|
Prev
| Next
| Contents
CHAPTER LXII
THE KING MUST NOT BE PRAYED FOR
All our neighbourhood was surprised that the Doones
had not ere now attacked, and probably made an end of
us. For we lay almost at their mercy now, having only
Sergeant Bloxham, and three men, to protect us, Captain
Stickles having been ordered southwards with all his
force; except such as might be needful for collecting
toll, and watching the imports at Lynmouth, and thence
to Porlock. The Sergeant, having now imbibed a taste
for writing reports (though his first great effort had
done him no good, and only offended Stickles), reported
weekly from Plover's Barrows, whenever he could find a
messenger. And though we fed not Sergeant Bloxham at
our own table, with the best we had (as in the case of
Stickles, who represented His Majesty), yet we treated
him so well, that he reported very highly of us, as
loyal and true-hearted lieges, and most devoted to our
lord the King. And indeed he could scarcely have done
less, when Lizzie wrote great part of his reports, and
furbished up the rest to such a pitch of lustre, that
Lord Clarendon himself need scarce have been ashamed of
them. And though this cost a great deal of ale, and
even of strong waters (for Lizzie would have it the
duty of a critic to stand treat to the author), and
though it was otherwise a plague, as giving the maid
such airs of patronage, and such pretence to politics;
yet there was no stopping it, without the risk of
mortal offence to both writer and reviewer. Our mother
also, while disapproving Lizzie's long stay in the
saddle-room on a Friday night and a Saturday, and
insisting that Betty should be there, was nevertheless
as proud as need be, that the King should read our
Eliza' s writings--at least so the innocent soul
believed--and we all looked forward to something great
as the fruit of all this history. And something great
did come of it, though not as we expected; for these
reports, or as many of them as were ever opened, stood
us in good stead the next year, when we were accused of
harbouring and comforting guilty rebels.
Now the reason why the Doones did not attack us was
that they were preparing to meet another and more
powerful assault upon their fortress; being assured
that their repulse of King's troops could not be looked
over when brought before the authorities. And no doubt
they were right; for although the conflicts in the
Government during that summer and autumn had delayed
the matter yet positive orders had been issued
that these outlaws and malefactors should at any price
be brought to justice; when the sudden death of King
Charles the Second threw all things into confusion, and
all minds into a panic.
We heard of it first in church, on Sunday, the eighth
day of February, 1684-5, from a cousin of John Fry, who
had ridden over on purpose from Porlock. He came in
just before the anthem, splashed and heated from his
ride, so that every one turned and looked at him. He
wanted to create a stir (knowing how much would be made
of him), and he took the best way to do it. For he let
the anthem go by very quietly--or rather I should say
very pleasingly, for our choir was exceeding proud of
itself, and I sang bass twice as loud as a bull, to
beat the clerk with the clarionet--and then just as
Parson Bowden, with a look of pride at his minstrels,
was kneeling down to begin the prayer for the King's
Most Excellent Majesty (for he never read the litany,
except upon Easter Sunday), up jumps young Sam Fry, and
shouts,--
'I forbid that there prai-er.'
'What!' cried the parson, rising slowly, and looking
for some one to shut the door: 'have we a rebel in the
congregation?' For the parson was growing short-sighted
now, and knew not Sam Fry at that distance.
'No,' replied Sam, not a whit abashed by the staring of
all the parish; 'no rebel, parson; but a man who
mislaiketh popery and murder. That there prai-er be a
prai-er for the dead.'
'Nay,' cried the parson, now recognising and knowing
him to be our John's first cousin, 'you do not mean to
say, Sam, that His Gracious Majesty is dead!'
'Dead as a sto-un: poisoned by they Papishers.' And Sam
rubbed his hands with enjoyment, at the effect he had
produced.
'Remember where you are, Sam,' said Parson Bowden
solemnly; 'when did this most sad thing happen? The
King is the head of the Church, Sam Fry; when did he
leave her?'
'Day afore yesterday. Twelve o'clock. Warn't us quick
to hear of 'un?'
'Can't be,' said the minister: 'the tidings can never
have come so soon. Anyhow, he will want it all the
more. Let us pray for His Gracious Majesty.'
