CHAPTER XI

THE GREAT NORTH ROAD

It chanced that as I went down the hill these last words of my friend

the drover echoed not unfruitfully in my head. I had never told these

men the least particulars as to my race or fortune, as it was a part,

and the best part, of their civility to ask no questions: yet they had

dubbed me without hesitation English. Some strangeness in the accent

they had doubtless thus explained. And it occurred to me, that if I

could pass in Scotland for an Englishman, I might be able to reverse the

process and pass in England for a Scot. I thought, if I was pushed to

it, I could make a struggle to imitate the brogue; after my experience

with Candlish and Sim, I had a rich provision of outlandish words at my

command; and I felt I could tell the tale of Tweedie's dog so as to

deceive a native. At the same time, I was afraid my name of St. Ives was

scarcely suitable; till I remembered there was a town so called in the

province of Cornwall, thought I might yet be glad to claim it for my

place of origin, and decided for a Cornish family and a Scots education.

For a trade, as I was equally ignorant of all, and as the most innocent

might at any moment be the means of my exposure, it was best to pretend

to none. And I dubbed myself a young gentleman of a sufficient fortune

and an idle, curious habit of mind, rambling the country at my own

charges, in quest of health, information, and merry adventures.

At Newcastle, which was the first town I reached, I completed my

preparations for the part, before going to the inn, by the purchase of a

knapsack and a pair of leathern gaiters. My plaid I continued to wear

from sentiment. It was warm, useful to sleep in if I were again

benighted, and I had discovered it to be not unbecoming for a man of

gallant carriage. Thus equipped, I supported my character of the

light-hearted pedestrian not amiss. Surprise was indeed expressed that I

should have selected such a season of the year; but I pleaded some

delays of business, and smilingly claimed to be an eccentric. The devil

was in it, I would say, if any season of the year was not good enough

for me; I was not made of sugar, I was no mollycoddle to be afraid of an

ill-aired bed or a sprinkle of snow; and I would knock upon the table

with my fist and call for t'other bottle, like the noisy and

free-hearted young gentleman I was. It was my policy (if I may so

express myself) to talk much and say little. At the inn-tables, the

country, the state of the roads, the business interest of those who sat

down with me, and the course of public events, afforded me a

considerable field in which I might discourse at large and still

communicate no information about myself. There was no one with less air

of reticence; I plunged into my company up to the neck; and I had a long

cock-and-bull story of an aunt of mine which must have convinced the

most suspicious of my innocence. "What!" they would have said, "that

young ass to be concealing anything! Why, he has deafened me with an

aunt of his until my head aches. He only wants you should give him a

line, and he would tell you his whole descent from Adam downward, and

his whole private fortune to the last shilling." A responsible solid

fellow was even so much moved by pity for my inexperience as to give me

a word or two of good advice: that I was but a young man after all--I

had at this time a deceptive air of youth that made me easily pass for

one-and-twenty, and was, in the circumstances, worth a fortune--that the

company at inns was very mingled, that I should do well to be more

careful, and the like; to all which I made answer that I meant no harm

myself and expected none from others, or the devil was in it. "You are

one of those d----d prudent fellows that I could never abide with," said

I. "You are the kind of man that has a long head. That's all the world,

my dear sir: the long heads and the short horns! Now, I am a short

horn." "I doubt," says he, "that you will not go very far without

getting sheared." I offered to bet with him on that, and he made off,

shaking his head.

But my particular delight was to enlarge on politics and the war. None

damned the French like me; none was more bitter against the Americans.

And when the north-bound mail arrived, crowned with holly, and the

coachman and guard hoarse with shouting victory, I went even so far as

to entertain the company to a bowl of punch, which I compounded myself

with no illiberal hand, and doled out to such sentiments as the

following:--

"Our glorious victory on the Nivelle!" "Lord Wellington, God bless him!

and may victory ever attend upon his arms!" and, "Soult, poor devil! and

may he catch it again to the same tune!"

Never was oratory more applauded to the echo--never any one was more of

the popular man than I. I promise you, we made a night of it. Some of

the company supported each other, with the assistance of boots, to their

respective bed-chambers, while the rest slept on the field of glory

where we had left them; and at the breakfast-table the next morning

there was an extraordinary assemblage of red eyes and shaking fists. I

observed patriotism to burn much lower by daylight. Let no one blame me

for insensibility to the reverses of France! God knows how my heart

raged. How I longed to fall on that herd of swine and knock their heads

together in the moment of their revelry! But you are to consider my own

situation and its necessities; also a certain lightheartedness,

eminently Gallic, which forms a leading trait in my character, and leads

me to throw myself into new circumstances with the spirit of a

schoolboy. It is possible that I sometimes allow this impish humour to

carry me further than good taste approves: and I was certainly punished

for it once.

