Rewards and Fairies
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Rudyard Kipling >> Rewards and Fairies
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'I says something about Boney. If he hadn't been fighting
England I shouldn't have lost my 'baccy - should I?
'"Young fellow," says Maingon, "you don't understand."
'We heard cheering. A carriage passed over the bridge with two
in it.
'"That's the man himself," says Maingon. "He'll give 'em
something to cheer for soon." He stands at the salute.
'"Who's t'other in black beside him?" I asks, fairly shaking
all over.
'"Ah! he's the clever one. You'll hear of him before long. He's
that scoundrel-bishop, Talleyrand."
'"It is!" I said, and up the steps I went with my fiddle, and run
after the carriage calling, "Abbe, Abbe!"
'A soldier knocked the wind out of me with the back of his
sword, but I had sense to keep on following till the carriage
stopped - and there just was a crowd round the house-door! I
must have been half-crazy else I wouldn't have struck up "Si le
Roi m'avait donne Paris la grande ville!" I thought it might remind him.
'"That is a good omen!" he says to Boney sitting all hunched
up; and he looks straight at me.
'"Abbe - oh, Abbe!" I says. "Don't you remember Toby and
Hundred and Eighteen Second Street?"
'He said not a word. He just crooked his long white finger to
the guard at the door while the carriage steps were let down, and I
skipped into the house, and they slammed the door in the crowd's face.
'"You go there," says a soldier, and shoves me into an empty
room, where I catched my first breath since I'd left the barge.
Presently I heard plates rattling next door - there were only
folding doors between - and a cork drawn. "I tell you," some one
shouts with his mouth full, "it was all that sulky ass Sieyes' fault.
Only my speech to the Five Hundred saved the situation."
'"Did it save your coat?" says Talleyrand. "I hear they tore it
when they threw you out. Don't gasconade to me. You may be in
the road of victory, but you aren't there yet."
'Then I guessed t'other man was Boney. He stamped about and
swore at Talleyrand.
'"You forget yourself, Consul," says Talleyrand, "or rather
you remember yourself- Corsican."
'"Pig!" says Boney, and worse.
'"Emperor!" says Talleyrand, but, the way he spoke, it
sounded worst of all. Some one must have backed against the
folding doors, for they flew open and showed me in the middle of
the room. Boney whipped out his pistol before I could stand up.
"General," says Talleyrand to him, "this gentleman has a habit of
catching us canaille en deshabille. Put that thing down."
'Boney laid it on the table, so I guessed which was master.
Talleyrand takes my hand - "Charmed to see you again,
Candide," he says. "How is the adorable Dr Pangloss and the
noble Huron?"
'"They were doing very well when I left," I said. "But I'm
not."
'"Do you sell buttons now?" he says, and fills me a glass of
wine off the table.
'"Madeira," says he. "Not so good as some I have drunk."
'"You mountebank!" Boney roars. "Turn that out." (He
didn't even say "man," but Talleyrand, being gentle born, just
went on.)
'"Pheasant is not so good as pork," he says. "You will find
some at that table if you will do me the honour to sit down. Pass
him a clean plate, General." And, as true as I'm here, Boney slid a
plate along just like a sulky child. He was a lanky-haired, yellow-
skinned little man, as nervous as a cat - and as dangerous. I could
feel that.
'"And now," said Talleyrand, crossing his game leg over his
sound one, "will you tell me your story?"
'I was in a fluster, but I told him nearly everything from the
time he left me the five hundred dollars in Philadelphia, up to my
losing ship and cargo at Le Havre. Boney began by listening, but
after a bit he dropped into his own thoughts and looked at the
crowd sideways through the front-room curtains. Talleyrand
called to him when I'd done.
'"Eh? What we need now," says Boney, "is peace for the next
three or four years."
'"Quite so," says Talleyrand. "Meantime I want the Consul's
order to the Prize Court at Le Havre to restore my friend here his
ship."
