Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor Page 16

  CHAPTER XV

  MASTER HUCKABACK FAILS OF WARRANT

  On the following day Master Huckaback, with some show of mystery,demanded from my mother an escort into a dangerous part of the world, towhich his business compelled him. My mother made answer to this thathe was kindly welcome to take our John Fry with him; at which the goodclothier laughed, and said that John was nothing like big enough, butanother John must serve his turn, not only for his size, but because ifhe were carried away, no stone would be left unturned upon Exmoor, untilhe should be brought back again. Hereupon my mother grew very pale, andfound fifty reasons against my going, each of them weightier than thetrue one, as Eliza (who was jealous of me) managed to whisper toAnnie. On the other hand, I was quite resolved (directly the thing wasmentioned) to see Uncle Reuben through with it; and it added much to myself-esteem to be the guard of so rich a man. Therefore I soon persuadedmother, with her head upon my breast, to let me go and trust in God; andafter that I was greatly vexed to find that this dangerous enterprisewas nothing more than a visit to the Baron de Whichehalse, to layan information, and sue a warrant against the Doones, and a posse toexecute it.

  Stupid as I always have been, and must ever be no doubt, I could wellhave told Uncle Reuben that his journey was no wiser than that ofthe men of Gotham; that he never would get from Hugh de Whichehalse awarrant against the Doones; moreover, that if he did get one, his ownwig would be singed with it. But for divers reasons I held my peace,partly from youth and modesty, partly from desire to see whatever pleaseGod I should see, and partly from other causes.

  We rode by way of Brendon town, Illford Bridge, and Babbrook, to avoidthe great hill above Lynmouth; and the day being fine and clear again, Ilaughed in my sleeve at Uncle Reuben for all his fine precautions. Whenwe arrived at Ley Manor, we were shown very civilly into the hall, andrefreshed with good ale and collared head, and the back of a Christmaspudding. I had never been under so fine a roof (unless it were of achurch) before; and it pleased me greatly to be so kindly entreated byhigh-born folk. But Uncle Reuben was vexed a little at being set downside by side with a man in a very small way of trade, who was comeupon some business there, and who made bold to drink his health afterfinishing their horns of ale.

  'Sir,' said Uncle Ben, looking at him, 'my health would fare muchbetter, if you would pay me three pounds and twelve shillings, which youhave owed me these five years back; and now we are met at the Justice's,the opportunity is good, sir.'

  After that, we were called to the Justice-room, where the Baron himselfwas sitting with Colonel Harding, another Justiciary of the King'speace, to help him. I had seen the Baron de Whichehalse before, and wasnot at all afraid of him, having been at school with his son as he knew,and it made him very kind to me. And indeed he was kind to everybody,and all our people spoke well of him; and so much the more because weknew that the house was in decadence. For the first De Whichehalse hadcome from Holland, where he had been a great nobleman, some hundred andfifty years agone. Being persecuted for his religion, when the Spanishpower was everything, he fled to England with all he could save, andbought large estates in Devonshire. Since then his descendants hadintermarried with ancient county families, Cottwells, and Marwoods, andWalronds, and Welses of Pylton, and Chichesters of Hall; and several ofthe ladies brought them large increase of property. And so about fiftyyears before the time of which I am writing, there were few names in theWest of England thought more of than De Whichehalse. But now they hadlost a great deal of land, and therefore of that which goes with land,as surely as fame belongs to earth--I mean big reputation. How they hadlost it, none could tell; except that as the first descendants hada manner of amassing, so the later ones were gifted with a power ofscattering. Whether this came of good Devonshire blood opening thesluice of Low Country veins, is beyond both my province and my power toinquire. Anyhow, all people loved this last strain of De Whichehalse farmore than the name had been liked a hundred years agone.

  Hugh de Whichehalse, a white-haired man, of very noble presence, withfriendly blue eyes and a sweet smooth forehead, and aquiline nosequite beautiful (as you might expect in a lady of birth), and thin lipscurving delicately, this gentleman rose as we entered the room; whileColonel Harding turned on his chair, and struck one spur against theother. I am sure that, without knowing aught of either, we must havereverenced more of the two the one who showed respect to us. And yetnine gentleman out of ten make this dull mistake when dealing with theclass below them!

  Uncle Reuben made his very best scrape, and then walked up to the table,trying to look as if he did not know himself to be wealthier than boththe gentlemen put together. Of course he was no stranger to them, anymore than I was; and, as it proved afterwards, Colonel Harding owed hima lump of money, upon very good security. Of him Uncle Reuben took nonotice, but addressed himself to De Whichehalse.

