'A Priest in Spite of Himself'
The day after they came home from the sea-side they set out on a tourof inspection to make sure everything was as they had left it. Soon theydiscovered that old Hobden had blocked their best hedge-gaps with stakesand thorn-bundles, and had trimmed up the hedges where the blackberrieswere setting.
'It can't be time for the gipsies to come along,' said Una. 'Why, it wassummer only the other day!'
'There's smoke in Low Shaw!' said Dan, sniffing. 'Let's make sure!'
They crossed the fields towards the thin line of blue smoke that leanedabove the hollow of Low Shaw which lies beside the King's Hill road.It used to be an old quarry till somebody planted it, and you can lookstraight down into it from the edge of Banky Meadow.
'I thought so,' Dan whispered, as they came up to the fence at the edgeof the larches. A gipsy-van--not the show-man's sort, but the old blackkind, with little windows high up and a baby-gate across the door--wasgetting ready to leave. A man was harnessing the horses; an old womancrouched over the ashes of a fire made out of broken fence-rails; and agirl sat on the van-steps singing to a baby on her lap. A wise-looking,thin dog snuffed at a patch of fur on the ground till the old woman putit carefully in the middle of the fire. The girl reached back inside thevan and tossed her a paper parcel. This was laid on the fire too, andthey smelt singed feathers.
'Chicken feathers!' said Dan. 'I wonder if they are old Hobden's.'
Una sneezed. The dog growled and crawled to the girl's feet, the oldwoman fanned the fire with her hat, while the man led the horses up tothe shafts, They all moved as quickly and quietly as snakes over moss.
'Ah!' said the girl. 'I'll teach you!' She beat the dog, who seemed toexpect it.
'Don't do that,' Una called down. 'It wasn't his fault.'
'How do you know what I'm beating him for?' she answered.
'For not seeing us,' said Dan. 'He was standing right in the smoke, andthe wind was wrong for his nose, anyhow.'
The girl stopped beating the dog, and the old woman fanned faster thanever.
'You've fanned some of your feathers out of the fire,' said Una.'There's a tail-feather by that chestnut-tot.'
'What of it?' said the old woman, as she grabbed it.
'Oh, nothing!' said Dan. 'Only I've heard say that tail-feathers are asbad as the whole bird, sometimes.'
That was a saying of Hobden's about pheasants. Old Hobden always burnedall feather and fur before he sat down to eat.
'Come on, mother,' the man whispered. The old woman climbed into thevan, and the horses drew it out of the deep-rutted shaw on to the hardroad.
The girl waved her hands and shouted something they could not catch.
'That was gipsy for "Thank you kindly, Brother and Sister,"' saidPharaoh Lee.
He was standing behind them, his fiddle under his arm. 'Gracious, youstartled me!' said Una.
'You startled old Priscilla Savile,' Puck called from below them. 'Comeand sit by their fire. She ought to have put it out before they left.'
They dropped down the ferny side of the shaw. Una raked the ashestogether, Dan found a dead wormy oak branch that burns without flame,and they watched the smoke while Pharaoh played a curious wavery air.
'That's what the girl was humming to the baby,' said Una.
'I know it,'he nodded, and went on:
'Ai Lumai, Lumai, Lumai! Luludia! Ai Luludia!'
He passed from one odd tune to another, and quite forgot the children.At last Puck asked him to go on with his adventures in Philadelphia andamong the Seneca Indians.
'I'm telling it,' he said, staring straight in front of him as heplayed. 'Can't you hear?'
'Maybe, but they can't. Tell it aloud,' said Puck.
Pharaoh shook himself, laid his fiddle beside him, and began:
'I'd left Red Jacket and Cornplanter riding home with me after Big Handhad said that there wouldn't be any war. That's all there was to it.We believed Big Hand and we went home again--we three braves. When wereached Lebanon we found Toby at the cottage with his waistcoat a foottoo big for him--so hard he had worked amongst the yellow-fever people.He beat me for running off with the Indians, but 'twas worth it--I wasglad to see him,--and when we went back to Philadelphia for the winter,and I was told how he'd sacrificed himself over sick people in theyellow fever, I thought the world and all of him. No, I didn't neither.I'd thought that all along. That yellow fever must have been somethingdreadful. Even in December people had no more than begun to trinkle backto town. Whole houses stood empty and the niggers was robbing them out.But I can't call to mind that any of the Moravian Brethren had died. Itseemed like they had just kept on with their own concerns, and the goodLord He'd just looked after 'em. That was the winter--yes, winter of'Ninety-three--the Brethren bought a stove for the church. Toby spoke infavour of it because the cold spoiled his fiddle hand, but many thoughtstove-heat not in the Bible, and there was yet a third party whichalways brought hickory coal foot-warmers to service and wouldn'tspeak either way. They ended by casting the Lot for it, which is likepitch-and-toss. After my summer with the Senecas, church-stoves didn'thighly interest me, so I took to haunting round among the French emigreswhich Philadelphia was full of. My French and my fiddling helped methere, d'ye see. They come over in shiploads from France, where, by whatI made out, every one was killing every one else by any means, and theyspread 'emselves about the city--mostly in Drinker's Alley and Elfrith'sAlley--and they did odd jobs till times should mend. But whatever theystooped to, they were gentry and kept a cheerful countenance, and afteran evening's fiddling at one of their poor little proud parties, theBrethren seemed old-fashioned. Pastor Meder and Brother Adam Goos didn'tlike my fiddling for hire, but Toby said it was lawful in me to earn myliving by exercising my talents. He never let me be put upon.
