menu_book Chapter 19

CHAPTER VI. REVENGE AND HERVEY BARRINGTON. The consciousness that his sentiments were just and his intention kind was scarcely sufficient to support him. VASALAS.

CHAPTER XVII. By the time that John Jeremy had scrambled on board once more, shaken himself like a huge Newfoundland, and come thudding aft, his master was no longer occupied in treating the rescued man as a case of drowning, but was listening to his heart. Oh, I'm sure he cannot have swallowed much water in the short time he was under, he observed,

looking up at his henchmen. He has only collapsed from exhaustion, I think. All the same. He glanced down again at his recovered captive. The young Frenchman was indeed a sorry spectacle as he lay there unconscious, quietly drenching

the bottom boards to an extent which was surprising in view of the small amount of clothing left on him by this time. He had his breeches, and those torn at one knee. The sounds of his shirt clinging to him, the scarf-like object by which Hervey had hauled him in, and absolutely nothing else, for shoes and stockings alike were gone from his cut

and bleeding feet. And when Hervey slipped his hand under the wet, heavy head, a diluted little crimson trickle began to course over his own wrist, and he saw that a stone had struck the swimmer near the right ear, though the damage done did not appear to be serious. Yes, the most important thing, I fancy, is to keep him warm, he went on, lifting his

prize a little. I am afraid there is no brandy on board. Worse luck. Get that old boat cloak of mine from the locker forward. The spare jib, too, would not come amiss.

And he began stripping off the soaked rags of shirt, and discovering in the puzzling scarf when he unknotted it a close resemblance to one of his own Huckaback towels. Another discovery was the greatly swollen and discoloured state of one of the limp wrists, the result of more rough handling, perhaps, like the big bruise on one shin and that disfiguring cut on the lip which showed up so vividly and so reproachfully on the surrounding pallor.

And those marks had not been the work of an excited rabble who scarcely knew what they were doing. Oh, I take it, sir, observed Jeremy, handing him the boat cloak, so that you don't intend giving him up to their willesses. I do not, replied his master shortly.

He finished wrapping up his capture, rose to his feet, and looked across to the other shore to see if the individuals in question were still watching and still expectant, and to find, somewhat to his astonishment, that he could not see the shore and farmhouse at all. The kestrel was so near the shoal that the bulk of the careened schooner entirely blotted

them out. At this discovery a very unexpected idea came to Hervey Barrington, and he demanded of Jeremy whether at the actual moment of getting the Frenchmen aboard they had been screened by the schooner as they were now. He could not himself tell, since his back had been towards her all the time.

Aye, sir, replied that mariner, and we was. I happened to notice particular, and she were nicely to leave us. Them willesses over there couldn't have seen a thing. How don't you want them even to know, sir, in a manner of speaking, as we pulled them out?

No, in a manner of speaking I don't, returned Hervey, compressing his lips and doing some very rapid thinking. He unfolded the spare jib and spread it completely over the motionless figure at his feet. I shall keep the affair in my own hands now. Get the sails up, and we will stand over to the other side, with inhaling distance, that

is, and tell those savages that the French prisoner sank before we could get to him, sank under our very eyes, and did not come up again, and that as the tide is running out fast it is not likely that his body will ever be recovered. Do you understand? A slow appreciative grin spread over his mermiton's broad countenance.

Our lord love you, sir, yes, and they'll believe you when he sinks out who you is. And then shall we put back home? It's what I should like to do, replied his master, glancing down at the sail cloth, which looked rather like a pall. But it would seem rather too suspicious if we did, since we were so plainly standing

out to sea before and only came about to find out what was going on. No, we will beat out to sea for a little while, and then, when the light has faded somewhat, bring the Frenchman in and get him to bed. Tomorrow will be plenty of time to tell the constable about him. And Captain Barrington's bold lie, shouted in an authoritative voice to the still expectant

Willis's and their retinue from a safe distance, was evidently believed without hesitation to judge from the angry dejection which it caused. No doubt they were after the ten Guineas' reward, the Ruffians, thought Hervey Barrington to himself as the Kestrel once more swung seaward, and incontinently felt his own cheeks burn.

