XXXV. A SAILOR ENTERS
The remaining fortnight of the month of September passed away, with ageneral decline from the summer's excitements. The royal family left thewatering-place the first week in October, the German Legion with theirartillery about the same time. The dragoons still remained at thebarracks just out of the town, and John Loveday brought to Anne everynewspaper that he could lay hands on, especially such as contained anyfragment of shipping news. This threw them much together; and at thesetimes John was often awkward and confused, on account of the unwontedstress of concealing his great love for her.
Her interests had grandly developed from the limits of Overcombe and thetown life hard by, to an extensiveness truly European. During the wholemonth of October, however, not a single grain of information reached her,or anybody else, concerning Nelson and his blockading squadron off Cadiz.There were the customary bad jokes about Buonaparte, especially when itwas found that the whole French army had turned its back upon Boulogneand set out for the Rhine. Then came accounts of his march throughGermany and into Austria; but not a word about the Victory.
At the beginning of autumn John brought news which fearfully depressedher. The Austrian General Mack had capitulated with his whole army. Thenwere revived the old misgivings as to invasion. 'Instead of having tocope with him weary with waiting, we shall have to encounter This Manfresh from the fields of victory,' ran the newspaper article.
But the week which had led off with such a dreary piping was to end inanother key. On the very day when Mack's army was piling arms at thefeet of its conqueror, a blow had been struck by Bob Loveday and hiscomrades which eternally shattered the enemy's force by sea. Four daysafter the receipt of the Austrian news Corporal Tullidge ran into themiller's house to inform him that on the previous Monday, at eleven inthe morning, the Pickle schooner, Lieutenant Lapenotiere, had arrived atFalmouth with despatches from the fleet; that the stage-coaches on thehighway through Wessex to London were chalked with the words 'GreatVictory!' 'Glorious Triumph!' and so on; and that all the country peoplewere wild to know particulars.
On Friday afternoon John arrived with authentic news of the battle offCape Trafalgar, and the death of Nelson. Captain Hardy was alive, thoughhis escape had been narrow enough, his shoe-buckle having been carriedaway by a shot. It was feared that the Victory had been the scene of theheaviest slaughter among all the ships engaged, but as yet no returns ofkilled and wounded had been issued, beyond a rough list of the numbers insome of the ships.
The suspense of the little household in Overcombe Mill was great in theextreme. John came thither daily for more than a week; but no furtherparticulars reached England till the end of that time, and then only themeagre intelligence that there had been a gale immediately after thebattle, and that many of the prizes had been lost. Anne said little toall these things, and preserved a superstratum of calmness on hercountenance; but some inner voice seemed to whisper to her that Bob wasno more. Miller Loveday drove to Pos'ham several times to learn if theCaptain's sisters had received any more definite tidings than theseflying reports; but that family had heard nothing which could in any wayrelieve the miller's anxiety. When at last, at the end of November,there appeared a final and revised list of killed and wounded as issuedby Admiral Collingwood, it was a useless sheet to the Lovedays. To theirgreat pain it contained no names but those of officers, the friends ofordinary seamen and marines being in those good old days left to discovertheir losses as best they might.
Anne's conviction of her loss increased with the darkening of the earlywinter time. Bob was not a cautious man who would avoid needlessexposure, and a hundred and fifty of the Victory's crew had been disabledor slain. Anybody who had looked into her room at this time would haveseen that her favourite reading was the office for the Burial of the Deadat Sea, beginning 'We therefore commit his body to the deep.' In thesefirst days of December several of the victorious fleet came into port;but not the Victory. Many supposed that that noble ship, disabled by thebattle, had gone to the bottom in the subsequent tempestuous weather; andthe belief was persevered in till it was told in the town and port thatshe had been seen passing up the Channel. Two days later the Victoryarrived at Portsmouth.
Then letters from survivors began to appear in the public prints whichJohn so regularly brought to Anne; but though he watched the mails withunceasing vigilance there was never a letter from Bob. It sometimescrossed John's mind that his brother might still be alive and well, andthat in his wish to abide by his expressed intention of giving up Anneand home life he was deliberately lax in writing. If so, Bob wascarrying out the idea too thoughtlessly by half, as could be seen bywatching the effects of suspense upon the fair face of the victim, andthe anxiety of the rest of the family.
