The Road to Paris Part 24

Skirting the town, and pa.s.sing only bare vegetable gardens and fishermen's houses, he reached the Dover road, and walked on four miles to Gad's Hill, where Sir John Falstaff had played valorous pranks. Three miles more of walking brought him to Rochester, with its twelfth century Cathedral, and its ruined Norman Castle aloft by the Medway. A sailor's wife, living in a small house in a squalid part of the town, gave him a breakfast of porridge, while he dried his clothes at her fire.

Knowing he might be detected by his uniform, and finding the woman good-hearted, d.i.c.k offered to exchange the suit he had on for some worn-out raiment of her husband's, saying that the cloth of his garments might be made over into clothes for her little son. This exchange being made in the woman's parlor while she was at work in the kitchen, d.i.c.k proceeded on his way. At Sittingbourne, ten miles farther southeast, he stopped at a villager's house, on pretence of asking the road, and received a gla.s.s of milk and an egg, which he ate raw. Thus refreshed, he trudged on seven miles, to Ospringe, where he pa.s.sed the night under a sheep-skin, in a cart-house.

The next morning (Tuesday), breakfasting on a pot of ale given him by an oysterman of Faversham, d.i.c.k went on to Canterbury, where, procuring a pack of cards from an hostler of an inn in High Street, he fell back on his card tricks for a living, though now with great aversion. He risked wearing out his welcome at the Canterbury inns and tap-rooms, for that he so much liked the town; and it was reluctantly that, on Sat.u.r.day morning, he left the old Cathedral behind, and set his face southeastward. Pa.s.sing the Gothic towers of Lee Priory, he plodded on, mile after mile, hour after hour, over downs and through villages, till he stood at last on the hills at whose feet, before him, lay the town and the harbor of Dover, and from whose top, near the old castle supposed to have been founded by Julius Caesar, could be seen, beyond the ruffled waves of the Channel, the distant coast of France.

Tired and hungry, d.i.c.k descended from the cliff and proceeded along narrow Snaregate Street to a straggling suburb of low-built houses inhabited by sailors and fishermen. It was late in the afternoon, when he entered a small tippling-house, where were a number of seafarers boisterously talking, and called at the bar for a gla.s.s of rum. While drinking, he asked the barman how one might go to France more cheaply than by the regular packet. He was immediately referred to one of the fellows drinking at a small table in the room. Thus introduced to this person, who was a stalwart, sea-browned man of fifty, d.i.c.k ingratiated himself into his liking, drank with him, and presently began his usual procedure with the cards.

As invariably happened, certain of his spectators offered d.i.c.k small sums to show them how one or other of his most puzzling tricks were done. As always, d.i.c.k refused. But his first acquaintance, under a curiosity to which d.i.c.k had adroitly ministered, persisted hard in begging to know the secret of a certain sleight. d.i.c.k finally replied:

"I shall tell you on the other side of the Channel."

"T'other side of the Channel?" repeated the seafarer. "When shall I see you there, man?"

"When you shall have taken me there in your fis.h.i.+ng-smack."

"So 'tis settled I'm to take you? But the pay?"

"Good Lord! If I show you my card trick, isn't that pay? I call a miserable pa.s.sage across the Channel a mighty cheap price for one of my secrets. But if you will haggle, you shall have all my money into the bargain,--one s.h.i.+lling, and one sixpence. Well, well, so you don't want to learn the trick? Good evening, then!"

"Oh, hold! I didn't say no. I don't haggle. I'll take you, lad, to-morrow night,--when I go a-fis.h.i.+ng."

If d.i.c.k thought it strange to go fis.h.i.+ng by night, particularly Sunday night, he kept his thoughts to himself. He had heard tales of the fisherfolk and other worthy people of the coast towns, and was prepared to be blind to certain signs. As for the readiness with which the seafarers in the ale-house let him come among them, his own appearance of poverty had quickly served to establish a fellows.h.i.+p. His winning, yet confident, manner prevented his being despised for the poverty he showed. Moreover, his desire to cross the Channel indicated, in a person of his attire, such motives for absence from England as these men were of a cla.s.s to sympathize with. They knew at first glance that he had no purpose inimical to them, so keen was their scent for a government spy in any disguise. In fine, d.i.c.k had the gift of adapting his demeanor to the society of a Lord or of a cutthroat, and easily made himself received without distrust by these wary folk who fished by night.

