Walladmor Volume I Part 4

"Pooh--pooh! Tom Drum: Lillibullero! 'Twon't do:--forged papers! Never think to put off your rogue's tricks on Captain le Harnois." So saying he rolled off to complete his quarter-deck turn, preparing however to open his fire again when he came upon the other tack.

Bertram's indignation was naturally great at what he viewed as an unprovoked outrage; and in spite of his precarious situation, and though fully aware that he was in the Captain's power, he was on the point of giving a loose to those feelings which calumniated innocence is at all times privileged to express--when the boatswain tapped him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear:

"Easy, master, easy: the Captain doesn't mean all he says: he speaks worse than he thinks, when he has taken his breakfast rather early. He takes brandy to breakfast, you understand. Twice a day he hauls his wind, and speaks you as fair as a man could wish; just afore breakfast, that's once; your next time's just afore noon. Oh! but it's pleasant talking with the Captain then."

At this moment Captain le Harnois was again bearing down; and, just as he brought his broadside to bear, Bertram--who was in the act of gathering up his scattered papers and replacing them in his pocket-book-contented himself with observing that on sh.o.r.e he hoped at least to meet with some magistrate that would pay more respect to papers regularly authenticated.

"Sh.o.r.e magistrate!" thundered the Captain, "the dragon and his horns!

what's a sh.o.r.e magistrate more than a salt-water magistrate? _Mort de ma vie!_ I take it a Captain's commission, with four ministers' hands to it--signed and countersigned, should be as good as a lubber's warrant. What talk to me of lawyers and justices? The _Fleurs de lys_ is as good a lawyer as I know. Egad, when she shows her teeth" (and here Captain le Harnois grinned horribly, and showed his own which "after _their_ kind" were not less formidable),--"Egad, she can lay down the law too: egad, can she: aye and I've seen the day" (and here the Captain chuckled in a fondling tone), "I've seen the day that the little wanton devil has _made_ law: and d---d good law it was; though some said not--blast their eyes!"

To all this Bertram was silent: and Captain le Harnois, pursuing his tender remembrances, broke out afresh:

"Ah the pretty little vengeful devil!--Ha! ha! ha! I remember----but d---n me, if that's not the very thing that Master Tommy here is thinking of. He has heard that story; or some other as good; and that's what he means by singing out for sh.o.r.e law. But, youngster, I'd have you to know _that's_ all over: that score's rubbed out; and the little frisky gipsy (d---n her for a little hardened devil!) has got her pardon. All's right now: her decks are washed: she has a chaplain on board; and she carries the flag of His Most Christian Majesty."

"Indeed!" said Bertram.

"Aye indeed, most venerable youth; the flag of _Louis le Desire_, do you hear? Have you any thing to say against that? What does Smock-face think of the Bourbons? Is Smock-face not a good subject? Eh?"

"Captain le Harnois, I am neither a French subject by birth; nor in any respect indebted to the French government; nor owe it any obedience. On which account I am sure you will see the propriety of dispensing with any declaration of my political sentiments in this matter."

"What, what, what? not Bourbonish? Oh! but that's a foul fault, master Tommy. My s.h.i.+p--(d---n her for a little vixen! she doesn't know what she'd be at!)--My s.h.i.+p, _she's_ Bourbonish: _I_'m Bourbonish: my lads--_they_'re Bourbonish: we're all Bourbonish: and I'll have n.o.body swabbing my deck, that's not Bourbonish."

"I congratulate myself," said Bertram, "on sailing with so loyal a subject of his Most Christian Majesty."

"Aye, _that's_ soon said. But, if youngster is not Bourbonish, is he not _liberal_ neither?"

"Such are my unfortunate circ.u.mstances, Captain le Harnois, that at present it is wholly out of my power to be liberal: I really----."

"Come, _that's_ well however: glad of that: that's something, my shy c.o.c.k: any thing but a liberal or a const.i.tutional. Cut portmanteau-straps; waylay old women; hocus pocus; any thing you like.

But I'll have no liberal doings here: no liberality shall be found on board of me, whilst my name's le Harnois. d.a.m.n! I've a character to support.

"I believe we mistake each other: there are different sorts of liberality; and what I meant to say was----

"I care nothing about it: it signifies nothing talking about sorts of liberality: I'll have _no_ sort.--And now, pray, what religion are you of? Has Smock-face no religion, eh?"

