CHAPTER XII. Positively the Last Appearance of the Broadwood Grand
England is supposed to be unmusical; but without dwelling on thepatronage extended to the organ-grinder, without seeking to found anyargument on the prevalence of the jew's trump, there is surely oneinstrument that may be said to be national in the fullest acceptanceof the word. The herdboy in the broom, already musical in the days ofFather Chaucer, startles (and perhaps pains) the lark with this exiguouspipe; and in the hands of the skilled bricklayer,
'The thing becomes a trumpet, whence he blows'
(as a general rule) either 'The British Grenadiers' or 'Cherry Ripe'.The latter air is indeed the shibboleth and diploma piece of thepenny whistler; I hazard a guess it was originally composed for thisinstrument. It is singular enough that a man should be able to gaina livelihood, or even to tide over a period of unemployment, by thedisplay of his proficiency upon the penny whistle; still more so, thatthe professional should almost invariably confine himself to 'CherryRipe'. But indeed, singularities surround the subject, thick likeblackberries. Why, for instance, should the pipe be called a pennywhistle? I think no one ever bought it for a penny. Why should thealternative name be tin whistle? I am grossly deceived if it be madeof tin. Lastly, in what deaf catacomb, in what earless desert, does thebeginner pass the excruciating interval of his apprenticeship? We haveall heard people learning the piano, the fiddle, and the cornet; butthe young of the penny whistler (like that of the salmon) is occult fromobservation; he is never heard until proficient; and providence (perhapsalarmed by the works of Mr Mallock) defends human hearing from his firstattempts upon the upper octave.
A really noteworthy thing was taking place in a green lane, not far fromPadwick. On the bench of a carrier's cart there sat a tow-headed, lanky,modest-looking youth; the reins were on his lap; the whip lay behindhim in the interior of the cart; the horse proceeded without guidanceor encouragement; the carrier (or the carrier's man), rapt into a highersphere than that of his daily occupations, his looks dwelling on theskies, devoted himself wholly to a brand-new D penny whistle, whence hediffidently endeavoured to elicit that pleasing melody 'The Ploughboy'.To any observant person who should have chanced to saunter in that lane,the hour would have been thrilling. 'Here at last,' he would have said,'is the beginner.'
The tow-headed youth (whose name was Harker) had just encored himselffor the nineteenth time, when he was struck into the extreme ofconfusion by the discovery that he was not alone.
'There you have it!' cried a manly voice from the side of the road.
'That's as good as I want to hear. Perhaps a leetle oilier in the run,'the voice suggested, with meditative gusto. 'Give it us again.'
Harker glanced, from the depths of his humiliation, at the speaker. Hebeheld a powerful, sun-brown, clean-shaven fellow, about forty years ofage, striding beside the cart with a non-commissioned military bearing,and (as he strode) spinning in the air a cane. The fellow's clothes werevery bad, but he looked clean and self-reliant.
'I'm only a beginner,' gasped the blushing Harker, 'I didn't thinkanybody could hear me.'
'Well, I like that!' returned the other. 'You're a pretty old beginner.Come, I'll give you a lead myself. Give us a seat here beside you.'
The next moment the military gentleman was perched on the cart, pipe inhand. He gave the instrument a knowing rattle on the shaft, mouthed it,appeared to commune for a moment with the muse, and dashed into 'Thegirl I left behind me'. He was a great, rather than a fine, performer;he lacked the bird-like richness; he could scarce have extracted allthe honey out of 'Cherry Ripe'; he did not fear--he even ostentatiouslydisplayed and seemed to revel in he shrillness of the instrument; butin fire, speed, precision, evenness, and fluency; in linked agility ofjimmy--a technical expression, by your leave, answering to warblers onthe bagpipe; and perhaps, above all, in that inspiring side-glance ofthe eye, with which he followed the effect and (as by a human appeal)eked out the insufficiency of his performance: in these, the fellowstood without a rival. Harker listened: 'The girl I left behind me'filled him with despair; 'The Soldier's Joy' carried him beyond jealousyinto generous enthusiasm.
'Turn about,' said the military gentleman, offering the pipe.
'O, not after you!' cried Harker; 'you're a professional.'
'No,' said his companion; 'an amatyure like yourself. That's one styleof play, yours is the other, and I like it best. But I began when I wasa boy, you see, before my taste was formed. When you're my age you'llplay that thing like a cornet-a-piston. Give us that air again; how doesit go?' and he affected to endeavour to recall 'The Ploughboy'.
A timid, insane hope sprang in the breast of Harker. Was it possible?Was there something in his playing? It had, indeed, seemed to him attimes as if he got a kind of a richness out of it. Was he a genius?Meantime the military gentleman stumbled over the air.
'No,' said the unhappy Harker, 'that's not quite it. It goes thisway--just to show you.'
