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CHAPTER XXXI
JOHN FRY'S ERRAND
We kept up the dance very late that night, mother being in such
wonderful spirits, that she would not hear of our going to bed:
while she glanced from young Squire Marwood, very deep
in his talk with our Annie, to me and Ruth Huckaback
who were beginning to be very pleasant company. Alas,
poor mother, so proud as she was, how little she
dreamed that her good schemes already were hopelessly
going awry!
Being forced to be up before daylight next day, in
order to begin right early, I would not go to my
bedroom that night for fear of disturbing my mother,
but determined to sleep in the tallat awhile, that
place being cool, and airy, and refreshing with the
smell of sweet hay. Moreover, after my dwelling in
town, where I had felt like a horse on a lime-kiln, I
could not for a length of time have enough of country
life. The mooing of a calf was music, and the chuckle
of a fowl was wit, and the snore of the horses was news
to me.
'Wult have thee own wai, I reckon,' said Betty, being
cross with sleepiness, for she had washed up
everything; 'slape in hog-pound, if thee laikes, Jan.'
Letting her have the last word of it (as is the due of
women) I stood in the court, and wondered awhile at the
glory of the harvest moon, and the yellow world it
shone upon. Then I saw, as sure as ever I was standing
there in the shadow of the stable, I saw a short wide
figure glide across the foot of the courtyard, between
me and the six-barred gate. Instead of running after
it, as I should have done, I began to consider who it
could be, and what on earth was doing there, when all
our people were in bed, and the reapers gone home, or
to the linhay close against the wheatfield.
Having made up my mind at last, that it could be none
of our people--though not a dog was barking--and also
that it must have been either a girl or a woman, I ran
down with all speed to learn what might be the meaning
of it. But I came too late to learn, through my own
hesitation, for this was the lower end of the
courtyard, not the approach from the parish highway,
but the end of the sledd-way, across the fields where
the brook goes down to the Lynn stream, and where
Squire Faggus had saved the old drake. And of course
the dry channel of the brook, being scarcely any water
now, afforded plenty of place to hide, leading also to
a little coppice, beyond our cabbage-garden, and so
further on to the parish highway.
I saw at once that it was vain to make any pursuit by
moonlight; and resolving to hold my own counsel about
it (though puzzled not a little) and to keep watch
there another night, back I returned to the tallatt-ladder, and
slept without leaving off till morning.
Now many people may wish to know, as indeed I myself
did very greatly, what had brought Master Huckaback
over from Dulverton, at that time of year, when the
clothing business was most active on account of harvest
wages, and when the new wheat was beginning to sample
from the early parts up the country (for he meddled as
well in corn-dealing) and when we could not attend to
him properly by reason of our occupation. And yet more
surprising it seemed to me that he should have brought
his granddaughter also, instead of the troop of
dragoons, without which he had vowed he would never
come here again. And how he had managed to enter the
house together with his granddaughter, and be sitting
quite at home in the parlour there, without any
knowledge or even suspicion on my part. That last
question was easily solved, for mother herself had
admitted them by means of the little passage, during a
chorus of the harvest-song which might have drowned an
earthquake: but as for his meaning and motive, and
apparent neglect of his business, none but himself
could interpret them; and as he did not see fit to do
so, we could not be rude enough to inquire.
He seemed in no hurry to take his departure, though his
visit was so inconvenient to us, as himself indeed must
have noticed: and presently Lizzie, who was the
sharpest among us, said in my hearing that she believed
he had purposely timed his visit so that he might have
liberty to pursue his own object, whatsoever it were,
without interruption from us. Mother gazed hard upon
Lizzie at this, having formed a very different opinion;
but Annie and myself agreed that it was worth looking
into.
Now how could we look into it, without watching Uncle
Reuben, whenever he went abroad, and trying to catch
him in his speech, when he was taking his ease at
night. For, in spite of all the disgust with which he
had spoken of harvest wassailing, there was not a man
coming into our kitchen who liked it better than he
did; only in a quiet way, and without too many
witnesses. Now to endeavour to get at the purpose of
any guest, even a treacherous one (which we had no
right to think Uncle Reuben) by means of observing him
in his cups, is a thing which even the lowest of people
would regard with abhorrence. And to my mind it was
not clear whether it would be fair-play at all to
follow a visitor even at a distance from home and clear
of our premises; except for the purpose of fetching him
back, and giving him more to go on with. Nevertheless
we could not but think, the times being wild and
disjointed, that Uncle Ben was not using fairly the
part of a guest in our house, to make long expeditions
we knew not whither, and involve us in trouble we knew
not what.
