Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER XXXI. A BRIEF CHANGE OF LIFE AND COUNTRY

  My new acquaintance never ceased to congratulate himself on what hecalled the lucky accident that had led him to the barracks that morning,and thus brought about our meeting. 'Little as you think of me, mydear,' said he, 'I'm one of the Tiernays of Timmahoo myself; faix, untilI saw you, I thought I was the last of them! There are eight generationsof us in the churchyard at Kells, and I was looking to the time whenthey'd lay my bones there as the last of the race, but I see there'sbetter fortune before us.'

  'But you have a family, I hope?'

  'Sorrow one belonging to me. I might have married when I was young,but there was a pride in me to look for something higher than I had anyright--except from blood I mean, for a better stock than our ownisn't to be found; and that's the way years went over and I lost theopportunity, and here I am now an old bachelor, without one to stand tome, barrin' it be yourself.'

  The last words were uttered with a tremulous emotion, and, on turningtowards him, I saw his eyes swimming with tears, and perceived that somestrong feeling was working within him.

  'You can't suppose I can ever forget what I owe you, Mr. Tiernay.'

  'Call me Pat, Pat Tiernay,' interrupted he roughly.

  'I 'll call you what you please,' said I, 'if you let me add friend toit.'

  'That'senough; we understand one another now--no more need be said.You'll come home and live with me It's not long, maybe, you'll have todo that same; but when I go you 'll be heir to what I have. 'Tis more,perhaps, than many supposes, looking at the coat and the gaiters I amwearin'. Mind, Maurice, I don't want you, nor I don't expect you, toturn farmer like myself. You need never turn a hand to anything. You 'llhave your horse to ride--two, if you like it. Your time will be all yourown, so that you spend a little of it now and then with me, and as muchdivarsion as ever you care for.'

  I have condensed into a few words the substance of a conversationwhich lasted till we reached Baldoyle; and passing through that notover-imposing village, gained the neighbourhood of the sea-shore, alongwhich stretched the farm of the 'Black Pits,' a name derived, I wastold, from certain black holes that were dug in the sands by fishermenin former times, when the salt tide washed over the pleasant fieldswhere corn was now growing. A long, low, thatched cabin, with far moreindications of room and comfort than pretension to the picturesque,stood facing the sea. There were neither trees nor shrubs around it,and the aspect of the spot was bleak and cheerless enough, a colouring adark November day did nothing to dispel.

  It possessed one charm, however; and had it been a hundred timesinferior to what it was, that one would have compensated for all else--ahearty welcome met me at the door, and the words, 'This is your home,Maurice,' filled my heart with happiness.

  Were I to suffer myself to dwell even in thought on this period of mylife, I feel how insensibly I should be led away into an inexcusableprolixity. The little meaningless incidents of my daily life, all soengraven on my memory still, occupied me pleasantly from day tillnight. Not only the master of myself and my own time, I was master ofeverything around me. Uncle Pat, as he loved to call himself, treated mewith a degree of respect that was almost painful to me, and only whenwe were alone together did he relapse into the intimacy of equality. Twofirst-rate hunters stood in my stable; a stout-built half-deck boat layat my command beside the quay; I had my gun and my greyhounds; books,journals; everything, in short, that a liberal purse and a kind spiritcould confer--all but acquaintance. Of these I possessed absolutelynone. Too proud to descend to intimacy with the farmers and smallshopkeepers of the neighbourhood, my position excluded me fromacquaintance with the gentry; and thus I stood between both, unknown toeither.

  For a while my new career was too absorbing to suffer me to dwell onthis circumstance. The excitement of field-sports sufficed me whenabroad, and I came home usually so tired at night that I couldbarely keep awake to amuse Uncle Pat with those narratives of war andcampaigning he was so fond of hearing. To the hunting-field succeededthe Bay of Dublin, and I passed days, even weeks, exploring every creekand inlet of the coast--now cruising under the dark cliffs of the Welshshore, or, while my boat lay at anchor, wandering among the solitaryvalleys of Lambay, my life, like a dream full of its own imaginings, andunbroken by the thoughts or feelings of others! I will not go the lengthof saying that I was self-free from all reproach on the ingloriousindolence in which my days were passed, or that my thoughts neverstrayed away to that land where my first dreams of ambition were felt.But a strange fatuous kind of languor had grown upon me, and the more Iretired within myself, the less did I wish for a return to that strugglewith the world which every active life engenders. Perhaps--I cannot nowsay if it were so--perhaps I resented the disdainful distance withwhich the gentry treated me, as we met in the hunting-field or thecoursing-ground. Some of the isolation I preferred may have had thisorigin, but choice had the greater share in it, until at last mygreatest pleasure was to absent myself for weeks on a cruise, fancyingthat I was exploring tracts never visited by man, and landing on spotswhere no human foot had ever been known to tread.

