CHAPTER IV
A VERY RASH VISIT
My dear father had been killed by the Doones of Bagworthy, while ridinghome from Porlock market, on the Saturday evening. With him were sixbrother-farmers, all of them very sober; for father would have nocompany with any man who went beyond half a gallon of beer, or a singlegallon of cider. The robbers had no grudge against him; for he had neverflouted them, neither made overmuch of outcry, because they robbed otherpeople. For he was a man of such strict honesty, and due parish feeling,that he knew it to be every man's own business to defend himself andhis goods; unless he belonged to our parish, and then we must look afterhim.
These seven good farmers were jogging along, helping one another in thetroubles of the road, and singing goodly hymns and songs to keep theircourage moving, when suddenly a horseman stopped in the starlight fullacross them.
By dress and arms they knew him well, and by his size and stature, shownagainst the glimmer of the evening star; and though he seemed one man toseven, it was in truth one man to one. Of the six who had beensinging songs and psalms about the power of God, and their ownregeneration--such psalms as went the round, in those days, of thepublic-houses--there was not one but pulled out his money, and sangsmall beer to a Doone.
But father had been used to think that any man who was comfortableinside his own coat and waistcoat deserved to have no other set, unlesshe would strike a blow for them. And so, while his gossips doffed theirhats, and shook with what was left of them, he set his staff above hishead, and rode at the Doone robber. With a trick of his horse, the wildman escaped the sudden onset, although it must have amazed him sadlythat any durst resist him. Then when Smiler was carried away with thedash and the weight of my father (not being brought up to battle, norused to turn, save in plough harness), the outlaw whistled upon histhumb, and plundered the rest of the yeoman. But father, drawing atSmiler's head, to try to come back and help them, was in the midst ofa dozen men, who seemed to come out of a turf-rick, some on horse, andsome a-foot. Nevertheless, he smote lustily, so far as he could see;and being of great size and strength, and his blood well up, they had noeasy job with him. With the play of his wrist, he cracked three or fourcrowns, being always famous at single-stick; until the rest drew theirhorses away, and he thought that he was master, and would tell his wifeabout it.
But a man beyond the range of staff was crouching by the peat-stack,with a long gun set to his shoulder, and he got poor father against thesky, and I cannot tell the rest of it. Only they knew that Smiler camehome, with blood upon his withers, and father was found in the morningdead on the moor, with his ivy-twisted cudgel lying broken under him.Now, whether this were an honest fight, God judge betwixt the Doones andme.
It was more of woe than wonder, being such days of violence, that motherknew herself a widow, and her children fatherless. Of children therewere only three, none of us fit to be useful yet, only to comfortmother, by making her to work for us. I, John Ridd, was the eldest,and felt it a heavy thing on me; next came sister Annie, with about twoyears between us; and then the little Eliza.
Now, before I got home and found my sad loss--and no boy ever loved hisfather more than I loved mine--mother had done a most wondrous thing,which made all the neighbours say that she must be mad, at least. Uponthe Monday morning, while her husband lay unburied, she cast a whitehood over her hair, and gathered a black cloak round her, and, takingcounsel of no one, set off on foot for the Doone-gate.
In the early afternoon she came to the hollow and barren entrance, wherein truth there was no gate, only darkness to go through. If I get onwith this story, I shall have to tell of it by-and-by, as I saw itafterwards; and will not dwell there now. Enough that no gun was firedat her, only her eyes were covered over, and somebody led her by thehand, without any wish to hurt her.
A very rough and headstrong road was all that she remembered, for shecould not think as she wished to do, with the cold iron pushed againsther. At the end of this road they delivered her eyes, and she couldscarce believe them.
For she stood at the head of a deep green valley, carved from out themountains in a perfect oval, with a fence of sheer rock standing roundit, eighty feet or a hundred high; from whose brink black wooded hillsswept up to the sky-line. By her side a little river glided out fromunderground with a soft dark babble, unawares of daylight; then growingbrighter, lapsed away, and fell into the valley. Then, as it ran downthe meadow, alders stood on either marge, and grass was blading outupon it, and yellow tufts of rushes gathered, looking at the hurry. Butfurther down, on either bank, were covered houses built of stone, squareand roughly cornered, set as if the brook were meant to be the streetbetween them. Only one room high they were, and not placed opposite eachother, but in and out as skittles are; only that the first of all, whichproved to be the captain's, was a sort of double house, or rather twohouses joined together by a plank-bridge, over the river.
Fourteen cots my mother counted, all very much of a pattern, and nothingto choose between them, unless it were the captain's. Deep in the quietvalley there, away from noise, and violence, and brawl, save that ofthe rivulet, any man would have deemed them homes of simple mind andinnocence. Yet not a single house stood there but was the home ofmurder.