This was in the episcopal city of Durham. We sat down, a considerable

company, to dinner, most of us fine old vatted English tories of that

class which is often so enthusiastic as to be inarticulate. I took and

held the lead from the beginning; and, the talk having turned on the

French in the Peninsula, I gave them authentic details (on the authority

of a cousin of mine, an ensign) of certain cannibal orgies in Galicia,

in which no less a person than General Caffarelli had taken a part. I

always disliked that commander, who once ordered me under arrest for

insubordination; and it is possible that a spice of vengeance added to

the rigour of my picture. I have forgotten the details; no doubt they

were high-coloured. No doubt I rejoiced to fool these jolter-heads; and

no doubt the sense of security that I drank from their dull, gasping

faces encouraged me to proceed extremely far. And for my sins, there was

one silent little man at table who took my story at the true value. It

was from no sense of humour, to which he was quite dead. It was from no

particular intelligence, for he had not any. The bond of sympathy, of

all things in the world, had rendered him clairvoyant.

Dinner was no sooner done than I strolled forth into the streets with

some design of viewing the cathedral; and the little man was silently at

my heels. A few doors from the inn, in a dark place of the street, I was

aware of a touch on my arm, turned suddenly, and found him looking up at

me with eyes pathetically bright.

"I beg your pardon, sir; but that story of yours was particularly rich.

He--he! Particularly racy," said he. "I tell you, sir, I took you

wholly! I _smoked_ you! I believe you and I, sir, if we had a chance to

talk, would find we had a good many opinions in common. Here is the

'Blue Bell,' a very comfortable place. They draw good ale, sir. Would

you be so condescending as to share a pot with me?"

There was something so ambiguous and secret in the little man's

perpetual signalling, that I confess my curiosity was much aroused.

Blaming myself, even as I did so, for the indiscretion, I embraced his

proposal, and we were soon face to face over a tankard of mulled ale. He

lowered his voice to the least attenuation of a whisper.

"Here, sir," said he, "is to the Great Man. I think you take me? No?" He

leaned forward till our noses touched. "Here is to the Emperor!" said

he.

I was extremely embarrassed, and, in spite of the creature's innocent

appearance, more than half alarmed. I thought him too ingenuous, and,

indeed, too daring for a spy. Yet if he were honest he must be a man of

extraordinary indiscretion, and therefore very unfit to be encouraged by

an escaped prisoner. I took a half course, accordingly--accepted his

toast in silence, and drank it without enthusiasm.

He proceeded to abound in the praises of Napoleon, such as I had never

heard in France, or at least only on the lips of officials paid to offer

them.

"And this Caffarelli, now," he pursued; "he is a splendid fellow, too,

is he not? I have not heard vastly much of him myself. No details,

sir--no details! We labour under huge difficulties here as to unbiassed

information."

"I believe I have heard the same complaint in other countries," I could

not help remarking. "But as to Caffarelli, he is neither lame nor blind,

he has two legs, and a nose in the middle of his face. And I care as

much about him as you care for the dead body of Mr. Perceval!"

He studied me with glowing eyes.

"You cannot deceive me!" he cried. "You have served under him. You are a

Frenchman! I hold by the hand, at last, one of that noble race, the

pioneers of the glorious principles of liberty and brotherhood. Hush!

No, it is all right. I thought there had been somebody at the door. In

this wretched, enslaved country we dare not even call our souls our

own. The spy and the hangman, sir--the spy and the hangman! And yet

there is a candle burning, too. The good leaven is working, sir--working

underneath. Even in this town there are a few brave spirits who meet

every Wednesday. You must stay over a day or so and join us. We do not

use this house. Another, and a quieter. They draw fine ale,

however--fair, mild ale. You will find yourself among friends, among

brothers. You will hear some very daring sentiments expressed!" he

cried, expanding his small chest. "Monarchy, Christianity--all the

trappings of a bloated past--the Free Confraternity of Durham and

Tyneside deride."

Here was a devil of a prospect for a gentleman whose whole design was to

avoid observation! The Free Confraternity had no charms for me; daring

sentiments were no part of my baggage; and I tried, instead, a little

cold water.

"You seem to forget, sir, that my Emperor has reestablished

Christianity," I observed.

