 8. A ST. HALENA, LULLABY How far is St. Helena from a little child at play? What makes you want to wander there with all the world between? O mother, call your son again, or else he'll run away. No one thinks of winter when the grass is green. How far is St. Helena from a fight in the Paris street? I haven't time to answer now, the men are falling fast. The guns begin to thunder, and the drums begin to beat. If you take the first step, you will take the last. How far is St. Helena from the field at Austerlitz? You couldn't hear me if I told you so loud the cannons roar, but not so far for people who are living by their wits. Gay go up means gay go down, the wide world o'er. How far is St. Helena from an emperor of France? I cannot see, I cannot tell, the crowns they dazzle so. The kings sit down to dinner, and the queens stand up to dance. After open weather you may look for snow. How far is St. Helena from the capes of Trafalgar? A longish way, a longish way, with ten year more to run. It's south across the water underneath the setting star. What you cannot finish, you must leave undone. How far is St. Helena from the Barracina ice? An ill way, a chill way, the ice begins to crack. But not so far for gentlemen who never took advice. When you can't go forward you must even come back. How far is St. Helena from the fields of Waterloo? A near way, a clear way, the ship will take you soon. A pleasant place for gentlemen with little left to do. Morning never tries you till the afternoon. How far from St. Helena to the gate of heaven's grace? That no one knows, that no one knows, and no one ever will. But fold your hands across your heart, and cover up your face, and after all your traipsings, child, lie still. A priest in spite of himself. The day after they came home from the seaside they set out on a tour of inspection to make sure everything was as they had left it. Soon they discovered that old Hobdon had blocked their best hedge-gaps with stakes and thorn-bundles and had trimmed up the hedges where the blackberries were setting. It can't be time for the gypsies to come along, said Una. Why, it was summer only the other day. There's smoke in Loshaw, said Dan, sniffing. Let's make sure. They crossed the fields toward the thin line of blue smoke that leaned above the hollow of Loshaw which lies beside the King's Road Hill. It used to be an old quarry till somebody planted it, and you can look straight down into it from the edge of Banky Meadow. I thought so, Dan whispered, as they came up to the fence at the edge of the larches. A gypsy van, not the showman's sort, but the old black kind, with little windows high up in a baby gate across the door, was getting ready to leave. A man was harnessing the horses. An old woman crouched over the ashes of a fire made out of broken fence rails, and a girl sat on the van steps singing to a baby on her lap. A wise-looking, thin dog snuffed at a patch of fur on the ground till the old woman put it carefully in the middle of the fire. The girl reached back inside the van and tossed her a paper parcel. This was laid on the fire, too, and they smelt singed feathers. "'Chicken feathers,' said Dan. I wonder if they are old hoppins.' Una sneezed. The dog growled and crawled to the girl's feet. The old woman fanned the fire with her hat while the man led the horses up to the shafts. They all moved as quickly and quietly as snakes over moss. "'Ah,' said the girl, "'I'll teach you.' She beat the dog, who seemed to expect it.' "'Don't do that,' Una called down. It wasn't his fault.' "'How do you know what I'm beating him for?' she answered. "'For not seeing us,' said Dan. He was standing right in the smoke, and the wind was wrong for his nose anyhow. The girl stopped beating the dog, and the old woman fanned faster than ever. "'You fanned some of your feathers out of the fire,' said Una. "'There's a tail feather by that chestnut taut.' "'What of it?' said the old woman, as she grabbed it. "'Oh, nothing,' said Dan. Only I've heard say that tail feathers are as bad as the whole bird, sometimes.' That was a saying of hobdons about pheasants. Old hobdon always burned all feather and fur before he sat down to eat. "'Come on, mother,' the man whispered. The old woman climbed into the van, and the horses drew it out of the deep-rutted shaw on to the hard road. The girl waved her hands and shouted something they could not catch. "'That was gypsy for thank you kindly, brother and sister,' said Pharaoh Lee. He was standing behind them, his fiddle under his arm. "'Gracious, you startled me,' said Una. "'You startled old Priscilla Savill.' Put called from below them. "'Come and sit by their fire.' She ought to have put it out before they left. They dropped down the ferny side of the shaw. Una raked the ashes together. Dan found a dead, wormy oak branch that burns without flame, and they watched the smoke while Pharaoh played a curious, wavering air. "'That's what the girl was humming to the baby,' said Una. "'I know it,' he nodded and went on. "'I loom I, loom I, loo loo loo loo loo loo loo loo loo loo.' He passed from one odd tune to another, and quite forgot the children. At last Pucked asked him to go on with his adventures in Philadelphia among the Seneca Indians. "'I'm telling it,' he said, staring straight in front of him, as he played. "'Can't you hear?' "'Maybe, but they can't. Tell it aloud,' said Puck. Pharaoh shook himself, laid his fiddle beside him, and began. "'I'd left red jacket and corn planter riding home with me after Big Hand had said that there wouldn't be any war. That's all there was to it. We believed Big Hand, and we went home again. We three braves. When we reached Lebanon we found Toby at the cottage with his waistcoat a foot too big for him. So hard he had worked amongst the yellow fever people. He beat me for running off with the Indians, but it was worth it. I was glad to see him, and when we went back to Philadelphia for the winter, and I was told how he'd sacrificed himself over sick people in the yellow fever, I thought the world and all of him. No, I didn't, neither. I'd thought that all along. That yellow fever must have been something dreadful. Even in December people had no more than begun to trickle back to town. Whole houses stood empty, and the niggers was robbing them out. But I can't call to mind that any of the Moravian brethren had died. It seemed like they had just kept on with their own concerns, and the good Lord, he just looked after them. That was the winner, yes, winner of ninety-three. The brethren bought a stove for the church. Toby spoke in favor of it because the cold spoiled his fiddle hand, but many thought stove heat not in the Bible, and there was yet a third party which always brought hickory coal foot warmers to service, and wouldn't speak either way. They ended by casting the lot for it, which is like pitch and toss. After my summer with the Seneca's, church stoves didn't highly interest me, so I took to Haunton round the French emigres which Philadelphia was full of. My French and my fiddling helped me there, do you see? They come over in shiploads from France, where, by what I made out, everyone was killing everyone else by any means, and they spread themselves about the city, mostly in drinker Sally and Elfrith Sally, and they did odd jobs till time should mend. But whatever they stooped to do, they were gentry and kept to cheerful countenance, and after an evening's fiddling at one of their poor little proud parties, the brethren seemed old-fashioned. Pastor Metter and Brother Adam Goose didn't like my fiddling for hire, but Toby said it was lawful in me to earn my living by exercising my talents. He never let me be put upon. In February of 1994—no, March it must have been, because a new ambassador called Fouché had come from France, with no more manners than Guennet the old one—in March, Redjacket came in from the reservation, bringing news of all kinds of friends there. I showed him round the city, and we saw General Washington riding through a crowd of folk that shouted for war with England. They gave him quite rough music, but he looked, twixed his horse's ears, and made out not to notice. His stirrup brished Redjacket's elbow, and Redjacket whispered up, My brother knows it is not easy to be a chief. Big hand shot just one look at him and nodded. Then there was a scuffle behind us over someone who wasn't hooting at Washington loud enough to please the people. We went away to be out of the fight. Indians won't risk being hit. What do they do if they are, Dan asked? Kill, of course. That's why they have such proper manners. Well then, coming home by drinkers alley to get a new shirt, which a French bicombs lady was washing to take the stiff out—I'm always choice in my body, linen—a lame Frenchman pushes a paper of buttons at us. He hadn't long landed in the United States, and please would we buy. He surely was a pitiful scraddle. His coat half torn off, his face cut, his hand steady, so I knew it wasn't drink. He said his name was Parangui, and he'd been knocked out by the crowd round the stout, Independence Hall. One thing led to another, and we took him up to Toby's rooms, same as Redjacket had taken me the year before. The compliments he paid to Toby's Madeira wine fairly conquered the old man, for he opened a second bottle, and he told this mature Parangui all about our great stove dispute in the church. I remember Pastor Metter and Brother Adam Goose dropped in, and although they and Toby were direct opposites regarding stoves, yet this mature Parangui he made him feel as if he thought each one was in the right of it. He said he had been a clergyman before he had to leave France. He admired Toby's fiddling, and he asked if Redjacket, sitting by the spinot, was a simple