Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
certain nights of the moon, in and out of the trunks of trees, on the
green path from the river. On his shoulder he bore a fishing-rod, and
his book of trout-flies, in one hand, and on his back a wicker-creel;
and now and then he would burst out laughing to think of his coming so
near the Doones.
And now that one turns to consider it, this seems a strangely righteous
thing, that the scene of one of the greatest crimes even by Doones
committed should, after twenty years, become the scene of vengeance
falling (like hail from heaven) upon them. For although The Warren lies
well away to the westward of the mine; and the gold, under escort to
Bristowe, or London, would have gone in the other direction; Captain
Carfax, finding this place best suited for working of his design, had
persuaded the Doones, that for reasons of Government, the ore must go
first to Barnstaple for inspection, or something of that sort. And
as every one knows that our Government sends all things westward
when eastward bound, this had won the more faith for Simon, as being
according to nature.
Now Simon, having met these flowers of the flock of villainy, where the
rising moonlight flowed through the weir-work of the wood, begged them
to dismount; and led them with an air of mystery into the Squire's
ruined hall, black with fire, and green with weeds.
“Captain, I have found a thing,” he said to Carver Doone, himself,
“which may help to pass the hour, ere the lump of gold comes by. The
smugglers are a noble race; but a miner's eyes are a match for them.
There lies a puncheon of rare spirit, with the Dutchman's brand upon it,
hidden behind the broken hearth. Set a man to watch outside; and let us
see what this be like.”
With one accord they agreed to this, and Carver pledged Master Carfax,
and all the Doones grew merry. But Simon being bound, as he said, to
see to their strict sobriety, drew a bucket of water from the well into
which they had thrown the dead owner, and begged them to mingle it with
their drink; which some of them did, and some refused.
But the water from that well was poured, while they were carousing, into
the priming-pan of every gun of theirs; even as Simon had promised to do
with the guns of the men they were come to kill. Then just as the giant
Carver arose, with a glass of pure hollands in his hand, and by the
light of the torch they had struck, proposed the good health of the
Squire's ghost--in the broken doorway stood a press of men, with pointed
muskets, covering every drunken Doone. How it fared upon that I know
not, having none to tell me; for each man wrought, neither thought of
telling, nor whether he might be alive to tell. The Doones rushed
to their guns at once, and pointed them, and pulled at them; but the
Squire's well had drowned their fire; and then they knew that they were
betrayed, but resolved to fight like men for it. Upon fighting I can
never dwell; it breeds such savage delight in me; of which I would
fain have less. Enough that all the Doones fought bravely; and like men
(though bad ones) died in the hall of the man they had murdered. And
with them died poor young De Whichehalse, who, in spite of his good
father's prayers, had cast in his lot with the robbers. Carver Doone
alone escaped. Partly through his fearful strength, and his yet more
fearful face; but mainly perhaps through his perfect coolness, and his
mode of taking things.
I am happy to say that no more than eight of the gallant miners were
killed in that combat, or died of their wounds afterwards; and adding
to these the eight we had lost in our assault on the valley (and two of
them excellent warehousemen), it cost no more than sixteen lives to be
rid of nearly forty Doones, each of whom would most likely have killed
three men in the course of a year or two. Therefore, as I said at the
time, a great work was done very reasonably; here were nigh upon forty
Doones destroyed (in the valley, and up at The Warrens) despite their
extraordinary strength and high skill in gunnery; whereas of us ignorant
rustics there were only sixteen to be counted dead--though others might
be lamed, or so,--and of those sixteen only two had left wives, and
their wives did not happen to care for them.
Yet, for Lorna' s sake, I was vexed at the bold escape of Carver.
Not that I sought for Carver's life, any more than I did for the
Counsellor's; but that for us it was no light thing, to have a man of
such power, and resource, and desperation, left at large and furious,
like a famished wolf round the sheepfold. Yet greatly as I blamed the
yeomen, who were posted on their horses, just out of shot from the
Doone-gate, for the very purpose of intercepting those who escaped the
miners, I could not get them to admit that any blame attached to them.
But lo, he had dashed through the whole of them, with his horse at
full gallop; and was nearly out of shot before they began to think of
shooting him. Then it appears from what a boy said--for boys manage to
be everywhere--that Captain Carver rode through the Doone-gate, and so
to the head of the valley. There, of course, he beheld all the houses,
and his own among the number, flaming with a handsome blaze, and
throwing a fine light around such as he often had revelled in, when of
other people's property. But he swore the deadliest of all oaths, and
seeing himself to be vanquished (so far as the luck of the moment went),
spurred his great black horse away, and passed into the darkness.
CHAPTER LXXIII
HOW TO GET OUT OF CHANCERY
Things at this time so befell me, that I cannot tell one half; but
am like a boy who has left his lesson (to the master's very footfall)
unready, except with false excuses. And as this makes no good work, so
I lament upon my lingering, in the times when I might have got through
a good page, but went astray after trifles. However, every man must
do according to his intellect; and looking at the easy manner of
my constitution, I think that most men will regard me with pity and
goodwill for trying, more than with contempt and wrath for having tried
unworthily. Even as in the wrestling ring, whatever man did his best,
and made an honest conflict, I always laid him down with softness,
easing off his dusty fall.
