CHAPTER XII

INTRODUCING GRAIN D'ORGE

(1)

Anne-Hilarion was still sitting obediently on the cloak, staring at the now stationary compass. La Vireville stooped and kissed him before he had time to ask any questions. "Anne, you have been a very brave little boy! Now you will go on being brave, will you not? The fisherman and his boat have gone home; you will not see them any more. But we do not need them, because for the rest of the day we are going to stay here, in a cave that I know of. You can help me to carry these things to it. Mind you do not slip on the seaweed!"

Employment, of whatever kind, was exactly the tonic needed by the child at the moment. He picked up the nearly empty basket of food and followed the émigré, who carried the water-keg and the compass. The sea whispered up the side of the rock, lifting the seaweed. "Be very careful," adjured La Vireville over his shoulder. "Here we are. I expect you have never been in a cave before?"

Only just above high-water mark, of a slit-like entrance so narrow that La Vireville, stooping, could only just squeeze through, and with even this entrance partly screened by a projecting rock, the cave opened out within to respectable proportions. The Chevalier de la Vireville had not, in fact, been guided, in his choice of a landing-place, entirely by the fact of his mishap, which made an immediate haven a necessity, nor by the knowledge that the soldiers on the cliff might very possibly come along in pursuit. The thought of this very spot had visited his mind once or twice earlier on the voyage.

Anne hesitated a moment, rather daunted by the darkness, so La Vireville set down his burdens and took him by the hand.

"It will soon get lighter," he said cheerfully. "Come and sit down by me." He disposed his own long legs with some haste upon the sandy floor, for his head was swimming so much that he feared to fall.

Anne came willingly enough and nestled up to him. "We are quite safe now, are we not, M. le Chevalier?"

"Quite," said Fortuné, with his arm round him. "And I think the best thing we could do would be to go to sleep, don't you, nephew?"

"I am in effect very sleepy," said Anne, leaning his head against him with a sigh. A moment's silence, and he went on, in a changed voice, as if against his will, "I was frightened . . . there was blood . . . you too, and the fisherman----"

"Of course you were frightened for a moment," interrupted the émigré, holding him tighter. "But listen, my little pigeon, and I will explain it all. The soldiers on the cliff fired at us, as you know, and a bullet hit François the fisherman, and because it hurt him very much, he fainted--you understand? At the same time your uncle got a blow on the head from another bullet, which hit the mast first and then knocked him down. But, you see, he is quite recovered now. In the same way, when François had lain down a little in the bottom of the boat he felt better again, and after you and I had got out of her he was able to sail her back home; for, you know, with this wind and in the daylight we should never have got to Jersey to-day. We shall go at night, when the soldiers can't see us. So you see, mon petit, that there is nothing to be alarmed at now, and as for hearing shots and seeing . . . a little blood . . . you must remember that you too will fight for the King some day!"

"Yes," said the little boy. "Unless I write a big book like Grandpapa."

"Well, whatever you do, you must never let yourself be frightened."

"I suppose that you and Papa are never frightened?" deduced Anne.

"Never!" responded La Vireville firmly. ("Heaven forgive me for a liar!" he added inwardly.)

"Then I will try not to be," announced Anne, with another sigh, and, to the Chouan's relief, he settled down against him, and almost instantly fell asleep.

As for La Vireville, he remained for some time in the same position, his back against the rocky wall of the cave, looking down at the brown head with its heavy silken curls that rested confidingly against his redingote, and reflecting on the chance that had given him so unusual a companion in these regions. This cave had known in the past year very different occupants, for it had served, and would shortly serve again, as a depot for arms and ammunition, smuggled in under cover of night from Jersey, and smuggled out again, in the same conditions, by the Chouans of the parishes which he commanded in the neighbourhood. He touched one of the soft ringlets that held so many gleams of gold in their brown, then, very cautiously, so as not to disturb the sleeper, he slipped down at full length on the floor of the cave, taking Anne with him in an encircling arm, and, pillowing his own aching head on the other, tried to follow his example.

