Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
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--only I 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.
CHAPTER XXXII
FEEDING OF THE PIGS
The story told by John Fry that night, and my conviction of its truth,
made me very uneasy, especially as following upon the warning of Judge
Jeffreys, and the hints received from Jeremy Stickles, and the outburst
of the tanner at Dunster, as well as sundry tales and rumours, and signs
of secret understanding, seen and heard on market-days, and at places of
entertainment. We knew for certain that at Taunton, Bridgwater, and even
Dulverton, there was much disaffection towards the King, and regret for
the days of the Puritans. Albeit I had told the truth, and the pure and
simple truth, when, upon my examination, I had assured his lordship,
that to the best of my knowledge there was nothing of the sort with us.
But now I was beginning to doubt whether I might not have been mistaken;
especially when we heard, as we did, of arms being landed at Lynmouth,
in the dead of the night, and of the tramp of men having reached some
one's ears, from a hill where a famous echo was. For it must be plain to
any conspirator (without the example of the Doones) that for the secret
muster of men and the stowing of unlawful arms, and communication by
beacon lights, scarcely a fitter place could be found than the wilds
of Exmoor, with deep ravines running far inland from an unwatched and
mostly a sheltered sea. For the Channel from Countisbury Foreland up
to Minehead, or even farther, though rocky, and gusty, and full of
currents, is safe from great rollers and the sweeping power of the
south-west storms, which prevail with us more than all the others, and
make sad work on the opposite coast.
But even supposing it probable that something against King Charles
the Second (or rather against his Roman advisers, and especially his
brother) were now in preparation amongst us, was it likely that Master
Huckaback, a wealthy man, and a careful one, known moreover to the Lord
Chief Justice, would have anything to do with it? To this I could
make no answer; Uncle Ben was so close a man, so avaricious, and so
revengeful, that it was quite impossible to say what course he
might pursue, without knowing all the chances of gain, or rise, or
satisfaction to him. That he hated the Papists I knew full well, though
he never spoke much about them; also that he had followed the march of
Oliver Cromwell's army, but more as a suttler (people said) than as a
real soldier; and that he would go a long way, and risk a great deal
of money, to have his revenge on the Doones; although their name never
passed his lips during the present visit.
But how was it likely to be as to the Doones themselves? Which side
would they probably take in the coming movement, if movement indeed it
would be? So far as they had any religion at all, by birth they were
Roman Catholics--so much I knew from Lorna; and indeed it was well known
all around, that a priest had been fetched more than once to the valley,
to soothe some poor outlaw's departure. On the other hand, they were
not likely to entertain much affection for the son of the man who had
banished them and confiscated their property. And it was not at all
impossible that desperate men, such as they were, having nothing to
lose, but estates to recover, and not being held by religion much,
should cast away all regard for the birth from which they had been cast
out, and make common cause with a Protestant rising, for the chance of
revenge and replacement.
However I do not mean to say that all these things occurred to me as
clearly as I have set them down; only that I was in general doubt, and
very sad perplexity. For mother was so warm, and innocent, and kind
so to every one, that knowing some little by this time of the English
constitution, I feared very greatly lest she should be punished for
harbouring malcontents. As well as possible I knew, that if any poor man
came to our door, and cried, “Officers are after me; for God's sake take
and hide me,” mother would take him in at once, and conceal, and feed
him, even though he had been very violent; and, to tell the truth, so
would both my sisters, and so indeed would I do. Whence it will be clear
that we were not the sort of people to be safe among disturbances.
Before I could quite make up my mind how to act in this difficulty, and
how to get at the rights of it (for I would not spy after Uncle Reuben,
though I felt no great fear of the Wizard's Slough, and none of the man
with the white night-cap), a difference came again upon it, and a change
of chances. For Uncle Ben went away as suddenly as he first had come to
us, giving no reason for his departure, neither claiming the pony, and
indeed leaving something behind him of great value to my mother. For
he begged her to see to his young grand-daughter, until he could find
opportunity of fetching her safely to Dulverton. Mother was overjoyed
at this, as she could not help displaying; and Ruth was quite as much
delighted, although she durst not show it. For at Dulverton she had
to watch and keep such ward on the victuals, and the in and out of the
shopmen, that it went entirely against her heart, and she never could
enjoy herself. Truly she was an altered girl from the day she came to
us; catching our unsuspicious manners, and our free goodwill, and hearty
noise of laughing.
By this time, the harvest being done, and the thatching of the ricks
made sure against south-western tempests, and all the reapers being
gone, with good money and thankfulness, I began to burn in spirit for
the sight of Lorna. I had begged my sister Annie to let Sally Snowe
know, once for all, that it was not in my power to have any thing more
to do with her. Of course our Annie was not to grieve Sally, neither to
let it appear for a moment that I suspected her kind views upon me, and
her strong regard for our dairy: only I thought it right upon our part
not to waste Sally's time any longer, being a handsome wench as she was,
and many young fellows glad to marry her.
And Annie did this uncommonly well, as she herself told me afterwards,
having taken Sally in the sweetest manner into her pure confidence, and
opened half her bosom to her, about my very sad love affair. Not that