  If Uncle Pat would occasionally remonstrate on the score of these longabsences, he never ceased to supply means for them; and my sea-store anda well-filled purse were never wanting, when the blue-peter floated from_La Hoche_, as in my ardour I had named my cutter. Perhaps at hearthe was not sorry to see me avoid the capital and its society. Thebitterness which had succeeded the struggle for independence was now atits highest point, and there was what, to my thinking at least, appearedsomething like the cruelty of revenge in the sentences which followedthe state trials. I will not suffer myself to stray into the debatableground of politics, nor dare I give an opinion on matters, where, withall the experience of fifty years superadded, the wisest heads arepuzzled how to decide; but my impression at the time was that lenitywould have been a safer and a better policy than severity, and that inthe momentary prostration of the country, lay the precise conjuncturefor those measures of grace and favour which were afterwards ratherwrung from than conceded by the English Government. Be this as it may,Dublin offered a strange spectacle at that period. The triumphant joyof one party--the discomfiture and depression of the other. All theexuberant delight of success here, all the bitterness of failure there.On one side, festivities, rejoicings, and public demonstrations; on theother, confinement, banishment, or the scaffold.

  The excitement was almost madness. The passion for pleasure, restrainedby the terrible contingencies of the time, now broke forth withredoubled force, and the capital was thronged with all its rank, riches,and fashion, when its gaols were crowded, and the heaviest sentences ofthe law were in daily execution. The state-trials were crowded by allthe fashion of the metropolis; and the heart-moving eloquence of Curranwas succeeded by the strains of a merry concert. It was just then, too,that the great lyric poet of Ireland began to appear in society, andthose songs which were to be known afterwards as 'The Melodies,' _parexcellence_, were first heard in all the witching enchantment which hisown taste and voice could lend them. To such as were indifferent toor could forget the past, it was a brilliant period. It was the lastflickering blaze of Irish nationality, before the lamp was extinguishedfor ever.

  Of this society I myself saw nothing. But even in the retirement of myhumble life the sounds of its mirth and pleasure penetrated, and Ioften wished to witness the scenes which even in vague description werefascinating. It was, then, in a kind of discontent at my exclusion, thatI grew from day to day more disposed to solitude, and fonder ofthose excursions which led me out of all reach of companionship oracquaintance. In this spirit I planned a long cruise down channel,resolving to visit the island of Valentia, or, if the wind and weatherfavoured, to creep around the south-west coast as far as Bantry orKenmare. A man and his son, a boy of about sixteen, formed all my crew,and were quite sufficient for the light tackle and easy rig of my craft.Uncle Pat was already mounted on his pony, and ready to set out formarket, as we prepared to start. I
t was a bright spring morning--such aone as now and then the changeful climate of Ireland brings forth in abrilliancy of colour and softness of atmosphere that are rare in evenmore favoured lands.

  'You have a fine day of it, Maurice, and just enough wind,' said he,looking at the point from whence it came. 'I almost wish I was goingwith you.'

  'And why not come, then?' asked I. 'You never will give yourself aholiday. Do so for once, now.'

  'Not to-day, anyhow,' said he, half sighing at his self-denial. 'I havea great deal of business on my hands to-day, but the next time--the verynext you're up to a long cruise, I'll go with you.'

  'That's a bargain, then?'

  'A bargain. Here's my hand on it.'

  We shook hands cordially on the compact. Little knew I it was to be forthe last time, and that we were never to meet again!

  I was soon aboard, and with a free mainsail skimming rapidly over thebright waters of the bay. The wind freshened as the day wore on, andwe quickly passed the Kish light-ship, and held our course boldly downchannel. The height of my enjoyment in these excursions consisted inthe unbroken quietude of mind I felt, when removed from all chanceinterruption, and left free to follow out my own fancies and indulge mydreamy conceptions to my heart's content. It was then I used to revel inimaginings which sometimes soared into the boldest realms of ambition,and at others strayed contemplatively in the humblest walks of obscurefortune. My crew never broke in upon these musings; indeed, old TomFinerty's low crooning song rather aided than interrupted them. He wasnot much given to talking, and a chance allusion to some vessel afaroff, or some headland we were passing, were about the extent of hiscommunicativeness, and even these often fell on my ear unnoticed.

