The Singular Adventure of a Small Free-Trader

by Arthur Quiller-Couch

[The events which are to be narrated happened in the spring of 1803,and just before the rupture of the Peace of Amiens between our countryand France; but were related to my grandfather in 1841 by one Yann, orJean, Riel, a Breton "merchant," alias smuggler--whether or not adescendant of the famous Herve of that name, I do not know. He chancedto fall ill while visiting some friends in the small Cornishfishing-town, of which my grandfather was the only doctor; and this isone of a number of adventures recounted by him during his convalescence.I take it from my grandfather's MSS., but am not able, at this distanceof time, to learn how closely it follows the actual words of thenarrator.Smuggling in 1841 was scotched, but certainly not extinct, and the visitof M. Riel to his old customers was, as likely as not, connected withbusiness.--Q.]"Item, of the Cognac 25 degrees above proof, according to sample in thelittle green flask, 144 ankers at 4 gallons per anker, at 5s. 6d. pergallon, the said ankers to be ready slung for horse-carriage.""Now may the mischief fly away with these English!" cried my father, towhom my mother was reading the letter aloud. "It costs a man a workingday, with their gallons and sixpences, to find out of how much they meanto rob him at the end of it.""Item, 2 ankers of colouring stuff at 4 gallons per anker, price asusual. The place to be as before, under Rope Hauen, east side ofBlackhead, unless warned: and a straight run. Come close in, any windbut easterly, and can load up horses alongside. March 24th or 25th willbe best, night tides suiting, and no moon. Horses will be there: twofenced lights, pilchard-store and beach, showing S 1/4 E to E S E.Get them in line. Same pay for freighting, and crew 17l. per man, beinga straight run,""And little enough," was my father's comment."Item, 15 little wooden dolls, jointed at the knees and elbows, thesame as tante Yvonne used to sell for two sols at Saint Pol de Leon--.""'Fifteen little wooden dolls'! 'Fifteen little woo--'." My fatherdropped into his chair, and sat speechless, opening and shutting hismouth like a fish."It is here in black and white," said my mother. I found the letter,years after, in her kist. It was written, as were all the letters wereceived from this Cornish venturer, in a woman's hand, small anddelicate, with upstrokes like spider's thread; written in French, too,quite easy and careless. My mother held it close to the window."'Fifteen little wooden dolls,'" she repeated, "'jointed at the kneesand elbows.'""Well, I've gone to sea with all sorts, from Admiral Brueys upwards; butfifteen little wooden dolls--jointed--at--the--knees!""I know the sort," I put in from the hearth, where my mother had set meto watch the bouillon. "You can get as many as you like in the verynext street, and at two sols apiece. I will look to that part of thecargo.""You, for example? . . .""Yes, I; since you promised to take me on the very next voyage after Iwas twelve.""But that's impossible. This is a straight run, as they call it, andnot a mere matter of sinking the crop.""And next time," I muttered bitterly, "we shall be at war with Englandagain, and then it will be the danger of privateers--always one excuseor another!"My mother sighed as she looked out of window towards the Isle de Batz.I had been coaxing her half the morning, and she had promised me to saynothing.Well, the result was that I went. My father's lugger carried twelvehands--I counted myself, of course; and indeed my father did the samewhen it came to charging for the crew. Still, twelve was not anout-of-the-way number, since in these chasse-marees one must lower andrehoist the big sails at every fresh tack. As it happened, however, wehad a fair wind right across from Roscoff, and made a good landfall ofthe Dodman at four in the afternoon, just twenty hours after starting.This was a trifle too early for us; so we dowsed sail, to escape notice,and waited for nightfall. As soon as it grew dark, we lowered the twotub-boats we carried--one on davits and the other inboard--and loadedthem up and started to pull for shore, leaving two men behind on thelugger. My father steered the first boat, and I the other, keepingclose in his wake--and a proud night that was for me! We had three goodmiles between us and shore; but the boats were mere shells and pulledlight even with the tubs