Two men led my mother down a steep and gliddery stair-way, like theladder of a hay-mow; and thence from the break of the falling water asfar as the house of the captain. And there at the door they left hertrembling, strung as she was, to speak her mind.
Now, after all, what right had she, a common farmer's widow, to take itamiss that men of birth thought fit to kill her husband. And the Dooneswere of very high birth, as all we clods of Exmoor knew; and we hadenough of good teaching now--let any man say the contrary--to feel thatall we had belonged of right to those above us. Therefore my mother washalf-ashamed that she could not help complaining.
But after a little while, as she said, remembrance of her husband came,and the way he used to stand by her side and put his strong arm roundher, and how he liked his bacon fried, and praised her kindly forit--and so the tears were in her eyes, and nothing should gainsay them.
A tall old man, Sir Ensor Doone, came out with a bill-hook in hishand, hedger's gloves going up his arms, as if he were no better than alabourer at ditch-work. Only in his mouth and eyes, his gait, and mostof all his voice, even a child could know and feel that here was noditch-labourer. Good cause he has found since then, perhaps, to wishthat he had been one.
With his white locks moving upon his coat, he stopped and looked downat my mother, and she could not help herself but curtsey under the fixedblack gazing.
'Good woman, you are none of us. Who has brought you hither? Young menmust be young--but I have had too much of this work.'
And he scowled at my mother, for her comeliness; and yet looked underhis eyelids as if he liked her for it. But as for her, in her depth oflove-grief, it struck scorn upon her womanhood; and in the flash shespoke.
'What you mean I know not. Traitors! cut-throats! cowards! I am here toask for my husband.' She could not say any more, because her heartwas now too much for her, coming hard in her throat and mouth; but sheopened up her eyes at him.
'Madam,' said Sir Ensor Doone--being born a gentleman, although a verybad one--'I crave pardon of you. My eyes are old, or I might have known.Now, if we have your husband prisoner, he shall go free without ransoms,because I have insulted you.'
'Sir,' said my mother, being suddenly taken away with sorrow, because ofhis gracious manner, 'please to let me cry a bit.'
He stood away, and seemed to know that women want no help for that. Andby the way she cried he knew that they had killed her husband. Then,having felt of grief himself, he was not angry with her, but left her tobegin again.
'Loth would I be,' said mother, sobbing with her new red handkerchief,and looking at the pattern of it, 'loth indeed, Sir Ensor Doone, toaccuse any one unfairly. But I have lost the very best husband God evergave to a woman; and I knew him when he was to your belt, an
d I not upto your knee, sir; and never an unkind word he spoke, nor stoppedme short in speaking. All the herbs he left to me, and all thebacon-curing, and when it was best to kill a pig, and how to treat themaidens. Not that I would ever wish--oh, John, it seems so strange tome, and last week you were everything.'
Here mother burst out crying again, not loudly, but turning quietly,because she knew that no one now would ever care to wipe the tears. Andfifty or a hundred things, of weekly and daily happening, came across mymother, so that her spirit fell like slackening lime.
'This matter must be seen to; it shall be seen to at once,' the old mananswered, moved a little in spite of all his knowledge. 'Madam, if anywrong has been done, trust the honour of a Doone; I will redress it tomy utmost. Come inside and rest yourself, while I ask about it. What wasyour good husband's name, and when and where fell this mishap?'
'Deary me,' said mother, as he set a chair for her very polite, but shewould not sit upon it; 'Saturday morning I was a wife, sir; and Saturdaynight I was a widow, and my children fatherless. My husband's name wasJohn Ridd, sir, as everybody knows; and there was not a finer or betterman in Somerset or Devon. He was coming home from Porlock market, and anew gown for me on the crupper, and a shell to put my hair up--oh, John,how good you were to me!'
Of that she began to think again, and not to believe her sorrow, exceptas a dream from the evil one, because it was too bad upon her, andperhaps she would awake in a minute, and her husband would have thelaugh of her. And so she wiped her eyes and smiled, and looked forsomething.
'Madam, this is a serious thing,' Sir Ensor Doone said graciously, andshowing grave concern: 'my boys are a little wild, I know. And yet Icannot think that they would willingly harm any one. And yet--and yet,you do look wronged. Send Counsellor to me,' he shouted, from the doorof his house; and down the valley went the call, 'Send Counsellor toCaptain.'
Counsellor Doone came in ere yet my mother was herself again; and if anysight could astonish her when all her sense of right and wrong was goneastray with the force of things, it was the sight of the Counsellor.A square-built man of enormous strength, but a foot below the Doonestature (which I shall describe hereafter), he carried a long grey bearddescending to the leather of his belt. Great eyebrows overhung his face,like ivy on a pollard oak, and under them two large brown eyes, as of anowl when muting. And he had a power of hiding his eyes, or showing thembright, like a blazing fire. He stood there with his beaver off, andmother tried to look at him, but he seemed not to descry her.
