Cradock Nowell: A Tale of the New Forest. Volume 1 of 3

“Fancy killing a woodcock in the first week of October”! said Cradock, with equal excitement; “why, theyʼll put us in the paper, Viley”.

“Not unless you look sharp. Heʼs sure to be off at dusk. Heʼs a traveller, as Mark Stote said: sailed on from the Wight, most likely, last night; heʼll be off for Dorset, this evening. Run for your gun, Crad, your pet Purday; Iʼll meet you here with my Lancaster in just two minutes’ time. Donʼt say a word to a soul. Mind, weʼll go quite alone”.

“Yes; but you bring your little Wena, and Iʼll take my Caldo, and work him as close as possible. I promised him a run this afternoon”.

Away they ran, out of different doors, to get their guns and accoutre themselves; while the poor tired woodcock sitting on one leg, under a holly bush, was drawing up the thin quivering coverlet over his great black eyes.

Cradock came back to the main hall first, with his gun on his arm, and his shot–belt across him, his broad chest shown by the shooting–jacket, and the light of hope and enterprise in his clear strong glance. Before you could have counted ten, Clayton was there to meet him; and none but a very ill–natured man could have helped admiring the pair of them. Honest, affectionate, simple fellows, true West Saxons as could be seen, of the same height and figure as nearly as could be, each with the pure bright Nowell complexion, and the straightforward Nowell gaze. The wide forehead, pointed chin, arched eyebrows, and delicate mouth of each boy resembled the otherʼs exactly, as two slices cut from one fern–root. Nevertheless, the expression – if I may say it without affectation, the mind – of the face was different. Clayton, too, was beginning to nurse a very short moustache, a silky bright brown tasselet; while Cradock exulted rationally in a narrow fringe of young whiskers. And Vileyʼs head was borne slightly on one side, Cradockʼs almost imperceptibly on the other.

With a race to get to the door first, the twins went out together, and their merry laugh rang round the hall, and leaped along the passages. That hall shall not hear such a laugh, nor the passages repeat it, for many a winter night, I fear, unless the dead bear chorus.

The moment they got to the kennel, which they did by a way of their own, avoiding all grooms and young lumbermen, fourteen dogs, of different races and a dozen languages, thundered, yelled, and yelped at the guns, some leaping madly and cracking their staples, some sitting up and begging dearly, with the muscles of their chest all quivering, some drawing along on their stomachs, as if they were thoroughly callous, and yawning for a bit of activity; but each in his several way entreating to be the chosen one, each protesting that he was truly the best dog for the purpose – whatever that might be – and swearing stoutly that he would “down–charge” without a hand being lifted, never run in upon any temptation, never bolt after a hare. All the while Caldo sat grimly apart; having trust in human nature, he knew that merit must make its way, and needed no self–assertion. As his master came to him he stood upon his hind–legs calmly, balanced by the chain–stretch, and bent his forearms as a mermaid or a kangaroo does. Then, suddenly, Cradock Nowell dropped the butt of his gun on his boot, and said, with his face quite altered:

“Viley, I am very sorry; but, after all, I canʼt go with you”.

“Not come with me, Craddy, and a woodcock marked to a nicety! And you with your vamplets on, and all! What the deuce do you mean”?

“I mean just what I say. Donʼt ask me the reason, my dear fellow; Iʼll tell you by–and–by, when we smoke our pipes together. Now I beg you, as an especial favour, donʼt lose a moment in arguing. Go direct to the mark yourself, and straight powder to you! Iʼll come and meet you in an hourʼs time in the spire–bed by the covert”.

“Crad, itʼs no good to argue with you; that I have known for ages. Mind, the big–wigs donʼt dine till seven oʼclock, so you have plenty of time to come for me. But I am so sorry I shanʼt have you there to wipe my eye as usual. Nevertheless, Iʼll bring home Bill Woodcock; and what will you say to me then, my boy? Ta, ta; come along, Wena, wonʼt we astonish the natives? But I wish you were coming with me, Crad”.