  It was thus, at night, we made the Hook Tower, and on the next daypassed, in a spanking breeze, under the bold cliffs of Tramore, justcatching, as the sun was sinking, the sight of Youghal Bay and the tallheadlands beyond it.

  'The wind is drawing more to the nor'ard,' said old Tom, as night closedin, 'and the clouds look dirty.'

  'Bear her up a point or two,' said I, 'and let us stand in for CorkHarbour if it comes on to blow.'

  He muttered something in reply, but I did not catch the words, nor,indeed, cared I to hear them, for I had just wrapped myself in myboat-cloak, and, stretched at full length on the shingle ballast of theyawl, was gazing in rapture at the brilliancy of the starry sky aboveme. Light skiffs of feathery cloud would now and then flit past, anda peculiar hissing sound of the sea told, at the same time, that thebreeze was freshening. But old Tom had done his duty in mentioning thisonce, and thus having disburthened his conscience, he closehauled hismainsail, shifted the ballast a little to midships, and, putting up thecollar of his pilot-coat, screwed himself tighter into the corner besidethe tiller, and chewed his quid in quietness. The boy slept soundly inthe bow, and I, lulled by the motion and the plashing waves, fell into adreamy stupor, like a pleasant sleep. The pitching of the boat continuedto increase, and twice or thrice struck by a heavy sea, she lay over,till the white waves came tumbling in over her gunwale. I heard Tom callto his boy something about the head-sail, but for the life of me Icould not or would not arouse myself from a train of thought that I wasfollowing.

  'She's a stout boat to stand this,' said Tom, as he rounded her off at acoming wave, which, even thus escaped, splashed over us like a cataract.'I know many a bigger craft wouldn't hold up her canvas under such agale.'

  'Here it comes, father. Here's a squall!' cried the boy; and with acrash like thunder, the wind struck the sail, and laid the boat halfunder.

  'She'd float if she was full of water,' said the old man, as the craft'righted.'

  'But maybe the spars wouldn't stand,' said the boy anxiously.

  ''Tis what I 'm thinking,' rejoined the father. 'There's a shake in themast, below the caps.'

  'Tell him it's better to bear up, and go before it,' whispered the lad,with a gesture towards where I was lying.

  'Troth, it's little he'd care,' said the other; 'besides, he's neverplazed to be woke up.'

  'Here it comes again!' cried the boy. But this time the squall sweptpast ahead of us, and the craft only reeled to the swollen waves, asthey tore by.

  'We 'd better go about, sir,' said Tom to me; 'there's a heavy seaoutside, and it's blowing hard now.'

  'And there's a split in the mast as long as my arm,' cried the boy.

  'I thought she'd live through any sea, Tom!' said I, laughing, for itwas his constant boast that no weather could harm her.

  'There goes the spar!' shouted he, while with a loud snap the mast gaveway, and fell with a crash over the side. The boat immediately came headto wind, and sea after sea broke upon her bow, and fell in great floodsover us.

  'Out away the stays--clear the wreck,' cried Tom, 'before the squallcatches her!'

  And although we now laboured like men whose lives depended on theexertion, the trailing sail and heavy rigging, shifting the ballast asthey fell, laid her completely over; and when the first sea struck her,over she went. The violence of the gale sent me a considerable distanceout, and for several seconds I felt as though I should never reach thesurface again. Wave after wave rolled over me, and seemed bearing medownwards with their weight. At last I grasped something; it was arope--a broken halyard; but by its means I gained the mast, whichfloated alongside of the yawl as she now lay keel uppermost. With whatenergy did I struggle to reach her! The space was scarcely a dozenfeet, and yet it cost me what seemed an age to traverse. Through all theroaring of the breakers, and the crashing sounds of storm, I thought Icould hear my comrades' voices shouting and screaming; but this was inall likelihood a mere deception, for I never saw them more!