'In February of 'Ninety-four--No, March it must have been, because anew Ambassador called Faucher had come from France, with no moremanners than Genet the old one--in March, Red Jacket came in from theReservation bringing news of all kind friends there. I showed him roundthe city, and we saw General Washington riding through a crowd of folkthat shouted for war with England. They gave him quite rough music,but he looked 'twixt his horse's ears and made out not to notice. Hisstirrup brished Red Jacket's elbow, and Red Jacket whispered up, "Mybrother knows it is not easy to be a chief." Big Hand shot just one lookat him and nodded. Then there was a scuffle behind us over some one whowasn't hooting at Washington loud enough to please the people. We wentaway to be out of the fight. Indians won't risk being hit.'
'What do they do if they are?' Dan asked.
'Kill, of course. That's why they have such proper manners. Well,then, coming home by Drinker's Alley to get a new shirt which a FrenchVicomte's lady was washing to take the stiff out of (I'm always choicein my body-linen) a lame Frenchman pushes a paper of buttons at us. Hehadn't long landed in the United States, and please would we buy. Hesure-ly was a pitiful scrattel--his coat half torn off, his face cut,but his hands steady; so I knew it wasn't drink. He said his namewas Peringuey, and he'd been knocked about in the crowd round theStadt--Independence Hall. One thing leading to another we took him upto Toby's rooms, same as Red Jacket had taken me the year before. Thecompliments he paid to Toby's Madeira wine fairly conquered the old man,for he opened a second bottle and he told this Monsieur Peringuey allabout our great stove dispute in the church. I remember Pastor Meder andBrother Adam Goos dropped 'in, and although they and Toby were directopposite sides regarding stoves, yet this Monsieur Peringuey he made 'emfeel as if he thought each one was in the right of it. He said he hadbeen a clergyman before he had to leave France. He admired at Toby'sfiddling, and he asked if Red Jacket, sitting by the spinet, was asimple Huron. Senecas aren't Hurons, they're Iroquois, of course, andToby told him so. Well, then, in due time he arose and left in a stylewhich made us feel he'd been favouring us, instead of us feeding him.I've never seen that so strong before--in a man. We all talked him overbut couldn't make head
or tail of him, and Red Jacket come out to walkwith me to the French quarter where I was due to fiddle at a party.Passing Drinker's Alley again we saw a naked window with a light in it,and there sat our button-selling Monsieur Peringuey throwing dice allalone, right hand against left.
'Says Red Jacket, keeping back in the dark, "Look at his face!"
'I was looking. I protest to you I wasn't frightened like I was when BigHand talked to his gentlemen. I--I only looked, and I wondered thateven those dead dumb dice 'ud dare to fall different from what that facewished. It--it was a face!
'"He is bad," says Red Jacket. "But he is a great chief. The French havesent away a great chief. I thought so when he told us his lies. Now Iknow."
'I had to go on to the party, so I asked him to call round for meafterwards and we'd have hymn-singing at Toby's as usual. "No," he says."Tell Toby I am not Christian tonight. All Indian." He had those fitssometimes. I wanted to know more about Monsieur Peringuey, and theemigre party was the very place to find out. It's neither here northere, of course, but those French emigre parties they almost make youcry. The men that you bought fruit of in Market Street, the hairdressersand fencing-masters and French teachers, they turn back again bycandlelight to what they used to be at home, and you catch their realnames. There wasn't much room in the washhouse, so I sat on top of thecopper and played 'em the tunes they called for--"Si le Roi m'avaitdonne," and such nursery stuff. They cried sometimes. It hurt me totake their money afterwards, indeed it did. And there I found out aboutMonsieur Peringuey. He was a proper rogue too! None of 'em had a goodword for him except the Marquise that kept the French boarding-house onFourth Street. I made out that his real name was the Count Talleyrand dePerigord--a priest right enough, but sorely come down in the world. He'dbeen King Louis' Ambassador to England a year or two back, before theFrench had cut off King Louis' head; and, by what I heard, that headwasn't hardly more than hanging loose before he'd run back to Paris andprevailed on Danton, the very man which did the murder, to send him backto England again as Ambassador of the French Republic! That was too muchfor the English, so they kicked him out by Act of Parliament, and he'dfled to the Americas without money or friends or prospects. I'm tellingyou the talk in the washhouse. Some of 'em was laughing over it. Saysthe French Marquise, "My friends, you laugh too soon. That man 'll be onthe winning side before any of us."
