by Thomas Hardy
I was enchanted. The question of mischief or not mischief was as indifferent to me now as it was to Steve — for which indifference we got rich deserts, as will be seen in the sequel.
“And to look grand and magical,” continued he, “we’ll get some gold lace that I know of in the garret, on an old coat my grandfather wore in the Yeomanry Cavalry, and put it round our caps, and make ourselves great beards with horse-hair. They will look just like real ones at a little distance off.”
“And we must each have a wand!” said I, explaining that I knew how to make excellent wands, white as snow, by peeling a couple of straight willows; and that I could do all that in the morning while he was preparing the beards.
Thus we discussed and settled the matter, and at length fell asleep — to dream of to-morrow’s triumphs among the boys of East Poley, till the sun of that morrow shone in upon our faces and woke us. We arose promptly and made our preparations, having carte blanche from my Aunt Draycot to spend the days of my visit as we chose.
Our first object on leaving the farmhouse was to find Job Tray, apprise him of what it was necessary that he should know, and induce him to act as confederate. We found him outside the garden of his lodging; he told us he had nothing to do till the following Monday, when a farmer had agreed to hire him. On learning the secret of the river-head, and what we proposed to do, he expressed his glee by a low laugh of amazed delight, and readily promised to assist as bidden. It took us some little time to show him the inner cave, the tools, and to arrange candles for him, so that he might enter without difficulty just after eleven and do the trick. When this was all settled we put Steve’s watch on a ledge in the cave, that Job might know the exact time, and came out to ascend the hills that divided the eastern from the western village.
For obvious reasons we did not appear in magician’s guise till we had left the western vale some way behind us. Seated on the limestone ridge, removed from all observation, we set to work at preparing ourselves. I peeled the two willows we had brought with us to be used as magic wands, and Steve pinned the pieces of old lace round our caps, congratulating himself on the fact of the lace not being new, which would thus convey the impression that we had exercised the wizard’s calling for some years. Our last adornments were the beards; and, finally equipped, we descended on the other side.
Our plan was now to avoid the upper part of East Poley, which we had traversed on the preceding day, and to strike into the parish at a point further down, where the humble cottages stood, and where we were both absolutely unknown. An hour’s additional walking brought us to this spot, which, as the crow flies, was not more than half so far from West Poley as the road made it.
The first boys we saw were some playing in an orchard near the new stream, which novelty had evidently been the attraction that had brought them there. It was an opportunity for opening the campaign especially as the hour was long after eleven, and the cessation of water consequent on Job’s performance at a quarter past might be expected to take place as near as possible to twelve, allowing the five and forty minutes from eleven-fifteen as the probable time that would be occupied by the stream in travelling to the point we had reached.
I forget at this long distance of years the exact words used by Steve in addressing the strangers; but to the best of my recollection they were, “How d’ye do, gentlemen, and how does the world use ye?” I distinctly remember the sublimity he threw into his hat, and how slavishly I imitated him in the same.
The boys made some indifferent answer, and Steve continued, “You will kindly present us with some of those apples, I presume, considering what we are?”
They regarded us dubiously, and at last one of them said, “What are you, that you should expect apples from us?”
“We are travelling magicians,” replied Steve. “You may have heard of us, for by our power this new river has begun to flow. Rhombustas is my name, and this is my familiar Balcazar.”
“I don’t believe it,” said an incredulous one from behind.
“Very well, gentlemen; we can’t help that. But if you give us some apples we’ll prove our right to the title.”
“Be hanged if we will give you any apples,” said the boy who held the basket; “since it is already proved that magicians are impossible.”
“In that case,” said Steve, “we — we — ”
“Will perform just the same,” interrupted I, for I feared Steve had forgotten that the time was at hand when the stream would be interrupted by Job, whether we willed it or not.
“We will stop the water of your new river at twelve o’clock this day, when the sun crosses the meridian,” said Rhombustas, “as a punishment for your want of generosity.”
“Do it!” said the boys incredulously.
“Come here, Balcazar,” said Steve. We walked together to the edge of the stream; then we muttered, Hi, hae, haec, horum, harum, horum, and stood waving our wands.
“The river do run just the same, said the strangers derisively.
“The spell takes time to work,” said Rhombustas, adding in an aside tome, “I hope that fellow Job has not forgotten, or we shall be hooted out of the place.”
There we stood, waving and waving our white sticks, hoping and hoping we should succeed; while still the river flowed. Seven or ten minutes passed thus; and then, when we were nearly broken down by ridicule, the stream diminished its volume. All eyes were instantly bent on the water, which sank so low as to be in a short time but a narrow rivulet. The faithful Job had performed his task. By the time that the clock of the church tower struck twelve the river was almost dry.
The boys looked at each other in amazement, and at us with awe. They were too greatly concerned to speak except in murmurs to each other.
“You see the result of your conduct, unbelieving strangers,” said Steve, drawing boldly up to them. “And I seriously ask that you hand over those apples before we bring further troubles upon you and your village. We give you five minutes to consider.”