Two nights ago he himself had been taunted with having the same ignoble aim. When they were well away from the shore he stooped and turned back the jib. Provided they kept him warm, the unavoidable delay in getting him into a bed would surely not do the fugitive much harm, for he was young enough to fling off the effects of exhaustion, and he should have the best of care that night.

But when the sail was withdrawn, Hervey was uncomfortably startled by the aspect of the face at his feet, so desperately white and pinched against the folds of the boat cloak. And by gad what a fool he was! There was some brandy in the forward locker, some that had been there for a long time. Even as he thought of this, and determined to get it, there was a movement in the prostrate

figure. The closed eyes half opened, the lips said something in French, and an arm extricated itself from the boat cloak. Oh, come and take the tiller, Jeremy, called Captain Barrington, and keep an eye on him. He's coming too.

And he himself went quickly forward to the little caddy and hunted for the brandy bottle. He had just laid his hand on it when he was aware of a sudden commotion in the stern, a shout from Jeremy, followed by a cry, a sort of sob of anguish, and coming hastily out he saw what looked like a tussle going on. Amazed and angry, he hurried aft.

But whatever had been happening was over when he got there, and Raoul de Sabliard, freed entirely from the boat cloak, now lay in a huddled heap at Jeremy's feet. Oh, what on earth have you been doing to him? He looked at Hervey sternly, stooping over the thin bare shoulders. Oh, nothing, sir, but pull him back, replied Jeremy earnestly.

He come too, like, and looked round, and seemed to see where he is. And then I think he sees you, sir, and he gives himself one heave, and gets himself half over the gunnel before I knows what he is about. And so I catch his hold of the nearest bit of him I can grab, and pulls him back. Oh, what else was I to do, sir?

And when I lays hold of him he sings out and tumbles back like that. Oh, that's all I did upon my oath, and Captain Barrington. He'm lightheaded, I assure, to try to throw himself overboard after all your trouble, sir. A lightheaded, if so, his resolve to fling away his life rather than return to the prison-ship

was all the more innately steely. This was the second, no, the third attempt. Decidedly, it had been no figure of speech, that threat. Hervey was half afraid to touch him now. But, mercifully, perhaps, Jeremy's rough method of salvation, no doubt, yet unwittingly caught

him by the damaged wrist, had thrown the captive back into semi-consciousness. He evidently did not know who it was that wrapped him up again, first putting his own coat on him this time. But the pain of having his injured arm slipped, however carefully, into the sleeve, made him catch his breath sharply.

Laisse-moi, laisse-moi, tu me fais mal, he said indistinctly, and without opening his eyes. Hervey buttoned the coat over him and put the brandy to his lips. Drink this, he said persuasively. Je voudrais être tranquille, murmured the young man.

D'or migre. His voice died away. He could swallow, however, and Hervey got some brandy down his throat and rearranged the seal under his head. How good God what a wreck the boy looked!

Two days had done it. Two days without food. No doubt, since he had no money, without shelter, almost without clothes. And was he to be handed over to justice to-morrow in this condition, thrown into the lock-up at Stowe and the company of drunken and quarrelsome mariners and masterless men?

Hervey rose from his knees and sat down by Jeremy in the stern sheets, and in a low voice bade him listen to his instructions. As he had so successfully drowned the fugitive, he proposed to keep him drowned a little longer. Bates, the constable, would be only too glad that Captain Barrington should look after his lawful charge for a few days until the latter recovered from his immersion and exposure.

He would see Bates to-morrow and make that right with him. The rabble at the waterside farm would be dispersed by now. If not, he must run the risk of their discovering his trick. So we will stand in at once, Jeremy, he concluded, and get home as soon as possible. Though, I'm afraid, by the way the wind has dropped in the last few minutes, that we shall

not make fairhaven very quickly. He was right. By the time they had worn ship and gone five minutes or so, at no great speed, upon their homeward tack, the breeze had still further died down, and they were barely moving over the water.

And as Harvey now became aware, shivers were running over the figure at his feet, half conscious or asleep, as though it seemed to be. And there was nothing further that he could wrap round him now. How we cannot waste time like this, he said in an undertone to Jeremy. We must get out the sweeps and pull in.

A look of dismay crossed that individual's countenance. How don't you remember, sir, as I took him by your orders last week to have him repaired, and think done yet? So you did, said Harvey. What a misfortune!

