I breakfasted next morning with my three titled friends, and during the discussion we held it was agreed that the best way to keep suspicion from me—for they were apparently quite as apprehensive of my being taken by the authorities as an escaped prisoner as I was myself—was for me to assume the position of private servant for the nonce to my patron and kind friend Monsieur de Brissac. We started about nine o'clock in the morning along the post-road to the eastward, with a ride of some hundred and ten miles and over before us, I was informed.
The two gentlemen drove ahead in a high-wheeled chaise, while I and the servant of Monsieur le Marquis de Senez followed by the coach within a few minutes of their starting. It was our intention to pass the night at Oxford, and we expected to reach London on the afternoon of the following day.
They had spoken very openly before me, and although they had not indulged in any explanations, I garnered from the earnestness of their talk, and from the substance of it, that they had not given up all ideas of dwelling once more in France, and returning to the grandeur they had been accustomed to. Their bitterness against Napoleon was extreme, but with him out of it, I do not see how they ever expected to live in a country whose inhabitants they hated as a nation; for if the common and middle class of people do not compose a nation's blood and body, I miss my reckoning.
The view from the coach-top as we descended the hill from the inn was extremely fine. The river below took a bend almost in the shape of the crook of a man's elbow, and enclosed an island covered with houses, connected with the shore by a large bridge. But soon we had shut the view of the water behind us, and as we progressed inland the smell of the sea disappeared entirely.
The man Baptiste, alongside of whom I was sitting on the second seat, had the impassive, expressionless face of the trained servant. As he was not disposed to be communicative, and had evidently been told to treat me with respect, I grew reserved, and out of caution I kept silent; but nevertheless my enjoyment was not prevented from being of the very keenest.
I could crowd these pages by detailing my sensations. I could have sung or shouted, so high were my spirits. And I had to keep all this to myself; and being but a lad, as I say, it was far from easy. Two or three times I got down to stretch my legs, and thus I found myself walking behind the coach as we entered the little hamlet of Witney. In fact I did not know that we were so close to a village until I saw the guard get out his horn to toot it, as was his custom when approaching one.
Running after the coach, I swung myself on board just as we rolled across a bridge over a small clear stream. We had taken on fresh horses at a place called Burford, if I remember rightly, some short time back, and we would not[Pg 338] have stopped at the little place we were entering at all (the driver was pleased with himself and proud of the rate at which we had been travelling), but as we went by the gate of a private park we were hailed, and looking over the side, I saw two officers in regimentals waiting to be taken up on the coach. One of them had the uniform of the Somersetshire regiment that had been stationed at the Stapleton prison. In fact I recognized the man before he had seated himself as one of my former guardians. But he glanced carelessly at us, and stared rather insolently into the face of a young country lass who was evidently leaving home, as she had had her handkerchief to her eyes for the past hour or more.
I need not have feared recognition if I had thought for a minute, for I was something of a dandy in my way. My legs were encased in gray breeches buttoned tightly from the knee to the ankle. My coat, with its long tails, was of blue cloth, with brass buttons, and the large velvet collar reached up behind, almost swamping my ears. My waist-coat had wide lapels (pulled outside the coat), and was made of cream-colored satin. My stock was of clean white linen, and my hat, that was a trifle too small, would persist in getting rakishly over my left eye, as if it understood that I was careless, happy, and defiant of bad fortune.
I believe I could write pages of descriptions of all I saw and felt on this journey, but I am really most anxious myself to reach the more interesting part of it, and so resist temptation. We arrived at Oxford in the late afternoon. I was delighted at the glimpses of the old college buildings and the students playing at cricket in the fields, while through the trees I could see that we were near a river, as now and then the water would flash into sight.
When we reached the inn at which we intended to stop, Monsieur de Brissac, who had arrived already, sent for me to come to his room. I was fully prepared to carry up his box or to tend him in any way, as befitted my supposed position; but as soon as I entered the apartment he greeted me with a smile.
"Monsieur le Marquis," he said, "be seated."
A queer tingling thrilled me as he called me by that title.
"I will explain to you," Monsieur de Brissac went on, "that in London there are a large number of us who have been forced to take up residence outside of France. Your own story is so remarkable that although, believe me, I myself do not doubt it, it would not be best to tell it to every one who might listen. Therefore, believe me, forget, as you have said, that you were an American, put outside from you the idea, above all things, that you have escaped from a prison of the English, and indeed, if possible, show little knowledge of the tongue. It is a frightful speech at the best, and racks the throat and ears. To people whom you meet you are Jean Amédée de Brienne, son of le Marquis Henri Amédée Lovalle de Brienne; your story is that you have come to England from America" (he lowered his voice and looked over his shoulder) "to join us. Ah, we need young blood and swords."
