Books: The King's Highway

G >> G. P. R. James >> The King's Highway

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39

This etext was produced by Jim Tinsley

THE KING'S HIGHWAY

by G.P.R. JAMES ESQ.

CHAPTER I.

Though the weather was hot and sultry, and the summer was at its height,
yet the evening was gloomy, and low, angry clouds hung over the distant
line of the sea, when, under the shelter of some low-browed cliffs upon
the Irish coast, three persons stood together, two of whom were talking
earnestly. About four or five miles from the shore, looking like a
spectre upon the misty background of clouds, appeared a small brig with
her canvas closely reefed, though there was little wind stirring, and
nothing announced the approach of a gale, unless it were a long, heavy
swell that heaved up the bosom of the ocean as if with a suppressed sob.
The three persons we have mentioned were standing together close at the
foot of the rocks; and, though there was nothing in their demeanour
which would imply that they were seeking concealment by the points and
angles of the cliff,--for they spoke loud, and one of them laughed more
than once with the short but jocund laugh of a heart whose careless
gaiety no circumstances can repress,--yet the spot was well calculated
to hide them from any eye, unless it were one gazing down from the
cliffs above, or one looking towards the shore from the sea.

The party of which we speak comprised two men not quite reached the
middle age, and a fine, noble-looking boy of perhaps eight years old or
a little more; but all the conversation was between the two elder, who
bore a slight family likeness to each other. The one had a cloak thrown
over his arm, and a blue handkerchief bound round his left hand. His
dress in other respects was that of a military man of the period; a
long-waisted, broad-tailed coat, with a good deal of gold lace and many
large buttons upon it, enormous riding boots, and a heavy sword. He had
no defensive armour on, indeed, though those were days when the
soldierly cuirass was not yet done away with; and on his head he only
wore an ordinary hat trimmed round with feathers.

He seemed, however, to be a personage perfectly well able to defend his
own, being not much short of six feet in height; and though somewhat
thin, extremely muscular, with long, bony arms, and a wide deep chest.
His forehead was high and open, and his eye frank and clear, having
withal some shrewdness in its quick twinkle. The countenance was a good
one; the features handsome, though a little coarse; and if it was not
altogether prepossessing, the abatement was made on account of a certain
indescribable look of dissipation--not absolutely to say debauchery,
but approaching it--which mingled with the expression of finer things,
like nightshade filling up the broken masses of some ruined temple. His
hair was somewhat prematurely grizzled; for he yet lacked several years
of forty, and strong lines, not of thought, were marked upon his brow.

He was, upon the whole, a man whom many people would have called a
handsome, fine-looking man; and there was certainly in his countenance
that indescribable something, which can only be designated by the term
engaging.

While conversing with his companion, which he did frankly and even
gaily, laughing, as we have said, from time to time, there was still a
peculiarity which might be supposed to show that for some reason he was
not perfectly at his ease, or perfectly sure of the man to whom he
spoke. In general, he did not look at him, though he gazed straight
forward; but, as is very frequently the case with us all, when we are
talking to a person whom we doubt or dislike, he looked beyond him, from
time to time, however, turning his eyes full upon the countenance of his
comrade, and keeping them fixed upon him for several moments.

The second personage of the party was a man somewhat less in height than
the other, but still tall. He was two or three years younger; handsome
in features; graceful in person; and withal possessing an air of
distinction which the other might have possessed also, had it not been
considerably diminished by the certain gay and swaggering look which we
have already noticed. His dress was not so completely military as that
of the first, though there was scarf and sword-knot, and gold-fringed
belt and leathern gloves, with wide cuffs, which swallowed up the arms
almost to the elbows.

He laughed not at all, and his tone was grave, but smooth and courtly,
except when, ever and anon, there mingled with what he was saying in
sweet and placid words, some bitter and sarcastic tirade, which made his
companion smile, though it moved not a muscle of his own countenance.

