Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
“Hoity, toity, Sarah! Your children, I suppose, are the same as other
people's.”
“That they are not; and never will be; and you ought to know it, Uncle
Reuben, if any one in the world ought. Other people's children!”
“Well, well!” Uncle Reuben answered, “I know very little of children;
except my little Ruth, and she is nothing wonderful.”
“I never said that my children were wonderful Uncle Ben; nor did I ever
think it. But as for being good--”
Here mother fetched out her handkerchief, being overcome by our
goodness; and I told her, with my hand to my mouth, not to notice him;
though he might be worth ten thousand times ten thousand pounds.
But Farmer Snowe came forward now, for he had some sense sometimes; and
he thought it was high time for him to say a word for the parish.
“Maister Huckaback,” he began, pointing with his pipe at him, the end
that was done in sealing-wax, “tooching of what you was plaized to zay
'bout this here parish, and no oother, mind me no oother parish but
thees, I use the vreedom, zur, for to tell 'e, that thee be a laiar.”
Then Farmer Nicholas Snowe folded his arms across with the bowl of his
pipe on the upper one, and gave me a nod, and then one to mother, to
testify how he had done his duty, and recked not what might come of it.
However, he got little thanks from us; for the parish was nothing at all
to my mother, compared with her children's interests; and I thought it
hard that an uncle of mine, and an old man too, should be called a liar,
by a visitor at our fireplace. For we, in our rude part of the world,
counted it one of the worst disgraces that could befall a man, to
receive the lie from any one. But Uncle Ben, as it seems was used to
it, in the way of trade, just as people of fashion are, by a style of
courtesy.
Therefore the old man only looked with pity at Farmer Nicholas; and
with a sort of sorrow too, reflecting how much he might have made in a
bargain with such a customer, so ignorant and hot-headed.
“Now let us bandy words no more,” said mother, very sweetly; “nothing is
easier than sharp words, except to wish them unspoken; as I do many and
many's the time, when I think of my good husband. But now let us hear
from Uncle Reuben what he would have us do to remove this disgrace from
amongst us, and to satisfy him of his goods.”
“I care not for my goods, woman,” Master Huckaback answered grandly;
“although they were of large value, about them I say nothing. But what I
demand is this, the punishment of those scoundrels.”
“Zober, man, zober!” cried Farmer Nicholas; “we be too naigh Badgery
'ood, to spake like that of they Dooneses.”
“Pack of cowards!” said Uncle Reuben, looking first at the door,
however; “much chance I see of getting redress from the valour of this
Exmoor! And you, Master Snowe, the very man whom I looked to to raise
the country, and take the lead as churchwarden--why, my youngest shopman
would match his ell against you. Pack of cowards,” cried Uncle Ben,
rising and shaking his lappets at us; “don't pretend to answer me. Shake
you all off, that I do--nothing more to do with you!”
We knew it useless to answer him, and conveyed our knowledge to one
another, without anything to vex him. However, when the mulled wine
was come, and a good deal of it gone (the season being Epiphany),
Uncle Reuben began to think that he might have been too hard with us.
Moreover, he was beginning now to respect Farmer Nicholas bravely,
because of the way he had smoked his pipes, and the little noise made
over them. And Lizzie and Annie were doing their best--for now we had
let the girls out--to wake more lightsome uproar; also young Faith Snowe
was toward to keep the old men's cups aflow, and hansel them to their
liking.
So at the close of our entertainment, when the girls were gone away
to fetch and light their lanthorns (over which they made rare noise,
blowing each the other's out for counting of the sparks to come), Master
Huckaback stood up, without much aid from the crock-saw, and looked at
mother and all of us.
“Let no one leave this place,” said he, “until I have said what I
want to say; for saving of ill-will among us; and growth of cheer and
comfort. May be I have carried things too far, even to the bounds of
churlishness, and beyond the bounds of good manners. I will not unsay
one word I have said, having never yet done so in my life; but I would
alter the manner of it, and set it forth in this light. If you folks
upon Exmoor here are loath and wary at fighting, yet you are brave
at better stuff; the best and kindest I ever knew, in the matter of
feeding.”
Here he sat down with tears in his eyes, and called for a little mulled
bastard. All the maids, who were now come back, raced to get it for him,
but Annie of course was foremost. And herein ended the expedition, a
perilous and a great one, against the Doones of Bagworthy; an enterprise
over which we had all talked plainly more than was good for us. For my
part, I slept well that night, feeling myself at home again, now that
the fighting was put aside, and the fear of it turned to the comfort of
talking what we would have done.
