CHAPTER XXXVIII

A GOOD TURN FOR JEREMY

[Illustration: 318.jpg Illustrated Capital]

John Fry had now six shillings a week of regular and permanent wage,

besides all harvest and shearing money, as well as a cottage rent-free,

and enough of garden-ground to rear pot-herbs for his wife and all

his family. Now the wages appointed by our justices, at the time of

sessions, were four-and-sixpence a week for summer, and a shilling less

for the winter-time; and we could be fined, and perhaps imprisoned, for

giving more than the sums so fixed. Therefore John Fry was looked upon

as the richest man upon Exmoor, I mean of course among labourers, and

there were many jokes about robbing him, as if he were the mint of the

King; and Tom Faggus promised to try his hand, if he came across John

on the highway, although he had ceased from business, and was seeking a

Royal pardon.

Now is it according to human nature, or is it a thing contradictory

(as I would fain believe)? But anyhow, there was, upon Exmoor, no more

discontented man, no man more sure that he had not his worth, neither

half so sore about it, than, or as, John Fry was. And one thing he did

which I could not wholly (or indeed I may say, in any measure)

reconcile with my sense of right, much as I laboured to do John justice,

especially because of his roguery; and this was, that if we said too

much, or accused him at all of laziness (which he must have known to be

in him), he regularly turned round upon us, and quite compelled us

to hold our tongues, by threatening to lay information against us for

paying him too much wages!

Now I have not mentioned all this of John Fry, from any disrespect for

his memory (which is green and honest amongst us), far less from any

desire to hurt the feelings of his grandchildren; and I will do them the

justice, once for all, to avow, thus publicly, that I have known a great

many bigger rogues, and most of themselves in the number. But I have

referred, with moderation, to this little flaw in a worthy character (or

foible, as we call it, when a man is dead) for this reason only--that

without it there was no explaining John's dealings with Jeremy Stickles.

Master Jeremy, being full of London and Norwich experience, fell into

the error of supposing that we clods and yokels were the simplest of the

simple, and could be cheated at his good pleasure. Now this is not so:

when once we suspect that people have that idea of us, we indulge them

in it to the top of their bent, and grieve that they should come out of

it, as they do at last in amazement, with less money than before, and

the laugh now set against them.

Ever since I had offended Jeremy, by threatening him (as before related)

in case of his meddling with my affairs, he had more and more allied

himself with simple-minded John, as he was pleased to call him. John

Fry was everything: it was “run and fetch my horse, John”--“John, are my

pistols primed well?”--“I want you in the stable, John, about something

very particular”, until except for the rudeness of it, I was longing

to tell Master Stickles that he ought to pay John's wages. John for

his part was not backward, but gave himself the most wonderful airs of

secrecy and importance, till half the parish began to think that the

affairs of the nation were in his hand, and he scorned the sight of a

dungfork.

It was not likely that this should last; and being the only man in the

parish with any knowledge of politics, I gave John Fry to understand

that he must not presume to talk so freely, as if he were at least a

constable, about the constitution; which could be no affair of his, and

might bring us all into trouble. At this he only tossed his nose, as if

he had been in London at least three times for my one; which vexed me so

that I promised him the thick end of the plough-whip if even the name of

a knight of the shire should pass his lips for a fortnight.

Now I did not suspect in my stupid noddle that John Fry would ever tell

Jeremy Stickles about the sight at the Wizard's Slough and the man in

the white nightcap; because John had sworn on the blade of his knife not

to breathe a word to any soul, without my full permission. However, it

appears that John related, for a certain consideration, all that he

had seen, and doubtless more which had accrued to it. Upon this Master

Stickles was much astonished at Uncle Reuben's proceedings, having

always accounted him a most loyal, keen, and wary subject.

All this I learned upon recovering Jeremy's good graces, which came to

pass in no other way than by the saving of his life. Being bound to keep

the strictest watch upon the seven rooks' nests, and yet not bearing

to be idle and to waste my mother's stores, I contrived to keep my work

entirely at the western corner of our farm, which was nearest to Glen

Doone, and whence I could easily run to a height commanding the view I

coveted.

