CHAPTER XLVII

JEREMY IN DANGER

[Illustration: 410.jpg Illustrated Capital]

Nothing very long abides, as the greatest of all writers (in whose

extent I am for ever lost in raptured wonder, and yet for ever quite at

home, as if his heart were mine, although his brains so different), in a

word as Mr. William Shakespeare, in every one of his works insists, with

a humoured melancholy. And if my journey to London led to nothing else

of advancement, it took me a hundred years in front of what I might else

have been, by the most simple accident.

Two women were scolding one another across the road, very violently,

both from upstair windows; and I in my hurry for quiet life, and not

knowing what might come down upon me, quickened my step for the nearest

corner. But suddenly something fell on my head; and at first I was

afraid to look, especially as it weighed heavily. But hearing no

breakage of ware, and only the other scold laughing heartily, I turned

me about and espied a book, which one had cast at the other, hoping to

break her window. So I took the book, and tendered it at the door of the

house from which it had fallen; but the watchman came along just then,

and the man at the door declared that it never came from their house,

and begged me to say no more. This I promised readily, never wishing to

make mischief; and I said, “Good sir, now take the book; I will go on

to my business.” But he answered that he would do no such thing; for

the book alone, being hurled so hard, would convict his people of a lewd

assault; and he begged me, if I would do a good turn, to put the book

under my coat and go. And so I did: in part at least. For I did not put

the book under my coat, but went along with it openly, looking for any

to challenge it. Now this book, so acquired, has been not only the

joy of my younger days, and main delight of my manhood, but also the

comfort, and even the hope, of my now declining years. In a word, it is

next to my Bible to me, and written in equal English; and if you espy

any goodness whatever in my own loose style of writing, you must not

thank me, John Ridd, for it, but the writer who holds the champion's

belt in wit, as I once did in wrestling.

[Illustration: 411.jpg Something fell on my head]

Now, as nothing very long abides, it cannot be expected that a woman's

anger should last very long, if she be at all of the proper sort. And

my mother, being one of the very best, could not long retain her wrath

against the Squire Faggus especially when she came to reflect, upon

Annie's suggestion, how natural, and one might say, how inevitable

it was that a young man fond of adventure and change and winning good

profits by jeopardy, should not settle down without some regrets to a

fixed abode and a life of sameness, however safe and respectable.

And even as Annie put the case, Tom deserved the greater credit for

vanquishing so nobly these yearnings of his nature; and it seemed very

hard to upbraid him, considering how good his motives were; neither

could Annie understand how mother could reconcile it with her knowledge

of the Bible, and the one sheep that was lost, and the hundredth piece

of silver, and the man that went down to Jericho.

Whether Annie's logic was good and sound, I am sure I cannot tell; but

it seemed to me that she ought to have let the Jericho traveller alone,

inasmuch as he rather fell among Tom Fagusses, than resembled them.

However, her reasoning was too much for mother to hold out against; and

Tom was replaced, and more than that, being regarded now as an injured

man. But how my mother contrived to know, that because she had been too

hard upon Tom, he must be right about the necklace, is a point which I

never could clearly perceive, though no doubt she could explain it.

To prove herself right in the conclusion, she went herself to fetch

Lorna, that the trinket might be examined, before the day grew dark. My

darling came in, with a very quick glance and smile at my cigarro (for I

was having the third by this time, to keep things in amity); and I waved

it towards her, as much as to say, “you see that I can do it.” And then

mother led her up to the light, for Tom to examine her necklace.

On the shapely curve of her neck it hung, like dewdrops upon a white

hyacinth; and I was vexed that Tom should have the chance to see it

there. But even if she had read my thoughts, or outrun them with her

own, Lorna turned away, and softly took the jewels from the place which

so much adorned them. And as she turned away, they sparkled through

the rich dark waves of hair. Then she laid the glittering circlet in

my mother's hands; and Tom Faggus took it eagerly, and bore it to the

window.