On Sat.u.r.day night, that of his arrival at this humble suburb of Dover, he slept in a corner of the fisherman's loft. All the next day, he lay quiet indoors, sharing the Sunday life of the fisherman's family, which included a wife and two huge, awkward sons, respectively sixteen and eighteen years old. At night, preceded by these sons, the fisherman led d.i.c.k some distance from the town, to a cove, where lay the smack. An unknown man was already aboard, adjusting sail. The four immediately joined him, d.i.c.k bestowing himself in the stern while the fisherman and his sons a.s.sisted the unknown at the ropes. Few, short, and low were the words spoken, and very soon the little craft glided out from sh.o.r.e, upon the easy swell of the Channel. The night was lit by stars only, the wind was fair, and the heave of the sea was not violent.

d.i.c.k noticed that his skipper kept a very keen lookout, seeming to search the sea ahead for some particular object. He wondered how soon these nocturnal fishermen would begin to cast lines, and what sort of fish they would be catching at this season. But presently he drew in all his thoughts to his own affairs, for he had become unmistakably seasick.

Busy for a long while in seeking relief, his head over the side of the boat, he gave no heed to the doings or words of the crew.

He was, in time, vaguely aware of a hail from another vessel; of the fact that this vessel loomed into close view; that his own boat lay to alongside of it; that the two crews conversed in mixed French and English; that sundry bales, kegs, ankers, and two or three barrels, were lowered from the other vessel into the boat, and then that he was shaken at the shoulder by his conductor, who said, "Come aboard the lugger, lad, and make haste!"

Surprised but unquestioning, d.i.c.k staggered after the fisherman and clambered from the boat's gunwale, with the crew's help, to the other vessel. Just as the fisherman was about to follow, one of his sons gave a low cry. The fisherman uttered a curse, and leaped to his rudder, while the son who had called out seized a rope and began vigorously making sail. At the same moment a man on the lugger instantly released the line by which the Dover smack had been kept alongside, and there was a general noise of ropes, blocks, and canvas, in quick movement. Before d.i.c.k knew what was the matter the two vessels had parted company, and the lights of a third appeared, from which came a sharp, mandatory hail.

This, being unanswered, was followed by a flash and a boom and a splas.h.i.+ng up of water,--the last in the wake of the boat from Dover.

That craft showing its heels in fine fas.h.i.+on, and d.i.c.k's vessel also making speed, the former was soon out of sight. The revenue cutter, for such was the intruder whose advent had caused the two smuggling vessels to part so suddenly, chose to pursue the English boat, so that the French lugger to which d.i.c.k had been transferred went its way unhindered.

d.i.c.k turned with an inquiring look to the man who seemed in command of the lugger. The latter, evidently supposing that d.i.c.k's solicitude was in regard to the Dover smack, said in French, "Have no fear, my brother.

Your comrades will carry their fish safe home. Their King's vessels waste time and powder chasing them. _Mon Dieu_, the bottom of the ocean must be paved with the cannon-shot the revenue vessels have sent after the night fishermen in vain!"

d.i.c.k, from his long a.s.sociation with the French teacher in Newgate, could grasp the meaning of this speech after a few moments. He knew from the words and manner that the Frenchman understood him to be on a good understanding with the Dover fishermen, and would treat him as one who deserved well of the vast fraternity of Channel smugglers. It was comforting to know that his way had thus been made smooth by the Dover man when the latter had bespoken d.i.c.k's pa.s.sage, for the French smuggler was as villainous-looking a rascal as d.i.c.k had seen in Newgate, and, had d.i.c.k come to him without proper introduction, would doubtless have been as ready with a hostile knife or belaying-pin as he now was with deference and amiability. d.i.c.k found, without directly asking, that the lugger was bound for Boulogne.

It was that darkest hour which precedes the dawn, when the vessel anch.o.r.ed some distance off that port. The skipper and one of the crew rowed ash.o.r.e with d.i.c.k in a small boat, getting out in the surf, and dragging the boat after them while they waded to dry beach. They were now on the sands near the town. The captain took polite leave of d.i.c.k, pointing out the most convenient way to go, and adding, with a grin, that, as this road was not obstructed by custom-house officers, d.i.c.k would undergo no delay over his baggage. Nothing was said about pa.s.sage money. The Dover skipper had evidently provided for d.i.c.k's transportation, which was doubtless a matter of reciprocal favor between the English and the French smugglers. d.i.c.k was sorry the Dover man had been disappointed, by the interference of the revenue cutter, of the intended trip to the French coast and of the proposed payment for d.i.c.k's pa.s.sage. "I'll show him the card trick if ever we meet again," thought d.i.c.k, as he walked towards the town and realized that he was on French ground; "but, if we never meet, it isn't my fault he was left behind."

d.i.c.k entered Boulogne with two sailors whom he happened to overtake, and to whom he contrived to make known in French his desire of learning the nearest way to a public house. They led him to the upper town and to the cabaret for which they were bound. His pockets and stomach were alike empty, and his teeth were chattering from the cold. He was goaded by his condition to immediate effort.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, where the sailors promptly sat down to bread and b.u.t.ter and brandy, d.i.c.k proposed he should share free their loaf, their firkin, and their keg, on condition that any card they might name should be found on the top of the pack he now held face downward before him. If the top card should be any other, he should pay for their breakfast. Of course they jumped at the proposition, and of course the top card was the one they had named.