One day Squire Faggus had dropped in upon us, just in time for dinner;

and very soon he and King's messenger were as thick as need be. Tom had

brought his beloved mare to show her off to Annie, and he mounted his

pretty sweetheart upon her, after giving Winnie notice to be on her

very best behaviour. The squire was in great spirits, having just

accomplished a purchase of land which was worth ten times what he gave

for it; and this he did by a merry trick upon old Sir Roger Bassett, who

never supposed him to be in earnest, as not possessing the money. The

whole thing was done on a bumper of claret in a tavern where they met;

and the old knight having once pledged his word, no lawyers could

hold him back from it. They could only say that Master Faggus, being

attainted of felony, was not a capable grantee. “I will soon cure that,”

quoth Tom, “my pardon has been ready for months and months, so soon as I

care to sue it.”

And now he was telling our Annie, who listened very rosily, and believed

every word he said, that, having been ruined in early innocence by the

means of lawyers, it was only just, and fair turn for turn, that having

become a match for them by long practice upon the highway, he should

reinstate himself, at their expense, in society. And now he would go

to London at once, and sue out his pardon, and then would his lovely

darling Annie, etc., etc.--things which I had no right to hear, and in

which I was not wanted.

Therefore I strode away up the lane to my afternoon's employment, sadly

comparing my love with theirs (which now appeared so prosperous), yet

heartily glad for Annie's sake; only remembering now and then the old

proverb “Wrong never comes right.”

I worked very hard in the copse of young ash, with my billhook and a

shearing-knife; cutting out the saplings where they stooled too close

together, making spars to keep for thatching, wall-crooks to drive into

the cob, stiles for close sheep hurdles, and handles for rakes, and

hoes, and two-bills, of the larger and straighter stuff. And all the

lesser I bound in faggots, to come home on the sledd to the woodrick.

It is not to be supposed that I did all this work, without many peeps at

the seven rooks' nests, which proved my Lorna's safety. Indeed, whenever

I wanted a change, either from cleaving, or hewing too hard, or stooping

too much at binding, I was up and away to the ridge of the hill, instead

of standing and doing nothing.

Soon I forgot about Tom and Annie; and fell to thinking of Lorna only;

and how much I would make of her; and what I should call our children;

and how I would educate them, to do honour to her rank; yet all the time

I worked none the worse, by reason of meditation. Fresh-cut spars are

not so good as those of a little seasoning; especially if the sap

was not gone down at the time of cutting. Therefore we always find it

needful to have plenty still in stock.

It was very pleasant there in the copse, sloping to the west as it was,

and the sun descending brightly, with rocks and banks to dwell upon. The

stems of mottled and dimpled wood, with twigs coming out like elbows,

hung and clung together closely, with a mode of bending in, as children

do at some danger; overhead the shrunken leaves quivered and rustled

ripely, having many points like stars, and rising and falling

delicately, as fingers play sad music. Along the bed of the slanting

ground, all between the stools of wood, there were heaps of dead brown

leaves, and sheltered mats of lichen, and drifts of spotted stick gone

rotten, and tufts of rushes here and there, full of fray and feathering.

All by the hedge ran a little stream, a thing that could barely name

itself, flowing scarce more than a pint in a minute, because of the

sunny weather. Yet had this rill little crooks and crannies dark and

bravely bearded, and a gallant rush through a reeden pipe--the stem of

a flag that was grounded; and here and there divided threads, from the

points of a branching stick, into mighty pools of rock (as large as a

grown man's hat almost) napped with moss all around the sides and hung

with corded grasses. Along and down the tiny banks, and nodding into one

another, even across main channel, hung the brown arcade of ferns; some

with gold tongues languishing; some with countless ear-drops jerking,

some with great quilled ribs uprising and long saws aflapping; others

cupped, and fanning over with the grace of yielding, even as a hollow

fountain spread by winds that have lost their way.