'"Nonsense!" says Boney. "Give away an oak-built brig of
two hundred and seven tons for sentiment? Certainly not! She
must be armed into my Navy with ten - no, fourteen twelve-
pounders and two long fours. Is she strong enough to bear a long
twelve forward?"
'Now I could ha' sworn he'd paid no heed to my talk, but that
wonderful head-piece of his seemingly skimmed off every word
of it that was useful to him.
'"Ah, General!" says Talleyrand. "You are a magician - a
magician without morals. But the brig is undoubtedly American,
and we don't want to offend them more than we have. "
'"Need anybody talk about the affair?" he says. He didn't look
at me, but I knew what was in his mind -just cold murder because
I worried him; and he'd order it as easy as ordering his carriage.
'"You can't stop 'em," I said. "There's twenty-two other men
besides me." I felt a little more 'ud set me screaming like a wired hare.
'"Undoubtedly American," Talleyrand goes on. "You would
gain something if you returned the ship - with a message of
fraternal good-will - published in the MONITEUR" (that's a French
paper like the Philadelphia AURORA).
'"A good idea!" Boney answers. "One could say much in a
message."
'"It might be useful," says Talleyrand. "Shall I have the
message prepared?" He wrote something in a little pocket ledger.
'"Yes - for me to embellish this evening. The MONITEUR will
publish it tonight."
'"Certainly. Sign, please," says Talleyrand, tearing the leaf out.
'"But that's the order to return the brig," says Boney. "Is that
necessary? Why should I lose a good ship? Haven't I lost enough
ships already?"
'Talleyrand didn't answer any of those questions. Then Boney
sidled up to the table and jabs his pen into the ink. Then he shies at
the paper again: "My signature alone is useless," he says. "You
must have the other two Consuls as well. Sieyes and Roger Ducos
must sign. We must preserve the Laws."
'"By the time my friend presents it," says Talleyrand, still
looking out of window, "only one signature will be necessary."
'Boney smiles. "It's a swindle," says he, but he signed and
pushed the paper across.
'"Give that to the President of the Prize Court at Le Havre,"
says Talleyrand, "and he will give you back your ship. I will settle
for the cargo myself. You have told me how much it cost. What
profit did you expect to make on it?"
'Well, then, as man to man, I was bound to warn him that I'd
set out to run it into England without troubling the Revenue, and
so I couldn't rightly set bounds to my profits.'
'I guessed that all along,' said Puck.
'There was never a Lee to Warminghurst -
That wasn't a smuggler last and first.'
The children laughed.
'It's comical enough now,' said Pharaoh. 'But I didn't laugh
then. Says Talleyrand after a minute, "I am a bad accountant and I
have several calculations on hand at present. Shall we say twice
the cost of the cargo?"
'Say? I couldn't say a word. I sat choking and nodding like a
China image while he wrote an order to his secretary to pay me, I
won't say how much, because you wouldn't believe it.
'"Oh! Bless you, Abbe! God bless you!" I got it out at last.
'"Yes," he says, "I am a priest in spite of myself, but they call
me Bishop now. Take this for my episcopal blessing," and he
hands me the paper.
'"He stole all that money from me," says Boney over my
shoulder. "A Bank of France is another of the things we must
make. Are you mad?" he shouts at Talleyrand.
'"Quite," says Talleyrand, getting up. "But be calm. The
disease will never attack you. It is called gratitude. This gentleman
found me in the street and fed me when I was hungry."
'"I see; and he has made a fine scene of it, and you have paid
him, I suppose. Meantime, France waits. "
'"Oh! poor France!" says Talleyrand. "Good-bye, Candide,"
he says to me. "By the way," he says, "have you yet got Red
Jacket's permission to tell me what the President said to his
Cabinet after Monsieur Genet rode away?"
'I couldn't speak, I could only shake my head, and Boney - so
impatient he was to go on with his doings - he ran at me and fair
pushed me out of the room. And that was all there was to it.'
Pharaoh stood up and slid his fiddle into one of his big skirt-
pockets as though it were a dead hare.