in them. So the men took it easy. I reckonthat it was well past midnight before we saw the two lights which theletter had promised.After this everything went easily. The beach at Rope Hauen issteep-to; and with the light breeze there was hardly a ripple on it.On a rising tide we ran the boats in straight upon the shingle; and inless than a minute the kegs were being hove out. By the light of thelantern on the beach I could see the shifting faces of the crowd, andthe troop of horses standing behind, quite quiet, shoulder to shoulder,shaved from forelock to tail, all smooth and shining with grease. I hadheard of these Cornish horses, and how closely they were clipped; butthese beat all I had ever imagined. I could see no hair on them; and Isaw them quite close; for in the hurry each horse, as his turn came, wasrun out alongside the boat; the man who led him standing knee-deep untilthe kegs were slung across by the single girth. As soon as this wasdone, a slap on the rump sent the beast shoreward, and the man scrambledout after him. There was scarcely any talk, and no noise except thatcaused by the wading of men and horses.Now all this time I carried my parcel of little dolls in a satchel slungat my shoulder, and was wondering to whom I ought to deliver it. I knewa word or two of English, picked up from the smugglers that used to becommon as skate at Roscoff in those days; so I made shift to ask one ofthe men alongside where the freighter might be. As well as I could makeout, he said that the freighter was not on the beach; but he pointed toa tall man standing beside the lantern and gave me to understand thatthis was the "deputy." So I slipped over the gunwale and waded ashoretowards him.As I came near, the man moved out of the light, and strolled away intothe darkness to the left, I don't know upon what errand. I ran afterhim, as I thought, but missed him. I stood still to listen. This sideof the track was quite deserted, but the noise of the runners behind me,though not loud, was enough to confuse the sound of his footsteps.After a moment, though, I heard a slight scraping of shingle, and ranforward again--plump against the warm body of some living thing.It was a black mare, standing here close under the cliff, with the kegsready strapped upon her. I saw the dark forms of other horses behind,and while I patted the mare's shoulder, and she turned her head to sniffand nuzzle me, another horse came up laden from the water and joined thetroop behind, no man leading or following. The queer thing about mymare, though, was that her coat had no grease on it like the others, butwas close and smooth as satin, and her mane as long as a colt's.She seemed so friendly that I, who had never sat astride a horse in mylife, took a sudden desire to try what it felt like. So I walked round,and finding a low rock on the other side, I mounted it and laid my handson her mane.On this she backed a foot or two and seemed uneasy, then turned hermuzzle and sniffed at my leg. "I suppose," thought I, "a Cornish horsewon't understand my language." But I whispered to her to be quiet, andquiet she was at once. I found that the tubs, being slung high, madequite a little cradle between them. "Just a moment," I told myself,"and then I'll slip off and run back to the boat"; and twining thefingers of my left hand in her mane, I took a spring and landed my smallperson prone between the two kegs, with no more damage than a barkedshin-bone.And at that very instant I heard a shrill whistle and many sudden criesof alarm; and a noise of shouting and galloping across the beach; andwas raising my head to look when the mare rose too, upon her hind legs,and with the fling of her neck caught me a blow on the nose that made mesee stars. And then long jets of fire seemed to mingle with the stars,and I heard the pop-pop of pistol-shots and more shouting.But before this we were off and away--I still flat on the mare's back,with a hand in her mane and my knees wedged against the tubs; away andgalloping for the head of the beach, with the whole troop of ladenhorses pounding at our heels. I could see nothing but the loom of thecliff ahead and the white shingle underfoot; and I thought of nothingbut to hold on--and well it was that I did, for else the horses behindhad certainly trampled me flat in the darkness. But all the while Iheard shouting, louder and louder, and now came more pounding of hoofsalongside, or a little