal who thrust his head in at the hatchway and bade him arise
and come on deck with all speed, as the regiment was about to
disembark. And, as a matter of fact, when Tristram tottered up the
ladder into the fresh air which swept the deck, he found that, though
he had been beyond remarking any difference in the ship's motion, she
was now lying at anchor, and within a cable's length from a desolate
shore, which began in sandhills and ended in mist.

The rain was pouring perpendicularly from a leaden sky and drenching
the decks. The soldiers, in their great-coats, huddled together as
they waited for the boats, and shrugged their shoulders to keep the
drops from trickling down the napes of their necks. Somebody gave
Tristram a great-coat and knapsack, and pointed out the group to
which he was to attach himself. He obeyed, though scarcely aware of
what he did: for his head was light, his hunger was ravenous, and his
legs were trembling beneath him. A soldier cursed close by, and he
cursed too, echoing the man's words without knowing why. Another man
slapped him on the back, mistaking him for a crony, and begged his
pardon. "It really makes no difference," said Tristram politely, and
at once fell to wondering if this remark were absurd or no. Beyond
the grey veils of rain he spied, now and then, a cluster of red roofs
and a steeple close beside the shore.

"What place is that yonder?" he asked the man who stood at his elbow.

"Vlaardingen," said the fellow gruffly. It was Sergeant Klomp, and
Tristram turned it over in his mind whether to offer an apology or
no. While he was still debating, a brisk young officer came along
and called out:

"Get ready, boys. This is our turn."

In less than a minute after, for no apparent reason, the crowd around
Tristram surged forward to the bulwarks, and he was carried along
with the rush. Then he found himself swaying unsteadily down a
flight of steps and calling to the men behind not to hustle and
precipitate him into one or other of the two longboats that lay
below. Into the nearer of these his company swept him, and poured in
at his heels until the gunwale was nearly level with the water.
The rowers pushed off in the nick of time, and pulled their freight
slowly across the sullen tide, while the rain beat down relentlessly.

As they neared the shore, a landing-stage, or low jetty, of sunk
piles disengaged itself from the mist. This was the sole object that
diversified the melancholy line of sandbanks, and towards it they
were steered, Tristram looking eagerly out under the peak of his cap,
from which a rivulet of water was by this time coursing down his
nose.

Half a dozen grey figures were standing on the jetty, and, as the
soldiers scrambled up its dripping steps, one of them advanced and
touched Tristram by the elbow. It was his father.

"Safe and sound, my boy? _Parbleu!_ but it's easy to see you're no
accomplished sailor; but that's all the better."

Tristram was feeling too faint to contest this, though it appeared to
him to be disputable.

"Let us get ahead of this mob," his father went on. "Come, use your
best foot--it's no great distance."

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