Page 32 of Far from the Madding Crowd

NIGHT -- HORSES TRAMPING

THE village of Weatherbury was quiet as the graveyardin its midst, and the living were lying well nigh as stillas the dead. The church clock struck eleven. Theair was so empty of other sounds that the whirr of theclock-work immediately before the strokes was distinct,and so was also the click of the same at their close.The notes flew forth with the usual blind obtusenessof inanimate things -- flapping and rebounding amongwalls, undulating against the scattered clouds, spreadingthrough their interstices into unexplored miles of space.Bathsheba's crannied and mouldy halls were to-nightoccupied only by Maryann, Liddy being, as was stated,with her sister, whom Bathsheba had set out to visit.A few minutes after eleven had struck, Maryann turnedin her bed with a sense of being disturbed. She wastotally unconscious of the nature of the interruption toher sleep. It led to a dream, and the dream to anawakening, with an uneasy sensation that somethinghad happened. She left her bed and looked out ofthe window. The paddock abutted on this end of thebuilding, and in the paddock she could just discern bythe uncertain gray a moving figure approaching thehorse that was feeding there. The figure seized thehorse by the forelock, and led it to the corner of thefield. Here she could see some object which circum-stances proved to be a vehicle for after a few minutesthe horse down the road, mingled with the sound oflight wheels.Two varieties only of humanity could have enteredthe paddock with the ghostlike glide of that mysteriousfigure. They were a woman and a gipsy man. A womanwas out of the question in such an occupation at thishour, and the comer could be no less than a thief, whomight probably have known the weakness of the house-hold on this particular night, and have chosen it onthat account for his daring attempt. Moreover, toraise suspicion to conviction itself, there were gipsies in!Weatherbury Bottom.Maryann, who had been afraid to shout in the robber'spresence, having seen him depart had no fear. Shehastily slipped on her clothes, stumped down the dis-jointed staircase with its hundred creaks, ran to Coggan's,the nearest house, and raised an alarm. Coggan calledGabriel, who now again lodged in his house as at first,and together they went to the paddock. Beyond alldoubt the horse was gone.”Hark!” said Gabriel.They listened. Distinct upon the stagnant air camethe sounds of a trotting horse passing up LongpuddleLane -- just beyond the gipsies' encampment in Weather-bury Bottom.”That's our Dainty-i'll swear to her step.” said Jan.”Mighty me! Won't mis'ess storm and call us stupidswen she comes back!” moaned Maryann. ”How Iwish it had happened when she was at home, and noneof us had been answerable!””We must ride after.” said Gabriel, decisively.be responsible to Miss Everdene for what we do. Yes,we'll follow. ””Faith, I don't see how.” said Coggan. ”All ourhorses are too heavy for that trick except little Poppet,and what's she between two of us?-if we only had thatpair over the hedge we might do something.””Which pair?””Mr Boldwood's Tidy and Moll.””Then wait here till I come hither again.” said Gabriel.He ran down the hill towards Farmer Boldwood's.”Farmer Boldwood is not at home.” said Maryann.”All the better.” said Coggan. ”I know what he'sgone for.”Less than five minutes brought up Oak again, runningat the same pace, with two halters dangling from his hand.”Where did you find 'em?” said Coggan, turninground and leaping upon the hedge without waiting foran answer.”Under the eaves. I knew where they were kept,”said Gabriel, following him. ”Coggan, you can ridebare-backed? there's no time to look for saddles.””Like a hero!” said Jan.”Maryann, you go to hed.” Gabriel shouted to herfrom the top of the hedge.Springing down into Boldwood's pastures, eachpocketed his halter to hide it from the horses, who,seeing the men empty-handed, docilely allowed them-selves to he seized by the mane, when the halterswere dexterously slipped on. Having neither bit norbridle, Oak and Coggan extemporized the former bypassing the rope in each case through the animal'smouth and looping it on the other side. Oak vaultedastride, and Coggan clambered up by aid of the hank,when they ascended to the gate and galloped off in thedirection taken by Bathsheha's horse and the robber.Whose vehicle the horse had been harnessed to was amatter of some uncertainty.Weatherbury Bottom was reached in three or fourminutes. They scanned the shady green patch by theroadside. The gipsies were gone.”The villains!” said Gabriel. ”Which way have theygone, I wonder?””Straight on, as sure as God made little apples,”said Jan.”Very well; we are better mounted, and must over-discovered. The road-metal grew softer and morerain had wetted its surface to a somewhat plastic, butnot muddy state. They came to cross-roads. Coggansuddenly pulled up Moll and slipped off.”What's the matter?” said Gabriel.”We must try to track 'em, since we can't hear 'em,”said Jan, fumbling in his pockets. He struck a light,and held the match to the ground. The rain had beenheavier here, and