Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
mow-yard, better filled than we could remember, and perhaps every sheaf
in it destined to be burned or stolen, before we had finished the bread
we had baked.
Among all these troubles, there was, however, or seemed to be, one
comfort. Tom Faggus returned from London very proudly and very happily,
with a royal pardon in black and white, which everybody admired the
more, because no one could read a word of it. The Squire himself
acknowledged cheerfully that he could sooner take fifty purses than read
a single line of it. Some people indeed went so far as to say that the
parchment was made from a sheep Tom had stolen, and that was why it
prevaricated so in giving him a character. But I, knowing something by
this time, of lawyers, was able to contradict them; affirming that the
wolf had more than the sheep to do with this matter.
For, according to our old saying, the three learned professions live by
roguery on the three parts of a man. The doctor mauls our bodies; the
parson starves our souls, but the lawyer must be the adroitest knave,
for he has to ensnare our minds. Therefore he takes a careful delight in
covering his traps and engines with a spread of dead-leaf words, whereof
himself knows little more than half the way to spell them.
But now Tom Faggus, although having wit to gallop away on his strawberry
mare, with the speed of terror, from lawyers (having paid them with
money too honest to stop), yet fell into a reckless adventure, ere ever
he came home, from which any lawyer would have saved him, although he
ought to have needed none beyond common thought for dear Annie. Now I
am, and ever have been, so vexed about this story that I cannot tell it
pleasantly (as I try to write in general) in my own words and manner.
Therefore I will let John Fry (whom I have robbed of another story,
to which he was more entitled, and whom I have robbed of many speeches
(which he thought very excellent), lest I should grieve any one with his
lack of education,--the last lack he ever felt, by the bye), now with
your good leave, I will allow poor John to tell this tale, in his own
words and style; which he has a perfect right to do, having been the
first to tell us. For Squire Faggus kept it close; not trusting even
Annie with it (or at least she said so); because no man knows much of
his sweetheart's tongue, until she has borne him a child or two.
Only before John begins his story, this I would say, in duty to him, and
in common honesty,--that I dare not write down some few of his words,
because they are not convenient, for dialect or other causes; and that I
cannot find any way of spelling many of the words which I do repeat, so
that people, not born on Exmoor, may know how he pronounced them; even
if they could bring their lips and their legs to the proper attitude.
And in this I speak advisedly; having observed some thousand times that
the manner a man has of spreading his legs, and bending his knees,
or stiffening, and even the way he will set his heel, make all the
difference in his tone, and time of casting his voice aright, and power
of coming home to you.
We always liked John's stories, not for any wit in them; but because we
laughed at the man, rather than the matter. The way he held his head was
enough, with his chin fixed hard like a certainty (especially during his
biggest lie), not a sign of a smile in his lips or nose, but a power of
not laughing; and his eyes not turning to anybody, unless somebody had
too much of it (as young girls always do) and went over the brink of
laughter. Thereupon it was good to see John Fry; how he looked gravely
first at the laughter, as much as to ask, “What is it now?” then if
the fool went laughing more, as he or she was sure to do upon that dry
inquiry, John would look again, to be sure of it, and then at somebody
else to learn whether the laugh had company; then if he got another
grin, all his mirth came out in glory, with a sudden break; and he wiped
his lips, and was grave again.
Now John, being too much encouraged by the girls (of which I could never
break them), came into the house that December evening, with every inch
of him full of a tale. Annie saw it, and Lizzie, of course; and even I,
in the gloom of great evils, perceived that John was a loaded gun; but I
did not care to explode him. Now nothing primed him so hotly as this: if
you wanted to hear all John Fry had heard, the surest of all sure ways
to it was, to pretend not to care for a word of it.
“I wor over to Exeford in the morning,” John began from the
chimney-corner, looking straight at Annie; “for to zee a little calve,
Jan, as us cuddn't get thee to lave houze about. Meesus have got a quare
vancy vor un, from wutt her have heer'd of the brade. Now zit quite,
wull 'e Miss Luzzie, or a 'wunt goo on no vurder. Vaine little tayl I'll
tull' ee, if so be thee zits quite. Wull, as I coom down the hill, I
zeed a saight of volks astapping of the ro-udwai. Arl on 'em wi' girt
goons, or two men out of dree wi' 'em. Rackon there wor dree score
on 'em, tak smarl and beg togather laike; latt aloun the women and
chillers; zum on em wi' matches blowing, tothers wi' flint-lacks. 'Wutt
be up now?' I says to Bill Blacksmith, as had knowledge of me: 'be the
King acoomin? If her be, do 'ee want to shutt 'un?'
“'Thee not knaw!' says Bill Blacksmith, just the zame as I be a tullin
of it: 'whai, man, us expex Tam Faggus, and zum on us manes to shutt
'un.'
“'Shutt 'un wi'out a warrant!' says I: 'sure 'ee knaws better nor thic,
Bill! A man mayn't shutt to another man, wi'out have a warrant, Bill.
Warship zed so, last taime I zeed un, and nothing to the contrairy.'
“'Haw, haw! Never frout about that,' saith Bill, zame as I be tullin
you; 'us has warrants and warships enow, dree or vour on 'em. And more
nor a dizzen warranties; fro'ut I know to contrairy. Shutt 'un, us
manes; and shutt 'un, us will--' Whai, Miss Annie, good Lord, whuttiver
maks 'ee stear so?'
“Nothing at all, John,” our Annie answered; “only the horrible ferocity
of that miserable blacksmith.”
