EPERQUERIE BAY. Showing the bluff from which the men of SARK fired down on the men of HERM as they landed the boats.EPERQUERIE BAY. Showing the bluff from which the men of SARK fired down on the men of HERM as they landed the boats.
There was no need to ask how the boats were heading. All eyes were fixed anxiously on them as they came straight for the north of the Island, and just as we came up Amice Le Couteur gave the word to move on to Eperquerie.
Stragglers from the more distant houses were coming up every few minutes. He left one to send them all on after us, and we straggled off past Belfontaine and Tintageu and the Autelets and Saignie Bay, and so into the road to the Common, and took our stand on the high ground above the Boutiques, and as we went Thomas Godfray loaded my pistols for me from his own flask.
The colours had long since faded out of the sky, and the bank of clouds in which the sun had set was creeping heavily up the west. Both sky and sea were gray and shadowy. The sea was flawed with dark blurrs of sudden squalls, and the waves broke harsh and white on La Grune and Bec du Nez.
The six boats came on with steady venom. They kept well out round Bec duNez, and we ran across the broken ground to meet them on the other side of the Island, and lay down there by the Sénéchal's orders.
There was always the chance that they were making straight for the French coast. It would have been well for some of them if they had. That hope died as they turned inside the Pécheresse rock and came sweeping down towards Eperquerie landing.
We could see them better now, and estimate our chances. Three of the boats were of large size, holding ten to twelve men each, and carrying a small carronade in the bows. The others held six to eight, and they were all as evil and scowling a set as ever I set eyes on.
"They will try here," said Amice Le Couteur. "I will warn them once not to land, then do you be ready to fire. Take advantage of the rocks, and let no man expose himself unnecessarily."
They came thrashing along, with no show of order but much of the spirit that was in them. There is no dog so ready to snap at anything that offers as the one that is running from a fight. Their lust for mischief came up to us in hoarse growls and curses, and tightened our grip on our weapons.
The first boat ground on the shingle, and the next ran in alongside before the oars were unshipped, and the wind was thick with curses on their clumsiness. The landing between the rock is a narrow one, and no more than two could come in at once. The others had to wait outside.
The rascals were beginning to tumble ashore, when Amice Le Couteur stood up and cried, "Stop there! If you land it is at your peril. We will not have it."
Those who were landing turned their black faces upwards in surprise, for they had not seen us. But from one of the waiting boats behind, half a dozen shots rang out in a sudden blaze of light, and the Sénéchal fell back among us, and our men began a hot fire at the boats from behind their rocks.
I ran to M. Le Couteur, as I had no weapons but a cutlass and pistols, and these were only for close work. He was bleeding in the head and chest, but said he thought the wounds were not serious.
"See that some of them don't slip away to the Creux or Dixcart, while we're busy with the others here, Carré," he said, as I tied up his head with his own kerchief, and then dragged him down into a little hollow where no shots could reach him.
There was much cursing and shouting down below, and a satisfactory amount of groaning also, and our men fired and loaded without stopping and said no word. The landing-place and the rocks above were thick with smoke, which came swirling up in great coils, so that I could see nothing, though I could hear enough and to spare.
I scrambled down the side of Pignon, bending among the rocks lest they should see me, and so came out on to the larger rocks, inside which lies the landing-place. I was thus in the rear of the Herm men, with the open sea behind me, and a glance told me that the Sénéchal's fears were justified. The two boats that had pushed in were alone there, and I heard the sound of oars working lustily down the coast.
I turned and tumbled back the way I had come, scrambling and falling, cutting and bruising myself on the ragged rocks, and so up to our men.
"There are only two boats there," I shouted. "The rest are off for the Creux."
"Good lad!" cried George Hamon. "Off after them, Phil, and keep them in sight. Fire your pistol if they stop. We'll divide and follow, and we'll not be far behind;" and I ran on past Les Fontaines and Creux Belet.
I heard them pass Banquette as I stood in the gorse of the hillside, and followed them round to Grève de la Ville, where there was little chance of their landing, as the shore is not easy, and the climb not tempting.
From there I could have cut across into the Creux Road, and been at the harbour long before them, but I thought best to follow the cliffs and keep them in touch, lest they should try any tricks.
They had to keep well out round Moie à Navet, but they came in again under Grande Moie, and so we came down the coast, they below and I above, till I ran across country, back of the Cagnons, and dropped into Creux Road just above the tunnel, and there found George Hamon with a good company come straight by the road from La Tour, and still panting hard from their rush.
"Ah, here you are, mon gars!" said Uncle George. "And where are they?"
"Coming along. I saw them past Les Cagnons. How are they at Eperquerie?"
"We left them at it, but they're scotched there. Will they try here, or go on?"
"Dixcart, if they know their business. It'll be all hands to the pumps there, Uncle George. Four of us could hold the tunnel here against fifty."
"Yes, we'll get on by Les Lâches and wait there and make sure. Do you stop here, Phil, with Godfray and De Carteret and Jean Drillot, until you aresure they have gone on, then come on and join us. Best barricade the tunnel with some of that timber."
