Rose looked at him with swimming eyes.
"And Michael Lempriere comes as bailiff. He said that he would. And then, when your fortunes are once more high, and you have no further need of me …"
Alain faltered and looked down. But for that gesture even his despondent mind might have been roused by the look that Marguerite cast upon him. But the dart was parried by the shield of an obstinate depression.
"I have arranged," he pursued, "with Sir George. You know that last year he sent out a ship of five guns to America, laden with passengers, all sorts of grain, and tools for husbandry. She was lost, being captured (that is to say) off the Isle of Wight by Captain Green, of the Commonwealth's navy. The stores were confiscated, but most of the passengers came back to the island, and have been here ever since awaiting a fresh opportunity for New Jersey. It will come soon, and I sail with the next venture."
"With the next fiddlestick," broke in Rose. "Speak to the silly fellow, Marguerite. This is the last time of asking."
Whatever may be thought of Alain's project of emigration, his information was true enough. Cromwell had determined to put a stop to the trouble caused by the present doings in Jersey. Yet he had no desire to repeat the severities of Ireland. The Jersey cavaliers were good Protestants, there had been no massacres, and their cause was warmly supported by Prynne—a man with whom the general could not wholly sympathise, but with whom he could still less afford to break on what appeared to him a not very important difference. Left to himself, he would not probably have been as stern with Jersey as he had been with the blood-stained Rapparees and their allies, solicited by the leader of the Moderates, he was willing to be won. So he readily agreed to the counsels of those who urged him to accept Prynne's offer of service, and appointed the Presbyterian confessor to accompany Blake and Haine as a representative of conciliation and indulgence.
Setting sail with a light north-east wind, the transports and their convoy, multiplied by popular rumour into a vast fleet of war, and really bearing nearly three thousand good troops and a quantum of field guns, made slow way out of Portsmouth harbour on Sunday, September 19th. Next morning they were in the open sea with all sail set. On the quarter-deck of the Constant Warwick, a fine frigate (the first launched by the new government) Lempriere and Prynne—now completely reconciled—paced slowly up and down, talking of the present situation and future policy. As they did so their eyes glanced from time to time on the fair sea scape, illumined by the early autumn sunlight, and shaded by the sails of the surrounding shipping.
"'Tis a fair show, Mr. Bailiff," said the English politician, "And one that ought to bring down our friend's stomach."
"Faith! I do not know," answered the Jerseyman. "Sir George will fight, I doubt. You know him as well as I."
"Nevertheless, he cannot fight to much purpose, and I see not how there can be any great effusion of blood. By himself he can do nothing, and who will be of his side? It is the divine asseveration of the wisest of men, Ecclesiastes vii. 7, 'Surely oppression maketh a wise man mad.' And if it be so, Cartwright should have but few sane men about him. Yet in his fall I pray he may find mercy. And I am forced to lean upon you, Mr. Bailiff, in that behalf."
"Non tali auxilio," began the quotation-loving bailiff. But Prynne gravely pursued his pleading.
"You may recollect what I said to the Commons' House three full years ago. Indeed it was the very night before Pride's Purge. If fines, I reminded them, if imprisonments, grievous mutilations, and brandings of S.L.—which I once called 'stigmata landis;' but 'tis an ill subject for jesting—could bespeak a true friend to liberty, why then sure I am one whose voice might well claim, a hearing. Yet it hath been far otherwise with yonder masterful men of the carnal weapon, who seek their own advancement in the name of the Commonwealth. I have never coveted the transient treasures, honours, or preferments of the world, but only to do to my God, country, aye, and king, too, the best public services I could, even though it brought upon me the loss of my liberty, the ruin of my mean estate, and the hazard of my life. When the late king did wrong I withstood him, to the extent of my poor capacity; but I was not for seeing the crown and lords of the ancient realm of England subverted or submerged by the flood of usurpation let in by some members of the Lower House. My speech of the 4th December, 1649–."
"I heard it," broke in the other, "And well do I remember the hum of assent and approbation with which it was received."