  Grasping with a death-grip the slippery keel, I hung on to the boatthrough all the night. The gale continued to increase, and by daybreakit blew a perfect hurricane. With an aching anxiety I watched for lightto see if I were near the land, or if any ship were in sight; but whenthe sun rose, nothing met my eyes but a vast expanse of waves tumblingand tossing in mad confusion, while overhead some streaked and mottledclouds were hurried along with the wind. Happily for me, I have nocorrect memory of that long day of suffering. The continual noise, butmore still, the incessant motion of sea and sky around, brought ona vertigo, that seemed like madness; and although the instinct ofself-preservation remained, the wildest and most incoherent fanciesfilled my brain. Some of these were powerful enough to impressthemselves upon my memory for years after, and one I have never yet beenable to dispel. It clings to me in every season of unusual depressionor dejection; it recurs in the half-nightmare sleep of over-fatigue, andeven invades me when, restless and feverish, I lie for hours incapableof repose. This is the notion that my state was one of afterlifepunishment; that I had died, and was now expiating a sinful life by theeverlasting misery of a castaway. The fever brought on by thirst andexhaustion, and the burning sun which beamed down upon my uncoveredhead, soon completed the measure of this infatuation, and all sense andguidance left me.

  By what instinctive impulse I still held on my grasp, I cannot explain;but there I clung during the whole of that long dreadful day, and thestill more dreadful night, when the piercing cold cramped my limbs, andseemed as if freezing the very blood within me. It was no wish for life,it was no anxiety to save myself, that now filled me. It seemed like avague impulse of necessity that compelled me to hang on. It was, as itwere, part of that terrible sentence which made this my doom for ever!

  An utter unconsciousness must have followed this state, and a drearyblank, with flitting shapes of suffering, is all that remains to myrecollection.

  *****

  Probably within the whole range of human sensations, there is not oneso perfect in its calm and soothing influence as the first burst ofgratitude we feel when recovering from a long and severe illness. Thereis not an object, however humble and insignificant, that is not forthe time invested with a new interest. The air is balmier, flowers aresweeter, the voices of friends, the smiles and kind looks, are dear
erand fonder than we have ever known them. The whole world has put on anew aspect for us, and we have not a thought that is not teeming withforgiveness and affection. Such, in all their completeness, were myfeelings as I lay on the poop-deck of a large three-masted ship, which,with studding and topgallant sails all set, proudly held her course upthe Gulf of St Lawrence.

  She was a Danzig barque, the _Hoffnung_, bound for Quebec, her onlypassengers being a Moravian minister and his wife, on their way to joina small German colony established near Lake Champlain. To GottfriedKroller and his dear little wife I owe not life alone, but nearly allthat has made it valuable. With means barely removed from absolutepoverty, I found that they had spared nothing to assist in my recovery;for, when discovered, emaciation and wasting had so far reduced me thatnothing but the most unremitting care and kindness could have succeededin restoring me. To this end they bestowed not only their whole time andattention, but every little delicacy of their humble sea-store. Allthe little cordials and restoratives, meant for a season of sicknessor debility, were lavished unsparingly on me, and every instinct ofnational thrift and carefulness gave way before the more powerfulinfluence of Christian benevolence.

  I can think of nothing but that bright morning, as I lay on a mattresson the deck, with the 'Pfarrer' on one side of me, and his good littlewife, Lieschen, on the other; he with his volume of 'Wieland,' and sheworking away with her long knitting-needles, and never raising her headsave to bestow a glance at the poor sick boy, whose bloodless lips weretrying to mutter her name in thankfulness. It is like the most deliciousdream as I think over those hours, when, rocked by the surging motionof the large ship, hearing in half distinctness the words ofthe 'Pfarrer's' reading, I followed out little fancies--nowself-originating, now rising from the theme of the poet's musings.

  How softly the cloud-shadows moved over the white sails and swept alongthe bright deck! How pleasantly the water rippled against the vessel'sside I With what a glad sound the great ensign napped and fluttered inthe breeze! There was light, and life, and motion on every side, and Ifelt all the intoxication of enjoyment.

  And like a dream was the portion of my life which followed. Iaccompanied the Pfarrer to a small settlement near 'Crown Point,'where he was to take up his residence as minister. Here we lived amida population of about four or five hundred Germans, principally fromPomerania, on the shores of the Baltic, a peaceful, thrifty, quietset of beings, who, content with the little interests revolving aroundthemselves, never troubled their heads about the great events of war orpolitics. And here in all likelihood should I have been content to passmy days, when an accidental journey I made to Albany, to receive someletters for the Pfarrer, once more turned the fortune of my life.

