CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
A NIGHT JOURNEY.
It seemed to me as if starting-time would never come, and I fidgeted inand out from the kitchen to the stable to see if Ike had come back,while Mrs Dodley kept on shaking her at me in a pitying way.
"Hadn't you better give it, up, my dear?" she said dolefully. "Out allnight! It'll be a trying time."
"What nonsense!" I said. "Why, sailors have to keep watch of a nightregularly."
"When the stormy wynds do blow," said Mrs Dodley with something betweena sniff and a sob. "Does Mrs Beeton know you are going?"
"No," I said stoutly.
"My poor orphan bye," she said with a real sob. "Don't--don't go."
"Why, Mrs Dodley," I cried, "any one would think I was a baby."
"Here, Grant," cried Mr Brownsmith, "hadn't you better lie down for anhour or two. You've plenty of time."
"No, sir," I said stoutly; "I couldn't sleep if I did."
"Well, then, come and have some supper."
That I was quite willing to have, and I sat there, with the oldgentleman looking at me every now and then with a smile.
"You will not feel so eager as this next time, Master Grant."
At last I heard the big latch rattle on the gate, and started up in thegreatest excitement. Old Brownsmith gave me a nod, and as I passedthrough the kitchen Mrs Dodley looked at me with such piteous eyes andso wrinkled a forehead that I stopped.
"Why, what's the matter?" I asked.
"Oh, don't ask me, my dear, don't ask me. What could master bea-thinking!"
Her words filled me with so much dread that I hurried out into the yard,hardly knowing which I feared most--to go, or to be forced to stay athome, for the adventure through the dark hours of the night began toseem to be something far more full of peril than I had thought a ride upto market on the cart would prove.
The sight of Ike, however, made me forget the looks of Mrs Dodley, andI was soon busy with him in the stable--that is to say, I held thelantern while he harnessed "Basket," the great gaunt old horse whom Ihad so nicknamed on account of the way in which his ribs stuck outthrough his skin.
"You don't give him enough to eat, Ike," I said.
"Not give him enough to eat!" he replied. "Wo ho, Bonyparty, shove yerhead through. That's the way. Not give him enough to eat, my lad!Lor' bless you, the more he eats the thinner he gets. He finds the worktoo hard for him grinding his oats, for he's got hardly any teeth worthanything."
"Is he so old, then?" I asked, as I saw collar and hames and the restof the heavy harness adjusted.
"Old! I should just think he is, my lad. Close upon two hunderd Ishould say's his age."
"Nonsense!" I said; "horses are very old indeed at twenty!"
"Some horses; but he was only a baby then. He's the oldest horse asever was, and about the best; ain't you, Basket? Come along, old chap."
The horse gave a bit of a snort and followed the man in a slowdeliberate way, born of custom, right out into the yard to where thetrestle-supported cart stood. Then as I held the lantern the great bonycreature turned and backed itself clumsily in between the shafts, andunder the great framework ladder piled up with baskets till its tailtouched the front of the cart, when it heaved a long sigh as if ofsatisfaction.
"Look at that!" said Ike; "no young horse couldn't have done that, mylad;" and as if to deny the assertion, Basket gave himself a shake whichmade the chains of his harness rattle. "Steady, old man," cried Ike ashe hooked on the chains to the shaft, and then going to the other sidehe started. "Hullo! what are you doing here?" he cried, and the lightfell upon Shock, who had busily fastened the chains on the other side.
He did not speak, but backed off into the darkness.
"Got your coat, squire?" cried Ike. "That's well. Open the gates,Shock. That's your sort. Now, then, `Basket,' steady."
The horse made the chains rattle as he stuck the edges of his hoofs intothe gravel, the wheels turned, the great axle-tree rattled; there was aswing of the load to left and another to right, a bump or two, and wewere out in the lane, going steadily along upon a lovely starlightnight.
As soon as we were clear of the yard, and Shock could be heard closingthe gates and rattling up the bar, Ike gave his long cart-whip threetremendous cracks, and I expected to see "Basket" start off in alumbering trot; but he paid not the slightest heed to the sharp reports,and it was evidently only a matter of habit, for Ike stuck the whipdirectly after in an iron loop close by where the horse's greatwell-filled nose-bag was strapped to the front-ladder, beneath whichthere was a sack fairly filled with good old hay.
"Yes," said Ike, seeing the direction of my eyes, "we don't starve theold hoss; do we, Bonyparty?"
He slapped the horse's haunch affectionately, and Basket wagged histail, while the cart jolted on.
