Chapter 3: In which Mr. Marmaduke Diggle talks of the Golden East; and ourhero interrupts an interview, and dreams dreams.
Sore from his flogging, Desmond, when he slept at last, slept heavily.Richard Burke was a stickler for early rising, and admitted no excuses.When his brother did not appear at the usual hour Richard went to hisroom, and, smiting with his rough hand the boy's bruised shoulders,startled him to wakefulness and pain.
"Now, slug-a-bed," he said, "you have ten minutes for your breakfast,then you will foot it to the Hall and see whether Sir Willoughby hasreturned or is expected."
Turning on his heel, he went out to harry his laborers.
Desmond, when he came down stairs, felt too sick to eat. He gulped apitcher of milk, then set off for his two-mile walk to the Hall. He wasglad of the errand. Sir Willoughby Stokes, the lord of the manor, was anold gentleman of near seventy years, a good landlord, a persistentJacobite, and a confirmed bachelor. By nature genial, he was subject toperiodical attacks of the gout, which made him terrible. At these timeshe betook himself to Buxton, or Bath, or some other spa, and so timed hisreturn that he was always good tempered on rent day, much to the reliefof his tenants. He disliked Richard Burke as a man as much as he admiredhim as a tenant; but he had taken a fancy to Desmond, lent him books fromhis library, took him out shooting when the weather and Richardpermitted, and played chess with him sometimes of a rainy afternoon. Hishousekeeper said that Master Desmond was the only human being whosepresence the squire could endure when the gout was on him. In short, SirWilloughby and Desmond were very good friends.
Desmond had almost reached the gate of the Hall when, at a sudden turn ofthe road, he came upon a man seated upon a low hillock by the roadside,idly swishing at the long ripe grass with a cane. At the first glanceDesmond noticed the strangely-clad right hand of his overnightacquaintance; the shabby clothes, the red feather, the flaming neckcloth.
The man looked up at his approach; the winning smile settled upon hisswarthy face, which daylight now revealed as seamed and scarred; and,without stirring from his seat or desisting from his occupation, helooked in the boy's face and said softly:
"You are early afoot, like the son of Anchises, my young friend. If Imistake not, when Aeneas met the son of Evander they joined their righthands. We have met; let us also join hands and bid each other a very goodmorning."
Desmond shook hands; he did not know what to make of this remarkablefellow who must always be quoting from his school books; but there was noharm in shaking hands. He could not in politeness ask the question thatrose to his lips--why the stranger wore a mitten on one hand; and if theman observed his curiosity he let it pass.
"You are on business bent, I wot," continued the stranger. "Not for theworld would I delay you. But since the handclasp is but part of theceremony of introduction, might we not complete it by exchanging names?"
"My name is Desmond Burke," said the boy.
"A good name, a pleasant name, a name that I know."
Desmond was conscious that the man was looking keenly at him.
"There is a gentleman of the same name--I chanced to meet him inLondon--cultivating literature in the Temple; his praenomen, I bethinkme, is Edmund. And I bethink me, too, that in the course of myperegrinations on this planet I have more than once heard the name of oneCaptain Richard Burke, a notable seaman, in the service of our greatCompany. I repeat, my young friend, your name is a good one; may you liveto add luster to it!"
"Captain Burke was my father."
"My prophetic soul!" exclaimed the stranger. "But surely you are somewhatlate in following the paternal craft; you do not learn seamanship in thissylvan sphere."
"True," responded Desmond, with a smile. "My father turned farmer; hedied when I was a little fellow, and I live with my mother. But you willexcuse me, sir; I have an errand to the Hall beyond us here."
"I am rebuked. Nam garrulus idem est, as our friend Horace would say. Yetone moment. Ere we part let us complete our interrupted ceremony.Marmaduke Diggle, sir--plain Marmaduke Diggle, at your service."
He swept off his hat with a smile. But as soon as Desmond had passed on,the smile faded. Marmaduke Diggle's mouth became hard, and he lookedafter the retreating form with a gaze in which curiosity, suspicion, anddislike were blended.
He was still seated by the roadside when Desmond returned some minuteslater.