And, taking the pipe between his lips, he sealed his doom. When he hadplayed the air, and then a second time, and a third; when the militarygentleman had tried it once more, and once more failed; when it becameclear to Harker that he, the blushing debutant, was actually giving alesson to this full-grown flutist--and the flutist under his care wasnot very brilliantly progressing--how am I to tell what floods of glorybrightened the autumnal countryside; how, unless the reader were anamateur himself, describe the heights of idiotic vanity to whichthe carrier climbed? One significant fact shall paint the situation:thenceforth it was Harker who played, and the military gentlemanlistened and approved.
As he listened, however, he did not forget the habit of soldierlyprecaution, looking both behind and before. He looked behind andcomputed the value of the carrier's load, divining the contents of thebrown-paper parcels and the portly hamper, and briefly setting down thegrand piano in the brand-new piano-case as 'difficult to get rid of'.He looked before, and spied at the corner of the green lane a littlecountry public-house embowered in roses. 'I'll have a shy at it,'concluded the military gentleman, and roundly proposed a glass. 'Well,I'm not a drinking man,' said Harker.
'Look here, now,' cut in the other, 'I'll tell you who I am: I'mColour-Sergeant Brand of the Blankth. That'll tell you if I'm a drinkingman or not.' It might and it might not, thus a Greek chorus would haveintervened, and gone on to point out how very far it fell short oftelling why the sergeant was tramping a country lane in tatters; or evento argue that he must have pretermitted some while ago his labours forthe general defence, and (in the interval) possibly turned his attentionto oakum. But there was no Greek chorus present; and the man of war wenton to contend that drinking was one thing and a friendly glass another.
In the Blue Lion, which was the name of the country public-house,Colour-Sergeant Brand introduced his new friend, Mr Harker, to anumber of ingenious mixtures, calculated to prevent the approaches ofintoxication. These he explained to be 'rekisite' in the service, sothat a self-respecting officer should always appear upon parade in acondition honourable to his corps. The most efficacious of these deviceswas to lace a pint of mild ale with twopenceworth of London gin. I ampleased to hand in this recipe to the discerning reader, who may findit useful even in civil station; for its effect upon Mr Harker wasrevolutionary. He must be helped on board his own waggon, where heproceeded to display a spirit entirely given over to mirth and music,alternately hooting with laughter, to which the sergeant hastened tobear chorus, and incoherently tootling on the pipe. The man of war,meantime, unostentatiously possessed himself of the reins. It was plainhe had a taste for the secluded beauties of an English landscape; forthe cart, although it wandered under his guidance for some time, wasnever observed to issue on the dusty highway, journeying between hedgeand ditch, and for the most part under overhanging boughs. It was plain,besides, he had an eye to the true interests of Mr Harker; for thoughthe cart drew up more than once at the doors of public-houses, it wasonly the sergeant who set foot to ground, and, being equipped hims
elfwith a quart bottle, once more proceeded on his rural drive.
To give any idea of the complexity of the sergeant's course, a map ofthat part of Middlesex would be required, and my publisher is aversefrom the expense. Suffice it, that a little after the night had closed,the cart was brought to a standstill in a woody road; where the sergeantlifted from among the parcels, and tenderly deposited upon the wayside,the inanimate form of Harker.
'If you come-to before daylight,' thought the sergeant, 'I shall besurprised for one.'
From the various pockets of the slumbering carrier he gently collectedthe sum of seventeen shillings and eightpence sterling; and, gettingonce more into the cart, drove thoughtfully away.
'If I was exactly sure of where I was, it would be a good job,' hereflected. 'Anyway, here's a corner.'
He turned it, and found himself upon the riverside. A little above himthe lights of a houseboat shone cheerfully; and already close at hand,so close that it was impossible to avoid their notice, three persons, alady and two gentlemen, were deliberately drawing near. The sergeant puthis trust in the convenient darkness of the night, and drove on to meetthem. One of the gentlemen, who was of a portly figure, walked in themidst of the fairway, and presently held up a staff by way of signal.
'My man, have you seen anything of a carrier's cart?' he cried.
Dark as it was, it seemed to the sergeant as though the slimmer ofthe two gentlemen had made a motion to prevent the other speaking, and(finding himself too late) had skipped aside with some alacrity. Atanother season, Sergeant Brand would have paid more attention to thefact; but he was then immersed in the perils of his own predicament.
'A carrier's cart?' said he, with a perceptible uncertainty of voice.'No, sir.'
'Ah!' said the portly gentleman, and stood aside to let the sergeantpass. The lady appeared to bend forward and study the cart with everymark of sharpened curiosity, the slimmer gentleman still keeping in therear.
'I wonder what the devil they would be at,' thought Sergeant Brand; and,looking fearfully back, he saw the trio standing together in the midstof the way, like folk consulting. The bravest of military heroes arenot always equal to themselves as to their reputation; and fear, on somesingular provocation, will find a lodgment in the most unfamiliar bosom.The word 'detective' might have been heard to gurgle in the sergeant'sthroat; and vigorously applying the whip, he fled up the riverside roadto Great Haverham, at the gallop of the carrier's horse. The lights ofthe houseboat flashed upon the flying waggon as it passed; the beat ofhoofs and the rattle of the vehicle gradually coalesced and died away;and presently, to the trio on the riverside, silence had redescended.
