The Corriemuir Peel Tower
Well, it would weary me, and I am very sure that it would weary you also, if I were to attempt to tell you how life went with us after this man came under our roof, or the way in which he gradually came to win the affections of every one of us. With the women it was quick work enough; but soon he had thawed my father too, which was no such easy matter, and had gained Jim Horscroft’s goodwill as well as my own. Indeed, we were but two great boys beside him, for he had been everywhere and seen everything; and of an evening he would chatter away in his limping English until he took us clean from the plain kitchen and the little farm steading, to plunge us into courts and camps and battlefields and all the wonders of the world. Horscroft had been sulky enough with him at first; but de Lapp, with his tact and his easy ways, soon drew him round, until he had quite won his heart, and Jim would sit with Cousin Edie’s hand in his, and the two be quite lost in listening to all that he had to tell us. I will not tell you all this; but even now, after so long an interval, I can trace how, week by week and month by month, by this word and that deed, he moulded us all as he wished.
One of his first acts was to give my father the boat in which he had come, reserving only the right to have it back in case he should have need of it. The herring were down on the coast that autumn, and my uncle before he died had given us a fine set of nets, so the gift was worth many a pound to us. Sometimes de Lapp would go out in the boat alone, and I have seen him for a whole summer day rowing slowly along and stopping every half-dozen strokes to throw over a stone at the end of a string. I could not think what he was doing until he told me of his own freewill.
“I am fond of studying all that has to do with the military,” said he, “and I never lose a chance. I was wondering if it would be a difficult matter for the commander, of an army corps to throw his men ashore here.”
“If the wind were not from the east,” said I.
“Ah! quite so, if the wind were not from the east. Have you taken soundings here?”
“No?”
“Your line of battleships would have to lie outside; but there is water enough for a forty-gun frigate right up within musket range. Cram your boats with tirailleurs, deploy them behind these sandhills, then back with the launches for more, and a stream of grape over their heads from the frigates. It could be done! it could be done!”
His moustaches bristled out more like a cat’s than ever, and I could see by the flash of his eyes that he was carried away by his dream.
“You forget that our soldiers would be upon the beach,” said I indignantly.
“Ta, ta, ta!” he cried. “Of course it takes two sides to make a battle. Let us see now; let us work it out. What could you get together? Shall we say twenty, thirty thousand. A few regiments of good troops: the rest, pouf! — conscripts, bourgeois with arms. How do you call them — volunteers?”
“Brave men!” I shouted.
“Oh yes, very brave men, but imbecile. Ah, mon Dieu, it is incredible how imbecile they would be! Not they alone, I mean, but all young troops. They are so afraid of being afraid that they would take no precaution. Ah, I have seen it! In Spain I have seen a battalion of conscripts attack a battery of ten pieces. Up they went, ah, so gallantly! and presently the hillside looked, from where I stood, like — how do you say it in English? — a raspberry tart. And where was our fine battalion of conscripts? Then another battalion of young troops tried it, all together in a rush, shouting and yelling but what will shouting do against a mitraille of grape? And there was our second battalion laid out on the hillside. And then the foot chasseurs of the Guard, old soldiers, were told to take the battery; and there was nothing fine about their advance — no column, no shouting, nobody killed — just a few scattered lines of tirailleurs and pelotons of support; but in ten minutes the guns were silenced, and the Spanish gunners cut to pieces. War must be learned, my young friend, just the same as the farming of sheep.”
“Pooh!” said I, not to be outcrowed by a foreigner. “If we had thirty thousand men on the line of the hill yonder, you would come to be very glad that you had your boats behind you.”
“On the line of the hill?” said he, with a flash of his eyes along the ridge. “Yes, if your man knew his business he would have his left about your house, his centre on Corriemuir, and his right over near the doctor’s, house, with his tirailleurs pushed out thickly in front. His horse, of course, would try to cut us up as we deployed on the beach. But once let us form, and we should soon know what to do. There’s the weak point, there at the gap. I would sweep it with my guns, then roll in my cavalry, push the infantry on in grand columns, and that wing would find itself up in the air. Eh, Jock, where would your volunteers be?”
“Close at the heels of your hindmost man,” said I; and we both burst out into the hearty laugh with which such discussions usually ended.
Sometimes when he talked I thought he was joking, and at other times it was not quite so easy to say. I well remember one evening that summer, when he was sitting in the kitchen with my father, Jim, and me, after the women had gone to bed, he began about Scotland and its relation to England.
