CHAPTER IX. A SURPRISE
In a little cabin standing on the extreme point of the promontory of Howth, which its fisherman owner usually let to lodgers in the bathing-season, Sir Brook Fossbrooke had taken up his abode. The view was glorious from the window where he generally sat, and took in the whole sweep of the bay, from Killiney, with the background of the Wicklow mountains, to the very cliffs at his feet; and when the weather was favorable, – an event, I grieve to say, not of every-day occurrence, – leading him often to doubt whether in its graceful outline and varied color he did not prefer it to Cagliari, with its waving orange groves and vine-clad slopes.
He made a little water-color drawing to enclose in a letter to Lucy; and now, as he sat gazing on the scene, he saw some effect of light on the landscape which made him half disposed to destroy his sketch and begin another.
“Tell your sister, Tom,” wrote he, “that if my letter to her goes without the picture I promised her, it is because the sun has just got behind a sort of tattered broken cloud, and is streaming down long slips of light over the Wicklow hills and the woods at their feet, which are driving me crazy with envy; but if I look on it any longer, I shall only lose another post, so now to my task.
“Although I remained a day in the neighborhood, I was not received at Holt. Sir Hugh was ill, and most probably never heard of my vicinity. Lady Trafford sent me a polite – a very polite – note of regrets, &c., for not being able to ask me to the house, which she called a veritable hospital, the younger son having just returned from Madeira dangerously ill. She expressed a hope, more courteous possibly than sincere, that my stay in England would allow my returning and passing some days there, to which I sent a civil answer and went my way. The young fellow, I hear, cannot recover, so that Lionel will be the heir after all; that is, if Sir Hugh’s temper should not carry him to the extent of disinheriting his son for a stranger. I was spared my trip to Cornwall; spared it by meeting in London with a knot of mining-people, ‘Craig, Pears, and Denk,’ who examined our ore, and pronounced it the finest ever brought to England. As the material for the white-lead of commerce, they say it is unrivalled; and when I told them that our supply might be called inexhaustible, they began to regard me as a sort of Croesus. I dined with them at a City club, called, I think, the Gresham, a very grand entertainment, – turtle and blackcock in abundance, and a deal of talk, – very bumptious talk of all the money we were all going to make, and how our shares, for we are to be a company, must run up within a week to eight or ten premium. They are, I doubt not, very honest fine fellows, but they are vulgar dogs, Tom, I may say it to you in confidence, and use freedoms with each other in intercourse that are scarcely pleasing. To myself personally there was no lack of courtesy, nor can I complain that there was any forgetful-ness of due respect. I could not accept their invitation to a second dinner at Greenwich, but deferred it till my return from Ireland.
“I came on here on Wednesday last, and if you ask me what I have done, my answer is, Nothing – absolutely nothing. I have been four several times at the office where Sewell presides, but always to meet the same reply, ‘Not in town to-day;’ and now I learn that he is hunting somewhere in Cheshire. I am averse to going after him to the Chief Baron’s house, where he resides, and am yet uncertain how to act. It is just possible he may have learned that I am in Ireland, and is keeping out of my way, though I have neglected no precaution of secrecy, have taken a humble lodging some miles from town, and have my letters addressed to the post-office to be called for. Up to this I have not met one who knows me. The Viceroy is away in England, and in broken health, – indeed, so ill that his return to Ireland is more than doubtful; and Balfour, who might have recognized me, is happily so much occupied with the ‘Celts,’ as the latest rebels call themselves, that he has no time to go much abroad.
“The papers which I have sent you regularly since my arrival will inform you about this absurd movement. You will also see the debate on your grandfather. He will not retire, do all that they may; and now, as a measure of insult, they have named a special commission and omitted his name.
“They went so far as to accuse him of senile weakness and incapacity; but the letter which has been published with his name is one of the most terrific pieces of invective I ever read: I will try and get a copy to send you.
“I am anxious to call and see Beattie; but until I have met Sewell, and got this troublesome task off my mind, I have no heart for anything. From chance travellers in the train, as I go up to town, I hear that the Chief Baron is living at a most expensive rate, – large dinners every week, and costly morning parties, of a style Dublin has not seen before. They say, too, that he dresses now like a man of five-and-thirty, rides a blood horse, and is seen joining in all the festivities of the capital. Of myself, of course, I can confirm none of these stories. There comes the rain again. It is now dashing like hail against the windows; and of the beautiful bay and the rocky islands, the leafy shore and the indented coast-line I can see nothing, – nothing but the dense downpour that, thickening at every moment, shuts out all view, so that even the spars of the little pinnace in the bay beneath are now lost to me. A few minutes ago I was ready to declare that Europe had nothing to compare with this island, and now I ‘d rather take rocky Ischia, with its scraggy cliffs, sunlit and scorching, than live here watery and bloated like a slug on a garden-wall. Perhaps my temper is not improved by the reflection that I ‘ll have to walk to the post, about two miles off, with this letter, and then come back to my own sad company for the rest of the evening.