DIXCART BAY. Where the Herm men landed, is in the centre of the picture, right below the ruined mill on HOG'S BACK. The straight-walled cliff on the right of the bay is where the Sark men took their stand. The out-stretching point on the right is DERRIBLE.DIXCART BAY. Where the Herm men landed, is in the centre of the picture, right below the ruined mill on HOG'S BACK. The straight-walled cliff on the right of the bay is where the Sark men took their stand. The out-stretching point on the right is DERRIBLE.
He and the rest went on up the hillside to Les Lâches, and we four set to work hauling and piling, till the seaward mouth of the tunnel leading from the road to the shore was barred against any possible entrance. And listening anxiously through our barrier, with the stillness of the tunnel behind us, we presently heard the sound of the toiling oars pass slowly on towards Dixcart. We waited till they died away, and then climbed the hill to Les Lâches and sped across by the old ruins, with a wide berth to the great Creux at the head of Derrible Bay, and down over the Hog's Back into Dixcart Valley, where we knew, and they knew, their best chances lay. For in Dixcart the shore shelves gently, and the valley runs wide to the beach; fifty boats could land there in a line, and their crews could come up the sloping way by the streamlet ten abreast. It would be no easy place to defend if the enemy pushed his attack with persistence, and every man we had would be needed.
We tumbled into our men as they settled their plan of defence. We were twenty-one all told. Ten were to go along the Hog's Back cliff towards Pointe Château, where they would overlook the point of landing, if the enemy made straight for the valley. They were to begin firing the moment the boats touched shore, and then to draw back into the valley. The other ten were to lie in the bracken on the slope of the opposite hill, just where it gives on to the bay, and to pour in their fire before the enemy had recovered from his first dose. Then, if he came on, the two bands would meet him with volleys from both hillsides as he came into the valley, and again retiring along the hillsides, would continue to harass him till, at the head of the valley, if he got that far, the united bands would meet him hand to hand. We judged he might be about thirty strong, but hoped our first volleys might bring us about even.
Uncle George asked me to go with himself and the nine along Hog's Back. As I had no gun, and only one arm in full working order, I might be useful in carrying any change of orders to the other party.
There was no sound of their coming yet, but the pull round Derrible Pointe would account for that. So we stole silently along to our appointed places.
The night was very dark and squally, but on this side of the Island we were sheltered. On the other side the white waves would be roaring and gnashing up the black cliffs, but here in Dixcart they fell sadly on the shingle and drew back into the depths with long-drawn growls and hisses.
"V'là!" said Uncle George, as we lay on the cliff; and we heard the oars below in the bay, and all stood up ready.
They came in as close under the cliff as they dared, so close that we heard their voices clearly between the falling of the waves. And then, dimly, we saw the black bulks of their boats in the streaming surf as it ran back to the sea, and I started, for I could only see three, but could not be certain.
"Now!" said Uncle George, and our volley caught them full.
They roared curses, and began snappingback at us as each man found his musket. But a step back took us under cover, for a black cliff two hundred and fifty feet high, and hidden in the night, offered no mark for them, and from the face of the opposite hill our other volley crashed into the marks their own fire offered.
"Again!" said Uncle George, as soon as our men were ready, and our ten guns spoke once more.
They were sadly discomfited, and furiously angry down below there. But those who were not wounded had tumbled ashore, and they replied to our second volley with a more concerted fire. And in the flash Of their guns I, craning over the scarp of the hill, saw clearly but three boats.
"Only three boats," I whispered in George Hamon's ear. "I'm off to look for the other," and before he could stop me I was gone. For he needed all his men, and I believed I could manage alone.
Back across Hog's Back, past the old mill, through the fields by La Forge, and along the hill-path by Les Lâches, and down the hill, slipping and stumbling, and into the Creux tunnel with only one fear—that I might arrive too late.
And I was only just in time. As I ran in I heard them on the seaward side hauling at the timbers of our barricade; and with my chest going like a pump, and my hands all shaking with excitement, I drew Peter Le Marchant's cutlass and sent it lancing through the openings wherever a body seemed to be.
Sudden oaths broke out, and the work stopped. I pulled out one of my pistols, shoved the muzzle through a hole and pulled the trigger, and still had wit enough to wonder what would happen if it burst, as Aunt Jeanne had hinted.
CREUX TUNNEL. Cut by Helier de Carteret in 1588 as an entrance to the Island. Here PHIL fought the Herm men single-handed.CREUX TUNNEL. Cut by Helier de Carteret in 1588 as an entrance to the Island. Here PHIL fought the Herm men single-handed.
It did not burst, however, and the discharge provoked a further outburst of curses. I drew the other, and fired it likewise, and stood ready with my cutlass for the next assault. But they had hoped to break through unperceived, and possibly the violence of my attack misled them into a belief in numbers. They drew off along the shingle, and I leaned back against the side of the tunnel and panted for my life.
I heard a discussion going on, and presently they were at work at something, but I could not make out what.
I took advantage of the lull to strengthen my defences with some boats' masts and any odd timbers I could find and lift, till I thought it impossible that any man should get through.
But I was wrong. There came a sudden roar outside, and a shot of size came crashing through my barricade, sending pieces of it flying wildly. They had a carronade, and had had to shift the boat to the end of the shingle to get the mouth of the tunnel into the line of fire.