Huron. Seneca's aren't Hurons, they're Iroquois, of course, and Toby told him so. Well then in due time he arose and left in a style which made us feel he'd been favoring us instead of us feeding him. I've never seen that so strong before in a man. We all talked him over, but couldn't make head or tail of him, and Redjacket came out to walk with me to the French Quarter where I was due to fiddle at a party. Passing Drinker's alley again we saw a naked window with a light in it, and there sat our button-selling mature Parangui throwing dice all alone, right hand against left. Says Redjacket, keeping back in the dark. Look at his face. I was looking. I protest to you. I wasn't frightened like I was when Big Hand talked to his gentlemen. I only looked, and I wondered that even those dead dumb dice dared to fall different from what that face wished it was a face. He is bad, says Redjacket, but he is a great chief. The French have sent away a great chief. I thought so when he told us his lies. Now I know. I had to go on to the party, so I asked him to call round for me afterwards, and we'd have a hymn singing at Tobi's as usual. No, he says, tell Tobi I'm not Christian tonight, all Indian. He had those fits sometimes. I wanted to know more about mature Parangui, and the Emigre Party was the very place to find out. It's neither here nor there, of course, but those French Emigre Parties they almost make you cry. The men that you bought fruit of in Market Street, the hairdressers and fencing masters and French teachers, they turned back again by candlelight to what they used to be at home, and you catch their real names. There wasn't much room in the wash-house, so I sat on top of the copper and played in the tunes they called for. C'est le roi, ma ve, dun, and such nursery stuff. They cried sometimes. It hurt me to take their money afterwards, indeed it did. And there I found out about mature Parangui. He was a proper rogue, too. None of them had a good word for him except the Marquise that kept the French boarding-house on Fourth Street. I made out that his real name was the Count Talleyrand de Paragord, a priest right enough but sorely come down in the world. He'd been King Louis' ambassador to England a year or two back before the French had cut off King Louis' head, and by what I heard that head wasn't hardly more than hanging loose before he'd run back to Paris and prevailed on Daunton, the very man which did the murder to send him back to England again as ambassador of the French Republic. That was too much for the English, so they kicked him out by act of parliament, and he'd fled to the Americas without money or friends or prospects. I'm telling you the talk in the wash-house. Some of them was laughing over it. Says the French Marquise, my friends, you laugh too soon. That man'll be on the winning side before any of us. I did not know you were so fond of priests, Marquise, says the Vicompt. This lady did my washing, as I've told you. I have my reasons, says the Marquise. He set my uncle and my two brothers to heaven by the little door. That was one of the emigre names for the guillotine. He will be on the winning side if it costs him the blood of every friend he has in the world. Then what does he want here, says one of them. We have all lost our game. My faith, says the Marquise. He will find out if anyone can whether this canai of a Washington means to help us fight England. Gennet, that was my ambassador in the embass-god, has failed and gone off disgraced. Fauché, he was the new man, hasn't done any better, but our Abbey will find out and he will make his profit out of the news. Such a man does not fall. He begins unluckily, says the Vicompt. He was set upon today in the street for not hooting your Washington. They all laughed again in one remarks. How does the poor devil keep himself? He must have slipped in through the wash-house door, for he flits past me and joins him cold as ice. One does what one can, he says. I sell buttons, and you, Marquise? I? She waves her poor white hands all burned. I am a cook, a very bad one, at your service, Abbey. We were just talking about you. They didn't treat him like they talked of him. They backed off and stood still. I have missed something, then, he says, but I spent this last hour playing only for buttons, Marquise, against a noble savage, the veritable Huron himself. You had your usual luck, I hope, she says. Certainly, he says, I can't afford to lose even buttons in these days. Then I suppose the child of nature does not know that your dice are usually loaded. Father Toutatouce, she continues. I don't know whether she meant to accuse him of cheating. He only bows. Not yet, mademoiselle Cunegonde, he says, and goes on to make himself agreeable to the rest of the company. And that was how I found out that our Monsieur Paraguay was Count Charles Maurice Telleran de Paraguay. Pharaoh stopped, but the children said nothing. You've heard of him? said Pharaoh. Eunice shook her head. Was Redjacket the Indian he played dice with? He was. Redjacket told me the next time we met. I asked if the lame man had cheated. He said no. He had played quite fair and was a master player. I allowed Redjacket new. I've seen him on the reservation, play himself out of everything he had and in again. Then I told Redjacket all I'd heard at the party concerning Telleran. I was right, he says. I saw the man's war face when he thought he was alone. That's why I played him. I played him face to face. He's a great chief. Do they say why he comes here? They say he comes to find out if Big Hand makes war against the English, I said. Redjacket grunted. Yes, he says. He asked me that, too. If it had been a small chief I should have lied, but he is a great chief. He knew I was a chief, so I told him the truth. I told him what Big Hand said to Complunter and me and the Clearing, there will be no war. I could not see what he thought. I could not see behind his face. But he is a great chief, he will believe. But he believed that Big Hand can keep his people back from war, I said, thinking of the crowds that hooded Big Hand whenever he rode out. He is as bad as Big Hand is good, but he is not as strong as Big Hand, says Redjacket. When he talks with Big Hand he will feel this in his heart. The French have sent away a great chief. Presently he will go back and make them afraid. Now wasn't that comical? The French woman that knew him and owed all our losses to him, the Indian that picked him up, cut and muddy on the street, and played dice with him. They neither of them doubted that Talleyrand was something by himself. Appearance is notwithstanding. And was he something by himself? Asked Una. Pharaoh began to laugh, but stopped. The way I look at it, he said, Talleyrand was just one of three men in this world who are quite by themselves. Big Hand I put first, because I've seen him. I, said Putt, I'm sorry we lost him out of old England. Who do you put second? Talleyrand. Maybe because I've seen him, too, said Pharaoh. Who's third? Said Putt. Boney, even though I've seen him. Who you? Said Putt. Every man has his own weights and measures, but that's queer reckoning. Boney, said Una. You don't mean you've ever met Napoleon Bonaparte. There, I knew you wouldn't have patience with the rest of my tale after hearing that. But wait a minute. Talleyrand he came round to a hundred and eighteen in a day or two to thank Toby for his kindness. I didn't mention the dice-playing, but I could see that Red Jacket's do-ings had made Talleyrand highly curious about Indians, though he would call him the Huron. Toby, as you may believe, was all holds full of knowledge concerning their manners and habits. He only needed a listener. The brethren don't study Indians much till they join the church, but Toby knew them wild. So evening after evening Talleyrand crossed his sound leg over his game one and Toby poured forth. Having been adopted into the Seneca's, I naturally kept still, but Toby had called on me to back up some of his remarks, and by that means, and a habit he had of drawing you on into talk, Talleyrand saw I knew something of his noble savages, too. Then he tried a trick. Coming back from an emigre party he turns into his little shop and puts it to me, laughing like, that I'd gone with the two chiefs on their visit to Big Hand. I hadn't told, Red Jacket hadn't told, and Toby, of course, didn't know. It was just Talleyrand's guess. Now, he says, my English and Red Jacket's French was so bad that I am not sure I got the rights of what the President really said to the unsophisticated Huron. Do me the favor of telling it again. I told him every word Red Jacket had told him and not one word more. I had my suspicions, having just come from an emigre party where the Marquis was hating and praising him as usual. Much obliged, he said, but I couldn't gather from Red Jacket exactly what the President said to Monsieur Gannet, or his American gentleman friend after Monsieur Gannet had run away. I saw Talleyrand was guessing again, for Red Jacket hadn't told him a word about the white man's powwow. Why hadn't he, Puck asked, because Red Jacket was a chief. He told Talleyrand what the President had said to him and Corn Planter, but he didn't repeat the talk between the white men that Big Hand had ordered him to leave behind. Oh, said Puck, I see. What did you do? First I was going to make some sort of tale round it, but Talleyrand was a chief, too. So I said, as soon as I get Red Jacket's permission to tell that part of the tale, I'll be delighted to refresh your memory, Abby. What else could I have done? Is that all, he says, laughing, let me refresh your memory. In a month from now I can give you a hundred dollars for your account of the conversation. Make it five hundred, Abby, I