'"I did not know you were so fond of priests, Marquise," says theVicomte. His lady did my washing, as I've told you.
'"I have my reasons," says the Marquise. "He sent my uncle and my twobrothers to Heaven by the little door,"--that was one of the emigrenames for the guillotine. "He will be on the winning side if it costshim the blood of every friend he has in the world."
'"Then what does he want here?" says one of 'em. "We have all lost ourgame."
'"My faith!" says the Marquise. "He will find out, if any one can,whether this canaille of a Washington means to help us to fight England.Genet" (that was my Ambassador in the Embuscade) "has failed and goneoff disgraced; Faucher" (he was the new man) "hasn't done any better,but our Abbe will find out, and he will make his profit out of the news.Such a man does not fall."
'"He begins unluckily," says the Vicomte. "He was set upon today in thestreet for not hooting your Washington." They all laughed again, and oneremarks, "How does the poor devil keep himself?"
'He must have slipped in through the washhouse door, for he flits pastme and joins 'em, cold as ice.
'"One does what one can," he says. "I sell buttons. And you, Marquise?"
'"I?"--she waves her poor white hands all burned--"I am a cook--a verybad one--at your service, Abbe. We were just talking about you."
They didn't treat him like they talked of him. They backed off and stoodstill.
'"I have missed something, then," he says. "But I spent this lasthour playing--only for buttons, Marquise--against a noble savage, theveritable Huron himself."
'"You had your usual luck, I hope?" she says.
'"Certainly," he says. "I cannot afford to lose even buttons in thesedays."
'"Then I suppose the child of nature does not know that your dice areusually loaded, Father Tout-a-tous," she continues. I don't knowwhether she meant to accuse him of cheating. He only bows. '"Not yet,Mademoiselle Cunegonde," he says, and goes on to make himself agreeableto the rest of the company. And that was how I found out our MonsieurPeringuey was Count Charles Maurice Talleyrand de Perigord.'
Pharaoh stopped, but the children said nothing.
'You've heard of him?' said Pharaoh.
Una shook her head. 'Was Red Jacket the Indian he played dice with?' Danasked.
'He was. Red Jacket told me the next time we met. I asked if the lameman had cheated. Red Jacket said no--he had played quite fair and wasa master player. I allow Red Jacket knew. I've seen him, on theReservation, play himself out of everything he had and in again. Then Itold Red Jacket all I'd heard at the party concerning Talleyrand.
'"I was right," he says. "I saw the man's war-face when he thought hewas alone. That's why I played him. I played him face to face. He's agreat chief. Do they say why he comes here?"
'"They say he comes to find out if Big Hand makes war against theEnglish," I said.
'Red Jacket grunted. "Yes," he says. "He asked me that too. If he hadbeen a small chief I should have lied. But he is a great chief. He knewI was a chief, so I told him the truth. I told him what Big Hand said toCornplanter and me in the clearing--'There will be no war.' I could notsee what he thought. I could not see behind his face. But he is a greatchief. He will believe."
'"Will he believe that Big Hand can keep his people back from war?" Isaid, thinking of the crowds that hooted Big Hand whenever he rode out.
'"He is as bad as Big Hand is good, but he is not as strong as BigHand," says Red Jacket. "When he talks with Big Hand he will feel thisin his heart. The French have sent away a great chief. Presently he willgo back and make them afraid."
'Now wasn't that comical? The French woman that knew him and owed allher losses to him; the Indian that picked him up, cut and muddy onthe street, and played dice with him; they neither of 'em doubted thatTalleyrand was something by himself--appearances notwithstanding.'
'And was he something by himself?' asked Una.
Pharaoh began to laugh, but stopped. 'The way I look at it,'he said,'Talleyrand was one of just three men in this world who are quite bythemselves. Big Hand I put first, because I've seen him.' 'Ay,' saidPuck. 'I'm sorry we lost him out of Old England. Who d'you put second?'
'Talleyrand: maybe because I've seen him too,' said Pharaoh.
'Who's third?'said Puck.
'Boney--even though I've seen him.'
'Whew!' said Puck. 'Every man has his own weights and measures, butthat's queer reckoning.' 'Boney?' said Una. 'You don't mean you've evermet Napoleon Bonaparte?'
'There, I knew you wouldn't have patience with the rest of my tale afterhearing that! But wait a minute. Talleyrand he come round to Hundredand Eighteen in a day or two to thank Toby for his kindness. I didn'tmention the dice-playing, but I could see that Red Jacket's doings hadmade Talleyrand highly curious about Indians--though he would call himthe Huron. Toby, as you may believe, was all holds full of knowledgeconcerning their manners and habits. He only needed a listener. TheBrethren don't study Indians much till they join the Church, but Tobyknew 'em wild. So evening after evening Talleyrand crossed his sound legover his game one and Toby poured forth. Having been adopted into theSenecas I, naturally, kept still, but Toby 'ud call on me to back upsome of his remarks, and by that means, and a habit he had of drawingyou on in talk, Talleyrand saw I knew something of his noble savagestoo. Then he tried a trick. Coming back from an emigre party he turnsinto his little shop and puts it to me, laughing like, that I'd gonewith the two chiefs on their visit to Big Hand. I hadn't told. RedJacket hadn't told, and Toby, of course, didn't know. 'Twas justTalleyrand's guess. "Now," he says, "my English and Red Jacket's Frenchwas so bad that I am not sure I got the rig
hts of what the Presidentreally said to the unsophisticated Huron. Do me the favour of telling itagain." I told him every word Red Jacket had told him and not one wordmore. I had my suspicions, having just come from an emigre party wherethe Marquise was hating and praising him as usual.