Then I began to fear. Men I could fight, but carronades were beyond me.
Still, even when they had knocked my barrier to pieces, the men must come at last. The great iron shot could not reach me round the corners, though flying timbers and splinters might. They would fire again and again till the way was clear, and then they would come in a heap, and I must do my best with my cutlass. And it was not unlikely that the sound of the heavy guns might catch the ears of others and bring me help. So I drew back out of the tunnel on the land side and waited.
A stumble over a piece of timber set me to the hurried building of a fresh barricade at this end, outside the mouth of the tunnel. If it only stopped them for minutes, the minutes might be enough. It would in any case hamper them, and I did not believe they could train their guns upon it. So I groped in the dark, and dragged, and piled, and found myself using the wounded arm without feeling any pain, but also without much strength, till I had a not-to-be-despised fence which would at least give me chance of a few blows before it could be rushed.
Five times they fired, and the inside of the tunnel crashed with the fragments of the outer barricade, and then it was evidently all down.
There was a brief lull while they gathered for the rush. Then they came all together full into my later defence.
I stabbed through it and hacked at one who tried to climb. But they were many and I was one. The barrier began to sag and give under their pressure. I stabbed wildly through and through, and got groans for payment. And then of a sudden I was aware of another fighting by my side. He had come unperceived by me, and he spoke no word, but thrust and smote wherever opportunity offered, and his coming gave me new strength.
And then, with a shout, others came pouring down the Creux Road, and I knew that all was well, and I fell spent in the roadway.
When I recovered sufficiently to take notice of things, I was sitting in the tunnel with my back against the wall, a big fire of broken wood was burning brightly, and men were carrying in others from the harbour. The carried men were bound, and the others were strangers to me.
A flask was put to my mouth, and I took a pull at it, and turned to find Krok smiling his content at my recovery.
"Was it you, Krok?" and I shook both his hands heartily, while he held the flask between his knees.
"And my grandfather?" I asked. "Is he hurt?" And Krok nodded and then shook his head.
"Hurt, but not badly?" and he nodded quickly.
"And these are Guernsey men?"
He nodded again, and one of them came up and asked, "Feeling better? You had a tough job here all alone. We came ashore on the other side, and were hurrying towards the firing lower down there when we heard the gun begin, and your friend here brought us down this road on the jump. He doesn't speak much, but he's got mighty good ears and sense."
"You were just in time. I was about done."
"Just in time is all right, but in fact it wouldn't have done to be much later."
"Can you tell me anything of my grandfather, Philip Carré?"
"Oh, you're young Phil Carré, who started all this business, are you?"
"I'm Phil Carré. What about my grandfather?"
"We had some warm work over there, and he got a shot through the leg. Not serious, I think. But we got the schooner and a lot of the rascals, and when we found the rest had come this way we came after them. But Torode himself got away. Maybe we'll find him here somewhere."
I had not given the man in George Hamon's cave a thought for hours past, but this sudden reminder brought my mind round to him, and me to my feet, with a jerk.
He was my father—I could not doubt it, though belief was horrible. He was a scoundrel beyond most. He lay there stricken by my hand. His life was sought by the law, and would certainly be forfeited if he was found. I must find George Hamon at once.
"Are they fighting still at Dixcart?" I asked the Guernsey man.
"There was firing over yonder as we came along," he said, pointing to the south-west. "But it is finished now."
"That was their chief attack. The Sénéchal was shot at Eperquerie. George Hamon is in charge at Dixcart. We had better see how they have fared."
"Allons! I know Hamon."
He left four of his comrades to guard the prisoners, and the rest of us set off by the way I had already passed twice that night, and came down over Hog's Back into Dixcart.
They heard us coming, and George Hamon's quick order to his men to stand by told me all was well, and a shout from myself set his mind at rest.
"Mon Dieu! Phil, my boy, but I'm glad to see you safe and sound. You've been on my mind since ever you left. Who are—Why—Krok—and Henri Tourtel? Nom d'Gyu! Where do you come from?"
"From Herm last. We came across after those black devils. Old Carré said they would take a bite at you as they passed. We landed on the other side, and scrambled up a deuce of a cliff, and got to the tunnel there just in the nick of time. Young Carré here was fighting a dozen of them and a carronade single-handed."
"Bon Gyu, Phil! We're well through with it. I oughtn't to have let you go alone, but you were gone before I knew, and we had all we could manage here. There are ten of them dead, and the rest are in our hands—about twenty, I think—and every man of them damaged. They fought like devils."
"Many of ours hurt?" I asked.
"We've not come out whole, but there's no one killed. Where's your grandfather?"
"Wounded on Herm, but not seriously, M. Tourtel says."
"Seen anything of Torode himself, Hamon?" asked Tourtel.
"Haven't you gothim? Better look if he's among our lot. You would know him better than we would. They're all down yonder. I must go and see after Amice Le Couteur. We left him bleeding at Eperquerie. Get anything you want from our people, Tourtel. Krok, you come along with us;" and we set off over the hill past La Jaspellerie to get to La Vauroque.
"Phil, my son," he said in my ear, "your work is cut out for you this night. Are you good for it?"