  It was a great incident in the quiet monotony of my life, when I setout one morning, arrayed in a full suit of coarse, glossy black, withbuttons like small saucers, and a hat whose brim almost protected myshoulders. I was, indeed, an object of very considerable envy to some,and I hope, also, not denied the admiring approval of some others. Hadthe respectable city I was about to visit been the chief metropolis of acertain destination which I must not name, the warnings I received aboutits dangers, dissipations, and seductions, could scarcely have been moreearnest or impressive. I was neither to speak with, nor even to look at,those I met in the streets. I was carefully to avoid taking my mealsat any of the public eating-houses, rigidly guarding myself from thecontamination of even a chance acquaintance. It was deemed as needlessto caution me against theatres or places of amusement, as to hint tome that I should not commit a highway robbery or a murder; and so, insooth, I should myself have felt it. The patriarchal simplicity in whichI had lived for above a year had not been without its affect in subduingexaggerated feeling, or controlling that passion for excitement socommon to youth. I felt a kind of dreamy, religious languor over me,which I sincerely believed represented a pious and well-regulatedtemperament. Perhaps in time it might have become such. Perhaps withothers, more happily constituted, the impression would have beenconfirmed and fixed; but in my case it was a mere lacquer, that thefirst rubbing in the world was sure to brush off.

  I arrived safely at Albany, and having presented myself at the bank ofGabriel Shultze, was desired to call the following morning, when allthe letters and papers of Gottfried Kroeller should be delivered to me. Avery cold invitation to supper was the only hospitality extended tome. This I declined on pretext of weariness, and set out to explore thetown, to which my long residence in rural life imparted a high degree ofinterest.

  I don't know what it may now be--doubtless a great capital, like one ofthe European cities; but at that time I speak of, Albany was a strange,incongruous assemblage of stores and wooden houses, great buildings likegranaries, with whole streets of low sheds around them, where, open tothe passer-by, men worked at various trades, and people followed outthe various duties of domestic life in sight of the public: daughtersknitted and sewed; mothers cooked, and nursed their children; men ate,and worked, and smoked, and sang, as if in all the privacy of closeddwellings, while a thick current of population poured by, apparently toomuch immersed in their own cares, or too much accustomed to the scene,to give it more than passing notice.

  It was curious how one bred and born in the great city of Paris, withall its sights and sounds, and scenes of excitement and display,could have been so rusticated by time as to feel a lively interest insurveying the motley aspect of this quaint town. There were, it istrue, features in the picture very unlike the figures in 'Old-World'landscape. A group of 'red men,' seated around a fire in the openstreet, or a squaw carrying on her back a baby, firmly tied to a pieceof curved bark; a Southern-stater, with a spanking waggon-team, and twogrinning negroes behind, were new and strange elements in the life of acity. Still, the mere movement, the actual busy stir and occupation ofthe inhabitants, attracted me as much as anything else; and the shopsand stalls, where trades were carried on, were a seduction I could notresist.

  The strict puritanism in which I had lately lived taught me to regardall these things with a certain degree of distrust. They were theimpulses of that gold-seeking passion of which Gottfried had spokenso frequently; they were the great vice of that civilisation, whoseluxurious tendency he often deplored; and here, now, more than one-halfaround me were arts that only ministered to voluptuous tastes. Brilliantarticles of jewellery; gay cloaks, worked with wampum, in Indian taste;ornamental turning, and costly weapons, inlaid with gold and silver,succeeded each other, street after street; and the very sight of them,however pleasurable to the eye, set me a-moralising in a strain thatwould have done credit to a son of Geneva. It might have been that, inmy enthusiasm, I uttered half aloud what I intended for soliloquy; orperhaps some gesture, or peculiarity of manner, had the effect; but soit was, I found myself an object of notice; and my queer-cut coat andwide hat, contrasting so strangely with my youthful appearance andslender make, drew many a criticism on me.

  'He ain't a Quaker, that's a fact,' cried one, 'for they don't wearblack.'

  'He's a down-easter--a horse-jockey chap, I'll be bound,' cried another.'They put on all manner of disguises and "masqueroonings." I know 'em!'

  'He's a calf preacher--a young bottle-nosed Gospeller,' broke in athick, short fellow, like the skipper of a merchant-ship. 'Let's havehim out for a preachment.'

  'Ay, you're right,' chimed in another. 'I'll get you a sugar hogshead inno time'; and away he ran on the mission.

  Between twenty and thirty persons had now collected; and I saw myself,to my unspeakable shame and mortification, the centre of all their looksand speculations. A little more _aplomb_ or knowledge of life would havetaught me coolness enough in a few words to undeceive them; but such atask was far above me now, and I saw nothing for it but flight. Could Ionly have known which way to take, I need not have feared any pursuer,for I was a capital runner, and in high condition; but of the localityI was utterly ignorant, and should only surrender myself to mere chance.With a bold rush, then, I dashed right through the cr
owd, and set offdown the street, the whole crew after me.

