Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
the snow go away, and the green meadows coming forth. And here comes our
favourite robin, who has lived in the oven so long, and sang us a song
every morning. I must see what he thinks of it!”
“You will do nothing of the sort,” I answered very shortly, being only
too glad of a cause for having her in my arms again. So I caught her up,
and carried her in; and she looked and smiled so sweetly at me instead
of pouting (as I had feared) that I found myself unable to go very fast
along the passage. And I set her there in her favourite place, by the
sweet-scented wood-fire; and she paid me porterage without my even
asking her; and for all the beauty of the rain, I was fain to stay with
her; until our Annie came to say that my advice was wanted.
Now my advice was never much, as everybody knew quite well; but that was
the way they always put it, when they wanted me to work for them. And in
truth it was time for me to work; not for others, but myself, and (as I
always thought) for Lorna. For the rain was now coming down in earnest;
and the top of the snow being frozen at last, and glazed as hard as a
china cup, by means of the sun and frost afterwards, all the rain ran
right away from the steep inclines, and all the outlets being blocked
with ice set up like tables, it threatened to flood everything. Already
it was ponding up, like a tide advancing at the threshold of the door
from which we had watched the duck-birds; both because great piles of
snow trended in that direction, in spite of all our scraping, and also
that the gulley hole, where the water of the shoot went out (I mean when
it was water) now was choked with lumps of ice, as big as a man's body.
For the “shoot,” as we called our little runnel of everlasting water,
never known to freeze before, and always ready for any man either to
wash his hands, or drink, where it spouted from a trough of bark, set
among white flint-stones; this at last had given in, and its music
ceased to lull us, as we lay in bed.
It was not long before I managed to drain off this threatening flood,
by opening the old sluice-hole; but I had much harder work to keep the
stables, and the cow-house, and the other sheds, from flooding. For we
have a sapient practice (and I never saw the contrary round about our
parts, I mean), of keeping all rooms underground, so that you step down
to them. We say that thus we keep them warmer, both for cattle and for
men, in the time of winter, and cooler in the summer-time. This I will
not contradict, though having my own opinion; but it seems to me to be
a relic of the time when people in the western countries lived in caves
beneath the ground, and blocked the mouths with neat-skins.
Let that question still abide, for men who study ancient times to inform
me, if they will; all I know is, that now we had no blessings for the
system. If after all their cold and starving, our weak cattle now should
have to stand up to their knees in water, it would be certain death to
them; and we had lost enough already to make us poor for a long time;
not to speak of our kind love for them. And I do assure you, I loved
some horses, and even some cows for that matter, as if they had been my
blood-relations; knowing as I did their virtues. And some of these were
lost to us; and I could not bear to think of them. Therefore I worked
hard all night to try and save the rest of them.
CHAPTER XLVI
SQUIRE FAGGUS MAKES SOME LUCKY HITS
Through that season of bitter frost the red deer of the forest, having
nothing to feed upon, and no shelter to rest in, had grown accustomed to
our ricks of corn, and hay, and clover. There we might see a hundred
of them almost any morning, come for warmth, and food, and comfort, and
scarce willing to move away. And many of them were so tame, that they
quietly presented themselves at our back door, and stood there with
their coats quite stiff, and their flanks drawn in and panting,
and icicles sometimes on their chins, and their great eyes fastened
wistfully upon any merciful person; craving for a bit of food, and a
drink of water; I suppose that they had not sense enough to chew the
snow and melt it; at any rate, all the springs being frozen, and rivers
hidden out of sight, these poor things suffered even more from thirst
than they did from hunger.
But now there was no fear of thirst, and more chance indeed of drowning;
for a heavy gale of wind arose, with violent rain from the south-west,
which lasted almost without a pause for three nights and two days. At
first the rain made no impression on the bulk of snow, but ran from
every sloping surface and froze on every flat one, through the coldness
of the earth; and so it became impossible for any man to keep his legs
without the help of a shodden staff. After a good while, however, the
air growing very much warmer, this state of things began to change, and
a worse one to succeed it; for now the snow came thundering down from
roof, and rock, and ivied tree, and floods began to roar and foam in
every trough and gulley. The drifts that had been so white and fair,
looked yellow, and smirched, and muddy, and lost their graceful curves,
and moulded lines, and airiness. But the strangest sight of all to me
was in the bed of streams, and brooks, and especially of the Lynn river.
It was worth going miles to behold such a thing, for a man might never
have the chance again.
Vast drifts of snow had filled the valley, and piled above the
river-course, fifty feet high in many places, and in some as much as a
hundred. These had frozen over the top, and glanced the rain away from
them, and being sustained by rock and tree, spanned the water mightily.
