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Updated: June 9, 2025
His new self that phantom second-nature bred of custom vanished in the twinkling of an eye, and left him plain Loo Barebone, of Farlingford, staring across the green water toward "The Last Hope," deep-laden, anchored in mid-stream. Seeing him stop, a boatman ran toward him from a neighbouring flight of steps. "An English ship, monsieur," he said; "just come in. Her anchors are hardly home.
"Likely as not, he'll getten howld o' the wrong roup," he muttered; though he knew that every boy in the village could point out the rope of "John Darby," as that which had a piece of faded scarlet flannel twisted through the strands. In a few minutes the man, who hastened slowly, gave the call, which every man in Farlingford answered with an emotionless, mechanical promptitude.
"Do you know the history of that period?" he inquired, after a moment's reflection. For the last hour he had been trying to decide on a course of conduct. During the last few minutes he had been forced to change it half a dozen times. "Septimus Marvin, of Farlingford, is one of the greatest living authorities on those reigns. I learnt a good deal from him," was the answer.
In flat countries, where men may see each other, unimpeded by hedge or tree or hillock, across a space measured only by miles, the eye is soon trained like the sailor's eye to see and recognise at a great distance. There was no mistaking the attitude of the solitary steersman of this foreign boat stealing quietly up to Farlingford on the flood tide.
'The Last Hope. There's many a 'Hope, built at Farlingford, and that's the last, for the yard is closed and there's no more building now." The Marquis de Gemosac had turned away from the grave, but as Colville approached him he looked back to it with a shake of the head. "After eight centuries of splendour, my friend," he said. "Can that be the end that?"
This was essentially a man of cities, and one better suited to the pavement than the rural quiet of Farlingford. To have the gift of tongues is no great recommendation to the British born, and River Andrew looked askance at this fine gentleman while he spoke French.
Captain Clubbe had taught him that most difficult art to select with patience and a perfect judgment the right moment. The "Petite Jeanne" was rustling through the glassy water northward toward Farlingford. At a word from the Captain the man who had been heaving the lead came aft to the ship's bell and struck ten quick strokes. He waited and repeated the warning, but no one answered.
The woman and child were brought here, where nobody could speak French, and, of course, neither of them could speak any English. The boy was white-faced and frightened at first, but he soon picked up spirit. They were taken in and cared for by one and another any who could afford it. For Farlingford has always bred seafaring men ready to give and take." "So we were told yesterday by the rector.
"Do you know the history of that period?" he inquired, after a moment's reflection. For the last hour he had been trying to decide on a course of conduct. During the last few minutes he had been forced to change it half a dozen times. "Septimus Marvin, of Farlingford, is one of the greatest living authorities on those reigns. I learnt a good deal from him," was the answer.
"And the time will come," pursued Colville, with his melancholy, sympathetic smile, "when you will find it necessary to drop the pilot to turn your face seaward and your back upon old recollections and old associations. You cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs, my friend." "Oh yes," replied Barebone, with a brisk movement of the head, "I shall have to forget Farlingford."
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