"It was printed no less than three times last year. Then followed my tractate upon their deposing and executing their lawful king; and other leaves against the arbitrary taxation of what I call 'the Westminster Junto.' Think you that these things can be forgotten, or that my being sent here with Haine is more than a hollow compliment? Recollect the word that we exchanged at my lodging in the Strand two years ago, and bear in mind that it is rather in your hands than in mine to temper justice with mercy when my friends shall be overthrown in yonder island."
So pleaded, and to yet greater length, the verbose but earnest advocate. But in truth he might have been more concise, less eloquence would have sufficed had not the idle hours of a sea voyage thrown open a wider door for its display. Lempriere was ready to promise anything on the joy of the long-wished for moment.
"Quod optanti Divum promittere nemo
Auderet."
As he himself expressed the matter with wonted Latinity. His own nature would have disposed him to adhere to the promise given long ago, and still so urgently demanded of him by Prynne.
On the evening of Monday, the 20th of September, the flotilla was signalled in the north-western part of Jersey, where a vigilant outlook had long been maintained upon the very top of Plémont. The sea heaved to and fro in smooth fluctuations under the bright weather, which shed mild splendour over the violet surface, studded with orange rocks. With favouring airs the stately ships slid slowly on in crescent formation. They cast anchor for the evening in S. Owen's Bay, sheltered on the north by Grosnez Gape, and on the south by the cliffs that end in the Corbière—an extent of nearly five miles.
On shore all was bustle and preparation. Sir George's head-quarters were at his cousin's seat, the manor house of S. Owen. The sandy plains to seaward were held by companies of the island militia; the lieutenant-governor's own immediate following consisted of a small squadron of horse, raised and equipped by himself, but mounted on chargers especially presented to them by the king. Considering the natural difficulties of the coast, and that the equinox was at hand, the numerical disparity was not absolutely desperate. Jersey is a strong place yet. In those days of sailing ships and weak artillery it was a gigantic fortress, if only held by a wholehearted and determined garrison. Had that but been now the case, which, however, it was not. The population in general had no insurmountable feeling of hostility towards the de facto government of England. On the other hand, the hearts of the Cavalier party were not high. A rumour had been spread—not traceable to any distinct source—that Charles had been taken after the rout of Worcester. The public, ever credulous of ill tidings, fastened with morbid eagerness on such reports. "Sorrow and despair," writes a Royalist eye-witness with natural exaggeration, "could be seen in every face. The more dispirited began to cry out that it was in vain to contend any longer against powers that, like a torrent, bore down everything before them."
Carteret, who though ambitious and covetous, was never wanting in courage, energy, intelligence or versatility, turned the more obstinately to his task. Concealing his natural anxieties, he rode about from post to post in morion and buff coat, wearing a resolute countenance, and doing all that one man could do to keep up the hearts of his people and prepare a stout defence.
The position of Le Gallais, though humbler, was much more complicated. Nor was he possessed of sufficient strength of character to choose a distinct path and steadily pursue it. Determined enough, as we have seen, under excitement he could fight with his back to the wall. Nor was he one to shrink from any duty that was plainly pointed out to him. He could not prepare himself de longue main for a definite and consistent conduct; still less had he the power—often wielded by natures otherwise inferior—of striking a balance between opposing motives. His duty as a militia-officer was at complete variance with his desires as a friend of Lempriere's. He could not choose between them. He might have thrown up his commission and devoted himself to watching over his friends at King's Cliff. He might have cast his feelings to the winds and accepted the post of orderly officer to the Lieutenant-Governor which was offered him by Carteret. He chose neither line but adopted what he called "a middle-course," in other words left himself to be drifted on the current of events. He saw that the position of the cavaliers was hopeless if they had to maintain a long and unaided contest against the conquerors of Ireland and Scotland. He had no great trust in the willingness of the French, none whatever in their good faith. His ardent desire to prevent effusion of Jersey blood was a preoccupation that hid almost all other considerations from his mind. And he had trust in the discipline and morale of the Parliamentary troops, and in the presence among them of Prynne and Lempriere, which saved him from much anxiety as to the welfare of the ladies at King's Cliff.