  369]

  The dusk of the closing evening was in my favour; and althoughvolunteers were enlisted in the chase at every corner and turning, Idistanced them, and held on my way in advance. My great object being notto turn on my course, lest I should come back to my starting point,I directed my steps nearly straight onward, clearing apple-stalls andfruit-tables at a bound, and more than once taking a flying-leap over anIndian's fire, when the mad shout of the red man would swell the chorusthat followed me. At last I reached a network of narrow lanes andalleys, by turning and wending through which I speedily found myselfin a quiet secluded spot, with here and there a flickering candle-lightfrom the windows, but no other sign of habitation. I looked anxiouslyabout for an open door; but they were all safe barred and fastened; andit was only on turning a corner I spied what seemed to me a little shop,with a solitary lamp over the entrance. A narrow canal, crossed by arickety old bridge, led to this; and the moment I had crossed over, Iseized the single plank which formed the footway, and shoved it into thestream. My retreat being thus secured, I opened the door, and entered.It was a barber's shop; at least, so a great chair before a cracked oldlooking-glass, with some well-worn combs and brushes, bespoke it; butthe place seemed untenanted, and although I called aloud several times,no one came or responded to my summons.

  I now took a survey of the spot, which seemed of the poorest imaginable.A few empty pomatum pots, a case of razors that might have defied themost determined suicide, and a half-finished wig, on a block paintedlike a red man, were the entire stock-in-trade. On the walls, however,were some coloured prints of the battles of the French army in Germanyand Italy. Execrably done things they were, but full of meaning andinterest to my eyes in spite of that. With all the faults of drawing andall the travesties of costume, I could recognise different corps of theservice, and my heart bounded as I gazed on the tall shakos swarming toa breach, or the loose jacket as it floated from the hussar in a charge.All the wild pleasures of soldiering rose once more to my mind, andI thought over old comrades who doubtless were now earning the highrewards of their bravery in the great career of glory. And as I did so,my own image confronted me in the glass, as with long lank hair, anda great bolster of a white cravat, I stood before it. What acontrast!--how unlike the smart hussar, with curling locks and fiercemoustache! Was I as much changed in heart as in looks? Had my spiritdied out within me? Would the proud notes of the bugle or the trumpetfall meaningless on my ears, or the hoarse cry of 'Charge!' send nobursting fulness to my temples? Ay, even these coarse representationsstirred the blood in my veins, and my step grew firmer as I walked theroom.

  In a passionate burst of enthusiasm, I tore off my slouched hat andhurled it from me. It felt like the badge of some ignoble slavery, andI determined to endure it no longer. The noise of the act called up avoice from the inner room, and a man, to all appearance suddenly rousedfrom sleep, stood at the door. He was evidently young, but poverty,dissipation, and raggedness made the question of his age a difficultone to solve. A light-coloured moustache and beard covered all thelower part of his face, and his long blonde hair fell heavily over hisshoulders.

  'Well,' cried he, half angrily, 'what's the matter; are you so impatientthat you must smash the furniture?'

  Although the words were spoken as correctly as I have written them,they were uttered with a foreign accent; and, hazarding the stroke, Ianswered him in French by apologising for the noise.

  'What! a Frenchman,' exclaimed he, 'and in that dress! what can thatmean?'

  'If you'll shut your door, and cut off pursuit of me, I'll tell youeverything,' said I, 'for I hear the voices of people coming down thatstreet in front.'

  'I'll do better,' said he quickly; 'I'll upset the bridge, and theycannot come over.'

  'That's done already,' replied I; 'I shoved it into the stream as Ipassed.'

  He looked at me steadily for a moment without speaking, and thenapproaching close to me, said, '_Parbleu!_ the act was very unlike yourcostume!' At the same time he shut the door, and drew a strong baracross it. This done, he turned to me once more--'Now for it: who areyou, and what has happened to you?'

  'As to what I am,' replied I, imitating his own abruptness, 'my dresswould almost save the trouble of explaining; these Albany folk, however,would make a field-preacher of me, and to escape them I took to flight.'