For his mode was directly after breakfast to pray to
the Lord a little (which used not to be his practice),
and then to go forth upon Dolly, the which was our
Annie's pony, very quiet and respectful, with a bag of
good victuals hung behind him, and two great cavalry
pistols in front. And he always wore his meanest
clothes as if expecting to be robbed, or to disarm the
temptation thereto; and he never took his golden
chronometer neither his bag of money. So much the
girls found out and told me (for I was never at home
myself by day); and they very craftily spurred me on,
having less noble ideas perhaps, to hit upon Uncle
Reuben's track, and follow, and see what became of him.
For he never returned until dark or more, just in time
to be in before us, who were coming home from the
harvest. And then Dolly always seemed very weary, and
stained with a muck from beyond our parish.
But I refused to follow him, not only for the loss of a
day's work to myself, and at least half a day to the
other men, but chiefly because I could not think that
it would be upright and manly. It was all very well to
creep warily into the valley of the Doones, and heed
everything around me, both because they were public
enemies, and also because I risked my life at every
step I took there. But as to tracking a feeble old man
(however subtle he might be), a guest moreover of our
own, and a relative through my mother.--'Once for all,'
I said, 'it is below me, and I won't do it.'
Thereupon, the girls, knowing my way, ceased to torment
me about it: but what was my astonishment the very next
day to perceive that instead of fourteen reapers, we
were only thirteen left, directly our breakfast was
done with--or mowers rather I should say, for we were
gone into the barley now.
'Who has been and left his scythe?' I asked; 'and here's a tin
cup never been handled!'
'Whoy, dudn't ee knaw, Maister Jan,' said Bill Dadds,
looking at me queerly, 'as Jan Vry wur gane avore
braxvass.'
'Oh, very well,' I answered, 'John knows what he is
doing.' For John Fry was a kind of foreman now, and it
would not do to say anything that might lessen his
authority. However, I made up my mind to rope him,
when I should catch him by himself, without peril to
his dignity.
But when I came home in the evening, late and almost
weary, there was no Annie cooking my supper, nor Lizzie
by the fire reading, nor even little Ruth Huckaback
watching the shadows and pondering. Upon this, I went
to the girls' room, not in the very best of tempers,
and there I found all three of them in the little place
set apart for Annie, eagerly listening to John Fry, who
was telling some great adventure. John had a great jug
of ale beside him, and a horn well drained; and he
clearly looked upon himself as a hero, and the maids
seemed to be of the same opinion.
'Well done, John,' my sister was saying, 'capitally
done, John Fry. How very brave you have been, John.
Now quick, let us hear the rest of it.'
'What does all this nonsense mean?' I said, in a voice
which frightened them, as I could see by the light of
our own mutton candles: 'John Fry, you be off to your
wife at once, or you shall have what I owe you now, instead of
to-morrow morning.'
John made no answer, but scratched his head, and looked
at the maidens to take his part.
'It is you that must be off, I think,' said Lizzie,
looking straight at me with all the impudence in the
world; 'what right have you to come in here to the
young ladies' room, without an invitation even?'
'Very well, Miss Lizzie, I suppose mother has some
right here.' And with that, I was going away to fetch
her, knowing that she always took my side, and never
would allow the house to be turned upside down in that
manner. But Annie caught hold of me by the arm, and
little Ruth stood in the doorway; and Lizzie said,
'Don't be a fool, John. We know things of you, you
know; a great deal more than you dream of.'
Upon this I glanced at Annie, to learn whether she had
been telling, but her pure true face reassured me at
once, and then she said very gently,--
'Lizzie, you talk too fast, my child. No one knows
anything of our John which he need be ashamed of; and
working as he does from light to dusk, and earning the
living of all of us, he is entitled to choose his own
good time for going out and for coming in, without
consulting a little girl five years younger than
himself. Now, John, sit down, and you shall know all
that we have done, though I doubt whether you will
approve of it.'
