The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. I (of II) Page 4

  CHAPTER III. AN AUTUMN MORNING IN THE WEST

  The Osprey's Nest was, I have said, like a direct challenge hurled atthe face of western gales and Atlantic storms. With what success, itsaspect of dilapidation and decay but too plainly betrayed. The tangledseaweed that hung in dripping festoons over the porch, the sea-shellsthat rattled against the window-panes, seemed like an angry denunciationof the attempt to brave the elements by the mere appliances of ease andluxury.

  It was better, however, in the inside, where, in a roomy apartment, mostcomfortably furnished, a lady and gentleman sat at breakfast. The tablestood in a little projection of the room, admitting of a wide sea-viewover the bay and the distant islands of Lettermullen, but as carefullyexcluded all prospect of the port,--a locality which held no high placein the esteem of the lady of the house, and which, by ignoring, she halffancied she had annihilated. Wild promontories of rocks, jutting outhere and there, broke the coast line, and marked the shore with afoaming stream of white water, as the ever-restless sea dashed overthem. The long booming swell of the great ocean bounded into many arocky cavern, with a loud report like thunder, and issued forth againwith a whole cataract of falling stones, that rattled like the crashof small-arms. It was unceasing, deafening clamor in the midst ofdeath-like desolation.

  Let me, however, turn once more to the scene within, and present theliving elements to my reader. They were both past the prime of life.The lady might still be called handsome; her features were perfectlyregular, and finely cut, bearing the impress of a proud and haughtyspirit that never quailed beneath the conflict of a long life, and evenyet showed a firm front to fortune. Her hair was white as snow; and asshe wore it drawn back, after the fashion of a bygone time, it gaveher the air of a fine lady of the old French Court, in all the pomp ofpowder and pomatum. Nor did her dress correct the impression, since thedeep falls of lace that covered her hands, the lengthy stomacher, andtrailing folds of her heavy brocade gown, all showed a lurking fondnessfor the distinctive toilette of that era. Lady Dorothea Martin had beena beauty and an earl's daughter; two facts that not even the seclusionof the wild west could erase from her memory.

  Mr. Martin himself was no unworthy "pendant" to this portrait. He wastall and stately, with a lofty forehead, and temples finely andwell fashioned; while full, deep-set blue eyes of the very sternestdetermination, and a mouth, every line of which betrayed firmness, gavethe character to a face that also could expand into the most genialgood-fellowship, and become at times the symbol of a pleasant andconvivial Irish gentleman. In his youth he had been a beau of the Courtof Versailles. Scandal had even coupled his name with that of MarieAntoinette; and more truthful narratives connected him with some of themost extravagant adventures of that profligate and brilliant period.After a career of the wildest dissipation and excess, he had married,late in life, the daughter of the Earl of Exmere, one of the proudestand poorest names in the British Peerage. Two or three attempts to shinein the world of London,--not as successful as they were expected tohave proved,--an effort at ascendancy in Irish political life, also afailure, coupled with disappointment on the score of an only brother,who had married beneath him, and was reputed to have "lost himself,"seemed to have disgusted Godfrey Martin with the world, and he hadretired to his lonely mansion in the west, which now for eighteen yearshe had scarcely quitted for a single day.

  His only son had joined a cavalry regiment in India a few years beforethe period our story opens, and which, I may now state, dates for aboutfour or five and twenty years back; but his family included a niece,the only child of his brother, and whose mother had died in giving herbirth.

  Between Mr. Martin and Lady Dorothea, as they sat at breakfast,little conversation passed. He occupied himself with the newly arrivednewspapers, and she perused a mass of letters which had just come bythat morning's post; certain scraps of the intelligence gleaned fromeither of these sources forming the only subjects of conversationbetween them.

  "So they have resolved to have a new Parliament. I knew it would cometo that; I always said so; and, as usual, the dissolution finds usunprepared."

  "Plantagenet's regiment is ordered to Currachee, wherever that may be,"said Lady Dorothea, languidly.

  "Call him Harry, and we shall save ourselves some trouble in discussinghim," replied he, pettishly. "At all events, he cannot possibly be herein time for the contest; and we must, I suppose, give our support toKilmorris again."

  "Do you mean, after his conduct about the harbor, and the shameful wayhe sneaked out of the Port Martin project?"

  "Find anything better, madam; there is the difficulty. Kilmorris isa gentleman, and no Radical; and, as times go, these are rather rarequalities."

  "Lady Sarah Upton's match is off," said Lady Dorothea, reading from anote beside her. "Sir Joseph insisted upon the uncontrolled possessionof all her Staffordshire property."

  "And perfectly right."