ahead, and a tall man on horseback sprang out ofthe night, and, cannoning against the mare's shoulder, reached out ahand to catch her by rein, mane, or bridle. I should say that we racedin this way, side by side, for ten seconds or so. I could see the giltbuttons twinkling on his sleeve as he reached past my nose, and findingneither bit nor rein, laid his hand at length right on top of mine. Ibelieve that, till then, the riding-officer--it was he, for the nexttime I saw a riding-officer I recognised the buttons--had no guess ofanyone's being on the mare's back. But instead of the oath that Iexpected, he gave a shrill scream, and his arm dropped, for the mare hadturned and caught it in her teeth, just above the elbow. The nextmoment she picked up her stride again, and forged past him. As hedropped back, a bullet or two sang over us, and one went ping! intothe right-hand keg. But I had no time to be afraid, for the mare's neckrose again and caught me another sad knock on the nose as she heavedherself up the cliff-track, and now I had work to grip the edge of thekeg, and twine my left hand tighter in her mane to prevent myselfslipping back over her tail, and on to those deadly hoofs. Up we went,the loose stones flying behind us into the bushes right and left.Farther behind I heard the scrambling of many hoofs, but whether of thetub-carriers or the troopers' horses it was not for me to guess. Themare knew, however, for as the slope grew easier, she whinnied andslackened her pace to give them time to come up. This also gave me achance to shift my seat a bit, for the edges of the kegs were nipping mycalves cruelly. The beach below us was like the wicked place in apriest's sermon--black as pitch and full of cursing--and by this timeall alive with lanterns; but they showed us nothing. There was no morefiring, though, and I saw no lights out at sea, so I hoped my father hadmanaged to push off and make for the lugger.We were now on a grassy down at the head of the cliff, and my mare,after starting again at a canter which rattled me abominably, passedinto an easy gallop. I declare that except for my fears--and now, asthe chill of the wind bit me, I began to be horribly afraid--it was likeswinging in a hammock to the pitch of a weatherly ship. I was not indread of falling, either; for her heels fell so lightly on the turf thatthey persuaded all fear of broken bones out of the thought of falling;but I was in desperate dread of those thundering tub-carriers justbehind, who seemed to come down like a black racing wave right on top ofus, and to miss us again and again by a foot or less. The weight ofthem on this wide, empty down--that was the nightmare we seemed to berunning from.We passed through an open gate, then another; then out upon hard roadfor half-a-mile or so (but I can tell you nothing of the actual distanceor the pace), and then through a third gate. All the gates stood open;had been left so on purpose, of course; and the grey granite side-postswere my only mile-stones throughout the journey. Every mortal thing wasstrange as mortal thing could be. Here I was, in a foreign land I hadnever seen in my life, and could not see now; on horseback for the firsttime in my life; and going the dickens knew whither, at the dickens knewwhat pace; in much certain and more possible danger; alone, and withoutspeech to explain myself when--as I supposed must happen sooner orlater--my runaway fate should shoot me among human folk. And overhead--this seemed the oddest thing of all--shone the very same stars that wereused to look in at my bedroom window over Roscoff quay. My mother hadtold me once that these were millions of miles away, and that peoplelived in them; and it came into my head as a monstrous queer thing thatthese people should be keeping me in view, and my own folk so far awayand lost to me.But the stars, too, began to grow faint; and little by little the fieldsand country took shape around us--plough, and grass, and plough again;then hard road, and a steep dip into a valley where branches met overthe lane and scratched the back of my head as I ducked it; then amoorland rising straight in front, and rounded hills with the daylighton them. And as I saw this, we were dashing over a granite bridge andthrough a whitewashed street, our hoofs drumming the villagers up fromtheir beds. Faces looked out of windows and were gone, like scraps of adream. But just beyond the village we