"But, Monsieur le Marquis," I interrupted, intending to blurt out the truth and abide by the consequences, "there is just one thing I—"
Monsieur de Brissac playfully touched me on the shoulder. "Never mind about that now," he said; "you will understand everything in a short time. Perhaps some day your grandfather's great estates shall belong to you, as they must in the sight of God and the saints, and as the blessed Church allows it to be true. Then," he exclaimed—"then we will whip this canaille, lash these dogs into shape, or drown them as they drowned us, eh? Ah, yes, that we will do. The bubble will soon burst, and they will be glad to take our crumbs. But no more for to-day. To-morrow you shall be informed. I know that you are to be trusted, monsieur. Say nothing. It is my pleasure to serve you. Be cautious with others."
Of course this touched me, and I do not doubt I showed it as I bowed myself out of Monsieur de Brissac's apartments, that were the best the place afforded. Our conversation had been held in French, of course, and in setting this down I have condensed it somewhat, but the gist of what he said is here.
I had begun to grow very much attached to my kind patron, for such I call him in this recounting; and I also was much taken with the elder man, the Marquis de Senez; but he was not so frank or, if I may say it, so simple as the other.
Well! I have taken a leap over two weeks of time as the very best way to avoid falling into the error of becoming verbose.
It is a great shift of scene. Here I was, seated in a low-backed soft-cushioned chair, with my feet on another, a linen napkin tucked in about my throat, and over me was bending a strange little old man who addressed me as "monsieur le marquis," as he curled my hair with a pair of hot irons. Now truly this was a change from being a prisoner at Stapleten, a scarecrow-clad figure doddering along the highway, or even from the position of a gentleman's gentleman riding outside of a coach on the post-road. Yet all these three had I been almost within the fortnight, and what was I now? Why, "le Marquis de Brienne," who dined with noblemen, and had learned in these few short days to make pretty speeches to ladies of quality in silks and satins. What is more, I was fairly launched as a conspirator.
I hope that none who reads this will suppose that I was not sailing a proper course, or that I was living a life of deceit for the purpose of gain, for the reason that it is evident that I am gifted with an adaptable temperament. Oh no! I hope I can say that what money I had I came by honestly, for it had been given to me with the intention that I should pay it back at some future time (I have paid it long since, to the last penny), and I was imposing on no one, unless it was my friend Monsieur de Brissac, whose pleasure it was to do anything for me, and lastly there is nothing in all this that is intended as an apology of my position.
It cannot be said that I was luxuriously surrounded, despite that I was lolling in an easy-chair and having my hair curled by my own private servant. I was living in lodgings on the top floor of a house not far from Orchard Street, off Piccadilly, a house that had more the dignity of age in its appearance than an air of prosperity. I was the possessor of a suite of four rooms under the roof.
The click of the irons ceased for a minute.
"Ah, Monsieur le Marquis, I remember well your grandfather when I was a young man, and he not much older! He wore his own hair, monsieur. I never remember seeing him in anything else. It was much handsomer than a wig. You resemble him much, monsieur."
"IF MARY COULD ONLY SEE ME NOW."
This speech had called me back to myself, for at that moment I had been thinking of Mary Tanner and the old days on the hill-side at Belair. Yes, there was no doubt about it, she was much prettier than the Comtesse de Navarreins, with whom I had danced a quadrille the previous evening. What a strange career I had had! Oh, if Mary could see me now! How fine it was to be the nobleman! How Mary's eyes would open!
But the old servant was waiting for me to speak.
"Ah, Gustave," I replied, making a wry face at myself in the glass, for the old man had given my hair a tremendous twist with the tongs, "I doubt that we shall see the old days again. From what I hear, France seems to be getting ahead fairly well without such men as my grandfather. The people seem to be able to look out for themselves and struggle on."
I glanced at the reflection of the old man's face. On it was a compound of expressions.
"Monsieur le Marquis," he said, quietly, "had they not killed the kindest master in the world I should be one of them to-day. It is that alone that made me leave my country. Could I but forget the guillotine and the days of horror, and that I really loved my King, I could rejoice in France's every victory."
It rather surprised me to hear the old man speak thus, for his language was better than one might expect to hear from the lips of one who had been born and bred a lackey. But they set me to thinking, and his next question chimed in well with my thoughts.
[Pg 339]
"You have seen France, Monsieur le Marquis?" he asked.
"No, Gustave, I have never been there," I replied. "I have lived my life in far-off America."