And with that he proceeded as usual; but nobody cried
'Amen,' for fear of being entangled with Popery. But
after giving forth his text, our parson said a few
words out of book, about the many virtues of His
Majesty, and self-denial, and devotion, comparing his
pious mirth to the dancing of the patriarch David
before the ark of the covenant; and he added, with some
severity, that if his flock would not join their pastor
(who was much more likely to judge aright) in praying
for the King, the least they could do on returning home
was to pray that the King might not be dead, as his
enemies had asserted.
Now when the service was over, we killed the King, and
we brought him to life, at least fifty times in the
churchyard: and Sam Fry was mounted on a high
gravestone, to tell every one all he knew of it. But
he knew no more than he had told us in the church, as
before repeated: upon which we were much disappointed
with him, and inclined to disbelieve him; until he
happily remembered that His Majesty had died in great
pain, with blue spots on his breast and black spots all
across his back, and these in the form of a cross, by
reason of Papists having poisoned him. When Sam called
this to his remembrance (or to his imagination) he was
overwhelmed, at once, with so many invitations to
dinner, that he scarce knew which of them to accept;
but decided in our favour.
Grieving much for the loss of the King, however greatly
it might be (as the parson had declared it was, while
telling us to pray against it) for the royal benefit, I
resolved to ride to Porlock myself, directly after
dinner, and make sure whether he were dead, or not.
For it was not by any means hard to suppose that Sam
Fry, being John's first cousin, might have inherited
either from grandfather or grandmother some of those
gifts which had made our John so famous for mendacity.
At Porlock I found that it was too true; and the women
of the town were in great distress, for the King had
always been popular with them: the men, on the other
hand, were forecasting what would be likely to ensue.
And I myself was of this number, riding sadly home
again; although bound to the King as churchwarden now;
which dignity, next to the parson's in rank, is with us
(as it ought to be in every good parish) hereditary.
For who can stick to the church like the man whose
father stuck to it before him; and who knows all the
little ins, and great outs, which must in these
troublous times come across?
But though appointed at last, by virtue of being best
farmer in the parish (as well as by vice of
mismanagement on the part of my mother, and Nicholas
Snowe, who had thoroughly muxed up everything, being
too quick-headed); yet, while I dwelled with pride upon
the fact that I stood in the King's shoes, as the
manager and promoter of the Church of England, and I
knew that we must miss His Majesty (whose arms were
above the Commandments), as the leader of our thoughts
in church, and handsome upon a guinea; nevertheless I
kept on thinking how his death would act on me.
And here I saw it, many ways. In the first place,
troubles must break out; and we had eight-and-twenty
ricks; counting grain, and straw, and hay. Moreover,
mother was growing weak about riots, and shooting, and
burning; and she gathered the bed-clothes around her
ears every night, when her feet were tucked up; and
prayed not to awake until morning. In the next place,
much rebellion (though we would not own it; in either
sense of the verb, to 'own') was whispering, and
plucking skirts, and making signs, among us. And the
terror of the Doones helped greatly; as a fruitful tree
of lawlessness, and a good excuse for everybody. And
after this--or rather before it, and first of all
indeed (if I must state the true order)--arose upon me
the thought of Lorna, and how these things would affect
her fate.
And indeed I must admit that it had occurred to me
sometimes, or been suggested by others, that the Lady
Lorna had not behaved altogether kindly, since her
departure from among us. For although in those days
the post (as we call the service of letter-carrying,
which now comes within twenty miles of us) did not
extend to our part of the world, yet it might have been
possible to procure for hire a man who would ride post,
if Lorna feared to trust the pack-horses, or the
troopers, who went to and fro. Yet no message whatever
had reached us; neither any token even of her safety in
London. As to this last, however, we had no
misgivings, having learned from the orderlies, more
than once, that the wealth, and beauty, and adventures
of young Lady Lorna Dugal were greatly talked of, both
at court and among the common people.