"Really, Captain le Harnois, it does appear to me, that no man is authorized or commissioned, merely upon the strength of flinging a rope to a drowning man, or affording him some common office of humanity, to inst.i.tute an inquiry into his religious creed."

"Oh crimini! Not commissioned? By my commission I'm to lay hold of every man that has any thing to say against his Most Christian Majesty--the Catholic faith--or our Lady. My commission is that I'm to overhaul _every_ man's religion. And as to what younker says about flinging a rope,--a rope's end for it! If I fling a rope to a drowning man and he lays hold of it, by my commission I'm to say--Ahoy there, waterfowl, are you religious? Is your religion so and so? And, if he sings out--_No_, my commission is to let go the rope and to say--Then first of all get baptized with salt water; and, when that's done, come and tell Captain le Harnois. _That's_ my commission. D---n! I think I should know what my commission is: d---n!"

"But, Captain, you can surely make allowances for my education: _that_ may have been unfortunate; but still I profess the most entire respect for the Romish church and her adherents."

"Respect and be d---d! I'll have no respect; I'll have religion--pure, neat, religion--with none of your Protestant water in it, or d---d half and half. My s.h.i.+p, a little vixen, _she's_ religious: for I tell you she's had her decks scrubbed by the chaplain: _I_'m religious; s.h.i.+p's company's religious: we're _all_ religious. And my pa.s.sengers shall be religious: or my name's not le Harnois. For my commission says, that I'm to have none but the very best of Christians aboard: prime articles, and none else: no damaged lots."

Bertram was perfectly confounded at hearing of such intense orthodoxy on board a man of war: but he was disposed to question the entire accuracy of the representation on chancing to observe, that all the crew, who were behind the Captain's back, were laughing as they went about their work. Captain le Harnois himself seemed more than half disposed to laugh at his own picture of the holy _Fleurs de lys_. But at this moment he began to feel drowsy; and, giving up for the present any further examination of his pa.s.senger's theology, he got under weigh for his cabin: grumbling out, as he advanced, but without looking back--

"Well: this'll do for the first examination. And for our Lady's sake, and for the honour of the white lily, Smockface may bundle himself between decks--till the next time that we pump s.h.i.+p; and then he must over board with the bilge water. We must be charitable now and then for our Lady's sake. But let us have no irreligion. Let all be handsome, lovely, Bourbonish, and religious. What the d---l! An irreligious dog aboard Captain le Harnois? But I shall overhaul his principles: for that's what my commission says: else my name's not le Harnois: d.a.m.n!"--With which emphatic monosyllable, ascending in a growl from the bottom of the companion ladder, Captain le Harnois concluded his matins on the deck of the _Fleurs de lys_.

A roar of laughter followed his final disappearance; and a succession of songs, which seemed any thing but "handsome, lovely, Bourbonish, or religious."

CHAPTER IV.

_Pist._ Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark; O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox, Except, O Signieur, thou do give to me Egregious ransome.

_Fr. Sol._ O prenez misericorde, ayez pitie de moy!

_Pis._ Moy shall not sarve; I will have forty moys.

_Hen. V._--Act 4.

Spite of the Captain's absence, and though there was no regular officer to represent him, Bertram was surprised to find that the duty on deck seemed in no respect to suffer--either in order, precision, or alacrity. All were in full activity, moving with the industry, and almost with the instinct of bees, in the tops--among the shrouds--or on deck; handling the ropes, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the sails, sounding, and performing all other parts of a vigilant seaman's duty. This seemed the more remarkable, as most of the crew carried a flask of brandy slung about their necks; very few of them choosing to justify the Captain's flattering picture of their orthodoxy by subst.i.tuting a rosary.

The steady old helmsman, to whom Bertram was communicating his astonishment, replied--

"Aye, aye; but this is nothing: you should see them in a storm, or on a boarding party. There's not a man of 'em but might take the Captain's place. And, for that matter, the Captain might take any of ours: for he's as good a seaman as ever stept the deck. And once he was the handiest among us all, and would take his turn at any thing. But now I know not what's come to him. Ever since we were made 'regular,' (you understand), and crossed out of the king's black books,--and since the captain got his commission,--it's partly my belief that he's not right here" (touching his forehead). "And no good will come of it. For one hour we must behave pretty, and be upon honour, and, says he, 'Lads, I must have you chained up, by reason we're now a king's s.h.i.+p:' and the next hour he'll be laying his plots and his plans for doing some business in the old line. The Captain must have a spree now and then.