says. Five then, he says. That will suit me admirably, I says. Red Jacket will be in town again by then, and the moment he gives me leave, I'll claim the money. He had a hard fight to be civil, but he came out smiling. Monsieur, he says, I beg your pardon as sincerely as I envy the noble Huron, your loyalty. Do me the honour to sit down while I explain. There wasn't another chair, so I sat on the button-box. He was a clever man. He had got hold of the gossip that the President meant to make a peace treaty with England at any cost. He had found out, from Gannett, I reckoned, who was with the President on the day the two chiefs met him. He'd heard that Gannett had had a huff with the President and had ridden off leaving his business at loose ends. What he wanted, what he begged and blustered to know, was just the very words which the President had said to his gentleman after Gannett had left concerning the peace treaty with England. He put it to me that in helping him to those very words I'd be helping three great countries as well as mankind. The room was as bare as the palm of your hand, but I couldn't laugh at him. I'm sorry, I says, when he wiped his forehead. As soon as Red Jacket gives permission—you don't believe me again, he cuts in. Not one little word, Abby, I says, except that you mean to be on the winning side. Remember, I've been fiddling to all your old friends for months. Well then his temper fled him and he called me names. Wait a minute, c'est devant, I says at last. I am half English and half French, but I am not the half of a man. I will tell thee something the Indian told me. Has thee seen the President? Oh, yes, he sneers. I had letters from the Lord lands down to that estimable old man. Then I says thee will understand, that when thee has met the President, thee will feel in thy heart he is a stronger man than thee. Go, he whispers, before I kill thee, go. He looked like it, so I left him. Why did he want to know so badly? said Dan. The way I look at it is that if he had known for certain that Washington meant to make the peace treaty with England at any price, he'd a left old fuchsia fumbling about in Philadelphia while he went straight back to France and told old Danton, it's no good your wasting time and hopes on the United States because she won't fight on our side. That I've proof of. Then Danton might have been grateful and given Talurand a job, because a whole mass of things hang on knowing for sure who's your friend and who's your enemy. Just think of us poor shopkeepers, for instance. Did Red Jacket let you tell when he came back? Una asked. Of course not. He said, when corn planter and I asked you what Big Ham said to the whites, you can tell the lame chief. All that talk was left behind in the timber as Big Hand ordered. Tell the lame chief there will be no war. He can go back to France with that word. Talurand and me hadn't met for a long time except at emigrate parties. When I gave him the message he just shook his head. He was sorting buttons in the shop. I cannot return to France with nothing better than the word of an unsophisticated savage, he says. Didn't the President said anything to you? I ask him. He has said everything that one in his position ought to say. But if I only had what he said to his cabinet after Gannett wrote off, I believe I could change Europe, the world, maybe. I'm sorry, I says. Maybe you'll do that without my help. He looked at me hard. Either you have an unusual observation for one so young, or you choose to be insolent, he says. It was intended for a compliment, I says. But no odds. We're often a few days for our summer trip and I've come to make my goodbyes. I go on my travels, too, he says. If ever we meet again you may be sure I will do my best to repay what I owe you. Without malice, Abby, I hope, I says. None whatever, he says. Give my respects to your adorable Dr. Pangloss, that was one of his side names for Toby, and the Huron. I never could teach him the difference between Hurons and Seneca's. One sister Haggag came in for a paper of what we call Pilly Buttons, and that was the last I saw of Tallyrand in those parts. But after that you met Napoleon, didn't you, said Una? Wait just a little, dearie. After that Toby and I went to Lebanon in the reservation, and being older and knowing better how to manage him, I enjoyed myself well that summer with fiddling and fun. When we came back the brethren got after Toby because I wasn't learning any lawful trade, and he had a hard work to save me from being a apprentice to Hembold and Geyer, the printers. Twid have ruined our music together, indeed it would. And when we escaped that, old Matt's Roush, the leather breeches-maker around the corner, took a notion I was cut out for skin-dressing. But we were rescued. Along towards Christmas there comes a big sealed letter from the bank, saying that a M. Tallyrand had put five hundred dollars, a hundred pounds, to my credit there, to use as I pleased. There was a little note from him inside. He didn't give any address, to thank me for past kindnesses and my believing in his future, which he said was pretty cloudy at the time of writing. I wished Toby to share the money. I hadn't done more than bring Tallyrand up to a hundred and eighteen. The kindnesses were Toby's. But Toby said, No, liberty and independence forever. I have all my wants, my son. So I gave him a new set of fiddle-strings, and the brethren didn't advise us any more. Only Pastor Metter, he preached about the deceitfulness of riches, and Brother Adam Goose said if there was war the English would surely shoot down the bank. I knew there wasn't going to be any war, but I drew the money out, and on Red Jacket's advice I put it into horse-flesh, which I sold to Bob Bitmull for the Baltimore Stagecoaches. That way I doubled my money inside the twelve-month. You gypsy! You proper gypsy! Puck shouted. Why not? Twas fair by in and selling. Well one thing leading to another, and a few years I had made the beginning of a worldly fortune and was in the tobacco trade. Ah! said Puck suddenly. Might I inquire if you'd ever sent any news to your people in England or in France? Oh, of course I had. I wrote regular every three months after I'd made money in the horse-trade. We lees don't like coming home empty-handed. If it's only a turnip or an egg, it's something. Oh, yes, I wrote good and plenty to Uncle Ahret, and dad don't read very quickly. People used to slip over New Haven Way and tell dad what was going on in the tobacco trade. I see. Ahret's and Lee's like his two peas. Go on, brother-square-toe, said Puck. Pharaoh laughed and went on. Tally ran he'd gone up in the world same as me. He'd sailed to France again and was a great man in the government there awhile, but they had to turn him out on account of some story about bribes from American shippers. All our poor emigres said he was surely finished this time, but redjacket and me we didn't think it was likely, not unless he was quite dead. Big Hand had made his peace-treaty with Great Britain, just as he said he would, and there was a roaring trade, twist England and the United States, for such as it'd take the risk of being searched by British and French men-a-war. Those two was fighting, and just as his gentlemen told Big Hand it happened, the United States was catching it from both. If an English man-a-war met an American ship, he'd press half the best man out of her and swear they was British subjects. Most of them was. If a French man met her, he'd likely have the cargo out of her, swearing it was meant to aid and comfort the English, and if a Spaniard or a Dutchman met her, they was hanging on to England's coattails, too. Lord only knows what they wouldn't do. It came over me that what I wanted in my tobacco trade was a fast sailing ship and a man who could be French, English, or American at a pinch. I could lay my hands on both articles. So along towards the end of September, in the year ninety-nine, I sailed from Philadelphia with a hundred and eleven hogs-head a good Virginia tobacco, in the brig Berth-Arrette, named after mother's maiden name, hoping to had bring me luck, which she didn't, and yet she did. Where was your bound for, Puck asked, any port I found handiest. I didn't tell Toby or the brethren, they don't understand the ins and outs of the tobacco trade. Puck coughed a small cough as he shifted a piece of wood with his bare foot. It's easy for you to sit and judge, Pharaoh cried, but think of what we had to put up with. We spread our wings and run across the broad Atlantic like a hen through a horse-fair. Even so we was stopped by an English frigate three days out. He sent a boat alongside and pressed seven able seamen. I remarked it was hard on honest traders, but the officer said they was fighting all creation and hadn't time to argue. The next English frigate we escaped with no more than a shot in our quarter. Then we was chased two days and a night by a French privateer. Firing between squalls and the dirty little English ten-gun brig which made him shear off had the impudence to press another five of our men. That's how we reached to the chops of the channel. Twelve good men pressed out of thirty-five, an eighteen-pound shot-hole close beside our rudder, our mainsail looking like spectacles where the Frenchmen had hit us, and the channel crawling with shorthanded British cruisers. Put that in your pipe and smoke it next time you grumble at the prize of tobacco. Well then to top it off, while we was trying to get at our leagues, a French lugger comes swooping at us out of the dust. We warned him to keep away, but he fell aboard us and upclimbed his jabbering red caps. We couldn't endure any more, indeed we couldn't. We went at him with all we could lay hands on. It