Well, the frost increased in intensity; and after a lapse of a fortnight, Marston Mere was frozen over — a circumstance almost without precedent, and such as had not occurred within my uncle’s recollection, and he had known it for seventy years. The opportunity was not to be lost, so Malpas and I resolved to cross the mere — an exploit which, as far as we knew, had never been achieved or even attempted. We said nothing of our intentions to any one, for fear of being prevented, but set out one day before breakfast in high glee. It was a dull, grey morning, with woolly clouds threatening snow; and, as the ground did not feel quite so hard and crisp as it had done, Malpas thought the frost must be giving way. I was afraid so too, and fancied, if we had delayed our exploit to another day, it might have been too late. I had taken my gun with me in expectation of picking up a snipe or a wild duck as we went along. Descending a narrow lane, bordered with hazels and alders, we soon reached the edge of the mere, whose broad expanse was entirely sheeted with ice. Crowning a high bank on the left stood the venerable church of Marston, a beautiful and picturesque object; and close adjoining it, amid a grove of ancestral trees, now stripped of their leafy honours, but with many a rook’s nest discernible amid their branches, stood the vicarage. At the foot of the lawn, which came down to the mere, was a boat-house, with its tiny craft frozen fast in the water. Beyond this the banks rose still higher and more abruptly, and their sides were clothed with brushwood and timber. Still further they dipped gently down, and the view was bounded by the thick dark woods of Dunton Park, which shrouded the residence of the Earl of Amounderness. The fairest object in this part of the prospect was Dunton Church, which stood on a gentle hill about a mile north of the mere. It was an old pile with a square tower, like that of Marston, and I know not to which church the palm of beauty ought to be assigned. It was pleasant in summer-time to float on the mere, and hear the bells of both fanes ring out in merry rivalry. Those of Marston were deepest, Dunton’s sweetest in tone. On the right of Dunton the view was terminated by the dark and distant range of Lancashire hills. My glances, however, were not cast in this direction, but towards the tower of Marston Church, the summit of which was lighted up by a straggling sunbeam. I thought of my mother, and fancied her eye might be upon me.
My reflections were put to flight by a flight of wild fowl. I fired amongst them, and brought down a couple of fine ducks, and, having bagged them, we commenced our attempt. The southern extremity of the mere, where we were, was the widest, and the point we intended to make for — a cottage on the low banks, belonging to Ned Culcheth, one of Squire Vernon’s keepers — might be about a mile off, in a direct line. At first, the ice was strong enough, and we trampled down the flags and bulrushes as they appeared above the surface; but after we had got two or three hundred yards, and were above deep water, it certainly looked thinner, and was very blue and clear. As we knew there were many springs in the mere, we kept a sharp look-out for all such dangerous places; and, indeed, they were pointed out to us by the water-fowl, which assembled at the spots in search of the fish that swarmed there to breathe. By this time I had encumbered myself with another duck, and having advanced for a quarter of a mile without accident and without alarm, we were in high spirits at our progress, and made sure of accomplishing the rest of the distance.
While loading my gun, after an unsuccessful shot, we stopped for a moment to look around us. It was a fine winterly scene: ice — ice — everywhere, spreading out in a vast unbroken sheet, smooth, shining like a mirror, and as slippery too. Just then the clock of Marston Church struck seven, in an unusually solemn manner, I thought; and we went on, running and sliding over the glassy surface. All at once we became aware that the ice was bending unpleasantly beneath us, and we looked at each other uneasily. Forcing a laugh, I began to repeat the schoolboy rhymes —
“If it bends, it’ll bear,
If it cracks, it’ll swear,
If it breaks—”
“Hold your tongue!” interrupted Malpas. “Why the devil do you mention such a thing as breaking now? I wish we were safely back again. What a fool I was to come with you at all!”
He was here interrupted in his turn by a most terrific crack, beginning just beneath his feet, passing under mine, and sweeping on with an awful noise to an immense distance. Malpas and I stared at each other aghast, uncertain whether to advance or retreat.
