CHAPTER IV
THROUGH THE ENEMY'S LINES
"Halt there!" cried Deventer suddenly to me. We were passing a pleasantwhite and green villa with a light in one ground-floor window.
I stopped, and Deventer took me by the arm, with forceful compulsion.
"I am going to help _my_ father," he whispered. "Don't you run offwithout telling yours what you mean to do. He can't prevent you, if youhave made your mind up."
"He won't try--he will only be glad to get back to his books."
"Perhaps, but at any rate tell him yourself. He will like it better thanwhen the hue and cry gets up to-morrow over yonder. You take my word forit, Angus Cawdor."
I did not want to go, for at that time I did not understand nor muchlike my father. But Deventer said that if I would not walk he wouldcarry me, a threat which at any other time would have made me smile.However, to please him I walked carefully to the window. With hishabitual thoughtlessness about external things, the sash swung a littleopen and the light air blew the curtains back. My father was sittinglike a student, with a shawl over his knees, a quite necessary fire ofolive roots smouldering on the andirons, and his head, shining andsilvery, bent over a book in which he was making notes.
I did not wish to startle him, so I spoke in English, and in ascommonplace a tone as I could muster.
"Father," I said, as if my calling hours were the most ordinary in theworld, "will you come across to the window for a moment?"
He rose instantly and came over to the open window, one half of which Ihad pushed wide. The note-book was still in his hand, and the breezeruffled its leaves so that he shut and clasped it.
"Why, Angus, where do you come from?" he said. "Is it late? Won't youcome in? Are you on your way back to college?"
"No, father," I said; "I ought to be, but I have made up my mind to goto the war. I have had enough of learning, and examinations disgust meeven when I come out first."
He looked at me long and quietly, and then nodded his head.
"I know--I know," he said, "it is the riot in the blood. I do not saythat you do wrong to go, but you will need some money. I have a fewhundred francs by me for which I have no use. They will not come amiss.Let me see--six, seven, eight hundred and fifty. Does Deventer go withyou?"
"He is waiting on the road below."
"I thought as much--well, bid him good luck from me, and now good night,and God be with you, boy! Get your wild-oat sowing done as soon aspossible and come back. You will find me waiting for you. You and I willdo something yet."
My father coughed a little in the draught through the open window,whereupon I made haste to be gone. The movement was purely unconscious,yet it was just such slight things that kept me such a long while fromunderstanding my father. He seemed to be so careful for himself inlittle matters of health, that he had no care to spare for me, his onlyson, and this thought, I am ashamed to say, I carried away with me, evenwhile my fingers caressed the eight hundred and fifty francs nestlingsafely in my breeches pocket.
On the road I found Deventer waiting for me.
"Well," he said, "I see you are glad you went?"
"Yes," I answered, "eight hundred and fifty francs glad, but the old manhurried up my going, because the open window made a draught thatirritated his cough."
Deventer did not answer directly.
"My governor thinks a lot of yours!" he said, and left the reproach tosink in. The which it did, all the more because _I_ thought a lot ofDeventer's father, and was presently to think more and better.
We took our road between the rows of sleeping houses, alternately blackin shadow and mildly radiant under the moon. Not a light showedanywhere, not even in the _auberge_, with the huge branch stuck over thedoor in token of the excellence of the wine served out within.
A vagrant cat or two, a baying dog spasmodically darting in and out ofan alley-way, alone took note of our bygoing.
The crowning buildings of the _lycee_ on the Convent Ridge showed upmassive and almost martial among the dark pines. Then, after a sprinkleof villas, we struck the close-packed town with the clean water from theGardon river prattling in the sewers at either side of every street.Aramon was one of the towns of the Midi (now rare) where they had notforgotten ancient Roman lessons as to the value of running water.
As we descended the flat plain the river-meadow came up to meet us. Wecrossed the market-place among the splotched trunks of the plane trees,and turned along the quay of the great canal of the Little Rhone. Bargesin long lines and solid tiers occupied it from end to end, and on eachof these was a dog. So that we passed through a chorus of yelping curs,till the massive pillars of the great suspension bridge rose stark andmarble-white in the moonlight. On the Old Aramon side the _douanier_ wasasleep in his little creeper-covered cabin. We saw his head pillowed onhis crossed arms as he bent over the table, and a smoking tallow candleguttered low at his elbow.
Along the wide quadruple track of the bridge, stretched like the tautstring of a bow for half a mile ahead of us, we saw nothing except theglistening planks underfoot, and overhead the mighty webbing of chains.