'Oh! but we want to know lots and lots more,'said Dan. 'How
you got home - and what old Maingon said on the barge - and
wasn't your cousin surprised when he had to give back the BERTHE
AURETTE, and -'
'Tell us more about Toby!' cried Una.
'Yes, and Red Jacket,' said Dan.
'Won't you tell us any more?' they both pleaded.
Puck kicked the oak branch on the fire, till it sent up a column
of smoke that made them sneeze. When they had finished the
Shaw was empty except for old Hobden stamping through the
larches.
'They gipsies have took two,'he said. "My black pullet and my
liddle gingy-speckled cockrel.'
'I thought so,' said Dan, picking up one tail-feather that the old
woman had overlooked.
'Which way did they go? Which way did the runagates go?'
said Hobden.
'Hobby!' said Una. 'Would you like it if we told Keeper Ridley
all your goings and comings?'
'Poor Honest Men'
Your jar of Virginny
Will cost you a guinea,
Which you reckon too much by five shilling or ten;
But light your churchwarden
And judge it accordin'
When I've told you the troubles of poor honest men.
From the Capes of the Delaware,
As you are well aware,
We sail with tobacco for England - but then
Our own British cruisers,
They watch us come through, sirs,
And they press half a score of us poor honest men.
Or if by quick sailing
(Thick weather prevailing)
We leave them behind (as we do now and then)
We are sure of a gun from
Each frigate we run from,
Which is often destruction to poor honest men!
Broadsides the Atlantic
We tumble short-handed,
With shot-holes to plug and new canvas to bend,
And off the Azores,
Dutch, Dons and Monsieurs
Are waiting to terrify poor honest men!
Napoleon's embargo
Is laid on all cargo
Which comfort or aid to King George may intend;
And since roll, twist and leaf,
Of all comforts is chief,
They try for to steal it from poor honest men!
With no heart for fight,
We take refuge in flight,
But fire as we run, our retreat to defend,
Until our stern-chasers
Cut up her fore-braces,
And she flies off the wind from us poor honest men!
Twix' the Forties and Fifties,
South-eastward the drift is,
And so, when we think we are making Land's End,
Alas, it is Ushant
With half the King's Navy,
Blockading French ports against poor honest men!
But they may not quit station
(Which is our salvation),
So swiftly we stand to the Nor'ard again;
And finding the tail of
A homeward-bound convoy,
We slip past the Scillies like poor honest men.
'Twix' the Lizard and Dover,
We hand our stuff over,
Though I may not inform how we do it, nor when;
But a light on each quarter
Low down on the water
Is well understanded by poor honest men.
Even then we have dangers
From meddlesome strangers,
Who spy on our business and are not content
To take a smooth answer,
Except with a handspike ...
And they say they are murdered by poor honest men!
To be drowned or be shot
Is our natural lot,
Why should we, moreover, be hanged in the end -
After all our great pains
For to dangle in chains,
As though we were smugglers, not poor honest men?
THE CONVERSION OF ST WILFRID
Eddi's Service
Eddi, priest of St Wilfrid
In the chapel at Manhood End,
Ordered a midnight service
For such as cared to attend.
But the Saxons were keeping Christmas,
And the night was stormy as well.
Nobody came to service
Though Eddi rang the bell.
'Wicked weather for walking,'
Said Eddi of Manhood End.
'But I must go on with the service
For such as care to attend.'
The altar candles were lighted, -
An old marsh donkey came,
Bold as a guest invited,
And stared at the guttering flame.
The storm beat on at the windows,
The water splashed on the floor,
And a wet yoke-weary bullock
Pushed in through the open door.
'How do I know what is greatest,
How do I know what is least?
That is My Father's business,'
Said Eddi, Wilfrid's priest.
'But, three are gathered together -
Listen to me and attend.
I bring good news, my brethren!'
Said Eddi, of Manhood End.
And he told the Ox of a manger
And a stall in Bethlehem,
And he spoke to the Ass of a Rider
That rode to jerusalem.
They steamed and dripped in the chancel,
They listened and never stirred,
While, just as though they were Bishops,
Eddi preached them The Word.
