HOW A STORM CAME OUT OF THE WEST
"Thank God, you have escaped them!" was my mother's grateful greeting as we came into Belfontaine. "But you have suffered! You are starving?"
"Not a bit, little mother," chirped Carette, as they kissed very warmly. "We have been quite happy, though, ma fé, it was as dark and still as the tomb, and there is a spring in there that is enough to frighten one into a fit. And George Hamon here is trying to make us believe this is only Thursday, and it is certain we have been in there at least a week."
"It is only Thursday," smiled my mother. "But the time must have seemed long in the dark and all by yourselves."
"Oh, we didn't mind being by ourselves, not a bit, and we never quarrelled once. But, ma fé, yes, it was dark, and so still. I could hear Phil's heart beat when I couldn't see him."
"You both look as if you had been seeing ghosts. Is it that your arm is paining you, Phil, mon gars?"
"Hardly at all. Carette saw to it."
"Bien! You are bleached for lack of sunshine, then."
"Mon Dieu, yes," said Carette. "I felt myself getting whiter every minute, and we were almost starving when Uncle George came. We had been days without food, you know, although you all say it is only Thursday;" and my mother smiled and began to spread the table, but we showed her it was only Carette's nonsense.
But if she was relieved on our account, she was still very anxious about her father.
"They are fighting over there, George," she said, looking anxiously out over the water to where Herm lay peacefully in the afternoon sunshine, and as we stood listening, the dull sound of guns came to us again. "That means that he got there all right?"
"Trust Philip to get there all right. And to come back all right too. I hope they'll make an end of them," said Uncle George stoutly.
"You can never tell what will happen when fighting's afoot," she sighed.
"He'll take care of himself. Don't you worry, Rachel."
"Shall I put a fresh bandage on your head? It is hurting you, I can see."
"No, no," he said hastily, and then, "Well, yes truly, it is hard and dry—if you will;" and she steeped his bandage in cold water and carefully bound up his head again. And all the time we were in mortal fear lest some chance word from one or the other should disclose that which was hidden in the cave, that which would blight her life again if it got out.
"Did they trouble you, mother?" I asked.
"The young Torode came with a party of his men and searched every corner of the place. And in reply to his questionings all I said was that you were gone. Then George and your grandfather came up and would have turned them out, and the young man and George fell out—"
"He drew a pistol on me and gave me this, and I knocked him down," said Uncle George. "And then the men dragged him away."
"It's well it was no worse," said my mother. "I do not like that young man;" and little she knew how small cause indeed she had to like him.
We went on along the cliffs to Beaumanoir to show ourselves to Aunt Jeanne, and ever and again the sound of the guns came to us on the wind, and more than once Uncle George stopped with his face turned that way, as though his thoughts were more there than here.
"Ah v'là! So here you are, my little ones. I hope you had a pleasant time in Jersey," cried Aunt Jeanne, as soon as she caught sight of us. "I have been risking my salvation by swearing through thick and thin that you went to Jersey on Tuesday. But that young Torode only scoffed at me. Bad manners to say the least of it, after eating one's gâche and drinking one's cider, and nearly dancing holes in one's floor. I believe you're hungry, you two;" and she made for her cupboards.
"No truly, auntie," said Carette, "we have done nothing but eat and sleep since ever Uncle George shut us up in his hole. But, mon Dieu, you cannot imagine how dark and still it is in there. Each time we slept was a night, and each time we woke was a day, and we were there about three weeks."
"Ma fé, you look it," nodded Aunt Jeanne.
"And the father and Martin?" asked Carette.
"So so. Give them time. They have kept asking for you."
Uncle George was standing looking over at Herm again, and something of what was in his face was in Aunt Jeanne's, as she said to him—
"Ma fé, yes! But they are getting it hot over there. If you take my advice, George Hamon, you will muster all the men you can and have them ready."
"How then?" he said quickly. "You think—?"
"I think what you are thinking, my friend. If they are beaten over there—and they will be, unless the Guernsey men are bigger fools than they used to be—we may see some of them across here again and in a still worse temper. If they make a bolt at the last, they'll make for France, and ten to one they'll take a bite at us in passing. They came to stop trouble before, now they'll come to make it."