  The Baron smiled very gently, so soon as he learned the cause of thisvisit, and then he replied quite reasonably.

  'A warrant against the Doones, Master Huckaback. Which of the Doones, soplease you; and the Christian names, what be they?'

  'My lord, I am not their godfather; and most like they never had any.But we all know old Sir Ensor's name, so that may be no obstacle.'

  'Sir Ensor Doone and his sons--so be it. How many sons, MasterHuckaback, and what is the name of each one?'

  'How can I tell you, my lord, even if I had known them all as well as myown shop-boys? Nevertheless there were seven of them, and that should beno obstacle.'

  'A warrant against Sir Ensor Doone, and seven sons of Sir Ensor Doone,Christian names unknown, and doubted if they have any. So far so goodMaster Huckaback. I have it all down in writing. Sir Ensor himself wasthere, of course, as you have given in evidence--'

  'No, no, my lord, I never said that: I never said--'

  'If he can prove that he was not there, you may be indicted for perjury.But as for those seven sons of his, of course you can swear that theywere his sons and not his nephews, or grandchildren, or even no Doonesat all?'

  'My lord, I can swear that they were Doones. Moreover, I can pay for anymistake I make. Therein need be no obstacle.'

  'Oh, yes, he can pay; he can pay well enough,' said Colonel Hardingshortly.

  'I am heartily glad to hear it,' replied the Baron pleasantly; 'for itproves after all that this robbery (if robbery there has been) was notso very ruinous. Sometimes people think they are robbed, and then it isvery sweet afterwards to find that they have not been so; for it addsto their joy in their property. Now, are you quite convinced, good sir,that these people (if there were any) stole, or took, or even borrowedanything at all from you?'

  'My lord, do you think that I was drunk?'

  'Not for a moment, Master Huckaback. Although excuse might be made foryou at this time of the year. But how did you know that your visitorswere of this particular family?'

  'Because it could be nobody else. Because, in spite of the fog--'

  'Fog!' cried Colonel Harding sharply.

  'Fog!' said the Baron, with emphasis. 'Ah, that explains the wholeaffair. To be sure, now I remember, the weather has been too thick for aman to see the head of his own horse. The Doones (if still there be anyDoones) could never have come abroad; that is as sure as simony. MasterHuckaback, for your good sake, I am heartily glad that this charge hasmiscarried. I thoroughly understand it now. The fog explains the wholeof it.'

  'Go back, my good fellow,' said Colonel Harding; 'and if the day isclear enough, you will find all your things where you left them. I know,from my own experience, what it is to be caught in an Exmoor fog.'

  Uncle Reuben, by this time, was so put out, that he hardly knew what hewas saying.

  'My lord, Sir Colonel, is this your justice! If I go to London myselffor it, the King shall know how his commission--how a man may be robbed,and the justices prove that he ought to be hanged at back of it; that inhis good shire of Somerset--'

  'Your pardon a moment, good sir,' De Whichehalse interrupted him; 'but Iwa
s about (having heard your case) to mention what need be an obstacle,and, I fear, would prove a fatal one, even if satisfactory proof wereafforded of a felony. The mal-feasance (if any) was laid in Somerset;but we, two humble servants of His Majesty, are in commission of hispeace for the county of Devon only, and therefore could never deal withit.'

  'And why, in the name of God,' cried Uncle Reuben now carried at lastfairly beyond himself, 'why could you not say as much at first, and saveme all this waste of time and worry of my temper? Gentlemen, you areall in league; all of you stick together. You think it fair sport for anhonest trader, who makes no shams as you do, to be robbed and wellnighmurdered, so long as they who did it won the high birthright of felony.If a poor sheep stealer, to save his children from dying of starvation,had dared to look at a two-month lamb, he would swing on the Manorgallows, and all of you cry "Good riddance!" But now, because good birthand bad manners--' Here poor Uncle Ben, not being so strong as beforethe Doones had played with him, began to foam at the mouth a little, andhis tongue went into the hollow where his short grey whiskers were.

  I forget how we came out of it, only I was greatly shocked at beardingof the gentry so, and mother scarce could see her way, when I told herall about it. 'Depend upon it you were wrong, John,' was all I could getout of her; though what had I done but listen, and touch my forelock,when called upon. 'John, you may take my word for it, you have not doneas you should have done. Your father would have been shocked to think ofgoing to Baron de Whichehalse, and in his own house insulting him! Andyet it was very brave of you John. Just like you, all over. And (as noneof the men are here, dear John) I am proud of you for doing it.'

