CHAPTER LXVIII

JOHN IS JOHN NO LONGER

[Illustration: 632.jpg Illustrated Capital]

It would be hard for me to tell the state of mind in which I lived for a

long time after this. I put away from me all torment, and the thought of

future cares, and the sight of difficulty; and to myself appeared,

which means that I became the luckiest of lucky fellows, since the world

itself began. I thought not of the harvest even, nor of the men who

would get their wages without having earned them, nor of my mother's

anxiety and worry about John Fry's great fatness (which was growing upon

him), and how she would cry fifty times in a day, “Ah, if our John would

only come home, how different everything would look!”

Although there were no soldiers now quartered at Plover's Barrows, all

being busied in harassing the country, and hanging the people where the

rebellion had thriven most, my mother, having received from me a message

containing my place of abode, contrived to send me, by the pack-horses,

as fine a maund as need be of provisions, and money, and other comforts.

Therein I found addressed to Colonel Jeremiah Stickles, in Lizzie's best

handwriting, half a side of the dried deer's flesh, in which he rejoiced

so greatly. Also, for Lorna, a fine green goose, with a little salt

towards the tail, and new-laid eggs inside it, as well as a bottle of

brandied cherries, and seven, or it may have been eight pounds of fresh

homemade butter. Moreover, to myself there was a letter full of good

advice, excellently well expressed, and would have been of the greatest

value, if I had cared to read it. But I read all about the farm affairs,

and the man who had offered himself to our Betty for the five pounds

in her stocking; as well as the antics of Sally Snowe, and how she had

almost thrown herself at Parson Bowden's head (old enough to be her

grandfather), because on the Sunday after the hanging of a Countisbury

man, he had preached a beautiful sermon about Christian love; which

Lizzie, with her sharp eyes, found to be the work of good Bishop Ken.

Also I read that the Doones were quiet; the parishes round about having

united to feed them well through the harvest time, so that after the

day's hard work, the farmers might go to bed at night. And this plan had

been found to answer well, and to save much trouble on both sides, so

that everybody wondered it had not been done before. But Lizzie thought

that the Doones could hardly be expected much longer to put up with it,

and probably would not have done so now, but for a little adversity; to

wit, that the famous Colonel Kirke had, in the most outrageous manner,

hanged no less than six of them, who were captured among the rebels;

for he said that men of their rank and breeding, and above all of

their religion, should have known better than to join plough-boys, and

carters, and pickaxemen, against our Lord the King, and his Holiness

the Pope. This hanging of so many Doones caused some indignation among

people who were used to them; and it seemed for a while to check the

rest from any spirit of enterprise.

Moreover, I found from this same letter (which was pinned upon the

knuckle of a leg of mutton, for fear of being lost in straw) that good

Tom Faggus was at home again, and nearly cured of his dreadful wound;

but intended to go to war no more, only to mind his family. And it

grieved him more than anything he ever could have imagined, that his

duty to his family, and the strong power of his conscience, so totally

forbade him to come up and see after me. For now his design was to lead

a new life, and be in charity with all men. Many better men than he had

been hanged, he saw no cause to doubt; but by the grace of God he hoped

himself to cheat the gallows.

There was no further news of moment in this very clever letter, except

that the price of horses' shoes was gone up again, though already

twopence-farthing each; and that Betty had broken her lover's head with

the stocking full of money; and then in the corner it was written that

the distinguished man of war, and worshipful scholar, Master Bloxham,

was now promoted to take the tolls, and catch all the rebels around our

part.

Lorna was greatly pleased with the goose, and the butter, and the

brandied cherries; and the Earl Brandir himself declared that he never

tasted better than those last, and would beg the young man from the

country to procure him instructions for making them. This nobleman,

being as deaf as a post, and of a very solid mind, could never be

brought to understand the nature of my thoughts towards Lorna. He looked

upon me as an excellent youth, who had rescued the maiden from the

Doones, whom he cordially detested; and learning that I had thrown two

of them out of window (as the story was told him), he patted me on the

back, and declared that his doors would ever be open to me, and that I

could not come too often.