We have said that there was a third in the group, and that third was a
boy of about eight years of age. It is scarcely possible to conceive
anything more beautiful than his countenance, or to fancy a form more
replete with living grace than his. His hair swept round his clear and
open countenance in dark wavy curls; and while he held the taller of the
two gentlemen by the hand, he gazed forward over the wide melancholy
sea, which came rolling up towards their feet, with a look full of
thought, and perhaps of anxiety. There was certainly grief in that gaze;
for the black eyelashes which surrounded those large blue eyes became,
after a moment or two, moistened with something bright like a tear; and
apparently utterly inattentive to the conversation between his two
companions, he still turned away, fully occupied with the matter of his
own thoughts.

It is time, however, for us to take notice of that to which he did not
attend.

"Not a whit, Harry, not a whit," said the taller of the two: "there are
certain portions of good and evil scattered through the world, and every
man must take his share of both. I have taken care, as you well know, to
secure a certain portion of the pleasures of this life. It was not
natural that the thing should last for ever, so I have quite made up my
mind to drinking the bitters since I have sipped the sweets. On this
last business I have staked my all, and lost my all; and if my poor
brother had not done the same, and lost his life into the bargain, I
should not much care for my part. On my honour and soul, it does seem to
me a strange thing, that here poor Morton, who would have done service
to everybody on earth, who was as good as he was brave, and as clever as
he was good, should fall at the very first shot, and I go through the
whole business with nothing but this scratch of the hand. I did my best
to get myself killed, too; for I will swear that I was the last man upon
our part that left the bank of the Boyne. But just as half a dozen of
the fellows had got me down, and were going to cut my throat because I
would not surrender, there came by the fellow they call Bentinck, I
think, who called to them not to kill me now that the battle was over. I
started up, saying, 'There is one honest Dutchman at least,' and made a
dart through them. They would have caught me, I dare say, but he laughed
aloud; and I heard him call to them not to follow me, saying, 'That one
on either side made no great difference.' I may chance to do that fellow
a good turn yet in my day."

"That may well be," replied the other; "for since your brother's death,
if you are sure he is killed, you are the direct heir to an earldom, and
to estates that would buy a score of German princes."

While he thus spoke, the person he addressed suddenly turned his eyes
full upon his face, and looked at him intently for a minute. He then
answered, "Sure he is dead, Harry? Did I not tell you that he died in my
arms? Would it not have been a nice thing now, if I had been killed too?
There would have been none between you and the earldom then. Upon my
life, I think you ought to have it: it would just suit you; you would
make such a smooth-tongued, easy courtier to this Dutch vagabond, whom
you are going over to, I can see, notwithstanding all your
asseverations;" and he laughed aloud as he spoke.

"Nonsense, Lennard, nonsense!" replied his companion: "I neither wish
you killed, my good cousin, nor care for the earldom, nor am going over
to the usurper, though, Heaven knows, you'll do no good to any one, the
earldom will do no good to you, and the usurper, perhaps, may do much
good to the country. But had either of the three been true, I should
certainly have given you up to the Prince of Orange, instead of sharing
my last fifty guineas with you, to help you off to France."

His companion gazed down upon the ground with a grim smile, and remained
for a moment without answering; he then looked up, gave a short laugh,
and replied, "I must not be ungrateful, cousin mine; I thank you for the
money with all my heart and soul; but I cannot think that you have run
yourself so hard as that either; you must have made mighty great
preparations which have not appeared, to spend your snug little
patrimony upon a king who did not deserve it, and for whom you did not
fight, after all."

"I should have fought if I could have come up in time," replied the
other, with his brows darkening. "I suppose you do not suspect me of
being unwilling to fight, Lennard?"

"Oh, no, man! no!" replied his cousin: "it does not run in our blood; we
have all fighting drops in our veins; and I know you can fight well
enough when it suits your purpose. As for that matter, I might think
myself a fool for fighting in behalf of a man who won't fight in his own
behalf; but it is his cause, not himself, Harry, I fought for."

"Bubbles, bubbles, Lennard," replied the other, "'tis but a mere name!"

"And what do we all fight for, from the cradle to the grave?" demanded
his cousin--"bubbles, bubbles, Harry. Through England and Ireland, not
to say Scotland, there will be tomorrow morning, which I take it is
Sunday, full five thousand priests busily engaged in telling their
hearers, that love, glory, avarice, and ambition are nothing
but--bubbles! So I am but playing the same game as the rest. I wish to
Heaven the boat would come round though, for I am beginning to think it
is as great a bubble as the rest.--Run down, Wilton, my boy," he said,
speaking to the youth that held him by the hand--"run down to that
point, and see if you can discover the boat creeping round under the
cliffs."

