Quincunx

  The next morning, the Quiggs had shouldered Stephen’s body and borne it out of the barn as if it were a sack of malt. (Later I noticed that there was a freshly-dug mound among those I had remarked by the gate into the Fifteen-Acre where the Death-caps grew.) I was assigned to Roger’s gang and had the leather harness thrown at me. So I found myself drawing the plough day after day and in all weathers. It proved to be a severe strain on the heart and lungs, for the strap passed over the ribs so that breathing in was extremely arduous. Moreover, the skin of my shoulders and chest quickly became a raw mass of skin and blood. The toll on my strength soon became apparent and I knew I had to get away before I became too debilitated to be capable of the attempt.

  Richard and I discussed my escape long and late, and with his help, I broke the problem down into its constituent parts.

  First there was the difficulty posed by the existence of a spy for the Quiggs which meant that I could not risk trusting any of the other boys. (I tried to forget what Stephen had said and hoped I had misunderstood him.)

  Secondly, there was the problem of getting out of the farm-enclosure. This seemed impossible during the day since we were watched all the time by one or other of the Quiggs, and anyway I needed to flee at night in order to gain a head-start over my pursuers. Yet at the very moment we were locked into the barn for the night after dinner, the dogs were released by Quigg and were so fierce in their unfed state that even Roger and Hal had to be safely inside the house before their father released their chain, and by dawn even he could not approach them with impunity if he were not carrying great pieces of meat to throw to them while he chained them up.

  Thirdly, even if I managed to escape from the farm, I had to get off the moors — and very quickly. As Little Thom had pointed out, I could not risk asking for help at one of the few farmhouses in the vicinity because I might be betrayed. Once they discovered I had gone the Quiggs would use the dogs to track me and, on horseback, would certainly overtake me unless I had the greater part of the night to put distance between myself and them. I would have to decide whether I was going to go across the moors where the dogs could follow me, but the horses would be less of an advantage; or whether I would stay on the road. If I chose the latter course, then the dogs and horses could follow me very rapidly, but I might succeed in getting taken up by a passing vehicle. On the other hand, there would be few of these, particularly at night. Beyond that, and the question of how I was to travel the several hundred miles to London with only half a sovereign, and what I would do when I got there, I did not even begin to speculate. The crux of the problem remained how to get out of the locked barn and away from the dogs. I could think of no feasible solution, and I knew I would have only one chance.

  The weeks dragged past and as the summer slipped away I felt I was losing my best opportunity for escape. Once autumn arrived the dangers of being out on the moors at night would become considerable, and in the winter it would be impossible. In compensation, however, the Quiggs’ guard would be more relaxed and the longer nights would give me more time before my disappearance was discovered in the morning.

  During this period my sleep was disturbed by terrible dreams that left me more tired the next morning than when I had lain down to rest: I wandered among great cities that were engulphed in vast holocausts with swirling flames obscuring the sky or I hung over the edge of ravines so deep that I was looking down at wisps of cloud floating far below me and concealing the bottom. But the one that left me feeling most alarmed was one that I had again and again: I was walking down a long dark passage and suddenly met my mother, but instead of greeting me she backed away as if in dismay and then turned and walked swiftly into the darkness ahead of me so that I lost sight of her.

  One evening, towards the middle of October, the Quiggs gave us our great-coats for the winter — foul old garments made for men and heavy with grease. Under these we were to sleep and we would wear them at work in the fields instead of the sacking.

  When the Quiggs had gone, Big Thom held his great-coat out in disgust: “I don’t want this ’un. This was Harry’s.”

  Richard held out the one he had been given and said: “Then take this instead.”

  “Who was Harry,” I asked him as Thom snatched it and tried it on.

  “He took ill with the fever last winter.”

  “What happened to him?” I asked as we lay down on the straw and pulled our coats over us.

  “Nothing,” he answered. “He was put in the little outhouse beyond the hay-rick. The Quiggs made some of us carry him there because they were so afraid of catching it. They thought it was the Irish fever. They threw food and water in to him every day. After a few days they had Ned and Paul put him where they bury us, beyond the wall by the house, so that the dogs can’t dig us up — you know, where Stephen is.”

  An idea began to take form in my mind. “I wish I knew for certain that it was Stephen who ’peached on Thom,” I said. “Because while I don’t know I dare not trust anyone.”

  Then I realized what I had said and looked at Richard. He had reddened and avoided my eye so that I was afraid I had hurt him by my accusation against his friend.

  I lay awake for some time thinking about the idea his words had given me. I thought he had fallen asleep but once I saw the glitter of his eyes in the faint light from the moon that came through the gaps in the walls.

  The next day I managed, on my way to the fields with Roger and the rest of his work-gang, to look at the outhouse — hardly more than a shed — that Richard had mentioned. To my delight I saw that it was built of wood and that the weather-boarding was very delapidated.

  After dinner that evening Richard and I held a whispered conference: “I am going to take ill,” I told him. “I want them to believe it is something infectious.”

  “They will be suspicious,” he objected, “and suspect that you are feigning.”

  “I know. But I will not be feigning. Just you see.”

  He looked puzzled and then said: “Be careful.”

  “I want you to help me frighten them,” I said.

  “They don’t trust me,” he objected. “And they know you and I are friends. Ask Paul to do it. They will believe him.”

  “I dare not. He might be the one who ’peached on Thom. If it wasn’t Stephen, then it might have been any one of them.”

  Richard looked at me strangely. “Why do you say it was Stephen?”

  I told him of his words just before he died.

  He was silent. “It wasn’t Stephen that ’peached on Big Thom,” he said at last.

  “How can you know?” I objected, but even as I spoke I saw the answer in his face and felt a cold chill run through me.