"A pleasant surprise, Mr. Burke," he said. "Your business is mostbriefly, and let us hope happily despatched."
"Briefly, at any rate. I only went up to the Hall to see if the squirewas returned; it is near rent day, and he is not usually so late inreturning."
"Ah, your squires!" said Diggle, with a sigh. "A fine thing to havelands--olive yards and vineyards, as the Scripture saith. You arereturning? The squire is not at home? Permit me to accompany you somesteps on your road.
"Yes, it is a fine thing to be a landlord. It is a state of life much tobe envied by poor landless men like me. I confess I am poor--none thepleasanter because 'tis my own fault. You behold in me, Mr. Burke, one ofthe luckless. I sought fame and fortune years ago in the fabulous EastIndies--"
"The Indies, sir?"
"You are interested? In me also, when I was your age, the name stirred myblood and haunted my imagination. Yes, 'tis nigh ten years since I firstsailed from these shores for the marvelous east. Multum et terrisjactatus et alto. Twice have I made my fortune--got me enough of thewealth of Ormus and of Ind to buy up half your county. Twice, alas! hasan unkind Fate robbed me of my all! But, as I said, 'tis my own fault.Nemo contentus, sir--you know the passage? I was not satisfied: I musthave a little more; and yet a little more. I put my wealth forth inhazardous enterprises--presto! it is swept away. But I was born, sir,after all, under a merry star. Nothing discourages me. After a briefsojourn for recuperation in this salubrious spot, I shall return; andthis time, mark you, I shall run no risks. Five years to make my fortune;then I shall come home, content with a round ten lakhs."
"What is a lakh?"
"Ah, I forgot, you are not acquainted with these phrases of the Orient. Alakh, my friend, is a hundred thousand rupees, say twelve thousandpounds. And I warrant you I will not squander it as a certain gentlemanwe know squandered his."
"You mean General Clive?"
"Colonel Clive, my friend. Yes, I say Colonel Clive has squandered hisfortune. Why, he came home with thirty lakhs at the least: and what doeshe do? He must ruffle it in purple and fine linen, and feed the fat inroyal entertainments; then, forsooth, he stands for a seat in Parliament,pours out his gold like water--to what end? A petition is presentedagainst his return: the House holds an inquiry; and the end of the sorryfarce is, that Mr. Robert Clive's services are dispensed with. When Ithink of the good money he has wasted--But then, sir, I am no politician.Colonel Clive and I are two ruined men; 'tis a somewhat strangecoincidence that he and I are almost of an age, and that we both, beforemany weeks are past, shall be crossing the ocean once more to retrieveour fallen fortunes."
Walking side by side during this conversation they had now come into theroad leading past Desmond's home. In the distance, approaching them,appeared a post chaise, drawn by four galloping horses. The sight brokethe thread of the conversation.
"'Tis the squire at last!" cried Desmond. "Sure he must have put up atNewcastle overnight."
But that he was intently watching the rapid progress of the chaise, hemight have noticed a curious change of expression on his companion'sface. The smile faded, the lips became set with a kind of grimdetermination. But Diggle's pleasant tone had not altered when he said:
"Our ways part here, my friend--for the present. I doubt not we shallmeet again; and if you care to hear of my adventures by field andflood--why, 'I will a round unvarnished tale deliver,' as the Moor ofVenice says in the play. For the present, then, farewell!"
He turned down a leafy lane, and had disappeared from view before thechaise reached the spot. As it ran by, its only occupant
, a big,red-faced, white-wigged old gentleman, caught sight of the boy and hailedhim in a rich, jolly voice.
"Ha, Desmond! Home again, you see! Scotched the enemy once more! Come andsee me!"
The chaise was past before Desmond could reply. He watched it until itvanished from sight; then, feeling somewhat cheered, went on to report tohis brother that the squire had at last returned.