“We decide at once!” cried the boys. “The apples be yours and welcome.”
“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Steve, while I added, “For your readiness the river shall run again in two or three minutes’ time.”
“Oh — ah, yes,” said Steve, adding heartily in undertones, “I had forgotten that!”
Almost as soon as the words were spoken we perceived a little increase in the mere dribble of water which now flowed, whereupon he waved his wand and murmured more words. The liquid thread swelled and rose; and in a few minutes was the same as before. Our triumph was complete; and the suspension had been so temporary that probably nobody in the village had noticed it but ourselves and the boys.
CHAPTER III
How We Were Caught in Our Own Trap.
At this acme of our glory who should come past but a hedger whom Steve recognized as an inhabitant of West Poley; unluckily for our greatness the hedger also recognized Steve.
“Well, Maister Stevey, what be you doing over in these parts then? And yer little cousin, too, upon my word! And beards — why ye’ve made yerselves ornamental! haw, haw!”
In great trepidation Steve moved on with the man, endeavouring thus to get him out of hearing of the boys.
“Look here,” said Steve to me on leaving that outspoken rustic; “I think this is enough for one day. We’d better go further before they guess all.”
“With all my heart,” said I. And we walked on.
“But what’s going on here?” said Steve, when, turning a corner of the hedge, we perceived an altercation in progress hard by. The parties proved to be a poor widow and a corn-factor, who had been planning a water-wheel lower down the stream. The latter had dammed the water for his purpose to such an extent as to submerge the poor woman’s garden, turning it into a lake.
“Indeed, sir, you need not ruin my premises so!” she said with tears in her eyes. “The mill-pond can be kept from overflowing my garden, by a little banking and digging; it will be just as well for y
our purpose to keep it lower down, as to let it spread out into a great pool here. The house and garden are yours by law, sir; that’s true. But my father built the house, and, oh, sir, I was born here, and I should like to end my days under its roof!”
“Can’t help it, mis’ess,” said the corn-factor. “Your garden is a mill-pond already made, and to get a hollow further down I should have to dig at great expense. There is a very nice cottage up the hill, where you can live as well as here. When your father died the house came into my hands; and I can do what I like with my own.”
The woman went sadly away indoors. As for Steve and myself, we were deeply moved as we looked at the pitiable sight of the poor woman’s garden, the tops of the gooseberry bushes forming small islands in the water, and her few apple trees standing immersed half-way up their stems.
“The man is a rascal,” said Steve. “I perceive that it is next to impossible, in this world, to do good to one set of folks without doing harm to another.”
“Since we have not done all good to these people of East Poley,” said I, “there is a reason for restoring the river to its old course through West Poley.”
“But then,” said Steve, “if we turn back the stream, we shall be starting Miller Griffin’s mill; and then, by the terms of his ‘prenticeship, poor Job will have to go back to him and be beaten again! It takes good brains no less than a good heart to do what’s right towards all.”
Quite unable to solve the problem into which we had drifted, were traced our steps, till, at a stile, within half a mile of West Poley, we beheld Job awaiting us.
“Well, how did it act?” he asked with great eagerness. “Just as the hands of your watch got to a quarter past eleven, I began to shovel away, and turned the water in no time. But I didn’t turn it where you expected — not I — ’t would have started the mill for a few minutes, and I wasn’t going to do that.”
“Then where did you turn it?” cried Steve.
“I found another hole,” said Job.
“A third one?”
“Ay, hee, hee! a third one! So I pulled the stones aside from this new hole, and shovelled the clay, and down the water went with a gush. When it had run down there a few minutes, I turned it back to the East Poley hole, as you ordered me to do. But as to getting it back to the old West Poley hole, that I’d never do.”
Steve then explained that we no more wished the East village to have the river than the West village, on account of our discovery that equal persecution was going on in the one place as in the other. Job’s news of a third channel solved our difficulty. “So we’ll go at once and send it down this third channel,” concluded he.
We walked back to the village, and, as it was getting late, and we were tired, we decided to do nothing that night, but told Job to meet us in the cave on the following evening, to complete our work there.
All next day my cousin was away from home, at market for his mother, and he had arranged with me that if he did not return soon enough to join me before going to Nick’s Pocket, I should proceed thither, where he would meet me on his way back from the market-town. The day passed anxiously enough with me, for I had some doubts of a very grave kind as to our right to deprive two parishes of water on our own judgment, even though that should be, as it was, honestly based on our aversion to tyranny. However, dusk came on at last, and Steve not appearing from market, I concluded that I was to meet him at the cave’s mouth.
To this end I strolled out in that direction, and there being as yet no hurry, I allowed myself to be tempted out of my path by a young rabbit, which, however, I failed to capture. This divergence had brought me inside a field, behind a hedge, and before I could resume my walk along the main road, I heard some persons passing along the other side. The words of their conversation arrested me in a moment.
“ ‘Tis a strange story if it’s true,” came through the hedge in the tones of Miller Griffin. “We know that East Poley folk will say queer things; but the boys wouldn’t say that it was the work of magicians if they hadn’t some ground for it.”
