HOW I FELT THE GOLDEN SPUR
George Hamon was sorely put out at the loss of his horse and by so cruel a death. In his anger he laid on young Torode a punishment hard to bear.
For when the young man offered to pay for Black Boy, Uncle George gave him the sharpest edge of his tongue in rough Norman French, and turned him out of his house, and would take nothing from him.
"You pledged me your word and you broke it," said he, "and you think to redeem it with money. Get out of this and never speak to me again! We are honest men in Sercq, and you—you French scum, you don't know what honour means." And Torode was forced to go with the unpayable debt about his neck, and the certain knowledge that all Sercq thought with his angry creditor and ill of himself. And to such a man that was bitterness itself.
During the ten days that followed Riding Day, my mind was very busy settling, as it supposed, the future,—mine and Carette's. For, whether she desired me in hers or not, I had no doubts whatever as to what I wanted myself. My only doubts were as to the possibilities of winning such a prize.
The effect of the Miss Maugers' teaching on Carette herself had been to lift her above her old companions, and indeed above her apparent station in life, though on that point my ideas had no solid standing ground. For, as I have said, the Le Marchants of Brecqhou were more or less of mysteries to us all, and there had been such upsettings just across the water there, such upraisings and downcastings, that a man's present state was no indication of what he might have been. The surer sign was in the man himself, and much pondering of the matter led me to think that Jean Le Marchant might well be something more than simply the successful smuggler he seemed, and that Carette's dainty lady ways might well be the result of natural growth and not simply of the Miss Maugers' polishing.
I would not have had it otherwise. I wanted the very best for her; and if she were by birth a lady, let the lady in her out to the full. Far better that the best that was in her should out and shine than be battened under hatches and kept out of sight. Better for herself, if it was her nature; and better for the rest of us who could look up and admire. For myself, I would sooner look up than down, and none knew as I did—unless it were Jeanne Falla—how sweet and generous a nature lay behind the graces that set her above us. For none had known her as I had, during all those years of the camaraderie of the coast.
But, while I wished her every good, I could not close my eyes to several things, since they pressed me hard. That, for instance, we were no longer boy and girl together. And that, whereas Carette used to look up to me, now the looking up was very much the other way. What her feelings might be towards me, as I say, I could not be sure; for, little as I knew of girls, I had picked up enough scraps of knowledge to be quite sure in my own mind that they were strangely unaccountable creatures, and that you could not judge either them or a good many other things entirely by outside appearances. And again, it was borne in upon me very strongly, and as never before, that, where two start fairly level, if one goes ahead, the other must exert himself or be left behind. Carette was going ahead in marvellous fashion. I felt myself in danger of being left behind, and that set my brain to very active working.
I had a better education, in the truest sense of the word, than most of my fellows, thanks to my mother and grandfather and Krok and M. Rousselot, the schoolmaster. That gave me the use of my brains. I had in addition a good sound body, and I had travelled and seen something of the world. Of worldly possessions I had just the small savings of my pay and nothing more, and common-sense told me that if I wanted to win Carette Le Marchant I must be up and doing, and must turn myself to more profitable account.
I do not think there was in me any mercenary motive in this matter. I am quite sure that in so thinking of things I attributed none to Carette. It seemed to me that if a man wanted a wife he ought to be able to keep her, and I considered the girl who married a man of precarious livelihood—as I saw some of them do—very much of a fool. I have since come to know, however, that that is only one way of looking at it, and that to some women the wholehearted love of a true man counts for very much more than anything else he can bring her.
For money, simply as money, I had no craving whatever. For the wife it might help me to, and the security and comfort it might bring to her, I desired it ardently, and my thoughts were much exercised as to how to arrive at it in sufficiency. I found myself at one of the great cross-roads of life, where, I suppose, most men find themselves at one time or another. I knew that much—to me, perhaps, everything—must depend on how I chose now, and I spent much time wandering in lonely places, and lying among the gorse cushions or in the short grass of the headlands, thinking of Carette and trying to see my way to her.
There were open to us all, in those days, four ways of life—more, maybe, if one had gone seeking them, but these four right to our hands.
I could ship again in the trading line,—and some time, a very long way ahead, I might come to the command of a ship, if I escaped the perils of the sea till that time came. But I could not see Carette very clearly in that line of life.