He felt no little curiosity about his new acquaintance. What had broughthim to so retired a spot as Market Drayton? He could have no friends inthe neighborhood, or he would surely not have chosen for his lodging aplace of ill repute like the Four Alls. Yet he had seemed to have someacquaintance with Grinsell the innkeeper. He did not answer to Desmond'sidea of an adventurer. He was not rough of tongue or boisterous inmanner; his accent, indeed, was refined; his speech somewhat studied,and, to judge by his allusions and his Latin, he had some share of politelearning. Desmond was puzzled to fit these apparent incongruities, andlooked forward with interest to further meetings with Marmaduke Diggle.
During the next few days they met more than once. It was always late inthe evening, always in quiet places, and Diggle was always alone.Apparently he desired to make no acquaintances. The gossips of theneighborhood seized upon the presence of a stranger at the Four Alls, butthey caught the barest glimpses of him; Grinsell was as a stone wall inunresponsiveness to their inquiries; and the black boy, if perchance acountryman met him on the road and questioned him, shook his head andmade meaningless noises in his throat, and the countryman would assurehis cronies that the boy was as dumb as a platter.
But whenever Desmond encountered the stranger, strolling by himself inthe fields or some quiet lane, Diggle always seemed pleased to see him,and talked to him with the same ease and freedom, ever ready with a tagfrom his school books. Desmond did not like his Latin, but he foundcompensation in the traveler's tales of which Diggle had an inexhaustiblestore--tales of shipwreck and mutiny, of wild animals and wild men, ofDutch traders and Portuguese adventurers, of Indian nawabs and Frenchbucaneers. Above all was Desmond interested in stories of India: he heardof the immense wealth of the Indian princes, the rivalries of theEnglish, French, and Dutch trading companies; the keen struggle betweenFrance and England for the preponderating influence with the natives.Desmond was eager to hear of Clive's doings; but he found Diggle, for anEnglishman who had been in India, strangely ignorant of Clive's career;he seemed impatient of Clive's name, and was always more ready to talk ofhis French rivals, Dupleix and Bussy. The boy was impressed by themystery, the color, the romance of the East; and after these talks withDiggle he went home with his mind afire, and dreamed of elephants andtigers, treasures of gold and diamonds, and fierce battles in whichEnglish, French, and Indians weltered in seas of blood.
One morning Desmond set out for a long walk in the direction of Newport.It was holiday on the farm; Richard Burke allowed his men a day off onceevery half year when he paid his rent. They would almost rather not havehad it, for he made himself particularly unpleasant both before andafter. On this morning he had got up in a bad temper, and managed to findhalf a dozen occasions for grumbling at Desmond before breakfast, so thatthe boy was glad to get away and walk off his resentment and soreness ofheart.
As he passed the end of the lane leading toward the Hall, he saw two menin conversation some distance down it. One was on horseback, the other onfoot. At a second glance he saw with surprise that the mounted man washis brother; the other, Diggle. A well-filled moneybag hung at RichardBurke's saddle bow; he was on his way to the Hall to pay his rent. Hisback was towards Desmond; but, as the latter paused, Richard threw arapid glance over his shoulder, and with a word to the man at his sidecantered away.
Diggle gave Desmond a hail and came slowly up the lane, his face wearingits usual pleasant smile. His manner was always very friendly, and hadthe effect of making Desmond feel on good terms with himself.
"Well met, my friend," said Diggle cordially. "I was longing for a chat.Beshrew me if I have spoken more than a dozen words today, and that, to aman of my sociable temper, not to speak of my swift and practisedtongue--lingua celer et exercitata: you remember the phrase ofTully's--is a sore trial."
"You seemed to be having a conversation a moment ago," said Desmond.
"Seemed!--that is the very word. That excellent farmer--sure he hath aprosperous look--had mistaken me. 'Tis not the apparel makes the man; myattire is not of the best, I admit; but, I beg you tell me frankly, wouldyou have taken me for a husbandman, one who with relentless plowshareturns the stubborn soil, as friend Horace somewhere puts it? Would you,now?"
"Decidedly not. But did my brother so mistake you?"
"Your brother! Was that prosperous and well-mounted gentleman yourbrother?"
"Certainly. He is Richard Burke, and leases the Wilcote farm."