CHAPTER XV
_QUO WARRANTO_?
On the following day Master Huckaback, with some show of mystery,
demanded from my mother an escort into a dangerous part of the world, to
which his business compelled him. My mother made answer to this that
he was kindly welcome to take our John Fry with him; at which the good
clothier laughed, and said that John was nothing like big enough, but
another John must serve his turn, not only for his size, but because if
he were carried away, no stone would be left unturned upon Exmoor, until
he should be brought back again. Hereupon my mother grew very pale, and
found fifty reasons against my going, each of them weightier than the
true one, as Eliza (who was jealous of me) managed to whisper to
Annie. On the other hand, I was quite resolved (directly the thing was
mentioned) to see Uncle Reuben through with it; and it added much to my
self-esteem to be the guard of so rich a man. Therefore I soon persuaded
mother, with her head upon my breast, to let me go and trust in God; and
after that I was greatly vexed to find that this dangerous enterprise
was nothing more than a visit to the Baron de Whichehalse, to lay
an information, and sue a warrant against the Doones, and a posse to
execute it.
Stupid as I always have been, and must ever be no doubt, I could well
have told Uncle Reuben that his journey was no wiser than that of
the men of Gotham; that he never would get from Hugh de Whichehalse a
warrant against the Doones; moreover, that if he did get one, his own
wig would be singed with it. But for divers reasons I held my peace,
partly from youth and modesty, partly from desire to see whatever please
God I should see, and partly from other causes.
We rode by way of Brendon town, Illford Bridge, and Babbrook, to avoid
the great hill above Lynmouth; and the day being fine and clear again, I
laughed in my sleeve at Uncle Reuben for all his fine precautions. When
we arrived at Ley Manor, we were shown very civilly into the hall, and
refreshed with good ale and collared head, and the back of a Christmas
pudding. I had never been under so fine a roof (unless it were of a
church) before; and it pleased me greatly to be so kindly entreated by
high-born folk. But Uncle Reuben was vexed a little at being set down
side by side with a man in a very small way of trade, who was come
upon some business there, and who made bold to drink his health after
finishing their horns of ale.
“Sir,” said Uncle Ben, looking at him, “my health would fare much
better, if you would pay me three pounds and twelve shillings, which you
have 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 himself
was sitting with Colonel Harding, another Justiciary of the King's
peace, to help him. I had seen the Baron de Whichehalse before, and was
not 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 we
knew that the house was in decadence. For the first De Whichehalse had
come from Holland, where he had been a great nobleman, some hundred and
fifty years agone. Being persecuted for his religion, when the Spanish
power was everything, he fled to England with all he could save, and
bought large estates in Devonshire. Since then his descendants had
intermarried with ancient county families, Cottwells, and Marwoods, and
Walronds, and Welses of Pylton, and Chichesters of Hall; and several of
the ladies brought them large increase of property. And so about fifty
years before the time of which I am writing, there were few names in the
West of England thought more of than De Whichehalse. But now they had
lost 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 had
lost it, none could tell; except that as the first descendants had
a manner of amassing, so the later ones were gifted with a power of
scattering. Whether this came of good Devonshire blood opening the
sluice of Low Country veins, is beyond both my province and my power to
inquire. Anyhow, all people loved this last strain of De Whichehalse far
more than the name had been liked a hundred years agone.
Hugh de Whichehalse, a white-haired man, of very noble presence, with
friendly blue eyes and a sweet smooth forehead, and aquiline nose
quite beautiful (as you might expect in a lady of birth), and thin lips
curving delicately, this gentleman rose as we entered the room; while
Colonel Harding turned on his chair, and struck one spur against the
other. I am sure that, without knowing aught of either, we must have
reverenced more of the two the one who showed respect to us. And yet
nine gentleman out of ten make this dull mistake when dealing with the
class 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 both
the gentlemen put together. Of course he was no stranger to them, any
more than I was; and, as it proved afterwards, Colonel Harding owed him
a lump of money, upon very good security. Of him Uncle Reuben took no
notice, but addressed himself to De Whichehalse.
The Baron smiled very gently, so soon as he learned the cause of this
visit, and then he replied quite reasonably.
“A warrant against the Doones, Master Huckaback. Which of the Doones, so
please 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, Master
Huckaback, 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 my
own shop-boys? Nevertheless there were seven of them, and that should be
no 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 good
Master Huckaback. I have it all down in writing. Sir Ensor himself was
there, 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 they
were his sons and not his nephews, or grandchildren, or even no Doones
at all?”