"Yes."
"For her sake, and your grandfather's and your own, we must get him away at once—now. Tomorrow will be too late. We don't want him swinging in chains at Peter Port and all the old story raked up. I wish to God you had killed him!—Mon Dieu! I forgot—you're you and he's your father. All the same, it would have saved much trouble."
"What's to be done with him?"
"He may be dead—Mon Dieu! I keep forgetting. If he's alive you will take him away in my boat—"
"Where to?"
"You want him to live?"
"I don't want to have killed him."
"Then you must get him to a doctor. You can't go to Guernsey, so that means Jersey—And afterwards—I don't know—you'll have to see what is best. Wait a moment,"—as we came to his house at La Vauroque. "You'll need money, and take what you can find to eat. I've got a bottle or two of wine somewhere. Before daylight you must be out of sight of Sercq."
"Where will you say I've gone?"
"Bidemme! I don't know ... You can trust old Krok?"
"Absolutely."
"Then, as soon as you have had the other patched up and settled somewhere in safety, you'd better leave him in Krok's care and get back here. And the sooner the better. The people in Guernsey will want your story from your own lips in this matter."
"How soon can we get into the cave?"
"Nom-de-Dieu, yes!... Voyons donc!—About two o'clock with a wet shirt. This wind will pile the water up, and the Race will be against us in the Gouliot. The sooner we're off the better."
He handed me a sum of money, packed into a basket all the eatables he could find and two bottles of wine, and lit a lantern, and we set off through the gusty night, past the deserted houses, past Beaumanoir all dark and dead, and so down into Havre Gosselin, where the waves were roaring white.
We drew in Uncle George's small boat by its ropes and got aboard his larger one, and tied the smaller to drag astern.
The west wind was still blowing strong, but it had slackened somewhat with the turn of the tide. But when we tried to breast the Gouliot passage with that heavy boat, we found it impossible. Three times we nosed inch by inch into the swirling black waters, which leaped and spat and bit at us with fierce white fangs, and three times we were swept away down past Pierre au Norman, drooping over our oars like broken men.
"Guyabble! This is no good!" gasped Uncle George, as we came whirling back the third time. "We must go round." So we drew in the oars, and hoisted a bit of our lug, and ran straight out past Les Dents, whose black heads were sheets of flyingfoam, to make a long tack round Brecqhou. Then, with the wind full on our port quarter, we made a quick, straight run for the Boutiques, and found ourselves not very far astray. Dropping the sail, and leaving Krok in charge, Uncle George and I pulled in the small boat to the channel into which his cave opened. It was still awash, but we could not wait. We dragged the boat up onto the shingle just showing at the head of the chasm, then wading out up to our shoulders to the leaning slab, we pulled down the rock screen and crawled into the tunnel.
The wounded man lay just as we had left him, breathing slowly and regularly, but showing no other sign of life. We dropped a little cognac into him, and took him by the shoulders and feet and carried him into the tunnel. How we got him through I cannot tell—inch by inch, shoving and hauling, till the sweat poured down us in that narrow place.
But we got him to the opening at last, and hauled the boat down and hoisted him in, soaked to the skin each one of us. Uncle George carefully closed his door, and we pulled out to Krok, waiting in the lugger.
"Mon Dieu! I have had enough of him," said Uncle George, worn out, I suppose, with all the night's doings. "If he dies, I shall not care much. He is better dead."
We laid him in the bottom of the boat and covered him with the mizzen sail.
"Keep well out round Bec du Nez," said Uncle George, "and run so for half an hour. Then run due east for two hours, and then make for Jersey. God keep you, my boy! It's a bitter duty, but you're doing the right thing."
He wrung my hand, and pushed off and disappeared in the darkness, and we ran up the lug and went thrashing out into Great Russel.
We turned and ran before the west wind straight for the French coast, till the sun rose and the cliffs of Sercq, about twelve miles away, gleamed as though they had but just been made—or had newly risen out of the sea. Then we turned to the south-west and made for Jersey.
As soon as it was light I saw Krok's eyes dwelling on our passenger with a very natural curiosity. Torode was unknown to him as to most of us, but there was a whole world of enquiry in his face as he sat looking down on the unconscious face below—studying it, pondering it, catching, I thought, at times half glimpses of the past in it.
I saw that I must tell him a part of the truth, at all events, for I should need much help from him. My mind had been running ahead of the boat, and trying the ways in front, and it seemed to me that Jersey was no safe refuge for a forfeited life.
Torode of Herm was a name known in all those coasts. The news of his treacheries and uprooting was bound to get there before long. Some long-headed busybody might stumble on our secret and undo us. My mind had been seeking a more solitary place, and, ranging to and fro, had lighted on the Ecréhou rocks, which I had visited once with my grandfather and Krok and had never forgotten.
"Do you know who this is, Krok?" I asked, and he raised his puzzled face and fixed his deep-set eyes on mine.
He shook his head, and sat, with his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees, gazing down into the face below, and I sat watching him what time I could spare from my steering.
And at last he knelt down suddenly and did exactly as Uncle George had done—lifted the black moustache from off the unconscious man's mouth, and threw back his own head to study the result. Then I saw a wave of hot blood rush into his face and neck, and when it went it left his face gray. He looked at me with eyes full of wonder and pain, and then nodded his big head heavily.