  'Well, if a fellow will wear his hair that fashion, he must take theconsequence,' said he, drawing out my long lank locks as they hung overmy shoulders. 'And so you wouldn't hold forth for them--not even givethem a stave of a conventicle chant.' He kept his eyes riveted on meas he spoke, and then seizing two pieces of stick from the firewood, hebeat on the table the rataplan of the French drum. 'That's the musicyou know best, lad, eh?--that's the air, which, if it has not ledheavenward, has conducted many a brave fellow out of this world atleast. Do you forget it?'

  'Forget it! no,' cried I;' but who are you; and how comes itthat--that----' I stopped in confusion at the rudeness of the question Ihad begun. 'That I stand here, half fed, and all but naked--a barber ina land where men don't shave once a month. _Parbleu!_ they'd come evenseldomer to my shop if they knew how tempted I feel to draw the razorsharp and quick across the gullet of a fellow with a well-stockedpouch.'

  As he continued to speak, his voice assumed a tone and cadence thatsounded familiar to my ears as I stared at him in amazement.

  'Not know me yet!' exclaimed he, laughing; 'and yet all this poverty andsqualor isn't as great a disguise as your own, Tiernay. Come, lad, rubyour eyes a bit, and try if you can't recognise an old comrade.'

  'I know you, yet cannot remember how or where we met,' said I, inbewilderment.

  'I'll refresh your memory,' said he, crossing his arms, and drawinghimself proudly up. 'If you can trace back in your mind to a certainhot and dusty day, on the Metz road, when you, a private in the NinthHussars, were eating an onion and a slice of black bread for yourdinner, a young officer, well looking and well mounted, cantered up andthrew you his brandy flask. Your acknowledgment of the civility showedyou to be a gentleman; and the acquaintance thus opened soon ripenedinto intimacy.'

  'But he was the young Marquis de Saint-Trone,' said I, perfectlyremembering the incident.

  'Or Eugene Santron, of the republican army, or the barber at Albany,without any name at all,' said he, laughing. 'What, Maurice, don't youknow me yet?'

  'What! the lieutenant of my regiment? The dashing officer of hussars?'

  'Just so, and as ready to resume the old skin as ever,' cried he, 'andbrandish a weapon somewhat longer, and perhaps somewhat sharper, too,than a razor.'

  We shook hands with all the cordiality of old comrades, meeting far awayfrom home, and in a land of strangers; and although each was full ofcuriosity to learn the other's history, a kind of reserve held back theinquiry, till Santron said, 'My confession is soon made, Maurice: I leftthe service in the Meuse, to escape being shot. One day, on returningfrom a field manouvre, I discovered that my portmanteau had been opened,and a number of letters and papers taken out. They were part of acorrespondence I held with old General Lamarre, about the restoration ofthe Bourbons--a subject, I'm certain, that half the officers in the armywere interested in, and, even to Bonaparte himself, deeply implicatedin, too. No matter, my treason, as they called it, was too flagrant, andI had just twenty minutes' start of the order which was issued for myarrest to make my escape into Holland. There I managed to pass severalmonths in various disguises, part of the time being employed as a Dutchspy, and actually charged with an order to discover tidings of myself,until I finally got away in an Antwerp schooner to New York. From thattime my life has been nothing but a struggle--a hard one, too,with actual want, for in this land of enterprise and activity, mereintelligence, without some craft or calling, will do nothing.

  'I tried fifty things: to teach riding--and when I mounted into thesaddle, I forgot everything but my own enjoyment, and caracoled, andplunged, and passage
d, till the poor beast hadn't a leg to stand on;fencing--and I got into a duel with a rival teacher, and ran him throughthe neck, and was obliged to fly from Halifax; French--I made love tomy pupil, a pretty-looking Dutch girl, whose father didn't smile on ouraffection; and so on, I descended from a dancing-master to a waiter,a _laquais de place_, and at last settled down as a barber, whichbrilliant speculation I had just determined to abandon this very night,for to-morrow morning, Maurice, I start for New York and France again;ay, boy, and you'll go with me. This is no land for either of us.'

  'But I have found happiness, at least contentment, here,' said Igravely.

  'What! play the hypocrite with an old comrade! shame on you, Maurice,'cried he. 'It is these confounded locks have perverted the boy,' addedhe, jumping up; and before I knew what he was about, he had shorn myhair, in two quick cuts of the scissors, close to the head. 'There,'said he, throwing the cut-off hair towards me, 'there lies all yoursaintship; depend upon it, boy, they 'd hunt you out of the settlementif you came back to them cropped in this fashion.'

  'But you return to certain death, Santron,' said I; 'your crime is toorecent to be forgiven or forgotten.'