(2)

During the afternoon Anne-Hilarion woke up, in a mood for converse, and with his sleep his late adventures seemed, temporarily at least, blotted from his mind. Having eaten, he made inquiries after La Vireville's head, but instead of reviving the question of how he got the hurt, branched off into an account of Baptiste's calamitous fall off a ladder at some undated epoch, and the large swelling on his forehead which was the result. From this topic he entered that of a gathered finger once sustained by Elspeth, which had, she said, pained her right up to her shoulder, and to which a succession of poultices had been applied. La Vireville rather absently remarking that it would be impossible to make poultices at present, nothing but seaweed being available for the purpose, Anne, for some reason, found this observation so exquisitely humorous that he laughed over it for a long time.

"If we were wrecked on a desert island, like Robinson Crusoe, of whom Grandpapa has read to me," he concluded, "we might have to make poultices of seaweed. Perhaps we might even have to eat it. Do you know about Robinson Crusoe, M. le Chevalier?"

"No," answered Fortuné drowsily. "Tell me about him."

Anne told him, to the appropriate sound of the waves without.

"One hears the sea in here," he remarked at the end. "But not so much as last night. Last night it was as it says in 'Noroway-over-the-foam':

"'The lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly grew the sea . . .'"

And he added, crooning the words to himself:

"'Half owre, half owre to Aberdour 'Tis fifty fathoms deep; And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.'"

"Whatever are you talking about, child?" asked La Vireville uneasily, coming out of his doze.

But Anne went on, apparently fascinated by the words, and not much thinking of their meaning, which had on a past occasion so much distressed him:

"'O lang, lang may the ladies sit, Wi their fans into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand!

'And lang, lang may the maidens sit Wi' their gowd kames in their hair, A-waiting for their ain dear loves! For them they'll see nae mair.'"

La Vireville winced, and his hand went to the medal and the ring in his pocket.

"Your selection of poetry is not very cheerful, my small friend," he remarked.

Anne-Hilarion looked at him with large eyes of surprise. "Do you not like it, M. le Chevalier? I think it has so pleasant a sound. But I expect your head aches a good deal, does it not? Then I will not say any more of it. That is the end, I think." He had been sitting on a pile of dried seaweed at a little distance, whence he could see out of the cave entrance; now he got up, and came and slipped his hand into his friend's. "If you wish to sleep, M. le Chevalier----"

"You will play sentry, eh?" finished La Vireville, smiling up at him. "Very well, only you must promise on no account to go outside the cave. We shall leave it as soon as it is dark. That is," he added to himself, "if this accursed head of mine is steady enough for me to walk by then." For he was beginning to fear that it might not be, and it was therefore with relief that he accepted Anne's suggestion, and closed his eyes again.

Left to his own devices, the Comte de Flavigny sat for quite a long time solemnly and sympathetically regarding his prostrate companion--rather as that companion had, earlier, studied him. M. le Chevalier looked so long, lying there, longer even, Anne thought, than when he was on his feet. Then the watcher got up and proceeded to make a careful tour round his domain. A meticulous search yielded nothing of more interest than an empty water-keg, similar to their own, abandoned in a corner. Having exhausted the hopeful emotions of this quest, Anne looked longingly at the entrance of the cave, whence he could see a slit of sea and sky, and hear the waves and the gulls. He desired greatly to go out, but his promise rendered that impossible. So he returned to his heap of seaweed, and wondered if François the fisherman had got nearly home by now; for he did not in the least doubt the explanation of recent events that had been given him, though he did not much care to dwell upon them. Then he thought of his grandfather, and speculated as to what he was doing; he thought also of Elspeth, and Baptiste, and the exotic Lal Khan. He would soon be seeing them again now.

M. le Chevalier stirred in his sleep--if indeed he were really asleep, of which Anne was not sure--threw out an arm, and said something that sounded angry.

Suddenly Anne bethought him that he had not said his prayers since . . . he could not exactly remember when. So he knelt down on the seaweed and applied himself to his devotions, adding a special petition on behalf of the Chevalier de la Vireville. After that he himself fell asleep again.