Now with this word a surge of pride came over me. What was this France that I had never seen to me? What were the plottings of the little band of nobles who had been despoiled of what they called their rights? Why, I was an American! There was my heart! Could I ever truly enter in with all my will and spirit for the cause or the factions of another exiled government? What reward was there for me? Ay, what reward? I remembered those brave men whom I had left in prison. (Ah, one can learn patriotism in a prison!) Sutton, the boatswain's mate, with the stars and stripes as big as your two hands tatooed across his broad chest, came in my mind's eye. His country's flag was mine! The watchword of Lawrence, that had been brought to us by the prisoners from the Chesapeake, rang in my ears as it had rung through the crowded prison, "Don't give up the ship!" Of a truth I was no Frenchman, though I could pass as such, and had done so.
Wondering what my messmates had been saying about my strange disappearance, I fell into a reverie of retrospection. Where were Captain Temple and the Young Eagle? Where was Cy Plummer, who had loaned me his belongings, and who, in my mind's eye, I could see with his bundle over his shoulder, chanting his song as he went over the hill? Where was the brave sailor who had thrown his severed hand at the feet of the English officer, and what was I but a person who was allowing himself to become deeper embroiled in a cause in which he had no heart, and becoming committed deeper and deeper every day to plots and conspiracies for whose methods he had no stomach (yes, I may set it down—assassination, dagger, and pistol, were spoken of). Truly I had no place here, and a great wish came over me that I could exchange this borrowed finery, and this assumption of being what I was not, for a sailor's toggery, the wide sweep of the sea, and take up again my life on a vessel to whose peak I might look up and see the flag for whose sake my countrymen were dying, for whose sake I should and would be fighting as soon as God would let me.
The door of the little room opened. Gustave had long since had my hair arranged to his satisfaction, and I had been sitting in silence I know not how long. But with the draught of air from the hallway I turned my head and saw a small dwarf of a man, who was a sort of a servant and boots in the house, standing there with the morning paper. I took it—the London Times—and read the head-lines in the first column, "England's Disgrace," in big black letters. And below it, "Has Another Vessel Been Lost in Single Action to the United States?" Hastily I read the reported rumor (pity 'twas nothing else) of the capture of another forty-four-gun frigate by the Constitution. I laughed aloud at the Times's expressions of astonishment that such things should be, and then I threw the paper down and burst into a loud huzza.
Gustave had been watching me as if he thought I had suddenly turned madman.
"Is Napoleon defeated?" he inquired.
"No, no; not that," I answered, smiling to myself, and I think truly that the old man gave a sigh of relief. At this moment there was a tap on the door, and the old servant laid down the fine plum-colored coat that he had been preparing for my wearing, and Monsieur de Brissac was ushered in by him with a low bow. The nobleman closed the door behind him. "Mon ami," he said, hurriedly, "I would speak to you alone." Gustave (he had been "loaned" to me by De Senez) was too old a servant to be told. He picked up a pair of boots and went out into the hallway.
"It is arranged!" cried Monsieur de Brissac, speaking quickly and excitedly. "Three of us must leave for Paris. A cipher letter has been received. The time is most opportune, my dear Blondin."
He gave me an embrace, to which I confess I replied, because he was my friend, and then he continued. "You are the one to go with us," he said. "De Senez and you and myself. We can face the danger bravely, mon ami. Consider the reward!"
Ay, there it was again, "the reward." What did I really care for it?
"I have an invitation for you to be one of a little partie carrée this evening," Monsieur de Brissac went on. "I judge it is best that you attend. Eh, what's the matter?"
I was standing with my back to him looking out of the window, when he approached and placed his hand upon my shoulder. I turned, and his eyes met mine. I was constrained to speak at once of what was uppermost in my thoughts. It required some courage.
"Monsieur de Brissac," I asked, "what do you really think of me?"
"I think you are one who can be trusted," he replied. "In fact, on that I would stake my life; but—" He hesitated.
"But what?" I inquired.
"I pray you not to take offence," my kind friend went on; "but why should I not tell you? The manner of your joining us was certainly most strange, and in some minds has excited a suspicion. That there have been spies among us, I know well; but you—"
I interrupted him. "Believe me, my dear friend, I would rather die than betray a single word of what I have heard or know by being told. But listen"—I spoke earnestly and slowly—"one can be honest with a friend. I truly doubt the ultimate success of any scheming to restore the old French régime. I have thought everything over carefully, and have come to a decision, my first statement put aside."
Monsieur de Brissac said nothing, but stood there listening, with one elbow on the mantel-piece, whilst I continued speaking. It was some minutes before I had finished, but I told him frankly of my position, and what I considered right for me to do. He was most attentive, and although once or twice I saw that he felt like making some interruption, he restrained himself.