"Who, then?" and he looked round in dumb impatience for something to write with, and quivered with excitement. But the ballast was bars of iron rescued from the sea, and there was nothing that would serve.
Then of a sudden he whipped out his knife, and with the point of it jerkily traced on the thwart where I sat, the word "FATHER," and pointed his knife at me.
"Yes," I nodded. "It is my father come back, when we all thought him dead. He comes in disgrace, and his life would be forfeited if they found him, so you and I are going to hide him for a time—till he is himself, and can go away again."
Krok nodded, and he was probably thinking of my mother, for his fist clenched and he shook it bitterly at the unconscious man.
Then he knelt again, and looked at his wound, and shook his head.
"It was I shot him, not knowing who he was. And so I must save his life, or have his blood on my hands."
From Krok's grim face I judged that the latter would have been most to his mind.
"I thought of trying the Ecréhous. We could build a shelter with some of the old stones, and he will be safer there than in Jersey. But I must get a doctor to him, or he'll slip through our hands."
Krok pondered all this, and then, pointing ahead to the bristle of rocks in front and to himself, and then to me and the wounded man and to Jersey, I understood that he would land on the Ecréhous and build the shelter, while I took the wounded man on to Jersey to find a doctor. And that chimed well with my ideas.
The sun had been up about three hours when we ran past the Dirouilles, with sharp eyes and a wide berth for outlying fragments, and edged cautiously in towards the Ecréhous. The sea was set so thick with rocks, some above and some below water, that we dropped our sail and felt our way in with the oars, and so came slowly past the Nipple to the islet, where once a chapel stood.
It was as lonely and likely a shelter for a shipwrecked soul as could be found, at once a hiding-place and a sanctuary. Sparse grass grew among the rocks, but no tree or shrub of any kind at that time. The ruins of the holy place alone spoke of man and his handiwork.
All around was the free breath of life,—which, at times, indeed, might sound more akin to rushing death,—and the sea and the voice of it; and the stark rocks sticking up through it like the fragments of a broken world. And above was the great dome of the sky—peaceful, pitiless, according to that which was within a man.
Krok scrambled ashore, and I handed him all that was left of our provisioning, then with a wave of the hand I turned and pulled clear of the traps and ran for Rozel Bay.
There wasa little inn at the head of the bay, which had seen many a stranger sight than a wounded man. I had no difficulty in securing accommodation there, and the display of my money ensured me fullest service, such as it was. I told them plainly that the unconscious man was related to me, and that he had received his wound at my hands. I let them believe it was an accident, and that we came from the coast of France. They were full of rough sympathy, and when I had seen him put into a comfortable bed, and had dropped some more cognac into him, I started at once for St. Heliers to find a doctor.
There was no difficulty in that. I went to the first I was told of, and fell fortunately. I described the nature of the wound, so far as I knew it, and told him the bullet was still there. He got the necessary instruments and we drove back to Rozel in his two-wheeled gig. Dr. Le Gros wore a great blue cloak, and his manner was brusque, but cloak and manner covered a very kind heart. Moreover, he had had a very large experience in gun-shot wounds, and he was a man of much discretion.
As soon as he set eyes on the wound he rated me soundly for not having it seen to before, and I bore it meekly. His patient was his only concern. He did not ask a single question as to how it was caused, or where we came from. It seemed, however, to puzzle or annoy him. He pinched his lips and shook his head over it, and said angrily, "'Cré nom-de-Dieu! It should have been seen to before!"
"But, monsieur," I said, "we have no doctor, else I would not have brought him here."
"But, nom-de-Dieu! that bullet should have been got out at once. It is pressing on the brain. It may have set up inflammation, and whatthatmay lead to the good God alone knows!"
"Pray get it out at once, monsieur."
"Ay, ay, that's all very well, but the damage may be done, and now, 'cré nom-de-Dieu, you expect me to undo it."
"I am sorry."
"Sorry won't set this right,"—with a shake of the head like an angry bull,—"No—'cré nom-de-Dieu!"
He was a rather violent old man, but skillful with his terrible little tools, and he worked away with them till I left him hurriedly.
He came out after a time with the bullet in his hand, "Le v'là," he said tersely. "And if that was all—bien! But—!" and he shook his head ominously, and talked of matters connected with the brain which were quite beyond me, but still caused me much discomfort.
He told me what to do and promised to return next day.
Torode—I never could bring myself to think of him as my father—came to himself during the night, for in the morning his eyes were open and they followed me with a puzzled lack of understanding. He evidently did not know where he was or how he got there. But he lay quietly and asked no questions except with his eyes.
When the doctor came he asked, "Has he spoken yet?"
"Not yet;" and he nodded.
"How long must he stop here, Monsieur le Docteur?"
"It depends," he said, looking at me thoughtfully. "Another week at all events. You want to take him home?"
"He is better at home."
"I must keep him for a week at all events."
So that day I took over some provisionings for Krok, and found him well advanced with his building. He had got the walls of a small cabin about half-way up, and had collected drift timber enough to roof it and to spare. I told him how things stood, put in a few hours' work with him on the house, and got back to Rozel.