[Illustration: 413.jpg Tom Faggus took it eagerly]

“Don't you go out of sight,” I said; “you cannot resist such things as

those, if they be what you think them.”

“Jack, I shall have to trounce thee yet. I am now a man of honour, and

entitled to the duello. What will you take for it, Mistress Lorna? At a

hazard, say now.”

“I am not accustomed to sell things, sir,” replied Lorna, who did not

like him much, else she would have answered sportively, “What is it

worth, in your opinion?”

“Do you think it is worth five pounds, now?”

“Oh, no! I never had so much money as that in all my life. It is very

bright, and very pretty; but it cannot be worth five pounds, I am sure.”

“What a chance for a bargain! Oh, if it were not for Annie, I could make

my fortune.”

“But, sir, I would not sell it to you, not for twenty times five pounds.

My grandfather was so kind about it; and I think it belonged to my

mother.”

“There are twenty-five rose diamonds in it, and twenty-five large

brilliants that cannot be matched in London. How say you, Mistress

Lorna, to a hundred thousand pounds?”

My darling's eyes so flashed at this, brighter than any diamonds, that

I said to myself, “Well, all have faults; and now I have found out

Lorna's--she is fond of money!” And then I sighed rather heavily; for of

all faults this seems to me one of the worst in a woman. But even before

my sigh was finished, I had cause to condemn myself. For Lorna took the

necklace very quietly from the hands of Squire Faggus, who had not half

done with admiring it, and she went up to my mother with the sweetest

smile I ever saw.

“Dear kind mother, I am so glad,” she said in a whisper, coaxing mother

out of sight of all but me; “now you will have it, won't you, dear? And

I shall be so happy; for a thousandth part of your kindness to me no

jewels in the world can match.”

I cannot lay before you the grace with which she did it, all the air

of seeking favour, rather than conferring it, and the high-bred fear of

giving offence, which is of all fears the noblest. Mother knew not what

to say. Of course she would never dream of taking such a gift as that;

and yet she saw how sadly Lorna would be disappointed. Therefore, mother

did, from habit, what she almost always did, she called me to help her.

But knowing that my eyes were full--for anything noble moves me so,

quite as rashly as things pitiful--I pretended not to hear my mother,

but to see a wild cat in the dairy.

Therefore I cannot tell what mother said in reply to Lorna; for when I

came back, quite eager to let my love know how I worshipped her, and

how deeply I was ashamed of myself, for meanly wronging her in my heart,

behold Tom Faggus had gotten again the necklace which had such charms

for him, and was delivering all around (but especially to Annie, who was

wondering at his learning) a dissertation on precious stones, and his

sentiments about those in his hand. He said that the work was very

ancient, but undoubtedly very good; the cutting of every line was

true, and every angle was in its place. And this he said, made all the

difference in the lustre of the stone, and therefore in its value. For

if the facets were ill-matched, and the points of light so ever little

out of perfect harmony, all the lustre of the jewel would be loose

and wavering, and the central fire dulled; instead of answering, as it

should, to all possibilities of gaze, and overpowering any eye intent on

its deeper mysteries. We laughed at the Squire's dissertation; for how

should he know all these things, being nothing better, and indeed much

worse than a mere Northmolton blacksmith? He took our laughter with much

good nature; having Annie to squeeze his hand and convey her grief at

our ignorance: but he said that of one thing he was quite certain, and

therein I believed him. To wit, that a trinket of this kind never could

have belonged to any ignoble family, but to one of the very highest and

most wealthy in England. And looking at Lorna, I felt that she must have

come from a higher source than the very best of diamonds.

Tom Faggus said that the necklace was made, he would answer for it, in

Amsterdam, two or three hundred years ago, long before London jewellers

had begun to meddle with diamonds; and on the gold clasp he found some

letters, done in some inverted way, the meaning of which was beyond him;

also a bearing of some kind, which he believed was a mountain-cat. And

thereupon he declared that now he had earned another glass of schnapps,

and would Mistress Lorna mix it for him?