  All throughout the homeward road, Uncle Ben had been very silent,feeling much displeased with himself and still more so with otherpeople. But before he went to bed that night, he just said to me,'Nephew Jack, you have not behaved so badly as the rest to me. Andbecause you have no gift of talking, I think that I may trust you.Now, mark my words, this villain job shall not have ending here. I haveanother card to play.'

  'You mean, sir, I suppose, that you will go to the justices of thisshire, Squire Maunder, or Sir Richard Blewitt, or--'

  'Oaf, I mean nothing of the sort; they would only make a laughing-stock,as those Devonshire people did, of me. No, I will go to the Kinghimself, or a man who is bigger than the King, and to whom I have readyaccess. I will not tell thee his name at present, only if thou artbrought before him, never wilt thou forget it.' That was true enough,by the bye, as I discovered afterwards, for the man he meant was JudgeJeffreys.

  'And when are you likely to see him, sir?'

  'Maybe in the spring, maybe not until summer, for I cannot go to Londonon purpose, but when my business takes me there. Only remember my words,Jack, and when you see the man I mean, look straight at him, and tellno lie. He will make some of your zany squires shake in their shoes, Ireckon. Now, I have been in this lonely hole far longer than I intended,by reason of this outrage; yet I will stay here one day more upon acertain condition.'

  'Upon what condition, Uncle Ben? I grieve that you find it so lonely. Wewill have Farmer Nicholas up again, and the singers, and--'

  'The fashionable milkmaids. I thank you, let me be. The wenches are tooloud for me. Your Nanny is enough. Nanny is a good child, and she shallcome and visit me.' Uncle Reuben would always call her 'Nanny'; he saidthat 'Annie' was too fine and Frenchified for us. 'But my condition isthis, Jack--that you shall guide me to-morrow, without a word to anyone, to a place where I may well descry the dwelling of these scoundrelDoones, and learn the best way to get at them, when the time shall come.Can you do this for me? I will pay you well, boy.'

  I promised very readily to do my best to serve him, but, of course,would take no money for it, not being so poor as that came to.Accordingly, on the day following, I managed to set the men at work onthe other side of the farm, especially that inquisitive and busybodyJohn Fry, who would pry out almost anything for the pleasure of tellinghis wife; and then, with Uncle Reuben mounted on my ancient Peggy, Imade foot for the westward, directly after breakfast. Uncle Ben refusedto go unless I would take a loaded gun, and indeed it was always wiseto do so in those days of turbulence; and none the less because of latemore than usual of our sheep had left their skins behind them. This, asI need hardly say, was not to be charged to the appetite of the Doones,for they always said that they were not butchers (although upon thatsubject might well be two opinions); and their practice was to make theshepherds kill and skin, and quarter for them, and sometimes carry tothe Doone-gate the prime among the fatlings, for fear of any bruising,which spoils the look at table. But the worst of it was that ignorantfolk, unaware of their fastidiousness, scored to them the sheep theylost by lower-born marauders, and so were afraid to speak of it: and theissue of this error was that a farmer, with five or six hundred sheep,could never command, on his wedding-day, a prime saddle of mutton fordinner.

  To return now to my Uncle Ben--and indeed he would not let me go morethan three land-yards from him--there was very little said between usalong the lane and across the hill, although the day was pleasant. Icould see that he was half amiss with his mind about the business,and not so full of security as an elderly man should keep himself.Therefore, out I spake, and said,--

  'Uncle Reuben, have no fear. I know every inch of the ground, sir; andthere is no danger nigh us.'

  'Fear, boy! Who ever thought of fear? 'Tis the last thing would comeacross me. Pretty things those primroses.'

  At once I thought of Lorna Doone, the little maid of six years back, andhow my fancy went with her. Could Lorna ever think of me? Was I not alout gone by, only fit for loach-sticking? Had I ever seen a face fit tothink of near her? The sudden flash, the quickness, the bright desire toknow one's heart, and not withhold her own from it, the soft withdrawalof rich eyes, the longing to love somebody, anybody, anything, notimbrued with wickedness--

  My uncle interrupted me, misliking so much silence now, with thenaked woods falling over us. For we were come to Bagworthy forest, theblackest and the loneliest place of all that keep the sun out. Evennow, in winter-time, with most of the wood unriddled, and the rest of itpinched brown, it hung around us like a cloak containing little comfort.I kept quite close to Peggy's head, and Peggy kept quite close to me,and pricked her ears at everything. However, we saw nothing there,except a few old owls and hawks, and a magpie sitting all alone, untilwe came to the bank of the hill, where the pony could not climb it.Uncle Ben was very loath to get off, because the pony seemed company,and he thought he could gallop away on her, if the worst came tothe worst, but I persuaded him that now he must go to the end of it.Therefore he made Peggy fast, in a place where we could find her, andspeaking cheerfully as if there was nothing to be afraid of, he took hisstaff, and I my gun, to climb the thick ascent.

