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Devon Boys: A Tale of the North Shore, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 32. Doing One's Duty |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. DOING ONE'S DUTY We did not have to stay very long before we descended. My father said it would be better to stop, and while we were waiting Bob Chowne asked whether we were going to search the cave and see what was there. "No!" said my father in very decisive tones. "But you said something about us lads exploring it, sir, yesterday--I mean last night." "Yes, my lad, I did," replied my father so sternly that Bob Chowne was quite silenced; "but I have changed my mind." I noticed that he still did not say anything to Bigley, and that my old school-fellow was very silent, in fact we were none of us in a conversational frame of mind, but every now and then the idea kept creeping in that old Jonas must know about that cave, and the purpose for which it was used; and then I seemed to understand my father's thoughtful manner, for it was as though this discovery was likely to widen the breach between them. In about an hour's time my father proposed that we should climb down, and feeling very stiff and cold we began to descend. I went first, lowering myself from ledge to ledge, with my father lying down and holding my hands, and then following me, though really it was not very difficult, for we boys had been up and down far more dangerous places after gulls' eggs in our earlier days. But, though we could go down in the bay, we could not get out of it as yet, for the tide was some distance up the point we wanted to pass. The eastern one was clear, and we could have gone that way, and, after two miles' walk and scramble along the beach, have found a place where we could climb up, but that was not our object, and we waited about looking at the falling tide, and watching the rapidly disappearing three masts of the lugger. Then, too, we noted the tracks on the beach, some of which were quite plain, but they did not show higher up by the cavern, and we knew that they would all disappear with, the next tide. The temptation was very strong to go in and explore the place, but neither Bob nor I hinted at it, and Bigley was exceedingly quiet and dull. In fact he went away from us after a time and sat down on the top of a rock close to the eastern point, a rock to which he had to leap, for it was still in the water, and there he sat waiting till he could get to another and another, and at last waved his hand to us, when we followed him and got round on to the shore on the other side. It was no easy task even there, for the beach was terribly encumbered with rocks, but by creeping in and out, and by dint of some climbing, we managed to get along, and at last reached the Gap just as Doctor Chowne was about setting off back to get a boat at Ripplemouth and come in search of us, after having been up all night waiting for Bob's return, and then riding over to the Bay to hear from Kicksey that we had not been back, and then on to the Gap, to find that we had all gone out in Jonas Uggleston's boat, and not been heard of since. "Well," said the doctor, after hearing a part of our adventure, "I suppose I must not thank Bob for this job, eh, Duncan? It was your fault, you see. My word, sir, you did give me a fright." "I'll take all the blame, Chowne," said my father; "but let me tell Mrs Bonnet that we're all right, poor woman, and then let's walk across to my place to breakfast." There was no need to go and tell Mother Bonnet, for she had caught sight of us, and came at a heavy trot over the pebbles to display a face and eyes red with weeping, and to burst forth into quite a wail as she flung her arms about Bigley, and hugged and kissed him. "Oh, my dear child! My dear child!" she cried, "I've been up and down here all night afraid that you was drowned." Just then I noticed that Bob Chowne was backing behind his father, and feeling moved by the same impulse, I backed behind mine, for we were both in a state of alarm for fear that the good-hearted old woman should want to hug and kiss us too. Fortunately, however, she did not, for all her attention was taken up by Bigley, and we soon after parted, Bigley going with Mother Bonnet towards old Jonas's cottage, and we boys following our fathers to reach the cliff path and get home. "You will not come along here on the pony," said my father as the doctor mounted his sturdy little Exmoor-bred animal. "Indeed but I shall," replied the doctor. "Why not?" "It will be so dangerous for a mounted man." "Tchah!" exclaimed the doctor, "my pony's too fond of himself to tumble us down the cliff; but there, as you are so nervous about me I will not ride. Here, Bob, you ride the pony home, and I'll walk." "Ride him home along the cliff path, father?" said Bob, looking rather white. "Yes, of course. Captain Duncan is afraid of losing his doctor, and you are not so much consequence as I. Here, jump up, and ride on first. Then we shall see where you fall." Bob looked at me wildly. "Not afraid, are you?" "N-no, father," cried Bob desperately; and setting his teeth, he put his foot in the stirrup, mounted, and rode on along the high path with the rock on one side and the steep slope on the other, which ran down to where the perpendicular cliff edge began, with the sea a couple of hundred feet below. "I don't think I'd do that, Chowne," I heard my father say in