I thought this very kind of his lordship, especially as it enabled me to

see my darling Lorna, not indeed as often as I wished, but at any

rate very frequently, and as many times as modesty (ever my leading

principle) would in common conscience approve of. And I made up my mind

that if ever I could help Earl Brandir, it would be--as we say, when

with brandy and water--the “proudest moment of my life,” when I could

fulfil the pledge.

And I soon was able to help Lord Brandir, as I think, in two different

ways; first of all as regarded his mind, and then as concerned his body:

and the latter perhaps was the greatest service, at his time of life.

But not to be too nice about that; let me tell how these things were.

Lorna said to me one day, being in a state of excitement--whereto she

was over prone, when reft of my slowness to steady her,--

“I will tell him, John; I must tell him, John. It is mean of me to

conceal it.”

I thought that she meant all about our love, which we had endeavoured

thrice to drill into his fine old ears; but could not make him

comprehend, without risk of bringing the house down: and so I said, “By

all means; darling; have another try at it.”

Lorna, however, looked at me--for her eyes told more than tongue--as

much as to say, “Well, you are a stupid. We agreed to let that subject

rest.” And then she saw that I was vexed at my own want of quickness;

and so she spoke very kindly,--

“I meant about his poor son, dearest; the son of his old age almost;

whose loss threw him into that dreadful cold--for he went, without hat,

to look for him--which ended in his losing the use of his dear old ears.

I believe if we could only get him to Plover's Barrows for a month, he

would be able to hear again. And look at his age! he is not much over

seventy, John, you know; and I hope that you will be able to hear me,

long after you are seventy, John.”

“Well,” said I, “God settles that. Or at any rate, He leaves us time

to think about those questions, when we are over fifty. Now let me know

what you want, Lorna. The idea of my being seventy! But you would still

be beautiful.”

“To the one who loves me,” she answered, trying to make wrinkles in her

pure bright forehead: “but if you will have common sense, as you always

will, John, whether I wish it or otherwise--I want to know whether I am

bound, in honour, and in conscience, to tell my dear and good old uncle

what I know about his son?”

“First let me understand quite clearly,” said I, never being in a hurry,

except when passion moves me, “what his lordship thinks at present; and

how far his mind is urged with sorrow and anxiety.” This was not the

first time we had spoken of the matter.

“Why, you know, John, well enough,” she answered, wondering at my

coolness, “that my poor uncle still believes that his one beloved

son will come to light and live again. He has made all arrangements

accordingly: all his property is settled on that supposition. He knows

that young Alan always was what he calls a 'feckless ne'er-do-weel;' but

he loves him all the more for that. He cannot believe that he will die,

without his son coming back to him; and he always has a bedroom ready,

and a bottle of Alan's favourite wine cool from out the cellar; he has

made me work him a pair of slippers from the size of a mouldy boot; and

if he hears of a new tobacco--much as he hates the smell of it--he will

go to the other end of London to get some for Alan. Now you know how

deaf he is; but if any one say, 'Alan,' even in the place outside the

door, he will make his courteous bow to the very highest visitor, and be

out there in a moment, and search the entire passage, and yet let no one

know it.”

“It is a piteous thing,” I said; for Lorna's eyes were full of tears.

“And he means me to marry him. It is the pet scheme of his life. I am

to grow more beautiful, and more highly taught, and graceful; until

it pleases Alan to come back, and demand me. Can you understand this

matter, John? Or do you think my uncle mad?”

“Lorna, I should be mad myself, to call any other man mad, for hoping.”

“Then will you tell me what to do? It makes me very sorrowful. For I

know that Alan Brandir lies below the sod in Doone-valley.”

“And if you tell his father,” I answered softly, but clearly, “in a few

weeks he will lie below the sod in London; at least if there is any.”

“Perhaps you are right, John,” she replied: “to lose hope must be a

dreadful thing, when one is turned of seventy. Therefore I will never

tell him.”

The other way in which I managed to help the good Earl Brandir was of

less true moment to him; but as he could not know of the first, this was

the one which moved him. And it happened pretty much as follows--though

I hardly like to tell, because it advanced me to such a height as I

myself was giddy at; and which all my friends resented greatly (save

those of my own family), and even now are sometimes bitter, in spite of

all my humility. Now this is a matter of history, because the King was

concerned in it; and being so strongly misunderstood, (especially in

my own neighbourhood, I will overcome so far as I can) my diffidence in

telling it.