passed an old labourer trudgingto his work, and he jumped into the hedge and grinned as we went by.We were climbing the moor now, at a lopping gallop that set the packetof dolls bob-bobbing on my back to a sort of tune. The horses behindwere nearly spent, and the sweat had worked their soaped hides into acomplete lather. But the mare generalled them all the while; andstriking on a cart-track beyond the second rise of the moor, slowed downto a walk, wheeled round and scanned the troop. As they struggled upshe whinnied loudly. A whistle answered her far down the lane, and atthe sound of it she was off again like a bird.The track led down into a hollow, some acres broad, like a saucerscooped between two slopes of the moor; and in the middle of it--justlow enough to be hidden from the valley beneath--stood a whitewashedfarmhouse, with a courtlege in front and green-painted gate; and by thisgate three persons watched us as we came--a man and two women.The man by his dress was plainly a farmer; and catching sight of me, hecalled out something I could not understand, and turned towards thewoman beside him, whom I took to be his wife. But the other woman, whostood some paces away, was a very different person--tall and slight,like a lady; grey-haired, and yet not seeming old; with long white handsand tiny high-heeled shoes, and dressed in black silk, with a lace shawlcrossed over her shoulders, and a silver whistle hanging from her neck.She came forward, holding out a handful of sugar, and spoke to the mare,if you'll believe me, in my very own Breton."Good Lilith!" said she. "Ah, what a mess for me to groom! See what acoat! Good Lilith!" Then, as Lilith munched the sugar--"Who are you,little boy? I never saw you before. Explain yourself, kindly, littleboy.""My name is Yann," said I; "Yann Riel. I am from Roscoff, and--O howtired, madame!""He is Breton! He speaks the Breton!" She clapped her hands, drew medown from my seat, and kissed me on both cheeks."Yann, you shall sleep now--this instant. Tell me only how you came--aword or two--that I may repeat to the farmer."So I did my best, and told her about the run, and the dragoons on thebeach, and how I came on Lilith's back."Wonderful, wonderful! But how came she to allow you?""That I know not, madame. But when I spoke to her she was quiet atonce.""In the Breton--you spoke in the Breton? Yes, yes, that explains--Itaught her. Dear Lilith!" She patted the mare's neck, and broke off toclap her hands again and interpret the tale to the farmer and his wife;and the farmer growled a bit, and then they all began to laugh."He says you are a 'rumgo,' and you had better be put to bed. But thepacket on your back--your night-shirt, I suppose? You have managed itall so complete, Yann!" And she laughed merrily."It holds fifteen little wooden dolls," said I, "jointed at the kneesand elbows; and they cost two sols apiece.""My little dolls--you clever boy! O you clever little boy!" She kissedme twice again. "Come, and you shall sleep, and then, when you wake,you shall see."She took me by the hand and hurried me into the house, and upstairs to agreat bedroom with a large oaken four-post bed in it, and a narrowwooden bed beside, and a fire lit, and an arm-chair by the hearth.The four-post bed had curtains of green damask, all closely pinnedaround it, and a green valance. But she went to the little bed, whichwas hung with pink dimity, and pulled the white sheets out of it andreplaced them with others from a great wardrobe sunk in the wall.And while I sat in the chair by the fire, munching a crust of bread andfeeling half inclined to cry and more than half inclined to sleep, sheleft me, and returned with a can of hot water and a vast night-shirt ofthe farmer's, and bade me good-night."Be quick and undress, little one." She turned at the door. "The tubsare all in hiding by this time. Good-night, Yann."I believe I slept as soon as my head touched the sweet-smelling pillow;and I must have slept the round of the clock before I opened my eyes,for the room was now bright with candles, and in the arm-chair by thefire sat the Breton lady sewing as if for dear life.But the wonder of her was that she now wore a short plain dress such asgirls wear in the convent schools in Brittany, and her grey hair wastied just like a girl's. One little foot rested on the brass fender,and the firelight played on its silver shoe-buckle.I coughed, to let her know that I was awake, and she looked across andnodded."Almost ten o'clock, Yann, and time for you to rise and have supper.And after supper--are you sorry?