Historical Novels & Novellas of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Arthur Conan DoyleЧитать онлайн книгу.
to me yesterday. It will fashion into a pin for your cravat.”
I could but thank him for the present, which was of more value than anything I had ever owned in my life.
“I am off to the upper muir to count the lambs,” said I; “maybe you would care to come up with me and see something of the country?”
He hesitated for a moment, and then he shook his head.
“I have some letters,” he said, “which I ought to write as soon as possible. I think that I will stay at quiet this morning and get them written.”
All forenoon I was wandering over the links, and you may imagine that my mind was turning all the time upon this strange man whom chance had drifted to our doors. Where did he gain that style of his, that manner of command, that haughty menacing glint of the eye? And his experiences to which he referred so lightly, how wonderful the life must have been which had put him in the way of them! He had been kind to us, and gracious of speech, but still I could not quite shake myself clear of the distrust with which I had regarded him. Perhaps, after all, Jim Horscroft had been right and I had been wrong about taking him to West Inch.
When I got back he looked as though he had been born and bred in the steading. He sat in the big wooden-armed ingle-chair, with the black cat on his knee. His arms were out, and he held a skein of worsted from hand to hand which my mother was busily rolling into a ball. Cousin Edie was sitting near, and I could see by her eyes that she had been crying.
“Hullo, Edie!” said I, “what’s the trouble?”
“Ah! mademoiselle, like all good and true women, has a soft heart,” said he. “I didn’t thought it would have moved her, or I should have been silent. I have been talking of the suffering of some troops of which I knew something when they were crossing the Guadarama mountains in the winter of 1808. Ah! yes, it was very bad, for they were fine men and fine horses. It is strange to see men blown by the wind over the precipices, but the ground was so slippery and there was nothing to which they could hold. So companies all linked arms, and they did better in that fashion; but one artilleryman’s hand came off as I held it, for he had had the frost-bite for three days.”
I stood staring with my mouth open.
“And the old Grenadiers, too, who were not so active as they used to be, they could not keep up; and yet if they lingered the peasants would catch them and crucify them to the barn doors with their feet up and a fire under their heads, which was a pity for these fine old soldiers. So when they could go no further, it was interesting to see what they would do; for they would sit down and say their prayers, sitting on an old saddle, or their knapsacks, maybe, and then take off their boots and their stockings, and lean their chin on the barrel of their musket. Then they would put their toe on the trigger, and pouf! it was all over, and there was no more marching for those fine old Grenadiers. Oh, it was very rough work up there on these Guadarama mountains!”
“And what army was this?” I asked.
“Oh, I have served in so many armies that I mix them up sometimes. Yes, I have seen much of war. Apropos I have seen your Scotchmen fight, and very stout fantassins they make, but I thought from them, that the folk over here all wore—how do you say it?—petticoats.”
“Those are the kilts, and they wear them only in the Highlands.”
“Ah! on the mountains. But there is a man out yonder. Maybe he is the one who your father said would carry my letters to the post.”
“Yes, he is Farmer Whitehead’s man. Shall I give them to him?”
“Well, he would be more careful of them if he had them from your hand.”
He took them from his pocket and gave them over to me. I hurried out with them, and as I did so my eyes fell upon the address of the topmost one. It was written very large and clear:
A SON MAJESTE,
LE ROI DE SUEDE,
STOCKHOLM.
I did not know very much French, but I had enough to make that out. What sort of eagle was this which had flown into our humble little nest?
Chapter 7.
The Corriemuir Peel Tower
Well, it would weary me, and I am very sure that it would weary you also, if I were to attempt to tell you how life went with us after this man came under our roof, or the way in which he gradually came to win the affections of every one of us. With the women it was quick work enough; but soon he had thawed my father too, which was no such easy matter, and had gained Jim Horscroft’s goodwill as well as my own. Indeed, we were but two great boys beside him, for he had been everywhere and seen everything; and of an evening he would chatter away in his limping English until he took us clean from the plain kitchen and the little farm steading, to plunge us into courts and camps and battlefields and all the wonders of the world. Horscroft had been sulky enough with him at first; but de Lapp, with his tact and his easy ways, soon drew him round, until he had quite won his heart, and Jim would sit with Cousin Edie’s hand in his, and the two be quite lost in listening to all that he had to tell us. I will not tell you all this; but even now, after so long an interval, I can trace how, week by week and month by month, by this word and that deed, he moulded us all as he wished.
One of his first acts was to give my father the boat in which he had come, reserving only the right to have it back in case he should have need of it. The herring were down on the coast that autumn, and my uncle before he died had given us a fine set of nets, so the gift was worth many a pound to us. Sometimes de Lapp would go out in the boat alone, and I have seen him for a whole summer day rowing slowly along and stopping every half-dozen strokes to throw over a stone at the end of a string. I could not think what he was doing until he told me of his own freewill.
“I am fond of studying all that has to do with the military,” said he, “and I never lose a chance. I was wondering if it would be a difficult matter for the commander of an army corps to throw his men ashore here.”
“If the wind were not from the east,” said I.
“Ah! quite so, if the wind were not from the east. Have you taken soundings here?”
“No.”
“Your line of battleships would have to lie outside; but there is water enough for a forty-gun frigate right up within musket range. Cram your boats with tirailleurs, deploy them behind these sandhills, then back with the launches for more, and a stream of grape over their heads from the frigates. It could be done! it could be done!”
His moustaches bristled out more like a cat’s than ever, and I could see by the flash of his eyes that he was carried away by his dream.
“You forget that our soldiers would be upon the beach,” said I indignantly.
“Ta, ta, ta!” he cried. “Of course it takes two sides to make a battle. Let us see now; let us work it out. What could you get together? Shall we say twenty, thirty thousand. A few regiments of good troops: the rest, pouf!—conscripts, bourgeois with arms. How do you call them—volunteers?”
“Brave men!” I shouted.
“Oh yes, very brave men, but imbecile. Ah, mon Dieu, it is incredible how imbecile they would be! Not they alone, I mean, but all young troops. They are so afraid of being afraid that they would take no
conscripts attack a battery of ten pieces. Up they went, ah, so gallantly! and presently the hillside looked, from where I stood, like— how do you say it in English?—a raspberry tart. And where was our fine battalion of conscripts? Then another battalion of young troops tried it, all together in a rush, shouting and yelling; but what will shouting do against a mitraille of grape? And there was our second battalion laid out on the hillside. And then the foot chasseurs of the Guard, old soldiers, were told to take the battery; and there