“I had half a mind to run down and look at the ‘Nest,’ but I am told I should not know it again, it has been so changed in every way. I have spared myself, therefore, the pain the sight would have given me, and kept my memory of it as I saw it on my first visit, when Lucy met me at the door. Tell her from me, that when – ”
The letter broke off here, and was continued lower down the page in a more hurried hand, thus: —
“In their ardor to suppress the insurrection here, some one has denounced me; and my pistols and my packet of lead, and my bullet-mould, have so far confirmed suspicion against me, that I am to go forthwith before a magistrate. It is so far provoking that my name will probably figure in the newspapers, and I have no fancy to furnish a laugh to the town on such grounds. The chief of the party (there are three of them, and evidently came prepared to expect resistance) is very polite, and permits me to add these few lines to explain my abrupt conclusion. Tell Lucy I shall keep back my letter to her, and finish it to-morrow. I do not know well whether to laugh or be angry at this incident. If a mere mistake, it is of course absurd, but the warrant seems correct in every respect. The officer assures me that any respectable bail will be at once accepted by the magistrate; and I have not the courage to tell him that I do not possess a single friend or acquaintance in this city whom I could ask to be my surety.
“After all, I take it, the best way is to laugh at the incident. It was only last night, as I walked home here in the dark, I was thinking I had grown too old for adventures, and here comes one – at least it may prove so – to contradict me.
“The car to convey me to town has arrived; and with loves to dear Lu and yourself, I am, as ever, yours,
“Bk. Fossbrooke.
“It is a great relief to me – it will be also to you – to learn that the magistrate can, if he please, examine me in private.”
CHAPTER X. THE CHIEF AND HIS FRIEND
A few days after the conversation just related in the chapter before the last, while the Chief Baron was undergoing the somewhat protracted process of a morning toilet, – for it needed a nice hand and a critical eye to give the curls of that wig their fitting wave, and not to “charge” those shrunken cheeks with any redundant color, – Mr. Haire was announced.
“Say I shall be down immediately, – I am in my bath,” said the Chief, who had hitherto admitted his old friend at all times and seasons.
While Haire was pacing the long dinner-room with solemn steps, wondering at the change from those days when the Chief would never have thought of making him wait for an interview, Sir William, attired in a long dark-blue silk dressing-gown, and with a gold-tasselled cap to match, entered the room, bringing with him a perfumed atmosphere, so loaded with bergamot that his old friend almost sneezed at it. “I hurried my dressing, Haire, when they told me you were here. It is a rare event to have a visit from you of late,” said the old man, as he sat down and disposed with graceful care the folds of his rich drapery.
“No,” muttered the other, in some confusion. “I have grown lazy, – getting old, I suppose, and the walk is not so easy as it used to be five-and-twenty years ago.”
“Then drive, sir, and don’t walk. The querulous tone men employ about their age is the measure of their obstinate refusal to accommodate themselves to inevitable change. As for me, I accept the altered condition, but I defy it to crush me.”
“Every one has not your pluck and your stamina,” said Haire, with a half-suppressed sigh.
“My example, sir, might encourage many who are weaker.”
“Any news of Lucy lately?” asked Haire, after a pause.
“Miss Lendrick, sir, has, through her brother, communicated to me her attachment to a young fellow in some marching regiment, and asked my permission to marry him. No, I am incorrect. Had she done this, there had been deference and respect; she asks me to forward a letter to her father, with this prayer, and to support it by my influence.”
“And why not, if he ‘s a good fellow, and likely to be worthy of her?”
“A good fellow! Why, sir, you are a good fellow, an excellent fellow; but it would never occur to me to recommend you for a position of high responsibility or commanding power.”
“Heaven forbid! – or, if you should, Heaven forbid I might be fool enough to accept it. But what has all this to do with marriage?”
“Explain yourself more fully, sir; you have assumed to call in question the parallelism I would establish between the tie of marriage and the obligation of a solemn trust; state your plea.”
