CHAPTER X.
PILLARS OF THE HOUSE.
The moonlight fell softly upon a clearing where a small firesmouldered, where the lord of the isles and his son sat in silence, andbetween them the great hound full-stretched in sleep. They wereresting before returning home to their island among the lost waters.Only the cracking of the fiery wood, the overhead boughs chafingfitfully, and the snapping of twigs too brittle to survive disturbedthe silence of the night.
The little group made a stern picture in the light of the moon. Thehound bitten and blemished by many a conquering fight; the lean manscarred by sword wounds; the boy scarce out of childhood, hungry tolearn--even the boy wore his scars. He was developing in a hardschool. He could not know that the work which his father pointed outwould receive, if accomplished, neither thanks nor reward. Thepioneers of empire might be compared with the insects of the coralreef, insignificant atoms who have planted a foundation for the sea tobuild upon.
"Father," said the boy at length, "shall we not be returning to ourhome?"
There was another interval before the stern man looked up.
"Methinks when you spoke that word I saw another home," he said,raising a hand to his eyes as though he would dispel the vision. "Isaw methinks a grey house, its chimneys wreathed with ivy. Lawnsspread far, divided by paths, bound with close-cropped hedges of yewand lined with flowers, where peacocks lift their feathers to the sun.Down a green slope to the little river I see orchards of cherry, snowywith blossom. A road ends at a church where I may read your name andmine upon many a stone slab. There lies your grandfather, there mymother. It is peaceful in that garden of Kent, our home at the otherside of the world."
Young Richard leaned forward over his knees. His father was speakingin parables. He had seen only the primaeval forest, the river torrents,the lakes with their land-locked fish, the icefields. He had supposedthe world to be made of such. He had heard the clash of swords, theshouts of war. He had supposed it was so the world over. A place ofpeace had never entered into the scheme of his boyish calculation.
"It is a dream of which you speak, father?"
"Ay, my lad, for me a dream. You perchance shall see England with yourown eyes, for when I am gone you shall be the head of a family whichhas for its motto, 'Let traitors beware.' Son, have you never wishedto learn your name?"
"My name is Sir Richard," answered the proud boy.
"I, your father, was called once Sir Thomas Iden. Formerly we were afamous family, but now we wane, wielding an influence only over theKentish village which has been ours for centuries. Two hundred yearspast the then head of our family, holding the office of sheriff of hiscounty at the time, slew a traitor named John Cade, who had openlyrebelled against the crown, and for this King Henry the Sixth conferredupon him the honour of knighthood, presenting him also with acoat-of-arms. In return for other services his Majesty bestowed uponour house an unique privilege: right was granted to the head of thefamily in each generation to confer knighthood upon his eldest son, ifthat son should be deserving of the distinction. My father knightedme, when I returned from an exploit against the Irish; and I handed thehonour on to you, when I found in you the hereditary longing for thesword."
The boy looked steadily across the fire, with wonder in his eyes."This then is not our home," he said, weighing his words with strangegravity. "Should we not be in England, fighting for the king?"
"God knows he needs the pillars of our house to help support histhrone," said Sir Thomas. "But no man can serve in two countries. Ihave made myself a colonist, have married a daughter of the land, hereI can serve England if not my king, and here shall I die like a man ofKent, with my face to the foe. I was the first Englishman to make ahome upon this bitter land. I resolved to build about me a colony, todo for the north what John Winthrop and the papist Lord Baltimore aredoing in the south. I have appealed. I have sent for help. ButEngland will not hear."
He paced through the wet grass, his hands clenched behind.
"Is the cry of the colonies nothing to them? A handful of good men mayonly sell their lives dearly in the trust that their example may firebetter men to deeds of conquest. Here we shall die in exile, and besent to haunt the great oblivion of these forests. Two suchships-of-war as sailed from Devon in the golden days of Elizabeth, twosuch ships as the merchant traders of Cheapside could send us withoutloss, with another Hawkins to command, manned by our brave sailors ofthe east country, would sweep the French out of their forts and clearthe land of them for ever. The Dutch hold the seas. France extendsher arms. England is again divided, the bloody rivalry between thehouses of York and Lancaster having taught her no wisdom. TheParliament is against the king, and the country must bleed for it. Weare abandoned."
The boy knew nothing of the politics of Europe, neither could he enterinto his father's dream of empire. He hated the French merely becausethey were enemies, and because they had betrayed the Iroquois. To goout and fight against them was more exciting, because more dangerous,than to engage with the beasts of the forest; but the struggle betweenthe Powers of Europe for the ownership of North America had injected novenom into his soul.
"Shall I not live here always?" he asked. "Am I not to choose a maidfrom the Cayugas, and settle upon the isles beside you, my father?"
"Talk not of the future, son. Life is to-day, not hereafter. Thatlies in the hand of God to give or to withhold. You shall return whenI am gone--return, did I say? You shall go to England with letters toa notary in Maidstone, and he shall see that you come into your own.You are dark of face, but English in heart, my Richard."
The boy lifted his head with a sudden sharp movement. "Perchance thatday shall never come."
The hound also lifted his head, and as his eyes sought the haunt ofshadows his jaw dropped in a wild howl.
"Spirits sweep across my burying-place," whispered the youth.
The hound lowered his head and howled again.
"Frenchmen," muttered the boy.
The brute slouched a few feet, broke into a trot, and disappeared.