Till the gale blew off on the marshes
And the windows showed the day,
And the Ox and the Ass together
Wheeled and clattered away.
And when the Saxons mocked him,
Said Eddi of Manhood End,
'I dare not shut His chapel
On such as care to attend.'
The Conversion of St Wilfrid
They had bought peppermints up at the village, and were coming
home past little St Barnabas' Church, when they saw Jimmy
Kidbrooke, the carpenter's baby, kicking at the churchyard gate,
with a shaving in his mouth and the tears running down his cheeks.
Una pulled out the shaving and put in a peppermint. Jimmy
said he was looking for his grand-daddy - he never seemed to take
much notice of his father - so they went up between the old
graves, under the leaf-dropping limes, to the porch, where Jim
trotted in, looked about the empty Church, and screamed like a
gate-hinge.
Young Sam Kidbrooke's voice came from the bell-tower and
made them jump.
'Why, jimmy,'he called, 'what are you doin' here? Fetch
him, Father!'
Old Mr Kidbrooke stumped downstairs, jerked Jimmy on to
his shoulder, stared at the children beneath his brass spectacles,
and stumped back again. They laughed: it was so exactly like
Mr Kidbrooke.
'It's all right,' Una called up the stairs. 'We found him, Sam.
Does his mother know?'
'He's come off by himself. She'll be justabout crazy,'
Sam answered.
'Then I'll run down street and tell her.' Una darted off.
'Thank you, Miss Una. Would you like to see how we're
mendin' the bell-beams, Mus' Dan?'
Dan hopped up, and saw young Sam lying on his stomach in a
most delightful place among beams and ropes, close to the five
great bells. Old Mr Kidbrooke on the floor beneath was planing a
piece of wood, and Jimmy was eating the shavings as fast as they
came away. He never looked at Jimmy; Jimmy never stopped
eating; and the broad gilt-bobbed pendulum of the church clock
never stopped swinging across the white-washed wall of the
tower.
Dan winked through the sawdust that fell on his upturned face.
'Ring a bell,' he called.
, I mustn't do that, but I'll buzz one of 'em a bit for you,' said
Sam. He pounded on the sound-bow of the biggest bell, and
waked a hollow groaning boom that ran up and down the tower
like creepy feelings down your back. just when it almost began to
hurt, it died away in a hurry of beautiful sorrowful cries, like a
wine-glass rubbed with a wet finger. The pendulum clanked -
one loud clank to each silent swing.
Dan heard Una return from Mrs Kidbrooke's, and ran down to
fetch her. She was standing by the font staring at some one who
kneeled at the Altar-rail.
'Is that the Lady who practises the organ?' she whispered.
'No. She's gone into the organ-place. Besides, she wears
black,' Dan replied.
The figure rose and came down the nave. It was a white-haired
man in a long white gown with a sort of scarf looped low on the
neck, one end hanging over his shoulder. His loose long sleeves
were embroidered with gold, and a deep strip of gold embroidery
waved and sparkled round the hem of his gown.
'Go and meet him,' said Puck's voice behind the font. 'It's
only Wilfrid.'
'Wilfrid who?' said Dan. 'You come along too.'
'Wilfrid - Saint of Sussex, and Archbishop of York. I shall wait
till he asks me.' He waved them forward. Their feet squeaked on
the old grave-slabs in the centre aisle. The Archbishop raised one
hand with a pink ring on it, and said something in Latin. He was
very handsome, and his thin face looked almost as silvery as his
thin circle of hair.
'Are you alone?' he asked.
'Puck's here, of course,' said Una. 'Do you know him?'
'I know him better now than I used to.' He beckoned over
Dan's shoulder, and spoke again in Latin. Puck pattered forward,
holding himself as straight as an arrow. The Archbishop smiled.
'Be welcome,' said he. 'Be very welcome.'
'Welcome to you also, O Prince of the church,' Puck replied.
The Archbishop bowed his head and passed on, till he glimmered
like a white moth in the shadow by the font.
'He does look awfully princely,' said Una. 'Isn't he coming
back?'