He bit his lip. We're making some headway, sir, said the steersman consolingly, and likely when sun sets we'll get a breeze. Yes, said Harvey, but meanwhile. After a second's hesitation he knelt down, lifted Raoul de Sabliard into his arms, and

sat down on the bottom boards with him across his knees, holding him close to see if the contact would warm him, and praying that he would not open his eyes and recognize him. His prayer was heard. After a while, too, the young man ceased to shiver. He even buried his face in silence against his enemy's shoulder.

And so the kestrel dawdled homewards under the cues of coming sunset, and Harvey sat with his victim's damp head against his breast, and wished his work undone, and despite a mocking voice that whispered to him, You've grown deuce squeamish all of a sudden. Yes, that might be, but he had been deuce brutal first, and all because he had been

made to feel ridiculous. And that did not seem to matter now. And since the masquerader had paid dearly enough for his mumming, and he himself turned with so much disgust today from his own figure as memory showed it to him, he resolved, looking down on that brine-tangled hair, that he would write to the transport office and try to get

the boy's case investigated. For it seemed to him that behind the two desperate attempts of the last hour to be done with There did really, perhaps, lie some great injustice suffered. And if that were so, the authorities might be persuaded to order him back to the lesser hardships of a land prison.

How truly Harvey Barrington had done with revenge. But his revenge had not yet done with him. By this time his position had become somewhat cramped, but when he shifted it a little, the head on his breast moved too. Are we nearly there?

Suddenly asked its owner in a dreamy voice. And as Harvey hesitated, not knowing what to reply, Raoul went on. Oh, surely we are off the coast of France now. We've been so long at sea. Oh, let me look.

And he made an effort to raise himself. No, no, lie still, said Harvey. Voluntarily tightening his grasp. All is well. You will soon be where you wish.

Oh, God, forgive me, he added, mentally. Raoul gave a long sigh of contentment and fell back again. But after a moment he went on, rather less clearly. You're very good to me, to take me after all, now that I have no money. But I will pay you somehow.

Never fear. A man at some place. I forget. Two men. They took it all away.

Oh, tiens, it is strange, he added, reminiscently. But when I swam out to you I thought I saw his face in the boat. Am I ill that you hold me like this? You had a long swim, replied Harvey, rather hoarsely, transfixed by the fear that he would look up and recognise him.

Yet what other course was open to him? He could not have left the fugitive to drown, and the lie which had been told him was for his very life's sake. But somehow Harvey wished it had been any other lie. Raoul roamed on, less coherently still.

Yes, I swam twice. And my wrist, it hurt too much. I think it is broken. I fell a long time ago, climbing somewhere. There was Ivy.

Mais qu'est-ce qu'un boat? Maman me guérira. And with these words he relapsed into silence again. Harvey, looking cautiously down, saw with relief that his eyes were shut once more. Saw, too, with a pang to which he could not have put a name, that there was a smile on

the disfigured mouth. It would be his task to break that dream. The trend of this conversation had by now penetrated the mind of John Jeremy, and, bending forward to his master's ear, he inquired if he had rightly apprehended that the Frenchie imagined the kestrel was taking him to France.

And Harvey, corroborating this deduction, impressed on his henchmen the distasteful necessity of keeping up this delusion, lest they should have trouble again with a fugitive, a course which Jeremy cordially approved, for, as he muttered, the lad was a proper wildcat. The after hues of sunset had changed from rose to saffron, from saffron to palest green,

and the fair star was trembling over the last bank of cloud in the west before their destination came in sight. The wildcat lay very quiet in Harvey's hold, only babbling now and then in his own tongue of France and of his mother, and occasionally of someone called Lennebvue in the port of Morlais, but with so much incoherence that it was plain he was half lightheaded, so that

it might be hoped he would not yet recognize the trick which, out of sheer mercy, was being played on him. But if he did, how on earth should they persuade him to enter the skiff and be landed? He would certainly jump into the river first, and another immersion would probably finish him off.