  "Perfectly wrong to give it to him."

  "A fool if he married without it."

  "A mean creature she, to accept him on such terms."

  "The woman is eight-and-thirty,--if not more. I remember her atTunbridge. Let me see, what year was it?"

  "I detest dates, and abhor chronologies. Reach me the marmalade," saidLady Dorothea, superciliously.

  "What's this balderdash here from the 'Galway Indicator'? 'The haughtyand insolent, aye, and ignorant aristocracy will have to swallow abitter draught erelong; and such petty despots as Martin of Cro' Martinwill learn that the day is gone by for their ascendancy in this county.'

  "They tell me we have a law of libel in the land; and yet see how thisscoundrel can dare to drag me by name before the world; and I 'll wagera thousand pounds I 'd fail to get a verdict against him if I prosecutedhim to-morrow," said Martin, as he dashed the newspaper to the ground,and stamped his foot upon it. "We are constantly reading diatribes aboutabsentee landlords, and the evils of neglected property; but I ask, whatinducements are there held out to any gentleman to reside on his estate,if every petty scribbler of the press can thus attack and assail himwith impunity?"

  "Is that Mary I see yonder?" asked Lady Dorothea, languidly, as shelifted her double eye-glass, and then suffered it to fall from herfingers.

  "So it is, by Jove!" cried Martin, springing up, and approaching thewindow. "I wish she 'd not venture out in that small boat in thistreacherous season. What a swell there is, too! The wind is from thesea."

  "She's coming in, I fancy," drawled out Lady Dorothea.

  "How is she to do it, though?" exclaimed he, hurriedly; "the sea isbreaking clear over the piers of the harbor. I can only see one man inthe boat. What rashness! what folly! There, look, they're standing outto sea again!" And now, throwing open the window, Martin stepped outon the rocks, over which the white foam flashed by like snow. "Whatare they at, Peter? What are they trying to do?" cried he to an oldfisherman, who, with the coil of a net he was just mending on his arm,had now come down to the shore to watch the boat.

  "They 're doing right, your honor," said he, touching his caprespectfully. "'Tis Loony my Lady has in the boat, and there's no betterman in trouble! He's just going to beat out a bit, and then he 'll runin under the shelter of the blue rocks. Faix, she 's a fine boat, then,for her size,--look at her now!"

  But Martin had covered his eyes with his hand, while his lips murmuredand moved rapidly.

  "May I never, but they 're letting out the reef!" screamed the old manin terror.

  "More sail, and in such a sea!" cried Martin, in a voice of horror.

  "Aye, and right, too," said the fisherman, after a pause; "she 's risinglighter over the sea, and steers better, besides. It's Miss Mary has thetiller," added the old fellow, with a smile. "I 'll lay a shilling she's singing this minute."

  "You think so," said Martin, glad to catch at this gleam of confidence.

  "I know it well, your honor. I remember one day, off Lettermullen, itwas worse than this. Hurrah!" screamed he out suddenly; "she took in agreat sea that time!"<
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  "Get out a boat, Peter, at once; what are we standing here for?" criedMartin, angrily. "Man a boat this instant."

  "Sure no boat could get out to sea with this wind, sir," remonstratedthe old man, mildly; "she'd never leave the surf if she had forty men ather!"

  "Then what's to be done?"

  "Just let them alone; themselves two know as well what to do as anypair in Ireland, and are as cool besides. There, now, she 's putting herabout, as I said, and she 'll run for the creek." The frail boat, a merespeck upon the dark green ocean, seemed now to fly, as with a slackenedsheet she darted over the water. Her course was bent for a little coveconcealed from view by a rugged promontory of rock, up which the oldfisherman now clambered with the alacrity of a younger man. Martin triedto follow; but overcome by emotion, he was unable, and sat down upon aledge of rock, burying his face within his hands.

  By this time the whole fishing population of the little village hadgathered on the beach around the cove, to watch the boat as she came in;numbers had gone out to meet her, and stood up to their waists in thewhite and boiling surf, ready to seize upon the skiff and run her highand dry upon the sand. Even they were obliged to be lashed together bya rope, lest the receding waves should carry them out to sea, or the"under tow" suck them beneath the surface. As the boat came withinspeaking distance, a wild shout arose from the shore to "down sail" andsuffer her to come in on her way alone; but with all the canvas spread,they came flying along, scarce seeming more than to tip the waves asthey skipped over them, while a shower of spray appeared to cover themas the sea broke upon the stern. Instead of rendering aid, the utmostthe fishermen could do was to clear a path amongst them for the skiff topass, as with lightning speed she flitted by and drove her bow high upon the hard beach.

