CHAPTER V

AN ILLEGAL SETTLEMENT

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Good folk who dwell in a lawful land, if any such there be, may for want

of exploration, judge our neighbourhood harshly, unless the whole truth

is set before them. In bar of such prejudice, many of us ask leave to

explain how and why it was the robbers came to that head in the midst

of us. We would rather not have had it so, God knows as well as anybody;

but it grew upon us gently, in the following manner. Only let all who

read observe that here I enter many things which came to my knowledge in

later years.

In or about the year of our Lord 1640, when all the troubles of England

were swelling to an outburst, great estates in the North country were

suddenly confiscated, through some feud of families and strong influence

at Court, and the owners were turned upon the world, and might think

themselves lucky to save their necks. These estates were in co-heirship,

joint tenancy I think they called it, although I know not the meaning,

only so that if either tenant died, the other living, all would come to

the live one in spite of any testament.

One of the joint owners was Sir Ensor Doone, a gentleman of brisk

intellect; and the other owner was his cousin, the Earl of Lorne and

Dykemont.

Lord Lorne was some years the elder of his cousin, Ensor Doone, and was

making suit to gain severance of the cumbersome joint tenancy by any

fair apportionment, when suddenly this blow fell on them by wiles and

woman's meddling; and instead of dividing the land, they were divided

from it.

The nobleman was still well-to-do, though crippled in his expenditure;

but as for the cousin, he was left a beggar, with many to beg from him.

He thought that the other had wronged him, and that all the trouble of

law befell through his unjust petition. Many friends advised him to make

interest at Court; for having done no harm whatever, and being a good

Catholic, which Lord Lorne was not, he would be sure to find hearing

there, and probably some favour. But he, like a very hot-brained man,

although he had long been married to the daughter of his cousin (whom he

liked none the more for that), would have nothing to say to any attempt

at making a patch of it, but drove away with his wife and sons, and the

relics of his money, swearing hard at everybody. In this he may have

been quite wrong; probably, perhaps, he was so; but I am not convinced

at all but what most of us would have done the same.

Some say that, in the bitterness of that wrong and outrage, he slew a

gentleman of the Court, whom he supposed to have borne a hand in the

plundering of his fortunes. Others say that he bearded King Charles the

First himself, in a manner beyond forgiveness. One thing, at any rate,

is sure--Sir Ensor was attainted, and made a felon outlaw, through some

violent deed ensuing upon his dispossession.

He had searched in many quarters for somebody to help him, and with

good warrant for hoping it, inasmuch as he, in lucky days, had been

open-handed and cousinly to all who begged advice of him. But now

all these provided him with plenty of good advice indeed, and great

assurance of feeling, but not a movement of leg, or lip, or purse-string

in his favour. All good people of either persuasion, royalty or

commonalty, knowing his kitchen-range to be cold, no longer would play

turnspit. And this, it may be, seared his heart more than loss of land

and fame.

In great despair at last, he resolved to settle in some outlandish part,

where none could be found to know him; and so, in an evil day for us,

he came to the West of England. Not that our part of the world is at all

outlandish, according to my view of it (for I never found a better one),

but that it was known to be rugged, and large, and desolate. And here,

when he had discovered a place which seemed almost to be made for

him, so withdrawn, so self-defended, and uneasy of access, some of the

country-folk around brought him little offerings--a side of bacon, a

keg of cider, hung mutton, or a brisket of venison; so that for a little

while he was very honest. But when the newness of his coming began to

wear away, and our good folk were apt to think that even a gentleman

ought to work or pay other men for doing it, and many farmers were grown

weary of manners without discourse to them, and all cried out to one

another how unfair it was that owning such a fertile valley young men

would not spade or plough by reason of noble lineage--then the young

Doones growing up took things they would not ask for.

And here let me, as a solid man, owner of five hundred acres (whether

fenced or otherwise, and that is my own business), churchwarden also of

this parish (until I go to the churchyard), and proud to be called the

parson's friend--for a better man I never knew with tobacco and strong

waters, nor one who could read the lessons so well and he has been at

Blundell's too--once for all let me declare, that I am a thorough-going

Church-and-State man, and Royalist, without any mistake about it. And

this I lay down, because some people judging a sausage by the skin,

may take in evil part my little glosses of style and glibness, and the

mottled nature of my remarks and cracks now and then on the frying-pan.

I assure them I am good inside, and not a bit of rue in me; only queer

knots, as of marjoram, and a stupid manner of bursting.

There was not more than a dozen of them, counting a few retainers who

still held by Sir Ensor; but soon they grew and multiplied in a manner

surprising to think of. Whether it was the venison, which we call a

strengthening victual, or whether it was the Exmoor mutton, or the keen

soft air of the moorlands, anyhow the Doones increased much faster than

their honesty. At first they had brought some ladies with them, of good

repute with charity; and then, as time went on, they added to their

stock by carrying. They carried off many good farmers' daughters, who

were sadly displeased at first; but took to them kindly after awhile,

and made a new home in their babies. For women, as it seems to me, like

strong men more than weak ones, feeling that they need some staunchness,

something to hold fast by.