The clock was striking eleven, and sounded mellow and sweet on the nightair as we made for the main road, having just ten miles to go to reachthe market, only a short journey in these railway times, but one whichit took the bony old horse exactly five hours to compass.
"It seems a deal," I said. "I could walk it in much less time."
"Well, yes, Master Grant," said Ike, rubbing his nose; "it do seem adeal, five hours--two mile an hour; but a horse is a boss, and you can'tmake nothing else out of him till he's dead. I've been to market withhim hunderds upon hunderds of times, and he says it's five hours' work,and he takes five hours to do it in; no more, and no less. P'r'a'ps Imight get him up sooner if I used the whip; but how would you like anyone to use a whip on you when you was picking apples or counting basketsof strawbys into a wan?"
"Not at all," I said, laughing.
"Well, then, what call is there to use it on a boss? He knows what hecan do, and he doos it."
"Has Mr Brownsmith had him long?"
"Has _Old_ Brownsmith had him long?" he said correctively. "Oh, yes!ages. I don't know how long. He had him and he was a old boss when Icome, and that's years ago. He's done nothing but go uppards anddown'ards all his life, and he must know how long it takes by now,mustn't he?"
"Yes, I suppose so," I said.
"Of course he do, my lad. He knows just where his orf forefoot ought tobe at one o'clock, and his near hind-foot at two. Why, he goes likeclockwork. I just winds him up once with a bit o' corn and a drink o'water, starts him, and there's his old legs go tick-tack, tick-tack, andhis head swinging like a pendulow. Use 'is secon' natur', and all I'vegot to do is to tie up the reins to the fore ladder and go to sleep if Ilike, for he knows his way as well as a Christian. 'Leven o'clock Istarts; four o'clock he gets to the market; and if it wasn't forthieves, and some one to look after the baskets, that old hoss could goand do the marketing all hisself."
It was all wonderfully fresh and enjoyable to me, that ride along thequiet country road, with another market cart jolting on about a hundredyards ahead, and another one as far behind, while no doubt there wereplenty more, but they did not get any closer together, and no one seemedto hurry or trouble in the least.
We trudged on together for some distance, and then Ike made a couple ofseats for us under the ladder by folding up sacks, on one of which Isat, on the other he. Very uncomfortable seats I should call them now;most enjoyable I thought them then, and with no other drawback than aswitch now and then from the horse's long tail, an attention perfectlyunnecessary, for at that time of night there were no flies.
There was not much to see but hedgerows and houses and fields as wejolted slowly on. Once we met what Ike called the "padrole," and themounted policeman, in his long cloak and with the scabbard of his sabrepeeping from beneath, looked to me a very formidable personage; but hewas not too important to wish Ike a friendly good-night.
We had passed the horse-patrol about a quarter of a mile, when all atonce we heard some one singing, or rather howling:
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
This was repeated over and over again, and seemed as we sat ther
e underour basket canopy to come from some one driving behind us; but thejolting of the cart and the grinding of wheels and the horse's tramplingdrowned the sound of the following vehicle, and there it went on:
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
But the singer pronounced it _Do-ho-ver_; and then it went on over andover again.
"Yes," said Ike, as if he had been talking about something; "thempadroles put a stop to that game."
"What game?" I said.
"Highwaymen's. This used to be one of their fav'rite spots, from hereaway to Hounslow Heath. There was plenty of 'em in the old days, withtheir spanking horses and their pistols, and their `stand and deliver'to the coach passengers. Now you couldn't find a highwayman for love ormoney, even if you wanted him to stuff and putt in a glass case."
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
"I wish you'd stopped there," said Ike, in a grumbling voice. "Ah,those used to be days. That's where Dick Turpin used to go, you know--Hounslow Heath."
"But there are none now?" I said, with some little feeling oftrepidation.
"Didn't I tell you, no," said Ike, "unless that there's one coming onbehind. How much money have you got, lad?"
"Two shillings and sixpence and some halfpence."
"And I've got five and two, lad. Wouldn't pay to keep a blood-horse torob us, would it?"
"No," I said. "Didn't they hang the highwaymen in chains, Ike?"
"To be sure they did. I see one myself swinging about on HounslowHeath."
"Wasn't it very horrible?"
"I dunno. Dessay it was. Just look how reg'lar old Bonyparty goesalong, don't he--just in the same part of the road? I dessay he'sa-counting all the steps he takes, and checking of 'em off to see howmany more he's got to go through."