But meanwhile the waxing flood, swollen from every moorland hollow
and from every spouting crag, had dashed away all icy fetters, and
was rolling gloriously. Under white fantastic arches, and long tunnels
freaked and fretted, and between pellucid pillars jagged with nodding
architraves, the red impetuous torrent rushed, and the brown foam
whirled and flashed. I was half inclined to jump in and swim through
such glorious scenery; for nothing used to please me more than swimming
in a flooded river. But I thought of the rocks, and I thought of the
cramp, and more than all, of Lorna; and so, between one thing and
another, I let it roll on without me.
It was now high time to work very hard; both to make up for the
farm-work lost during the months of frost and snow, and also to be ready
for a great and vicious attack from the Doones, who would burn us in our
beds at the earliest opportunity. Of farm-work there was little yet for
even the most zealous man to begin to lay his hand to; because when the
ground appeared through the crust of bubbled snow (as at last it did,
though not as my Lorna had expected, at the first few drops of rain)
it was all so soaked and sodden, and as we call it, “mucksy,” that to
meddle with it in any way was to do more harm than good. Nevertheless,
there was yard work, and house work, and tendence of stock, enough to
save any man from idleness.
As for Lorna, she would come out. There was no keeping her in the house.
She had taken up some peculiar notion that we were doing more for her
than she had any right to, and that she must earn her living by the
hard work of her hands. It was quite in vain to tell her that she was
expected to do nothing, and far worse than vain (for it made her cry
sadly) if any one assured her that she could do no good at all. She even
began upon mother's garden before the snow was clean gone from it, and
sowed a beautiful row of peas, every one of which the mice ate.
But though it was very pretty to watch her working for her very life,
as if the maintenance of the household hung upon her labours, yet I was
grieved for many reasons, and so was mother also. In the first place,
she was too fair and dainty for this rough, rude work; and though it
made her cheeks so bright, it surely must be bad for her to get her
little feet so wet. Moreover, we could not bear the idea that she should
labour for her keep; and again (which was the worst of all things)
mother's garden lay exposed to a dark deceitful coppice, where a man
might lurk and watch all the fair gardener's doings. It was true that
none could get at her thence, while the brook which ran between poured
so great a torrent. Still the distance was but little for a gun to
carry, if any one could be brutal enough to point a gun at Lorna. I
thought that none could be found to do it; but mother, having more
experience, was not so certain of mankind.
Now in spite of the floods, and the sloughs being out, and the state of
the roads most perilous, Squire Faggus came at last, riding his famous
strawberry mare. There was a great ado between him and Annie, as you
may well suppose, after some four months of parting. And so we left them
alone awhile, to coddle over their raptures. But when they were tired of
that, or at least had time enough to do so, mother and I went in to know
what news Tom had brought with him. Though he did not seem to want us
yet, he made himself agreeable; and so we sent Annie to cook the dinner
while her sweetheart should tell us everything.
Tom Faggus had very good news to tell, and he told it with such force of
expression as made us laugh very heartily. He had taken up his purchase
from old Sir Roger Bassett of a nice bit of land, to the south of the
moors, and in the parish of Molland. When the lawyers knew thoroughly
who he was, and how he had made his money, they behaved uncommonly well
to him, and showed great sympathy with his pursuits. He put them up to a
thing or two; and they poked him in the ribs, and laughed, and said that
he was quite a boy; but of the right sort, none the less. And so they
made old Squire Bassett pay the bill for both sides; and all he got for
three hundred acres was a hundred and twenty pounds; though Tom had paid
five hundred. But lawyers know that this must be so, in spite of all
their endeavours; and the old gentleman, who now expected to find a bill
for him to pay, almost thought himself a rogue, for getting anything out
of them.
It is true that the land was poor and wild, and the soil exceeding
shallow; lying on the slope of rock, and burned up in hot summers. But
with us, hot summers are things known by tradition only (as this great
winter may be); we generally have more moisture, especially in July,
than we well know what to do with. I have known a fog for a fortnight
at the summer solstice, and farmers talking in church about it when they
ought to be praying. But it always contrives to come right in the end,
as other visitations do, if we take them as true visits, and receive
them kindly.
Now this farm of Squire Faggus (as he truly now had a right to be
called) was of the very finest pasture, when it got good store of rain.
And Tom, who had ridden the Devonshire roads with many a reeking jacket,
knew right well that he might trust the climate for that matter. The
herbage was of the very sweetest, and the shortest, and the closest,
having perhaps from ten to eighteen inches of wholesome soil between it
and the solid rock. Tom saw at once what it was fit for--the breeding of
fine cattle.
Being such a hand as he was at making the most of everything, both his
own and other people's (although so free in scattering, when the
humour lay upon him) he had actually turned to his own advantage that
extraordinary weather which had so impoverished every one around him.
For he taught his Winnie (who knew his meaning as well as any child
could, and obeyed not only his word of mouth, but every glance he
gave her) to go forth in the snowy evenings when horses are seeking