'It's the most extraordinary thing,' cried the slimmer of the twogentlemen, 'but that's the cart.'
'And I know I saw a piano,' said the girl.
'O, it's the cart, certainly; and the extraordinary thing is, it's notthe man,' added the first.
'It must be the man, Gid, it must be,' said the portly one.
'Well, then, why is he running away?' asked Gideon.
'His horse bolted, I suppose,' said the Squirradical.
'Nonsense! I heard the whip going like a flail,' said Gideon. 'It simplydefies the human reason.'
'I'll tell you,' broke in the girl, 'he came round that corner. Supposewe went and--what do you call it in books?--followed his trail? Theremay be a house there, or somebody who saw him, or something.'
'Well, suppose we did, for the fun of the thing,' said Gideon.
The fun of the thing (it would appear) consisted in the extremely closejuxtaposition of himself and Miss Hazeltine. To Uncle Ned, who wasexcluded from these simple pleasures, the excursion appeared hopelessfrom the first; and when a fresh perspective of darkness opened up,dimly contained between park palings on the one side and a hedge andditch upon the other, the whole without the smallest signal of humanhabitation, the Squirradical drew up.
'This is a wild-goose chase,' said he.
With the cessation of the footfalls, another sound smote upon theirears.
'O, what's that?' cried Julia.
'I can't think,' said Gideon.
The Squirradical had his stick presented like a sword. 'Gid,' he began,'Gid, I--'
'O Mr Forsyth!' cried the girl. 'O don't go forward, you don't know whatit might be--it might be something perfectly horrid.'
'It may be the devil itself,' said Gideon, disengaging himself, 'but Iam going to see it.'
'Don't be rash, Gid,' cried his uncle.
The barrister drew near to the sound, which was certainly of aportentous character. In quality it appeared to blend the strains ofthe cow, the fog-horn, and the mosquito; and the startling manner of itsenunciation added incalculably to its terrors. A dark object, not unlikethe human form divine, appeared on the brink of the ditch.
'It's a man,' said Gideon, 'it's only a man; he seems to be asleep andsnoring. Hullo,' he added, a moment after, 'there must be somethingwrong with him, he won't waken.'
Gideon produced his vestas, struck one, and by its light recognized thetow head of Harker.
'This is the man,' said he, 'as drunk as Belial. I see the whole story';and to his two companions, who had now ventured to rejoin him, he setforth a theory of the divorce between the carrier and his cart, whichwas not unlike the truth.
'Drunken brute!' said Uncle Ned, 'let's get him to a pump and give himwhat he deserves.'
'Not at all!' said Gideon. 'It is highly undesirable he should see ustogether; and really, do you know, I am very much obliged to him, forthis is about the luckiest thing that could have possibly occurred. Itseems to me--Uncle Ned, I declare to heaven it seems to me--I'm clear ofit!'
'Clear of what?' asked the Squirradical.
'The whole affair!' cried Gideon. 'That man has been ass enough to stealthe cart and the dead body; what he hopes to do with it I neither knownor care. My hands are free, Jimson ceases; down with Jimson. Shakehands with me, Uncle Ned--Julia, darling girl, Julia, I--'
'Gideon, Gideon!' said his uncle. 'O, it's all right, uncle, whenwe're going to be married so soon,' said Gideon. 'You know you said soyourself in the houseboat.'
'Did I?' said Uncle Ned; 'I am certain I said no such thing.'
'Appeal to him, tell him he did, get on his soft side,' cried Gideon.'He's a real brick if you get on his soft side.'
'Dear Mr Bloomfield,' said Julia, 'I know Gideon will be such a verygood boy, and he has promised me to do such a lot of law, and I willsee that he does too. And you know it is so very steadying to young men,everybody admits that; though, of course, I know I have no money, MrBloomfield,' she added.
'My dear young lady, as this rapscallion told you today on the boat,Uncle Ned has plenty,' said the Squirradical, 'and I can never forgetthat you have been shamefully defrauded. So as there's nobody looking,you had better give your Uncle Ned a kiss. There, you rogue,' resumedMr Bloomfield, when the ceremony had been daintily performed, 'this verypretty young lady is yours, and a vast deal more than you deserve. Butnow, let us get back to the houseboat, get up steam on the launch, andaway back to town.'
'That's the thing!' cried Gideon; 'and tomorrow there will be nohouseboat, and no Jimson, and no carrier's cart, and no piano; and whenHarker awakes on the ditchside, he may tell himself the whole affair hasbeen a dream.'
'Aha!' said Uncle Ned, 'but there's another man who will have adifferent awakening. That fellow in the cart will find he has been tooclever by half.'
'Uncle Ned and Julia,' said Gideon, 'I am as happy as the King ofTartary, my heart is like a threepenny-bit, my heels are like feathers;I am out of all my troubles, Julia's hand is in mine. Is this a timefor anything but handsome sentiments? Why, there's not room in me foranything that's not angelic! And when I think of that poor unhappy devilin the cart, I stand here in the night and cry with a single heart Godhelp him!'
'Amen,' said Uncle Ned.
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