It was a clear day in December. The first slight snow of the season hadbeen sifted over the earth, and one side of the apple-tree branches inthe miller's garden was touched with white, though a few leaves werestill lingering on the tops of the younger trees. A short sailor of theRoyal Navy, who was not Bob, nor anything like him, crossed the millcourt and came to the door. The miller hastened out and brought him intothe room, where John, Mrs. Loveday, and Anne Garland were all present.
'I'm from aboard the Victory,' said the sailor. 'My name's Jim Cornick.And your lad is alive and well.'
They breathed rather than spoke their thankfulness and relief, themiller's eyes being moist as he turned aside to calm himself; while Anne,having first jumped up wildly from her seat, sank back again under thealmost insupportable joy that trembled through her limbs to her utmostfinger.
'I've come from Spithead to Pos'ham,' the sailor continued, 'and now I amgoing on to father at Budmouth.'
'Ah!--I know your father,' cried the trumpet-major, 'old James Cornick.'
It was the man who had brought Anne in his lerret from Portland Bill.
'And Bob hasn't got a scratch?' said the miller.
'Not a scratch,' said Cornick.
Loveday then bustled off to draw the visitor something to drink. AnneGarland, with a glowing blush on her face, had gone to the back part ofthe room, where she was the very embodiment of sweet content as sheslightly swayed herself without speaking. A little tide of happinessseemed to ebb and flow through her in listening to the sailor's words,moving her figure with it. The seaman and John went on conversing.
'Bob had a good deal to do with barricading the hawse-holes afore we werein action, and the Adm'l and Cap'n both were very much pleased at how'twas done. When the Adm'l went up the quarter-deck ladder, Cap'n Hardysaid a word or two to Bob, but what it was I don't know, for I wasquartered at a gun some ways off. However, Bob saw the Adm'l staggerwhen 'a was wownded, and was one of the men who carried him to thecockpit. After that he and some other lads jumped aboard the Frenchship, and I believe they was in her when she struck her flag. What 'adid next I can't say, for the wind had dropped, and the smoke was like acloud. But 'a got a good deal talked about; and they say there'spromotion in store for'n.'
At this point in the story Jim Cornick stopped to drink, and a lowunconscious humming came from Anne in her distant corner; the faintmelody continued more or less when the conversation between the sailorand the Lovedays was renewed.
'We heard afore that the Victory was near knocked to pieces,' said themiller.
'Knocked to pieces? You'd say so if so be you could see her! Gad, hersides be battered like an old penny piece; the shot be still sticking inher wales, and her sails be like so many clap-nets: we have run all theway home under jury topmasts; and as for her decks, you may swab wi' hotwater, and you may swab wi' cold, but there's the blood-stains, and therethey'll bide. . . . The Cap'n had a narrow escape, like many o' therest--a shot shaved his ankle like a razor. You should have seen thatman's face in the het o' battle, his features were as if they'd been castin steel.'
'We rather expected a letter from Bob before this.'
'Well,' said Jim Cornick, with a smile of toleration, 'you must
makeallowances. The truth o't is, he's engaged just now at Portsmouth, likea good many of the rest from our ship. . . . 'Tis a very nice youngwoman that he's a courting of, and I make no doubt that she'll be anexcellent wife for him.'
'Ah!' said Mrs. Loveday, in a warning tone.
'Courting--wife?' said the miller.
They instinctively looked towards Anne. Anne had started as if shaken byan invisible hand, and a thick mist of doubt seemed to obscure theintelligence of her eyes. This was but for two or three moments. Verypale, she arose and went right up to the seaman. John gently tried tointercept her, but she passed him by.
'Do you speak of Robert Loveday as courting a wife?' she asked, withoutthe least betrayal of emotion.
'I didn't see you, miss,' replied Cornick, turning. 'Yes, your brotherhev' his eye on a wife, and he deserves one. I hope you don't mind?'
