CHAPTER I
THE COAST OF FRANCE
I dare say that I had already read my uncle's letter a hundred times,
and I am sure that I knew it by heart. None the less I took it out of
my pocket, and, sitting on the side of the lugger, I went over it again
with as much attention as if it were for the first time. It was written
in a prim, angular hand, such as one might expect from a man who had
begun life as a village attorney, and it was addressed to Louis de
Laval, to the care of William Hargreaves, of the Green Man in Ashford,
Kent. The landlord had many a hogshead of untaxed French brandy from
the Normandy coast, and the letter had found its way by the same hands.
'My dear nephew Louis,' said the letter, 'now that your father is dead,
and that you are alone in the world, I am sure that you will not wish to
carry on the feud which has existed between the two halves of the
family. At the time of the troubles your father was drawn towards the
side of the King, and I towards that of the people, and it ended, as you
know, by his having to fly from the country, and by my becoming the
possessor of the estates of Grosbois. No doubt it is very hard that you
should find yourself in a different position to your ancestors, but I am
sure that you would rather that the land should be held by a Bernac than
by a stranger. From the brother of your mother you will at least always
meet with sympathy and consideration.
'And now I have some advice for you. You know that I have always been
a Republican, but it has become evident to me that there is no use in
fighting against fate, and that Napoleon's power is far too great to be
shaken. This being so, I have tried to serve him, for it is well to
howl when you are among wolves. I have been able to do so much for
him that he has become my very good friend, so that I may ask him what
I like in return. He is now, as you are probably aware, with the army
at Boulogne, within a few miles of Grosbois. If you will come over at
once he will certainly forget the hostility of your father in
consideration of the services of your uncle. It is true that your name
is still proscribed, but my influence with the Emperor will set that
matter right. Come to me, then, come at once, and come with confidence.
'Your uncle,
'C. BERNAC.'
So much for the letter, but it was the outside which had puzzled me
most. A seal of red wax had been affixed at either end, and my uncle
had apparently used his thumb as a signet. One could see the little
rippling edges of a coarse skin imprinted upon the wax. And then above
one of the seals there was written in English the two words, 'Don't
come.' It was hastily scrawled, and whether by a man or a woman it was
impossible to say; but there it stared me in the face, that sinister
addition to an invitation.
'Don't come!' Had it been added by this unknown uncle of mine on
account of some sudden change in his plans? Surely that was
inconceivable, for why in that case should he send the invitation at
all? Or was it placed there by some one else who wished to warn me from
accepting this offer of hospitality? The letter was in French. The
warning was in English. Could it have been added in England? But the
seals were unbroken, and how could any one in England know what were the
contents of the letter?
And then, as I sat there with the big sail humming like a shell above my
head and the green water hissing beside me, I thought over all that I
had heard of this uncle of mine. My father, the descendant of one of
the proudest and oldest families in France, had chosen beauty and virtue
rather than rank in his wife. Never for an hour had she given him cause
to regret it; but this lawyer brother of hers had, as I understood,
offended my father by his slavish obsequiousness in days of prosperity
and his venomous enmity in the days of trouble. He had hounded on the
peasants until my family had been compelled to fly from the country, and
had afterwards aided Robespierre in his worst excesses, receiving as a
reward the castle and estate of Grosbois, which was our own. At the
fall of Robespierre he had succeeded in conciliating Barras, and through
every successive change he still managed to gain a fresh tenure of the
property. Now it appeared from his letter that the new Emperor of
France had also taken his part, though why he should befriend a man with
such a history, and what service my Republican uncle could possibly
render to him, were matters upon which I could form no opinion.
And now you will ask me, no doubt, why I should accept the invitation
of such a man--a man whom my father had always stigmatised as a usurper
and a traitor. It is easier to speak of it now than then, but the fact
was that we of the new generation felt it very irksome and difficult to
carry on the bitter quarrels of the last. To the older _emigres_ the
clock of time seemed to have stopped in the year 1792, and they remained
for ever with the loves and the hatreds of that era fixed indelibly upon
their souls. They had been burned into them by the fiery furnace
through which they had passed. But we, who had grown up upon a strange
soil, understood that the world had moved, and that new issues had
arisen. We were inclined to forget these feuds of the last generation.
France to us was no longer the murderous land of the _sans-culotte_ and
the guillotine basket; it was rather the glorious queen of war, attacked
by all and conquering all, but still so hard pressed that her scattered
sons could hear her call to arms for ever sounding in their ears. It
was that call more than my uncle's letter which was taking me over the
waters of the Channel.