all foot and horse tracks made previousto the storm had been abraded and blurred by the drops,and they were now so many little scoops of water, whichreflected the flame of the match like eyes. One set oftracks was fresh and had no water in them; one pair ofruts was also empty, and not small canals, like the others.The footprints forming this recent impression were fullof information as to pace; they were in equidistant pairs,three or four feet apart, the right and left foot of eachpair being exactly opposite one another.”Straight on!” Jan exclaimed. ”Tracks like thatmean a stiff gallop. No wonder we don't hear him.And the horse is harnessed -- look at the ruts. Ay,”How do you know?””Old Jimmy Harris only shoed her last week, andI'd swear to his make among ten thousand.””The rest of the gipsies must ha” gone on earlier,or some other way.” said Oak. ”You saw there wereno other tracks?””True.” They rode along silently for a long wearytime. Coggan carried an old pinchbeck repeater whichhe had inherited from some genius in his family; andit now struck one. He lighted another match, and ex-amined the ground again.”'Tis a canter now.” he said, throwing away the light.”A twisty, rickety pace for a gig. The fact is, they over-drove her at starting, we shall catch 'em yet.”Again they hastened on, and entered BlackmoreVale. Coggan's watch struck one. When they lookedagain the hoof-marks were so spaced as to form a sortof zigzag if united, like the lamps along a street.”That's a trot, I know.” said Gabriel.”Only a trot now.” said Coggan, cheerfully. ”Weshall overtake him in time.”They pushed rapidly on for yet two or three miles.”Ah! a moment.” said Jan. ”Let's see how she wasdriven up this hill. ”Twill help us.” A light waspromptly struck upon his gaiters as before, and the ex-amination made,”Hurrah!” said Coggan. ”She walked up here --and well she might. We shall get them in two miles,for a crown.”They rode three, and listened. No sound was to beheard save a millpond trickling hoarsely through ahatch, and suggesting gloomy possibilities of drowningby jumping in. Gabriel dismounted when they cameto a turning. The tracks were absolutely the only guideas to the direction that they now had, and great cautionwas necessary to avoid confusing them with some otherswhich had made their appearance lately.”What does this mean? -- though I guess.” saidGabriel, looking up at Coggan as he moved the matchover the ground about the turning. Coggan, who, noless than the panting horses, had latterly shown signsof weariness, again scrutinized the mystic characters.This time only three were of the regular horseshoeshape. Every fourth was a dot.He screwed up his face and emitted a long”Whew-w-w!””Lame.” said Oak.”Yes Dainty is lamed; the near-foot-afore.” saidCoggan slowly staring still at the footprints.”We'll push on.” said Gabriel, remounting his humidsteed.Although the road along its greater part had been asgood as any turnpike-road in the country, it was nomin-ally only a byway. The last turning had brought theminto the high road leading to Bath. Coggan recollectedhimself.”We shall have him now!” he exclaimed.”Where?””Sherton Turnpike. The keeper of that gate is thesleepiest man between here and London -- Dan Randall.that's his name -- knowed en for years, when he was atCasterbridge gate. Between the lameness and the gate'tis a done job.”'Twas said until, against a shady background of foliage,five white bars were visible, crossing their route a littleway ahead.”Hush -- we are almost close!” said Gabriel.”Amble on upon the grass.” said Coggan.The white bars were blotted out in the midst by adark shape in front of them. The silence of this lonelytime was pierced by an exclamation from that quarter.”Hoy-a-hoy! Gate!”It appeared that there had been a previous call whichthey had not noticed, for on their close approach thedoor of the turnpike-house opened, and the keepercame out half-dressed, with a candle in his hand. Therays illumined the whole group.”Keep the gate close!” shouted Gabriel. ”He hasstolen the horse!”Who?” said the turnpike-man.Gabriel looked at the driver of the gig, and saw awoman -- Bathsheba, his mistress.On hearing his voice she had turned her face awayfrom the light. Coggan had, however, caught sight ofher in the meanwhile.”Why, 'tis mistress-i'll take my oath!” he said,amazed.Bathsheba it certainly was, and she had by this timedone the trick she could do so well in crises not of love,namely, mask a surprise by coolness of manner.”Well, Gabriel.” she inquired quietly,” where are yougoing?””We thought -- --” began Gabriel.”Bath.” she said, taking for her ownuse the assurance that Gabriel lacked. ”An importantmatter made it necessary for me to give up my visit toliddy, and go off at once. What, then, were youfollowing me?””We thought the horse was stole.””Well-what a thing! How very foolish of you notto know that I had taken the trap and horse. I couldneither wake Maryann nor get into the house, thoughI hammered for ten minutes against her window-sill.Fortunately, I could get the key of the coach-house, soI troubled no one further. Didn't you think it mightbe me?””Why