"Has he spoken?" was the doctor's first question next day.
"Not a word."
"Ah!" with a weighty nod, and he lifted Torode's left hand, and when he let it go it fell limply.
And again, each day, his first question was, "Has he spoken?" And my reply was always the same. For, whether through lack of power or strength of will I could not tell, but certain it was that no word of any kind had so far passed between us.
One time, coming upon him unawares, I saw his lips moving as though he were attempting speech to himself, but as soon as he saw me he set himself once more to his grim silence, and the look in his eyes reminded me somehow of Krok.
On the seventh day, when the doctor asked his usual question, and I as usual replied, he said gravely, "'Cré nom-de-Dieu, I doubt if he will ever speak again. You see—" and he went off into a very full and deep explanation about certain parts of the brain, of which I understood nothing except that they were on the left side and controlled the powers of speech, and he feared the bullet and the inflammation it had caused had damaged them beyond repair. And when I turned to look at Torode the dumb misery inhis eyes assured me in my own mind that it was so, for I had seen just that look in Krok's eyes many a time.
Another whole week I waited, visiting Krok three times in all, and the last time finding him living quite contentedly in the finished house. And then, Torode having spoken no word, and the doctor saying he could do no more for him, I had him carried down to the boat and took him across to the Ecréhous.
He had been gaining strength daily, and, except for a certain disinclination to exertion of any kind, and his lack of speech, looked almost himself again. Later on, when he walked and worked, I noticed a weakness in his left arm, and his left leg dragged a little.
At Krok's suggestion I had bargained for a small boat, and I took him also a further supply of provisions, and flour, and fishing-lines. And before I left them I thought it right to explain to Torode just what had happened.
He listened in a cold black fury, but fell soon into a slough of despond. His life was over, but he was not dead. For him, as for the rest of us, death would, I think, have been more merciful—and yet, I would not have had him die at my hands.
And so I left the two dumb men on the Ecréhous and returned to Sercq, and of my welcome there I need not tell.
My mother and Aunt Jeanne were full of questionings which taxed my wits to breaking point to evade, especially Aunt Jeanne's. She tried to trap me in a hundred ways, leading up from the most distant and innocent points to that which had kept me away so long. And since truth consists as much in not withholding as in telling, I was brought within measurable distance oflying by Aunt Jeanne's pertinacity, for which I think the blame should fairly rest with her.
I told them simply that I had been on matters connected with Torode, and would still be engaged on them for some time to come, and left it there.
Carette, of course, understood, and approved all I had done. She saw with me the necessity of keeping the matter from my mother, lest her peace of mind should suffer shipwreck again, and to no purpose. Her loving tenderness and thought for my mother at this time were a very great delight to me, and commended her still more to my mother herself.
My grandfather was still in Guernsey. His leg had taken longer to heal than it might have done, and, failing my information against the Herm men, his was of use to the authorities in preparing the charge against them.
There were near forty prisoners brought over from Sercq, some of them so sorely wounded that it was doubtful if they would live until their trial. The rest had been killed, except some few who were said to have got across to France. To my great relief neither young Torode nor his mother was among the dead or the captives.
Krok was supposed in Sercq to be with my grandfather in Guernsey, and his absence excited no remark. For myself, in Sercq my absence was accounted for by the necessity for my being in Guernsey,—while in Guernsey an exaggerated account of the wound I had received on the Coupée offered excuse for my retirement; and so the matter passed without undue comment.
George Hamon had informed my grandfather of his recognition of Torode, andhe told me afterwards that for a very long time the old man flatly refused to believe it.
My news of Torode's recovery was not, I think, over-welcome to Uncle George. He would have preferred him dead, and the old trouble buried for ever, forgetting always that his death must have left something of a cloud on my life, though he always argued strongly against that view of the case.
"I find it hard to swallow, mon gars, in spite of George Hamon's assurance," said my grandfather when we spoke of it.
"I found it hard to believe. But Uncle George had no doubts about it. Krok, too, recognised him."
"Krok did? Ah—then—" and he nodded slow acceptance of the unwelcome fact.
Before I was through with the telling of my story, and signing it, and swearing to it before various authorities, I was heartily sick of the whole matter, and wished, as indeed I had good reason, that I had never sailed with John Ozanne in theSwallow.
But—"pas de rue sans but"—and at last all that unpleasing business was over—except a little after-clap of which you will hear presently.
After many delays and formalities, all the prisoners were condemned to death, and I was free to go home and be my own man again.
Twice while in Guernsey I had taken advantage of the slow course of the law to run across to Jersey and so to the Ecréhous, and found Torode settled down in dumb bitterness to the narrow life that was left to him.
He was quite recovered in every way save that of speech, but that great loss broke his power andcut him off from his kind.
I had never told him that his wound came from my hand, but he associated me with it in some way, and showed so strong a distaste for my company that I thought well to go no more.
He had taken a dislike to old Krok too. Their common loss had in it the elements of mockery, and on my second visit Krok expressed a desire to return to Sercq. Torode could maintain himself by fishing, as they had done together, and could barter his surplus at Rozel or Gorey for anything he required.