For long my heart had been with my country in her struggle, and yet
while my father lived I had never dared to say so; for to him, who had
served under Conde and fought at Quiberon, it would have seemed the
blackest treason. But after his death there was no reason why I should
not return to the land of my birth, and my desire was the stronger
because Eugenie--the same Eugenie who has been thirty years my wife--was
of the same way of thinking as myself. Her parents were a branch of the
de Choiseuls, and their prejudices were even stronger than those of my
father. Little did they think what was passing in the minds of their
children. Many a time when they were mourning a French victory in the
parlour we were both capering with joy in the garden. There was a
little window, all choked round with laurel bushes, in the corner of the
bare brick house, and there we used to meet at night, the dearer to each
other from our difference with all who surrounded us. I would tell her
my ambitions; she would strengthen them by her enthusiasm. And so all
was ready when the time came.
But there was another reason besides the death of my father and the
receipt of this letter from my uncle. Ashford was becoming too hot to
hold me. I will say this for the English, that they were very generous
hosts to the French emigrants. There was not one of us who did not
carry away a kindly remembrance of the land and its people. But in
every country there are overbearing, swaggering folk, and even in quiet,
sleepy Ashford we were plagued by them. There was one young Kentish
squire, Farley was his name, who had earned a reputation in the town as
a bully and a roisterer. He could not meet one of us without uttering
insults not merely against the present French Government, which might
have been excusable in an English patriot, but against France itself and
all Frenchmen. Often we were forced to be deaf in his presence, but at
last his conduct became so intolerable that I determined to teach him a
lesson. There were several of us in the coffee-room at the Green Man
one evening, and he, full of wine and malice, was heaping insults upon
the French, his eyes creeping round to me every moment to see how I was
taking it. 'Now, Monsieur de Laval,' he cried, putting his rude hand
upon my shoulder, 'here is a toast for you to drink. This is to the
arm of Nelson which strikes down the French.' He stood leering at me to
see if I would drink it. 'Well, sir,' said I, 'I will drink your toast
if you will drink mine in return.' 'Come on, then!' said he. So we
drank. 'Now, monsieur, let us have your toast,' said he. 'Fill your
glass, then,' said I. 'It is full now.' 'Well, then, here's to the
cannon-ball which carried off that arm!' In an instant I had a glass of
port wine running down my face, and within an hour a meeting had been
arranged. I shot him through the shoulder, and that night, when I came
to the little window, Eugenie plucked off some of the laurel leaves and
stuck them in my hair.
There were no legal proceedings about the duel, but it made my position
a little difficult in the town, and it will explain, with other things,
why I had no hesitation in accepting my unknown uncle's invitation, in
spite of the singular addition which I found upon the cover. If he had
indeed sufficient influence with the Emperor to remove the proscription
which was attached to our name, then the only barrier which shut me off
from my country would be demolished.
You must picture me all this time as sitting upon the side of the lugger
and turning my prospects and my position over in my head. My reverie
was interrupted by the heavy hand of the English skipper dropping
abruptly upon my arm.
Now then, master,' said he, it's time you were stepping into the
dingey.'
I do not inherit the politics of the aristocrats, but I have never lost
their sense of personal dignity. I gently pushed away his polluting
hand, and I remarked that we were still a long way from the shore.
'Well, you can do as you please,' said he roughly; 'I'm going no nearer,
so you can take your choice of getting into the dingey or of swimming
for it.'
It was in vain that I pleaded that he had been paid his price. I did
not add that that price meant that the watch which had belonged to three
generations of de Lavals was now lying in the shop of a Dover goldsmith.
'Little enough, too!' he cried harshly. 'Down sail, Jim, and bring her
to! Now, master, you can step over the side, or you can come back to
Dover, but I don't take the Vixen a cable's length nearer to Ambleteuse
Beef with this gale coming up from the sou'-west.'
'In that case I shall go,' said I.
'You can lay your life on that!' he answered, and laughed in so
irritating a fashion that I half turned upon him with the intention of
chastising him. One is very helpless with these fellows, however, for a
serious affair is of course out of the question, while if one uses a
cane upon them they have a vile habit of striking with their hands,
which gives them an advantage. The Marquis de Chamfort told me that,
when he first settled in Sutton at the time of the emigration, he lost a
tooth when reproving an unruly peasant. I made the best of a necessity,
therefore, and, shrugging my shoulders, I passed over the side of the
lugger into the little boat. My bundle was dropped in after me--
conceive to yourself the heir of all the de Lavals travelling with a
single bundle for his baggage!--and two seamen pushed her off, pulling
with long slow strokes towards the low-lying shore.