“You used to have your own king and your own laws made at Edinburgh,” said he. “Does it not fill you with rage and despair when you think that it all comes to you from London now?”
Jim took his pipe out of his mouth.
“It was we who put our king over the English; so if there’s any rage, it should have been over yonder,” said he.
This was clearly news to the stranger, and it silenced him for the moment.
“Well, but your laws are made down there, and surely that is not good,” he said at last.
“No, it would be well to have a Parliament back in Edinburgh,” said my father; “but I am kept so busy with the sheep that I have little enough time to think of such things.”
“It is for fine young men like you two to think of it,” said de Lapp. “When a country is injured, it is to its young men that it looks to avenge it.”
“Aye! the English take too much upon themselves sometimes,” said Jim.
“Well, if there are many of that way of thinking about, why should we not form them into battalions and march them upon London?” cried de Lapp.
“That would be a rare little picnic,” said I, laughing. “And who would lead us?”
He jumped up, bowing, with his hand on his heart, in his queer fashion.
“If you will allow me to have the honour!” he cried; and then seeing that we were all laughing, he began to laugh also, but I am sure that there was really no thought of a joke in his mind.
I could never make out what his age could be, nor could Jim Horscroft either. Sometimes we thought that he was an oldish man that looked young, and at others that he was a youngish man who looked old. His brown, stiff, close-cropped hair needed no cropping at the top, where it thinned away to a shining curve. His skin, too, was intersected by a thousand fine wrinkles, lacing and interlacing, and was all burned, as I have already said, by the sun. Yet he was as lithe as a boy, and he was as tough as whalebone, walking all day over the hills or rowing on the sea without turning a hair. On the whole we thought that he might be about forty or forty-five, though it was hard to see how he could have seen so much of life in the time. But one day we got talking of ages, and then he surprised us.
I had been saying that I was just twenty, and Jim said that he was twenty-seven.
“Then I am the most old of the three,” said de Lapp.
We laughed at this, for by our reckoning he might almost have been our father.
“But not by so much,” said he, arching his brows. “I was nine-and-twenty in December.”
And it was this even more than his talk which made us understand what an extraordinary life it must have been that he had led. He saw our astonishment, and laughed at it.
“I have lived! I have lived!” he cried. “I have spent my days and my nights. I led a company in a battle where five nations were engaged when I was but fourteen. I made a king turn pale at the words I whispered in his car when I was twenty. I had a hand in remaking a kingdom and putting a fresh king upon a great throne the very year that I came of age. Mon Dieu, I have lived my life!
That was the most that I ever heard him confess of his past life, and he only shook his head and laughed when we tried to get something more out of him. There were times when we thought that he was but a clever impostor; for what could a man of such influence and talents be loitering here in Berwickshire for? But one day there came an incident which showed us that he had indeed a history in the past. You will remember that there was an old officer of the Peninsula who lived no great way from us, the same who danced round the bonfire with his sister and the two maids. He had gone up to London on some business about his pension and his wound money, and the chance of having some work given him, so that he did not come back until late in the autumn. One of the first days after his return he came down to see us, and there for the first time he clapped eyes upon de Lapp. Never in my life did I look upon so astonished a face, and he stared at our friend for a long minute without so much as a word. De Lapp looked back at him equally hard, but there was no recognition in his eyes.
“I do not know who you are, sir,” he said at last; “but you look at me as if you had seen me before.”
“So I have,” answered the major.
“Never to my knowledge.”
“But I ‘ll swear it!”
“Where then?”
“At the village of Astorga, in the year ‘8.”
De Lapp started, and stared again at our neighbour.
“Mon Dieu, what a chance!” he cried. “And you were the English parliamentaire? I remember you very well indeed, sir. Let me have a whisper in your ear.”
He took him aside and talked very earnestly with him in French for a quarter of an hour, gesticulating with his hands, and explaining something, while the major nodded his old grizzled head from time to time. At last they seemed to come to some agreement, and I heard the major say “Parole d’honneur” several times, and afterwards “Fortune de la guerre,” which I could very well understand, for they gave you a fine upbringing at Birtwhistle’s. But after that I always noticed that the major never used the same free fashion of speech that we did towards our lodger, but bowed when he addressed him, and treated him with a wonderful deal of respect. I asked the major more than once what he knew about him, but he always put it off, and I could get no answer out of him.