I was amazed at his impudence; and Annie, who thought this her business,

did not look best pleased; and I hoped that Lorna would tell him at once

to go and do it for himself. But instead of that she rose to do it with

a soft humility, which went direct to the heart of Tom; and he leaped up

with a curse at himself, and took the hot water from her, and would not

allow her to do anything except to put the sugar in; and then he bowed

to her grandly. I knew what Lorna was thinking of; she was thinking all

the time that her necklace had been taken by the Doones with violence

upon some great robbery; and that Squire Faggus knew it, though he would

not show his knowledge; and that this was perhaps the reason why mother

had refused it so.

We said no more about the necklace for a long time afterwards; neither

did my darling wear it, now that she knew its value, but did not know

its history. She came to me the very next day, trying to look cheerful,

and begged me if I loved her (never mind how little) to take charge of

it again, as I once had done before, and not even to let her know in

what place I stored it. I told her that this last request I could not

comply with; for having been round her neck so often, it was now a

sacred thing, more than a million pounds could be. Therefore it should

dwell for the present in the neighbourhood of my heart; and so could not

be far from her. At this she smiled her own sweet smile, and touched

my forehead with her lips and wished that she could only learn how to

deserve such love as mine.

Tom Faggus took his good departure, which was a kind farewell to me,

on the very day I am speaking of, the day after his arrival. Tom was

a thoroughly upright man, according to his own standard; and you might

rely upon him always, up to a certain point I mean, to be there or

thereabouts. But sometimes things were too many for Tom, especially with

ardent spirits, and then he judged, perhaps too much, with only himself

for the jury. At any rate, I would trust him fully, for candour and

for honesty, in almost every case in which he himself could have no

interest. And so we got on very well together; and he thought me a fool;

and I tried my best not to think anything worse of him.

Scarcely was Tom clean out of sight, and Annie's tears not dry yet (for

she always made a point of crying upon his departure), when in came

Master Jeremy Stickles, splashed with mud from head to foot, and not in

the very best of humours, though happy to get back again.

“Curse those fellows!” he cried, with a stamp which sent the water

hissing from his boot upon the embers; “a pretty plight you may call

this, for His Majesty's Commissioner to return to his headquarters in!

Annie, my dear,” for he was always very affable with Annie, “will you

help me off with my overalls, and then turn your pretty hand to the

gridiron? Not a blessed morsel have I touched for more than twenty-four

hours.”

“Surely then you must be quite starving, sir,” my sister replied with

the greatest zeal; for she did love a man with an appetite; “how glad I

am that the fire is clear!” But Lizzie, who happened to be there, said

with her peculiar smile,--

“Master Stickles must be used to it; for he never comes back without

telling us that.”

“Hush!” cried Annie, quite shocked with her; “how would you like to

be used to it? Now, Betty, be quick with the things for me. Pork, or

mutton, or deer's meat, sir? We have some cured since the autumn.”

“Oh, deer's meat, by all means,” Jeremy Stickles answered; “I have

tasted none since I left you, though dreaming of it often. Well, this

is better than being chased over the moors for one's life, John. All the

way from Landacre Bridge, I have ridden a race for my precious life, at

the peril of my limbs and neck. Three great Doones galloping after me,

and a good job for me that they were so big, or they must have overtaken

me. Just go and see to my horse, John, that's an excellent lad. He

deserves a good turn this day, from me; and I will render it to him.”

However he left me to do it, while he made himself comfortable: and

in truth the horse required care; he was blown so that he could hardly

stand, and plastered with mud, and steaming so that the stable was

quite full with it. By the time I had put the poor fellow to rights, his

master had finished dinner, and was in a more pleasant humour, having

even offered to kiss Annie, out of pure gratitude, as he said; but Annie

answered with spirit that gratitude must not be shown by increasing the

obligation. Jeremy made reply to this that his only way to be grateful

then was to tell us his story: and so he did, at greater length than

I can here repeat it; for it does not bear particularly upon Lorna's

fortunes.

