Collected works of j s f.., p.70
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 70
“Will they not stare at you to-morrow?” cried Lucy. “Quick, I say, and make ready to go with us. Surely if we can stand hearing the banns read out, you ought to.”
So away we all went, and on coming into the village street at Darrington fell in with many of our acquaintance, who wished us joy and happiness so heartily that the girls blushed for pleasure, and Ben hung down his head and looked as if he were a criminal that had been caught in the commission of some awful deed. It was indeed very hard on Benjamin that the girls had insisted on his presence at church that morning, for the nave and aisles were filled with people, and we had no sooner got to our seats than everybody turned to look at us, so that Ben’s face glowed like a red rose and I felt far from comfortable myself. Here, however, I could not but admire the wonderful self-possession of our sweethearts, who seemed to be wholly unconscious of the eyes turned upon them, but gave their attention entirely to the service, and looked as demure as cats that bask in front of a warm fire. So the service went on until the time came for reading out the banns of such folk as were to be married, and then indeed I felt that every eye in the church was upon us, and that the ploughboys in the dark corners under the belfry were smiling and the village girls laughing. As for me, I know not how I looked, but I professed to be mightily interested in Rose’s Prayer-book, while poor Ben, after turning red and then white, finally folded his arms and fixed his eyes desperately on a certain corner of the roof, until Parson Drumbleforth had made an end of our names for the third and last time, and went forward to the next part of the service.
Now, after morning prayer and sermon was over, and Holy Communion had been celebrated with such ceremonies as they use on Easter Day, we went out into the churchyard, and were there joined by Jack Drumbleforth, who brought us a message from his father to the effect that we must dine with him at the Vicarage, which invitation we straightway accepted. So Jack had us into the best parlour, where the vicar kept his books, and his father shortly appearing in his cassock and gown made us heartily welcome and gave us good advice upon our future enterprises, until Mistress Deborah called us to dinner. After the meal was over we amused ourselves with various matters until the time for afternoon service, when we all went to church again, Ben this time looking as bold as brass and carrying himself with exceeding great dignity. And towards the end of the afternoon we walked homewards across the fields with many good and holy thoughts in our minds, which had been prompted by the influences of that great day. And there was only one regret in my heart, namely, that my dear father and mother were not there to see our happiness, but were lying side by side in their quiet graves in the churchyard which we had just left.
So the day had passed well enough until then, and it went better in the evening, when Rose and I went for a long walk across our fields, and talked, as lovers will talk, of past and present and future. We were happy enough, and I doubt not Ben and Lucy were the same, for they seemed on good terms with themselves when we went back home. The girls went early to bed that night, for there were many matters to be attended to in the morning. Ben and I therefore were left to ourselves by nine o’clock, and for a good half-hour we sat staring at the fire with never a word to say.
“Heigho!” sighed Ben at last. “I wish it were to-morrow! I cannot rest for thinking of it. What are you going to do, Will?”
For I had risen and was going towards the door.
“I am going for a ride in the moonlight, Ben. ’Tis better than sitting over the fire and hearing thee sigh like a furnace.”
“Marry, and a good notion too. Lend me a horse, and I will go with thee.”
We made fast the house-door, and going to the stables, saddled and bridled our horses and rode away into the meadows. The moon had risen over the woods and everything was filled with a silver radiance. Spring as it was, there was yet a slight touch of frost in the night air, and the keenness of it seemed delightful as we put the horses to a canter and went merrily across the land. Here and there a hare or a rabbit scudded out of our way; now a fox was roused from his couch and made off for the woods. Ben’s spirits rose as we dashed along, and he laughed and sang until the woods echoed back his voice. Presently we left the meadows and went into the darkness of the long wood that stretches across country from Stapleton to Went Vale. There all was still and silent, save when some animal, fox, badger, or hare, broke cover and hurried away, or an owl, perched in a dead tree, uttered its dismal note. The trees were thick overhead, but here and there the moonlight flickered through some opening, and fell trembling on the bridle-path which we were traversing.