The good Earl Brandir was a man of the noblest charity. True charity

begins at home, and so did his; and was afraid of losing the way, if it

went abroad. So this good nobleman kept his money in a handsome

pewter box, with his coat of arms upon it, and a double lid and locks.

Moreover, there was a heavy chain, fixed to a staple in the wall, so

that none might carry off the pewter with the gold inside of it. Lorna

told me the box was full, for she had seen him go to it, and she often

thought that it would be nice for us to begin the world with. I told

her that she must not allow her mind to dwell upon things of this sort;

being wholly against the last commandment set up in our church at Oare.

Now one evening towards September, when the days were drawing in,

looking back at the house to see whether Lorna were looking after me,

I espied (by a little glimpse, as it were) a pair of villainous fellows

(about whom there could be no mistake) watching from the thicket-corner,

some hundred yards or so behind the good Earl's dwelling. “There is

mischief afoot,” thought I to myself, being thoroughly conversant with

theft, from my knowledge of the Doones; “how will be the moon to-night,

and when may we expect the watch?”

I found that neither moon nor watch could be looked for until the

morning; the moon, of course, before the watch, and more likely to be

punctual. Therefore I resolved to wait, and see what those two villains

did, and save (if it were possible) the Earl of Brandir's pewter box.

But inasmuch as those bad men were almost sure to have seen me leaving

the house and looking back, and striking out on the London road, I

marched along at a merry pace, until they could not discern me; and

then I fetched a compass round, and refreshed myself at a certain inn,

entitled The Cross-bones and Buttons.

Here I remained until it was very nearly as dark as pitch; and the house

being full of footpads and cutthroats, I thought it right to leave them.

One or two came after me, in the hope of designing a stratagem; but I

dropped them in the darkness; and knowing all the neighbourhood well, I

took up my position, two hours before midnight, among the shrubs at the

eastern end of Lord Brandir's mansion. Hence, although I might not see,

I could scarcely fail to hear, if any unlawful entrance either at back

or front were made.

From my own observation, I thought it likely that the attack would be

in the rear; and so indeed it came to pass. For when all the lights were

quenched, and all the house was quiet, I heard a low and wily whistle

from a clump of trees close by; and then three figures passed between me

and a whitewashed wall, and came to a window which opened into a part

of the servants' basement. This window was carefully raised by some one

inside the house; and after a little whispering, and something which

sounded like a kiss, all the three men entered.

“Oh, you villains!” I said to myself, “this is worse than any Doone job;

because there is treachery in it.” But without waiting to consider the

subject from a moral point of view, I crept along the wall, and entered

very quietly after them; being rather uneasy about my life, because I

bore no fire-arms, and had nothing more than my holly staff, for even a

violent combat.

To me this was matter of deep regret, as I followed these vile men

inward. Nevertheless I was resolved that my Lorna should not be robbed

again. Through us (or at least through our Annie) she had lost that

brilliant necklace; which then was her only birthright: therefore it

behoved me doubly, to preserve the pewter box; which must belong to her

in the end, unless the thieves got hold of it.

I went along very delicately (as a man who has learned to wrestle can

do, although he may weigh twenty stone), following carefully the light,

brought by the traitorous maid, and shaking in her loose dishonest hand.

I saw her lead the men into a little place called a pantry; and there

she gave them cordials, and I could hear them boasting.

Not to be too long over it--which they were much inclined to be--I

followed them from this drinking-bout, by the aid of the light they

bore, as far as Earl Brandir's bedroom, which I knew, because Lorna had

shown it to me that I might admire the tapestry. But I had said that no

horse could ever be shod as the horses were shod therein, unless he had

the foot of a frog, as well as a frog to his foot. And Lorna had been

vexed at this (as taste and high art always are, at any small accurate

knowledge), and so she had brought me out again, before I had time to

admire things.

Now, keeping well away in the dark, yet nearer than was necessary to my

own dear Lorna's room, I saw these fellows try the door of the good Earl

Brandir, knowing from the maid, of course, that his lordship could hear

nothing, except the name of Alan. They tried the lock, and pushed at it,

and even set their knees upright; but a Scottish nobleman may be trusted

to secure his door at night. So they were forced to break it open; and

at this the guilty maid, or woman, ran away. These three rogues--for

rogues they were, and no charity may deny it--burst into Earl Brandir's

room, with a light, and a crowbar, and fire-arms. I thought to myself

that this was hard upon an honest nobleman; and if further mischief

could be saved, I would try to save it.