“That be nayther here nor there,” John continued, with some wrath at
his own interruption: “Blacksmith knawed whutt the Squire had been; and
veared to lose his own custom, if Squire tuk to shooin' again. Shutt any
man I would myzell as intervared wi' my trade laike. 'Lucky for thee,'
said Bill Blacksmith, 'as thee bee'st so shart and fat, Jan. Dree on us
wor a gooin' to shutt 'ee, till us zeed how fat thee waz, Jan.'
“'Lor now, Bill!' I answered 'un, wi' a girt cold swat upon me: 'shutt
me, Bill; and my own waife niver drame of it!'”
Here John Fry looked round the kitchen; for he had never said anything
of the kind, I doubt; but now made it part of his discourse, from
thinking that Mistress Fry was come, as she generally did, to fetch him.
“Wull done then, Jan Vry,” said the woman, who had entered quietly, but
was only our old Molly. “Wutt handsome manners thee hast gat, Jan, to
spake so well of thy waife laike; after arl the laife she leads thee!”
“Putt thee pot on the fire, old 'ooman, and bile thee own bakkon,” John
answered her, very sharply: “nobody no raight to meddle wi' a man's bad
ooman but himzell. Wull, here was all these here men awaitin', zum wi'
harses, zum wi'out; the common volk wi' long girt guns, and tha quarlity
wi' girt broad-swords. Who wor there? Whay latt me zee. There wor Squire
Maunder,” here John assumed his full historical key, “him wi' the pot to
his vittle-place; and Sir Richard Blewitt shaking over the zaddle, and
Squaire Sandford of Lee, him wi' the long nose and one eye, and Sir
Gronus Batchildor over to Ninehead Court, and ever so many more on 'em,
tulling up how they was arl gooin' to be promoted, for kitching of Tom
Faggus.
“'Hope to God,' says I to myzell, 'poor Tom wun't coom here to-day: arl
up with her, if 'a doeth: and who be there to suckzade 'un?' Mark me
now, all these charps was good to shutt 'un, as her coom crass the
watter; the watter be waide enow there and stony, but no deeper than my
knee-place.
“'Thee cas'n goo no vurder,' Bill Blacksmith saith to me: 'nawbody
'lowed to crass the vord, until such time as Faggus coom; plaise God us
may mak sure of 'un.'
“'Amen, zo be it,' says I; 'God knoweth I be never in any hurry, and
would zooner stop nor goo on most taimes.'
“Wi' that I pulled my vittles out, and zat a horsebarck, atin' of 'em,
and oncommon good they was. 'Won't us have 'un this taime just,' saith
Tim Potter, as keepeth the bull there; 'and yet I be zorry for 'un. But
a man must kape the law, her must; zo be her can only learn it. And now
poor Tom will swing as high as the tops of they girt hashes there.'
“'Just thee kitch 'un virst,' says I; 'maisure rope, wi' the body to
maisure by.'
“'Hurrah! here be another now,' saith Bill Blacksmith, grinning;
'another coom to help us. What a grave gentleman! A warship of the pace,
at laste!'
“For a gentleman, on a cue-ball horse, was coming slowly down the hill
on tother zide of watter, looking at us in a friendly way, and with a
long papper standing forth the lining of his coat laike. Horse stapped
to drink in the watter, and gentleman spak to 'un kindly, and then they
coom raight on to ussen, and the gentleman's face wor so long and so
grave, us veared 'a wor gooin' to prache to us.
“'Coort o' King's Bench,' saith one man; 'Checker and Plays,' saith
another; 'Spishal Commission, I doubt,' saith Bill Blacksmith; 'backed
by the Mayor of Taunton.'
“'Any Justice of the King's Peace, good people, to be found near here?'
said the gentleman, lifting his hat to us, and very gracious in his
manner.
“'Your honour,' saith Bill, with his hat off his head; 'there be sax or
zeven warships here: arl on 'em very wise 'uns. Squaire Maunder there be
the zinnyer.'
“So the gentleman rode up to Squire Maunder, and raised his cocked hat
in a manner that took the Squire out of countenance, for he could not do
the like of it.
“'Sir,' said he, 'good and worshipful sir, I am here to claim your
good advice and valour; for purposes of justice. I hold His Majesty's
commission, to make to cease a notorious rogue, whose name is Thomas
Faggus.' With that he offered his commission; but Squire Maunder told
the truth, that he could not rade even words in print, much less written
karakters.* Then the other magistrates rode up, and put their heads
together, how to meet the London gentleman without loss of importance.
There wor one of 'em as could rade purty vair, and her made out King's
mark upon it: and he bowed upon his horse to the gentleman, and he laid
his hand on his heart and said, 'Worshipful sir, we, as has the honour
of His Gracious Majesty's commission, are entirely at your service, and
crave instructions from you.'”
* Lest John Fry seem to under-rate the erudition of
Devonshire magistrates, I venture to offer copy of a letter
from a Justice of the Peace to his bookseller, circa 1810
A.D., now in my possession:--
'Sur.
'plez to zen me the aks relatting to _A-gustus-paks_,'
--Ed. of L.D.
[Emphasized this in original]
“Then a waving of hats began, and a bowing, and making of legs to wan
anather, sich as nayver wor zeed afore; but none of 'em arl, for air and
brading, cud coom anaigh the gentleman with the long grave face.
“'Your warships have posted the men right well,' saith he with anather
bow all round; 'surely that big rogue will have no chance left among so
many valiant musketeers. Ha! what see I there, my friend? Rust in the
pan of your gun! That gun would never go off, sure as I am the King's
Commissioner. And I see another just as bad; and lo, there the
third! Pardon me, gentlemen, I have been so used to His Majesty's