Deeply each beyond other, pluming, stooping, glancing, glistening,

weaving softest pillow lace, coying to the wind and water, when their

fleeting image danced, or by which their beauty moved,--God has made no

lovelier thing; and only He takes heed of them.

It was time to go home to supper now, and I felt very friendly towards

it, having been hard at work for some hours, with only the voice of the

little rill, and some hares and a pheasant for company. The sun was gone

down behind the black wood on the farther cliffs of Bagworthy, and the

russet of the tufts and spear-beds was becoming gray, while the greyness

of the sapling ash grew brown against the sky; the hollow curves of

the little stream became black beneath the grasses and the fairy fans

innumerable, while outside the hedge our clover was crimping its leaves

in the dewfall, like the cocked hats of wood-sorrel,--when, thanking God

for all this scene, because my love had gifted me with the key to all

things lovely, I prepared to follow their example, and to rest from

labour.

Therefore I wiped my bill-hook and shearing-knife very carefully, for

I hate to leave tools dirty; and was doubting whether I should try for

another glance at the seven rooks' nests, or whether it would be too

dark for it. It was now a quarter of an hour mayhap, since I had made

any chopping noise, because I had been assorting my spars, and tying

them in bundles, instead of plying the bill-hook; and the gentle tinkle

of the stream was louder than my doings. To this, no doubt, I owe my

life, which then (without my dreaming it) was in no little jeopardy.

For, just as I was twisting the bine of my very last faggot, before

tucking the cleft tongue under, there came three men outside the hedge,

where the western light was yellow; and by it I could see that all three

of them carried firearms. These men were not walking carelessly, but

following down the hedge-trough, as if to stalk some enemy: and for a

moment it struck me cold to think it was I they were looking for. With

the swiftness of terror I concluded that my visits to Glen Doone were

known, and now my life was the forfeit.

It was a most lucky thing for me, that I heard their clothes catch in

the brambles, and saw their hats under the rampart of ash, which is made

by what we call “splashing,” and lucky, for me that I stood in a goyal,

and had the dark coppice behind me. To this I had no time to fly, but

with a sort of instinct, threw myself flat in among the thick fern, and

held my breath, and lay still as a log. For I had seen the light gleam

on their gun-barrels, and knowing the faults of the neighbourhood, would

fain avoid swelling their number. Then the three men came to the gap

in the hedge, where I had been in and out so often; and stood up, and

looked in over.

It is all very well for a man to boast that, in all his life, he has

never been frightened, and believes that he never could be so. There

may be men of that nature--I will not dare to deny it; only I have

never known them. The fright I was now in was horrible, and all my bones

seemed to creep inside me; when lying there helpless, with only a billet

and the comb of fern to hide me, in the dusk of early evening, I saw

three faces in the gap; and what was worse, three gun-muzzles.

“Somebody been at work here--” it was the deep voice of Carver Doone;

“jump up, Charlie, and look about; we must have no witnesses.”

“Give me a hand behind,” said Charlie, the same handsome young Doone I

had seen that night; “this bank is too devilish steep for me.”

“Nonsense, man!” cried Marwood de Whichehalse, who to my amazement was

the third of the number; “only a hind cutting faggots; and of course he

hath gone home long ago. Blind man's holiday, as we call it. I can see

all over the place; and there is not even a rabbit there.”

At that I drew my breath again, and thanked God I had gotten my coat on.

“Squire is right,” said Charlie, who was standing up high (on a root

perhaps), “there is nobody there now, captain; and lucky for the poor

devil that he keepeth workman's hours. Even his chopper is gone, I see.”

“No dog, no man, is the rule about here, when it comes to coppice work,”

continued young de Whichehalse; “there is not a man would dare work

there, without a dog to scare the pixies.”