It appears that as he was riding towards us from the town of Southmolton

in Devonshire, he found the roads very soft and heavy, and the floods

out in all directions; but met with no other difficulty until he came to

Landacre Bridge. He had only a single trooper with him, a man not of the

militia but of the King's army, whom Jeremy had brought from Exeter.

As these two descended towards the bridge they observed that both the

Kensford water and the River Barle were pouring down in mighty floods

from the melting of the snow. So great indeed was the torrent, after

they united, that only the parapets of the bridge could be seen above

the water, the road across either bank being covered and very deep on

the hither side. The trooper did not like the look of it, and proposed

to ride back again, and round by way of Simonsbath, where the stream is

smaller. But Stickles would not have it so, and dashing into the river,

swam his horse for the bridge, and gained it with some little trouble;

and there he found the water not more than up to his horse's knees

perhaps. On the crown of the bridge he turned his horse to watch the

trooper's passage, and to help him with directions; when suddenly he saw

him fall headlong into the torrent, and heard the report of a gun from

behind, and felt a shock to his own body, such as lifted him out of

the saddle. Turning round he beheld three men, risen up from behind the

hedge on one side of his onward road, two of them ready to load again,

and one with his gun unfired, waiting to get good aim at him. Then

Jeremy did a gallant thing, for which I doubt whether I should have had

the presence of mind in danger. He saw that to swim his horse back again

would be almost certain death; as affording such a target, where even

a wound must be fatal. Therefore he struck the spurs into the nag, and

rode through the water straight at the man who was pointing the long gun

at him. If the horse had been carried off his legs, there must have been

an end of Jeremy; for the other men were getting ready to have another

shot at him. But luckily the horse galloped right on without any need

for swimming, being himself excited, no doubt, by all he had seen and

heard of it. And Jeremy lay almost flat on his neck, so as to give

little space for good aim, with the mane tossing wildly in front of him.

Now if that young fellow with the gun had his brains as ready as his

flint was, he would have shot the horse at once, and then had Stickles

at his mercy; but instead of that he let fly at the man, and missed him

altogether, being scared perhaps by the pistol which Jeremy showed him

the mouth of. And galloping by at full speed, Master Stickles tried to

leave his mark behind him, for he changed the aim of his pistol to the

biggest man, who was loading his gun and cursing like ten cannons. But

the pistol missed fire, no doubt from the flood which had gurgled in

over the holsters; and Jeremy seeing three horses tethered at a gate

just up the hill, knew that he had not yet escaped, but had more of

danger behind him. He tried his other great pistol at one of the

horses tethered there, so as to lessen (if possible) the number of his

pursuers. But the powder again failed him; and he durst not stop to cut

the bridles, bearing the men coming up the hill. So he even made the

most of his start, thanking God that his weight was light, compared at

least to what theirs was.

And another thing he had noticed which gave him some hope of escaping,

to wit that the horses of the Doones, although very handsome animals,

were suffering still from the bitter effects of the late long frost, and

the scarcity of fodder. “If they do not catch me up, or shoot me, in the

course of the first two miles, I may see my home again”; this was what

he said to himself as he turned to mark what they were about, from

the brow of the steep hill. He saw the flooded valley shining with the

breadth of water, and the trooper's horse on the other side, shaking

his drenched flanks and neighing; and half-way down the hill he saw the

three Doones mounting hastily. And then he knew that his only chance lay

in the stoutness of his steed.

The horse was in pretty good condition; and the rider knew him

thoroughly, and how to make the most of him; and though they had

travelled some miles that day through very heavy ground, the bath in

the river had washed the mud off, and been some refreshment. Therefore

Stickles encouraged his nag, and put him into a good hard gallop,

heading away towards Withycombe. At first he had thought of turning to

the right, and making off for Withypool, a mile or so down the valley;

but his good sense told him that no one there would dare to protect him

against the Doones, so he resolved to go on his way; yet faster than he

had intended.