When I came to the door of the room, being myself in shadow, I beheld

two bad men trying vainly to break open the pewter box, and the third

with a pistol-muzzle laid to the night-cap of his lordship. With foul

face and yet fouler words, this man was demanding the key of the box,

which the other men could by no means open, neither drag it from the

chain.

[Illustration: 639.jpg Two bad men]

“I tell you,” said this aged Earl, beginning to understand at last what

these rogues were up for; “I will give no key to you. It all belongs to

my boy, Alan. No one else shall have a farthing.”

“Then you may count your moments, lord. The key is in your old cramped

hand. One, two, and at three, I shoot you.”

I saw that the old man was abroad; not with fear, but with great wonder,

and the regrets of deafness. And I saw that rather would he be shot

than let these men go rob his son, buried now, or laid to bleach in the

tangles of the wood, three, or it might be four years agone, but still

alive to his father. Hereupon my heart was moved; and I resolved to

interfere. The thief with the pistol began to count, as I crossed the

floor very quietly, while the old Earl fearfully gazed at the muzzle,

but clenched still tighter his wrinkled hand. The villain, with hair all

over his eyes, and the great horse-pistol levelled, cried “three,” and

pulled the trigger; but luckily, at that very moment, I struck up the

barrel with my staff, so that the shot pierced the tester, and then

with a spin and a thwack I brought the good holly down upon the rascal's

head, in a manner which stretched him upon the floor.

Meanwhile the other two robbers had taken the alarm, and rushed at me,

one with a pistol and one with a hanger; which forced me to be very

lively. Fearing the pistol most, I flung the heavy velvet curtain of the

bed across, that he might not see where to aim at me, and then stooping

very quickly I caught up the senseless robber, and set him up for a

shield and target; whereupon he was shot immediately, without having the

pain of knowing it; and a happy thing it was for him. Now the other two

were at my mercy, being men below the average strength; and no hanger,

except in most skilful hands, as well as firm and strong ones, has

any chance to a powerful man armed with a stout cudgel, and thoroughly

practised in single-stick.

So I took these two rogues, and bound them together; and leaving them

under charge of the butler (a worthy and shrewd Scotchman), I myself

went in search of the constables, whom, after some few hours, I found;

neither were they so drunk but what they could take roped men to prison.

In the morning, these two men were brought before the Justices of the

Peace: and now my wonderful luck appeared; for the merit of having

defeated, and caught them, would never have raised me one step in the

State, or in public consideration, if they had only been common robbers,

or even notorious murderers. But when these fellows were recognised,

by some one in the court, as Protestant witnesses out of employment,

companions and understrappers to Oates, and Bedloe, and Carstairs, and

hand in glove with Dangerfield, Turberville; and Dugdale--in a word, the

very men against whom His Majesty the King bore the bitterest rancour,

but whom he had hitherto failed to catch--when this was laid before the

public (with emphasis and admiration), at least a dozen men came

up, whom I had never seen before, and prayed me to accept their

congratulations, and to be sure to remember them; for all were of

neglected merit, and required no more than a piece of luck.

I answered them very modestly, and each according to his worth, as

stated by himself, who of course could judge the best. The magistrate

made me many compliments, ten times more than I deserved, and took good

care to have them copied, that His Majesty might see them. And ere the

case was thoroughly heard, and those poor fellows were committed, more

than a score of generous men had offered to lend me a hundred pounds,

wherewith to buy a new Court suit, when called before His Majesty.

Now this may seem very strange to us who live in a better and purer

age--or say at least that we do so--and yet who are we to condemn our

fathers for teaching us better manners, and at their own expense? With

these points any virtuous man is bound to deal quite tenderly, making

allowance for corruption, and not being too sure of himself. And to tell

the truth, although I had seen so little of the world as yet, that which

astonished me in the matter, was not so much that they paid me court, as

that they found out so soon the expediency of doing it.