'"Much obliged," he said. "But I couldn't gather from Red Jacket exactlywhat the President said to Monsieur Genet, or to his American gentlemenafter Monsieur Genet had ridden away."
'I saw Talleyrand was guessing again, for Red Jacket hadn't told him aword about the white men's pow-wow.'
'Why hadn't he?' Puck asked.
'Because Red Jacket was a chief. He told Talleyrand what the Presidenthad said to him and Cornplanter; but he didn't repeat the talk, betweenthe white men, that Big Hand ordered him to leave behind. 'Oh!' saidPuck. 'I see. What did you do?'
'First I was going to make some sort of tale round it, but Talleyrandwas a chief too. So I said, "As soon as I get Red Jacket's permissionto tell that part of the tale, I'll be delighted to refresh your memory,Abbe." What else could I have done?
'"Is that all?" he says, laughing. "Let me refresh your memory. In amonth from now I can give you a hundred dollars for your account of theconversation."
'"Make it five hundred, Abbe," I says. '"Five, then," says he.
'"That will suit me admirably," I says. "Red Jacket will be in townagain by then, and the moment he gives me leave I'll claim the money."
'He had a hard fight to be civil, but he come out smiling.
'"Monsieur," he says, "I beg your pardon as sincerely as I envy thenoble Huron your loyalty. Do me the honour to sit down while I explain."
'There wasn't another chair, so I sat on the button-box.
'He was a clever man. He had got hold of the gossip that the Presidentmeant to make a peace treaty with England at any cost. He had foundout--from Genet, I reckon, who was with the President on the day the twochiefs met him. He'd heard that Genet had had a huff with the Presidentand had ridden off leaving his business at loose ends. What hewanted--what he begged and blustered to know--was just the very wordswhich the President had said to his gentlemen after Genet had left,concerning the peace treaty with England. He put it to me that inhelping him to those very words I'd be helping three great countries aswell as mankind. The room was as bare as the palm of your hand, but Icouldn't laugh at him.
'"I'm sorry," I says, when he wiped his forehead. "As soon as Red Jacketgives permission--"
'"You don't believe me, then?" he cuts in. '"Not one little, littleword, Abbe," I says; "except that you mean to be on the winning side.Remember, I've been fiddling to all your old friends for months."
'Well, then his temper fled him and he called me names.
'"Wait a minute, ci-devant," I says at last. "I am half English and halfFrench, but I am not the half of a man. I will tell thee something theIndian told me. Has thee seen the President?"
'"Oh yes!" he sneers. "I had letters from the Lord Lansdowne to thatestimable old man."
'"Then," I says, "thee will understand. The Red Skin said that when theehas met the President thee will feel in thy heart he is a stronger manthan thee."
'"Go!" he whispers. "Before I kill thee, go."
'He looked like it. So I left him.'
'Why did he want to know so badly?' said Dan.
'The way I look at it is that if he had known for certain thatWashington meant to make the peace treaty with England at any price,he'd ha' left old Faucher fumbling about in Philadelphia while he wentstraight back to France and told old Danton--"It's no good your wastingtime and hopes on the United States, because she won't fight on ourside--that I've proof of!" Then Danton might have been grateful andgiven Talleyrand a job, because a whole mass of things hang on knowingfor sure who's your friend and who's your enemy. Just think of us poorshop-keepers, for instance.'
'Did Red Jacket let you tell, when he came back?' Una asked.
'Of course not. He said, "When Cornplanter and I ask you what Big Handsaid to the whites you can tell the Lame Chief. All that talk was leftbehind in the timber, as Big Hand ordered. Tell the Lame Chief therewill be no war. He can go back to France with that word."
'Talleyrand and me hadn't met for a long time except at emigre parties.When I give him the message he just shook his head. He was sortingbuttons in the shop.
'"I cannot return to France with nothing better than the word of anunsophisticated savage," he says.
'"Hasn't the President said anything to you?" I asked him.
'"He has said everything that one in his position ought to say, but--butif only I had what he said to his Cabinet after Genet rode off I believeI could change Europe--the world, maybe." '"I'm sorry," I says. "Maybeyou'll do that without my help."
'He looked at me hard. "Either you have unusual observation for one soyoung, or you choose to be insolent," he says.
'"It was intended for a compliment," I says. "But no odds. We're off ina few days for our summer trip, and I've come to make my good-byes."