Now riding sadly homewards, in the sunset of the early
spring, I was more than ever touched with sorrow, and a
sense of being, as it were, abandoned. And the weather
growing quite beautiful, and so mild that the trees
were budding, and the cattle full of happiness, I could
not but think of the difference between the world of
to-day and the world of this day twelvemonth. Then all
was howling desolation, all the earth blocked up with
snow, and all the air with barbs of ice as small as
splintered needles, yet glittering, in and out, like
stars, and gathering so upon a man (if long he stayed
among them) that they began to weigh him down to
sleepiness and frozen death. Not a sign of life was
moving, nor was any change of view; unless the wild
wind struck the crest of some cold drift, and bowed it.
Now, on the other hand, all was good. The open palm of
spring was laid upon the yielding of the hills; and
each particular valley seemed to be the glove for a
finger. And although the sun was low, and dipping in
the western clouds, the gray light of the sea came up,
and took, and taking, told the special tone of
everything. All this lay upon my heart, without a word
of thinking, spreading light and shadow there, and the
soft delight of sadness. Nevertheless, I would it were
the savage snow around me, and the piping of the
restless winds, and the death of everything. For in
those days I had Lorna.
Then I thought of promise fair; such as glowed around
me, where the red rocks held the sun, when he was
departed; and the distant crags endeavoured to retain
his memory. But as evening spread across them, shading
with a silent fold, all the colour stole away; all
remembrance waned and died.
'So it has been with love,' I thought, 'and with simple
truth and warmth. The maid has chosen the glittering
stars, instead of the plain daylight.'
Nevertheless I would not give in, although in deep
despondency (especially when I passed the place where
my dear father had fought in vain), and I tried to see
things right and then judge aright about them. This,
however, was more easy to attempt than to achieve; and
by the time I came down the hill, I was none the wiser.
Only I could tell my mother that the King was dead for
sure; and she would have tried to cry, but for thought
of her mourning.
There was not a moment for lamenting. All the mourning
must be ready (if we cared to beat the Snowes) in
eight-and-forty hours: and, although it was Sunday
night, mother now feeling sure of the thing, sat up
with Lizzie, cutting patterns, and stitching things on
brown paper, and snipping, and laying the fashions
down, and requesting all opinions, yet when given,
scorning them; insomuch that I grew weary even of
tobacco (which had comforted me since Lorna), and
prayed her to go on until the King should be alive
again.
The thought of that so flurried her--for she never yet
could see a joke--that she laid her scissors on the
table and said, 'The Lord forbid, John! after what I
have cut up!'
'It would be just like him,' I answered, with a knowing
smile: 'Mother, you had better stop. Patterns may do
very well; but don't cut up any more good stuff.'
'Well, good lack, I am a fool! Three tables pegged with
needles! The Lord in His mercy keep His Majesty, if
ever He hath gotten him!'
By this device we went to bed; and not another stitch
was struck until the troopers had office-tidings that
the King was truly dead. Hence the Snowes beat us by a
day; and both old Betty and Lizzie laid the blame upon
me, as usual.
Almost before we had put off the mourning, which as
loyal subjects we kept for the King three months and a
week; rumours of disturbances, of plottings, and of
outbreak began to stir among us. We heard of fighting
in Scotland, and buying of ships on the continent, and
of arms in Dorset and Somerset; and we kept our beacon
in readiness to give signals of a landing; or rather
the soldiers did. For we, having trustworthy reports
that the King had been to high mass himself in the
Abbey of Westminster, making all the bishops go with
him, and all the guards in London, and then tortured
all the Protestants who dared to wait outside, moreover
had received from the Pope a flower grown in the Virgin
Mary's garden, and warranted to last for ever, we of
the moderate party, hearing all this and ten times as
much, and having no love for this sour James, such as
we had for the lively Charles, were ready to wait for
what might happen, rather than care about stopping it.
Therefore we listened to rumours gladly, and shook our
heads with gravity, and predicted, every man something,
but scarce any two the same. Nevertheless, in our
part, things went on as usual, until the middle of June
was nigh. We ploughed the ground, and sowed the corn,
and tended the cattle, and heeded every one his
neighbour's business, as carefully as heretofore; and
the only thing that moved us much was that Annie had a
baby. This being a very fine child with blue eyes,
and christened 'John' in compliment to me, and with me
for his godfather, it is natural to suppose that I
thought a good deal about him; and when mother or
Lizzie would ask me, all of a sudden, and
treacherously, when the fire flared up at supper-time
(for we always kept a little wood just alight in
summer-time, and enough to make the pot boil), then
when they would say to me, 'John, what are you thinking
of? At a word, speak!' I would always answer, 'Little
John Faggus'; and so they made no more of me.
