The Duel.
Tom Elliot was a very bad sample of the cavalier party. Trained in camps, he had learned betimes to seek his happiness in wine, dice, loose speech, and morals to match. As in France, the successors of the Sullys and Du Plessis Mornays had become the coxcombs of the Fronde, and the grandson of Bras-de-Fer was known as Bras-de-Laine, so the character and conduct of men like Hyde, Ormonde, and Falkland furnished no example to such as Villiers and Wilmot, whose only ideal of imitation was scurrilous mimicry. Where the elder cavaliers had been proud to serve their king, the rising generation was content if it could amuse him; and with that Charles was satisfied.
Thus Elliot had learned that for such an escapade as his last he might easily obtain forgiveness. It was not that Charles was, even in youth, a sincere or warm friend. His easy good nature had its root in self-indulgence. Clarendon, who knew him and his family intus et in cute, has pointed this out in one of his best character sentences. "They were too much inclined to love men at first sight," so writes the faithful servant of the Stuarts. "They did not love the conversation of men of more years than themselves. They did not love to deny, ... not out of bounty or generosity, which was a flower that did never grow naturally in the heart of either family—that of Stuart or the other of Bourbon—and when they prevailed with themselves to make some pause rather than to deny, importunity removed all resolution." [Continuation of Life, p. 339, fol. ed.]
And there were not wanting particular reasons to dispose Charles to favour and forgiveness in this instance. Though Elliot had concealed the fact at Maufant, he was in fact a married man. His wife was the daughter of the Mrs. Wyndham who had been the king's nurse. To this family connection he owed his first introduction to the royal household, which had been constantly improved by his lawless and pushing nature. A contemporary remarked of Elliot that "he was not one who would receive any injury from his modesty." The late king's grave and virtuous mind had been greatly alienated by these things, and he had once dismissed him from his family. The passionate youth had recovered his position owing to the Wyndham influence, but he came back with illwill in his heart. The memory of the royal martyr inspired him with scant reverence, nor did he feel either respect or compassion for the queen-mother. From these sentiments, however, one advantage flowed. Elliot was bitterly opposed to Jermyn and the French interest, and made use of his opportunities about the king's person to strengthen him in a like opposition. So it came to pass that, after sulking an hour, the facile master not only pardoned the petulant servant, but promoted him to be a groom of the bedchamber; and the return was made in an increased persistence in efforts on Elliot's part to amuse the king and flatter all his propensities, whether political or personal.
The "Indian summer," or été de S. Martin, was at its height in Jersey, when Carteret, obtaining Charles's ready acquiescence, resolved on ordering a general review of the militia. Soon after daybreak on the 30th October the population began streaming in from all parishes, under the mild splendour of a cloudless heaven. The scene was on the sands of S. Aubin's Bay, between the Mont Patibulaire and Millbrook. On the right wing stood two squadrons of mounted infantry, with their standards displayed in the morning breeze. On the left were the parish batteries, with their guns, caissons, and tumbrils. In the centre were the Cornish body guard and the militia infantry in battalion six deep, while the reserve and recruits brought up the rear. All but the last-named carried matches for their firearms, which were loaded with blank cartridge. The supports carried pikes. The drums beat, the colours flew, as Charles and his staff, surrounded by an escort of the mounted infantry, emerging from the south gate of the castle, rode along the low-water causeway.
Mme. de Maufant and her sister, mounted on sober but well-bred nags, and accompanied by some of their farm hands in gala costume, occupied a foremost place among the spectators. But the appearance of the castle cortège threatened their comfort, if not their safety. For the public excitement grew from moment to moment, "and those behind cried forward! and those before cried back!" The younger and more excitable especially, spurred by the fine weather and the novel spectacle, pressed eagerly to the front, mixed with mothers of scrofulous children, desirous of gaining for them the healing virtue of the royal touch. The king's horse, short of work, and participating in the general excitement, reared and curvetted in the crowd, but was reined in by his skillful rider.
Charles was in his purple velvet, with no token of a military purpose. But on his left rode a gigantic guardsman in full panoply, while Elliot came on the right (but with his horse half a length behind) in gorgeous array, though more for show than for service. In his silver helmet fluttered a lissom ostrich plume, his shining cuirass was damascened with gold, which metal also glittered on the hilt of his sword. The tops of his buff boots and gauntlets were fringed with costly Brussels point. As they approached the crushed and alarmed ladies, a militia officer rushing to their aid from his place between the guns and the nearest company of foot, came into involuntary contact with the glistening groom of the chamber. The lace of the later's boot caught in the steel shoulder piece of the infantry officer, and was torn. Irritated and excited Elliot brought down his hand upon the unconscious offender, and dealt him a heavy blow on the side of the face. At this sight—with nerves already overstrung—Marguerite became unable to control her usually placid steed; and Alain le Gallais—for he was the militia officer—was diverted from his instinctive but imprudent impulse of immediate retaliation, by seeing the young lady slip from her saddle into his arms.
The little incident was over in an instant, and the king passed on, but not without taking it all in with the observation natural to him.
"A comely wench, Tom!" he said to his companion, "and one that seemeth to know thee. But it seems that others gather what thou fellest."
"Faith, sir," answered Elliot, smilingly, "I have given him his wage beforehand. It is well that he should do my work."