Jim Horscroft was at home all that summer, but late in the autumn he went back to Edinburgh again for the winter session, and as he intended to work very hard and get his degree next spring if he could, he said that he would bide up there for the Christmas. So there was a great leave-taking between him and Cousin Edie; and he was to put up his plate and to marry her as soon as he had the right to practice. I never knew a man love a woman more fondly than he did her, and she liked him well enough in a way — for, indeed, in the whole of Scotland she would not find a finer-looking man — but when it came to marriage, I think she winced a little at the thought that all her wonderful dreams should end in nothing more than in being the wife of a country surgeon. Still there was only me and Jim to choose out of, and she took the best of us.
Of course there was de Lapp also; but we always felt that he was of an altogether different class to us, and so he didn’t count. I was never very sure at that time whether Edie cared for him or not. When Jim was at home they took little notice of each other. After he was gone they were thrown more together, which was natural enough, as he had taken up so much of her time before. Once or twice she spoke to me about de Lapp as though she did not like him, and yet she was uneasy if he were not in in the evening; and there was no one so fond of his talk, or with so many questions to ask him, as she. She made him describe what queens wore, and what sort of carpets they walked on, and whether they had hairpins in their hair, and how many feathers they had in their hats, until it was a wonder to me how he could find an answer to it all. And yet an answer he always had; and was so ready and quick with his tongue, and so anxious to amuse her, that I wondered how it was that she did not like him better.
Well, the summer and the autumn and the best part of the winter passed away, and we were still all very happy together. We got well into the year 1815, and the great Emperor was still eating his heart out at Elba; and all the ambassadors were wrangling together at Vienna as to what they should do with the lion’s skin, now that they had so fairly hunted him down. And we in our little corner of Europe went on with our petty peaceful business, looking after the sheep, attending the Berwick cattle fairs, and chatting at night round the blazing peat fire. We never thought that what all these high and mighty people were doing could have any bearing upon us; and as to war, why everybody was agreed that the great shadow was lifted from us for ever, and that, unless the Allies quarrelled among themselves, there would not be a shot fired in Europe for another fifty years.
There was one incident, however, that stands out very clearly in my memory. I think that it must have happened about the February of this year, and I will tell it to you before I go any further.
You know what the border Peel castles are like, I have no doubt. They were just square heaps built every here and there along the line, so that the folk might have some place of protection against raiders and moss-troopers. When Percy and his men were over the Marches, then the people would drive some of their cattle into the yard of the tower, shut up the big gate, and light a fire in the brazier at the top, which would be answered by all the other Peel towers, until the lights would go twinkling up to the Lammermuir Hills, and so carry the news on to the Pentlands and to Edinburgh. But now, of course, all these old keeps were warped and crumbling, and made fine nesting places for the wild birds. Many a good egg have I had for my collection out of the Corriemuir Peel Tower.
One day I had been a very long walk, away over to leave a message at the Laidlaw Armstrongs, who live two miles on this side of Ayton. About five o’clock, just before the sun set, I found myself on the brae path with the gable end of West Inch peeping up in front of me and the old Peel tower lying on my left. I turned my eyes on the keep, for it looked so fine with the flush of the level sun beating full upon it and the blue sea stretching out behind; and as I stared, I suddenly saw the face of a man twinkle for a moment in one of the holes in the wall.
Well I stood and wondered over this, for what could anybody be doing in such a place now that it was too early for the nesting season? It was so queer that I was determined to come to the bottom of it; so, tired as I was, I turned my shoulder on home, and walked swiftly towards the tower. The grass stretches right up to the very base of the wall, and my feet made little noise until I reached the crumbling arch where the old gate used to be. I peeped through, and there was Bonaventure de Lapp standing inside the keep, and peeping out through the very hole at which I had seen his face. He was turned half away from me, and it was clear that he had not seen me at all, for he was staring with all his eyes over in the direction of West Inch. As I advanced my foot rattled the rubble that lay in the gateway, and he turned round with a start and faced me.
He was not a man whom you could put out of countenance, and his face changed no more than if he had been expecting me there for a twelvemonth; but there was something in his eyes which let me know that he would have paid a good price to have me back on the brae path again.
“Hullo!” said I, “what are you doing here?”
“I may ask you that,” said he.