I could join a King's ship, and go fight the Frenchmen and all the others who were sometimes on our side and sometimes against us. But I could not see Carette at all in that line of life.
I could settle down to the quiet farmer-fisherman life on Sercq, as my grandfather had done with great contentment. But I was not my grandfather, and he was one in a thousand, and he had never had to win Carette.
And, lastly,—I could join my fellows in the smuggling or privateering lines, in which some of them, especially the Guernsey men, were waxing mightily fat and prosperous.
For reasons which I did not then understand, but which I do now, since I learned about my father, my mother's face was set dead against the free-trading. And so I came to great consideration of the privateering business and was drawn to it more and more. The risks were greater, perhaps, even than on the King's ships, since the privateer hunts alone and may fall easy prey to larger force. But the returns were also very much greater, and the life more reasonable, for on the King's ships the discipline was said to be little short of tyranny at times, and hardly to be endured by free men.
When, as the result of long turning over of the matter in my own mind, I had decided that the way to Carette lay through the privateering, I sought confirmation of my idea in several likely quarters before broaching it at home.
"Ah then, Phil, my boy! Come in and sit down and I'll give you a cup of my cider," was Aunt Jeanne's greeting, when I dropped in at Beaumanoir a few days after the party, not without hope of getting a sight of Carette herself and discussing my new ideas before her.
"No, she's not here," Aunt Jeanne laughed softly, at my quick look round. "She's away back to Brecqhou. Two of them came home hurt from their last trip, and she's gone to take care of them. And now, tell me what you are going to do about it, mon gars?" she asked briskly, when I had taken a drink of the cider.
"About what then, Aunt Jeanne?"
"Tuts, boy! Am I going blind? What are an old woman's eyes for if not to watch the goings-on of the young ones? You want our Carette. Of course you do. And you've taken her for granted ever since you were so high. Now here's a word of wisdom for you, mon gars. No girl likes to be taken for granted after she's, say, fourteen,—unless, ma fé, she's as ugly as sin. If she's a beauty, as our Carette is, she knows it, and she's not going to drop into any man's mouth like a ripe fig. Mon Gyu, no!" —with a crisp nod.
"It's true, every word of it," I said, knowing quite well that those clever old brown eyes of hers could bore holes in me and read me like a book. "Just you tell me what to do, Aunt Jeanne, and I'll do it as sure as I sit here."
"As sure as you sit there you never will, unless you jump right up and win her, my boy. That young Torode is no fool, though he is hot-headed enough and as full of conceit as he can hold. And, pergui, he knows what he wants."
"And Carette?"
Aunt Jeanne's only answer to that was a shrug. She was, as I think I have said, a very shrewd person. I have since had reason to believe that she could, if she had chosen, have relieved my mind very considerably, but at the moment she thought it was the spur I needed, and she was not going to lessen the effect of what she had said. On the contrary, she applied it again and twisted it round and round.
"He's good-looking, you see. That is—in the girls' eyes. Men see differently. And he's rich, or he will be, though, for me, I would not care what money a man had if the devil had his claw in it, mon Gyu, no! But there you are, mon gars. There is he with all that, and here are you with nothing but just your honest face and your good heart and your two strong arms. And what I want to know is—what are you going to do about it?"
"What would you do if you were me, Aunt Jeanne?"
"Ah, now we talk sense. What would I do? Ma fé, I would put myself in the way of making something, so that I'd feel confidence in asking her."
"That's just it. I can't ask her till I'm in some position to do so. I've been thinking all round it—."
"B'en?
"I could go trading again—."
"And get drowned, maybe, before you've made enough to pay for a decent funeral," snorted Aunt Jeanne contemptuously.
"I could go on a King's ship"
"And get bullied to death for nothing a day."
"The free-trading my mother won't hear of."
"Crais b'en!"
"Why, I don't know—."
"Never mind why. She has her reasons without doubt."
"So there's nothing for it but the privateering."
"B'en! Why couldn't you say so without boxing the compass, mon gars? Privateering is the biggest chance nowadays. Of course, the risks—."
"That's nothing if it brings me to Carette, Aunt Jeanne—."
"Well, then?"
"I wish you'd tell me something."
"What, then?" she asked warily.