There was certainly every promise of a wild night, for the dark cloud
which had rolled up over the setting sun was now frayed and ragged at
the edges, extending a good third of the way across the heavens. It had
split low down near the horizon, and the crimson glare of the sunset
beat through the gap, so that there was the appearance of fire with a
monstrous reek of smoke. A red dancing belt of light lay across the
broad slate-coloured ocean, and in the centre of it the little black
craft was wallowing and tumbling. The two seamen kept looking up at the
heavens, and then over their shoulders at the land, and I feared every
moment that they would put back before the gale burst. I was filled
with apprehension every time when the end of their pull turned their
faces skyward, and it was to draw their attention away from the
storm-drift that I asked them what the lights were which had begun to
twinkle through the dusk both to the right and to the left of us.
'That's Boulogne to the north, and Etaples upon the south,' said one of
the seamen civilly.
Boulogne! Etaples! How the words came back to me! It was to Boulogne
that in my boyhood we had gone down for the summer bathing. Could I not
remember as a little lad trotting along by my father's side as he paced
the beach, and wondering why every fisherman's cap flew off at our
approach? And as to Etaples, it was thence that we had fled for
England, when the folks came raving to the pier-head as we passed, and I
joined my thin voice to my father's as he shrieked back at them, for a
stone had broken my mother's knee, and we were all frenzied with our
fear and our hatred. And here they were, these places of my childhood,
twinkling to the north and south of me, while there, in the darkness
between them, and only ten miles off at the furthest, lay my own castle,
my own land of Grosbois, where the men of my blood had lived and died
long before some of us had gone across with Duke William to conquer the
proud island over the water. How I strained my eager eyes through the
darkness as I thought that the distant black keep of our fortalice might
even now be visible!
'Yes, sir,' said the seaman, ''tis a fine stretch of lonesome coast, and
many is the cock of your hackle that I have helped ashore there.'
'What do you take me for, then?' I asked.
'Well, 'tis no business of mine, sir,' he answered. 'There are some
trades that had best not even be spoken about.'
'You think that I am a conspirator?'
'Well, master, since you have put a name to it. Lor' love you, sir,
we're used to it.'
'I give you my word that I am none.'
'An escaped prisoner, then?'
'No, nor that either.'
The man leaned upon his oar, and I could see in the gloom that his face
was thrust forward, and that it was wrinkled with suspicion.
'If you're one of Boney's spies--' he cried.
'I! A spy!' The tone of my voice was enough to convince him.
'Well,' said he,' I'm darned if I know what you are. But if you'd been
a spy I'd ha' had no hand in landing you, whatever the skipper might
say.'
'Mind you, I've no word to say against Boney,' said the other seaman,
speaking in a very thick rumbling voice. 'He's been a rare good friend
to the poor mariner.'
It surprised me to hear him speak so, for the virulence of feeling
against the new French Emperor in England exceeded all belief, and high
and low were united in their hatred of him; but the sailor soon gave me
a clue to his politics.
'If the poor mariner can run in his little bit of coffee and sugar, and
run out his silk and his brandy, he has Boney to thank for it,' said he.
'The merchants have had their spell, and now it's the turn of the poor
mariner.'
I remembered then that Buonaparte was personally very popular amongst
the smugglers, as well he might be, seeing that he had made over into
their hands all the trade of the Channel. The seaman continued to pull
with his left hand, but be pointed with his right over the
slate-coloured dancing waters.
'There's Boney himself,' said he.