  There was now no path of any kind; which added to our courage all itlessened of our comfort, because it proved that the robbers were not inthe habit of passing there. And we knew that we could not go astray,so long as we breasted the hill before us; inasmuch as it formed therampart, or side-fence of Glen Doone. But in truth I used the right wordthere for the manner of our ascent, for the ground came forth so steepagainst us, and withal so woody, that to make any way we must throwourselves forward, and labour as at a breast-plough. Rough and loamyrungs of oak-root bulged here and there above our heads; briers needsmust speak with us, using more of tooth than tongue; and sometimes bulksof rugged stone, like great sheep, stood across us. At last, though veryloath to do it, I was forced to leave my gun behind, because I requiredone hand to drag myself up the difficulty, and one to help Uncle Reuben.And so at last we gained the top, and looked forth the edge of theforest, where the ground was very stony and like the crest of a quarry;and no more trees between us and the brink of cliff below, three hundredyards below it might be, all strong slope and gliddery. And now for thefirst time I was amazed at the appearance of the Doones's stronghold,and understood its nature. For when I had been even in the va
lley, andclimbed the cliffs to escape from it, about seven years agone, I was nomore than a stripling boy, noting little, as boys do, except for theirpresent purpose, and even that soon done with. But now, what withthe fame of the Doones, and my own recollections, and Uncle Ben'sinsistence, all my attention was called forth, and the end was simpleastonishment.

  The chine of highland, whereon we stood, curved to the right and leftof us, keeping about the same elevation, and crowned with trees andbrushwood. At about half a mile in front of us, but looking as if wecould throw a stone to strike any man upon it, another crest just likeour own bowed around to meet it; but failed by reason of two narrowclefts of which we could only see the brink. One of these clefts was theDoone-gate, with a portcullis of rock above it, and the other was thechasm by which I had once made entrance. Betwixt them, where the hillsfell back, as in a perfect oval, traversed by the winding water, lay abright green valley, rimmed with sheer black rock, and seeming to havesunken bodily from the bleak rough heights above. It looked as if nofrost could enter neither wind go ruffling; only spring, and hope, andcomfort, breathe to one another. Even now the rays of sunshine dwelt andfell back on one another, whenever the clouds lifted; and the pale blueglimpse of the growing day seemed to find young encouragement.

  But for all that, Uncle Reuben was none the worse nor better. He lookeddown into Glen Doone first, and sniffed as if he were smelling it, likea sample of goods from a wholesale house; and then he looked at thehills over yonder, and then he stared at me.

  'See what a pack of fools they be?'

  'Of course I do, Uncle Ben. "All rogues are fools," was my first copy,beginning of the alphabet.'

  'Pack of stuff lad. Though true enough, and very good for young people.But see you not how this great Doone valley may be taken in half anhour?'

  'Yes, to be sure I do, uncle; if they like to give it up, I mean.'

  'Three culverins on yonder hill, and three on the top of this one, andwe have them under a pestle. Ah, I have seen the wars, my lad, fromKeinton up to Naseby; and I might have been a general now, if they hadtaken my advice--'

  But I was not attending to him, being drawn away on a sudden by a sightwhich never struck the sharp eyes of our General. For I had long agodescried that little opening in the cliff through which I made my exit,as before related, on the other side of the valley. No bigger than arabbit-hole it seemed from where we stood; and yet of all the scenebefore me, that (from my remembrance perhaps) had the most attraction.Now gazing at it with full thought of all that it had cost me, I saw alittle figure come, and pause, and pass into it. Something very lightand white, nimble, smooth, and elegant, gone almost before I knew thatany one had been there. And yet my heart came to my ribs, and all myblood was in my face, and pride within me fought with shame, and vanitywith self-contempt; for though seven years were gone, and I from myboyhood come to manhood, and all must have forgotten me, and I hadhalf-forgotten; at that moment, once for all, I felt that I was face toface with fate (however poor it might be), weal or woe, in Lorna Doone.