"Ah, sir, but that was policy!" he exclaimed. "You do not understand

Napoleon. I have followed his whole career. I can explain his policy

from first to last. Now, for instance, in the Peninsula, on which you

were so very amusing, if you will come to a friend's house who has a map

of Spain, I can make the whole course of the war quite clear to you, I

venture to say, in half an hour."

This was intolerable. Of the two extremes, I found I preferred the

British tory; and, making an appointment for the morrow, I pleaded

sudden headache, escaped to the inn, packed my knapsack, and fled, about

nine at night, from this accursed neighbourhood. It was cold, starry,

and clear, and the road dry, with a touch of frost. For all that, I had

not the smallest intention to make a long stage of it; and about ten

o'clock, spying on the right-hand side of the way the lighted windows of

an ale-house, I determined to bait there for the night.

It was against my principle, which was to frequent only the dearest

inns; and the misadventure that befell me was sufficient to make me more

particular in the future. A large company was assembled in the parlour,

which was heavy with clouds of tobacco-smoke, and brightly lighted up by

a roaring fire of coal. Hard by the chimney stood a vacant chair in what

I thought an enviable situation, whether for warmth or the pleasure of

society; and I was about to take it when the nearest of the company

stopped me with his hand.

"Beg thy pardon, sir," said he; "but that there chair belongs to a

British soldier."

A chorus of voices enforced and explained. It was one of Lord

Wellington's heroes. He had been wounded under Rowland Hill. He was

Colbourne's right-hand man. In short, this favoured individual appeared

to have served with every separate corps, and under every individual

general in the Peninsula. Of course I apologised. I had not known. The

devil was in it if a soldier had not a right to the best in England. And

with that sentiment, which was loudly applauded, I found a corner of a

bench, and awaited, with some hopes of entertainment, the return of the

hero. He proved, of course, to be a private soldier. I say of course,

because no officer could possibly enjoy such heights of popularity. He

had been wounded before San Sebastian, and still wore his arm in a

sling. What was a great deal worse for him, every member of the company

had been plying him with drink. His honest yokel's countenance blazed as

if with fever, his eyes were glazed and looked the two ways, and his

feet stumbled as, amidst a murmur of applause, he returned to the midst

of his admirers.

Two minutes afterwards I was again posting in the dark along the

highway; to explain which sudden movement of retreat I must trouble the

reader with a reminiscence of my services.

I lay one night with the out-pickets in Castile. We were in close touch

with the enemy; the usual orders had been issued against smoking, fires,

and talk, and both armies lay as quiet as mice, when I saw the English

sentinel opposite making a signal by holding up his musket. I repeated

it, and we both crept together in the dry bed of a stream, which made

the demarcation of the armies. It was wine he wanted, of which we had a

good provision, and the English had quite run out. He gave me the money,

and I, as was the custom, left him my firelock in pledge, and set off

for the canteen. When I returned with a skin of wine, behold, it had

pleased some uneasy devil of an English officer to withdraw the

outposts! Here was a situation with a vengeance, and I looked for

nothing but ridicule in the present and punishment in the future.