--another journey for you. At midnightyou start in the gig with Farmer Ellory, who will drive you to thecoast, to a town called Fowey, where some friends of his 'in the trade'are starting for Roscoff. In six hours you will be aboard ship again;and in another twenty, perhaps, you will see your mother--and yourfather too, if he escaped clear away. In little more than a day youwill be back in Brittany. But first you must lie quite still, and Iwill show you something.""To be sure I will, madame.""You must not call me that. I am the Demoiselle Heloise Keranguin.You know St. Pol de Leon, Yann?""Almost as well as my own town, mademoiselle.""And the Convent of the Grey Nuns, on the road to Morlaix, a littlebeyond the town?"It was on my tongue to tell her that fire and soldiery had wiped iteven with the ground, during the "Terror." But she interrupted me.Setting down her work-basket, which was heaped high with reels andparti-coloured rags of silk, she pushed a small table over to the bigbed and loaded it with candlesticks. There were three candles alreadyalight in the room, but she lit others and set them in line--brasscandlesticks, plated candlesticks, candlesticks of chinaware--fourteencandlesticks in all, and fresh candles in each. Laying a finger on herlip, she stepped to the big bed and unfastened the corking-pins whichheld the green curtains together. As she pushed the curtains back Ilifted myself on an elbow.It was into a real theatre that I looked. She had transformed the wholelevel of the bed into a miniature stage, with buildings of cardboard,cleverly painted, and gardens cut out of silk and velvet and laid down,and rose-trees gummed on little sticks, and a fish-pond and brook oflooking-glass, with embroidered flowers stuck along their edges, andalong the paths (of real sand) a score of little dolls walking, alldressed in the uniform of the Grey Nuns. I declare it was so real, youcould almost hear the fountain playing, with its jet d'eau oftransparent beads strung on an invisible wire."But how pretty, mademoiselle!" I cried.She clasped her hands nervously. "But is it like, Yann? It is solong ago that I may have forgotten. Tell me if it is like; or if thereis anything wrong. I promise not to be offended.""It is exactly like, mademoiselle.""See, here is the Mother Superior; and this is Soeur Gabrielle. I haveto make the dresses full and stiff, or they wouldn't stand up.And that, with the blue eyes, is Soeur Hyacinthe. She walks with me--this is I--as she always did. And what do you think? With the fifteendolls that you have brought I am going to have a real Pardon, andtownspeople and fisher people to stand and worship at the altar of theVirgin, there in the corner. I made it of wax, and stamped the facewith a seal that Charles gave me. He was to have been my husband when Ileft the school.""Indeed, mademoiselle?""Yes, but the soldiers burnt his house. It was but a week after I leftthe school, and the Chateau Sant-Ervoan lay but a mile from my mother'shouse. He fled to us, wounded; and we carried him to the coast--therewas a price on his head, and we, too, had to flee--and escaped over toEngland. He died on this bed, Yann. Look--"She lifted a candle, and there on the bed's ledge I read, in giltlettering, some words I have never forgotten, though it was not untilyears after that I got a priest to explain them to me. They were"C. DE. R. COMES ET ECSUL. MDCCXCIII."While I stared, she set the candle down again and gently drew thecurtains round the bed."Rise now and dress, dear child, or your supper will be cold and thefarmer impatient. You have done me good. Although I have written thefarmer's letters for him, it never seemed to me that I wrote to livingpeople: for all I used to know in Brittany, ten years ago, are dead.For the future I shall write to you."She turned at the door as she said this, and that was the last I eversaw of her. For when I passed out of the room, dressed and ready for myjourney, it was quite dark on the landing, where she met and kissed me.Then she slipped a little packet into my hand."For the dolls," she said.In the kitchen I slipped it out of my pocket and examined it under thetable's edge. It was a little silver crucifix, and I have kept it tothis day.

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