“There is a big young fellow upon this farm,” Carver Doone muttered

sulkily, “with whom I have an account to settle, if ever I come across

him. He hath a cursed spite to us, because we shot his father. He was

going to bring the lumpers upon us, only he was afeared, last winter.

And he hath been in London lately, for some traitorous job, I doubt.”

“Oh, you mean that fool, John Ridd,” answered the young squire; “a very

simple clod-hopper. No treachery in him I warrant; he hath not the head

for it. All he cares about is wrestling. As strong as a bull, and with

no more brains.”

“A bullet for that bull,” said Carver; and I could see the grin on his

scornful face; “a bullet for ballast to his brain, the first time I come

across him.”

“Nonsense, captain! I won't have him shot, for he is my old

school-fellow, and hath a very pretty sister. But his cousin is of a

different mould, and ten times as dangerous.”

“We shall see, lads, we shall see,” grumbled the great black-bearded

man. “Ill bodes for the fool that would hinder me. But come, let us

onward. No lingering, or the viper will be in the bush from us. Body and

soul, if he give us the slip, both of you shall answer it.”

“No fear, captain, and no hurry,” Charlie answered gallantly, “would I

were as sure of living a twelvemonth as he is of dying within the hour!

Extreme unction for him in my bullet patch. Remember, I claim to be his

confessor, because he hath insulted me.”

“Thou art welcome to the job for me,” said Marwood, as they turned away,

and kept along the hedge-row; “I love to meet a man sword to sword; not

to pop at him from a foxhole.”

What answer was made I could not hear, for by this time the stout ashen

hedge was between us, and no other gap to be found in it, until at the

very bottom, where the corner of the copse was. Yet I was not quit of

danger now; for they might come through that second gap, and then would

be sure to see me, unless I crept into the uncut thicket, before they

could enter the clearing. But in spite of all my fear, I was not wise

enough to do that. And in truth the words of Carver Doone had filled me

with such anger, knowing what I did about him and his pretence to Lorna;

and the sight of Squire Marwood, in such outrageous company, had so

moved my curiosity, and their threats against some unknown person so

aroused my pity, that much of my prudence was forgotten, or at least the

better part of courage, which loves danger at long distance.

Therefore, holding fast my bill-hook, I dropped myself very quietly

into the bed of the runnel, being resolved to take my chance of their

entrance at the corner, where the water dived through the hedge-row. And

so I followed them down the fence, as gently as a rabbit goes, only I

was inside it, and they on the outside; but yet so near that I heard the

branches rustle as they pushed them.

Perhaps I had never loved ferns so much as when I came to the end of

that little gully, and stooped betwixt two patches of them, now my

chiefest shelter, for cattle had been through the gap just there, in

quest of fodder and coolness, and had left but a mound of trodden earth

between me and the outlaws. I mean at least on my left hand (upon which

side they were), for in front where the brook ran out of the copse was a

good stiff hedge of holly. And now I prayed Heaven to lead them straight

on; for if they once turned to their right, through the gap, the muzzles

of their guns would come almost against my forehead.

I heard them, for I durst not look; and could scarce keep still for

trembling--I heard them trampling outside the gap, uncertain which track

they should follow. And in that fearful moment, with my soul almost

looking out of my body, expecting notice to quit it, what do you think

I did? I counted the threads in a spider's web, and the flies he had

lately eaten, as their skeletons shook in the twilight.

“We shall see him better in there,” said Carver, in his horrible gruff

voice, like the creaking of the gallows chain; “sit there, behind holly

hedge, lads, while he cometh down yonder hill; and then our good-evening

to him; one at his body, and two at his head; and good aim, lest we

baulk the devil.”

“I tell you, captain, that will not do,” said Charlie, almost

whispering: “you are very proud of your skill, we know, and can hit a

lark if you see it: but he may not come until after dark, and we cannot

be too nigh to him. This holly hedge is too far away. He crosses down

here from Slocomslade, not from Tibbacot, I tell you; but along that

track to the left there, and so by the foreland to Glenthorne, where his

boat is in the cove. Do you think I have tracked him so many evenings,

without knowing his line to a hair? Will you fool away all my trouble?”