"I shall not ask," he said at last, "why you did not tell me this thing before; but, believe me, even at this late hour, monsieur, I appreciate the confidence that you have placed in me. As to your misgivings in regard to our attempts to restore the better things, I shall say nothing. If you have weighed carefully the matter, I shall not attempt to dissuade you. But one thing, spoken as a friend, I must tell you: Do not, for your life, breathe a word of this to De Senez or to any of the others."
"Tell me, what am I to do?" I asked. "I am in your power—your hands."
"It would be wrong," the Marquis replied, musingly, but with a sad tone in his words, "not to help you, aside from the requirements of friendship. So do not fear."
"I do not fear; I do not fear," I reiterated. "But what shall I do?"
"You must come with us to France," Monsieur de Brissac answered, speaking in the same low tone of voice. "Despite the embargo laid on trade and importations by the usurper, money works corruption, corruption means many things. It is a known fact that licenses to enter French ports have been sold to both American and English vessels. You are not safe in this country. Come with us to where danger will be no less, but chances to follow your own ideas the better. I can explain that you have left for some French port when you leave us, and if you do not return, I shall join in the mourning, that is all. We will increase our party by one in order to keep up the original number. I shall let you know to-night how we intend to leave England. Good-by, until this evening. Au revoir, monsieur."
When he had gone I began to think and ponder over what had passed. Had I been foolish in being so frank and clear spoken? A word from the Marquis, and I might be returned to the hulks or the prison-yard. Yet in getting out of England lay my only chance. From what had gone before, I understood that it was intended to make a voyage across the Channel in one of the small smuggling vessels that plied an adventurous and remunerative trade along the coast of England, despite the careful watching of the coast-guard vessels and the war-ships. But Monsieur de Brissac's manner had chilled towards me—I felt that. My words had killed the enthusiasm with which he[Pg 340] had always addressed me. I half feared that I had been rash.
Notwithstanding this, we made rather a merry party at the gathering that evening. To all intents, nothing had occurred, and not until it came to the breaking up of the little poverty-stricken court, which was held at the mansion of the Comtesse de Navarreins, was there anything said of the approaching departure; but as we left, De Brissac ran his arm through mine, at the same time saying, "I shall walk home with you, if you will permit me, Monsieur de Brienne." We strolled in silence, I waiting for my friend to speak. At last he did so, at my door. "At twelve o'clock to-night you and I will start northwards in a chaise, and to-morrow evening," he whispered, softly, "we will find ourselves in the neighborhood of N——, where we will meet the others, and debark, if the weather permits, in one of the little luggers that cut deeply into the King's revenue. If we land safely on the other side, you had best leave us at once. Leave it all to me. In an hour I call for you."
Before daylight of the next morning Monsieur de Brissac and myself were some thirty miles north of London, driving through the county of Essex. At about ten o'clock we breakfasted at a way-side tavern, where we exchanged our tired horse for two saddle beasts, I having quite a tussle with mine as I mounted, and then we pressed ahead all the afternoon, expecting to be near the little village of N—— some time in the evening. It was damp and chilly for this time of the year; the prospect was not fine in the way of scenery, and my companion was in no talkative frame of mind. It was strange; I was, so to speak, a blind man in the power of his guide, for if I should lose Monsieur de Brissac, I should be in a bad way. At last I knew we were near the sea, for I could smell it in the air long before it burst in view.
I wondered greatly at my patron's knowledge of the road and the by-ways by which we reached this particular bit of the coast. For hours we had ridden across a wind-swept plateau, seamed by many deep-worn paths running in all directions. In the earlier part of the afternoon gibbetlike sign-posts had helped to point us to the right direction, but as it grew toward dusk we saw none of them, and yet never once had Monsieur de Brissac faltered; turning and twisting and yet keeping the same general direction, until he had brought us to the edge of the narrow height along which we were riding. Finally we sighted a little cluster of huts, whose roofs we looked down upon from the top of a great, high sand cliff, and then Monsieur de Brissac pointed.
"Your eyes are good," he said. "Can you see whether there is anything hanging from the window of the house nearest yonder small dock?"
I gazed intently. In the growing darkness I could make out a white rag or something fluttering from the window-sill, and so I reported.
"The signal," was the response to my information. "They are ahead of us, and all is well."
It was no easy job to urge our tired nags down the steep runway, and had my mount backed and filled the way he had when I first put my leg over him, we might both of us have pitched headlong upon the roofs of some of the outlying huts, for they were scarcely more.
I suppose that this little village was considered of too small importance to be watched closely by the government, but it must have been apparent that it was not fishing or net-mending that kept so many stalwart sailor-men there.