“Ah!” said Ben, “I am somewhat fond of my bed as a usual thing, but this is better than sleep. Come, let us spur up our steeds for another gallop.”
So away we went under the dark roof of the woods until we had passed two miles of them and found ourselves in the high-road that leads from Darrington to Smeaton. We drew rein and looked around us.
“There is Castle Hill,” said Ben.
I looked at the pile of buildings rising above us to our left. I had never set eyes on the place since the night when Philip Lisle and I visited it in search of Dennis and found him flown. I had desired nothing so much as to see it and its master when I rode away from Peterborough; nay, not even my own homestead and those it sheltered. But now my passion was dead, for Rupert Watson was beyond my reach. The Almighty vengeance had descended upon him in no scant measure.
“They say Rupert’s madness increaseth,” said Ben. “His nephew hath come to manage matters, and is doubtless whole and sole master now. They say, too, that—”
“My God, Ben!” I cried suddenly. “What is that? Look — by the gate of the fold.”
Out of the gate right before us came a figure all in white, leading a grey horse by the bridle. My blood turned chill as I watched it: it looked so ghostly in the moonlight. As we stood rooted to the spot the figure leaped to the horse’s back and came across the paddock in our direction.
“Will!” said Ben. “’Tis Rupert Watson! He hath risen from his bed — see, he hath his night-clothes on — and has come a-riding in his madness. A blind man riding! See, ’tis the old grey horse he used to ride to market.”
“And it is blind, too,” I whispered back.
‘It hath been blind this two years. Ben, what shall we do? Must we not stop him and rouse his friends?”
“Hush!” said Ben. “Make no sound — let us see what he is after.”
We stood silent and breathless at the roadside until that ghostly pair were close upon us. Then we saw that it was indeed Rupert Watson, clad in his night-clothes, with his white hair and beard falling about his face, and his sightless eyes burning with a fierce light. I shut my eyes and shivered, for the sight was a terrible one — a blind man riding a blind horse!
He passed us at a yard’s distance, chattering and muttering to himself and the horse. When he had got to a little distance we turned our horses and followed him on the soft grass. In this way we rode up the hill. When we reached the summit we found the blind horse and its blind, mad rider standing on the highest bit of road, with their heads turned across the land as if they could see. Perhaps they had been used in other days to come there and gaze at the view. For before them in the moonlight stretched a long, level piece of moorland, nearly a mile across, with neither wood nor hedge to bar their progress, and at its farthest limit a great drop of a hundred feet over Smeaton Crag.
“What are they doing — they can see naught?” whispered Ben, fearfully, as we drew near. “Hark — how he raves, Will!”
Rupert Watson had risen in his saddle and was shouting and gesticulating with fierce words and motions.
“A last ride, good Greyfoot!” he shouted. “A last ride together across the land. Let all the ghosts, and the dead men, and the devils of hell follow us. On! on!”
He drove his spur into the blind horse’s side as he screamed out the last word. The horse neighed, rose on its hind feet, and then darted across the land like a mad thing, its rider shouting and yelling.
“Ride, Ben, ride!” I cried, and drove both spurs into Captains sides. “Ride, man! The Crag! They will be over the Crag!”
Never in all my life did I ride as I rode that night in the moonlight after the awful figures that went before, screaming and yelling like demons of hell. The wind flew by me and cut my face, the horse shivered and quivered as I drove the spurs again and again into his sides; Ben, urging his steed with voice and whip, was left behind and out of sight in a minute. But not a yard did we gain on the mad rider and his mad horse. On, on, on they went like the wind. I rose in my stirrups and shouted after them, and still they flew forward. And then suddenly they came to the smooth, broad surface of the Crag, and beyond it the deep blackness of the valley, and beyond that the village of Smeaton sleeping in the moonlight across the vale. The awful figures in front abated nothing of their speed, but were over the Crag like a flash of lightning and lost in the abyss below.
I pulled up my own panting and suffering beast, and drawing near to the Crag, laid myself along the ground and looked over. Far beneath me lay the grey horse and its rider, and beyond them the tiny Went ran babbling by with the moonbeams dancing on its rippling waters.