'"I go on my travels too," he says. "If ever we meet again you may besure I will do my best to repay what I owe you."
'"Without malice, Abbe, I hope," I says.
'"None whatever," says he. "Give my respects to your adorable DrPangloss" (that was one of his side-names for Toby) "and the Huron." Inever could teach him the difference betwixt Hurons and Senecas.
'Then Sister Haga came in for a paper of what we call "pilly buttons,"and that was the last I saw of Talleyrand in those parts.'
'But after that you met Napoleon, didn't you?' said Una. 'Wait Justa little, dearie. After that, Toby and I went to Lebanon and theReservation, and, being older and knowing better how to manage him,I enjoyed myself well that summer with fiddling and fun. When we cameback, the Brethren got after Toby because I wasn't learning any lawfultrade, and he had hard work to save me from being apprenticed toHelmbold and Geyer the printers. 'Twould have ruined our music together,indeed it would. And when we escaped that, old Mattes Roush, theleather-breeches maker round the corner, took a notion I was cut out forskin-dressing. But we were rescued. Along towards Christmas there comesa big sealed letter from the Bank saying that a Monsieur Talleyrand hadput five hundred dollars--a hundred pounds--to my credit there to use asI pleased. There was a little note from him inside--he didn't give anyaddress--to thank me for past kindnesses and my believing in his future,which he said was pretty cloudy at the time of writing. I wished Toby toshare the money. I hadn't done more than bring Talleyrand up to Hundredand Eighteen. The kindnesses were Toby's. But Toby said, "No! Libertyand Independence for ever. I have all my wants, my son." So I gave hima set of new fiddle-strings, and the Brethren didn't advise us any more.Only Pastor Meder he preached about the deceitfulness of riches, andBrother Adam Goos said if there was war the English 'ud surely shootdown the Bank. I knew there wasn't going to be any war, but I drew themoney out and on Red Jacket's advice I put it into horse-flesh, whichI sold to Bob Bicknell for the Baltimore stage-coaches. That way, Idoubled my money inside the twelvemonth.' 'You gipsy! You proper gipsy!'Puck shouted.
'Why not? 'Twas fair buying and selling. Well, one thing leading toanother, in a few years I had made the beginning of a worldly fortuneand was in the tobacco trade.'
'Ah!' said Puck, suddenly. 'Might I inquire if you'd ever sent any newsto your people in England--or in France?'
'O' course I had. I wrote regular every three months after I'd mademoney in the horse trade. We Lees don't like coming home empty-handed.If it's only a turnip or an egg, it's something. Oh yes, I wrote goodand plenty to Uncle Aurette, and--Dad don't read very quickly--Uncleused to slip over Newhaven way and tell Dad what was going on in thetobacco trade.'
'I see--
Aurettes and Lees-- Like as two peas.
Go on, Brother Square-toes,' said Puck. Pharaoh laughed and went on.
'Talleyrand he'd gone up in the world same as me. He'd sailed to Franceagain, and was a great man in the Government there awhile, but theyhad to turn him out on acc
ount of some story about bribes from Americanshippers. All our poor emigres said he was surely finished this time,but Red Jacket and me we didn't think it likely, not unless he was quitedead. Big Hand had made his peace treaty with Great Britain, just ashe said he would, and there was a roaring trade 'twixt England and theUnited States for such as 'ud take the risk of being searched by Britishand French men-o'-war. Those two was fighting, and just as his gentlementold Big Hand 'ud happen--the United States was catching it from both.If an English man-o'-war met an American ship he'd press half the bestmen out of her, and swear they was British subjects. Most of 'em was! Ifa Frenchman met her he'd, likely, have the cargo out of her, swearingit was meant to aid and comfort the English; and if a Spaniard or aDutchman met her--they was hanging on to England's coat-tails too--Lordonly knows what they wouldn't do! It came over me that what I wanted inmy tobacco trade was a fast-sailing ship and a man who could be French,English, or American at a pinch. Luckily I could lay my hands on botharticles. So along towards the end of September in the year 'Ninety-nineI sailed from Philadelphia with a hundred and eleven hogshead o' goodVirginia tobacco, in the brig BERTHE AURETTE, named after Mother'smaiden name, hoping 'twould bring me luck, which she didn't--and yet shedid.'
'Where was you bound for?' Puck asked.
'Er--any port I found handiest. I didn't tell Toby or the Brethren. Theydon't understand the ins and outs of the tobacco trade.'
Puck coughed a small cough as he shifted a piece of wood with his barefoot.
'It's easy for you to sit and judge,' Pharaoh cried. 'But think o' whatwe had to put up with! We spread our wings and run across the broadAtlantic like a hen through a horse-fair. Even so, we was stopped by anEnglish frigate, three days out. He sent a boat alongside and pressedseven able seamen. I remarked it was hard on honest traders, but theofficer said they was fighting all creation and hadn't time to argue.The next English frigate we escaped with no more than a shot in ourquarter. Then we was chased two days and a night by a French privateer,firing between squalls, and the dirty little English ten-gun brig whichmade him sheer off had the impudence to press another five of our men.That's how we reached to the chops of the Channel. Twelve good menpressed out of thirty-five; an eighteen-pound shot-hole close beside ourrudder; our mainsail looking like spectacles where the Frenchman hadhit us--and the Channel crawling with short-handed British cruisers.Put that in your pipe and smoke it next time you grumble at the price oftobacco!