He couldn't be well without it. Whereby it comes that, what between the old way and the new way, a queer rum-looking life we lead."

Of the business on board, however, though interesting for a short period, Bertram soon grew weary: and, stretching himself at his length upon the deck, he gradually withdrew his attention from every thing that was going on about him to the contemplation of the sea and the distant sh.o.r.es which he was approaching. The day, for a winter's day, was bright and sunny: the sky without a cloud; the atmosphere of a frosty clearness; and the sea so calm, that it appeared scarcely to swell into a ripple, except immediately in the s.h.i.+p's wake. The distant promontory, which he suspected to be the point whither he had been washed by the waves, after the explosion of the Halcyon, and which seemed the extremity of a small island, had now receded into an azure speck: the s.h.i.+p's course lay to the southward or south-east: and on the larboard quarter a long line of coast trended away to the south-west. A remarkable pile of rock on this coast attracted his attention, and rivetted his gaze as by some power of fascination. Who will refuse to sympathize with the feeling which at this moment possessed him? What person of much sensibility or reflection but has, in travelling, or on other occasions, sometimes felt a dim and perplexing sense of _recognition_ awakened by certain objects or scenes which yet he had no reason to believe that he could ever have seen before? So it was with Bertram: a feeling of painful perplexity disturbed and saddened him as he gazed upon the coast before him: he felt as though he had at some early period of his life been familiar with some of its features: which yet seemed impossible: for he now understood from the helmsman that what he saw were parts of the Caernarvons.h.i.+re and Merioneths.h.i.+re coasts in the neighbourhood of Pwlheli Bay.

The wind was fair, and the _Fleurs de lys_ carried so much sail, that within the next hour the whole line of coast and bay began to unfold itself; and all the larger objects were now becoming tolerably distinct. Of these the most conspicuous was a lofty headland which threw its bold granite front in advance of all the adjacent sh.o.r.e, and ran out far into the sea. Like a diadem upon its summit was planted an ancient castle; presenting a most interesting object to the painter, if it were not in some respects rather grotesque. It might truly be described as "planted:" for it seemed literally a natural growth of the rock, and without division of substance: it was indeed in many places an excavation quarried into the rocks rather than a superstructure upon it: and, where this was not the case, the foundations had yet been inlaid and dovetailed as it were so artificially into the splintered crest of the rock, and the whole surface had been for ages so completely harmonized in colour by storms and accidents of climate, that it was impossible to say where the hand of art began or that of nature ended. The whole building displayed a naked baronial grandeur and disdain of ornament; whatever beauty it had--seeming to exist rather in defiance of the intentions of its occupants and as if won from those advantages of age and situation which it had not been in their power to destroy. The main body of the building, by following and adjusting itself to the outline of the rock, had of necessity taken the arrangement of a vast system of towers and quadrangles irregularly grouped and connected: at intervals it was belted with turrets: and its habitable character was chiefly proclaimed by the immense number of its windows, and by a roof of deep red tiles; which last, though generally felt as a harsh blot in the picturesque honours of the castle, were however at this particular time lowered into something like keeping by the warm ruddy light of the morning sun which was now glancing upon every window in the sea-front, and also by the dusky scarlet of decaying ferns which climbed all the neighbouring hills and in many plains skirted the water's edge. In what style of architecture the castle was built, it would have been difficult to say: it was neither exactly Gothic nor Italian of the middle ages: and upon the whole it might safely be referred to some rude and remote age which had aimed at nothing more than availing itself of the local advantages and the materials furnished by nature on the spot for the purpose of constructing a secure and imposing fortress; without any further regard to the rules or pedantries of architecture. Attached to the main building, which ascended to the height of five stories--and yet did not seem disproportionately high from the extent of its range, were several smaller dependencies--some of which appeared to be framed of wood. The purists of our days, who are so anxious to brush away all the wooden patchwork and little tributary cells that formerly cl.u.s.tered about the pillars and nooks of cathedrals like so many swallows' nests, had here apparently made no proselytes. And on the whole the final impression was that of a very venerable and antique but at the same time rather fantastic building.