And so we left him to his solitude, and he seemed content to have us go. George Hamon, however, ran across now and again in his lugger to see how he was getting on, and to make sure that he was still there, and perhaps with the hope that sooner or later that which was in himself still, as strong as it had been any time this twenty years, might find its reward.
"Carette, ma mie," I asked, as we sat in the heather on Longue Pointe, the evening after I got home, "when shall we marry?"
"When you will, Phil. I am ready."
"As soon as may be then," and I drew her close into my arms, the richest treasure any man might have, and thanked God for his mercies.
It was a glorious evening, with a moon like a silver sickle floating over Guernsey. The sky was of a rare depth and purity, which changed from palest blue to faintest green, and away to the north-west, above the outer isles, the sun was sinking behind a bank of plum-coloured clouds which faded away in long thin bands along the water line. The clouds were rimmed with golden fire, and wherever an opening was, the golden glory streamed through and lit the darkening waters between, and set our bold Sercq headlands all aflame. And up above, the little wind-drawn clouds were rosy red, and right back into the east the sky was flushed with colour. It was a very low tide, too, and every rock was bared, so that from the white spit of Herm it seemed as though a long dark line of ships sped northwards towards the Casquets. Brecqhou lay dark before us, and the Gouliot Pass was black with its coiling tide. A flake of light glimmered through the cave behind, and now and again came the boom of a wave under some low ledge below. Up above us the sky was full of larks, and their sweet sharp notes came down to us like peals of little silver bells. And down in Havre Gosselin the gulls were wheeling noisily as they settled themselves for the night.
I have always thought that view one of the most beautiful in the world, but all its glories were as nothing to the greater glory in our two hearts. We had had our cloudy days and our times of storm and strife; and now they were past, our clouds were turned into golden glories and our hearts were glad. We had been parted. We had looked death in the face. And now we were together and we would part no more.
We sat there in the heather till all the glories faded save our own,—till Guernsey and Herm and Jethou sank into the night—till Brecqhou was only a shadow, and the Gouliot stream only a sound; and then we went down the scented lanes close-linked, as were our hearts.
Jean Le Marchant was sitting in the kitchen with Aunt Jeanne. He was recovered of his wound, and Martin also, but for the elder, at all events, active life was over, and he would have to be content with the land, and his memories.
We came in arm in arm.
"Do you see any objection to our marrying at once, M. Le Marchant?" I asked. "We are of one mind in the matter."
"B'en!" said Aunt Jeanne, with a face like a globe of light. "We will have it on Wednesday. You can go over to the Dean for a license, mon gars, and I'll be all ready—Wednesday—you understand."
And Jean Le Marchant smiled and said, "At Beaumanoir Mistress Falla rules the roost. Everyone does as she says."
"I should think so," said Aunt Jeanne, with an emphatic nod. "If they don't I know the reason why. So we'll say Wednesday. Have you had the news, Phil?"
"What news then, Aunt Jeanne?"
"Ah then, you've not heard. George Hamon was in from Guernsey. He says you are to get the reward offered by the London Merchants for the upsetting of Monsieur Torode."
"I?"
"And who better, mon gars? If it hadn't been for you, he'd be there yet gobbling their ships at his will. Now don't you be a fool, my dear. Take what the good God sends you with a good grace. You'll find a use for it when the babies begin coming, I warrant you. Little pigs don't fatten on water. Ma fé, non!"—at which bit of Aunt Jeanne, Carette only laughed, with a fine colour in her face.
And to make an end of that, in due time the five thousand pounds was indeed sent to me, and I put it in the bank in Guernsey for the use of Carette "and the children" as Aunt Jeanne said—and of the interest I reserved a portion for the provision of such small comforts as were possible to the lonely one on the Ecréhous.
And so, by no merit of my own, I became a man of substance and not dependent on Aunt Jeanne's bounty, which I think she would have preferred.
We were married in the little church alongside the Seigneurie at the head of the valley, by M. Pierre Paul Secretan, and Aunt Jeanne's enjoyment therein and in the feast that followed was, I am certain, greater than any she had felt when she was married herself.
We continued to live with her at Beaumanoir, and she gave me of her wisdom in all matters relating to the land and its treatment, as she did also to Carette in household matters and the proper bringing up of a family, about which latter subject she knew far more than any mother that ever was born.
In me she found an apt pupil, and so came to leave matters more and more in my hands, with sharp criticism of all mistakes and ample advice for setting things right.
Carette drank in all her wisdom—until the babies came, and then she took her own way with them, and, judging by results, it was an excellent way.
George Hamon still brought me word from time to time of the exile on the Ecréhous.
We were sitting over the fire, one cold night in the spring, Carette and I, Aunt Jeanne having gone to bed to get warm, when a knock came on the door, and when I opened it George Hamon came in and stood before the hearth. He looked pinched and cold, and yet aglow with some inner warmth, and his first word told why.
"He is dead, Phil. I found him lying in his bed as if asleep, but he was dead."
I nodded soberly. He was better dead, but I was glad he had not died by my hand.
"I have got him here—" said Uncle George.
"Here?" and I jumped up quickly.
"In my boat down in Port du Moulin."