Thus came Rupert Watson to his end.
CHAPTER XVI.
HOW THE BELLS RANG OUT AT DARRINGTON.
IT was long past sunrise when I rose on the morning of my wedding-day, for the excitement of the previous night’s adventure and the task of carrying Rupert Watson home had wearied me no little, and I had slept as soundly as a tired dog. When I went downstairs all was bustle and hurry in our house, for various female acquaintances of the family had arrived and were already busied in dressing the brides, which matter seemed likely to be a long operation, judging from the importance they all gave to it. As for Ben Tuckett, he had been up and about for an hour or two, and was busy studying his attire in the mirror when I found him, for he had taken exceeding great pains in making himself fine.
“I thought thou wert going to sleep for ever,” said he, as I came behind him. “What, man, ’tis nine o’ the clock now, and we are to start for church at ten. Had we not best be seeing to our horses?”
“Time enough for that, Ben, in an hour. As for my horse, he will not be able to go out. Last night’s work took too much out of him for that.”
“Alack!” said Ben. “I have been dreaming of it all night. Never again shall we see such a sight as that. ’Twas no pleasant matter to be engaged in on the eve of a man’s wedding.”
“Have you told the girls of it?” I inquired.
“Yea, they and I were down here eating our breakfast by seven o’clock and I told them the whole story,” answered Ben. “I feared lest they should hear of it elsewhere. All the guests will be full of it, thou wilt see, when they come hither.”
Then he fell to work smoothing his fine coat and arranging and rearranging his neckcloth and staring at himself in the mirror, so I left him and went to see that all things were in order for the marriage-feast, which was to be held when we came back from church. Now, we had no room in the house large enough for this, and we had therefore had one of the granaries swept and garnished for the occasion, and there the maids were laying out the feast under the orders of Mistress Deborah, who had come over to give us the benefit of her experience for that day. From the granary I went to the stables, where I found Jacob Trusty, who was busied in decorating all the horses with gay-coloured ribbons. Jacob himself was very fine, for he had gotten himself new garments from the tailor, and wore a hat with a great plume in it, which was extravagance I never knew him guilty of before. Now, I no sooner appeared at the stable door than Jacob seized me by the hand and greeted me warmly, and gave me his fervent blessing, with a wish that I might live long and happily and see my children’s children around me. No more earnest wish had I that day than this of Jacob’s, for he meant every word of it.
“’Tis a great day this, lad,” said Jacob, still busied with his ribbons. “I could die happy now that thou art taking thyself a wife. However, let me see thy son before I die. Then shall I have known four generations of Dales. Only one regret have I this day, lad, namely, that thy father and thy mother are not alive to see it.”
“That is all that troubles me, Jacob.”
“We cannot have all we would in this world,” said he. “I doubt not they are better off where they are, lad. Master Benjamin hath been telling me of what ye were at last night. Did I not tell thee, William, long ago, that thy father’s murderers would reap the fruit of their misdeeds? Thou seest how it hath come about. When I spoke our house was full of woe and death; to-day it is full of joy and life, and Rupert Watson lieth yonder dead and there is none left of his name. He and his have received ample reward for their sins.”
There was yet another task I had before me ere I returned to the house to receive the guests, who were already arriving. I took a spade and went to the corner of the garden where, many a year before, I had buried the little box containing Philip Lisle’s guinea and the primrose which Rose had given me at my first parting from her. I soon brought the box to light, and opened it and took out the guinea and the flowers, which, because the box was of lead and air-tight, were still preserved. There was the primrose which she had given me down in Went Vale, and with it the rose she added to it years after. Faded as they were, I pinned them carefully in my coat, and so went back to the house to look for Ben.