“I came up because I saw your face at the window.”
“And I because, as you may well have observed, I have very much interest for all that has to do with the military, and, of course castles are among them. You will excuse me for one moment, my dear Jack.”
And he stepped out suddenly through the hole in the wall so as to be out of my sight.
But I was very much too curious to excuse him so easily. I shifted my ground swiftly to see what it was that he was after. He was standing outside, and waving his hand frantically, as in a signal.
“What are you doing?” I cried; and then, running out to his side, I looked across the moors to see whom he was beckoning to.
“You go too far, sir,” said he, angrily; “I didn’t thought you would have gone so far. A gentleman has the freedom to act as he choose without your being the spy upon him. If we are to be friends, you must not interfere in my affairs.”
“I don’t like these secret doings,” said I, “and my father would not like them either.”
“Your father can speak for himself, and there is no secret,” said he, curtly. “It is you with your imaginings that make a secret. Ta, ta, ta! I have no patience with such foolishness.”
And without as much as a nod, he turned his back upon me, and started walking swiftly to West Inch.
Well, I followed him, and in the worst of tempers; for I had a feeling that there was some mischief in the wind, and yet I could not for the life of me think what it all meant. Again I found myself puzzling over the whole mystery of this man’s coming, and of his long residence among us. And whom could he have expected to meet at the Peel Tower? Was the fellow a spy, and was it some brother spy who came to speak with him there? But that was absurd. What could there be to spy about in Berwickshire? And besides, Major Elliott knew all about him, and he would not show him such respect if there were anything amiss.
I had just got as far as this in my thoughts when I heard a cheery hail, and there was the major himself coming down the hill from his house, with his big bulldog Bounder held in leash. This dog was a savage creature, and had caused more than one accident on the country-side; but the major was very fond of it, and would never go out without it, though he kept it tied with a good thick thong of leather. Well, just as I was looking at the major, waiting for him to come up, he stumbled with his lame leg over a branch of gorse, and in recovering himself he let go his hold of the leash, and in an instant there was the beast of a dog flying down the hillside in my direction.
I did not like it, I can tell you; for there was neither stick nor stone about, and I knew that the brute was dangerous. The major was shrieking to it from behind, and I think that the creature thought that he was hallooing it on, so furiously did it rush. But I knew its name, and I thought that maybe that might give me the privileges of acquaintanceship; so as it came to me with bristling hair and its nose screwed back between its two red eyes, I cried out “Bounder! Bounder!” at the pitch of my lungs. It had its effect, for the beast passed me with a snarl, and flew along the path on the traces of Bonaventure de Lapp.
He turned at the shouting, and seemed to take in the whole thing at a glance; but he strolled along as slowly as ever. My heart was in my mouth for him, for the dog had never seen him before; and I ran as fast as my feet would carry me to, drag it away from him. But somehow, as it bounded up and saw the twittering finger and thumb which de Lapp held out behind him, its fury died suddenly away, and we saw it wagging its thumb of a tail and clawing at his knee.
“Your dog then, major?” said he, as its owner came hobbling up. “Ah, it is a fine beast — a fine, pretty thing!”
The major was blowing hard, for he had covered the ground nearly as fast as I.
“I was afraid lest he might have hurt you,” he panted.
“Ta, ta, ta!” cried de Lapp. “He is a pretty, gentle thing; I always love the dogs. But I am glad that I have met you, major; for here is this young gentleman, to whom I owe very much, who has begun to think that am a spy. Is it not so, Jack?”
I was so taken aback by his words that I could not lay my tongue to an answer, but coloured up and looked askance, like the awkward country lad that I was.
“You know me, major,” said de Lapp, “and I am sure that you will tell him that this could not be.”
“No, no, Jack! Certainly not! certainly not!” cried the major.
“Thank you,” said de Lapp. “You know me, and you do me justice. And yourself, I hope that your knee is better, and that you will soon have your regiment given you.”
“I am well enough,” answered the major; “but they will never give me a place unless there is war, and there will be no more war in my time.”
“Oh, you think that!” said de Lapp with a smile. “Well, nous verrons! We shall see, my friend!”
He whisked off his hat, and turning briskly he walked off in the direction of West Inch. The major stood looking after him with thoughtful eyes, and then asked me what it was that had made me think that he was a spy. When I told him he said nothing, but he shook his head, and looked like a man who was ill at ease in his mind.