Harvey cudgeled his brains over this problem, whose only solution seemed to lie in bringing the kestrel right into the garden steps. He had occasionally done this at high water, though he had all a sailor's dislike of scraped paint. But it was not high water now, or anything like it, though the tide was making by this

time. He turned his head and consulted Jeremy. Yes, Jeremy, after survey, thought it might just be possible, with luck. It was better, he opined, to try it than to risk having the skiff upset. Slowly, carefully, therefore, the kestrel glided toward the steps, and Harvey, who had

temporarily laid down the passenger in order to lower the sail, bent rather apprehensively over him to rouse him from his state of semi-coma. We are going to land you now, but before you go any farther you must have a good night's rest in the house to which we are taking you. Nous sommes arrivés.

On est vraiment en France, exclaimed the young Frenchman joyfully, and he tried to sit up in the bottom of the boat. Harvey hastily moving out of his field of vision. But next moment he relapsed with an exclamation and put his hand over his eyes. Well, shut your eyes then, and trust in me, said Harvey quickly.

This was an unexpected piece of luck, and it was without a twinge that he heard the kestrel's keel scrape horribly over the rocks at the bottom of the steps. Now lend a hand, Jeremy. Together they got the half-dazed fugitive over the side and up the steps, by which time it was sufficiently apparent that he was not only giddy, but quite beyond recognizing his

surroundings, as Harvey had feared. Clinging blindly to his guide's arm, he followed his instructions with a rather uncanny obedience, and though at the top of the steps Jeremy relinquished his hold in order to tow the bumping kestrel by means of the skiff to her moorings, Harvey had no difficulty in piloting his charge up the garden by himself.

He chose the grass rather than the path, out of consideration for the bare and lacerated feet. But indeed it was like staring a sleepwalker who neither saw nor felt nor spoke, but only smiled in his sleep and manifested a patient docility and confidence which cut Harvey to the heart. At last they were in the hall which had witnessed the metamorphosis of the Spanish girl into the

French, and now saw a still more startling transformation. But Mrs. Hannah Jeremy, who happened to be there as they entered from the garden, was not aware of any transformation, for she had no idea that in the half-drowned apparition which her master was supporting she beheld the memorable visitant of the night before last. But she was so startled at what she saw that she gave a slight scream.

Oh Lord have mercy, he ejaculated. What's this? Who is it? A traveller, replied Harvey, for Raoul's problematical benefit. But he's ill. Get the spare room bed ready at once. At once there's not a moment to lose. Oh, up with you, and we will follow. One more comprehensive glance did Mrs. Jeremy cast on the two figures, then she mounted the stairs

more quickly than Harvey had ever seen her. Much more slowly, and with a great deal of assistance, Raoul de Sabliac likewise ascended. But on the landing, just before the three shallow steps which led up to the spare bedroom, even the automatic obedience came at last to an end, and but for his captor's encircling arm he would have crumpled up and slid to the floor. Harvey thereupon lifted him bodily and carried him in his arms over that threshold.

Mrs. Jeremy had not quite finished making the bed, so Captain Barrington deposited his burden in the big chair and went to utter a hasty word of warning. Oh, I picked him up out of the river, Mrs. Jeremy. He was drowning, had been chased by some brutes with pitchforks. He's the Frenchman who escaped two nights ago, and being confused in his mind, he thinks I've brought him back to France, but he understands English perfectly, so be careful what you say.

How pitchforks and drowning, how mercy on us, exclaimed Mrs. Jeremy, but Harvey had the impression that the rest of his admonition had gone like wind over her head. As she tucked in the blankets she took a quick survey of the pitiful figure trailing in the big chair. Oh, Lord, save us, his poor feet and his mouth, whatever have they been doing to him. We must have a hot drink, and I'll pop a brick into the oven. Have one moment, sir, while I do that.

And before Harvey could stop her she had whisked out of the room. He was so afraid of undoing his successful work that he carefully avoided the neighborhood of the chair and went over to the window. But in a very short time he was alarmingly aware that the sleepwalker was showing signs of returning animation and of conjecture. He had pulled himself up a little and flushed and coughing, was looking round the room. Harvey, guilt-ridden, shrank

further into his corner. Raoul passed his hand once or twice over his eyes and then, to Captain Barrington's great relief, Mrs. Jeremy reappeared with a kettle of hot water in her hand and the young Frenchman fixed his gaze on her. Their encounter that night had been so brief that Harvey thought it improbable the one-time guest would recognize her. Very businesslike, Mrs. Jeremy fetched a basin and knelt down by the chair.