  'Not a bit of it; Fouche, Cassaubon, and a dozen others, now in office,were deeper than I was. There's not a public man in France could standan exposure, or hazard recrimination. It's a thieves' amnesty at thismoment, and I must not lose the opportunity. I'll show you letters thatwill prove it, Maurice; for, poor and ill-fed as I am, I like life justas well as ever I did. I mean to be a general of division one of thesedays, and so will you too, lad, if there's any spirit left in you.'

  Thus did Santron rattle on, sometimes of himself and his own future;sometimes discussing mine; for while talking, he had contrived to learnall the chief particulars of my history, from the time of my sailingfrom La Rochelle for Ireland.

  The unlucky expedition afforded him great amusement, and he was neverweary of laughing at all our adventures and mischances in Ireland. OfHumbert, he spoke as a fourth or fifth-rate man, and actually shockedme by all the heresies he uttered against our generals, and the plan ofcampaign; but, perhaps, I could have borne even these better than thesarcasms and sneers at the little life of 'the settlement.' He treatedall my efforts at defence as mere hypocrisy, and affected to regardme as a mere knave, that had traded on the confiding kindness of thesesimple villagers. I could not undeceive him on this head; nor, what wasmore, could I satisfy my own conscience that he was altogether in thewrong; for, with a diabolical ingenuity, he had contrived to hit on someof the most vexatious doubts which disturbed my mind, and instinctivelyto detect the secret cares and difficulties that beset me. The lessonshould never be lost on us, that the devil was depicted as a sneerer!I verily believe the powers of temptation have no such advocacy assarcasm. Many can resist the softest seductions of vice; many are proofagainst all the blandishments of mere enjoyment, come in what shape itwill; but how few can stand firm against the assaults of clever irony,or hold fast to their convictions when assailed by the sharp shafts ofwitty depreciation!

  I am ashamed to own how little I could oppose to all his impertinencesabout our village and its habits; or how impossible I found it not tolaugh at his absurd descriptions of a life which, without having everwitnessed, he depicted with a rare accuracy. He was shrewd enough notto push this ridicule offensively; and long before I knew it, I foundmyself regarding, with his eyes, a picture in which, but a few monthsback, I stood as a foreground figure. I ought to confess, that noartificial aid was derived from either good cheer or the graces ofhospitality; we sat by a miserable lamp, in a wretchedly cold chamber,our sole solace some bad cigars, and a can of flat, stale cider.

  'I have not a morsel to offer you to eat, Maurice, but to-morrow we'llbreakfast on my razors, dine on that old looking-glass, and sup on twohard brushes and the wig!'

  Such were the brilliant pledges, and we closed a talk which thenickering lamp at last put an end to.

  A broken, unconnected conversation followed for a little time, but atlength, worn out and wearied, each dropped off to sleep--Eugene on thestraw settle, and I in the old chair--never to awake till the bright sunwas streaming in between the shutters, and dancing merrily on the tiledfloor.

  An hour before I awoke, he had completed the sale of all his littlestock-in-trade, and with a last look round the spot where he had passedsome months of struggling poverty, out we sailed into the town.

  'We'll breakfast at Jonathan Hone's,' said Santron.

  'It's the first place here. I'll treat you to rump-steaks, pumpkin pie,and a gin twister that will astonish you. Then, while I'm arranging forour passage down the Hudson, you'll see the hospitable banker, and tellhim how to forward all his papers, and so forth, to the settlement, withyour respectful compliments and regrets, and the rest of it.'

  'But am I to take leave of them in this fashion?' asked I.

  'Unless you want me to accompany you there, I think it's by far the bestway,' said he laughingly. 'If, however, you think that my presence andcompanionship will add any lustre to your position, say the word, andI'm ready. I know enough of the barber's craft now to make up a head _enPuritain_, and, if you wish, I'll pledge myself to impose upon the wholecolony.'

  Here was a threat there was no mistaking; and any imputation ofingratitude on my part were far preferable to the thought of suchan indignity. He saw his advantage at once, and boldly declared thatnothing should separate us.

  'The greatest favour, my dear Maurice, you can ever expect at my handsis, never to speak of this freak of yours; or, if I do, to say that youperformed the part to perfection.'

  My mind was in one of those moods of change when the slightestimpulse is enough to sway it, and, more from this cause, than all hispersuasion, I yielded; and the same evening saw me gliding down theHudson, and admiring the bold Catskills, on our way to New York.