“Come then, lad, we will follow thy lead. Thy life for his, if we fail

of it.”

“After me then, right into the hollow; thy legs are growing stiff,

captain.”

“So shall thy body be, young man, if thou leadest me astray in this.”

I heard them stumbling down the hill, which was steep and rocky in that

part; and peering through the hedge, I saw them enter a covert, by the

side of the track which Master Stickles followed, almost every evening,

when he left our house upon business. And then I knew who it was they

were come on purpose to murder--a thing which I might have guessed long

before, but for terror and cold stupidity.

“Oh that God,” I thought for a moment, waiting for my blood to flow; “Oh

that God had given me brains, to meet such cruel dastards according to

their villainy! The power to lie, and the love of it; the stealth to

spy, and the glory in it; above all, the quiet relish for blood, and joy

in the death of an enemy--these are what any man must have, to contend

with the Doones upon even terms. And yet, I thank God that I have not

any of these.”

It was no time to dwell upon that, only to try, if might be, to prevent

the crime they were bound upon. To follow the armed men down the hill

would have been certain death to me, because there was no covert there,

and the last light hung upon it. It seemed to me that my only chance to

stop the mischief pending was to compass the round of the hill, as fast

as feet could be laid to ground; only keeping out of sight from the

valley, and then down the rocks, and across the brook, to the track from

Slocombslade: so as to stop the King's messenger from travelling any

farther, if only I could catch him there.

And this was exactly what I did; and a terrible run I had for it,

fearing at every step to hear the echo of shots in the valley, and

dropping down the scrubby rocks with tearing and violent scratching.

Then I crossed Bagworthy stream, not far below Doone-valley, and

breasted the hill towards Slocombslade, with my heart very heavily

panting. Why Jeremy chose to ride this way, instead of the more direct

one (which would have been over Oare-hill), was more than I could account

for: but I had nothing to do with that; all I wanted was to save his

life.

And this I did by about a minute; and (which was the hardest thing of

all) with a great horse-pistol at my head as I seized upon his bridle.

“Jeremy, Jerry,” was all I could say, being so fearfully short of

breath; for I had crossed the ground quicker than any horse could.

“Spoken just in time, John Ridd!” cried Master Stickles, still however

pointing the pistol at me: “I might have known thee by thy size, John.

What art doing here?”

“Come to save your life. For God's sake, go no farther. Three men in the

covert there, with long guns, waiting for thee.”

“Ha! I have been watched of late. That is why I pointed at thee, John.

Back round this corner, and get thy breath, and tell me all about it. I

never saw a man so hurried. I could beat thee now, John.”

Jeremy Stickles was a man of courage, and presence of mind, and much

resource: otherwise he would not have been appointed for this business;

nevertheless he trembled greatly when he heard what I had to tell

him. But I took good care to keep back the name of young Marwood de

Whichehalse; neither did I show my knowledge of the other men; for

reasons of my own not very hard to conjecture.

“We will let them cool their heels, John Ridd,” said Jeremy, after

thinking a little. “I cannot fetch my musketeers either from Glenthorne

or Lynmouth, in time to seize the fellows. And three desperate Doones,

well-armed, are too many for you and me. One result this attempt will

have, it will make us attack them sooner than we had intended. And one

more it will have, good John, it will make me thy friend for ever. Shake

hands my lad, and forgive me freely for having been so cold to thee.

Mayhap, in the troubles coming, it will help thee not a little to have

done me this good turn.”

Upon this he shook me by the hand, with a pressure such as we feel not

often; and having learned from me how to pass quite beyond view of his

enemies, he rode on to his duty, whatever it might be. For my part I was

inclined to stay, and watch how long the three fusiliers would have the

patience to lie in wait; but seeing less and less use in that, as I

grew more and more hungry, I swung my coat about me, and went home to

Plover's Barrows.