And of all the men in our country, although we are of a thick-set breed,

you scarce could find one in three-score fit to be placed among the

Doones, without looking no more than a tailor. Like enough, we could

meet them man for man (if we chose all around the crown and the skirts

of Exmoor), and show them what a cross-buttock means, because we are

so stuggy; but in regard of stature, comeliness, and bearing, no woman

would look twice at us. Not but what I myself, John Ridd, and one or two

I know of--but it becomes me best not to talk of that, although my hair

is gray.

Perhaps their den might well have been stormed, and themselves driven

out of the forest, if honest people had only agreed to begin with them

at once when first they took to plundering. But having respect for

their good birth, and pity for their misfortunes, and perhaps a little

admiration at the justice of God, that robbed men now were robbers,

the squires, and farmers, and shepherds, at first did nothing more than

grumble gently, or even make a laugh of it, each in the case of others.

After awhile they found the matter gone too far for laughter, as

violence and deadly outrage stained the hand of robbery, until every

woman clutched her child, and every man turned pale at the very name of

Doone. For the sons and grandsons of Sir Ensor grew up in foul liberty,

and haughtiness, and hatred, to utter scorn of God and man, and

brutality towards dumb animals. There was only one good thing about

them, if indeed it were good, to wit, their faith to one another, and

truth to their wild eyry. But this only made them feared the more, so

certain was the revenge they wreaked upon any who dared to strike a

Doone. One night, some ten years ere I was born, when they were sacking

a rich man's house not very far from Minehead, a shot was fired at them

in the dark, of which they took little notice, and only one of them knew

that any harm was done. But when they were well on the homeward road,

not having slain either man or woman, or even burned a house down, one

of their number fell from his saddle, and died without so much as a

groan. The youth had been struck, but would not complain, and perhaps

took little heed of the wound, while he was bleeding inwardly. His

brothers and cousins laid him softly on a bank of whortle-berries, and

just rode back to the lonely hamlet where he had taken his death-wound.

No man nor woman was left in the morning, nor house for any to dwell in,

only a child with its reason gone.*

*This vile deed was done, beyond all doubt.

This affair made prudent people find more reason to let them alone than

to meddle with them; and now they had so entrenched themselves, and

waxed so strong in number, that nothing less than a troop of soldiers

could wisely enter their premises; and even so it might turn out ill, as

perchance we shall see by-and-by.

For not to mention the strength of the place, which I shall describe in

its proper order when I come to visit it, there was not one among them

but was a mighty man, straight and tall, and wide, and fit to lift four

hundredweight. If son or grandson of old Doone, or one of the northern

retainers, failed at the age of twenty, while standing on his naked feet

to touch with his forehead the lintel of Sir Ensor's door, and to fill

the door frame with his shoulders from sidepost even to sidepost, he was

led away to the narrow pass which made their valley so desperate, and

thrust from the crown with ignominy, to get his own living honestly.

Now, the measure of that doorway is, or rather was, I ought to say,

six feet and one inch lengthwise, and two feet all but two inches taken

crossways in the clear. Yet I not only have heard but know, being so

closely mixed with them, that no descendant of old Sir Ensor, neither

relative of his (except, indeed, the Counsellor, who was kept by them

for his wisdom), and no more than two of their following ever failed of

that test, and relapsed to the difficult ways of honesty.

Not that I think anything great of a standard the like of that: for

if they had set me in that door-frame at the age of twenty, it is like

enough that I should have walked away with it on my shoulders, though

I was not come to my full strength then: only I am speaking now of the

average size of our neighbourhood, and the Doones were far beyond that.

Moreover, they were taught to shoot with a heavy carbine so delicately

and wisely, that even a boy could pass a ball through a rabbit's head at

the distance of fourscore yards. Some people may think nought of this,

being in practice with longer shots from the tongue than from the

shoulder; nevertheless, to do as above is, to my ignorance, very good

work, if you can be sure to do it. Not one word do I believe of Robin

Hood splitting peeled wands at seven-score yards, and such like. Whoever

wrote such stories knew not how slippery a peeled wand is, even if one

could hit it, and how it gives to the onset. Now, let him stick one in

the ground, and take his bow and arrow at it, ten yards away, or even

five.

Now, after all this which I have written, and all the rest which a

reader will see, being quicker of mind than I am (who leave more than

half behind me, like a man sowing wheat, with his dinner laid in the

ditch too near his dog), it is much but what you will understand the

Doones far better than I did, or do even to this moment; and therefore

none will doubt when I tell them that our good justiciaries feared to

make an ado, or hold any public inquiry about my dear father's death.

They would all have had to ride home that night, and who could say what

might betide them. Least said soonest mended, because less chance of

breaking.

So we buried him quietly--all except my mother, indeed, for she could

not keep silence--in the sloping little churchyard of Oare, as meek a

place as need be, with the Lynn brook down below it. There is not much

of company there for anybody's tombstone, because the parish spreads

so far in woods and moors without dwelling-house. If we bury one man

in three years, or even a woman or child, we talk about it for three

months, and say it must be our turn next, and scarcely grow accustomed

to it until another goes.

Annie was not allowed to come, because she cried so terribly; but she

ran to the window, and saw it all, mooing there like a little calf, so

frightened and so left alone. As for Eliza, she came with me, one on

each side of mother, and not a tear was in her eyes, but sudden starts

of wonder, and a new thing to be looked at unwillingly, yet

curiously. Poor little thing! she was very clever, the only one of our

family--thank God for the same--but none the more for that guessed she

what it is to lose a father.

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