didn't last long. There was fifty odd to our twenty-three. Very soon I heard the cutlasses thrown down and someone bellowed for the soccer-captain. Here I am, I says, I don't suppose it makes any odds to you thieves, but this is the United States Brig Bertha Aret. My aunt, the man says, laughing, why is she named that? Who's speaking, I said, was too dark to see, but I thought I knew the voice. Ensign de Vassay, et steffe de Stronges, he sings out, and then I was sure. Oh, I says, it's all in the family. I suppose you have done a fine day's work, Stephen. He whips out the binocle light and holds it to my face. He was young, lestrange, my full cousin, that I hadn't seen since the night the smack sank off Telscom Ty six years before. Phew! That's why she was named for Aunt Bertha, is it? What's your share in her, Pharaoh? Only half owner, but the car goes mine. That's bad, he says. I'll do what I can, but you shouldn't have fought us. Steve, I says, you aren't ever going to report our little fallout as a fight. Why, a revenue-cutter to laugh at it. So would I if I wasn't in the Republican Navy, he says, but two of our men are dead, you see, and I'm afraid I'll have to take you to the prize court at Lahav. Well, they can tend my backy, I asked, to the last ounce, but I was thinking more of the ship. She'd make a sweet little craft for the Navy if the prize court had let me have her, he says. Then I knew there was no hope. I don't blame him. A man must consider his own interest, but nigh every dollar I had was in ship or cargo, and Steve kept on saying, you shouldn't have fought us. Well, then the Lugger took us to Lahav, and that being the one time we did want a British ship to rescue us, why, of course, we never saw one. My cousin spoke his best for us at the prize court. He'd owned, he'd no right to rush alongside in the face of the United States flag, but we couldn't get over those two men killed, do you see, and the court condemned both ship and cargo. They was kind enough not to make us prisoners, only beggars, and young Lestrange was given the birth of Ahret to rearm in the French Navy. I'll take you to Bologna, he says. Mother and the rest will be glad to see you, and you can slip over to New Haven with Uncle Ahret. Or you can ship with me, like most of your men, and take a turn at King George's Loose trade. There's plenty pickings, he says. Crazy as I was, I couldn't help laughing. I've had my allowance of pickings and steelings, I says. Where are they taking my tobacco, which was being loaded onto a barge? Without the send to be sold in Paris, he says, neither you nor I will ever touch a penny of that money. Get me leave to go with it, I says. I'll see if there's justice to be gotten out of our American ambassador. There's not much justice in this world, he says, without a navy. But he got me leave to go with the barge, and he gave me some money. The tobacco was all I had, and I followed it like a hound follows a snatched bone. Going up the river I fiddled a little to keep my spirits up, as well as to make friends with the guard. They was only doing their duty. Outside of that they were the reasonableness to God's creatures. They never even laughed at me. So we come to Paris by river, along in November, which the French had Christian Brumaire. They'd given new names to all the months. After such an outrageous, silly piece of business as that, they wasn't likely to trouble themselves with my rights and wrongs. They didn't. The barge was laid up below Notre Dame Church in charge of a caretaker, and he let me sleep aboard after I'd run about all day from office to office seeking justice and fair dealing, and getting speeches concerning liberty. None heeded me. Looking back on it I can't rightly blame them. I'd no money. My clothes was filthy mucked. I hadn't changed my linen in weeks, and I'd no proof of my claims except the ship's papers, which they said I might have stolen. The thieves, the doorkeeper to the American ambassador, for I never even saw the secretary, he swore I spoke French a sight too well for an American citizen. Worse than that, I had spent my money, do you see, and I took to fiddling in the streets for my keep, and a ship's captain with a fiddle under his arm. Well, I don't blame them that they didn't believe me. I come back to the barge one day. Late in this month, Brumaire, it was, fair bezled out. Old Manion, the caretaker, he'd lit a fire in a bucket and was grilling a herring. Courage, mon ami, he says. Dinner is served. I can't eat, I says. I can't do any more. It's stronger than I am. Bah, he says. Nothing stronger than a man. Me, for example, less than two years ago I was blown up in the Orient and I booked your bay, but I descended again and hit the water like a fairy. Look at me now, he says. He wasn't much to look at, for he'd only one leg and one eye, but the cheerfulness soul had ever trod shoe-leather. That's worse than a hundred and eleven hogs head of backey, he goes on. You're young, too. What wouldn't I give to be young in France at this hour? There's nothing you couldn't do, he says. The ball's at your feet. Kick it, he says. He kicks the old fire bucket with his peg leg. General Bonaparte, for example, he goes on. That man's a babe compared to me, and see what he's done already. He's conquered Egypt and Austria and Italy. Oh, half Europe, he says. And now he sails back to Paris and he sails out to St. Cloud down the river here. Don't stare at the river, you young fool. And all in front of those pig-jobbing lawyers and citizens he makes himself counsel, which is as good as a king. He'll be king, too, in the next three turns of the capstan. King of France, England and the world. Think of that, he shouts, and eats your herring. I says something about Boney. If he hadn't been fighting England, I shouldn't have lost my backey, should I? Nothing fellow, says Mignon, you don't understand. We heard cheering. A carriage passed over the bridge with two in it. That's the man himself, says Mignon. He'll give him something to cheer for soon. He stands at the salute. Who's Tothern black beside him? I asked, fairly shaking all over. Ah, he's the clever one. You'll hear of him before long. He's that scoundrel bishop, Talleyrand. It is, I said, and up the steps I went with my fiddle and run after the carriage, calling, Abbey, Abbey! A soldier knocked the wind out of me with the back of his sword, but I had the sense to keep on following till the carriage stopped. And there just was a crowd round the house door. I must have been half-crazy else I wouldn't have struck up. Silroy, ma vais, donne, péris, la grande ville. I thought it might remind him. That is a good omen, he says to Boney, sitting all hunched up, and he looks straight at me. Abbey! Oh, Abbey! I says. Don't you remember Toby in a hundred and eighteen Second Street? He said not a word. He just crooked his long white finger to the guard at the door while the carriage steps were let down, and I skipped into the house, and they slammed the door in the crowd's face. You go there, says a soldier, and shoves me into an empty room, where I catched my first breath since I'd left the barge. Presently I heard plates rattling next door. There were only folding doors between, and a cork drawn. I tell you, someone shouts with his mouth full. It was all that sulky ass say's fault. Only my speech to the five hundred saved the situation. Did it save your coat? says Talleyrand. I hear they tore it when they threw you out. Don't guess conaid to me. You may be in the road of victory, but you aren't there yet. Then I guessed a other man was Boney. He stamped about and swore at Talleyrand. You forget yourself, counsel, says Talleyrand, or rather you remember yourself, Corsican. Pig, says Boney, and worse. Emperor, says Talleyrand, but the way he spoke it sounded worst of all. Someone must have backed against the folding doors, for they flew open and showed me in the middle of the room. Boney whipped out his pistol before I could stand up. General, says Talleyrand to him. This gentleman has a habit of catching us canai and disabil. Put that thing down. He laid it on the table, so I guessed which was master. Talleyrand takes my hand. Charmed to see you again, condeed, he says. How was the adorable Dr. Pengloss and the noble Huron? They were doing very well when I left, I said, but I'm not. Do you sell buttons now, he says, and fills me a glass of wine off the table? Madeira, says he, not so good as some I have drunk. You muntbunk, boney-roars, turn that out. He didn't even say man, but Talleyrand, being gentle-born, just went on. Pheasant is not so good as pork, he says. You will find some at that table if you will do me the honor to sit down. Pass him a clean plate, general, and true as I'm here, boney slid a plate along just like a sulky child. He was a lanky-haired, yellow-skinned little man, as nervous as a cat and as dangerous. I could feel that. And now, said Talleyrand, crossing his game leg over his sound one, will you tell me your story? I was in a fluster, but I told him nearly everything from the time he left me the five hundred dollars in Philadelphia up to my losing ship and cargo at Le Havre. Bonnie began by listening, but after a bit he dropped into his own thoughts and looked at the crowd sideways through the front-room curtains. Talleyrand called to him when I'd done. Eh? What we need now, says boney, is peace for the next three or four years. Quite so, says Talleyrand. Meantime, I want the consul's order to the prize court at Le Havre to restore my friend here, his ship. Nonsense, says boney, give away an oat-built brig of two hundred and seven tons for sentiment? Certainly not. She must be armed into my navy with ten, no, fourteen, twelve-pounders and two long fours. Is she