The brothers went out at the little gate, and there Cradock stopped and watched the light figure hurrying westward over the chase, taking a short cut for the coverts. Clayton would just carry down the spinney, where the head of the spring was, because the woodcock might have gone on there; and if ever a snipe was come back to his home yet, that was the place to meet him. Thence he would follow the runnel, for about a third of a mile, down to the spot in the Coffin Wood, where the hollies grew, and the hoar–witheys. When quit of that coppice, the little stream stole away down the valley, and so past Mr. Garnetʼs cottage to the Nowelhurst water beyond the church bridge. Now whether this were the self–same brook on whose marge we observed Master Clayton last week walking, not wholly in solitude, is a question of which I will say no more, except that it does not matter much. There are so many brooks in the New Forest; and after all, if you come to that, how can the most consistent of brooks be identical with the special brook which we heard talking yesterday? Isnʼt it running, running on, even as our love does? Join hands and keep your fingers tight; still it will slip through them.

When Clayton was gone but a little way over the heather and hare–runs, his brother made off, with his gun uncharged, for the group still at work in the house–front. Bull Garnet was there, with Rufus Hutton sticking like a leech to him; no man ever was bored more sharply, or more bluntly expressed it. The veins of his temples and close–cropped head stood out like a beech–treeʼs stay roots; he was steaming all over with indignation, and could not find a vent for it. When Cradock came up, Bull saw in a glimpse that he was expected to say something; in fact, that he ought, as a gentleman, to show his interest, not his surprise. Nevertheless he would not do it, though he loved and admired Cradock; and for many reasons was cut to the heart by his paulo–postponement. So he left Craddy to begin, and presented no notch in his swearing. His swearing was tremendous, for he hated change of orders.

“Mr. Garnet”, said Cradock, at last, “I have heard a great deal of bad language, especially among the bargees at Oxford and the piermen at Southampton; and I donʼt pretend to split hairs myself, nor am I mealy–mouthed; but I trust you will excuse my observing, that up to the present moment I have never heard such blackguardly language as you are now employing”.

Bull Garnet turned round and looked at him. If Cradock had shown any sign of fear, he would have gone to the earth at once, for his unripe strength would have had no chance with Garnetʼs prime in its fury. The eyes of each felt hot in the otherʼs, as in reciprocal crucibles; then Mr. Garnetʼs rolled away in a perfect blaze of tears. He dashed out his hand and shook Cradockʼs mightily, quite at the back of the oak–tree; then he patted him on the shoulders, to resume his superiority; and said:

“My boy, I thank you”.

“Well”, thought Cradock, “of all the extraordinary fellows I ever came across, you are the most extraordinary. And yet it is quite impossible to doubt your perfect sincerity, and almost impossible to call in question your sanity”.

These reflections of Master Cradock were not so lucid as usual. At least he made a false antithesis. If it had been possible to doubt Mr. Garnetʼs sincerity, he would not have been by any means so extraordinary as he was.

“Not much trouble, after all”, cried Rufus Hutton, rollicking up like a man of thrice his true cubic capacity; “ah, these things are simple enough for a man with a little νοῦς. I shall explain the whole process to Mrs. Hutton, she is so fond of information. Never saw a firework before, sir – at least, I mean the machinery of them – and now I understand it thoroughly; much better, indeed, than the foreman does. Did not I hear you say so, George”?

“Eh, my mon, I deed so” – the foreman was a shrewd, dry Scotchman – “in your own opeenion mainly. But ye havena peyed us yet, my mon, for the dustin’ o’ your shoon”.

Rufus Hutton began, amid some laughter, to hunt his French purse for the siller, when the foreman leaped up as if he were shot, and dashed behind the oak–tree. “Awa, mon, awa, if ye value your life! Dinna ye see the glue–pot burstinʼ”?

Rufus dropped the purse, and fled for his life, and threw himself flat, fifty yards away, that the explosion might pass over him. Even then, when the laugh was out, and Mr. Garnet had said to him, “Perhaps, sir, you will explain that process for the benefit of Mrs. Hutton”, instead of being disconcerted he was busier than ever, and took Mr. Garnet aside some little way down the chase.

“They want to make a job of it, I can see that well enough. To charge for it, sir; to charge for it”.

“Thank you for your advice, Dr. Hutton”, replied Bull Garnet, crustily; he was very morose that afternoon, and surly betwixt his violence; “but perhaps you had better leave them to me, for fear of the glue–pot bursting”.

“Ah, I suppose I shall never hear the last of that most vulgar pleasantry. But I tell you they canʼt see it, or else it is they wonʼt. They are determined to do it all over again, and they need only change four letters, and the fixings all come in again. For the R they should put an L, for the D a Y – Bless my soul, Mr. Garnet, what is it you see there”?