'Oh yes. He's only looking over the church. He's very fond of
churches,' said Puck. 'What's that?'
The Lady who practices the organ was speaking to the blower-
boy behind the organ-screen. 'We can't very well talk here,' Puck
whispered. 'Let's go to Panama Corner.'
He led them to the end of the south aisle, where there is a slab of
iron which says in queer, long-tailed letters: ORATE P. ANNEMA JHONE COLINE.
The children always called it Panama Corner.
The Archbishop moved slowly about the little church, peering
at the old memorial tablets and the new glass windows. The Lady
who practises the organ began to pull out stops and rustle hymn-
books behind the screen.
'I hope she'll do all the soft lacey tunes - like treacle on
porridge,' said Una.
'I like the trumpety ones best,' said Dan. 'Oh, look at Wilfrid!
He's trying to shut the Altar-gates!'
'Tell him he mustn't,' said Puck, quite seriously.
He can't, anyhow,' Dan muttered, and tiptoed out of Panama
Corner while the Archbishop patted and patted at the carved gates
that always sprang open again beneath his hand.
'That's no use, sir,' Dan whispered. 'Old Mr Kidbrooke says
Altar-gates are just the one pair of gates which no man can shut.
He made 'em so himself.'
The Archbishop's blue eyes twinkled. Dan saw that he knew all
about it.
'I beg your pardon,' Dan stammered - very angry with Puck.
'Yes, I know! He made them so Himself.' The Archbishop
smiled, and crossed to Panama Corner, where Una dragged up a
certain padded arm-chair for him to sit on.
The organ played softly. 'What does that music say?'he asked.
Una dropped into the chant without thinking: '"O all ye
works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise him and magnify him
for ever." We call it the Noah's Ark, because it's all lists of things
- beasts and birds and whales, you know.'
'Whales?' said the Archbishop quickly.
'Yes - "O ye whales, and all that move in the waters,"' Una
hummed - '"Bless ye the Lord." It sounds like a wave turning
over, doesn't it?'
'Holy Father,' said Puck with a demure face, 'is a little seal also
"one who moves in the water"?'
'Eh? Oh yes - yess!' he laughed. 'A seal moves wonderfully in
the waters. Do the seal come to my island still?'
Puck shook his head. 'All those little islands have been
swept away.'
'Very possible. The tides ran fiercely down there. Do you
know the land of the Sea-calf, maiden?'
'No - but we've seen seals - at Brighton.'
'The Archbishop is thinking of a little farther down the coast.
He means Seal's Eye - Selsey - down Chichester way - where he
converted the South Saxons,' Puck explained.
'Yes - yess; if the South Saxons did not convert me,' said the
Archbishop, smiling. 'The first time I was wrecked was on that
coast. As our ship took ground and we tried to push her off, an old
fat fellow of a seal, I remember, reared breast-high out of the
water, and scratched his head with his flipper as if he were saying:
"What does that excited person with the pole think he is doing'"I
was very wet and miserable, but I could not help laughing, till the
natives came down and attacked us.'
'What did you do?' Dan asked.
'One couldn't very well go back to France, so one tried to make
them go back to the shore. All the South Saxons are born
wreckers, like my own Northumbrian folk. I was bringing over a
few things for my old church at York, and some of the natives laid
hands on them, and - and I'm afraid I lost my temper.'
'it is said -' Puck's voice was wickedly meek -'that there was a
great fight.'
Eh, but I must ha' been a silly lad.' Wilfrid spoke with a sudden
thick burr in his voice. He coughed, and took up his silvery tones
again. 'There was no fight really. My men thumped a few of
them, but the tide rose half an hour before its time, with a strong
wind, and we backed off. What I wanted to say, though, was, that
the seas about us were full of sleek seals watching the scuffle. My
good Eddi - my chaplain - insisted that they were demons. Yes -
yess! That was my first acquaintance with the South Saxons and
their seals.'
'But not the only time you were wrecked, was it?' said Dan.