From each side of the promontory on which the castle stood, ran off at right angles a smaller promontory; that, which was on the left side as viewed from the sea, though narrower and lower than the corresponding one on the other side, terminated however in a much larger area: and on that consideration apparently, in spite of its less commanding elevation, had been selected as the station for a watch-tower. This tower was circular; and in that respect accurately fitted to the area or platform on which it stood; the platform itself being a table of rock at the summit of a rude colossal cylinder which appeared to grow out of the waves. The whole of this lateral process from the main promontory presented a most impressive object to a spectator approaching it from sea: for the connecting part, which ran at right angles, from the great promontory to the platform, had been partly undermined; originally perhaps by some convulsion of nature: but latterly the breach had been greatly widened by storms; so that at length a vast aerial arch of granite was suspended over the waves: which arch once giving away and falling in, the rocky pillar and the watch-tower which it carried would be left insulated in the waves.

Bertram was more and more fascinated by the aspect of the ancient castle and the quiet hills behind it, with their silent fields and woodlands, which lay basking as it were in the morning sun. The whole scene was at once gay and tranquil. The sea had put off its terrors and wore the beauty of a lake: the air was "frosty but kindly:" and the sh.o.r.es of merry England, which he now for the first time contemplated in peace and serenity, were dressed in morning smiles; a morning, it is true, of winter; yet of winter not angry--not churlish and chiding--but of winter cheerful and proclaiming welcome to Christmas. The colours, which predominated, were of autumnal warmth: the tawny ferns had not been drenched and discoloured by rains; the oaks retained their dying leaves: and, even where the scene was most wintry, it was cheerful: the forest of ported lances, which the deciduous trees presented, were broken pleasingly by the dark glittering leaves of the holly; and the ma.s.sy gloom of the yew and other evergreens was pierced and irradiated by the scarlet berries of various shrubs, or by the puce-coloured branches and the silvery stem of the birch. The _Fleurs de lys_ had gradually neared the sh.o.r.e; and in the deep waters upon this part of the coast there was so little danger for a s.h.i.+p of much heavier burthen, that she was now running down within pistol shot of the scenery which Bertram contemplated with so much pleasure. He could distinguish every cottage that lurked in the nooks of the hills, as it sent up its light vapoury column of smoke: here and there he could see the dark blue dresses of the cottage-children: and occasionally a sound of laughter or the tones of their innocent voices, betraying them to the ear where they were not seen,--or the crowing of a c.o.c.k from the bosom of some hamlet

Answer'd by faintly echoing farms remote,

gave language and expression to the tranquil beauty of the spectacle.

Bertram absolutely shuddered, with the feeling of one who treads, upon a snake, as he turned from these touching images of human happiness to the grim tackling and warlike furniture of the "little b.l.o.o.d.y: vixen"

on board which he was embarked, together with the ferocious though intelligent aspects of her desperate crew. He was already eager to be set ash.o.r.e; and the sudden shock of contrast made him more so. On communicating his wishes to the boatswain, however, he was honoured by a broad stare and a laugh of derision:

"What," said the boatswain, "put you ash.o.r.e close under the muzzle of Walladmor Castle?"

"And why not?"

"Ask the Captain, my good lad: ask Captain Jackson."

"Jackson! I thought the Captain's name had been le Harnois."

"All's one for _that_: le Harnois or Jackson; one name's as good as t'other. But I wouldn't be the man to put you upon asking the Captain any such a thing. It's odds? but you'd be sent overboard, my good lad, head over heels--that's to say on any day when the Captain had taken his breakfast. No, no: high as it's perched up amongst the eagle's nests, that d---d old castle has been the rock that many a good s.h.i.+p has struck on. But wait till three or four o'clock; and then maybe we'll put you on ash.o.r.e further down."

When wishes are hopeless, the mind is soon reconciled to give them up.

Bertram felt that his were so; and, contentedly stretching himself again upon the deck, surrendered his thoughts to the influence of the lovely scenery before him.

At length the sun was setting, and another reach of coast had unfolded upon his view, when all at once he heard the dash of oars; and on rising up, he observed a little skiff rapidly nearing them. In a few minutes she boarded the _Fleurs de lys_: and all was life and motion upon deck. Casks and packages were interchanged; and private signals in abundance pa.s.sed between the different parties. Bertram took the opportunity of bargaining for a pa.s.sage to sh.o.r.e; and was in the act of stepping into the boat, when he was suddenly summoned before the Captain.