strong enough to bear a long twelve forward? Now I could have sworn he'd paid no heed to my talk, but that wonderful headpiece of his seemingly skimmed off every word of it that was useful to him. Ah, General, says Talleyrand, you are a magician, a magician without morals. But the brig is undoubtedly American, and we don't want to offend them more than we have. Need anybody talk about the affair? He says. He didn't look at me, but I knew what was in his mind, just cold murder because I worried him, and he'd order it as easily as ordering his carriage. You can't stop him, I said. There's twenty-two other men besides me. I felt a little more had set me screaming like a wired hair. Probably American, Talleyrand goes on. You would gain something if you returned the ship, with a message of fraternal goodwill published in the Monateur. That's a French paper like the Philadelphia Aurora. A good idea, Boney answers. One could say much in a message. It might be useful, says Talleyrand. Shall I have the message prepared? He wrote something in a little pocket ledger. Yes, for me to embellish this evening. The Monateur will publish it tonight. Certainly. Sign please, says Talleyrand, tearing the leaf out. But that's the order to return the brig, says Boney. Is that necessary? Why should I lose a good ship? Haven't I lost enough ships already? Talleyrand didn't answer any of those questions. Then Boney sidled up to the table and jabs his pen into the ink. Then he shies at the paper again. My signature alone is useless, he says. You must have the other two consuls as well. Cies and Roje Ducos must sign. We must preserve the laws. By the time my friend presents it, says Talleyrand, still looking out of the window, only one signature will be necessary. Boney smiles. It's a swindle, says he, but he signed and pushed the paper across. Give that to the President of the Prize Court at Le Havre, says Talleyrand, and he will give you back your ship. I will settle for the cargo myself. You have told me how much it cost. What profit did you expect to make on it? Well then, as man to man, I was bound to warn him that I'd set out to run it into England without troubling the revenue, and so I couldn't rightly set bounds to my profits. I guessed that all along, said Puck. There never was a lead to warming hearse that wasn't a smuggler last and first. The children laughed. It's comical enough now, said Fero, but I didn't laugh then. Says Talleyrand after a minute. I'm a bad accountant, and I have several calculations on hand at present. Do I always say twice the cost of the cargo? Say! I couldn't say a word. I sat choking and nodding like a china image while he wrote an order to his secretary to pay me. I won't say how much, because you wouldn't believe it. Oh, bless you, Abby. God bless you. I got it out at last. Yes, he says, I am a priest in spite of myself, but they call me Bishop now. Take this for my Episcopal blessing, and he hands me the paper. He stole all that money from me, says Bonio over my shoulder. A bank of France is another of the things we must make. Are you mad? He shouts at Talleyrand. Quite, says Talleyrand, getting up, but be calm, the disease will never attack you. It is called gratitude. This gentleman found me in the street and fed me when I was hungry. I see, and he has made a fine scene of it, and you have paid him, I suppose. Meantime, France waits. Oh, poor France, says Talleyrand. Goodbye, Candide, he says to me. By the way, he says, have you yet got Red Jacket's permission to tell me what the President said to his cabinet after Monsieur Guenet wrote away? I couldn't speak, only shake my head, and Boni so impatient he was to go on with his doings. He ran at me and fair pushed me out of the room. And that was all there was to it. Fero stood up and slid his fiddle into one of his big skirt pockets as though it were a dead hair. Oh, but we want to know lots and lots more, said Dan. How you got home, and what old Mignon said on the barge, and was it your cousin's surprise when he had to give back the bertha arrette? And tell us more about Toby, cried Una. Yes, and Red Jacket, said Dan. Won't you tell us any more, they both pleaded. Putt kicked the oak branch on the fire till it sent up a column of smoke that made them sneeze. When they had finished, the shaw was empty except for old Hobbden stamping through the larches. The gypsies of two, he said, my black pullet and my little ginger-specked cockerel. I thought so, said Dan, picking up one tailfeather that the old woman had overlooked. Which way did they go? Which way did the renegades go, said Hobbden? Hobbie, said Una, would you like it if we told Keeper Ridley all your goings and comings? Poor honest men. Your jar of Virginia will cost you a guinea, which you reckon too much by five shillings or ten. But light your church warden and judge it according when I've told you the troubles of poor honest men. From the capes of Delaware, as you are well aware, we sail with tobacco for England, but then, our own British cruisers, they watch us come through, sirs, and they press half a score of us poor honest men. Or if by quick sailing, thick weather prevailing, we leave them behind as we do now and then, we are sure of a gun from each frigate we run from, which is often destruction to poor honest men. Broad sides of the Atlantic we tumble short-handed, with shot-holes to plug and new canvas to bend, and off the Azores, Dutch dons and Moonshires, are waiting to terrify poor honest men. Napoleon's embargo is laid on all cargo, which comfort or aid to King George may intend, and since roll twist and leaf of all comforts is chief, they try for to steal it from poor honest men. With no heart for fight we take refuge in flight, but fire as we run are retreat to defend, till our stern chasers cut up her forebraces, and she flies off the wind from us poor honest men. Twix the forties and fifties south eastward the drift is, and so when we think we are making lands in, alas, it is uschant with half the King's navy blockading French ports against poor honest men. But they may not quit station, which is our salvation, so swiftly we stand to the Nord again, and finding the tale of a homeward bound convoy, we slip past the sillies like poor honest men. Twix the lizard and dover we hand our stuff over, though I may not inform how we do it nor when, but light on each quarter low down in the water is well understanding by poor honest men. Even then we have dangers from meddlesome strangers who spy on our business and are not content, to take a smooth answer except with a handspike, and they say they are murdered by poor honest men. To be drowned or be shot is our natural lot, why should we moreover be hanged in the end, after all our great pains for to dangle in chains, as though we were smugglers not poor honest men. End of Section 8. Section 9 of Rewards and Ferries. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to see how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Shirtigal. Rewards and Ferries by Rudi Kipling. Section 9. The Conversion of St. Wilfred. Eddie's Service. Eddie, priest at St. Wilfred, in the chapel at Mannhuden, ordered a midnight service for such as cared to attend. But the Saxons were keeping Christmas, and the night was stormy as well. Nobody came to service, though Eddie rang the bell. Wicked weather for walking, said Eddie at Mannhuden. But I must go on with the service, for such as cared to attend. The altar candles are lighted. An old marsh donkey came, bold as a guest invited, and stared at the guttering flame. This storm beat on the windows and water splashed on the floor, and a wet yoke weary bullock pushed in through the open door. How do I know what is greatest? How do I know what is least? That is my father's business, said Eddie, Wilfred's priest. But three are gathered together, listening to me and attend. I bring good news, my brethren, said Eddie of Mannhuden. And he told the ox of a manger, and to stall in Bethlehem. And he spoke to the ass of a rider that rode to Jerusalem. They steamed and dripped in the chancel. They listened and never stirred. While just as though they were bishops, Eddie preached them the word. Till the gale blew off on the marshes, the window showed the day, and the ox and the ass together wheeled and clattered away. And when the Saxons mocked him, said Eddie of Mannhuden, I dare not shut his chapel on such a scare to attend. The conversion of St. Wilfred. They had bought peppermints up at the village, and were coming home past the little St. Barnabas church. When they saw that Jimmy Kidd broke the carpenters' baby, kicking at the churchyard gate, with a shaving in his mouth, and the tears running down his cheeks. Oona pulled out the shaving and put it in peppermint. Jimmy said he was looking for his granddaddy. He never seemed to take much notice of his father. So they went up between the old graves, under the leaf dropping limes, where Jim trodded in, looking about the empty church, and screamed like a gate hinge. Young Sam Kiddbroke's voice came from the bell tower, and made them jump. Why, Jimmy, he called. What are you doing here? Fetch him, father. Old Mr. Kiddbroke stumped downstairs, jerked Jimmy onto his shoulders, stared at the children beneath his brass spectacles, and stumped back again. They laughed. It was so exactly like Mr. Kiddbroke. It's all right, Oona called up the stairs. We found him. Sam, does his mother know? He's come off by himself. She'll be just about crazy, Sam answered. Then I'll run down the street and tell her. Oona darted off. Thank you, Miss Oona. Would you like to see how we're met in the bell beams? Must Dan? Dan hopped up and saw young Sam lying on his stomach in the most delightful place among beams and ropes, close to the