(3)

It was quite dark in the cave when La Vireville dragged himself to his feet and told Anne that it was time for them to be leaving it. The subsequent Odyssey was, to Anne at least, full of interest, and undoubtedly possessed more reality to him than to his half-dazed companion. After they had made their way through the narrow opening of the cave they had to scramble over many rocks full of pools in which, so Anne opined, there might be crabs, only it was too dark to see them--even though it was not so dark outside the cave as in it. His views on their alleged presence, and the likelihood of their seizing hold of the travellers' feet and retaining them willy-nilly till the tide came up again, were discouraged by La Vireville (or at least their utterance was), and he was told that he must not speak above a whisper. So in silence they clambered, in silence they arrived upon a beach which was first sand, where the waves were coming in gently, and then pebbles, which not only made a noise but also hurt the feet. Here La Vireville picked up Anne under one arm and so carried him. Then, when they were at the top of the bank of pebbles, they had to climb a low cliff where there was a path, somewhat difficult to see. After that they were on the level, on grass, and soon after in a strange, tunnel-like lane, very deep and dark indeed, and so narrow that they could only just go abreast. Soon there were great trees growing on the banks of this lane, and it became so dark that Anne could only see a few feet in front, but M. le Chevalier went on without hesitating, though not very fast. Sometimes Anne walked by his side, his hand in his; sometimes he was carried. Then they were out of the lane, in among more and more trees. Anne began to be tired, and M. le Chevalier seemed tired too, for he stopped and sat down occasionally, and once or twice he said things to himself which Anne did not understand.

There was some animal or bird among these trees which kept making a strange noise, and this M. le Chevalier would now and then imitate exactly. Anne asked what it was, and was told that it was an owl. After a little it seemed to Anne that there were people too in the forest, strange shadowy forms in curious garments. He commented on this, and M. le Chevalier told him not to be frightened, that they were all friends, and would do him no harm, and that it was, in fact, they who made the sound like an owl which he had answered. And, almost as he said it, two men seemed to come up out of the ground, two men with great wide-brimmed hats and long loose hair. They each carried a gun. It was too dark to see their faces. M. de la Vireville spoke to one in a strange tongue, and then he said to Anne, "Let him carry you, little one, and don't be frightened." So the man took him up in his arms, and Anne, being tired, was glad of this, though he had to struggle against a certain amount of the alarm which he had promised to try never to feel again.

M. le Chevalier, who was of course too big to be carried, however tired he might feel, took the arm of the other man, and they went on again. And then, just as Anne was thinking that he would ask to be put down--for, after all, the man who carried him smelt almost too disagreeably--they came to a little hut roofed with branches, and one of the men knocked, and made the noise of the owl, and the door opened and they all went in.

In the hut was another man in strange dress, and here, by a couple of rushlights, Anne, when he was deposited on his feet, had his first full view of a Chouan.

By his side there stood an oldish man, not very tall, with enormously powerful shoulders and rather a short neck. On the lank, grizzled hair that fell to these shoulders was a large wide-brimmed hat; he wore the strangest breeches that Anne had ever seen, made of some dirty white material, pleated and full like a woman's skirt; from these to his sabots his legs were clad in deerskin gaiters. But his coat engaged the little boy's attention almost more, for it was blue, very short, and appeared to have another underneath it, and the front was elaborately embroidered in whorls of yellow and red. Pinned on to it was a tiny soiled square of linen, roughly worked with the emblem of the Sacred Heart, and a rosary was looped through one of the button-holes. The man's little twinkling eyes, set deep in his head, looked, Anne decided, rather wicked, and he had never seen a face which seemed so much as if it never could be washed clean, so grey and leathery was the wrinkled skin. The Chouan carried a musket slung across his back, and a knife and two pistols in a leather belt.

M. le Chevalier, sitting on the edge of the table, with both hands to his head, now addressed this being as "Grain d'Orge," and said a few words to him in a strange language. Anne had by this time arrived at the conclusion that this was the man who had carried him, so when the lips of the being parted in what the little boy supposed to be a smile (displaying a few yellow teeth, and causing innumerable more wrinkles to appear), and it held out a large grey hand, uttering something unintelligible, Anne gathered that he was being given a friendly greeting of some kind, and with very little hesitation laid his own hand in Grain d'Orge's capacious paw.