'Well, then, to top it off, while we was trying to get at our leaks, aFrench lugger come swooping at us out o' the dusk. We warned him to keepaway, but he fell aboard us, and up climbed his Jabbering red-caps. Wecouldn't endure any more--indeed we couldn't. We went at 'em with allwe could lay hands on. It didn't last long. They was fifty odd to ourtwenty-three. Pretty soon I heard the cutlasses thrown down and some onebellowed for the sacri captain.
'"Here I am!" I says. "I don't suppose it makes any odds to you thieves,but this is the United States brig BERTHE AURETTE."
'"My aunt!" the man says, laughing. "Why is she named that?"
'"Who's speaking?" I said. 'Twas too dark to see, but I thought I knewthe voice.
'"Enseigne de Vaisseau Estephe L'Estrange," he sings out, and then I wassure.
'"Oh!" I says. "It's all in the family, I suppose, but you have done afine day's work, Stephen."
'He whips out the binnacle-light and holds it to my face. He was youngL'Estrange, my full cousin, that I hadn't seen since the night the smacksank off Telscombe Tye--six years before.
'"Whew!" he says. "That's why she was named for Aunt Berthe, is it?What's your share in her, Pharaoh?"
'"Only half owner, but the cargo's mine."
'"That's bad," he says. "I'll do what I can, but you shouldn't havefought us." '"Steve," I says, "you aren't ever going to report ourlittle fall-out as a fight! Why, a Revenue cutter 'ud laugh at it!"
'"So'd I if I wasn't in the Republican Navy," he says. "But two of ourmen are dead, d'ye see, and I'm afraid I'll have to take youto the Prize Court at Le Havre."
'"Will they condemn my 'baccy?" I asks.
'"To the last ounce. But I was thinking more of the ship. She'd make asweet little craft for the Navy if the Prize Court 'ud let me have her,"he says.
'Then I knew there was no hope. I don't blame him--a man must considerhis own interests, but nigh every dollar I had was in ship or cargo, andSteve kept on saying, "You shouldn't have fought us."
'Well, then, the lugger took us to Le Havre, and that being the one timewe did want a British ship to rescue us, why, o' course we never sawone. My cousin spoke his best for us at the Prize Court. He owned he'dno right to rush alongside in the face o' the United States flag, butwe couldn't get over those two men killed, d'ye see, and the Courtcondemned both ship and cargo. They was kind enough not to make usprisoners--only beggars--and young L'Estrange was given the BERTHEAURETTE to re-arm into the French Navy.
'"I'll take you round to Boulogne," he says. "Mother and the rest'll beglad to see you, and you can slip over to Newhaven with Uncle Aurette.Or you can ship with me, like most o' your men, and take a turn at KingGeorge's loose trade. There's plenty pickings," he says.
'Crazy as I was, I couldn't help laughing.
'"I've had my allowance of pickings and stealings," I says. "Where arethey taking my tobacco?" 'Twas being loaded on to a barge.
'"Up the Seine to be sold in Paris," he says. "Neither you nor I willever touch a penny of that money."
'"Get me leave to go with it," I says. "I'll see if there's justice tobe gotten out of our American Ambassador."
'"There's not much justice in this world," he says, "without a Navy."But he got me leave to go with the barge and he gave me some money. Thattobacco was all I had, and I followed it like a hound follows a snatchedbone. Going up the river I fiddled a little to keep my spirits up, aswell as to make friends with the guard. They was only doing their duty.Outside o' that they were the reasonablest o' God's creatures. Theynever even laughed at me. So we come to Paris, by river, along inNovember, which the French had christened Brumaire. They'd given newnames to all the months, and after such an outrageous silly piece o'business as that, they wasn't likely to trouble 'emselves with my rightsand wrongs. They didn't. The barge was laid up below Notre Dame churchin charge of a caretaker, and he let me sleep aboard after I'd run aboutall day from office to office, seeking justice and fair dealing, andgetting speeches concerning liberty. None heeded me. Looking back on itI can't rightly blame 'em. I'd no money, my clothes was filthy mucked;I hadn't changed my linen in weeks, and I'd no proof of my claims exceptthe ship's papers, which, they said, I might have stolen. The thieves!The door-keeper to the American Ambassador--for I never saw even theSecretary--he swore I spoke French a sight too well for an Americancitizen. Worse than that--I had spent my money, d'ye see, and I--I tookto fiddling in the streets for my keep; and--and, a ship's captain witha fiddle under his arm--well, I don't blame 'em that they didn't believeme.