Upon this I kissed Annie, and so did Ruth; and John Fry
looked a deal more comfortable, but Lizzie only made a
face at us. Then Annie began as follows:--
'You must know, dear John, that we have been extremely
curious, ever since Uncle Reuben came, to know what he
was come for, especially at this time of year, when he
is at his busiest. He never vouchsafed any
explanation, neither gave any reason, true or false,
which shows his entire ignorance of all feminine
nature. If Ruth had known, and refused to tell us, we
should have been much easier, because we must have got
it out of Ruth before two or three days were over. But
darling Ruth knew no more than we did, and indeed I
must do her the justice to say that she has been quite
as inquisitive. Well, we might have put up with it, if
it had not been for his taking Dolly, my own pet Dolly,
away every morning, quite as if she belonged to him,
and keeping her out until close upon dark, and then
bringing her home in a frightful condition. And he
even had the impudence, when I told him that Dolly was
my pony, to say that we owed him a pony, ever since you
took from him that little horse upon which you found
him strapped so snugly; and he means to take Dolly to
Dulverton with him, to run in his little cart. If
there is law in the land he shall not. Surely, John,
you will not let him?'
'That I won't,' said I, 'except upon the conditions
which I offered him once before. If we owe him the
pony, we owe him the straps.'
Sweet Annie laughed, like a bell, at this, and then she
went on with her story.
'Well, John, we were perfectly miserable. You cannot
understand it, of course; but I used to go every
evening, and hug poor Dolly, and kiss her, and beg her
to tell me where she had been, and what she had seen,
that day. But never having belonged to Balaam, darling
Dolly was quite unsuccessful, though often she strove
to tell me, with her ears down, and both eyes rolling.
Then I made John Fry tie her tail in a knot, with a
piece of white ribbon, as if for adornment, that I
might trace her among the hills, at any rate for a mile
or two. But Uncle Ben was too deep for that; he cut
off the ribbon before he started, saying he would have
no Doones after him. And then, in despair, I applied
to you, knowing how quick of foot you are, and I got
Ruth and Lizzie to help me, but you answered us very
shortly; and a very poor supper you had that night,
according to your deserts.
'But though we were dashed to the ground for a time, we
were not wholly discomfited. Our determination to know
all about it seemed to increase with the difficulty.
And Uncle Ben's manner last night was so dry, when we
tried to romp and to lead him out, that it was much
worse than Jamaica ginger grated into a poor sprayed
finger. So we sent him to bed at the earliest moment,
and held a small council upon him. If you remember
you, John, having now taken to smoke (which is a
hateful practice), had gone forth grumbling about your
bad supper and not taking it as a good lesson.'
'Why, Annie,' I cried, in amazement at this, 'I will
never trust you again for a supper. I thought you were
so sorry.'
'And so I was, dear; very sorry. But still we must do
our duty. And when we came to consider it, Ruth was
the cleverest of us all; for she said that surely we
must have some man we could trust about the farm to go
on a little errand; and then I remembered that old John
Fry would do anything for money.'
'Not for money, plaize, miss,' said John Fry, taking a
pull at the beer; 'but for the love of your swate
face.'
'To be sure, John; with the King's behind it. And so
Lizzie ran for John Fry at once, and we gave him full
directions, how he was to slip out of the barley in the
confusion of the breakfast, so that none might miss
him; and to run back to the black combe bottom, and
there he would find the very same pony which Uncle Ben
had been tied upon, and there is no faster upon the
farm. And then, without waiting for any breakfast
unless he could eat it either running or trotting, he
was to travel all up the black combe, by the track
Uncle Reuben had taken, and up at the top to look
forward carefully, and so to trace him without being
seen.'
'Ay; and raight wull a doo'd un,' John cried, with his
mouth in the bullock's horn.
'Well, and what did you see, John?' I asked, with great
anxiety; though I meant to have shown no interest.
'John was just at the very point of it,' Lizzie
answered me sharply, 'when you chose to come in and
stop him.'
'Then let him begin again,' said I; 'things being gone
so far, it is now my duty to know everything, for the
sake of you girls and mother.'
'Hem!' cried Lizzie, in a nasty way; but I took no
notice of her, for she was always bad to deal with.
Therefore John Fry began again, being heartily glad to
do so, that his story might get out of the tumble which
all our talk had made in it. But as he could not tell
a tale in the manner of my Lorna (although he told it
very well for those who understood him) I will take it
from his mouth altogether, and state in brief what
happened.
When John, upon his forest pony, which he had much ado
to hold (its mouth being like a bucket), was come to
the top of the long black combe, two miles or more from
Plover's Barrows, and winding to the southward, he
stopped his little nag short of the crest, and got off
and looked ahead of him, from behind a tump of
whortles. It was a long flat sweep of moorland over
which he was gazing, with a few bogs here and there,
and brushy places round them. Of course, John Fry,
from his shepherd life and reclaiming of strayed
cattle, knew as well as need be where he was, and the
spread of the hills before him, although it was beyond
our beat, or, rather, I should say, beside it. Not but
what we might have grazed there had it been our
pleasure, but that it was not worth our while, and
scarcely worth Jasper Kebby's even; all the land being
cropped (as one might say) with desolation. And nearly
all our knowledge of it sprang from the unaccountable
tricks of cows who have young calves with them; at
which time they have wild desire to get away from the
sight of man, and keep calf and milk for one another,
although it be in a barren land. At least, our cows
have gotten this trick, and I have heard other people
complain of it.