We were now about midway from either shore, and therefore it seemed immaterial which course was adopted. Malpas was for turning back; but he had scarcely moved a foot in that direction, when another crack, louder and more appalling than the first, took place beneath him, and water sprang from between the fissures. Starting back with a cry of terror, he speeded off in the course we had originally pursued. We trod as lightly and moved as swiftly as we could, stepping on the points of our feet. The distance between us and the shore seemed interminable. The ice seemed fairly giving way, and cracked and groaned most fearfully. On looking back, I saw that the surface not fifty yards behind us was covered with water. I now gave myself up for lost, and thought of my mother, hoping I should be buried beside her, if my body was ever found, in Marston churchyard.
Malpas, who was not encumbered with a gun and a bag of wild ducks, and who, besides, had a very light pair of heels, got considerably in advance, and thinking I might safely follow where he went, I shaped my course accordingly. But I soon found this to be an error, for the ice, which bent beneath him, and cracked, would hardly sustain me, and more than once gave way altogether, so that my escapes from destruction seemed almost miraculous. For some time, my attention had been so intently directed to my own precarious situation, that I had not dared to glance towards the shore; but now looking in that direction, with a thrill of delight, I discovered that I was much nearer it than I expected — scarcely more than a hundred yards off, while the ice had become much firmer. But where was Malpas? Had he already reached the bank? I could nowhere perceive him. A vague apprehension crossed me that he had sunk through the ice; and my fears were instantly afterwards confirmed by remarking his cap only a few yards before me. At a glance I saw what had happened. In his haste, he had incautiously approached a spring, and had fallen through the thin covering of ice. The sound of his immersion had been drowned in the loud cracks and explosions. All selfish considerations were lost in the thought of saving him, and twenty rash plans — any of which would have cost me my own life occurred to me. I approached as near as I dared to the hole. Nothing was to be discerned of him. The ice was as transparent as crystal, and I looked eagerly around for any object beneath it. The next moment I distinguished Malpas under the glassy barrier, with his hands outstretched, and his eyes open and fixed on me. Never shall I forget their expression. I sprang to where he was, pointed in the direction of the aperture, and signed to him to move towards it. He understood me, and with a last effort struggled thither, and got his head above the ice. But the frail support broke beneath his hold, and he sank again. I uttered a cry of despair. But the next moment he reappeared; and, having thrown myself flat on the ice, I managed to lay my gun across the hole, and he caught hold of the barrel. But I saw that he was so much exhausted, that unless he could be immediately extricated he must unquestionably perish; and I therefore approached still nearer, though at the greatest personal risk, until I could grasp his hand, and then, bidding him second my efforts, I exerted all the strength I possessed, and succeeded in dragging him out of the hole.
I was so overjoyed by his deliverance, that I felt disposed to fall on my knees and offer up thanks to Heaven for it; but there was something in his look that checked me.
Seeing he was too much exhausted to move, I laid hold of him and dragged him along the surface of the ice, which, fortunately, was very smooth, so that I had little difficulty in the job, for he himself was as helpless as a sack. When I got him to land he was quite insensible, and I was very much frightened, scarcely knowing what to do. However, Ned Culcheth’s cottage was close by; so I hurried thither, and fortunately finding th
e keeper within, he came out at once, and by his help and that of his wife, Malpas was quickly transported to the little habitation, where he was wrapped in warm blankets, and some hot spirits and water poured down his throat, after which he began to revive. At first he didn’t seem to know what had happened, nor where he was; but when his dark eye lighted on me as I sat by the pallet on which he was laid, all seemed to flash upon him, and an uneasy expression crossed his face.
“Weel, Master Malpas, how dun you find yourself, sir,” inquired Ned. “You’n had a narrow squeak for your life, and if it hadn’t been for Master Marvyn here, yo’d ha’ been food for th’ fishes by this time. You owe your life to him.”
“It’s a debt I shall never be able to pay,” Malpas rejoined, turning away as if in pain, and averting his gaze from us.
The keeper shook his head.
“I dunna like that lad,” he muttered between his teeth. “There’s summut naw reet about him.”