five great bells. Old Mr. Kiddbroke on the floor beneath was planing a piece of wood, and Jimmy was eating the shavings as fast as they came away. He never looked at Jimmy, Jimmy never stopped eating, and the broad-gilt bobbed pendulum of the church clock never stopped swinging across the white-washed wall of the tower. Dan winked through the sawdust that fell on his upturned face. Ring a bell, he called. I mustn't do that, but I'll buzz one of them a bit for you, said Sam. He pounded on the soundbow of the biggest bell and waked a hollow-growning boom that ran up and down the tower, like creepy feelings down your back. Just when it almost began to hurt, it died away in a hurry of beautiful, sorrowful cries, like a wine glass rubbed with a wet finger. The pendulum clanked, one loud clank to each silent swing. Dan heard Una return from his kidbrokes and ran down to Fetcher. She was standing by the front, staring at someone who kneeled at the altar rail. Is that lady who practices the organ, she whispered? No, she's gone into the organ place. Besides, she wears black, Dan replied. The figure rose and came down the nave. It was a white-haired man in a long white gown, with a sort of scarf looped low on the neck, one end hanging over his shoulder. His loose, long sleeves were embroidered with gold, and a deep strip of gold embroidery waved and sparkled round the hem of his gown. Go and meet him, said Puck's boys, behind the font. It's only Wilfred. Wilfred who, said Dan, you come along too. Wilfred, Saint of Seussix, and Archbishop of York. I shall wait till he asks me. He waved them forward, their feet squeaked on the old grave-slabs of the center aisle. The Archbishop raised one hand with a pink ring on it, and said something in Latin. He was very handsome, and his thin face looked almost as silvery as his thin circle of hair. Are you alone? He asked. Puck's here, of course, Sedona. Do you know him? I know him better now than I used to. He beckoned over Dan's shoulder, and spoke again in Latin. Puck powdered forward, holding himself as straight as an arrow. The Archbishop smiled. Be welcome, he said. Be very welcome. Welcome to you also, O Prince of the Church. Puck replied. The Archbishop bowed his head and passed on, till he glimmered like a white moth in the shadow by the font. He does look awfully princely, Sedona. Isn't he coming back? Oh yes, he's only looking over the Church. He's very fond of the Churches, said Puck. What's that? The lady who practices the organ was speaking to the blower boy behind the organ screen. We can't very well talk here, Puck whispered. Let's go to Panama Corner. He led them to the end of the South Isle, where there was a slab of iron, which says in queer, long-tailed letters, or H.P. Anima Johon Colleen. The children always called it Panama Corner. The Archbishop moved slowly about the little Church. Peering at the old memorial tablets and the new glass windows, the lady who practices the organ began to pull out stops and rustle hymn books behind the screen. I hope she'll do all this soft, lacy tunes. Like treacle on porridge, Sedona. I like the trumpety ones best, said Dan. Oh, look at Wilfred. He's trying to shut the altar gates. Tell him he mustn't. He'd Puck quite seriously. He can't anyhow. Dan muttered and tiptoed out of Panama Corner, while the Archbishop patted and patted at the carved gates that always sprang open again beneath his hand. That's no use, sir, Dan whispered. Old Mr. Kidbroke says all two gates are just the one pair of gates which no man can shut. He made him so himself. The Archbishop's blue eyes twinkled. Dan saw that he knew all about it. I beg your pardon, Dan stammered. Very angry with Puck. Yes, I know. He made them so himself. The Archbishop smiled and crossed to Panama Corner, where Una dragged up a certain powdered armchair for him to sit on. The organ played softly. What does the music say, he asked. Una dropped into the chamber without thinking. Oh, all ye works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord. Praise him and magnify him forever. We call it the Noah's Ark, because all lists of things, beasts and birds and whales, you know, whales, said the Archbishop quickly. Yes, oh ye whales and all that move in the water, Una hummed. Bless ye the Lord. It sounds like a wave turning over, doesn't it? Holy Father, said Puck, with a dimmer face, is a little seal also, one who moves in the water. Eh? Oh yes, yes, he laughed. A seal moves wonderfully in the water. Do the seal come to my island still? Puck shook his head. All those little islands have been swept away. Very possible. The tides ran fiercely down there. Do you know the land of the sea calf, Maiden? No, but we've seen seals at Brighton. The Archbishop is thinking of a little farther down the coast. He means seal's eye, seal's eye, down Crickster Way, where he converted the South Saxons. Puck explained, yes, yes, if the South Saxons did not convert me, said the Archbishop, smiling. The first time I was wrecked was on that coast. As our ship took ground, we tried to push her off. An old fat fellow of his seal. I remember reared breast high out of the water and scratched his head with his flipper as if he were saying, what does that excited person with the pole think he is doing? I was very wet and miserable, but I could not help laughing till the natives came down and attacked us. What did you do? Dan asked. One could very well go back to France, so one tried to make them go back to the shore. All the South Saxons are born wreckers, like my own Northumbrian folk. I was bringing over a few things from my old church at York, and some of the natives laid hands on them. And I'm afraid I lost my temper. It is said, Puck's voice was wickedly meek, that there was a great fight. Eh, but I must have been a silly lad. Wilfred spoke with a sudden, thick burn in his voice. He coughed and took up his silvery tones again. There was no fight, really. My men thumped a few of them, but the tide rose half an hour before its time, with a strong wind, and we backed off. What I wanted to say, though, was that the seas about us were full of sleek seals watching the scuffle. My good Eddie, my chaplain, insisted that they were demons. Yes, yes, that was my first acquaintance with the South Saxons and their seals. But not the only time you were wrecked was it, said Dan. Alas, no. On sea and land, my life seems to have been one long shipwreck. He looked at the Ohon-Khalim slab, as old Hobdon sometimes looked into the fire. Oh, well. But did you ever have any more patience among the seals, said Dan, after a little? Oh, the seals. I beg your pardon. They are the important things. Yes, yes. I went back to the South Saxons after 12, 15 years. No, it did not come by water, but overland from my own North Umbria to see what I could do. Its little one can do with that class of native, except make them stop killing each other and themselves. Why did they kill themselves? Oh, they asked, her chin in her hand. Because they were heathen. When they grew tired of life, as if they were the only people, they would jump into the sea. They called it going to Wotan. It wasn't want of food always, by any means. A man would tell you that he felt gray in the heart, or a woman would say that she saw nothing but long days in front of her. And they'd saunter away to the mudflats, and that would be the end of them, poor souls, unless one headed them off. One had to run quick, but one can't allow people to lay hands on themselves, because they happen to feel gray. Yes, yes, extraordinary people of the South Saxons. Disheartening sometimes. What does that say now? The organ has changed to an again. Only a hymn for next Sunday, Suduna. The church is one foundation. Go on, please, about running over the mud. I should like to have seen you. I daresay you would. I really could run in those days. Ethel Walsh, the king, gave me some five or six muddy parishes by the sea, and the first time my good Eddie and I rode there we saw a man slouching along the slob, among the seals at manhood end. My good Eddie disliked seals, but he swallowed his objections, and ran like a hare. Why, said Dan? For the same reason that I did, we thought he was one of our people going to drown himself. As a matter of fact, Eddie and I were nearly drowned in the pools before we overtook him. To cut a long story short, we found ourselves very muddy, very breathless, being quietly made fun of in good Latin by a very well-spoken person. No, he had no idea of going to Wotan. He was fishing on his own beaches, and he showed us the beacons and turf heaps that divided his land from the church property. He took us to his own house, gave us a good dinner, some more than good wine, sent a guide with us into Quikster, and became one of my best and most refreshing friends. He was a man by descent, from the west edge of the kingdom. A scholar educated, curiously enough, at Lyons, my old school, had traveled the world over, even to Rome, and was a brilliant talker. We found we had scores of acquaintances in common. It seemed he was a small chief under King Ethel Walsh, and I fancied the king with someone afraid of him. The South Saxons mistrusted a man who talks too well. Ah, now I have left out the very point of my story. He kept a great gray-muzzled old dog seal that he had brought up from a pup. He called it Pada after one of my clergy. It was rather like fat, honest old Pada. The creature followed him everywhere, and nearly knocked down my good Eddie when we first met him. Eddie loathed it. He used to sniff at his thin legs and cough at him. I can't say I ever took much notice of it. I was not fond of animals. Till one day Eddie came to me with a circumstantial account of some witchcraft that me and worked. He would tell