John Fry, as I said, knew the place well enough, but he
liked it none the more for that, neither did any of our
people; and, indeed, all the neighbourhood of Thomshill
and Larksborough, and most of all Black Barrow Down lay
under grave imputation of having been enchanted with a
very evil spell. Moreover, it was known, though folk
were loath to speak of it, even on a summer morning,
that Squire Thom, who had been murdered there, a
century ago or more, had been seen by several
shepherds, even in the middle day, walking with his
severed head carried in his left hand, and his right
arm lifted towards the sun.
Therefore it was very bold in John (as I acknowledged)
to venture across that moor alone, even with a fast
pony under him, and some whisky by his side. And he
would never have done so (of that I am quite certain),
either for the sake of Annie's sweet face, or of the
golden guinea, which the three maidens had subscribed
to reward his skill and valour. But the truth was that
he could not resist his own great curiosity. For,
carefully spying across the moor, from behind the tuft
of whortles, at first he could discover nothing having
life and motion, except three or four wild cattle
roving in vain search for nourishment, and a diseased
sheep banished hither, and some carrion crows keeping
watch on her. But when John was taking his very last
look, being only too glad to go home again, and
acknowledge himself baffled, he thought he saw a figure
moving in the farthest distance upon Black Barrow Down,
scarcely a thing to be sure of yet, on account of the
want of colour. But as he watched, the figure passed
between him and a naked cliff, and appeared to be a man
on horseback, making his way very carefully, in fear of
bogs and serpents. For all about there it is adders'
ground, and large black serpents dwell in the marshes,
and can swim as well as crawl.
John knew that the man who was riding there could be
none but Uncle Reuben, for none of the Doones ever
passed that way, and the shepherds were afraid of it.
And now it seemed an unkind place for an unarmed man to
venture through, especially after an armed one who
might not like to be spied upon, and must have some
dark object in visiting such drear solitudes.
Nevertheless John Fry so ached with unbearable
curiosity to know what an old man, and a stranger, and
a rich man, and a peaceable could possibly be after in
that mysterious manner. Moreover, John so throbbed
with hope to find some wealthy secret, that come what
would of it he resolved to go to the end of the matter.
Therefore he only waited awhile for fear of being
discovered, till Master Huckaback turned to the left
and entered a little gully, whence he could not survey
the moor. Then John remounted and crossed the rough
land and the stony places, and picked his way among the
morasses as fast as ever he dared to go; until, in
about half an hour, he drew nigh the entrance of the
gully. And now it behoved him to be most wary; for
Uncle Ben might have stopped in there, either to rest
his horse or having reached the end of his journey.
And in either case, John had little doubt that he
himself would be pistolled, and nothing more ever heard
of him. Therefore he made his pony come to the mouth
of it sideways, and leaned over and peered in around
the rocky corner, while the little horse cropped at the
briars.
But he soon perceived that the gully was empty, so far
at least as its course was straight; and with that he
hastened into it, though his heart was not working
easily. When he had traced the winding hollow for half
a mile or more, he saw that it forked, and one part led
to the left up a steep red bank, and the other to the
right, being narrow and slightly tending downwards.
Some yellow sand lay here and there between the
starving grasses, and this he examined narrowly for a
trace of Master Huckaback.
At last he saw that, beyond all doubt, the man he was
pursuing had taken the course which led down hill; and
down the hill he must follow him. And this John did
with deep misgivings, and a hearty wish that he had
never started upon so perilous an errand. For now he
knew not where he was, and scarcely dared to ask
himself, having heard of a horrible hole, somewhere in
this neighbourhood, called the Wizard's Slough.
Therefore John rode down the slope, with sorrow, and
great caution. And these grew more as he went onward,
and his pony reared against him, being scared, although
a native of the roughest moorland. And John had just
made up his mind that God meant this for a warning, as
the passage seemed darker and deeper, when suddenly he
turned a corner, and saw a scene which stopped him.