"But why?"
"Because—" and he stood looking at us, and Carette nodded understandingly. And at that he went on quickly—"Because I have waited over twenty years, Phil, and I am going to wait no longer," and I understood.
"You are going to tell her?" I asked.
"Yes—now. I must. But not all, I think. We will see. But not all if we can help it. It will open the old wound, but, please God, I will heal it and she shall be happy yet."
"Yes," I said. "I think you can heal the wound, Uncle George. What do you want me to do?"
"Come with me, if you will;" and I kissed my wife and followed him out.
"You understand," he said, as we went across the fields to Belfontaine. "He was among Torode's men. I recognised him, and we smuggled him off so that he should not be hanged;" and on that understanding we knocked on the door and went in.
My grandfather was reading in one of his big books, my mother was at her knitting, and Krok was busy over a fishing-net.
"Ah, you two!" said my mother. "What mischief are you plotting now? It is like old times to see you with your heads together. But, ma fé, you seem to have changed places. What trouble have you been getting into, George?"
"Aw then, Rachel!—It is out of trouble I am getting. I bring you strange news;" and she sat looking up athim with deep wonder in her eyes.
Perhaps she saw behind his face into his thoughts—into his heart. For, as she gazed, a startled look came over her, and her face flushed and made her young again.
"What is it?"
"Paul Martel died yesterday."
"Paul?" and her hand went quickly to her heart, as though to still a sudden stab of pain, and for the moment her face whitened and then dyed red again.
Krok had eyed Uncle George keenly from the moment he entered. Now he did a strange thing. He got up quietly and took down a lantern and went to the fire to light it. Perhaps it had been an understood thing between them. I do not know.
My mother looked at Krok and then at Uncle George, and my grandfather stood up.
"Yes," said Uncle George with a grave nod. "I have got him here—in my boat in Port du Moulin, for I knew you could not credit it unless you saw him yourself."
"But how—?" she faltered.
"He was among Torode's crew—he was wounded. I recognised him, and we got him away lest—well, you understand? He has been living on the Ecréhous, and he died there yesterday. Will you see him?" and he looked at her very earnestly, and she knew all that his look meant.
Her silence seemed long, while Uncle George looked at her entreatingly, and she looked at the floor, and seemed lost in thought.
"Yes," she said at last, and Went towards the door.
"Put on a shawl. The night is cold," said Uncle George, and it seemed to me that there was something of a new and gentle right in his tone, something of proprietorship in his manner.
And so we went along the footpaths past La Moinerie and down the zigzag into Port du Moulin, the only bay along that coast into which my mother could possibly have gone by night, and that was why Uncle George had brought him there.
I do not think a word was spoken all the way. Krok held the lantern for my mother's feet. Uncle George walked close behind her, and at times before her, in the descent, and helped her down, and so we came at last to the shingle and crunched over it to the boat.
Krok put down his lantern on a rock, and he and Uncle George got in and pulled out to the lugger which was anchored about twenty yards out.
They came back presently, and lifted out the body and laid it gently on the stones, and Krok brought his lantern. My mother's face was very white and pinched as she knelt down beside it, and at first sight she started and looked quickly up at Uncle George as though in doubt or denial. And presently Uncle George bent down and with his hand lifted the moustache back from the dead man's mouth, and my mother gazed into the dark face and said quietly, "It is he," then she seized my grandfather's arm suddenly and turned away. They were stumbling over the rough stones when Krok ran after them with the lantern and came back in the dark.
We laid the body in the boat again, and Krok lifted in some great round stones, and we rowed out to the black loom of the lugger. Uncle George lit his own lantern, and by its dim light Krok set to work preparing my father's body for its last journey.
Whether he was simply anxious to get done with the business, or whether he felt a gloomy satisfaction in performing these last rites for a man whom he had always hated for his treatment of my mother, I do not know. But he certainly went about it with a grim earnestness which was not very far removed from enjoyment.
He stripped the mizzen-mast of its sail, and Uncle George said no word against it. If Krok had required the lugger itself as a coffin he would not have said him nay.
He wrapped the body carefully in the sail, with great smooth stones from the beach, and with some rope and his knife he sewed it all tightly together, and pulled each knot home with a jerk that was meant to be final, and his hairy old face was crumpled into a frown as he worked.
We ran swiftly up Great Russel under the strong west wind, until, by the longer swing of the seas, we knew we were free of the rocks and islands north of Herm.
Then Uncle George turned her nose to the wind, and under the slatting sail, with bared heads, we committed to the seas the body of him who had wrought such mischief upon them and in some of our lives.
"Dieu merci!" said Uncle George, as the long white figure slipped from our hands and plunged down through the black waters. Then he clapped on his cap and turned the helm, and the lugger went bounding back quicker than she had come, for she and we were lightened of our loads.
We ran back round Brecqhou into Havre Gosselin, and climbed the ladders and went to our homes.
Uncle George and my mother were married just a month after our little Phil was born, and I learned again, from the look on my mother's face, that a woman's age is counted not by years but by that which the years have brought her.
They have been very happy. There is only one happier household on the Island, and that is ours at Beaumanoir, for it is full of the sound of children's voices, and the patter of little feet.