the seal to go down to the beach, the last thing at night, and bring him word of the weather. When it came back, me and might say to his slaves, Pada thinks we'll shall win tomorrow. Hull of the boats. I spoke to me in casually about the story, and he laughed. He told me he could judge by the look of the creature's coat and the way it sniffed that weather was brewing. Quite possible. One need not put down everything would as not understand to the work of bad spirits, or good ones for that matter. He nodded towards Puck, who nodded gaily in return. I say so, he went on, because to a certain extent I have been made a victim of that habit of mine. Some while after I was settled at CLC, King Ethelwalch and Queen Eba ordered their people to be baptized. I fear I'm too old to believe that a whole nation can change its heart at the king's command, and I had assured suspicion that their real motive was to get a good harvest. No rain had fallen for two or three years, but as soon as we had finished baptizing, it fell heavily, and they all said it was a miracle. And was it? Dan asked. Everything in life is a miracle. But the Archbishop twisted the heavy ring on his finger. I should be slow, very slow, should I be, to assume that a certain sort of miracle happens whenever lazy and improvident people say they are going to turn over a new leaf if they are paid for it. My friend Mian had sent his slaves to the font, but he had not come himself. So the next time I wrote over, to return a manuscript, I took the liberty of asking why. He was perfectly open about it. He looked on the king's action as a heathen attempt to curry favor with the Christian's god through me, the Archbishop, and he would have none of it. My dear man, I said, admitting that that is the case, surely you, as an educated person, don't believe in Wotan and all the other hobgoblins any more than Pada here. The old seal was hunched up on his oxide behind his master's chair. Even if I don't, he said, why should I insult the memory of my father's gods? I have sent you 103 of my rascals to christen. Isn't that enough? By no means, I answered, I want you. He wants us. What do you think of that, Pada? He pulled the seal's whiskers until it threw back its head and roared, and he pretended to interpret. No! Pada says he won't be baptized yet a while. He says you'll stay to dinner and come fishing with me tomorrow, because you're overworked and need a rest. I wish you'd keep Yon brute in his proper place, I said, and Eddie, my chaplain, agreed. I do, said Mien. I keep him just next to my heart. He can't tell a lie, and he doesn't know how to love anyone except me. It'd be the same if I were dying on a mudbank, wouldn't it, Pada? Ah, ah, said Pada, and he put up his head to be scratched. Then Mien began to tease Eddie. Pada says if Eddie saw his archbishop dying on a mudbank, Eddie would tuck up his gown and run. Pada knows Eddie can run, too. Pada came into Wittling Church last Sunday, all wet to hear the music, and Eddie ran out. My good Eddie rubbed his hands and his shins together and flushed. Pada is a child of the devil, who is the father of lies, he cried, and begged my pardon for having spoken. I forgave him. Yes, you were just about stupid enough for a musician, said Mien. But here he is, singing him to him, and see if he can't stand it. You'll find my small heart beside the fireplace. Eddie, who is really an excellent musician, played in the saying for quite half an hour. Pada shuffled off his oxide, hunched himself on his flippers before him, and listened with his head thrown back. Yes, yes, rather funny sight. Mien tried not to laugh, and asked Eddie if he was satisfied. It takes some time to get an idea out of my good Eddie's head. He looked at me. Do you want to sprinkle him with holy water and see if he flies up the chimney? Why not baptize him, said Mien? Eddie was really shocked. I thought it was bad taste, myself. That's not fair, said Mien. You call him a demon and a familiar spirit, because he loves his master and likes music. And when I offer you a chance to prove it, you won't take it. Look here. I'll make a bargain. I'll be baptized if you'll baptize Pada, too. He's more of a man than most of my slaves. One doesn't bargain or joke about these matters, I said. He was going all together too far. Quite right, said Mien. I shouldn't like anyone to joke about Pada. Pada, go down to the beach and bring us tomorrow's weather. My good Eddie must have been a little over-tired with his day's work. I am a servant of the church, he cried. My business is to save souls, not to enter into fellowships and understandings with accursed beasts. Have it your own narrow ways, Mien. Pada, you needn't go. The old fellow flounced back to his ox hide at once. Mien could learn obedience, at least, from that creature. Eddie, a little ashamed of himself. Christians should not curse. Don't begin to apologize just when I'm beginning to like you, said Mien. We'll have Pada behind tomorrow. Out of respect to your feelings. Now let's go to supper. We must be up early tomorrow for the whiting. The next was a beautiful crisp bottom morning. A weather-breeder, if I had taken the trouble to think. But it's refreshing to escape from kings and converts for half a day. We three went by ourselves and Mien's smallest boat. And we got on the whiting near an old wreck, a mile or so offshore. Mien knew the marks to a yard, and the fish were keen. Yes, yes, a perfect morning's fishing. If a bishop can't be a fisherman, who can? He twiddled his ring again. We stayed there a little too long, and while we were getting up our stone, down came a fog. After some discussion we decided to row for the land. The ebb was just beginning to make round the point, and sent us always at once, like a cork. "'Celsy bill,' said Pocke under his breath. The tides run something furious there. "'I believe you,' said Archbishop. Mien and I have spent a good many evenings arguing as to where exactly we drifted.' "'All I know is we found ourselves in a little rocky cove. They had sprung up round us out of the fog, and as Swell lifted the boat onto a ledge, and she broke up beneath our feet. We had just time to shuffle through the weed before the next wave. The sea was rising. "'It's rather a pity we didn't let Paddock go down to the beach last night,' said Mien. "'He might have warned us this was coming.' "'Better fall into the hands of God than the hands of demons,' said Eddie. And his teeth chattered as he prayed. A norwester breeze had just got up, distinctly cool. "'Save what you can of the boats,' said Mien. "'We may need it, and we had to drench ourselves again, fishing out stray planks.' "'What for?' said Dan. "'For firewood. We need not know when we should get off.' Eddie had a flint and steel, and we found dry fuel in the old gulls' nest and lit a fire. It smoked abominably, and we guarded it with boat planks updended between the rocks. One get used to that sort of thing if one travels. "'Unluckily, I'm not so strong as I was. I fear I must have been in trouble to my friends. It was blowing a full gale before midnight. Eddie wrung out his cloak and tried to wrap me in it, but I ordered him on his obedience to keep it. However, he held me in his arms all the first night, and Mien begged his pardon for what he'd said the night before about Eddie running away if he found me on a sandbank. "'You remember?' "'You were right in half your prophecy,' said Eddie. "'I have tucked up my gown at any rate.' The wind had blown it over his head. "'Now let us thank God for his mercies.' "'Hum!' said Mien. "'If this gale lasts, we stand a very fair chance of dying of starvation. "'If it be God's will that we survive, God will provide.' said Eddie. "'At least help me to sing to him.' The wind almost whipped the words out of his mouth. But he brazed himself against a rock and sane psalms. "'I'm glad I never concealed my opinion from myself. The Eddie was a better man than I. "'You know, I have worked hard in my time. Very hard. Yes. Yes!' So the morning and the evening were a second day on the islet. There was rainwater in the rock pools, and as a churchman I knew how to fast. But I admit we were hungry. "'Mien fed our fire chip by chip to eke it out, and they made me sit over it, the dear fellows, when I was too weak to object. Mien held me in his arms the second night, just like a child. My good Eddie was a little out of his senses, and imagined himself teaching a York choir to sing. Even so, he was beautifully patient with them. "'I heard Mien whisper, if this keeps up, we should go to our gods. "'I wonder what Wotan will say to me. He must know I don't believe in him. On the other hand, I can't do what Ethel Walsh finds so easy. Curry favor with your god at the last minute, and the hope of being saved, as you call it. "'Now, how do you advise, Bishop?' "'My dear man,' I said, "'if that is your honest belief, I take it upon myself to say you had far better not curry favor with any god. But if it's only your Judas pride that holds you back, lift me up, and I'll baptize you even now.' "'Life still,' said Mien. "'I could judge better if I were in my own hall. But to desert one's father's gods, even if one doesn't believe in them, in the middle of Gale, isn't quite—' "'What would you do yourself?' I was lying in his arms, kept alive by the warmth of his big, steady heart. It did not seem to me the time were the place for subtle arguments. So I answered, "'No, I certainly would not desert my god. I don't see even now what else I could have said.' "'Thank you. I'll remember that.' "'If I live,' said Mien. "'And I must have drifted back to my dreams about Northumbria and beautiful France, for with broad daylight when I heard him calling on Wotan in that high, shaking heathen