For there was the Wizard's Slough itself, as black as
death, and bubbling, with a few scant yellow reeds in a
ring around it. Outside these, bright water-grass of
the liveliest green was creeping, tempting any unwary
foot to step, and plunge, and founder. And on the
marge were blue campanula, sundew, and forget-me-not,
such as no child could resist. On either side, the
hill fell back, and the ground was broken with tufts of
rush, and flag, and mares-tail, and a few rough
alder-trees overclogged with water. And not a bird was
seen or heard, neither rail nor water-hen, wag-tail
nor reed-warbler.
Of this horrible quagmire, the worst upon all Exmoor,
John had heard from his grandfather, and even from his
mother, when they wanted to keep him quiet; but his
father had feared to speak of it to him, being a man of
piety, and up to the tricks of the evil one. This made
John the more desirous to have a good look at it now,
only with his girths well up, to turn away and flee at
speed, if anything should happen. And now he proved
how well it is to be wary and wide-awake, even in
lonesome places. For at the other side of the Slough,
and a few land-yards beyond it, where the ground was
less noisome, he had observed a felled tree lying over
a great hole in the earth, with staves of wood, and
slabs of stone, and some yellow gravel around it. But
the flags of reeds around the morass partly screened it
from his eyes, and he could not make out the meaning of
it, except that it meant no good, and probably was
witchcraft. Yet Dolly seemed not to be harmed by it,
for there she was as large as life, tied to a stump not
far beyond, and flipping the flies away with her tail.
While John was trembling within himself, lest Dolly
should get scent of his pony, and neigh and reveal
their presence, although she could not see them,
suddenly to his great amazement something white arose
out of the hole, under the brown trunk of the tree.
Seeing this his blood went back within him, yet he was
not able to turn and flee, but rooted his face in among
the loose stones, and kept his quivering shoulders
back, and prayed to God to protect him. However, the
white thing itself was not so very awful, being nothing
more than a long-coned night-cap with a tassel on the
top, such as criminals wear at hanging-time. But when
John saw a man's face under it, and a man's neck and
shoulders slowly rising out of the pit, he could not
doubt that this was the place where the murderers come
to life again, according to the Exmoor story. He knew
that a man had been hanged last week, and that this was
the ninth day after it.
Therefore he could bear no more, thoroughly brave as he
had been, neither did he wait to see what became of the
gallows-man; but climbed on his horse with what speed
he might, and rode away at full gallop. Neither did he
dare go back by the way he came, fearing to face Black
Barrow Down! therefore he struck up the other track
leading away towards Cloven Rocks, and after riding
hard for an hour and drinking all his whisky, he
luckily fell in with a shepherd, who led him on to a
public-house somewhere near Exeford. And here he was
so unmanned, the excitement being over, that nothing
less than a gallon of ale and half a gammon of bacon,
brought him to his right mind again. And he took good
care to be home before dark, having followed a
well-known sheep track.
When John Fry finished his story at last, after many
exclamations from Annie, and from Lizzie, and much
praise of his gallantry, yet some little disappointment
that he had not stayed there a little longer, while he
was about it, so as to be able to tell us more, I said
to him very sternly,--
'Now, John, you have dreamed half this, my man. I
firmly believe that you fell asleep at the top of the
black combe, after drinking all your whisky, and never
went on the moor at all. You know what a liar you are,
John.'
The girls were exceedingly angry at this, and laid
their hands before my mouth; but I waited for John to
answer, with my eyes fixed upon him steadfastly.
'Bain't for me to denai,' said John, looking at me very
honestly, 'but what a maight tull a lai, now and
awhiles, zame as other men doth, and most of arl them
as spaks again it; but this here be no lai, Maister
Jan. I wush to God it wor, boy: a maight slape this
naight the better.'
'I believe you speak the truth, John; and I ask your
pardon. Now not a word to any one, about this strange
affair. There is mischief brewing, I can see; and it
is my place to attend to it. Several things come
across me now--onlyI will not tell you.'
They were not at all contented with this; but I would
give them no better; except to say, when they plagued
me greatly, and vowed to sleep at my door all night,--
'Now, my dears, this is foolish of you. Too much of
this matter is known already. It is for your own dear
sakes that I am bound to be cautious. I have an
opinion of my own; but it may be a very wrong one; I
will not ask you to share it with me; neither will I
make you inquisitive.'
Annie pouted, and Lizzie frowned, and Ruth looked at me
with her eyes wide open, but no other mark of regarding
me. And I saw that if any one of the three (for John
Fry was gone home with the trembles) could be trusted
to keep a secret, that one was Ruth Huckaback.
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