But as we were stepping down the little descent which leads into thenewer town of Aramon-les-Ateliers, we found our way suddenly barred. Acouple of fellows, not much older than ourselves, suddenly sprang out ofthe shadows, and set shining bayonets to our breasts, demanding at thesame time where we came from and whither we were going. It had beenarranged between us previously that in any difficulty Deventer was tolet me do the talking. Somehow he did not tell his lies with conviction,at least not yet.
I gave our names, and said that we were runaway Seniors from the _lycee_on the hill, on our way to enlist with the red-shirts of Garibaldi. Ithink that on hearing this one of the youths would have let us go on ourway, but the younger, a cautious lad, spoke out in favour of taking usto head-quarters.
"What! And leave the bridge unguarded!" cried his companion. "Eithershoot them out of hand, say I, or let them go on to seek theirGaribaldi. They wear the red as well as we. We have heard of his army atDijon, but his son is recruiting at Orange, so your tramp will be somuch the shorter."
Finally they permitted us to pass after a whispered consultation, butthe younger put several questions to us to prove whether we really camefrom the college or not--what days certain meats were served, the namesof the lay brothers, the woodman, the _ramoneur_ or sweep, with personaldetails of several others. These we answered promptly, and to hisapparent satisfaction. He knew much about the _lycee_, but we could notplace him. His smooth face was hidden under a great Biscayan bonnet withred tassel, and his common speech was probably assumed.
They directed us to follow the outer boulevard which skirted the town,and which should bring us to the Avignon gate without our needing toenter Aramon at all. The younger drew out a small box filled withinkpads and brass _tampons_, with which he stamped an order that wouldpermit us to pass the opposite gate without annoyance.
Naturally we took the road between the scant white poplars, as it hadbeen indicated to us, and stuck to it faithfully so long as we were insight of the post at the bridge-end.
Then, at a particularly dark corner where the blank gable of a workshoploomed up to meet the overhanging flange of a fitting-shed, Deventer,who was now on his own ground, slid suddenly aside, and was lost in adevious track along which I had hard work to follow him. I could see hisbig figure, black against the glimmer of white-washed walls. I stumbledover anvils and heavy gearing scattered about, among which Deventersteered his way with the crafty experience and dainty serenity of anight-raking cat.
From this labyrinth we emerged on innumerable tiny little gardens, withthe stubs of cabbages and a few trenches of early vegetables for solecontents. Rickety cane hedges leaning over at every angle surroundedthese, and Deventer pushed his way through them with the silentexpertness of an Indian on the trail.
Soon we came out on a wide park which was surrounded by a high wall.Deventer made directly for this. He struck it at a sp
ot where a tree hadthrust a sturdy limb through a fissure. The crack had been mended withplaster, but perhaps from curiosity, perhaps owing to carelessness, thebranch of the tree had been allowed to go on growing. It was easy toswing oneself upon it and so gain the top of the wall.
Deventer and I had made a good straight rush from cover, and flatteredourselves that we should be able to mount unnoticed, but a patter ofbullets went buzzing like bees over our heads, while others buriedthemselves with a sullen "spat" which threw up little fountains of blackleaf-mould in the ground at the foot of the wall.
None, however, came our way, and the next moment Deventer and I werecrouching among the lean spiky laurels and green-bedripped statues ofhis father's garden.
"They are besieged," he whispered; "we must be careful. We are notinside yet, and you may be sure they will shoot quite as readily as theinsurgent jacks behind there, and with better aim too. Dad kept theEnglish and Americans on the ranges every evening all last summer."
It was I who had the idea this time.
"Lend me your lantern and I will Morse them a message."
"The sentinel may not be able to read it off."
"No, but he will bring someone who can. At any rate let us try."
We established ourselves in an old summer-house at the edge of a pond,with a foolishly rustic door which opened straight upon the front of thehouse. Our light would be seen only by someone on the balconies, or atthe windows of the upper floors. It was entirely dark, of course, butDeventer had no doubt that his father was there with all his faithfulforces, "keeping his end up like a good old fighting Derryman," as hisson expressed it.
"Hugh--Deventer--and--his--friend--Cawdor-are--down--here.Answer--by--Morse--by--which--door--they--can--enter--the--house."
I had Morsed this message three times before any notice was taken fromwithin, and I had begun to give up hope. There must be nobody insideChateau Schneider, as the place was called. But Deventer was far morehopeful.
"They have gone to waken my father," he whispered. "You see, theydaren't do anything in these parts without the old bird. He is quite adifferent man from the one you saw poking about among your father'sbooks, or drinking in his wisdom. Here he makes people do things. Tryher again."