'Not in the least,' she said, with a stage laugh. 'I am interested,naturally. And what is she?'
'A very nice young master-baker's daughter, honey. A very wise choice ofthe young man's.'
'Is she fair or dark?'
'Her hair is rather light.'
'I like light hair; and her name?'
'Her name is Caroline. But can it be that my story hurts ye? If so--'
'Yes, yes,' said John, interposing anxiously. 'We don't care for morejust at this moment.'
'We _do_ care for more!' said Anne vehemently. 'Tell it all, sailor.That is a very pretty name, Caroline. When are they going to bemarried?'
'I don't know as how the day is settled,' answered Jim, even now scarcelyconscious of the devastation he was causing in one fair breast. 'Butfrom the rate the courting is scudding along at, I should say it won't belong first.'
'If you see him when you go back, give him my best wishes,' she lightlysaid, as she moved away. 'And,' she added, with solemn bitterness, 'saythat I am glad to hear he is making such good use of the first days ofhis escape from the Valley of the Shadow of Death!' She went away,expressing indifference by audibly singing in the distance--
'Shall we go dance the round, the round, the round, Shall we go dance the round?'
'Your sister is lively at the news,' observed Jim Cornick.
'Yes,' murmured John gloomily, as he gnawed his lower lip and kept hiseyes fixed on the fire.
'Well,' continued the man from the Victory, 'I won't say that yourbrother's intended ha'n't got some ballast, which is very lucky for'n, ashe might have picked up with a girl without a single copper nail. To besure there was a time we had when we got into port! It was open housefor us all!' And after mentally regarding the scene for a few secondsJim emptied his cup and rose to go.
The miller was saying some last words to him outside the house, Anne'svoice had hardly ceased singing upstairs, John was standing by thefireplace, and Mrs. Loveday was crossing the room to join her daughter,whose manner had given her some uneasiness, when a noise came from abovethe ceiling, as of some heavy body falling. Mrs. Loveday rushed to thestaircase, saying, 'Ah, I feared something!' and she was followed byJohn.
When they entered Anne's room, which they both did almost at one moment,they found her lying insensible upon the floor. The trumpet-major, hislips tightly closed, lifted her in his arms, and laid her upon the bed;after which he went back to the door to give room to her mother, who wasbending over the girl with some hartshorn.
Presently Mrs. Loveday looked up and said to him, 'She is only in afaint, John, and her colour is coming back. Now leave her to me; I willbe downstairs in a few minutes, and tell you how she is.'
John left the room. When he gained the lower apartment his father wasstanding by the chimney-piece, the sailor having gone. The trumpet-majorwent up to the fire, and, grasping the edge of the high chimney-shelf,stood silent.
'Did I hear a noise when I went out?' asked the elder, in a tone ofmisgiving.
'Yes, you did,' said John. 'It was she, but her mother says she isbetter now. Father,' he added impetuously, 'Bob is a worthlessblockhead! If there had been any good in him he would have been drownedyears ago!'
'John, John--not too fast,' said the miller. 'That's a hard thing to sayof your brother, and you ought to be ashamed of it.'
'Well, he tries me more than I can bear. Good God! what can a man bemade of to go on as he does? Why didn't he come home; or if he couldn'tget leave why didn't he write? 'Tis scandalous of him to serve a womanlike that!'
'Gently, gently. The chap hev done his duty as a sailor; and thoughthere might have been something between him and Anne, her mother, intalking it over with me, has said many times that she couldn't think oftheir marrying till Bob had settled down in business with me. Folks thatgain victories must have a little liberty allowed 'em. Look at theAdmiral himself, for that matter.'
John continued looking at the red coals, till hearing Mrs. Loveday's footon the staircase, he went to meet her.
'She is better,' said Mrs. Loveday; 'but she won't come down again to-day.'
Could John have heard what the poor girl was moaning to herself at thatmoment as she lay writhing on the bed, he would have doubted her mother'sassurance. 'If he had been dead I could have borne it, but this I cannotbear!'