“And how do they explain it?” asked the shoemaker.
“They say that these two young fellows passed down their lane about twelve o’clock, dressed like magicians, and offered to show their power by stopping the river. The East Poley boys challenged ‘em; when, by George, they did stop the river! They said a few words, and it dried up like magic. Now mark my words, my suspicion is this: these two gamesters have somehow got at the river head, and been tampering with it in some way. The water that runs down East Poley bottom is the water that ought, by rights, to be running through my mill.”
“A very pretty piece of mischief, if that’s the case!” said the shoemaker. “I’ve never liked them lads, particularly that Steve — for not a boot or shoe hev he had o’ me since he’s been old enough to choose for himself — not a pair, or even a mending. But I don’t see how they could do all this, even if they had got at the river head. ‘Tis a spring out of the hill, isn’t it? And how could they stop the spring?”
It seemed that the miller could offer no explanation, for no answer was returned. My course was clear: to join Job and Steve at Nick’s Pocket immediately; tell them that we were suspected, and to get them to give over further proceedings, till we had stated our difficulties to some person of experience — say the Man who had Failed.
I accordingly ran like a hare over the clover inside the hedge, and soon was far away from the interlocutors. Drawing near the cave, was relieved to see Steve’s head against the sky. I joined him at once, and recounted to him, in haste, what had passed.
He meditated. “They don’t even now suspect that the secret lies in the cavern,” said he.
“But they will soon,” said I.
“Well, perhaps they may,” he answered. “But there will be time for us to finish our undertaking, and turn the stream down the third hole. When we’ve done that we can consider which of the villages is most worthy to have the river, and act accordingly.”
“Do let us take a good wise man into our confidence,” I said.
After a little demurring, he agreed that as soon as we had completed the scheme we would state the case to a competent adviser, and let it be settled fairly. “And now,” he said, “where’s Job; inside the cave, no doubt, as it is past the time I promised to be here.”
Stepping inside the cave’s mouth, we found that the candles and other things which had been deposited there were removed. The probability being that Job had arrived and taken them in with him, we groped our way along in the dark, helped by an occasional match which Steve struck from a box he carried. Descending the gallery at the further end of the outer cavern, we discerned a glimmer at the remote extremity, and soon beheld Job working with all his might by the light of one of the candles.
“I’ve almost got it into the hole that leads to neither of the Poleys, but I wouldn’t actually turn it till you came,” he said, wiping his face.
We told him that the neighbours were on our track, and might soon guess that we performed our tricks in Nick’s Pocket, and come there, and find that the stream flowed through the cave before rising in the spring at the top of the village; and asked him to turn the water at once, and be off with us.
“Ah!” said Job, mournfully, “then ‘tis over with me! They will be here to-morrow, and will turn back the stream, and the mill will go again, and I shall have to finish my time as ‘prentice to the man who did this!” He pulled up his shirt sleeve, and showed us on his arm several stripes and bruises — black and blue and green — the tell-tale relics of old blows from the miller.
Steve reddened with indignation. “I would give anything to stop up the channels to the two Poleys so close that they couldn’t be found again!” he said. “Couldn’t we do it with stones and clay? Then if they came here ‘twould make no difference, and the water would flow down the third hole forever, and we should save Job and the widow after all.”
“We can but try it,” said Job, willing to fall in with
anything that would hinder his recall to the mill. “Let’s set to work.”
Steve took the spade, and Job the pickaxes. First they finished what Job had begun — the turning of the stream into the third tunnel or crevice, which led to neither of the Poleys. This done, they set to work jamming stones into the other two openings, treading earth and clay around them, and smoothing over the whole in such a manner that nobody should notice they had ever existed. So intent were we on completing it that — to our utter disaster — we did not notice what was going on behind us.
I was the first to look round, and I well remember why: my ears had been attracted by a slight change of tone in the purl of the water down the new crevice discovered by Job, and I was curious to learn the reason of it. The sight that met my gaze might well have appalled a stouter and older heart than mine. Instead of pouring down out of sight, as it had been doing when we last looked, the stream was choked by a rising pool into which it boiled, showing at a glance that what we had innocently believed to be another outlet for the stream was only a blind passage or cul de sac, which the water, when first turned that way by Job, had not been left long enough to fill before it was turned back again.
“Oh, Steve — Job!” I cried, and could say no more.
They gazed round at once, and saw the situation. Nick’s Pocket had become a cauldron. The surface of the rising pool stood, already, far above the mouth of the gallery by which we had entered, and which was our only way out — stood far above the old exit of the stream to West Poley, now scaled up; far above the second outlet to East Poley, discovered by Steve, and also sealed up by our fatal ingenuity. We had been spending the evening in making a closed bottle of the cave, in which the water was now rising to drown us.
“There is one chance for us — only one,” said Steve in a dry voice.
“What one?” we asked in a breath.
“To open the old channel leading to the mill,” said Steve.