  A wild, glad cheer of joy and welcome burst from the hearty fishermenas they crowded about the young girl, who stepped out of the boat witha heavy bundle in her arms. Her hair hung in great masses over her neckand shoulders, her cheeks were flushed, and her dark eyes gleamed withall the excitement of peril and triumph.

  "Here, Margaret," said she to a young woman, who, pale with terror andwith face streaming in tears, rushed towards her,--"here 's your littlefellow, all safe and sound; I 'd not have put back but for his sake."And with this she placed in his mother's arms a little boy of aboutthree years of age, sound asleep. "He must wait for better weather ifhe wants to see his grandmother. And," added she, laughing, "I scarcelythink you 'll catch me going to sea again with so precious a cargo. Poorlittle man!" and she patted his ruddy cheeks; "he behaved so well, likea stout fisherman's son as he is,--never showed fear for a moment."

  A murmur of delighted hearts ran through the crowd; some thinking of thechild, but many more in warm admiration of the brave and beautiful younggirl before them. "Loony," said she to her boatman, "when you 've gotthe tackle to rights, come up to the house for your breakfast." Andwith that, and a few words of grateful recognition as she passed, sheclambered up the rock and hastened homeward.

  As for her uncle, no sooner had he heard of her safe arrival on shorethan he hurried back, anxious to reach the house before her. For aconsiderable time back Martin had schooled himself into an apparentindifference about his niece's perils. Lady Dorothea had probably giventhe initiative to this feeling by constantly asserting that the younglady would incur few risks when they ceased to create alarm.

  It was a somewhat ungracious theory, and excited in Martin's mind, whenhe first heard it, a sensation the very reverse of agreeable. Withoutaccepting its truth, however, it made a deep impression upon him, andat last, by way of policy, he resolved to feign a degree of callousindifference very foreign to his nature; and, by dint of mere habit, heat length acquired a semblance of calm under circumstances that sorelytested his powers of self-control.

  "Has the heroine arrived safe on shore?" asked Lady Dorothea in her ownlanguid drawl. And Martin almost started at the question, and seemed fora moment as if the indignation it excited could not be repressed; thensmiling superciliously at the impassive air of her features, he said,--

  "Yes, and by rare good luck, too! The sea is a terrific one thismorning!"

  "Is it ever anything else in this heavenly climate?" said she, sighing."I have counted two fine days since the 8th of June; and, indeed, itrained a little on one of them."

  Martin winced impatiently under the remark, but never lifted his eyesfrom the newspaper.

  "I had hoped your niece was making arrangements for our return to Cro'Martin," said she, querulously, "instead of planning marine excursions.I told her yesterday, or the day before,--I forget which; but who couldremember time in such a place?--that I was bored to death here. Theobservation seems to amuse you, Mr. Martin; but it is a simple fact."

  "And you are bored to death at Cro' Martin, too, if I mistake not?" saidhe, with a very significant dryness.

  "I should think I was, sir; and nothing very astonishing in theconfession, besides."

  "And Dublin, madam?"

  "Don't speak of it. If one must endure prison discipline, at leastlet us have a cell to ourselves. Good-morning, Miss Martin. I hope youenjoyed your party on the water?"

  This speech was addressed to Mary, who now entered the room dressed ina plain morning costume, and in her quiet, almost demure look resemblingin nothing the dripping and dishevelled figure that sprung from theboat.

  "Good-morning, aunt," said she, gayly. "Good-morning, uncle," kissing,as she spoke, his cheek, and patting him fondly on the shoulder. "I sawyou out on the rocks as we were coming in."

  "Pooh, pooh!" said he, in affected indifference. "I knew there was nodanger--"

  "Yes, but there was, though," said she, quickly. "If we had n't set allsail on her, she 'd have been pooped to a certainty; and I can tell youI was in a rare fright, too."

  "Oh, indeed; you confess to such an ignoble emotion?" said LadyDorothea, with a sneer.

  "That I do, aunt, for I had poor Madge Lennan's little boy on my lap allthe time; and if it came to a swim, I don't see how he was to be saved."

  "You 'd not have left him to his fate, I suppose?" said Lady Dorothea.

  "I scarcely know what I should have done. I sincerely hope it would havebeen my best; but in a moment like that, within sight of home, too--"Her eyes met her uncle's as she said this; he had raised them fromhis newspaper, and bent them fully on her. There was that in theirexpression which appealed so strongly to her heart that instead offinishing her speech she sprung towards him and threw her arms aroundhis neck.

  "Quite a scene; and I detest scenes," said Lady Dorothen, as she aroseand swept out of the room contemptuously; but they neither heard theremark nor noticed her departure.