The boy instantly darted off without speaking, and the two gentlemen
watched him in silence. After a moment, however, the shorter of the two
spoke, with his eyes still fixed on the child, and the slight sneer
curling his lip--"A fine boy that, Lennard!" he said. "A child of love,
of course!"

"Doubtless," answered the other; "but you will understand he is not
mine.--It is a friend's child that I have promised to do the best for."

"He is wondrous like your brother Morton," rejoined his companion: "it
needs no marriage certificate to tell us whose son he is."

"No; God speed the poor boy!" replied the other gentleman, "he is like
his father enough. I must do what I can for him, though Heaven knows
what I am to do either for him or myself. It is long ere he can be a
soldier, and I am not much accustomed to taking heed of children."

"Where is his mother?" demanded the cousin: "whatever be her rank, she
is most likely as rich as you are, and certainly better able to take
care of him."

"Pshaw!" replied the other--"I might look long enough before I found
her. The boy has never known anything about her either, so that would
not do. But here he comes, here he comes, so say no more about it."

As he spoke, the boy bounded up, exclaiming, "I see the boat, I see the
boat coming round the rock!" and the moment after, a tolerable-sized
fishing boat was seen rounding the little point that we have mentioned;
and the two cousins, with the boy, descended to the water's edge. During
the few minutes that elapsed before the boat came up to the little
landing-place where they stood, the cousins shook hands together, and
bade each other adieu.

"Well, God speed you, Harry!" said the one; "you have not failed me at
this pinch, though you have at many another."

"Where shall I write to you, Lennard," demanded the other, "in case that
anything should happen to turn up to your advantage?"

"Oh! to the Crown, to the Crown, at St. Germains," replied the elder;
"and if it be for anything to my advantage, write as quickly as
possible, good cousin.--Come, Wilton, my boy; come, here's the boat!
Thank God we have not much baggage to embark.--Now, my man," he
continued, speaking to one of the fishermen who had leaped out into the
water, "lift the boy in, and the portmanteau, and then off to yonder
brig, with all the sail you can put on."

Thus saying, he sprang into the boat, received the boy in his arms, and
waved his hand to his cousin, while the fishermen pushed off from the
shore.

The one who was left behind folded his arms upon his chest, and gazed
after the boat as she bounded over the water. His brow was slightly
clouded, and a peculiar sort of smile hung upon his lip; but after thus
pausing for a minute or two, he turned upon his heel, walked up a narrow
path to the top of the cliff, and mounting a horse which was held for
him by a servant, at a distance of about a hundred yards from the edge,
he rode away, whistling as he went, not like Cimon, for want of thought,
but from the very intensity of thought.

CHAPTER II

The horseman of whom we have spoken in the last chapter rode slowly on
about two hundred yards farther, and there the servant advanced and
opened a gate, by means of which the path they were then upon
communicated with a small road between two high banks leading down to
the sea-side. The moment that the gentleman rode forward through the
gate, his eyes fell upon a figure coming up apparently from the
sea-shore. It was that of a woman, seemingly well advanced in life, and
dressed in the garb of the lower orders: there was nothing particular in
her appearance, except that in her gait and figure she was more decrepit
than from her countenance might have been expected. The tears were
streaming rapidly down her face, however; and though she suddenly paused
on perceiving the stranger, she could not command those tears from
flowing on, though she turned away her head to conceal them.

The stranger slightly pulled in his horse's rein, looked at her again,
and then gazed thoughtfully down the road towards the sea, as if
calculating what the woman could have been doing there, and whether she
could have seen the departure of his two late companions.

The servant who was behind him seemed to read his master's thoughts; for
being close to him shutting the gate, he said in a low tone, "That's the
old woman with whom the young gentleman lodged; for I saw her when the
Colonel went there this morning to fetch him away."

The moment the man had spoken, his master pushed forward his horse
again, and riding up to the woman, accosted her at once.

"Ah, my good woman," he said, "you are grieving after your poor little
boy; but do not be cast down, he will be taken good care of."