yell that I detested so. "'Like quiet, I'm giving Wotan his chance,' he said. Our dear Eddie ambled up, still beating time to his imaginary choir. "'Yes, call on your gods,' he cried, and see what gifts they will send you. They are gone on a journey, or they are hunting.' I assure you, the words were not out of his mouth when old Pada shot from the top of a cold wrinkled swell, drove himself onto the weedy ledge and landed fair in our laps with a rock cod between his teeth. I could not help smiling at his face. "'A miracle,' he cried, and kneeled down to clean the cod. "'You've been a long time finding us, my sons,' said Mien. "'Now fish, fish, for all our lives. We're starving, Pada.' The old fellow flung himself quivering like a salmon backwarding to the boil of the currents, around the rocks, and Mien said, "'We're safe. I'll send him to fetch help when this wind drops. Eat and be thankful.' I never tasted anything so good as those rock cod things we took from Pada's mouth and half roasted over the fire. Between his plunges Pada would hunch up and purr over Mien, with the tears running down his face. I never knew before that seals could weep for joy, as I have wept. Surely,' said Eddie, with his mouth full, God has made the seal the loveliest of his creatures in the water. "'Look how Pada rests the current. He stands up against it like a rock. Now watch, the chain of bubbles where he dives. And now there is his wise head under that rock ledge. "'Oh, bless him beyond thee, my little brother Pada.' You said he was a child of the devil, Mien laughed. "'There I sinned,' priority answered. Call him here, and I will ask his pardon. God sent him out of the storm to humble me, a fool. "'And won't ask you to enter into fellowships and understandings with any accursed brute,' said Mien, rather unkindly. "'Shall we say he was sent to our bishop, as the ravens were sent to your prophet, Elijah? "'Doubtless that is so,' said Eddie. "'I will write it so if I live to get home.' "'No, no,' I said. "'Let us three poor men kneel and thank God for his mercies.' "'We kneeled, and old Pada shuffled up, and thrust his head under Mien's elbows. "'I laid my head upon it and blessed him. So did Eddie. "'And now, my son,' I said to Mien. "'Shall I baptize thee?' "'Not yet,' said he. "'Wait till we are well ashore and at home. "'No God in heaven shall say that I came to him or left him, because I was wet and cold. "'I will send Pada to my people for a boat.' "'Is that witchcraft, Eddie?' "'Why, no,' Pada will surely pull him to the beach by the skirts of their gowns, as he pulled me in, and wondering church to ask me to sing. "'Only then I was afraid, and did not understand.' "'Sis Eddie.' "'You are understanding now,' said Mien. "'Not a wave of his arm.' "'Off went Pada to the mainland, making awake like a warboat, till we lost him in the rain.' "'Mien's people could not bring a boat across for some hours. Even so is ticklish work among the rocks in that tideway. But they hoisted me aboard, too stiff to move, and Pada swam behind us, barking and turning summer salts all the way to manhood end.' "'Good old Pada,' murmured Dan. "'Then we were quite rested and reclothed, and his people had been summoned. Not an hour before, Mien offered himself to be baptized.' "'What if Pada baptized, too?' Una asked. "'No, that was only Mien's joke, but he sat blinking on his oxide in the middle of the hall, when Eddie, who thought I wasn't looking, made a little cross in holy water on his wet muzzle. He kissed Eddie's hand. A week before, Eddie wouldn't have touched him. That was a miracle, if you like. But seriously, I was more glad than I can tell you to get Mien. A rare and splendid soul that never looked back. Never looked back.' The archbishop half-closed his eyes. But Surr said Puck, most respectfully, "'Haven't you left out what Mien said afterwards? Before the bishop could speak?' He turned to the children and went on. Mien called all his fishers and plowmen and herdsmen into the hall. And he said, "'Listen, men, two days ago I asked our bishop whether it was fair for a man to desert his father's gods in a time of danger. Our bishop said it was not fair. You needn't shout like that, because you are all Christians now. My Red Warboats crew will remember how near we all were to death when Pada fetched him over to the bishop's islet. You can tell your mates that even in that place. At that time, hanging on the wet, weedy edge of death, our bishop, a Christian, counts to me, a heathen, to stand by my father's gods. I tell you now that a faith which takes care that every man shall keep faith, even though he may save his soul by breaking faith, is the faith for a man to believe in. So I believe in the Christian God, and in Wilfred, his bishop, and in the church that Wilfred rules. You have been baptized once by the king's orders. I shall not have you baptized again, but if you find any more old women being sent to Wotan, or any girls dancing on the slide before Balder, or any men talking about Thune or Locke, or the rest, I will teach you with my own hands how to keep faith with the Christian God. Go out quietly. You'll find a couple of beefs on the beach. Then, of course, they shouted, Hurrah! Which meant, Thor, help us. And I think you laughed, sir. I think you remember it all too well, said the archbishop, smiling. It was a joyful day for me. I had learned a great deal on that rock where Pada found us. Yes, yes. One should deal kindly with all the creatures of God, and gently with their masters. But one learns late. He rose. His golden brooded sleeves rustled thickly. The organ cracked and took deep breaths. Wait a minute, Dame Whispered. She's going to the trumpety one. It takes all the wind you can pump. It's in Latin, sir. There is no other tongue, the archbishop answered. It's not a real hymn, Una explained. She does it as a tree after exercises. She isn't a real organist, you know. She just comes down here sometimes from the Albert Hall. Oh, what a miracle of a voice, said the archbishop. It rang out suddenly from a dark arch, of lonely noises. Every word spoken to the very end. Dia sirre, dia si la. Solvet seclam infabile. Teste devet cum si bila. The archbishop caught his breath and moved forward. The music carried on by itself while. Now it's called the light out of the windows, Una Whispered to Dan. I think it's more like a horse neighing in battle, he whispered back. The voice continued. Tuva miran un spargin sonam, per sepulchre reginam. Deeper and deeper, the organ dived down. But far below its deepest note, they heard Puck's voice joining in the last line. Coget omnesante thronam. And as they looked in wonder, for it sounded like the dull jar of one of the very pillars shifting, the little fellow turned and went out through the south door. Now it's the sorrowful part. But it's very beautiful, Una found herself speaking to the empty chair in front of her. What are you doing that for, Dan said behind her? You spoke so politely, too. I don't know. I thought, serena, funny. Tisnt, it's the part you like best, Dan grunted. The music had turned soft, full of little sounds that chased each other on wings, across the broad, gentle flood of the main tune. But the voice was 10 times lovelier than the music. Recorder Jesupai quadsum casetue vie, ne me paris illidae. There was no more. They moved out into the center aisle. That you, the lady called as she shut the lid, I thought I heard you, and I played it on purpose. Thank you awfully, sir Dan. We hoped you would, so we waited. Come on, Una, it's pretty nearly dinnertime. Song of the Red War Boat. Shove off from the wharf edge, steady. Watch for a smooth, give way. If she feels the lop already, she'll stand on her head in the bay. It's ebb, it's dusk, it's blowing. The shoals are a mile of white. But snatcher along, we're going to find our master's night. For you hold that in all your disaster of shipwreck, storm, or sword, a man must stand by his master when once he had pledged his word. Raging seas have we rode in, but we seldom saw them thus. Our master's angry with Odin. Odin is angry with us. Heavy odds have we taken, but never before such odds. The gods know they are forsaken. We must risk the wrath of the gods. Over the crest she flies, from into its hollow she drops. Crouches and clears her eyes from the wind-torn breaker tops. Air out of the shrieking shoulder of a hill high surge. She drives, meet her, meet her and hold her. Pulverous scoundrel lives. The thunder, bellow, and clamor. The harm that they mean to do. There goes Thor's own hammer, cracking the dark in two. Close, but the blow had missed her. Here comes the wind of the blow. Rowe or the squall twist her rod-side onto it. Rowe. Harken, Thor, the thunder. We are not here for a jest, for wage your warfare or plunder, or to put your power to test. This work is none of our wishing. We would stay at home if we might. But our master is wrecked out fishing. We go to find him tonight, for we hold it in all disaster, as the gods themselves have said. A man must stand by his master, till one of the two is dead. That is our way of thinking. Now you can do as you will, while we try to save her from sinking, and hold her head to it still. Bail her and keep her moving, or she'll break her back in the trough. Who said the weather's improving, and the swells are taking off? Sodden and chafed in aching, gone in the loins and knees, no matter, the day is breaking, and there's far less weight to the seas. Up massed and finished bailing, in oars and out with the mead, the rest will be too reef sailing. That was a night indeed, but we hold that all disaster, and faith we have found it true. If only you stand by your master, the gods will stand by you. End of Chapter 9 of Rewards and Fairies