"I get a bit afraid sometimes that Carette is not intended for a plain common Sercqman. Has M. Le Marchant views—"
"Shouldn't be a bit surprised, mon gars. I know I would have if she were mine. But, all the same, it is Carette herself will have the final say in the matter, and meanwhile—well, the more she learns the better. Isn't it so?"
"Surely. The more one learns the better, unless—"
"Yes, then?"
"Well, unless it makes one look down on one's friends."
"Do you look down on your mother? And do you look down on me? Yet I'll be bound you think you know a sight more than both of us put together."
"No, I don't. But—"
"And yet you've had more learning than ever came our way."
"Of a kind. But—"
"Exactly, mon gars! And that other is the learning that doesn't come from books. And all your learning and Carette's will only prepare you for these other things. With all your learning you are only babies yet. The harder tasks are all before you."
"And you think I may hope for Carette, Aunt Jeanne?"
"If you win her. But you'll have to stir yourself, mon gars."
"I've sometimes wondered—" I began doubtfully, and stopped, not knowing how she might take my questioning.
"Well, what have you wondered?" and she peered at me with her head on one side like a robin's.
"Well—you see—she is so different from the others over there on Brecqhou."
"Yes, I know—"
"Very well!... All the same, you are right, mon gars. She is different—and with reason. Her mother was well-born. She was daughter to old Godefroi of St. Heliers, the shipowner. Jean was sailing one of his ships. It was not a good match nor a suitable one. The old man turned them out, and Jean came here with her and his boys and settled on Brecqhou. It is as well you should know, for it may come into the account. Jean would make her into a lady like her mother. For me, I would like to see her an honest man's wife—that is, if he's able to keep her."
"I'm for the privateering," I said, jumping up as briskly as if I'd only to walk aboard.
"I'll wish you luck and pray for it, my boy."
"That should help. Good-bye, Aunt Jeanne!"
My mind was quite made up, but, all the same, I went to George Hamon to ask his advice and help in the matter, as I always had done in all kinds of matters, and never failed to get them. I found him strolling among his cabbages with his pipe in his mouth.
"Uncle George, I want your advice," I began, and he smiled knowingly.
"Aw! I know you, mon gars. You've made up your mind about something and you want me to help you get over your mother and grandfather. Isn't that about it? And what is it now?"
"I want to be up and doing and making something—"
"I understand."
"And privateering seems the best thing going. I want to try that. What do you say?"
"Some have done mightily well at it—"
"You see," I said eagerly, "there is only that or the free-trading, or the West Indies again, or a King's ship—"
He nodded understandingly.
"And none of them hold any very big chances—except the free-trading. And there—"
"I know! Your mother won't hear of it. She has her reasons, my boy, and you can leave it at that ... She won't like the privateering either, you know, Phil," he said doubtfully, as though he did not care over much for the job he was being dragged into.
"I'm afraid she won't, Uncle George. That's why—"
"That's why you come to me," he smiled.
"That's it. You see, I've got to be up and doing, because—"
"I know," he nodded. "Well, come along, and let's get it over," and we went across the fields to Belfontaine.
My mother met us at the door, and it was borne in upon me suddenly that as a girl she must have been very good-looking. There was more colour than usual in her face, and the quiet eyes shone brightly. I thought she guessed we had come on some business opposed to her peace of mind, but I have since known that there were deeper reasons.
"You are welcome, George Hamon," she said. "What mischief are you and Phil plotting now?"
"Aw, then! It's a bad character you give me, Rachel."
"I know he goes to you for advice, and he might do worse. He's been restless since he came home. What is it?"
"Young blood must have its chance, you know. And change of pasture is good for young calves, as Jeanne Falla says."
"Hasn't he had change enough?"
"Where is Philip?"
"Down vraicking with Krok in Saignie. A big drift came in this morning, and we want all we can get for the fields."
"Give them a hand, Phil, and then bring your grandfather along. And I'll talk to your mother."
My grandfather and Krok had got most of the seaweed drawn up onto the stones above tide-level, and as soon as we had secured the rest they came up to the house with me, wet and hungry. I had told my grandfather simply that George Hamon was there, but said nothing about our business. He greeted him warmly.
"George, my boy, you should come in oftener."
"Ay, ay! If I came as often as I wanted you'd be for turning me out,"—with a nod to Krok, who replied with a cheerful smile, and went to the fire.