"He goes in the direction of New Windsor," said the knight. "Hastheard any sound in the forest?"
"There is no stir," replied the boy, holding his well-trained ear tothe ground. "The smoke from our fire carries. Let us go aside intothe shadow of the bush and watch."
They retreated, flashing glances to right and left. The snap of atwig, the very crushing of pine needles, sufficed to disturb that calm.There was no premonitory shiver of the moon-rays, no suggestion of anyhuman presence upon the chilled air. Their feet sank audibly into thewhite moss. Their breath made the semblance of a whisper betweenfather and son, the lion ready, the cub longing. The rim of the deepshadow ran behind as they turned to face the clearing they hadabandoned.
"The wind blows from New Windsor," said the knight. "The wind offCouchicing."
"If Blood takes hold of a man he shall die," went on the boy. "He willhold at the back of the neck, and there hang until his fangs meet. Ha!Didst hear that?"
A branch had broken with a dry report. The trees moaned, and a fewdistended cones struck the ground like spent bullets.
"The breeze freshens. Methinks I hear the waves breaking upon thebeach."
A raven passed before the moon, knelling violently.
"He smells carrion," whispered the boy. "Already he smells blood uponmy sword."
"Peace, boy," said his father; adding, compassionately, "He is but achild."
"Nay, father," said Richard, his blood rising. "I am no child. Seethe mark of my wounds! Remember that glorious day when we captured theDutch privateer. I have prayed for such another day. Did I thereacquit myself as a child? Or did you call, 'Richard, come back! Youare too bold.' Hast forgotten, Sir Thomas?"
His father passed the sword into his left hand, and threw his right armabout his son's shoulder, drawing him upon his own thin body, andkissed his cheek. Silence came between them. It was the first timethat the man h
ad kissed the boy, and both for a moment were ashamed;then young Richard's heart swelled with the pride of having won hisfather's love.
As they stood they moved, and their swords clashed. They rememberedtheir other bond of relationship, the brotherhood of the sword, andeach drew back.
The raven had gone, but his note came upon the wind.
The boy stood leaning forward, his ears drinking in the shudderingnoises of the bush, his face sharp with cold. The smoke stood uprightin the clearing like a swathed mummy. Now and again a spark drifted,or a flurry of white wood-ash circled. There was yet no voice from thelungs of the forest.
"Blood smelt no animal," said the resolute Richard. "He does buttongue softly when he follows a bear. That howl he gives when he runson the track of a man."
"A wanderer lost in the forest. A spy from the fortress. One ofRoussilac's creatures," his father muttered.
"They would take possession of the forest," the boy said passionately."Along the river I have come upon trees marked by the robberswith--what is the name of that sign which they bear upon their flag?"
"The fleur-de-lys. They brand the pines with that mark to signify thatthe trees have been chosen for ship-masts and are the property ofFrance. Our hut upon the island is faced with logs which bear theirbrand."
"The Cayugas fell such trees and burn them, or cut them in half as theylie. The Iroquois are yet masters, despite the decrees of King Louis.How cold is this wind! Let me but warm my hands in the embers of ourfire."
The boy crossed into the moonlight, and knelt within the smoke, rubbingthe palms of his hands upon the warm ground. His father stood in theshadow, and watched every moving line of his son's body, muttering ashe listened to the outside:
"At his age I was learning how to figure and spell in Tonbridge school.Quarterstaff and tennis were my sports, with mumming and chess at home.His sport is to hunt the wild beast, to track the deer, to lie in waitfor men. The sword is his pastime. His pleasure the dream. Godpardon me for bringing him into the world."
The breeze bore along in a gust, bringing the muffled bayings of ahound.
"He calls me!" exclaimed the boy. "That is Blood's war-cry. Come!" heshouted.
"Patience, boy. Let the dog guide us. By advancing recklessly we mayfall into a trap."
Each throb of the night brought the wild sounds nearer. Blood was infull cry, the foam blowing from his jaws, the hackles stiff upon hisback. He was coming down the wind full-stretched. The bush gave, thedew scattered from the high grass in frosty showers as he leapt themoss-beds, his foot-tracks far apart. But no sound followed, exceptthe play of the branches and the murmur of the rising lake.
"Remember how I brought him from the encampment as a puppy," saidRichard appealingly, "how I have trained him from the time that hiseyes opened. Whatever he discovers is mine. Say now that I may gowith him. He and I can cover the ground together. You shall follow inyour own time."
"Perchance they shall be too many for you," said the father.
"Nay, we shall advance with care, and hide if there be danger. Thewhole army of France could not follow me in this forest."
"There comes no noise of fighting."
"It is but a spy who has discovered New Windsor. He must not carrythat secret back to the fortress."
The hound broke forth, clouding the cold air with his breath, his eyeslike lamps. He leapt at his master, and snatched his sleeve with afrothing muzzle, pulling him away.
"Say now that I may go," the boy cried. "The enemy may already havetaken fear, and be retreating as fast as his cowardly feet may carryhim."
The long awaited shout drifted down the wind, and the pale moonshivered when she heard.
"Go!" granted the stern man.
"St. George!" yelled the maddened child, clutching at the hound's thickcollar of fur. The cry had no meaning. It was but a shout of war, avalve to his passion. "On, Blood! St. George!"
At full cry they were gone from the moonlight into gloom.