Dick o' the Fens: A Tale of the Great East Swamp

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

  LAST WORDS.

  It was a solemn party that returned to the Toft that day: three boats,with the last propelled by Hickathrift, towing another behind. Thatlast punt was Dave Gittan's, and in it, later on, the man was taken tohis last resting-place.

  At the inquiry it was found that Dave had been mortally wounded by abullet; and in this state he had managed to force his boat to his hut,and when pursued, to his lurking-place in the farther part of the fen,to lie down and die.

  Who fired the shot which took his life? No one could say. Five bulletswere sent winging to stop his career on the night of his last insaneact, when pretty well everything which would burn upon the Toft wasdestroyed; but whose was the hand which pulled the trigger, and whosethe eye which took the aim, was not divulged.

  Dave had well kept his secret, and struggled hard to stay the advance ofprogress, but fought in vain, and with his fall almost the lastopposition to the making of the great drain died out.

  There were old fen-men who murmured and declared that the place wasbeing destroyed, but for the most part they lived to see that greatdrain and others made, and the wild morass become dry land upon whichthe plough turned up the black soil and the harrow smoothed, and greatwaving crops of corn took the place of those of reed. Meadows, too,spread out around the Toft, and Farmer Tallington's home at Grimsey--meads upon which pastured fine cattle; while in that part of the widefen-land ague nearly died away.

  It was one evening twenty years later that a couple of stalwartwell-dressed men, engineers engaged upon the cutting of another lode ordrain many miles to the north, strolled down from the Toft farm to havea chat with the great grey-haired wheelwright, who carried on a largebusiness now that a village had sprung up in the fen.

  His delight was extreme to see the visitors, and they had hard work toextricate their ringers from his grip.

  "Think of you two coming to see me now! It caps owt."

  "Why, of course we've come to see you, Hicky," said the taller of thetwo. "How well you look!"

  "Well! Hearty, Mester Dick, bless you! and the missus too. Hearty asthe squire and his lady, bless 'em. But your father looks sadly, MesterTom, sir. He don't wear as I should like to see un. He's wankle."[Sickly.]

  "Rheumatism, Hicky; that's all. He'll be better soon. I say, what'sthat--a summer-house?" said Tom, pointing.

  "That, Mester Tom! Why, you know?"

  "Why, it's the old punt!" cried Dick.

  "Ay, it's the owd poont, Mester Dick. What games yow did hev in hertoo, eh?"

  "Yes, Hicky," said Dick with a sigh. "Ah! those were happy days."

  "They weer, lad; they weer. Owd poont got dry and cracked, and of nouse bud to go on the dreern, and who wanted to go on a dreern as hadbeen used to the mere?"

  "No one, of course," said Dick, gazing across the fields and meadowswhere he had once propelled the punt.

  "Ay, no one, o' course, so Jacob sawed her i' two one day, and we sether oop theer i' the garden for a summer-hoose, and Jacob painted hergreen. I say, Mester Dick, ony think," added Hickathrift, laughingviolently.

  "Think what? Don't laugh like that, Hicky, or you'll shake your headoff."

  "Nay, not I, my lad; but it do mak' me laugh."

  "What does?"

  "Jacob's married!"

  "No!"

  "He is, Mester Dick, and theer's a babby."

  "Never!" said Dick, laughing, to humour the great fellow, who wiped hiseyes and became quite solemn now.

  "Yes, that he hes, Mester Dick, and you'd nivver guess what he's ca'dhim."

  "Jacob, of course."

  "Nay, Mester Dick; he's ca'd him Dave."

  Dick and Tom went down to the wheelwright's again next day to chat overold times--fishing, shooting, the netting at the decoy, and the like;and heard how John Warren had lately died, a venerable old man, whoconfessed at last how he had helped Dave Gittan in some of the outrageswhen the drain was made, because he hated it, and said it would ruinhonest men.

  But it was not to see John Warren's nor Dave Gittan's grave thatHickathrift led the young men to the one bit of waste land left, andthere pointed to a wooden tablet nailed against a willow tree.

  "The squire give me leave, Mester Dick, and Jacob and me buried himtheer when he died. Jacob painted his name on it, rather rough, but thebest he could, and we'd hev put his age on it, as well as the date, ifwe'd ha' known."

  "How old was he, do you think, Hicky?" said Dick.

  "Don't know, sir, but straange and old."

  "But why did you take so much interest in him? You never liked thedonkey."

  "Nay, bud you did, lad, and that was enough for me."

  "Poor old Solomon!" said Dick, smiling at the recollections the roughtablet evoked; "how he could kick!"

  "And so you and young Tom--I beg pardon, sir," said Hicky, "MesterTallington--are going to help Mester Marston wi the big dreerning out inCambridgeshire, eh?"

  "Yes, Hicky, ours is a busy life now; but we're beginning to find peoplemore sensible about such matters. Mr Marston was laughing over it theother day, and saying that all the romance had gone out of ourprofession now there was no chance of getting shot."

  "Weer he, now?" said Hickathrift wonderingly. "Think of a man liking tobe shot at!"

  "Oh, he does not like to be shot at, Hicky! By the way, though, who wasit shot Dave Gittan? Come, now, you know."

  "Owd Dave Gittan's been buried twenty year, Mester Dick, so let himrest."

  "Rest! Of course; but come--you do know?"

  "Yes, Mester Dick," said the wheelwright stolidly. "I do know, but Isweered as I'd nivver tell, and I'll keep my word."

  "Ah, well, I will not press you, Hicky! It was a sad time."

  "Ay, my lads, a sad time when a man maks war like that again hisbrothers wi' fire and sword, leastwise wi' goon. That theer fen waslike a battlefield in them days, while now it's as pleasant a place tolook upon as a man need wish to see."

  "A lovely landscape, Hicky," said Dick, gazing across the verdant plain.

  "Ay, lad, and once all bog and watter, and hardly a tree from end toend."

  "A great change, Hicky, showing what man can do."

  "Ay, a great change, Mester Dick, but somehow theer are times when I getlonging for the black watter and the wild birds, and all as it used tobe."

  "Yes, Hicky," said Dick almost sadly as he saw in memory's mirror thedays of his boyhood; "but this is a world of change, man; we must lookforward and not back."

  "Ay, Mester, Dick, 'cause all's for the best."

  "Yes, Hicky, keep to that--all's for the best! Come, Tom; it's time wesaid good-bye to the old fen!"

  THE END.