'Alas, no! On sea and land my life seems to have been one long
shipwreck.' He looked at the Jhone Coline slab as old Hobden
sometimes looks into the fire. 'Ah, well!'
'But did you ever have any more adventures among the seals?"
said Una, after a little.
'Oh, the seals! I beg your pardon. They are the important
things. Yes - yess! I went back to the South Saxons after twelve -
fifteen - years. No, I did not come by water, but overland from
my own Northumbria, to see what I could do. It's little one can do
with that class of native except make them stop killing each other
and themselves -'
'Why did they kill themselves?' Una asked, her chin in her hand.
'Because they were heathen. When they grew tired of life (as if
they were the only people!) they would jump into the sea . They
called it going to Wotan. It wasn't want of food always - by any
means. A man would tell you that he felt grey in the heart, or a
woman would say that she saw nothing but long days in front of
her; and they'd saunter away to the mud-flats and - that would be
the end of them, poor souls, unless one headed them off. One had
to run quick, but one can't allow people to lay hands on themselves
because they happen to feel grey. Yes - yess - Extraordinary
people, the South Saxons. Disheartening, sometimes. ... What does
that say now?' The organ had changed tune again.
'Only a hymn for next Sunday,' said Una. '"The Church's
One Foundation." Go on, please, about running over the mud. I
should like to have seen you.'
'I dare say you would, and I really could run in those days.
Ethelwalch the King gave me some five or six muddy parishes by
the sea, and the first time my good Eddi and I rode there we saw a
man slouching along the slob, among the seals at Manhood End.
My good Eddi disliked seals - but he swallowed his objections
and ran like a hare.'
'Why?'said Dan.
'For the same reason that I did. We thought it was one of our
people going to drown himself. As a matter of fact, Eddi and I
were nearly drowned in the pools before we overtook him. To
cut a long story short, we found ourselves very muddy, very
breathless, being quietly made fun of in good Latin by a very
well-spoken person. No - he'd no idea of going to Wotan. He was
fishing on his own beaches, and he showed us the beacons and
turf-heaps that divided his land from the church property. He
took us to his own house, gave us a good dinner, some more than
good wine, sent a guide with us into Chichester, and became one
of my best and most refreshing friends. He was a Meon by
descent, from the west edge of the kingdom; a scholar educated,
curiously enough, at Lyons, my old school; had travelled the
world over, even to Rome, and was a brilliant talker. We found
we had scores of acquaintances in common. It seemed he was a
small chief under King Ethelwalch, and I fancy the King was
somewhat afraid of him. The South Saxons mistrust a man who
talks too well. Ah! Now, I've left out the very point of my story.
He kept a great grey-muzzled old dog-seal that he had brought up
from a pup. He called it Padda - after one of my clergy. It was
rather like fat, honest old Padda. The creature followed him
everywhere, and nearly knocked down my good Eddi when we
first met him. Eddi loathed it. It used to sniff at his thin legs and
cough at him. I can't say I ever took much notice of it (I was not
fond of animals), till one day Eddi came to me with a circumstantial
account of some witchcraft that Meon worked. He would
tell the seal to go down to the beach the last thing at night, and
bring him word of the weather. When it came back, Meon might
say to his slaves, "Padda thinks we shall have wind tomorrow.
Haul up the boats!" I spoke to Meon casually about the story, and
he laughed.
'He told me he could judge by the look of the creature's coat
and the way it sniffed what weather was brewing. Quite possible.
One need not put down everything one does not understand to
the work of bad spirits - or good ones, for that matter.' He
nodded towards Puck, who nodded gaily in return.
'I say so,' he went on, 'because to a certain extent I have been
made a victim of that habit of mind. Some while after I was settled
at Selsey, King Ethelwalch and Queen Ebba ordered their people
to be baptized. I fear I'm too old to believe that a whole nation can
change its heart at the King's command, and I had a shrewd
suspicion that their real motive was to get a good harvest. No rain
had fallen for two or three years, but as soon as we had finished
baptizing, it fell heavily, and they all said it was a miracle.'
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