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
"I say, I wish that chap would pass us--it worries me," cried Ikepettishly. Then he went on: "Roads warn't at all safe in those days, mylad. There was footpads too--chaps as couldn't afford to have horses,and they used to hang under the hedges, just like that there dark oneyonder, and run out and lay holt of the reins, and hold a pistol to aman's head."
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
"Go agen then, and stop," growled Ike irritably. "Swep' all away, mylad, by the road-police, and now--"
"There's a man standing in the dark here under this hedge, Ike," Iwhispered. "Is--is he likely to be a foot-pad?"
"Either a footpad or a policeman. Which does he look like?" said Ike.
"Policeman," I whispered. "I think I saw the top of his hat shine."
"Right, lad. You needn't be scared about them sort o' gentlemen now.As Old Brownsmith says, gas and steam-engines and police have done awaywith them, and the road's safe enough, night or day."
We jolted on past the policeman, who turned his bull's-eye lantern uponus for a moment, so that I could see Basket's ribs and the profile ofIke's great nose as he bent forward with his arms resting on his legs.There was a friendly "good-night," and we had left him about a couple ofhundred yards behind, when, amidst the jolting of the cart and thecreaking of the baskets overhead, ike said suddenly:
"Seem to have left that chap behind, or else he's gone to--"
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
"Why, if he ar'n't there agen!" cried Ike savagely. "Look here, itworries me. I'd rayther have a dog behind barking than a chap singinglike that. I hates singing."
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
"Look here," said Ike; "I shall just draw to one side and wait tillhe've gone by. Steady, Bony; woa, lad! Now he may go on, and sing allthe way to Dover if he likes."
Suiting the action to the word Ike pulled one rein; but Basket keptsteadily on, and Ike pulled harder. But though Ike pulled till he drewthe horse's head round so that he could look at us, the legs went on inthe same track, and we did not even get near the side of the road.
"He knows it ain't right to stop here," growled Ike. "Woa, will yer!What a obstin't hammer-headed old buffler it is! Woa!"
Basket paid not the slightest heed for a few minutes. Then, as if hesuddenly comprehended, he stopped short.
"Thankye," said Ike drily; "much obliged. It's my belief, though, thatthe wicked old walking scaffold was fast asleep, and has on'y just wokeup."
"Why, he couldn't go on walking in his sleep, Ike," I exclaimed.
"Not go on walking in his sleep, mate! That there hoss couldn't! Blessyour 'art, he'd do a deal more wonderful things than that. Well, thatthere chap's a long time going by. I can't wait."
Ike looked back, holding on by the iron support of the ladder.
"I carnt see nothing. Just you look, mate, your side." I looked backtoo, but could see nothing, and said so. "It's strange," growled Ike."Go on, Bony." The horse started again, the baskets creaked, the wheelsground the gravel, and the cart jolted and jerked in its own particularspringless way, and then all of a sudden:
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
Ike looked sharply round at me, as if he half suspected me ofventriloquism, and it seemed so comical that I began to laugh.
"Look here," he said in a hoarse whisper, "don't you laugh. There'ssomething wrong about this here."
He turned the other way, and holding tightly by the ladder looked outbehind, leaning a good way from the side of the cart.
"I can't see nothinct," he grumbled, as he drew back and bent forward topat the horse. "Seems rum."
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover." There was the song orrather howl again, sounding curiously distant, and yet, odd as it mayseem, curiously near, and Ike leant towards me.
"I say," he whispered, "did you ever hear of anything being harnted?"
"Yes," I said, "I've heard of haunted houses."
"But you never heerd of a harnted market cart, did yer?"
"No," I said laughing; "never."
"That's right," he whispered.
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
I burst out laughing, though the next moment I felt a little queer, forIke laid his hand on my shoulder.
"Don't laugh, my lad," he whispered; "there's some'at queer 'bout thishere."
"Why, nonsense, Ike!" I said.
"Ah! you may say it's nonsense; but I don't like it."
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
This came very softly now, and it had such an effect on Ike that hejumped down from the shaft into the road, and taking his whip from thestaple in which it was stuck, he let the cart pass him, and came roundthe back to my side.
"Well?" I said; "is there a cart behind?"
"I can't hear one, and I can't see one," he whispered; "and I says it'svery queer. I don't like it, my lad, so there."
He let the cart pass him, went back behind it again, reached his ownseat, and climbed in under the ladder.
Bump, jolt, creak, on we went, and all at once Basket kicked a flintstone, and there was a tiny flash of fire.