'I come back to the barge one day--late in this month Brumaire itwas--fair beazled out. Old Maingon, the caretaker, he'd lit a fire in abucket and was grilling a herring.
'"Courage, mon ami," he says. "Dinner is served."
'"I can't eat," I says. "I can't do any more. It's stronger than I am."'"Bah!" he says. "Nothing's stronger than a man. Me, for example! Lessthan two years ago I was blown up in the Orient in Aboukir Bay, butI descended again and hit the water like a fairy. Look at me now," hesays. He wasn't much to look at, for he'd only one leg and one eye, butthe cheerfullest soul that ever trod shoe-leather. "That's worse than ahundred and eleven hogshead of 'baccy," he goes on. "You're young, too!What wouldn't I give to be young in France at this hour! There's nothingyou couldn't do," he says. "The ball's at your feet--kick it!" he says.He kicks the old fire-bucket with his peg-leg. "General Buonaparte, forexample!" he goes on. "That man's a babe compared to me, and see whathe's done already. He's conquered Egypt and Austria and Italy--oh! halfEurope!" he says, "and now he sails ba
ck to Paris, and he sails outto St Cloud down the river here--don't stare at the river, you youngfool!---and all in front of these pig-jobbing lawyers and citizens hemakes himself Consul, which is as good as a King. He'll be King, too,in the next three turns of the capstan--King of France, England, and theworld! Think o' that!" he shouts, "and eat your herring."
'I says something about Boney. If he hadn't been fighting England Ishouldn't have lost my 'baccy--should I?
'"Young fellow," says Maingon, "you don't understand."
'We heard cheering. A carriage passed over the bridge with two in it.'"That's the man himself," says Maingon. "He'll give 'em something tocheer for soon." He stands at the salute.
'"Who's t'other in black beside him?" I asks, fairly shaking all over.
'"Ah! he's the clever one. You'll hear of him before long. He's thatscoundrel-bishop, Talleyrand."
'"It is!" I said, and up the steps I went with my fiddle, and run afterthe carriage calling, "Abbe, Abbe!"
'A soldier knocked the wind out of me with the back of his sword, but Ihad sense to keep on following till the carriage stopped--and there justwas a crowd round the house-door! I must have been half-crazy else Iwouldn't have struck up "Si le Roi m'avait donne Paris la grande ville!"I thought it might remind him.
'"That is a good omen!" he says to Boney sitting all hunched up; and helooks straight at me.
'"Abbe--oh, Abbe!" I says. "Don't you remember Toby and Hundred andEighteen Second Street?"
'He said not a word. He just crooked his long white finger to the guardat the door while the carriage steps were let down, and I skipped intothe house, and they slammed the door in the crowd's face. '"You gothere," says a soldier, and shoves me into an empty room, where Icatched my first breath since I'd left the barge. Presently I heardplates rattling next door--there were only folding doors between--and acork drawn. "I tell you," some one shouts with his mouth full, "it wasall that sulky ass Sieyes' fault. Only my speech to the Five Hundredsaved the situation."
'"Did it save your coat?" says Talleyrand. "I hear they tore it whenthey threw you out. Don't gasconade to me. You may be in the road ofvictory, but you aren't there yet."
'Then I guessed t'other man was Boney. He stamped about and swore atTalleyrand.
'"You forget yourself, Consul," says Talleyrand, "or rather you rememberyourself--Corsican."
'"Pig!" says Boney, and worse.
'"Emperor!" says Talleyrand, but, the way he spoke, it sounded worst ofall. Some one must have backed against the folding doors, for they flewopen and showed me in the middle of the room. Boney whipped out hispistol before I could stand up.
"General," says Talleyrand to him, "this gentleman has a habit ofcatching us canaille en deshabille. Put that thing down."
'Boney laid it on the table, so I guessed which was master. Talleyrandtakes my hand--"Charmed to see you again, Candide," he says. "How is theadorable Dr Pangloss and the noble Huron?"
'"They were doing very well when I left," I said. "But I'm not."
'"Do you sell buttons now?" he says, and fills me a glass of wine offthe table.
'"Madeira," says he. "Not so good as some I have drunk."
'"You mountebank!" Boney roars. "Turn that out." (He didn't even say"man," but Talleyrand, being gentle born, just went on.)
'"Pheasant is not so good as pork," he says. "You will find some at thattable if you will do me the honour to sit down. Pass him a clean plate,General." And, as true as I'm here, Boney slid a plate along just likea sulky child. He was a lanky-haired, yellow-skinned little man, asnervous as a cat--and as dangerous. I could feel that.
'"And now," said Talleyrand, crossing his game leg over his sound one,"will you tell me your story?" 'I was in a fluster, but I told himnearly everything from the time he left me the five hundred dollars inPhiladelphia, up to my losing ship and cargo at Le Havre. Boney began bylistening, but after a bit he dropped into his own thoughts and lookedat the crowd sideways through the front-room curtains. Talleyrand calledto him when I'd done.
'"Eh? What we need now," says Boney, "is peace for the next three orfour years."