With this he left the room; and, after a little time, as Malpas did not speak, I fancied he must be asleep, and got up to leave too, but just as I was passing through the door, I glanced towards the bed, and beheld his eyes fixed upon me with an expression of absolute hate. I was stepping back to him, but he motioned me off, saying, impatiently and pettishly:
“I don’t want you. Shut the door. I’m trying to go to sleep, and your presence disturbs me.”
So I left him, and stepping outside the cottage, found Ned, who had been to fetch my gun and the ducks, which I had left on the ice.
“Why you’re one o’ t’ warst poachers abowt Marston, Master Marvyn,” Ned cried, “an’ I dunna know what t’ squoire would say if he seed you wi’ these dooks. Howsomdever, we won’t say nowt about it. Hang that chap inside; I canna ‘bide him. Take care he dunna do you an ill turn. You’n thrown a chance away. If I’d been i’ your place, when his head were once fairly under water, I’d ha’ letten him be. No one could ha’ blamed you, and he’d ha’ done you no more hurt.”
“But I should have blamed myself, Culcheth,” I rejoined, somewhat severely, for I was much displeased with the freedom he took; “or rather, I should never have forgiven myself, if I had acted in the way you suggest. I would rather suffer any wrong than commit the heinous crime of allowing a follow-creature to perish, when I could render him aid, even granting he were my enemy at the time, and, which I can scarcely believe, should continue an enemy afterwards.”
“Weel, them’s Christian sentiments, I must say,” returned the keeper, rather abashed; “and I’m glad any one can be found to act up to ‘em, but you’re young i’ th’ warld yet, and dunna know human natur — the worst part on it, I mean, for it’s not all bad — Lord forbid! When you’n lived as long as I have, you’n find that wi’ some folk every kindness you show ’em is worse than an injury inflicted.”
I put an end to the discussion, for I thought nothing would be gained by pursuing it further; and we entered the cottage, where a clean cloth had been spread upon the table, and a plain but ample and very good breakfast had been prepared by the keeper’s wife, consisting of fried eggs and bacon, toasted oatcakes, butter, cheese, and a large basin of new milk. To these good things I did ample justice, for I was as hungry as a famished wolf.
Sissy Culcheth was a young and a very pretty little Welsh woman, and wore a man’s hat, which was extremely becoming to her. Her countenance was redolent of health and good humour, and her cherry lips were ever sundered by smiles, as if to show her white teeth, while a pretty dimple was constantly displaying itself in her blooming cheeks. She was particularly clean in her person and attire; and as I looked round the cottage, which in all its arrangements and details showed evidence of her neatness and taste, I thought Ned must be a very happy fellow with such a tidy and pretty helpmate. In return for the excellent meal she had provided me with, I offered her the wild ducks I had shot, and she appeared much obliged by the present; but Ned laughed and said, “Nah, nah; it would be like bringin’ coals to Newcastle, to give her the dooks.”
Before I sat down to breakfast, Sissy peeped into the room where Malpas lay, and finding him asleep, did not disturb him; but now that nearly two hours had elapsed, and his clothes were quite dried, she went again, and almost instantly returned, with a look of alarm, saying he was sitting up in bed, talking very wildly and incoherently, and, she feared, must be in a high fever. Ned and I instantly flew to the room, and found her apprehensions verified. On seeing us, he sprang out of bed, and seized me by the throat; and it required all Ned’s strength to get him back again, and hold him down. In a little time the paroxysm passed, and a shivering-fit ensued; and as it was evident immediate assistance must be obtained, Ned said my Christian charity must be put in practice once more, and I must run for Simon Pownall, the village barber-surgeon, and he would keep watch over Master Malpas meanwhile, to prevent mischief. He added, that I had better call at the vicarage, and let Doctor Sale know how matters stood. This was not a very pleasant task, but there was no help for it, and I set off as fast as I could to Marston.
CHAPTER V.
CONSEQUENCES OF THE ADVENTURE ON THE ICE.