You who live in a quieter age cannot conceive the thrill which these
simple words sent through me. It was but ten years since we had first
heard of this man with the curious Italian name--think of it, ten
years, the time that it takes for a private to become a non-commissioned
officer, or a clerk to win a fifty-pound advance in his salary. He had
sprung in an instant out of nothing into everything. One month people
were asking who he was, the next he had broken out in the north of Italy
like the plague; Venice and Genoa withered at the touch of this swarthy
ill-nourished boy. He cowed the soldiers in the field, and he outwitted
the statesmen in the council chamber. With a frenzy of energy he rushed
to the east, and then, while men were still marvelling at the way in
which he had converted Egypt into a French department, he was back again
in Italy and had beaten Austria for the second time to the earth. He
travelled as quickly as the rumour of his coming; and where he came
there were new victories, new combinations, the crackling of old systems
and the blurring of ancient lines of frontier. Holland, Savoy,
Switzerland--they were become mere names upon the map. France was
eating into Europe in every direction. They had made him Emperor, this
beardless artillery officer, and without an effort he had crushed down
those Republicans before whom the oldest king and the proudest nobility
of Europe had been helpless. So it came about that we, who watched him
dart from place to place like the shuttle of destiny, and who heard his
name always in connection with some new achievement and some new
success, had come at last to look upon him as something more than human,
something monstrous, overshadowing France and menacing Europe. His
giant presence loomed over the continent, and so deep was the impression
which his fame had made in my mind that, when the English sailor pointed
confidently over the darkening waters, and cried 'There's Boney!' I
looked up for the instant with a foolish expectation of seeing some
gigantic figure, some elemental creature, dark, inchoate, and
threatening, brooding over the waters of the Channel. Even now, after
the long gap of years and the knowledge of his downfall, that great man
casts his spell upon you, but all that you read and all that you hear
cannot give you an idea of what his name meant in the days when he was
at the summit of his career.
What actually met my eye was very different from this childish
expectation of mine. To the north there was a long low cape, the name
of which has now escaped me. In the evening light it had been of the
same greyish green tint as the other headlands; but now, as the darkness
fell, it gradually broke into a dull glow, like a cooling iron.
On that wild night, seen and lost with the heave and sweep of the boat,
this lurid streak carried with it a vague but sinister suggestion.
The red line splitting the darkness might have been a giant half-forged
sword-blade with its point towards England.
'What is it, then?' I asked.
'Just what I say, master,' said he. 'It's one of Boney's armies, with
Boney himself in the middle of it as like as not. Them is their camp
fires, and you'll see a dozen such between this and Ostend.
He's audacious enough to come across, is little Boney, if he could dowse
Lord Nelson's other eye; but there's no chance for him until then, and
well he knows it.'
'How can Lord Nelson know what he is doing?' I asked.
The man pointed out over my shoulder into the darkness, and far on the
horizon I perceived three little twinkling lights.
'Watch dog,' said he, in his husky voice.
'Andromeda. Forty-four,' added his companion.
I have often thought of them since, the long glow upon the land, and the
three little lights upon the sea, standing for so much, for the two
great rivals face to face, for the power of the land and the power of
the water, for the centuries-old battle, which may last for centuries to
come. And yet, Frenchman as I am, do I not know that the struggle is
already decided?--for it lies between the childless nation and that
which has a lusty young brood springing up around her. If France falls
she dies, but if England falls how many nations are there who will carry
her speech, her traditions and her blood on into the history of the
future?
The land had been looming darker, and the thudding of waves upon the
sand sounded louder every instant upon my ears. I could already see the
quick dancing gleam of the surf in front of me. Suddenly, as I peered
through the deepening shadow, a long dark boat shot out from it, like a
trout from under a stone, making straight in our direction.
'A guard boat!' cried one of the seamen.
'Bill, boy, we're done!' said the other, and began to stuff something
into his sea boot.
But the boat swerved at the sight of us, like a shying horse, and was
off in another direction as fast as eight frantic oars could drive her.
The seamen stared after her and wiped their brows. 'Her conscience
don't seem much easier than our own,' said one of them. 'I made sure it
was the preventives.'
'Looks to me as if you weren't the only queer cargo on the coast
to-night, mister,' remarked his comrade. 'What could she be?'
'Cursed if I know what she was. I rammed a cake of good Trinidad
tobacco into my boot when I saw her. I've seen the inside of a French
prison before now. Give way, Bill, and have it over.'
A minute later, with a low grating sound, we ran aground upon a gravelly
leach. My bundle was thrown ashore, I stepped after it, and a seaman
pushed the prow off again, springing in as his comrade backed her into
deep water. Already the glow in the west had vanished, the storm-cloud
was half up the heavens, and a thick blackness had gathered over the
ocean. As I turned to watch the vanishing boat a keen wet blast flapped
in my face, and the air was filled with the high piping of the wind and
with the deep thunder of the sea.
And thus it was that, on a wild evening in the early spring of the year
1805, I, Louis de Laval, being in the twenty-first year of my age,
returned, after an exile of thirteen years, to the country of which my
family had for many centuries been the ornament and support. She had
treated us badly, this country; she had repaid our services by insult,
exile, and confiscation. But all that was forgotten as I, the only de
Laval of the new generation, dropped upon my knees upon her sacred soil,
and, with the strong smell of the seaweed in my nostrils, pressed my
lips upon the wet and pringling gravel.