But the thing which next betided me was not a fall of any sort; but
rather a most glorious rise to the summit of all fortune. For in good
truth it was no less than the return of Lorna--my Lorna, my own darling;
in wonderful health and spirits, and as glad as a bird to get back
again. It would have done any one good for a twelve-month to behold her
face and doings, and her beaming eyes and smile (not to mention blushes
also at my salutation), when this Queen of every heart ran about our
rooms again. She did love this, and she must see that, and where was our
old friend the cat? All the house was full of brightness, as if the sun
had come over the hill, and Lorna were his mirror.
My mother sat in an ancient chair, and wiped her cheeks, and looked at
her; and even Lizzie's eyes must dance to the freshness and joy of her
beauty. As for me, you might call me mad; for I ran out and flung my
best hat on the barn, and kissed mother Fry, till she made at me with
the sugar-nippers.
What a quantity of things Lorna had to tell us! And yet how often we
stopped her mouth--at least mother, I mean, and Lizzie--and she quite as
often would stop her own, running up in her joy to some one of us!
And then there arose the eating business--which people now call
“refreshment,” in these dandyfied days of our language--for how was it
possible that our Lorna could have come all that way, and to her own
Exmoor, without being terribly hungry?
“Oh, I do love it all so much,” said Lorna, now for the fiftieth time,
and not meaning only the victuals: “the scent of the gorse on the moors
drove me wild, and the primroses under the hedges. I am sure I was meant
for a farmer's--I mean for a farm-house life, dear Lizzie”--for Lizzie
was looking saucily--“just as you were meant for a soldier's bride, and
for writing despatches of victory. And now, since you will not ask me,
dear mother, in the excellence of your manners, and even John has not
the impudence, in spite of all his coat of arms--I must tell you a
thing, which I vowed to keep until tomorrow morning; but my resolution
fails me. I am my own mistress--what think you of that, mother? I am my
own mistress!”
“Then you shall not be so long,” cried I; for mother seemed not to
understand her, and sought about for her glasses: “darling, you shall be
mistress of me; and I will be your master.”
“A frank announcement of your intent, and beyond doubt a true one; but
surely unusual at this stage, and a little premature, John. However,
what must be, must be.” And with tears springing out of smiles, she fell
on my breast, and cried a bit.
When I came to smoke a pipe over it (after the rest were gone to bed), I
could hardly believe in my good luck. For here was I, without any merit,
except of bodily power, and the absence of any falsehood (which surely
is no commendation), so placed that the noblest man in England might
envy me, and be vexed with me. For the noblest lady in all the land, and
the purest, and the sweetest--hung upon my heart, as if there was none
to equal it.
I dwelled upon this matter, long and very severely, while I smoked a
new tobacco, brought by my own Lorna for me, and next to herself most
delicious; and as the smoke curled away, I thought, “Surely this is too
fine to last, for a man who never deserved it.”
Seeing no way out of this, I resolved to place my faith in God; and so
went to bed and dreamed of it. And having no presence of mind to pray
for anything, under the circumstances, I thought it best to fall asleep,
and trust myself to the future. Yet ere I fell asleep the roof above me
swarmed with angels, having Lorna under it.
In the morning Lorna was ready to tell her story, and we to hearken; and
she wore a dress of most simple stuff; and yet perfectly wonderful, by
means of the shape and her figure. Lizzie was wild with jealousy, as
might be expected (though never would Annie have been so, but have
praised it, and craved for the pattern), and mother not understanding
it, looked forth, to be taught about it. For it was strange to note that
lately my dear mother had lost her quickness, and was never quite brisk,
unless the question were about myself. She had seen a great deal of
trouble; and grief begins to close on people, as their power of life
declines. We said that she was hard of hearing; but my opinion was,
that seeing me inclined for marriage made her think of my father, and
so perhaps a little too much, to dwell on the courting of thirty years
agone. Anyhow, she was the very best of mothers; and would smile and
command herself; and be (or try to believe herself) as happy as could
be, in the doings of the younger folk, and her own skill in detecting
them. Yet, with the wisdom of age, renouncing any opinion upon the
matter; since none could see the end of it.
But Lorna in her bright young beauty, and her knowledge of my heart, was
not to be checked by any thoughts of haply coming evil. In the morning
she was up, even sooner than I was, and through all the corners of the
hens, remembering every one of them. I caught her and saluted her with
such warmth (being now none to look at us), that she vowed she would
never come out again; and yet she came the next morning.
These things ought not to be chronicled. Yet I am of such nature, that
finding many parts of life adverse to our wishes, I must now and then
draw pleasure from the blessed portions. And what portion can be more