As he sate, that night, by the camp-fire of a picquet of his company he heard two militiamen conversing, and recognised Benoist and Le Gros as the speakers.
"To what purpose are we here, mon voisin?" asked the former. "What good would the sacrifice of ourselves do the King now, when perhaps he has already undergone his father's fate and is no longer in this world?"
"If the King be dead, indeed," answered Le Gros, "I for one will not fire a single cartridge. All the same, he was a debonair prince, and once gave me a groat to drink his health when he saw me holding his horse."
"That he is a prisoner is certain," croaked Benoist. "And if prisoner to Maître Cromouailles he can only make his escape through one door. And that door does not lead to Jersey, though it may to Paradise."
Here the men got up and moved off in search of cider, which was being served out by the Governor's orders at a neigbouring farm-house. But their conversation mingled with the young Captain's thoughts as, wearied with the marchings and countermarchings of the day, he dozed in the still night air, lulled by the fire at his feet. Deep slumber must have followed, for he started from dreams of tumult to feel the vibration of air caused by a round-shot passing over his head. The wind had fallen to an almost complete calm: a light breeze of autumn morning breathed keen over the barren moor; bugles were sounding, drums rattling, men shouting as they collected their accoutrements and fell in under arms.
Four-and-twenty guns from the nearest ships were playing upon them, answered briskly by the little militia batteries that lined the bay. Gunboats began to stand in, laden with red-coated marksmen discharging their new pattern fire-locks. The militiamen on their part waded into the sea and gave such answer as they could from their clumsy old matchlocks: making good the deficiency—so far as noise was concerned—by shouts of vituperation; and calling on their assailants as "Rebels," "Traitors," and "Murderers of their King." The landing was frustrated for the time.
The next day was occupied in rapid movements from one part of the island to another, in order to meet feigned attacks by the enemy who were ready to turn any of those diversions into a real assault, on finding the Jersey people unprepared. The Lieutenant-Governor had no choice but to distract and weary his men, marching them backwards and forwards to S. Aubin, S. Clement, and Gorey, according as the invaders appeared at one or other of those landing-places. The militiamen were worn out by these tactics, and were moreover of the class on whom Carteret's oppressive taxations had long pressed with an almost intolerable weight. On the third day their strength was reduced both by fatigue and desertion; and in the afternoon, after more demonstrations a real landing took place in S. Owen's Bay, the original point of attack. Carteret, as soon as he perceived what was intended, galloped up his cavalry, ordering up a battalion of militia in support, under his cousin, the Seigneur of S. Owen. The English infantry formed upon the beach, and advanced to the attack with terrible shouts and cheers. The first troop of Carteret's horse met them boldly, and delivered a headlong charge; but the men who had fought Rupert and Goring were not to be intimidated by a handful of untrained cavaliers. The troopers were received with a volley that emptied several saddles; and retired, leaving several of their number dead and carrying off Colonel Bovil, a gallant English officer by whom they had been led, and who soon after died of his wounds. The second troop failed to support them, but guarded the retreat as the troopers drew off without renewing their charge. Meanwhile, the militia who should have been the third line dispersed and gained their homes. The red 'coats meeting no further opposition marched cautiously across the island, and encamped for the night on Gorey Common. Carteret, with such men—mostly Cornishmen and Irish—as remained with him, threw himself into Elizabeth Castle; the other forts, S. Aubin and Mont Orgueil, yielded, almost without show of resistance, in a few days.
In anticipation of such an occasion Carteret had furnished the Castle of S. Helier with abundant provision, alike of victuals and ammunition; the latter being stored in the old Abbey Church, which was proof against the bullets used by the ordinary artillery of those days. His guns were mounted on the landward batteries, so as to command the town and any camp that might be formed there for siege purposes. The hill above—the Mont de la Ville—was too remote to cause any serious danger from the field-pieces of the period, which were not capable of sending shot with effect to a greater distance than half-a-mile. He despatched boats to convey his private property to France, and to take letters to the Royalists there, asking for instructions and assistance; and then stoutly prepared—with a garrison of 350 men—to sustain the siege against the grim victors of Tredagh.