“I ‘ll do nothing of the kind. I came here this morning to – to – I’ll be shot if I remember what I came about; but I know I had something to tell you; let me try and collect myself.”
“Do, sir, if that be the name you give the painful process.”
“There, there; you’ll not make me better by ridiculing me. What could it have been that I wanted to tell you?”
“Not, impossibly, some recent impertinence of the press towards myself.”
“I think not, – I think not,” said the other, musingly. “I suppose you ‘ve seen that squib in the ‘Banner.’”
“It is a paper, sir, I would not condescend to touch.”
“The fellow says that a Chief Baron without a court, – he means this in allusion to the Crown not bringing those cases of treason-felony into the Exchequer, – a Chief without a court is like one of those bishops in partibus, and that it would n’t be an unwise thing to make the resemblance complete and stop the salary. And then another observes – ”
“Sir, I do not know which most to deplore, – your forgetfulness or your memory; try to guide your conversation without any demand upon either.”
“And it was about those Celts, as they call these rascals, that I wanted to say something. What could it have been?”
“Perhaps you may have joined them. Are you a head-centre, or only empowered to administer oaths and affirmations?”
“Oh! I have it now,” cried Haire, triumphantly. “You remember, one day we were in the shrubbery after breakfast, you remarked that this insurrection was especially characterized by the fact that no man of education, nor, indeed, of any rank above the lowest, had joined it. You said something about the French Revolution, too; and how, in the Reign of Terror, the principles of the Girondists had filtered down, and were to be seen glittering like – ”
“Spare me, Haire, – spare me, and do not ask me to recognize the bruised and battered coinage, without effigy or legend, as the medal of my own mint.”
“At all events, you remember what I’m referring to.”
“With all your efforts to efface my handwriting I can detect something of my signature, – go on.”
“Well, they have at last caught a man of some mark and station. I saw Spencer, of the head office, this morning, and he told me that he had just committed to Newgate a man of title and consideration. He would not mention his name; indeed, the investigation was as private as possible, as it was felt that the importance of such a person being involved in the project would give a very dangerous impulse to the movement.”
“They are wrong, sir. The insurrection that is guided by men of condition will, however dangerous, be a game with recognized rules and laws. The rebellion of the ignorant masses will be a chaos to defy calculation. You may discuss measures, but there is no arguing with murder!”
“That’s not the way Spencer regarded it. He says the whole thing must be kept dark; and as they have refused to accept his bail, it’s clear enough they think the case a very important one.”
“If I was not on the Bench I would defend these men! Ay, sir, defend them! They have not the shadow of a case to show for this rebellion. It is the most causeless attempt to subvert a country that ever was conceived; but there is that amount of stupidity, – of ignorance, not alone of statecraft, but of actual human nature, on the part of those who rule us, that it would have been the triumph of my life to assail and expose them. Why, sir, it was the very plebeian character of this insurrection that should have warned them against their plan of nursing and encouraging it. Had the movement been guided by gentlemen, it might have been politic to have affected ignorance of their intentions till they had committed themselves beyond retreat; but with this rabble – this rebellion in rags – to tamper was to foster. You had no need to dig pitfalls for such people; they never emerged from the depths of their own ignominious condition. You should have suppressed them at once, – stopped them before the rebel press had disseminated a catechism of treason, and instilled the notion through the land that the first duty of patriotism was assassination.”
“And you would have defended these men?”
“I would have arraigned their accusers, and charged them as accomplices. I would have told those Castle officials to come down and stand in the dock with their confederates. What, sir! will you tell me that it was just or moral, or even politic, to treat these unlettered men as though they were crafty lawyers, skilled in all the arts to evade the provisions of a statute? This policy was not unfitted towards him who boasted he could drive a coach-and-six through any Act of Parliament; but how could it apply to creatures more ready to commit themselves than even you were to entrap them? who wanted no seduction to sedition, and who were far more eager to play traitor than you yourself to play prosecutor? I say again, I wish I had my youth and my stuff-gown, and they should have a defender.”
“I am just as well pleased it is as we see it,” muttered Haire.
“Of course you are, sir. There are men who imagine it to be loyal to be always on the side that is to be strongest.” He took a few turns up and down the room, his nostrils dilated, and his lips trembling with excitement. “Do me a favor, Haire,” said he at last, as he approached and laid his hand on the other’s arm. “Go and learn who this gentleman they have just arrested is. Ascertain whatever you can of the charge against him, – the refusal of bail implies it is a grave case; and inquire if you might be permitted to see and speak with him.”