I'm going to bathe these feet of yours, my dear, she announced gently. And Raoul, coughing again, lay back and let her do it. Is Jeremy in yet? asked Harvey from behind the chair. I'll just come in, sir. Oh dear sakes, here's a nasty cut. As I came up there was someone at the front door and I left him to answer it. Oh, I hope to goodness, Harvey was beginning, half to himself,

when there came a solid knock at the bedroom door. Obviously Jeremy in person, so his master went out onto the landing to see what he wanted. If you please, sir, there's a sergeant of marines downstairs. A what? exclaimed Harvey, thunder-struck. His soldiers, sir, from Plymouth. A sergeant and a couple of marines. The sergeant asking to see you at once, along with this escaped French prisoner, was drowned, him having heard as how you had witnessed

the affair, sir. For a second or two, Harvey was dumb. A search party from Plymouth, already. He had never contemplated this. A very different business from dealing with a local constable. Oh, marines, he repeated slowly. You did not, I hope. But this was one of Jeremy's bright days. No, sir, he replied complacently. I says nothing, but no doubt Captain Barrington will see you,

if you'll step inside. We comes from Plymouth, he says, then. Been a-looking for this prisoner since Tuesday. A most desperate character, he says, escaped from the Gandhi's prison ship. And then he swears a bit, saving your presence, sir, because the man's drowned, and all their trouble for nothing. Did you corroborate? I mean, did you say the man was drowned? asked Harvey quickly. Oh, not I, sir. And for all the sergeant knows,

I've been in the garden since morning, a picking of cabbages. Where is the sergeant? asked Harvey, his heart sinking lower and lower. Oh, in the hall, sir. The marines stayed outside. Seemed to me it was best to let him in, willing-like. Harvey nodded. Yes, you're quite a diplomat, he said, but mirthlessly.

I will go down and see him. You did very properly in not committing yourself about the drowning, because now I shall have to extricate myself somehow from that lie. He mused a moment, his hand on the banisters. Oh, tell me, Jeremy, do you consider that, with the tide running out, as it was, it would sound plausible, especially to a man who probably doesn't know the river mouth,

if I said that though the Frenchman sank, and I believed him drowned, I found him shortly afterwards cast up alive on the ledges. You know where I mean. Why, yes, Captain Barrington, returned Jeremy admiringly, and just about where he would have been, like the man as was washed overboard from the Falmouth Barque near the Walesback last winter. Couldn't say as that mightn't well have been, sir, seeing as I suppose you've got to account

for the Frenchies being in the house, and then give him up. Well, what else can I do? asked Harvey, more of himself than of Jeremy. What else can I do? Oh, tell your wife in there, the bed will not be needed, after all. She's not to put him in it. But she must find him some clothes, some warm clothes, and she had better bandage his feet before he leaves.

And with bent head he started to go very slowly down the stairs. And as he went, he felt that he would sooner be going to face arrest on his own account. But instead of that, he was going to surrender the boy who had lain helpless in his arms for the last hour, whom he had not allowed to die by the merciful clean death he had chosen, but whom he had lured by a heartless trick under his own roof again.

A boy almost dead from exhaustion and ill-usage. And yet again, what choice had he? Even if he had not worn the king's uniform himself, it was felony now to assist the escape of a prisoner of war. Though indeed it was not the very remote prospect of transportation which weighed with him, but the certain wreckage of his own deeply threatened career. For he had by no means given up hope of his restoration to the active list.

He had influential friends who considered him most unjustly treated, and held that the time would certainly come when he would be reinstated. It would never come if he followed his instincts now. He might as well send in his papers at once. Moreover, personal considerations quite a part. It was his plain duty as an Englishman to do what he was going to do. Down and down he went, as slowly as an old man. A broken enemy,

his victim already, enticed into an elusive security, and then immediately, in cold blood, handed over to—what? It sickened him. But perhaps he could at least prevail on the sergeant to wait for a couple of days before taking the prisoner off, to wait till tomorrow even. The fugitive could not be dragged away to-night. It would be his death warrant. Yet he was, technically, still on his feet, and the man would be perfectly within his rights

in insisting on his removal. It depended, then, on the personal character of the sergeant of Marines whether an appeal to him would be of any use. And the moment he set eyes on him, Harvey knew that it would be of none.