'"Quite so," says Talleyrand. "Meantime I want the Consul's order to thePrize Court at Le Havre to restore my friend here his ship."
'"Nonsense!" says Boney. "Give away an oak-built brig of two hundred andseven tons for sentiment? Certainly not! She must be armed into my Navywith ten--no, fourteen twelve-pounders and two long fours. Is she strongenough to bear a long twelve forward?"
'Now I could ha' sworn he'd paid no heed to my talk, but that wonderfulhead-piece of his seemingly skimmed off every word of it that was usefulto him.
'"Ah, General!" says Talleyrand. "You are a magician--a magician withoutmorals. But the brig is undoubtedly American, and we don't want tooffend them more than we have."
'"Need anybody talk about the affair?" he says. He didn't look at me,but I knew what was in his mind--just cold murder because I worried him;and he'd order it as easy as ordering his carriage.
'"You can't stop 'em," I said. "There's twenty-two other men besidesme." I felt a little more 'ud set me screaming like a wired hare.
'"Undoubtedly American," Talleyrand goes on. "You would gainsomething if you returned the ship--with a message of fraternalgood-will--published in the MONITEUR" (that's a French paper like thePhiladelphia AURORA).
'"A good idea!" Boney answers. "One could say much in a message."
'"It might be useful," says Talleyrand. "Shall I have the messageprepared?" He wrote something in a little pocket ledger.
'"Yes--for me to embellish this evening. The MONITEUR will publish ittonight."
'"Certainly. Sign, please," says Talleyrand, tearing the leaf out.
'"But that's the order to return the brig," says Boney. "Is thatnecessary? Why should I lose a good ship? Haven't I lost enough shipsalready?" 'Talleyrand didn't answer any of those questions. Then Boneysidled up to the table and jabs his pen into the ink. Then he shies atthe paper again: "My signature alone is useless," he says. "You musthave the other two Consuls as well. Sieyes and Roger Ducos must sign. Wemust preserve the Laws."
'"By the time my friend presents it," says Talleyrand, still looking outof window, "only one signature will be necessary."
'Boney smiles. "It's a swindle," says he, but he signed and pushed thepaper across.
'"Give that to the President of the Prize Court at Le Havre," saysTalleyrand, "and he will give you back your ship. I will settle for thecargo myself. You have told me how much it cost. What profit did youexpect to make on it?"
'Well, then, as man to man, I was bound to warn him that I'd set outto run it into England without troubling the Revenue, and so I couldn'trightly set bounds to my profits.'
'I guessed that all along,' said Puck.
'There was never a Lee to Warminghurst-- That wasn't a smuggler last and first.'
The children laughed.
'It's comical enough now,' said Pharaoh. 'But I didn't laugh then. SaysTalleyrand after a minute, "I am a bad accountant and I have severalcalculations on hand at present. Shall we say twice the cost of thecargo?"
'Say? I couldn't say a word. I sat choking and nodding like a Chinaimage while he wrote an order to his secretary to pay me, I won't sayhow much, because you wouldn't believe it.
'"Oh! Bless you, Abbe! God bless you!" I got it out at last.
'"Yes," he says, "I am a priest in spite of myself, but they call meBishop now. Take this for my episcopal blessing," and he hands me thepaper.
'"He stole all that money from me," says Boney over my shoulder. "A Bankof France is another of the things we must make. Are you mad?" he shoutsat Talleyrand.
'"Quite," says Talleyrand, getting up. "But be calm. The disease willnever attack you. It is called gratitude. This gentleman found me in thestreet and fed me when I was hungry."
'"I see; and he has made a fine scene of it, and you have paid him, Isuppose. Meantime, France waits."
'"Oh! poor France!" says Talleyrand. "Good-bye,
Candide," he says to me."By the way," he says, "have you yet got Red Jacket's permission totell me what the President said to his Cabinet after Monsieur Genet rodeaway?"
'I couldn't speak, I could only shake my head, and Boney--so impatienthe was to go on with his doings--he ran at me and fair pushed me out ofthe room. And that was all there was to it.' Pharaoh stood up and slidhis fiddle into one of his big skirt-pockets as though it were a deadhare.
'Oh! but we want to know lots and lots more,'said Dan. 'How you gothome--and what old Maingon said on the barge--and wasn't your cousinsurprised when he had to give back the BERTHE AURETTE, and--'
'Tell us more about Toby!' cried Una.
'Yes, and Red Jacket,' said Dan.
'Won't you tell us any more?' they both pleaded.
Puck kicked the oak branch on the fire, till it sent up a column ofsmoke that made them sneeze. When they had finished the Shaw was emptyexcept for old Hobden stamping through the larches.
'They gipsies have took two,' he said. 'My black pullet and my liddlegingy-speckled cockrel.'
'I thought so,' said Dan, picking up one tail-feather that the old womanhad overlooked.
'Which way did they go? Which way did the runagates go?' said Hobden.
'Hobby!' said Una. 'Would you like it if we told Keeper Ridley all yourgoings and comings?'