In the course of that same afternoon I was sent for by His Majesty. He

had summoned first the good Earl Brandir, and received the tale from

him, not without exaggeration, although my lord was a Scotchman. But

the chief thing His Majesty cared to know was that, beyond all possible

doubt, these were the very precious fellows from perjury turned to

robbery.

Being fully assured at last of this, His Majesty had rubbed his hands,

and ordered the boots of a stricter pattern (which he himself had

invented) to be brought at once, that he might have them in the best

possible order. And he oiled them himself, and expressed his fear that

there was no man in London quite competent to work them. Nevertheless

he would try one or two, rather than wait for his pleasure, till the

torturer came from Edinburgh.

The next thing he did was to send for me; and in great alarm and flurry

I put on my best clothes, and hired a fashionable hairdresser, and drank

half a gallon of ale, because both my hands were shaking. Then forth I

set, with my holly staff, wishing myself well out of it. I was shown at

once, and before I desired it, into His Majesty's presence, and there I

stood most humbly, and made the best bow I could think of.

As I could not advance any farther--for I saw that the Queen was

present, which frightened me tenfold--His Majesty, in the most gracious

manner, came down the room to encourage me. And as I remained with my

head bent down, he told me to stand up, and look at him.

“I have seen thee before, young man,” he said; “thy form is not one to be

forgotten. Where was it? Thou art most likely to know.”

“May it please Your Most Gracious Majesty the King,” I answered, finding

my voice in a manner which surprised myself; “it was in the Royal

Chapel.”

Now I meant no harm whatever by this. I ought to have said the

“Ante-chapel,” but I could not remember the word, and feared to keep the

King looking at me.

“I am well-pleased,” said His Majesty, with a smile which almost made

his dark and stubborn face look pleasant, “to find that our greatest

subject, greatest I mean in the bodily form, is also a good Catholic.

Thou needest not say otherwise. The time shall be, and that right soon,

when men shall be proud of the one true faith.” Here he stopped, having

gone rather far! but the gleam of his heavy eyes was such that I durst

not contradict.

“This is that great Johann Reed,” said Her Majesty, coming forward,

because the King was in meditation; “for whom I have so much heard, from

the dear, dear Lorna. Ah, she is not of this black countree, she is of

the breet Italie.”

I have tried to write it, as she said it: but it wants a better scholar

to express her mode of speech.

“Now, John Ridd,” said the King, recovering from his thoughts about the

true Church, and thinking that his wife was not to take the lead upon

me; “thou hast done great service to the realm, and to religion. It was

good to save Earl Brandir, a loyal and Catholic nobleman; but it was

great service to catch two of the vilest bloodhounds ever laid on by

heretics. And to make them shoot one another: it was rare; it was rare,

my lad. Now ask us anything in reason; thou canst carry any honours, on

thy club, like Hercules. What is thy chief ambition, lad?”

“Well,” said I, after thinking a little, and meaning to make the most

of it, for so the Queen's eyes conveyed to me; “my mother always used to

think that having been schooled at Tiverton, with thirty marks a year to

pay, I was worthy of a coat of arms. And that is what she longs for.”

“A good lad! A very good lad,” said the King, and he looked at the

Queen, as if almost in joke; “but what is thy condition in life?”

“I am a freeholder,” I answered, in my confusion, “ever since the time

of King Alfred. A Ridd was with him in the isle of Athelney, and we hold

our farm by gift from him; or at least people say so. We have had three

very good harvests running, and might support a coat of arms; but for

myself I want it not.”

“Thou shalt have a coat, my lad,” said the King, smiling at his own

humour; “but it must be a large one to fit thee. And more than that

shalt thou have, John Ridd, being of such loyal breed, and having done

such service.”

And while I wondered what he meant, he called to some of the people in

waiting at the farther end of the room, and they brought him a little

sword, such as Annie would skewer a turkey with. Then he signified to me

to kneel, which I did (after dusting the board, for the sake of my

best breeches), and then he gave me a little tap very nicely upon my

shoulder, before I knew what he was up to; and said, “Arise, Sir John

Ridd!”

This astonished and amazed me to such extent of loss of mind, that when

I got up I looked about, and thought what the Snowes would think of it.

And I said to the King, without forms of speech,--

“Sir, I am very much obliged. But what be I to do with it?”