“But I don’t want to speak with him. I’d infinitely rather not meet him at all.”
“Sir, if you go, you go as an emissary from me,” said the Chief, naughtily, and by a look recalling Haire to all his habitual deference.
“But only imagine if it got abroad – if the papers got hold of it; think of what a scandal it would be, that the Chief Baron of the Exchequer was actually in direct communication with a man charged with treason-felony. I would n’t take a thousand pounds, and be accessory to such an allegation.”
“You shall do it for less, sir. Yes, I repeat it, Haire, for less. Five shillings’ car-hire will amply cover the cost. You shall drive over to the head-office and ask Mr. Spencer if – of course with the prisoner’s permission – you may be admitted to see him. When I have the reply I will give you your instructions.”
“I protest I don’t see – I mean, I cannot imagine – it’s not possible – in fact, I know, that when you reflect a little over it, you will be satisfied that this would be a most improper thing to do.”
“And what is this improper thing I am about to do? Let us hear, sir, what you condemn so decidedly! I declare my libellers must have more reason than I ever conceded to them. I am growing very, very old! There must be the blight of age upon my faculties, or you would not have ventured to administer this lesson to me! this lesson on discretion and propriety. I would, however, warn you to be cautious. The wounded tiger is dangerous, though the ball should have penetrated his vitals. I would counsel you to keep out of reach of his spring, even in his dying moments.”
He actually shook with passion as he said this, and his hands closed and opened with a convulsive movement that showed the anger that possessed him.
“I have never lectured any one; least of all would it occur to me to lecture you,” said Haire, with much dignity. “In all our intercourse I have never forgotten the difference between us, – I mean intellectually; for I hope, as to birth and condition, there is no inequality.”
Though he spoke this slowly and impressively, the Chief Baron heard nothing of it. He was so overwhelmed by the strong passions of his own mind that he could not attend to another. “I shall soon be called incorrigible as well as incompetent,” uttered he, “if the wise counsels of my ablest friends are powerless to admonish me.”
“I must be moving,” said Haire, rising and taking his hat. “I promised to dine with Beattie at the Rock.”
“Say nothing of what has taken place here to-day; or if you mention me at all, say you found me in my usual health.” Haire nodded.
“My usual health and spirits,” continued the Chief. “I was going to say temper, but it would seem an epigram. Tell Beattie to look in here as he goes home; there ‘s one of the children slightly ailing. And so, Haire,” cried he, suddenly, in a louder voice, “you would insinuate that my power of judgment is impaired, and that neither in the case of my granddaughter nor in that larger field of opinion – the state of Ireland – am I displaying that wisdom or that acuteness on which it was one time the habit to compliment me.”
“You may be quite right. I won’t presume to say you ‘re not. I only declare that I don’t agree with you.”
“In either case?”
“No; not in either case.”
“I think I shall ride to-day,” said the Chief; for they had now reached the hall-door, and were looking out over the grassy lawn and the swelling woods that enclosed it. “You lose much, Haire, in not being a horseman. What would my critics say if they saw me following the hounds, eh?”
“I ‘ll be shot if it would surprise me to see it,” muttered Haire to himself. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Haire. Come out and see me soon again. I ‘ll be better tempered when you come next. You ‘re not angry with me, I know.”
Haire grasped the hand that was held out to him, and shook it cordially. “Of course I ‘m not. I know well you have scores of things to vex and irritate you that never touch fellows like myself. I shall never feel annoyed at anything you may say to me. What would really distress me would be that you should do anything to lower your own reputation.”
The old Judge stood on the doorstep pondering over these last words of his friend long after his departure. “A good creature – a true-hearted fellow,” muttered he to himself; “but how limited in intelligence! It is the law of compensation carried out. Where nature gives integrity she often grudges intellect. The finer, subtler minds play with right and wrong till they detect their affinities. – Who are you, my good fellow? What brings you here?” cried he to a fellow who was lounging in the copse at the end of the house.
“I ‘m a carman, your honor. I ‘m going to drive the Colonel to the railway at Stoneybatter.”
“I never heard that he was about to leave town,” muttered the old Judge. “I thought he had been confined to bed with a cold these days back. Cheetor, go and tell Colonel Sewell that I should be much obliged if he would come over to my study at his earliest convenience.”
“The Colonel will be with you, my Lord, in five minutes,” was the prompt reply.