should we, miss?””Perhaps not Why, those are never Farmer Bold-wood's horses! Goodness mercy! what have you beendoing bringing trouble upon me in this way? What!mustn't a lady move an inch from her door without beingdogged like a thief?””But how was we to know, if you left no account ofyour doings?” expostulated Coggan, ”and ladies don'tdrive at these hours, miss, as a jineral rule of society.””I did leave an account -- and you would have seenit in the morning. I wrote in chalk on the coach-housedoors that I had come back for the horse and gig, anddriven off; that I could arouse nobody, and shouldreturn soon.””But you'll consider, ma'am, that we couldn't seethat till it got daylight.””True.” she said, and though vexed at first she hadtoo much sense to blame them long or seriously for adevotion to her that was as valuable as it was rare.She added with a very pretty grace,” Well, I really thankyou heartily for taking all this trouble; but I wish youhad borrowed anybody's horses but Mr. Boldwood's.””Dainty is lame, miss.” said Coggan. ”Can ye goon?””lt was only a stone in her shoe. I got down andpulled it out a hundred yards back. I can managevery well, thank you. I shall be in Bath by daylight.Will you now return, please?”She turned her head -- the gateman's candleshimmering upon her quick, clear eyes as she did so --passed through the gate, and was soon wrapped in theembowering shades of mysterious summer boughs.Coggan and Gabriel put about their horses, and, fannedby the velvety air of this July night, retraced the roadby which they had come.”A strange vagary, this of hers, isn't it, Oak?” saidCoggan, curiously.”Yes.” said Gabriel, shortly.”She won't be in Bath by no daylight!””Coggan, suppose we keep this night's work as quietas we can?””I am of one and the same mind.””Very well. We shall be home by three o'clock orso, and can creep into the parish like lambs.”Bathsheba's perturbed meditations by the roadsidehad ultimately evolved a conclusion that there were onlytwo remedies for the present desperate state of affairs.The first was merely to keep Troy away from Weather-bury till Boldwood's indignation had cooled; the secondto listen to Oak's entreaties, and Boldwood's denuncia-tions, and give up Troy altogether.Alas! Could she give up this new love -- inducehim to renounce her by saying she did not like him --could no more speak to him, and beg him, for her good,to end his furlough in Bath, and see her and Weather-bury no more?It was a picture full of misery, but for a while shecontemplated it firmly, allowing herself, nevertheless,as girls will, to dwell upon the happy life she wouldhave enjoyed had Troy been Boldwood, and the pathof love the path of duty -- inflicting upon herself gratuit-ous tortures by imagining him the lover of anotherwoman after forgetting her; for she had penetratedTroy's nature so far as to estimate his tendencies prettyaccurately, hut unfortunately loved him no less inthinking that he might soon cease to love her -- indeed,considerably more.She jumped to her feet. She would see him at once.Yes, she would implore him by word of mouth to assisther in this dilemma. A letter to keep him away couldnot reach him in time, even if he should be disposed tolisten to it.Was Bathsheba altogether blind to the obvious factthat the support of a lover's arms is not of a kind bestcalculated to assist a resolve to renounce him? Or wasshe sophistically sensible, with a thrill of pleasure, thatby adopting this course for getting rid of him she wasensuring a meeting with him, at any rate, once more?It was now dark, and the hour must have been nearlyten. The only way to accomplish her purpose was togive up her idea of visiting Liddy at Yalbury, return toWeatherbury Farm, put the horse into the gig, and driveat once to Bath. The scheme seemed at first impossible:the journey was a fearfully heavy one, even for a stronghorse, at her own estimate; and she much underratedthe distance. It was most venturesome for a woman,at night, and alone.But could she go on to Liddy's and leave things totake their course? No, no; anything but that. Bath-sheba was full of a stimulating turbulence, beside whichcaution vainly prayed for a hearing. she turned backtowards the village.Her walk was slow, for she wished not to enterWeatherbury till the cottagers were in bed, and, par-ticularly, till Boldwood was secure. Her plan was nowto drive to Bath during the night, see Sergeant Troy inthe morning before he set out to come to her, bid himfarewell, and dismiss him: then to rest the horsethoroughly (herself to weep the while, she thought),starting early the next morning on her return journey.By this arrangement she could trot Dainty gently allthe day, reach Liddy at Yalbury in the evening, andcome home to Weatherbury with her whenever theychose -- so nobody would know she had been to Bathat all.Such was Bathsheba's scheme. But in her topo-graphical ignorance as a late comer to the place, shemisreckoned the distance of her journey as not muchmore than half what it really was. Her idea, however,she proceeded to carry out, with what initial success wehave already seen.



CHAPTER XXXIII