remonstrance. "Bah, sir! Give the boy self-reliance. See how bravely he got over his scare. Haven't liked him so well for a week. Do you think I should have let him get up if there had been any danger?" "But there is danger," said my father. "Not a bit, sir. The pony's as sure-footed as a mule. He won't slip." No more was said, and in this fashion we walked home, with Bob in front on the pony and me by his side, for I ran on to join him, my father and Doctor Chowne coming behind. Old Sam was outside as we came in sight of the cottage, and the old fellow threw his hat in the air as he caught sight of us, and then came to meet us at a trot, after disappearing for a moment in the house. "I said you'd come back all right. I know'd it when they telled me about the boat," he cried to me as he came up. "Boat! What about the boat?" I said. "One o' the fishermen picked her up, and as soon as I heered as her oars and hitcher were all right, I said there was no accident. The rope had loosed and she'd drifted away." "But how did you know we had gone off in the boat, Sam?" I said eagerly. "How did I know?" he said. "Think when you didn't come back a man was going to bed and forget you all?" "Well, I hardly thought that, Sam," I said. "Because I didn't, and I went right over to the mine and asked, and you weren't there, and then I went to Uggleston's and heerd you'd gone out in the boat, and that's how I know'd, Mast' Sep, sir." "Here, Sam, run back and tell Kicksey to hurry on the breakfast," said my father. "Hurry on the braxfass, captain," said Sam grinning, "why, I told Kicksey to put the ham in the pan as soon as I see you a-coming." The result was that we were soon all seated at a capital breakfast and ready to forget the troubles of the night, only that every now and then the recollection of the smuggling scene came in like a cloud, and I could not help seeing that my father was a good deal troubled in his mind. Nothing, however, was said, and soon after breakfast the doctor went off with Bob Chowne. As soon as we were alone my father began to walk up and down the room in a very anxious manner, and once or twice he turned towards me as if about to speak, but he checked himself and went on with his walk. At last the silence became so irksome that I took upon myself to speak first. "Are you going over to the mine, father?" I said. "Yes, my boy," he replied. "But you had better go and lie down for an hour or two." "Oh, no, father," I said. "I'm not tired. Let me go with you." He nodded, and then stood thoughtful, and tapping the ground with his foot. All at once he seemed to have made up his mind. "Look here, Sep," he said; "you are growing a great fellow now. I've been helping you all these years; now you must help me." "Tell me how, father, and I will," I said eagerly. "I know you will, my boy," he replied, "and I'm going to treat you now as I would a counsellor. This is a very unfortunate business, my boy." "What, our seeing the smugglers last night?" He nodded. "Did you think, then, like I did, that it was Jonas Uggleston's boat?" "I did, my boy." "But it was not, father." "No, my boy; but--" "You think Jonas Uggleston knew the boat was coming, and he knows all about that hiding-place, father?" "Is that what you have been thinking, Sep?" "Yes, father." "And so have I, my lad. Now, though I am, as I may say, still in the king's service, and I feel it my duty to go and inform the officers of what I have seen, on the other hand there is a horrible feeling of self-interest keeps tugging at me, and saying, 'mind your own business. You are bad friends enough with Jonas Uggleston as it is, so let matters rest for your own sake and for your son's.'" "Oh, father!" I exclaimed. "Then this feeling hints to me that I am not sure of anything, and that I have no business to interfere, and so on. Among other things it seems to whisper to me that old Jonas will not know, when all the time he must. Now come, Sep, as a thoughtful boy, what should you recommend me to do?" "It's very queer, father," I said rather dolefully; "but how often one is obliged to do and say things one way, when it would be so easy and comfortable to do and say things the other way." "Yes, Sep," he replied, turning away his face; "it is so all through life, and one is always finding that there is an easy way out of a difficulty. What should you do here?" "What's right, father," I said boldly. "What's right." He turned upon me in an instant, and grasped my hand with his eyes flashing, and he gripped me so hard that he hurt me. As we stood looking in each other's eyes, a strange feeling of misery came over me. "What shall you do, father?" I said. "I don't quite know, Sep," he replied thoughtfully. "I think I shall wait till Jonas Uggleston gets home, and then tell him all I have seen." "But it seems so hard on poor Bigley," I said dolefully. "Ah!" shouted my father. "Stamp on it, Sep; stamp it down, boy. Crush out that feeling, for it is like a temptation. Duty, honesty, first; friends later on. It is hard, my boy, but recollect you are an officer's son, and _officer_ and _gentleman_ are two words that must always be bracketed together in the king's service. There's that one word, boy, for you to always keep in your heart, where it must shine like a jewel--duty--duty. It is the compass, my lad, that points always--not to the north, but to the end of a just man's life--duty, Sep, duty." _ |
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