But when I was down, on Saturday the thirteenth of
June, at the blacksmith's forge by Brendon town, where
the Lynn-stream runs so close that he dips his
horseshoes in it, and where the news is apt to come
first of all to our neighbourhood (except upon a
Sunday), while we were talking of the hay-crop, and of
a great sheep-stealer, round the corner came a man
upon a piebald horse looking flagged and weary. But
seeing half a dozen of us, young, and brisk, and
hearty, he made a flourish with his horse, and waved a
blue flag vehemently, shouting with great glory,--
'Monmouth and the Protestant faith! Monmouth and no
Popery! Monmouth, the good King's eldest son! Down
with the poisoning murderer! Down with the black
usurper, and to the devil with all papists!'
'Why so, thou little varlet?' I asked very quietly; for
the man was too small to quarrel with: yet knowing
Lorna to be a 'papist,' as we choose to call
them--though they might as well call us 'kingists,'
after the head of our Church--I thought that this
scurvy scampish knave might show them the way to the
place he mentioned, unless his courage failed him.
'Papist yourself, be you?' said the fellow, not daring
to answer much: 'then take this, and read it.'
And he handed me a long rigmarole, which he called a
'Declaration': I saw that it was but a heap of lies,
and thrust it into the blacksmith's fire, and blew the
bellows thrice at it. No one dared attempt to stop me,
for my mood had not been sweet of late; and of course
they knew my strength.
The man rode on with a muttering noise, having won no
recruits from us, by force of my example: and he
stopped at the ale-house farther down, where the road
goes away from the Lynn-stream. Some of us went
thither after a time, when our horses were shodden and
rasped, for although we might not like the man, we
might be glad of his tidings, which seemed to be
something wonderful. He had set up his blue flag in
the tap-room, and was teaching every one.
'Here coom'th Maister Jan Ridd,' said the landlady,
being well pleased with the call for beer and cider:
'her hath been to Lunnon-town, and live within a maile
of me. Arl the news coom from them nowadays, instead
of from here, as her ought to do. If Jan Ridd say it
be true, I will try almost to belave it. Hath the good
Duke landed, sir?' And she looked at me over a foaming
cup, and blew the froth off, and put more in.
'I have no doubt it is true enough,' I answered, before
drinking; 'and too true, Mistress Pugsley. Many a poor
man will die; but none shall die from our parish, nor
from Brendon, if I can help it.'
And I knew that I could help it; for every one in those
little places would abide by my advice; not only from
the fame of my schooling and long sojourn in London,
but also because I had earned repute for being very
'slow and sure': and with nine people out of ten this
is the very best recommendation. For they think
themselves much before you in wit, and under no
obligation, but rather conferring a favour, by doing
the thing that you do. Hence, if I cared for
influence--which means, for the most part, making
people do one's will, without knowing it--my first step
toward it would be to be called, in common parlance,
'slow but sure.'
For the next fortnight we were daily troubled with
conflicting rumours, each man relating what he desired,
rather than what he had right, to believe. We were
told that the Duke had been proclaimed King of England
in every town of Dorset and of Somerset; that he had
won a great battle at Axminster, and another at
Bridport, and another somewhere else; that all the
western counties had risen as one man for him, and all
the militia had joined his ranks; that Taunton, and
Bridgwater, and Bristowe, were all mad with delight,
the two former being in his hands, and the latter
craving to be so. And then, on the other hand, we
heard that the Duke had been vanquished, and put to
flight, and upon being apprehended, had confessed
himself an impostor and a papist as bad as the King
was.
We longed for Colonel Stickles (as he always became in
time of war, though he fell back to Captain, and even
Lieutenant, directly the fight was over), for then we
should have won trusty news, as well as good
consideration. But even Sergeant Bloxham, much against
his will, was gone, having left his heart with our
Lizzie, and a collection of all his writings. All the
soldiers had been ordered away at full speed for
Exeter, to join the Duke of Albemarle, or if he were
gone, to follow him. As for us, who had fed them so
long (although not quite for nothing), we must take our
chance of Doones, or any other enemies.