"You know better. Your welcome always waits you. What's in the wind now?"
"Phil wants to go privateering," said my mother. "And George has come to help him."
"Ah, I expected it would come to that," said my grandfather quietly. "It's a risky business, after all, Phil,"—to me, sitting on the green-bed and feeling rather sheepish.
"I know, grandfather. But there are risks in everything, and—"
"And, to put it plainly, he wants Carette Le Marchant, and he's not the only one, and that seems the quickest way to her," said George Hamon.
My mother's quiet brown eyes gave a little snap, and he caught it.
"When a lad's heart is set on a girl there is nothing he won't do for her. I've known a man wait twenty years for a woman—"
She made a quick little gesture with her hand, but he went on stoutly—
"Oh yes, and never give up hoping all that time, though, mon Gyu, it was little he got for his—"
"And you think it right he should go?" interrupted my mother hastily. And, taken up as I was with my own concerns, I understood of a sudden that there was that between my mother and George Hamon which I had never dreamed of.
"I think he will never settle till he has been. And it's lawful business, and profitable, and your objection to the free-trading doesn't touch it. There is some discipline on a privateer, though it's not as bad as on a King's ship. My advice is—let him go."
"It's only natural, after all," said my grandfather, with a thoughtful nod. "Who's the best man to go with, George?"
"Torode of Herm makes most at it, they say. But—"
"A rough lot, I'm told, and he has to keep a tight hand on them. But I know nothing except from hearsay. I've never come across him yet."
"Jean Le Marchant could tell you more about him than anyone else round here," said Uncle George, looking musingly at me. "They have dealings together in trading matters, I believe. Then, they say, John Ozanne is fitting out a schooner in Peter Port. He's a good man, but how he'll shape at privateering I don't know."
"Who's going to command her?" I asked.
"John himself, I'm told."
"Then I'll go across and see Jean Le Marchant," I said.
At which prompt discounting of John Ozanne, Uncle George laughed out loud.
"Well, I don't suppose it can do any harm, if it doesn't do much good. He's at home, I believe. Someone got hurt on their last run, I heard—"
"Yes, Aunt Jeanne told me,—two of them."
"Maybe you'll not find them in any too good a humour, but you know how to take care of yourself."
"I'll take care of myself all right."
"Will you stop and have supper with us, George?" asked my grandfather.
"Yes, I will. It's a treat to sup in company;" and my mother busied herself over the pots at the fire.
I had often wondered why Uncle George had never married. He was such a good fellow, honest as the day, and always ready to help anybody in any way. And yet, ever since his mother died, and that must have been ten years ago at least, he had lived all alone in his house at La Vauroque, though he had prospered in various ways, and was reputed well to do. He lived very simply—made his own coffee of morning, and for the rest depended on an old neighbour woman, who came in each day and cooked his meals and kept the house clean. Yes, I had often wondered why, and not until this night did I begin to understand.
Long afterwards, when he was telling me of other matters, it did not greatly surprise me to learn that he had waited all these years in hopes of my mother coming round to him at last. And the wall of division that stood between them and stirred him to bitterness at times—not against her, but against what he counted her foolish obstinacy—was the fact that long ago my father had gone down to the sea and never come back, as many and many an Island man had done since ever time began. But she had her own rigid notions of right and wrong, narrow perhaps, but of her very self, and she would not marry him, though his affection never wavered, even when he felt her foolishness the most.
It was strange, perhaps, that I should jump to sudden understanding of the matter when all my thoughts just then were of my own concerns. But love, I think, if somewhat selfish, is a mighty quickener of the understanding, and even though all one's thoughts are upon one object, a fellow-feeling opens one's eyes to the signs elsewhere.
We talked much of the matter of my going, that night over the supper-table, or my grandfather and George Hamon did, while my mother and Krok and I listened. And wonderful stories Uncle George told of the profits some folks had made in the privateering—tens of thousands of pounds to the owners in a single fortunate cruise, and hundreds to every seaman.
But my mother warmed to the matter not at all. She sat gazing silently into the fire, and thought, maybe, of those who lost, and of those whose shares came only to the last cold plunge into the tumbling graveyard of the sea. While as for me, in my own mind I saw visions of stirring deeds, and wealth and fame, and Carette seemed nearer to me than ever she had been since she went to Peter Port.