Le Gallais, having lost his men in the late dispersal of the militia, felt no scruple in seeking his friend Lempriere. The latter, after a warm greeting, brought him to Prynne; and all three presently repaired to the head-quarters, in La Motte-street, where they were amicably received by Colonel Haine, the commander of the English forces.
Haine was one of those rapidly-formed soldiers, who had been thrown up and hardened by the war in England ten years before. He listened with due attention to what Le Gallais had to say about the Lieutenant-Governor's resources and probable intentions.
"And who is this youth that hath such knowledge of affairs?" he asked, turning to the Bailiff—for as such was Lempriere now officially recognised.
"He is one, sir, that hath suffered for the cause; a Captain in our Militia, and my brother-in-law."
Alain shot a glance of gratitude at Lempriere, while Haine, laying his hand upon his shoulder, said in a friendly tone; "I pray you, Captain, attend me as aide-de-camp until your company be reformed."
Then calling for his horse, he led the party, swollen by the number of his staff, to the head of the causeway leading to the Castle, "If what I hear from Captain Le Gallais be correct," he said to his Brigade-Major, "the Castle will not yield. But send them a trumpet, and let them not have cause to say the officers of the Commonwealth are unacquainted with the usages of war."
The trumpeter rode forward to summons the Castle, a white flag flying from the tube of his instrument. Ere he could reach the gate, a gun boomed out from the Castle, a round shot whizzed over the heads of the summoners, and Haine roared at the top of his well-trained voice, "Come back; it is a sufficient answer."
And so the fiery duet began—the batteries of the Churchyard sounding daily in harmony with those of the Castle, whilst ever and anon a piece of greater calibre roared its bass from the Town-hill.
Lempriere made haste to remove his wife and their sister from the noisy alarms of war to their quiet home at Maufant, where he left them to remove the traces of the usurper, and restore the old state of things with the help of the steward and such of the farmers as had not died out or left the country. One consequence of this removal was that Le Gallais saw nothing of the ladies. His new duties kept him much at the Brigadier's side; when not so employed, he was chiefly occupied with Prynne, who was attracted by the turn of the young man's mind, more akin to his own than that of the "hot gospellers," the "levellers," and the professional soldiers by whom he was surrounded.
Meanwhile, the siege dragged slowly on, until one dark night in the end of November an old acquaintance, Pierre Benoist, threw himself in the way of a party of Carteret's scouts, who had come on the mainland and were questing for intelligence or plunder. Taken before Sir George, he was threatened with the doom of a prisoner-of-war, who was also a spy, unless he would tell all that he knew. He asked for nothing better, having got himself taken by the patrol for the express purpose of furnishing the garrison grounds for an early surrender. Especially pleased was the rogue when the Lieutenant-Governor pressed him to explain the nature of a movement of the enemy upon the top of the Town-hill, which had been perceived before nightfall; and of the cargo landed at S. Aubin by a heavy-looking craft that had arrived in the morning, and which seemed neither man-of-war nor trader.
"That I can tell you," said Benoist; "they are preparing engines for your ruin. I saw the pieces landed, and drawn by oxen to the Mont de la Ville. Two pieces of ordnance whereof each shot weighs four hundred Jersey pounds, and takes ten pounds of powder to discharge. The like has never been seen, and they will carry a ball from Mont Orgueil to the coast of Prance. Ver di!"
Carteret laughed; but his laughter was only justified by the exaggeration. It did not altogether conceal the genuine anxiety caused by so much of the information as might be reasonably believed.