'Counsellor,' said Sir Ensor Doone, standing back in his height fromhim, 'here is a lady of good repute--'
'Oh, no, sir; only a woman.'
'Allow me, madam, by your good leave. Here is a lady, Counsellor, ofgreat repute in this part of the country, who charges the Doones withhaving unjustly slain her husband--'
'Murdered him! murdered him!' cried my mother, 'if ever there was amurder. Oh, sir! oh, sir! you know it.'
'The perfect rights and truth of the case is all I wish to know,' saidthe old man, very loftily: 'and justice shall be done, madam.'
'Oh, I pray you--pray you, sirs, make no matter of business of it. Godfrom Heaven, look on me!'
'Put the case,' said the Counsellor.
'The case is this,' replied Sir Ensor, holding one hand up to mother:'This lady's worthy husband was slain, it seems, upon his return fromthe market at Porlock, no longer ago than last Saturday night. Madam,amend me if I am wrong.'
'No longer, indeed, indeed, sir. Sometimes it seems a twelvemonth, andsometimes it seems an hour.'
'Cite his name,' said the Counsellor, with his eyes still rollinginwards.
'Master John Ridd, as I understand. Counsellor, we have heard of himoften; a worthy man and a peaceful one, who meddled not with our duties.Now, if any of our boys have been rough, they shall answer it dearly.And yet I can scarce believe it. For the folk about these parts areapt to misconceive of our sufferings, and to have no feeling for us.Counsellor, you are our record, and very stern against us; tell us howthis matter was.'
'Oh, Counsellor!' my mother cried; 'Sir Counsellor, you will be fair: Isee it in your countenance. Only tell me who it was, and set me face toface with him, and I will bless you, sir, and God shall bless you, andmy children.'
The square man with the long grey beard, quite unmoved by anything, drewback to the door and spoke, and his voice was like a fall of stones inthe bottom of a mine.
'Few words will be enow for this. Four or five of our best-behaved andmost peaceful gentlemen went to the little market at Porlock with a lumpof money. They bought some household stores and comforts at a very highprice, and pricked upon the homeward road, away from vulgar revellers.When they drew bridle to rest their horses, in the shelter of apeat-rick, the night being dark and sudden, a robber of great size andstrength rode into the midst of them, thinking to kill or terrify. Hisarrogance and hardihood at the first amazed them, but they would notgive up without a blow goods which were on trust with them. He hadsmitten three of them senseless, for the power of his arm was terrible;whereupon the last man tried to ward his blow with a pistol. Carver,sir, it was, our brave and noble Carver, who saved the lives ofhis brethren and his own; and glad enow they were to escape.Notwithstanding, we hoped it might be only a flesh-wound, and not tospeed him in his sins.'
As this atrocious tale of lies turned up joint by joint before her, likea 'devil's coach-horse,'* mother was too much amazed to do any more thanlook at him, as if the earth must open. But the only thing that openedwas the great brown eyes of the Counsellor, which rested on my mother'sface with a dew of sorrow, as he spoke of sins.
* The cock-tailed beetle has earned this name in the West of England.
She, unable to bear them, turned suddenly on Sir Ensor, and caught (asshe fancied) a smile on his lips, and a sense of quiet enjoyment.
'All the Doones are gentlemen,' answered the old man gravely, andlooking as if he had never smiled since he was a baby. 'We are alwaysglad to explain, madam, any mistake which the rustic people may fallupon about us; and we wish you clearly to conceive that we do not chargeyour poor husband with any set purpose of robbery, neither will we bringsuit for any attainder of his property. Is it not so, Counsellor?'
'Without doubt his land is attainted; unless is mercy you forbear, sir.'
'Counsellor, we will forbear. Madam, we will forgive him. Like enough heknew not right from wrong, at that time of night. The waters are strongat Porlock, and even an honest man may use his staff unjustly in thisunchartered age of violence and rapine.'
The Doones to talk of rapine! Mother's head went round so that shecurtseyed to them both, scarcely knowing where she was, but calling tomind her manners. All the time she felt a warmth, as if the right waswith her, and yet she could not see the way to spread it out beforethem. With that, she dried her tears in haste and went into the coldair, for fear of speaking mischief.
But when she was on the homeward road, and the sentinels had charge ofher, blinding her eyes, as if she were not blind enough with weeping,some one came in haste behind her, and thrust a heavy leathern bag intothe limp weight of her hand.
'Captain sends you this,' he whispered; 'take it to the little ones.'
But mother let it fall in a heap, as if it had been a blind worm; andthen for the first time crouched before God, that even the Doones shouldpity her.
Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor Page 5