By that time there had already arrived a considerable number of our guests, who were all very gaily attired and had decorated their horses with ribbons. Now, too, came Jack Drumbleforth, who immediately constituted himself master of the ceremonies, and set to work to marshal everybody into his or her proper place. By the time I had gone round and shaken hands with everybody it was ten o’clock and time to set out for the church. Then came the brides from their chamber, and all the women ran to see them in the parlour, and Ben and I wanted to see them too, but were prevented by Jack, who vowed that we should not set eyes upon them until they joined us at the altar. So we were forced to be content, and went out to our horses with our friends, and were duly arranged in a grand procession by Jack and Tom Thorpe. First of all rode twelve young farmers, my friends, whose horses were gaily decorated with ribbons and flowers; then came Ben and myself; after us followed several other of our friends, all similarly mounted and decorated, and after them rode Jack Drumbleforth and Tom Thorpe, escorting the brides, who rode on pillions behind them, and these were followed by four young gentlemen, escorting four young ladies, who were to act as maids to Rose and Lucy; and winding up the procession came Jacob Trusty and Timothy Grass, mounted on my two best cart-horses, and carrying great boughs of green stuff, so that the whole affair was quite magnificent, and delighted Ben so greatly that he sat his horse like an emperor.
Now, when we got into the village street at Darrington, we found that the folks there had been very busy since early morning, and had prepared us such a welcome as showed that they wished us well. For there was a great arch of green stuff across the high-road at the inn, and another at the entrance to the churchyard, and the church porch was gay with flowers. Here there was a great concourse of people gathered together, and we were saluted with right hearty cheers as we left our horses and walked into the church, where Parson Drumbleforth waited, book in hand, to receive us in the presence of a congregation which filled every corner. So Ben and I took up our places and our friends stood round us, and presently appeared Jack and Tom leading the brides, and the vicar began the solemn service that was to make us one for life. And when he came to that part where it is necessary that some one should give the woman to the man, I stayed him and beckoned Jacob Trusty to come forward, and it was Jacob’s hand that put my wife’s in mine. So the service went on, and presently the last words were said, and we went out into the sunlight with the bells clashing and clanging joyously from the old tower above.
Now, we had no sooner emerged from the porch with our wives than we were surrounded by the crowd and greeted with such warmth as deeply touched us. Then Ben and I threw away all our small money for the children to scramble for, and sent more to the ringers in the belfry, so that they might refresh themselves and ring their merriest. And all this done we mounted our horses and reformed our procession to return home, but now our wives rode at the head with us, and Parson Drumbleforth, very fine in his best cap and cassock and silver-buckled shoes, rode at our side on his white mare. So we returned to Dale’s Field and were greeted with much affection by those who had remained behind, and I lifted Rose from my horse and took her across the threshold for the first time as mistress of my house.
Then followed the wedding-feast, whereat almost every friend we had was present, and the tables were crowded. Whether Ben or I felt most proud I know not, but he did often say in after-years that I looked as if I had conquered a city and won a rich treasure — as indeed I had. As for him, he plucked up his courage wonderfully now that the ordeal was over, and laughed and joked with every one, and made a speech that caused everybody to laugh exceedingly. We had plenty of speech-making indeed, for the vicar had some grave remarks to make, and Jack some humorous ones, and old Jacob, whom I had caused to sit near me in an honoured place, addressed a few words to us, and there were toasts proposed and spoken to until everybody’s health had been drunk. But there was one toast drunk in solemn silence and received with sad feelings by all of us, and that was to the memory of my dear father and mother and of Philip Lisle.
When the feast was over nothing would content Jack but a dance, and very soon he had sent for the fiddler and was arranging matters for country-dances on the lawn before the house. So all the young folks danced and the old ones sat round the garden and watched them, and whenever the fiddler stopped playing we heard the joyous jangle of the bells ringing out across the fields. So the afternoon wore away to evening, and at last the shadows fell across garden and meadow and our guests prepared to depart. And first of all Ben saddled his horse and made ready the pillion, and brought forth his wife, between whom and Rose there was much embracing, and they too rode away, with half a dozen cavaliers to escort them to Master Ben’s house at Pontefract. Then followed the others, in twos and threes and fours, their laughter ringing out happily along the highway. And last of all went Jack and his father, with many a wish for our happiness, and many a pressure of our hands, and we stood at the garden-gate, listening to the dying away of their horses’ feet in the distance, and to the last merry peal of the bells in the church tower.