The anxiety was soon realised. When the mists of the winter dawn cleared up, it was seen that a strong work of granite had been newly thrown up on the nearest point of the hill, and while the besieged were still examining the structure, a vivid jet of flame and a puff of smoke darted from one of the embrasures, and a thirteen-inch shell—the largest projectile then seen—came booming over their astonished heads. Two more followed, at short intervals. After the third, an awful report was heard, a babel of tumult followed, and a gigantic column of smoke towered up behind them, from the magazine in the old Abbey Church. Splinters and fragments of stone and timber, mingled with pieces of powder, barrels, and ghastly members of human carcases were scattered, as they rose as out of a horrid volcano. The magazine had been struck and exploded by the great shell, killing no less than sixteen men, and wounding horribly ten others, including soldiers on guard, armourers, and workmen who had been collected for the daily labours of the arsenal. Among the bystanders was Pierre Benoist, who now lay among the ruins, half crushed by a stone, and who died after intense suffering in the course of the day.
A panic spread through the garrison; some prepared to fly at once, others clamoured for surrender. Carteret called them together; and when the officers and men were all collected on parade, appealed to all classes, as Lieutenant-Governor of the King whom they had all seen trusting himself in their protection, and as commander of the royal forces in the loyal island "I am determined," said the undaunted seaman, "to keep this castle for His Majesty so long as I have a man left to fire a gun, and a loblolly boy to fetch the ammunition. The royal standard still flies over our heads, the sea still lies between us and France, to bring us Prince Rupert and his fleet. Let those who are afraid depart—I keep no man against his will. Those who remain will be all the more trustworthy. Let the gate stand open for the next half-hour."
His orders were obeyed; but as he probably foresaw, no one dared to leave openly. By night, however, many of the garrison, who were of the Jersey Militia, silently departed. The bulk of the garrison, however, had heard of the storm of Drogheda, and chose what they deemed the lesser evil of trusting to the strength of their walls and the resources of their commander. To go to a town where they were unpopular strangers, and where the soldiers of the Commonwealth were in undisputed possession, would be to go to certain and immediate slaughter—to remain with Carteret was to gain the present hour and the chances of the future. Lady Carteret and the women and children were sent by the next opportunity to France; and then the work of defence was renewed; the guns were fired, as powder served and supplies were received from France; injured walls were repaired, and aid was anxiously awaited. Castle Cornet, in Guernsey, had held out since the Outbreak of hostilities more than ten years before—why should not Elizabeth, do as much, until the king enjoyed his own again? Meanwhile, December had begun, and the days grew short and cold. Haine's great mortars proved rude and cumbrous; before they could be loaded and fired, and cooled again, one after the other, many times, the darkness would come on. The remaining stores were buried out of range. In the black and stormy nights, which lasted nearly sixteen hours, the men of the garrison threw up mounds of shingle and sand behind the breaches made during the day.
On the morning of the 5th December the sun rose clear and bright, and a south-west wind softly threw out the silken folds of the Royal Standard on the main tower of the Castle. Haine was standing by a cromlech that in those days occupied the summit of the Town-hill; Prynne, Lempriere, and some officers, of whom Le Gallais was one, stood beside him. In their immediate front the gunners, under an officer, were preparing to renew their apparently endless operations.
"This must be brought to an end, Mr. Bailiff," said Haine. "For seven weeks and more I have exhausted the powers of modern war upon that eyry of malignants; and there is still the Guernsey Castle to be dealt with. Mr. Prynne knoweth what is the mind of the Lord General; but a time comes when sharp measures become necessary. I must take up scaling-ladders and deliver an assault."
As they looked out to sea a small barque was seen standing in; by the help of field-glasses, it was observed that she flew the French flag. At the same instant the Castle guns saluted.
"Lo you, now!" pursued the commander, "there comes to them a promise of help from France. As the Lord liveth, it must be prevented! I must recall our cruisers from Guernsey; that castle shall be breached and stormed on Monday. And then on their own heads be the blood of Sir George and of those that hold with him!"
"Under your favour, sir," said Prynne, "I think it shall not need." He exchanged a hurried whisper with Lempriere. "What flag is that which you see flying on the Castle staff?"