It was tedious work, but I flashed the whole message over again,according to the Morse code. This time the reply came back short andsweet.
"What--the--devil--are--you--doing--there?"
"That's Dad," said Hugh Deventer triumphantly. "Now we shall catch it."
I answered that having seen the soldiers retreat, we had come to help.
"Did--anybody--send--word--that--you--were--wanted?" twinkled the pointof fire somewhere high among the chimney-stacks on the roof. These werea rarity in a district where one chimney for a house is counted a goodaverage, but after one winter's experience of the windy Rhone valley,Dennis Deventer had refused to be done out of an open fireplace in everyroom.
Now he reaped the fruit of his labours, for in summer he had sat behindhis low wall and taken the air of an evening, and now it needed littleto convert the chimney-stacks on the flat roof of his house intoreliable defences.
It was difficult to say in slow Morse alphabetage what we were doingdown in the old summer-house, but at least I managed to convey that wehad run the insurgent pickets and were in danger of being captured.
We got our reply quickly enough.
"Hugh--knows--the--door--under--the--main-outer--staircase."
"Of course," said Hugh, "I always went in that way when my feet weredirty. Come on!"
And we hurried across the sward, keeping between a sundial andfountain-basin railed about, into which half a dozen copper frogs senteach a thin thrill of water, with a sound quite unexpectedly cheerfuland domestic thus heard in the darkness of the night.
This time there was no clatter of firing behind us. The sharpshooters ofthe insurrectionaries had learned a lesson of caution near the house ofthe manager of the Small Arms Factory. Dennis Deventer had been traininghis assistants and lieutenants the whole year at movable butts. He hadrigged up a defile of six men-shaped figures which passed in front of afiring party, or, bent forward in the attitude of men running, dashedone by one across the men's field of vision as they lay at the firingline.
Hugh Deventer and I took for our goal the great double flight of steps,broad as a couple of carriage ways, which in the style of the Adamsarchitecture united in front of a debased Corinthian portico at theheight of the first floor windows of the Chateau.
"What, Jack Jaikes!" cried Hugh to the grinning young man who opened thedoor for us.
"Aye, just Jack Jaikes same as yesterday, and eh, but the chief is goingto leather ye properly afore he sends ye back to school."
"But we are not going to school any more!"
"Maybe not--maybe not, but in this house we mostly go by what the mastersays. 'Tis more comfortable like all round. Eh, but ye have come in timeto be leathered proper. If the lads of the Internationale yonder hadbeen brisk at the firing ye might have gotten off, but as it is the auldman has nothing better to do than attend to ye on the spot!"
This made me a little uncomfortable as to our reception, but Deventerdid not seem greatly disturbed.
"You tell me where my sisters are, and then go and find somebody elsewho will believe your lies, Jack Jaikes!"
The dark young man with the large hands grinned still more.
"Where should the three young ladies be at this time of night but intheir beds? Go and take your dose, young gentlemen. No use stopping tothink it over. In an hour, maybe, the worst of the sting will be bywith--and at any rate there are sofas in the parlour!"
"Get out, Jack Jaikes! Hannah and Liz may be in bed, but I warrant thatRhoda Polly is somewhere on the look-out with a gun ready."
"Correct!" admitted Jaikes, with a chuckle. "I saw her at the windowjust over this old stone staircase a minute before t'owd man shouted theorder for me to let you in."
"Come on then, Cawdor," Hugh cried; "let's find Rhoda Polly!" He ranupstairs as fast as he could, anxious to find his sister before havingthe first interview with his father. For though he knew that Jack Jaikeshad been lying, he could not be sure on what basis of fact so muchimagination reposed.
And then there was the message flashed from behind the chimney-pots,"Did anyone send you word that you were to come?"
"You did not want to go and see your father," he whispered, as we stoodclose together, panting in the dark of the second landing. "You cameaway with well on a thousand francs in your pocket--got without asking,too. I run a thousand dangers to see my father, and all I am likely toget is a hiding."
The moon was lighting up one side of the landing, and showing wheremattresses and corn-sacks had been used to block the windows damaged byrifle fire. The house was wonderfully still, astonishingly so when onethought how many people were in it on the alert. But we must have mademore noise than we had supposed in coming up the stairs, for as we stoodhere out of breath with the speed of our rush, a voice came calmly fromthe shadows by the window curtains.
"Come over here, Hugh--and you, Angus Cawdor--I am Rhoda Polly."
A Tatter of Scarlet: Adventurous Episodes of the Commune in the Midi 1871 Page 5