Doubtless our officers winked pretty hard at this interchange of

courtesies, but doubtless it would be impossible to wink at so gross a

fault, or rather so pitiable a misadventure as mine; and you are to

conceive me wandering in the plains of Castile, benighted, charged with

a wine-skin for which I had no use, and with no knowledge whatever of

the whereabouts of my musket, beyond that it was somewhere in my Lord

Wellington's army. But my Englishman was either a very honest fellow, or

else extremely thirsty, and at last contrived to advertise me of his new

position. Now, the English sentry in Castile and the wounded hero in the

Durham public-house were one and the same person; and if he had been a

little less drunk, or myself less lively in getting away, the travels of

M. St. Ives might have come to an untimely end.

I suppose this woke me up; it stirred in me besides a spirit of

opposition, and in spite of cold, darkness, the highwaymen and the

footpads, I determined to walk right on till breakfast-time: a happy

resolution, which enabled me to observe one of those traits of manners

which at once depict a country and condemn it. It was near midnight when

I saw, a great way ahead of me, the light of many torches; presently

after, the sound of wheels reached me, and the slow tread of feet, and

soon I had joined myself to the rear of a sordid, silent, and lugubrious

procession, such as we see in dreams. Close on a hundred persons marched

by torchlight in unbroken silence; and in their midst a cart, and in

the cart, on an inclined platform, the dead body of a man--the

centre-piece of this solemnity, the hero whose obsequies we were come

forth at this unusual hour to celebrate. It was but a plain, dingy old

fellow of fifty or sixty, his throat cut, his shirt turned over as

though to show the wound. Blue trousers and brown socks completed his

attire, if we can talk so of the dead. He had a horrid look of a

waxwork. In the tossing of the lights he seemed to make faces and mouths

at us, to frown, and to be at times upon the point of speech. The cart,

with this shabby and tragic freight, and surrounded by its silent escort

and bright torches, continued for some distance to creak along the

high-road, and I to follow it in amazement, which was soon exchanged for

horror. At the corner of a lane the procession stopped, and, as the

torches ranged themselves along the hedgerow-side, I became aware of a

grave dug in the midst of the thoroughfare, and a provision of quicklime

piled in the ditch. The cart was backed to the margin, the body slung

off the platform and dumped into the grave with an irreverent roughness.

A sharpened stake had hitherto served it for a pillow. It was now

withdrawn, held in its place by several volunteers, and a fellow with a

heavy mallet (the sound of which still haunts me at night) drove it home

through the bosom of the corpse. The hole was filled with quicklime, and

the bystanders, as if relieved of some oppression, broke at once into a

sound of whispered speech.

My shirt stuck to me, my heart had almost ceased beating, and I found my

tongue with difficulty.

"I beg your pardon," I gasped to a neighbour, "what is this? what has he

done? is it allowed?"

"Why, where do you come from?" replied the man.

"I am a traveller, sir," said I, "and a total stranger in this part of

the country. I had lost my way when I saw your torches, and came by

chance on this--this incredible scene. Who was the man?"

"A suicide," said he. "Ay, he was a bad one was Johnny Green."

It appeared this was a wretch who had committed many barbarous murders,

and being at last upon the point of discovery fell of his own hand. And

the nightmare at the cross-roads was the regular punishment, according

to the laws of England, for an act which the Romans honoured as a

virtue! Whenever an Englishman begins to prate of civilisation (as,

indeed, it's a defect they are rather prone to), I hear the measured

blows of a mallet, see the bystanders crowd with torches about the

grave, smile a little to myself in conscious superiority--and take a

thimbleful of brandy for the stomach's sake.

I believe it must have been at my next stage, for I remember going to

bed extremely early, that I came to the model of a good old-fashioned

English inn, and was attended on by the picture of a pretty chambermaid.

We had a good many pleasant passages as she waited table or warmed my

bed for me with a devil of a brass warming-pan, fully larger than

herself; and as she was no less pert than she was pretty, she may be

said to have given rather better than she took. I cannot tell why

(unless it were for the sake of her saucy eyes), but I made her my

confidante, told her I was attached to a young lady in Scotland, and

received the encouragement of her sympathy, mingled and connected with a

fair amount of rustic wit. While I slept the down-mail stopped for

supper; it chanced that one of the passengers left behind a copy of the

_Edinburgh Courant_, and the next morning my pretty chambermaid set the

paper before me at breakfast, with the remark that there was some news

from my lady-love. I took it eagerly, hoping to find some further word

of our escape, in which I was disappointed; and I was about to lay it

down, when my eye fell on a paragraph immediately concerning me. Faa was

in hospital, grievously sick, and warrants were out for the arrest of

Sim and Candlish. These two men had shown themselves very loyal to me.

This trouble emerging, the least I could do was to be guided by a

similar loyalty to them. Suppose my visit to my uncle crowned with some

success, and my finances re-established, I determined I should

immediately return to Edinburgh, put their case in the hands of a good

lawyer, and await events. So my mind was very lightly made up to what

proved a mighty serious matter. Candlish and Sim were all very well in

their way, and I do sincerely trust I should have been at some pains to

help them, had there been nothing else. But in truth my heart and my

eyes were set on quite another matter, and I received the news of their

tribulation almost with joy. There is never a bad wind that blows where

we want to go, and you may be sure there was nothing unwelcome in a

circumstance that carried me back to Edinburgh and Flora. From that hour

I began to indulge myself with the making of imaginary scenes and

interviews, in which I confounded the aunt, flattered Ronald, and now in

the witty, now in the sentimental manner, declared my love and received

the assurance of its return. By means of this exercise my resolution

daily grew stronger, until at last I had piled together such a mass of

obstinacy as it would have taken a cataclysm of nature to subvert.

"Yes," said I to the chambermaid, "here is news of my lady-love indeed,

and very good news too."

All that day, in the teeth of a keen winter wind, I hugged myself in my

plaid, and it was as though her arms were flung around me.