Now all these tidings moved me a little; not enough to
spoil appetite, but enough to make things lively, and
to teach me that look of wisdom which is bred of
practice only, and the hearing of many lies. Therefore
I withheld my judgment, fearing to be triumphed over,
if it should happen to miss the mark. But mother and
Lizzie, ten times in a day, predicted all they could
imagine; and their prophecies increased in strength
according to contradiction. Yet this was not in the
proper style for a house like ours, which knew the
news, or at least had known it; and still was famous,
all around, for the last advices. Even from Lynmouth,
people sent up to Plover's Barrows to ask how things
were going on: and it was very grievous to answer that
in truth we knew not, neither had heard for days and
days; and our reputation was so great, especially since
the death of the King had gone abroad from Oare parish,
that many inquirers would only wink, and lay a finger
on the lip, as if to say, 'you know well enough, but
see not fit to tell me.' And before the end arrived,
those people believed that they had been right all
along, and that we had concealed the truth from them.
For I myself became involved (God knows how much
against my will and my proper judgment) in the troubles,
and the conflict, and the cruel work coming
afterwards. If ever I had made up my mind to anything
in all my life, it was at this particular time, and as
stern and strong as could be. I had resolved to let
things pass, --to hear about them gladly, to encourage
all my friends to talk, and myself to express opinion
upon each particular point, when in the fullness of
time no further doubt could be. But all my policy went
for nothing, through a few touches of feeling.
One day at the beginning of July, I came home from mowing
about noon, or a little later, to fetch some cider for all
of us, and to eat a morsel of bacon. For mowing was no
joke that year, the summer being wonderfully wet (even
for our wet country), and the swathe falling heavier
over the scythe than ever I could remember it. We were
drenched with rain almost every day; but the mowing
must be done somehow; and we must trust to God for the
haymaking.
In the courtyard I saw a little cart, with iron brakes
underneath it, such as fastidious people use to deaden
the jolting of the road; but few men under a lord or
baronet would be so particular. Therefore I wondered
who our noble visitor could be. But when I entered the
kitchen-place, brushing up my hair for somebody, behold
it was no one greater than our Annie, with my godson in
her arms, and looking pale and tear-begone. And at
first she could not speak to me. But presently having
sat down a little, and received much praise for her
baby, she smiled and blushed, and found her tongue as
if she had never gone from us.
'How natural it all looks again! Oh, I love this old
kitchen so! Baby dear, only look at it wid him pitty,
pitty eyes, and him tongue out of his mousy! But who
put the flour-riddle up there. And look at the pestle
and mortar, and rust I declare in the patty pans! And a
book, positively a dirty book, where the clean skewers
ought to hang! Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie!'
'You may just as well cease lamenting,' I said, 'for
you can't alter Lizzie's nature, and you will only make
mother uncomfortable, and perhaps have a quarrel with
Lizzie, who is proud as Punch of her housekeeping.'
'She,' cried Annie, with all the contempt that could be
compressed in a syllable. 'Well, John, no doubt you
are right about it. I will try not to notice things.
But it is a hard thing, after all my care, to see
everything going to ruin. But what can be expected of
a girl who knows all the kings of Carthage?'
'There were no kings of Carthage, Annie. They were
called, why let me see--they were called--oh, something
else.'
'Never mind what they were called,' said Annie; 'will
they cook our dinner for us? But now, John, I am in
such trouble. All this talk is make-believe.'
'Don't you cry, my dear: don't cry, my darling sister,'
I answered, as she dropped into the worn place of the
settle, and bent above her infant, rocking as if both
their hearts were one: 'don't you know, Annie, I cannot
tell, but I know, or at least I mean, I have heard the
men of experience say, it is so bad for the baby.'
'Perhaps I know that as well as you do, John,' said
Annie, looking up at me with a gleam of her old
laughing: 'but how can I help crying; I am in such
trouble.'
'Tell me what it is, my dear. Any grief of yours will
vex me greatly; but I will try to bear it.'
'Then, John, it is just this. Tom has gone off with
the rebels; and you must, oh, you must go after him.'
Prev
| Next
| Contents
|