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
There it was again, so loud that Ike seized the reins, and by main forcetried to stop the horse, which resisted with all its might, and thenstopped short with the baskets giving a jerk that threatened to sendthem over the front ladder, on to the horse's back.
Ike jumped down on one side and I jumped down on the other. I was notafraid, but the big fellow's uneasiness had its effect upon me, and Icertainly felt uncomfortable. There was something strange about ridingalong that dark road in the middle of the night, and this being my firstexperience of sitting up till morning the slightest thing was enough toput me off my balance.
The horse went on, and Ike and I met at the back, looked about us, andthen silently returned to our seats, climbing up without stopping thehorse; but we had not been there a minute before Ike bounded off again,for there once more, buzzing curiously in the air, came that curioushowling song:
; "I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
I slipped off too, and Ike ran round, whip in hand, and gripped my arm.
"It was your larks," he growled savagely, as I burst into a fit oflaughing.
"It wasn't," I cried, as soon as I could speak. "Give me the whip," Iwhispered.
"What for?" he growled.
"You give me the whip," I whispered; and I took it from his hand,trotted on to the side of the cart, and then reaching up, gave a cutover the top of the load.
"Stash that!" shouted a voice; and then, as I lashed again, "You leaveoff, will yer? You'll get something you don't like."
"Woa, Bony!" roared Ike with such vehemence that the horse stoppedshort, and there, kneeling on the top of the high load of baskets, wecould dimly see a well-known figure, straw-hat and all.
"You want me to come down, an' 'it you?" he cried, writhing.
"Here, give me that whip," cried Ike fiercely. "How did you comethere?"
"Got up," said Shock sulkily.
"Who told you to come?"
"No one. He's come, ain't he?"
"That's no reason why you should come. Get down, you young dog!"
"Sha'n't!"
"You give's holt o' that whip, and I'll flick him down like I would afly."
"No, no; don't hurt him, Ike," I said, laughing. "What were you makingthat noise for, Shock?"
"He calls that singing," cried Ike, spitting on the ground in hisdisgust. "He calls that singing. He's been lying on his back, howlingup at the sky like a sick dog, and he calls that singing. Here, give usthat whip."
"No, no, Ike; let him be."
"Yes; he'd better," cried Shock defiantly.
"Yes; I had better," cried Ike, snatching the whip from me, and givingit a crack like the report of a gun, with the result that Basket startedoff, and would not stop any more.
"Come down," roared Ike.
"Sha'n't!" cried Shock. "You 'it me, and I'll cut the rope and let thebaskets down."
"Come down then."
"Sha'n't! I ain't doing nothing to you."
_Crack_! went the whip again, and I saw Shock bend down.
"I'm a-cutting the cart rope," he shouted.
"Come down." _Crack_! went the whip.
Shock did not speak.
"Will he cut the rope?" I whispered.
"If he do we shall be two hours loading up again, and a lot o' thingssmashed," growled Ike. Then aloud:
"Are you a coming down? Get down and go home."
"Sha'n't!" came from above us; and, like a good general, Ike acceptedhis defeat, and climbed back to his place on the left shaft, while Itook mine on the right.
"It's no good," he said in a low grumbling tone. "When he says hewon't, he won't, and them ropes is the noo 'uns. He'll have to go onwith us now; and I'm blest if I don't think we've lost a good tenminutes over him and his noise."
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover," came from over our heads.
"Think o' me letting that scare me!" said Ike, giving his whip a vicious_whisk_ through the air.
"But it seemed so strange," I said.
"Ay, it did. Look yonder," he said. "That's the norrard. It lookslight, don't it?"
"Yes," I said.
"Ah! it never gets no darker than that all night. You'll see that getmore round to the nor-east as we gets nigher to London."
So it proved, for by degrees I saw the stars in the north-east pale; andby the time we reached Hyde Park Corner a man was busy with a lightladder putting out the lamps, and it seemed all so strange that itshould be broad daylight, while, as we jolted over the paving-stones aswe went farther, the light had got well round now to the east, and thedaylight affected Ike, for as, after a long silence, we suddenly heardonce more from the top of the baskets:
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover!"
Ike took up the old song, and in a rough, but not unmusical voice roaredout the second line:
"I've been a-travelling all the world over."
Or, as he gave it to match Do-ho-ver--"O-ho-ver." And it seemed to methat I had become a great traveller, for that was London all before me,with a long golden line above it in the sky.
Brownsmith's Boy: A Romance in a Garden Page 14