"God bless your honour," replied the woman, "and thank you, too, for
comforting me: he's a dear good boy, that's true; but the Colonel has
taken him to France, so I shall never see him more."

"Oh yes, you may, my good lady," replied the stranger: "you know I am
his cousin--his father's first cousin; so if you want to hear of him
from time to time, perhaps I could put you in the way of it. If I knew
where you lived, I would come and call upon you to-night, and talk to
you about it before I go on to Dublin."

"Your honour's going to Dublin, are you?" said the woman, suddenly and
sharply, while the blood mounted into the cheek of her companion, as if
from some feeling of embarrassment. She continued, however, before he
could reply, saying, "With a thousand thanks to your honour, I shall be
glad to see you; and if I could but hear that the poor boy got well to
France, and was comfortable, I think I should be happy all my life."

"But where do you live, my good woman?" demanded the horseman: "we have
not much time to lose, for the sun is going down, and the night is
coming on."

"And a stormy night it will be," said the woman, who, though she had
very little of the Irish accent, seemed to have not a little of that
peculiar obliquity of mind, which so often leads the Irishman to follow
the last idea started, however loosely it may be connected with the main
subject of discourse. "As to where I live," she continued, "it's at the
small neat cottage at the end of the lane; the best house in the place
to my mind, except the priest's and the tavern; and for that matter,
it's my own property, too."

"Well, I will come there in about an hour," said her companion, "and we
will talk it all over, my good lady, for I must leave this place early
to-morrow."

Away went the stranger as he spoke, at a rapid pace, towards an Irish
village or small town of that day, which lay at the distance of about a
mile and a half from the sea-shore. It was altogether a very different
place, and bore a very different aspect, from any other collection of
houses, of the same number and extent, within the shores of the Sister
Island. It was situated upon the rise of a steep hill, at the foot of
which ran a clear shallow stream, from whose margin, up to the top of
the acclivity, ran two irregular rows of houses, wide apart, and
scattered at unequal distances, on the two sides of the high road. They
were principally hovels, of a single story in height; a great proportion
of them formed of nothing but turf, with no other window but a hole
covered with a board, and sometimes not that. Others, few and far
between, again, were equally of one story, but were neatly plastered
with clay, and ornamented with a wash of lime; and besides these, were
three or four houses which really deserved the name--the parish
priest's, the tavern, and what was called the shop.

These rows of dwellings were raised on two high but sloping banks, which
were covered with green turf, and extended perhaps fifty yards in width
between the houses and the road: this long strip of turf affording the
inhabitants plenty of space for dunghills and dust-heaps, with
occasional stacks of turf, and a detached sort of summer-house now and
then for a pig, in those cases where his company was not preferred in
the parlour.

Here, too, the chickens used to meet in daily convocation; and here the
priest's bull would occasionally take a morning walk, to the detriment
of the dunghills and the frailer edifices, to the danger of the
children, and the indignation of the other animals, who might seem to
think that they had a right prescriptive to exclusive possession.

Between these two tracts of debatable land was interposed a paved high
road, twice as broad as it needed to have been, and furnished with a
stone gutter down the centre, into which flowed, from every side,
streams not Castalian; while five or six ducks, belonging to the master
of the shop, acted as the only town scavengers; and a large black sow,
with a sturdy farrow of eleven young pigs, rolled about in the full
enjoyment of the filth and dirt, seeming to represent the mayor and town
council of this rural municipality.

At the top of the hill two or three lanes turned off, and in one of
these was situated the cottage which the old lady had indicated as her
dwelling. The stranger, however, rode not thither at once, but, in the
first place, stopped at the tavern, as it was called (being neither more
nor less than a small public-house), and throwing his rein to the
servant, he dismounted, and paused to order some refreshment. When this
was done, he took his way at once to the house of the priest, which was
a neat white building, showing considerable taste in all its external
arrangements. The stranger was immediately admitted, and remained for
about half an hour; at the end of which time he came out, accompanied as
far as the little wicket gate by a very benign and thoughtful-looking
man, past the middle age, whose last words, as he took leave of the
stranger, were, "Alas, my son! she was so beautiful, and so charitable,
that it is much to be lamented that she was in all respects a
cast-away."