SIMON POWNALL, the barber-surgeon of Marston, was a strange, conceited little fellow, with whom I was well acquainted, for he shaved my uncle Mobberley three times a week, brought him mixtures for his cough, lotions for his sore eye, and powders for his rheumatism. He was the greatest gossip in the village, and knew every one’s affairs far better than they knew them themselves. There were no secrets, he declared, in any family round the place with which he was not acquainted. His practice had put him in possession of queer matters, if he chose to disclose them; “but ‘mum’.’s the word with me,” he said; “professional men never betray their patients,” Simon, moreover, was of a very meddlesome turn, and liked to push his nose — and it was a very long and sharp one — into everything, and to give advice without being asked for it; and as, from one cause or other, he was very much feared, people took care to be on good terms with him. He had plenty of employment with shaving and tooth-drawing, blistering men and bleeding cattle, attending the farmers’ wives in their confinements, and physicking their sons and daughters when they required it. He powdered the vicar’s hair, and quacked him for his gout and other ailments; was very skilful in reducing a fracture; and, indeed, in his own opinion, was very skilful at everything. In short, he was a clever little empiric, with a smattering of most things, and knew how to make the most of the little he possessed. Though a great egotist, he generally managed to drop the personal pronoun when speaking himself. His shop was close to the Nag’s Head, somewhat retired from the road, with a comfortable bench in front, a gallipot and a red rag in the window, and a blue and white striped pole projecting from the door.
When I rushed in, in breathless haste, Simon was operating on the chin of a farmer, and, startled by the noise, he exclaimed, on seeing me:
“Something wrong at Nethercrofts, eh? Be bound it’s the old dame. Never recovered the loss of her cat. Been in a low way ever since — sinking — sinking — gradually sinking. Tried to support her. Got her a fine tabby. No use. Ah! ah! poor soul — knew it would come to this.”
“But there’s nothing the matter with her!” I cried. “My aunt’s not worse than usual.”
“Oh, la! then it’s the old man!” Pownall ejaculated. “What ails him? Shaved him yesterday. Cough troublesome; rheumatiz ditto. Well enough, though, to go to the Nag’s Head in the afternoon, and drink his gin-and-water as usual. Sudden attack, eh?”
Having now quite recovered my breath, I stopped his guesswork by explaining what had really happened, and in what way his services were required. On hearing that Malpas and I had crossed the mere, he lifted up his hands in amazement; so did his apprentice, Chetham Quick, who was almost as queer a character as his master; and so also did Tom Shakeshaft, the farmer, who had waited quietly all this while with his broad good-natured face covered with lather.
“Oh, la! wonder you’re here to tell the tale!”
Pownall cried, after this general expression of astonishment. “Risks young folks run, to be sure. Wouldn’t have done it for twenty pounds; would you, Master Shakeshaft?” (A grunt of assent from the farmer.) “Off immediately — that is, as soon as you’re finished, Master Shakeshaft. Take care of the shop, Chetham.”
And, having cleared the jolly farmer’s cheeks and chin of their stubble, he put a case of lancets, some bandages, and a few other matters into his pocket, and, leaving Chetham Quick to conduct his business in his absence, hurried off to the keeper’s cottage, while I repaired to the vicarage, very doubtful as to the reception I should meet with.
The vicarage was a thoroughly comfortable residence. Trust your well-beneficed parsons for taking care of themselves and making all snug about them. I was ushered into the study, whither the doctor had retired after a substantial breakfast, the remains of which I saw on the sideboard as I passed the dining-room. Doctor Sale was a pompous, portly personage, with a rosy, handsome countenance, set off by well-powdered hair, and boasting a goodly protuberance of stomach, sustained by many a fat haunch, of venison from Fitton Park, which was now in the possession of his wife’s brother, to whom in former days he had been tutor. Doctor Sale suffered from gout, and as his weight and corpulency prevented him from taking as much exercise as he required, his temper suffered likewise. He looked much surprised at my visit, and when I told him, as briefly as I could, what had occurred, he flew into a towering passion, and, ringing the bell furiously, bade the man desire Mrs. Sale to come to him immediately. He then rated me soundly, as if I had been the sole cause of the accident.
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