No wonder Rufus Hutton asked what Mr. Garnet saw, for the stewardʼs eyes were fixed intently, wrathfully, ferociously, upon something not very far from the place where his home lay among the trees. His forehead rolled in three heavy furrows, deep and red at the bottom, his teeth were set hard, and the muscles of his shoulders swelled as he clenched his hands fast. Dr. Hutton, gazing in the same direction, could see only trees and heather. “What is it you see there, Mr. Garnet”? Rufus Hutton by this time was quivering with curiosity.

“Iʼd advise you, sir, not to ask me”: then he added, in a different tone, “the most dastardly scoundrel poacher that ever wanted an ounce of lead, sir. Let us go back to the men, for I have little time to waste”.

“Cool fellow”, thought Rufus; “waste of time to talk to me, is it? But what eyes the man must have”!

And so he had, and ears too. Bull Garnet saw and heard every single thing that passed within the rim of his presence. No matter what he was doing, or to whom he was talking, no matter what was afoot, or what temper he was in, he saw and heard as clearly as if his whole attention were on it, every moving, breathing, speaking, or spoken thing, within the range of human antennæ. So a spider knows if even a midge or a brother spiderʼs gossamer floats in the dewy unwoven air beyond his octagonal subtlety. From this extraordinary gift of Bull Garnet, as well as from his appearance, and the force of his character, the sons of the forest were quite convinced that he was under league to the devil.

In half an hourʼs time or less, when the dusk come down like wool, Cradock cast loose his favourite Caldo, and set out for the Coffin Wood. From habit more than forethought, and to give his dog some pleasure, there by the kennel he loaded his double–barrelled gun. He had made up his mind to shoot no more upon his fatherʼs land, until he had express permission from Sir Cradock Nowell. This was a whim, no doubt, and a piece of pride on his part; but the scene of that afternoon, and his fatherʼs bearing towards him, had left some bitter feeling, and a sense of alienation. This was the reason why he would not go with Clayton, much as he longed to do so. Now, with some dull uncertainty and vague depression clouding him, he loaded his gun in an absent manner; putting loose shot, No. 6, in one barrel, and a cartridge in the other. “Hie away, boy”! he cried to Caldo, who had crouched at his feet the while; then he struck off hot foot for the westward, with the gun upon his shoulder. But just as he started, one of the lads, who was often employed as a beater, ran up, and said, with his cap in his hand, in a manner most insinuating —

“Take I ’long of ’ee, Meestur Craduck. Iʼll be rare and keerful, sir”.

“No, thank you, Charley, not this time. I am not even going shooting, and I mean to go quite alone”.

Poor Cradock, unlucky to the last. Almost everything he had done that day had been a great mistake; and now there was only one more to come, the deadliest error of all.

Whistling a dreamy old tune, he hurried over the brown and tufted land, sometimes leaping a tussock of bed–furze, sometimes following a narrow hare–run, a soft green thread through the heather.

The sun had been down for at least half an hour, and under the trees there was twilight; but here, in the open, a tempered brightness flowed from some yellow clouds still lingering in the west. You might still know a rabbit from a hare at fifty or sixty yards off. And in truth both bunnies and hares were about; the former hopping, and stopping, and peeping, and pricking their ears as the fern waved, and some sitting gravely upon a hillock, with their backs like a home–made loaf; the hares, on the other hand, lopping along, with their great ears drooping warily, and the spring of their haunches gathered up for a dash away any whither: but all alike come abroad to look for the great and kind God who feeds them. Then, from either side of the path, or the sandy brows of the gravel–pit, the diphthong cry of the partridge arose, the call that tells they are feeding. Convivial and good–hearted bird, who cannot eat without conversation, nor without it be duly eaten; no marvel that the Paphlagonians assign you a brace of hearts. The pheasants were flown to the coverts long ago (they are fearful of losing the way to bed), two or three brown owls were mousing about, and a horned fellow came sailing smoothly from the deep settlements of the thicket, as Cradock Nowell leaped up the hedge, a hedge overleaning, overtwisting, stubby, and crowded with ash, rose, and hazel, the fence of the Coffin Wood. Though Caldo had stood picturesquely at least a dozen times, and looked back at his master reproachfully, turning the white of his eye, and champing his under lip, and then dropped as if he himself were shot, when the game sped away with a whirr, Cradock, true to his resolution, had not pulled trigger yet. And though the repression was not entirely based upon motives humane, our Cradock felt a new delight in sparing the lives of those poor things who have no other life to look to. At least so we dare to restrict them. So merry and harmless to him they seemed, so glad that the dangerous day was done, so thankful for having been fed and saved by the great unknown, but felt, Feeder, Father, and Saviour.