"It's what was in my mind. I'll see Amice Le Couteur at once."
"B'en! and give the word to all you see, George," she called after him. "And bid the women and children to the Gouliots if they hear they are coming—the upper chamber above the black rock. It won't be just hide-and-seek this time."
"Good idea!" Uncle George called back over his shoulder.
"Common sense," said Aunt Jeanne. "I'd undertake to hold the Gouliots against the lot of them if the tide was at flood."
"And you really think they may come across here again, Aunt Jeanne?" I asked.
"Ma fé, yes, I do. They were angry men before, but if the Guernsey men have smoked them out they'll be simply devils, and it's just as well to look ahead. How is that arm of yours?"
"The other one's all right. I can do my share."
"You'll be wanted if they come. I doubt if we can muster more than thirty men at most, and there may be more than that left of them, and madmen at that."
"We won't let them land."
"You can't close every door with thirty men, mon gars."
"One at the Coupée, if they make for Gorey. Three at Dos d'Ane. Three at Havre Gosselin. Half a dozen at the Creux—"
"Ta-ta! What about Eperquerie and Dixcart, my boy? Those are the open doors, and they know it just as well as you do. They're not going to climb one by one when they can come all in a heap. Mon Dieu, non!" she said, shaking her head ominously. "If they come there'll be rough work, and the readier we are for it the better."
Carette's face had shadowed at this gloomy talk, when she had been hoping that our troubles were over. And I could find little to reassure her, for it seemed to me more than likely that Aunt Jeanne's predictions would be fulfilled.
"I'll go along to Moie de Mouton and keep a look-out," I said.
"I also," said Carette, and we went off over the knoll together.
We sat in the short sweet grass of the headland, just as we had sat many a time when we were boy and girl, when life was all as bright as the inside of an ormer shell and we were friends with all the world.
The sun was dropping behind Herm into a dark bank of clouds which lay all along the western sky. Behind the clouds the heavens seemed ablaze with a mighty conflagration. Long level shafts of glowing gold streamed through the rifts, like a hot fire through the bars of a grate, and our faces and all the bold Sercq cliffs were dyed red. The sun himself looked like a fiery clot of blood. Everything was very still, as with a sense of expectation.
Tintageu, and the Platte, and Guillaumesse, and the gleaming Autelets, and La Grune, and on the other side the great black Gouliot rocks, and Moie Batarde, and the long dark side of Brecqhou all seemed straining with wide anxious eyes to learn what was coming. There was a dull growl of surf from below, and low harsh croakings and mewings from the gulls down in Port à la Jument. And we seemed to be all waiting for what should come out of Herm along the red path of the sun.
Carette shivered inside my arm.
"Cold, dearest?" I asked.
"My heart is heavy. Oh, but I wish it was the day after to-morrow, Phil."
"It will come. But we look like having a storm first. Those black clouds—"
"God's storms I do not mind. It is that black Herm—Hark!" and we heard the sound of guns again along the wind. "Do you think they will come here, Phil?"
"I think it quite likely, dear. But we are forearmed and we fight for our homes. If they come, they are a beaten crew bent only on mischief. We shall beat them again."
"You won't go and get yourself killed, Phil dear, just when you've come back to me?"
"That I won't. And when they've come and gone—" and I comforted her with warmer things than words. And Tintageu, and the black Gouliot rocks, and all the straining headlands seemed to look at us for a moment, and then turned and stared out anxiously at Herm.
And then I jumped up quickly, and stood for a moment staring as they stared.
"Tiens!—Yes—they are coming! Allons, ma chérie!" and we set off at a run for Beaumanoir to give the alarm. For, out of the shadow of Herm, half a dozen black objects had crept and were making straight for Sercq, and I understood that the look-out boats, and the boats of those who had hurried across from Sercq, had been left on the shell beach because the channel was probably blocked, and that the broken remnants of Herm had fled across the Island and were coming down to take a bite at us, as Aunt Jeanne had predicted.
