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Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge), 1825-1900

"Springhaven : a Tale of the Great War"

At the beck of the hand that had called the
horse, the grey sea would have been black with ships, and the pale waves
would have been red with fire. Carne looked at the water way touched
with silver by the soft descent of the winter sun, and upon it, so far
as his gaze could reach, there were but a dozen little objects moving,
puny creatures in the distance--mice in front of a lion's den. And much
as he hated with his tainted heart the land of his father, the land
of his birth, some reluctant pride arose that he was by right an
Englishman.
"It is the dread of the English seaman, it is the fame of Nelson, it is
the habit of being beaten when England meets them upon the sea--nothing
else keeps this mighty host like a set of trembling captives here, when
they might launch forth irresistibly. And what is a great deal worse,
it will keep me still in my ruined dungeons, a spy, an intriguer, an
understrapper, when I am fit to be one of the foremost. What a fool I am
so to be cowed and enslaved, by a man no better endowed than myself with
anything, except self-confidence! I should have looked over his head,
and told him that I had had enough of it, and if he would not take
advantage of my toils, I would toil for him no longer. Why, he never
even thanked me, that I can remember, and my pay is no more than
Charron's! And a pretty strict account I have to render of every
Republican coin he sends. He will have his own head on them within
six months, unless he is assassinated.


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