The three villains came after him, with all the speed they could muster,

making sure from the badness of the road that he must stick fast ere

long, and so be at their mercy. And this was Jeremy's chiefest fear,

for the ground being soft and thoroughly rotten, after so much frost and

snow, the poor horse had terrible work of it, with no time to pick the

way; and even more good luck than skill was needed to keep him from

foundering. How Jeremy prayed for an Exmoor fog (such as he had often

sworn at), that he might turn aside and lurk, while his pursuers went

past him! But no fog came, nor even a storm to damp the priming of their

guns; neither was wood or coppice nigh, nor any place to hide in; only

hills, and moor, and valleys; with flying shadows over them, and great

banks of snow in the corners. At one time poor Stickles was quite in

despair; for after leaping a little brook which crosses the track at

Newland, he stuck fast in a “dancing bog,” as we call them upon Exmoor.

The horse had broken through the crust of moss and sedge and marishweed,

and could do nothing but wallow and sink, with the black water spirting

over him. And Jeremy, struggling with all his might, saw the three

villains now topping the crest, less than a furlong behind him; and

heard them shout in their savage delight. With the calmness of despair,

he yet resolved to have one more try for it; and scrambling over the

horse's head, gained firm land, and tugged at the bridle. The poor nag

replied with all his power to the call upon his courage, and reared his

forefeet out of the slough, and with straining eyeballs gazed at him.

“Now,” said Jeremy, “now, my fine fellow!” lifting him with the bridle,

and the brave beast gathered the roll of his loins, and sprang from his

quagmired haunches. One more spring, and he was on earth again, instead

of being under it; and Jeremy leaped on his back, and stooped, for he

knew that they would fire. Two bullets whistled over him, as the horse,

mad with fright, dashed forward; and in five minutes more he had come to

the Exe, and the pursuers had fallen behind him. The Exe, though a much

smaller stream than the Barle, now ran in a foaming torrent, unbridged,

and too wide for leaping. But Jeremy's horse took the water well; and

both he and his rider were lightened, as well as comforted by it. And as

they passed towards Lucott hill, and struck upon the founts of Lynn,

the horses of the three pursuers began to tire under them. Then Jeremy

Stickles knew that if he could only escape the sloughs, he was safe for

the present; and so he stood up in his stirrups, and gave them a loud

halloo, as if they had been so many foxes.

[Illustration: 419.jpg With a wave of his hat]

Their only answer was to fire the remaining charge at him; but the

distance was too great for any aim from horseback; and the dropping

bullet idly ploughed the sod upon one side of him. He acknowledged it

with a wave of his hat, and laid one thumb to his nose, in the manner

fashionable in London for expression of contempt. However, they followed

him yet farther; hoping to make him pay out dearly, if he should only

miss the track, or fall upon morasses. But the neighbourhood of our Lynn

stream is not so very boggy; and the King's messenger now knew his

way as well as any of his pursuers did; and so he arrived at Plover's

Barrows, thankful, and in rare appetite.

“But was the poor soldier drowned?” asked Annie; “and you never went to

look for him! Oh, how very dreadful!”

“Shot, or drowned; I know not which. Thank God it was only a trooper.

But they shall pay for it, as dearly as if it had been a captain.”

“And how was it you were struck by a bullet, and only shaken in your

saddle? Had you a coat of mail on, or of Milanese chain-armour? Now,

Master Stickles, had you?”

“No, Mistress Lizzie; we do not wear things of that kind nowadays. You

are apt, I perceive, at romances. But I happened to have a little flat

bottle of the best stoneware slung beneath my saddle-cloak, and filled

with the very best _eau de vie_, from the George Hotel, at Southmolton.

The brand of it now is upon my back. Oh, the murderous scoundrels, what

a brave spirit they have spilled!”

“You had better set to and thank God,” said I, “that they have not

spilled a braver one.”

[Illustration: 421.jpg Tailpiece]