A dozen of the neighbours, who had gathered about the gate of Beaumanoir, came running to meet us—the two Guilles from Dos d'Ane and Clos Bourel, Thomas De Carteret from La Vauroque, Thomas Godfray of Dixcart, and Henri Le Masurier from Grand Dixcart, Elie Guille from Le Carrefour, Jean Vaudin, and Pierre Le Feuvre, and Philippe Guille from La Genêtière. George Hamon and Amice Le Couteur, the Sénéchal, from La Tour, were just coming down the lane, and every man carried such arms as he could muster.
"They're coming!" I shouted, and Amice Le Couteur, panting with his haste from the north, took command in virtue of his office, since Peter Le Pelley, the Seigneur, was away in London.
"How many, Phil Carré?" he asked.
"I counted six boats, but they were too far off to see how many in them."
"So! Run on, you, Jean Vaudin and Abraham Guille, and tell us how they are heading. They won't try to land hereabouts. They may try Gorey, but not likely. They have tasted the Coupée already. All the same, you, Pierre, run and warn the folks on Little Sercq. They had better come over here. Then stop on the Coupée and let no man across. I have bidden the women and children to the Gouliots here. Thomas Hamon of Le Fort is collecting them. The rascals are most likely to try the Eperquerie or Dixcart. You, Elie Guille, see them all safely into the upper cave above the black rock, and sit in the mouth and let no one in. But I don't think you will be troubled. We shall beat them off. Now, my friends, to the Head and watch them, and let every man do his duty by Sercq this night!" And they moved off in a body to Moie de Mouton, while Carette and I went on into Beaumanoir, she to join Aunt Jeanne, I to find a weapon, which I was doubtful of finding at home.
"Must I go underground again, Phil?" asked Carette. "I would far sooner stop here and take the risk, if there is any."
"You must go with the rest, my dear. We may have our hands full. It will be a vast relief to know you are all safe out of sight. If any of these rascals should get past us they will spare no one. Their only idea in coming is to pay off scores because they are beaten. They will be very angry men."
Aunt Jeanne, as might have been expected, was packing baskets of food with immense energy.
"Ah, b'en!" she cried at sight of us. "Carry those baskets down to Saut de Juan, you two. I'll be with you in a minute."
"Give me something to fight with, Aunt Jeanne."
"There's my old man's cutlass, and there are his pistols, but, mon Dieu, they haven't been loaded this twenty years, and moreover there's no powder."
I strapped the cutlass round me and stuck the pistols in the belt.
"What about M. Le Marchant and Martin?" I asked.
"They are in the cellar. No one will find them. The Gouliots was too far for them."
Women and children were running past towards Saut de Juan, the women anxious for their men, the children racing and skipping as if it were a picnic. I handed over my basket to willing hands, at the head of the path that leads down by the side of the gulf to the Gouliots, and gave Carette a hearty kiss before them all, which set some of the women smiling in spite of their forebodings.
"Ah-ha!" chuckled one old crone. "Bind the faggot if it's only for the fire."
"Faggot without band is not complete," I laughed. "See you take care of my faggot, Mère Tanquerel, or I'll want to know why;" and I ran on along the heights to fetch my mother from Belfontaine.
As I came down the slope towards Port à la Jument I met her and George Hamon hurrying along, and her face was full of anxious surprise still, while Uncle George's had in it a rare tenderness for her which I well understood.
"I was just coming for you, mother," I said.
"It is good to be so well looked after," she smiled through her fears. "If only we knew that your grandfather was all right—"
"Philip will be here before long," said Uncle George confidently. "When he sees which way they've taken he will guess what they're up to and will bring on some of the Guernsey men. If we can't keep them at arm's length till then we're a set of lubbers."
"You'll be careful of yourselves," she said wistfully, as we stood at the top of the slope. "I—we can't spare either of you yet."
We promised every possible caution, and she went on to join the other women, while Uncle George and I ran across to the men standing in a dark clump on the Moie de Mouton.
EPERQUERIE BAY. Showing the bluff from which the men of SARK fired down on the men of HERM as they landed the boats.