"Noble pair of brothers!" exclaimed Diggle, seizing Desmond's reluctanthand. "I congratulate you, my friend. What a brother! I stopped him toask the time of day. But permit me to say, friend Desmond, you appearsomewhat downcast; your countenance hath not that serenity one looks forin a lad of your years. What is the trouble?"
"Oh, nothing to speak of," said Desmond curtly; he was vexed that hisface still betrayed the irritation of the morning.
"Very well," said Diggle with a shrug. "Far be it from me to probe yoursorrows. They are nothing to me, but sure a simple question from afriend--"
"Pardon me, Mr. Diggle," said Desmond impulsively, "I did not mean tooffend you."
"My dear boy, a tough-hided traveler does not easily take offense. Shallwe walk? D'you know, Master Desmond, I fancy I could make a shrewd guessat your trouble. Your brother--Richard, I think you said?--is a farmer,he was born a farmer, he has the air of a farmer, and a well-doing farmerto boot. But we are not all born with a love for mother earth, and you,meseems, have dreamed of a larger life than lies within the pin folds ofa farm. To tell the truth, my lad, I have been studying you."
They were walking now side by side along the Newport road. Desmond feltthat the stranger was becoming personal; but his manner was so suave andsympathetic that he could not take offense.
"Yes, I have been studying you," continued Diggle. "And what is the sumof my discovery? You are wasting your life here. A country village is noplace for a boy of ideas and imagination, of warm blood and springingfancy. The world is wide, my friend: why not adventure forth?"
"I have indeed thought of it, Mr. Diggle, but--"
"But me no buts," interrupted Diggle, with a smile. "Your age is--"
"Near sixteen."
"Ah, still a boy; you have a year ere you reach the bourne of youngmanhood, as the Romans held it. But what matters that? Was not ScipioAfricanus--namesake of the ingenuous youth that serves me--styled boy attwenty? Yet you are old enough to walk alone, and not in leadingstrings--or waiting maybe for dead men's shoes."
"What do you mean, sir?" Desmond flashed out, reddening with indignation.
"Do I offend you?" said Diggle innocently. "I make apology. But I hadheard, I own, that Master Desmond Burke was in high favor with yoursquire; 'tis even whispered that Master Desmond cherishes, cultivates,cossets the old man--a bachelor, I understand, and wealthy, and lackingkith or kin. Sure I should never have believed 'twas with anydishonorable motive."
"'Tis not, sir. I never thought of such a thing."
"I was sure of it. But to come back to my starting point. 'Tis time youbroke these narrow bounds. India, now--what better sphere for a young manbent on making his way? Look at Clive, whom you admire--as stupid a boyas you could meet in a day's march. Why, I can remember--"
He caught himself up, but after the slightest pause, resumed:
"Forsan et haec ohm meminisse juvabit. Look at Clive, I was saying; alout, a bear, a booby--as a boy, mark you; yet now! Is there a man whosename rings more loudly in the world's ear? And what Robert Clive is, thatDesmond Burke might be if he had the mind and the will. You are goingfarther? Ah, I have not your love of ambulation.
I will bid you farewellfor this time; sure it will profit you to ponder my words."
Desmond did ponder his words. He walked for three or four hours, thinkingall the time. Who had said that he was waiting for the squire's shoes? Heglowed with indignation at the idea of such a construction being placedupon his friendship for Sir Willoughby.
"If they think that," he said to himself, "the sooner I go away thebetter."
And the seed planted by Diggle took root and began to germinate withwonderful rapidity. To emulate Clive!--what would he not give for thechance? But how was it possible? Clive had begun as a writer in theservice of the East India Company; but how could Desmond procure anomination? Perhaps Sir Willoughby could help him; he might haveinfluence with the Company's directors. But, supposing he obtained anomination, how could he purchase his outfit? He had but a few guineas,and after what Diggle had said he would starve rather than ask the squirefor a penny. True, under his father's will he was to receive fivethousand pounds at the age of twenty-one. Would Richard advance part ofthe sum? Knowing Richard, he hardly dared to hope for such a departurefrom the letter of the law. But it was at least worth attempting.