CHAPTER XIX

Meanwhile Sir Cradock Nowell had found, at the peaceful Rectory, a tumult nearly as bad as that which he had left in his own household. In a room which was called by others the book–room, by herself “the library”, Miss Eudoxia sat half choked, in a violent fit of hysterics, Amy and fat Jemima doing their utmost to console her and bring her round. Sir Cradock had little experience of women, and did the worst thing he could have done – that is to say, he stood gazing.

“Amy”, groaned Miss Eudoxia – “Amy, if you donʼt want to kill me, get him out of the room, my child”.

“Go, go, go”! cried Amy, in desperation. “Canʼt you see, godpapa, that we shall do better without you; oh, ever, ever so much”?

Sir Cradock Nowell felt a longing to box pretty Amyʼs ears; he had always loved his godchild, Amy, and chastened her accordingly. He now loved Amy best in the world, next to his pet son, Clayton. To tell the truth, he had bathed himself in the sunset–glow of match–making, all the way down the chase. Clayton, proclaimed the heir and all that, should marry Amy Rosedew; what could it matter to him about money, and where else would he find such a maiden? Then, in the course of a few more years – so soon as ever there were five, or, say at the most six children – he, Sir Cradock, would make over the management of the property; that is, if he felt tired of it, and they were both very steady. And what of Cradock, you planning father, what of your other son, Cradock? In faith, he must do for a parson.

Sir Cradock retired in no small flurry, and went to the garden to look for Jem. Miss Eudoxia became at once unconscious, as she ought to have been long ago; and thenceforth she would never acknowledge that she had seen the intruder at all; or, indeed, that there had been one. However, it cured her, for a very long time, of those sad attacks of hysteria.

This present attack was the natural result of a violent conflict with Amy, who was not going to be trampled upon, even by Aunt Doxy. It appears that, early in the afternoon, the good aunt began to wonder what on earth was become of her niece. Of course she could not be at the school, because Wednesday was a half–holiday; she was not in the library, nor in the back–kitchen, nor even out at Pincherʼs kennel. No, nor even in the garden, although she had a magnificent lot of bulbs to plant, for which she had saved up ever so much of her little pocket–money. “Well”, said Miss Eudoxia, who was thirsting for her gossip, which she always held after lunch – “well, I must say this is most inconsiderate of her. And I promised John to take her to the park, and how am I to get ready? Girls are not what they used to be, though Amy is such a good girl. They read all sorts of trashy books, and then they go eloping”.

That last idea sent the good aunt in hot haste to Amyʼs bedroom; and who should be there, sitting by the window, with a small book in her hand, but beautiful Amy herself.

“Well”! cried Miss Eudoxia, heavily offended; “indeed, I am surprised. So this is what you prefer, is it, to your own auntʼs conversation? And, I declare, what a colour you have! And panting, as if you had asthma! Let me see that book this moment, miss”!

“To be sure, Aunt Eudoxia”, said Amy, rather indignantly; “but you need not be in a pet, you know”.

“Oh, neednʼt I, indeed, when you read such books as this! Oh, what will your poor father say? And you to have a class in the Sunday–school”!

Of all the grisly horrors produced to make the travellerʼs hair creep, one of the most repulsive and glaring was in Amyʼs delicate hand. A hideous ape, with an open razor, was about to cut a young ladyʼs throat. Chuckling, he drew her fair neck to the blade by her dishevelled hair. At her feet lay an elderly woman, dead; while a man with a red cap was gazing complacently in at the window. The back of the volume was relieved by a ghost, a deathʼs head, and a pair of cross–bones.

“Well”! said Miss Eudoxia. Her breath was gone for a long while, and she could say nothing more.

“I know the cover is ugly, aunt, but the inside is so beautiful. Oh, and so very wonderful! I canʼt think how any one ever could imagine such splendid horrible things. Oh, so clever, Aunt Doxy; and full of things that make me tingle, as if my brain were gone to sleep. And I want to ask papa particularly about galvanizing the mummy”.

“Indeed; yes, galvanizing! and pray does your father know of your having this horrible book”?