The stranger then returned to the tavern, and sat down to a somewhat
black and angular roasted fowl, which, however, proved better to the
palate than the eye; and to this he added somewhat more than a pint of
claret, which--however strange it may seem to find such a thing in an
Irish pot-house--might, for taste and fragrance, have competed with the
best that ever was found at the table of prince or peer: nor was such a
thing uncommon in that day. This done, and when five or six minutes of
meditation--that kind of pleasant meditation which ensues when the inner
man is made quite comfortable--had been added to his moderate food and
moderate potation, the stranger rose, and with a slow and thoughtful
step walked forth from the inn, and took his way towards the cottage to
which the old woman had directed him.

The sun was by this time sinking below the horizon, and a bright red
glow from his declining rays spread through the atmosphere, tinging the
edges of the long, liny, lurid clouds which were gathering thickly over
the sky. The wind, too, had risen considerably, and was blowing with
sharp quick gusts increasing towards a gale, so that the stranger was
obliged to put his hand to his large feathered hat to keep it firm upon
his head.

In the meantime, the old woman had returned home, and her first
occupation was to indulge her grief; for, sitting down at the little
table in her parlour, she covered her eyes with her hands, and wept till
the tears ran through her fingers. After a time, however, she calmed
herself, and rising, looked for a moment into a small looking-glass,
which showed her face entirely disfigured with tears. She then went into
a little adjacent room, which, as well as the parlour, was the image of
neatness and cleanness. She there took a towel, dipped it in cold water,
and seemed about to bathe away the traces from her cheeks. The next
moment, however, she threw the towel down, saying, "No, no! why should
I?" She then returned to the parlour, and called down the passage,
"Betty, Betty!"

An Irishwoman, of about fifty years of age, clothed much in the same
style, and not much worse than her mistress, appeared in answer to her
summons; and, according to the directions she now received, lighted a
single candle, put up a large heavy shutter against the parlour window,
and retired. The mistress of the house remained for some time sitting at
the table, and apparently listening for every step without; though from
time to time, when a heavier and heavier blast of wind shook the cottage
where she sat, she gazed up towards the sky, and her lips moved as if
offering a prayer.

At length, some one knocked loudly at the door, and starting up, she
hurried to open it and give entrance to the stranger whom we have
mentioned before. She put a chair for him, and stood till he asked her
to sit down.

"So, my good lady," he said, "you lived a long time with Colonel and
Mrs. Sherbrooke."

"Oh! bless you, yes, sir," replied the woman, "ever since the Colonel
and the young lady came here, till she died, poor thing, and then I
remained to take care of the boy, dear, beautiful fellow."

"You seem very sorry to lose him," rejoined the stranger, "and,
doubtless, were sadly grieved when Mrs. Sherbrooke died."

"You may well say that," replied the woman; "had I not known her quite a
little girl? and to see her die, in the prime of her youth and beauty,
not four-and-twenty years of age. You may well say I was sorry. If her
poor father could have seen it, it would have broke his heart; but he
died long before that, or many another thing would have broken his heart
as well as that."

"Was her father living," demanded the stranger, "when she married
Colonel Sherbrooke?"

The woman, without replying, gazed inquiringly and steadfastly on the
stranger's countenance for a moment or two; who continued, after a short
pause--"Poo, poo, I know all about it; I mean, when she came away with
him."

"No, sir," replied the woman; "he had been dead then more than a year."

"Doubtless," replied the stranger, "it was, as you implied, a happy
thing for him that he did not live to see his daughter's fate; but how
was it, I wonder, as she was so sweet a creature, and the Colonel so
fond of her, that he never married her?"

The woman looked down for a moment; but then gazed up in his face with a
somewhat rueful expression of countenance, and a shake of the head,
answering, "She was a Protestant, you know."

The stranger looked surprised, and asked, "Did she always continue a
Protestant, my good woman? I should have thought love could have worked
more wonderful conversions than that."

"Ah! she died as she lived, poor thing," replied the woman, "and with
nobody with her either, but I and one other; for the Colonel was away,
poor man, levying troops for the king--that is, for King James, sir; for
your honour looks as if you were on the other side."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39