An hour later, filled with bread and b.u.t.ter, warmed inside by the brandy and outside by the kitchen fire, d.i.c.k went forth with some thought of soliciting employment from one of the several British merchants who, as he had learned at breakfast, dwelt in Boulogne.

In the streets, he felt as if he had been suddenly transported to a new world. The one night's trip across the Channel, between coasts in sight of each other, had wrought a greater transformation in his surroundings than the five weeks' voyage across the Atlantic had produced. The spareness, alertness, fussiness, and excessive politeness of the people was as great a contrast to the characteristics of the rubicund Britons he had been among a day ago, as he could have imagined. The jabbering of the people, though, was not entirely strange to his ears; he had heard its like from the _habitans_ of Canada. Nor was the ubiquity of soldiers and priests new to eyes that had seen Quebec and its environs. Yet the tall, straight, carefully powdered French soldiers that he saw as he walked near the fortifications, little resembled the stout, well-fed English troops he had faced at Bunker Hill.

Now and then he could recognize in the crowd, at a glance, some round, red, contented-looking English face; and, when two of these pa.s.sed together, it was a pleasure to d.i.c.k to hear the English words that fell from either mouth.

As he was approaching one of the best hotels of the place, d.i.c.k got a rear view of a gentleman standing before it, from whose broad back and solid-looking legs d.i.c.k would have sworn him to be an Englishman. d.i.c.k observed that this gentleman was looking at a pretty girl at an upper window of a house across the street. Himself gazing at the same object, he b.u.mped heavily against the gentleman in pa.s.sing.

"Damme," cried the gentleman, in a robust voice, "must you frog-eaters be always tumbling over people, because you have no footways in your cursed streets?" And he glared indignantly into the face of d.i.c.k, who had stopped and was inspecting him.

"I don't happen to be a Frenchman, and I agree with you in cursing the lack of footways," said d.i.c.k. "How have you fared since we met--and parted--at the Pelican at Newbury, Sir Hilary?"

"Eh? Sir Hilary? Pelican? Why, who the devil--By the lord, 'tis the gentleman that offered to pay the landlord, so we might all get away betimes! Welcome, sir! By your looks, I can guess you're like some others of us on this side the Channel,--you've had your own reasons to try the air of France! Well, by George, you shall keep me company awhile! You shall come in, and break a bottle with me, sir,--half a dozen bottles, damme! And after that you shall be my guest. Come in! I won't hear you say no! G.o.d save the King, and huzza for old England!"

And, having capped these patriotic exclamations with a defiant look around at the French pa.s.sers-by, the exiled Berks.h.i.+re fox-hunter caught hold of d.i.c.k, who had not the slightest intention of saying no, and hustled him cordially into the inn.

CHAPTER XV.

AN ELOPEMENT FROM A DILIGENCE.

It came out, over the Burgundy, that Sir Hilary pa.s.sed most of his time in Paris, but often repaired to Calais or Boulogne to be for the while nearer England. He still remained from his own country because he dreaded being called on by the law for an account of the killing of Mr.

Bullcott,--not that he feared the outcome as to his bodily safety, but that such legal proceedings might bring out the name of his sister, and provide the _Town and Country Magazine_ with a characteristic narrative, in which every one concerned should figure, the vowels in each name supplanted by dashes. Bold as he was in many things, the fox-hunter was timid as to that sort of celebrity.

But the non-existence of any one who would desire to see Squire Bullcott's removal avenged, promised eventual safety for Sir Hilary's person; and the general forgetfulness of things past would in time enable him to return home without risk of reviving interest in the affair at the Pelican, although he was forever officially branded by the coroner's verdict as having caused the death of Bullcott under circ.u.mstances to be further determined.

And now, at the fourth bottle, Sir Hilary insisted on repaying Mr.

Wetheral, with interest, for having silenced the landlord of the Pelican. It seemed that Sir Hilary received plenty of money from his estate, and, being given to amus.e.m.e.nts of the country, knew not how to spend it on the pleasures of Paris. He required that d.i.c.k should go along immediately to a tailor's, and fit himself out handsomely, and d.i.c.k, seeing how much gratification the Englishman really took in this kind of generosity, made no protest. Nor did he object when the bountiful Berks.h.i.+re baronet thrust upon him a well-filled purse. In those days, gentlemen had not the petty vanity of refusing to put themselves under obligations to one another. Without any affectation of pride, they readily accepted favors which they knew they would as readily bestow were conditions reversed.

So d.i.c.k remained Sir Hilary's guest at the hotel that day and night, and the next morning they took post-horses and rode to Samers, Sir Hilary's intention being to proceed in a leisurely way, seeing as much country and drinking as much wine as they could, to Paris. As for d.i.c.k, recalling that memorable afternoon's journey of his childhood, he considered now that the words of old Tom MacAlister had been those of an oracle, and that fate designed his road to lead to Paris, whatever plans he might make for himself.

Moreover, a definite purpose now formed in his mind, which purpose of itself called him Parisward. In the auberge at Samers, where Sir Hilary prolonged their stop to try thoroughly the wine of the country, d.i.c.k overheard a conversation between a voluble pet.i.t maitre and a short-gowned Capuchin monk, in which the name of Was.h.i.+ngton instantly caught his ear. He soon found that the talk was on the American war, and that the talkers sympathized with the Americans. He learned that a recent daring blow struck by Was.h.i.+ngton at Trenton, and another victory, won at Princeton, had offset the effect of the British occupation of New York and the British victories connected therewith. He learned, too, that Franklin, a name spoken with as great honor at this little French inn as at home, had come to France as an agent of the Americans, and was now with his fellow agent, Mr. Silas Deane, at the Hotel d'Hambourg, in the Rue l'Universite, in Paris. This news, at which d.i.c.k glowed inwardly, gave him the idea of offering his services to Franklin, to be used in any way and in any place proposable.

That same day the fellow travellers rode on, over the undulating country of the Boulonnois, by woods and streams, to Montreuil, where they had to give their names to a polite guard officer at the gates; leaped from their horses at the sign of the Crown of France, paid their post, and took lodging for the night.

Sir Hilary promptly ordered a roasted capon, a frica.s.seed hare, a wild duck, a salad, and a flask of Burgundy, the two gentlemen having chosen a table at a window. While they sat eating, they saw drive up to the inn a lumbering four-wheeled carriage, which let out a severe, stately, slender old lady, a demure-looking, black-eyed girl of seventeen, and a gaunt, gray-haired man-servant, in well-worn livery. Waiting while the old lady oversaw the removal of several ancient portmanteaus, the girl looked with indifferent curiosity at the inn. Her eyes, swiftly moving, met d.i.c.k's through the window, and rested a moment,--a moment only, but time sufficient to give him that sensation which fine eyes, so encountered, usually produce. The girl soon looked elsewhere, the old lady led the way into the inn, and the carriage moved off. d.i.c.k saw no more of the black-eyed girl that evening, yet he did not forget that she was under the same roof with him.

The next morning, at breakfast, Sir Hilary raised the question as to what means of conveyance they should next take. At that moment, d.i.c.k saw the gray-haired man-servant taking out the ladies' luggage to the Paris diligence, which great, unshapely vehicle, drawn by gaunt horses, now stood before the door.

"What conveyance?" echoed d.i.c.k. "How can you ask? Why, the diligence, of course!"

And there was more haste than Sir Hilary saw the need of, in finis.h.i.+ng the breakfast, paying the bill, and getting Sir Hilary's baggage down-stairs in time to make sure of not being left behind.

d.i.c.k and Sir Hilary had been aboard some minutes, before the ladies appeared. d.i.c.k leaped out and gave his hand to them, the old lady first, to a.s.sist them into the diligence. The old lady bowed, but looked distrustful; the girl said, "Merci, monsieur," in a low but appreciative voice, and turned her eyes on his for a considerable part of a second.

d.i.c.k took a seat where he could get a view of the girl's face without staring directly at her, and the diligence rumbled off with many a violent jolt.

"They call these machines turgotines," said Sir Hilary, alluding to the diligence, and speaking in French purposely to be heard by the other pa.s.sengers, "because they were introduced during the ministry of Monseer Turgot, but if I were Monseer Turgot I shouldn't be proud on that account."

A Picardy abbe replying with a polite question as to stage-coaches in England, the conversation soon became general. One of the pa.s.sengers was an old lieutenant who had served in Canada, and, through some remark of his, the American war became the topic,--a topic at that time held in far greater interest throughout Europe than d.i.c.k had imagined it would be. A difference arising among the pa.s.sengers as to the relative situations of Boston and Philadelphia, d.i.c.k undertook to set them right; but his statement was doubted by the majority. Thereupon, the black-eyed girl, who had of course kept silent hitherto, spoke out in a somewhat embarra.s.sed manner, confirming d.i.c.k's a.s.sertion.