  “I couldn’t bear to let you go on thinking it was Stephen,” he said, without looking at me.

  “Then … But why?” I demanded. Richard was silent. “They forced you to?” He shook his head. “You did it to protect someone? To protect Stephen? Or Davy?”

  Richard shook his head again. “For the promise of being let send a letter home,” he said. “And it served no good. If it was even sent.” I turned from him in disgust. For a letter! He went on: “So now you can ask Paul. The Quiggs don’t trust me any more.” Then he added: “Stephen guessed.” I got up and moved away and he said more loudly: “Stephen didn’t blame me.”

  I moved my bed to another part of the barn and lay down beside Paul. I waited until the others were asleep, then I quietly woke him up and told him in a whisper what I wanted of him. He agreed and smiled at me enviously.

  I now had one more operation to perform and it took several days of patient waiting. During this time I avoided Richard and was afraid to meet his eye for the sense of shame that welled up in me. To have betrayed a fellow-sufferer seemed to me to go against all my notions of what one should live by. No, it was unforgivable. Wholly unforgivable. Richard seemed to understand my feelings for he kept away from me.

  The weather remained auspicious for my purposes: dry and not too
cold. At last, one day in the middle of October, the chance I had been waiting for came. Roger led his work-gang to a field to the north of the farm and we returned in the evening through the Fifteen-Acre. I fell to the rear and just as I was passing into the yard I stumbled as if suddenly faint, and collapsed into the long grass beside the gate. I earned a lash of the whip from Roger as I picked myself up, but by that time I had achieved my purpose.

  “I felt dizzy,” I said.

  He pushed me towards the barn and I staggered towards it as if unwell. As I ate my dinner I slipped into my mouth a couple of pieces of the two Death-caps I had managed to gather. I wasn’t sure what quantity I should eat but I had to trust to luck to get it right.

  The effects came quickly. A few minutes later I broke into a sweat, my stomach was gripped by sharp cramps, and my head seemed to become a vast, echoing cavern. Suddenly I lost consciousness. I came round very quickly to find Roger holding me up and shaking me. He seemed to be speaking but I could hear nothing for the sound like rushing water that was in my ears. My tongue felt like a huge stone as I moved it in my mouth and I could not speak. Roger summoned his father for the sake of his superior medical understanding, and Quigg seized me from his son and hit me twice on the face. I saw a look of rage appear when this treatment failed to effect a cure. As if through a red mist I saw Paul’s face. The rushing waters seemed to abate a little and I heard a strangely distorted voice saying:

  “Please, sir, I think it’s the Irish fever. A girl in our house died of it and she started the same way.”

  Quigg instantly let go of me and I fell to the ground. “Tak’ him to t’ ’firmary,” I heard him gasp. “Tha and tha.”

  I felt myself being picked up and carried and then there was darkness and recollection ends. After this there are only vague memories of terrible fears and fierce pains, and even a strange joy at moments. How long I lay in a delirious fever I cannot say, but I believe I was in this condition that night, all the following day, and all the next night. But I may have lost a day or even two from my reckoning.

  Certain it is that I awoke one morning at the first approach of dawn feeling perfectly recovered though very weak and exceedingly hungry. I was lying on a bed of straw and in the dim light I found a large pitcher of water standing beside me and five or six potatoes. A torn and filthy blanket was lying across me and I was still wearing the great-coat, but even when I drew them tight around myself and snuggled under the straw I was cold. About an hour later I heard the dogs being chained up, and when, some time after that, I heard footsteps coming towards my shed, I began to roll and moan. Through half-closed eyes I saw a figure peering in over the top of the door and then two potatoes landed beside me before, his duty to the sick discharged, my visiter retreated. I drank deeply but, hungry as I was, I dared not eat more than a few of the potatoes in case their disappearance was noted. When all was quiet I set about searching for one of the planks to loosen on the blind side of the shed — that is, the side away from the barn and the farmhouse. Finding a likely one I set to work but I made slow progress without tools and having to stop frequently to listen for the sounds of someone approaching. And it was as well that I did.

  By midday I had managed to work the plank almost free when suddenly I heard soft footsteps coming across the yard. Instantly I lay down and feigned ill. Through my half-closed eyes I saw Roger looking down at me over the top of the door. He watched me for some time, then walked away without making any attempt to deaden his footsteps.

  By the late afternoon I had made the board loose enough to be sure that I could pull it out quickly. Knowing that when the opportunity came, I would have only a few seconds to act, I tried to foresee as many eventualities as possible. The Quiggs would probably check on me at dusk either before or after distributing dinner and securing the barn, for their final action would be to release the dogs. My only chance to escape would lie between the moment they examined me and the release of the dogs — after which I would be torn to pieces if I was in the yard.

  As soon as my chance came I must gather the potatoes and remove the board. I would have to replace it behind me in order to prevent the dogs from discovering that they could get into the shed for otherwise they might start to bark, and if the Quiggs were alerted to my flight so soon I would be overtaken before I had gone half a mile. Once I had secured it, I would then, keeping the shed between myself and the Quiggs, have to get over the wall before the dogs were released.

  Then I could either head for the road or make my way across country. After chasing these alternatives round and round in my head for hours, I eventually settled for the latter course, calculating that in the eight or ten hours I could hope to remain unpursued until my flight was discovered, I could be off the moors and amongst the lowland villages and farm-steadings where I would be comparatively safe. What decided me was my realization that my pursuers would not be able to go very much faster than I across that rough terrain, despite being mounted, whereas along the road they would have an enormous advantage. Although it would be good scenting weather for the dogs since it was a cold dry day and the night seemed likely to be the same, it would benefit me, too, for although there would be no moon, the sky would be clear and the stars would shed enough light to enable me to see my way. I was fairly confident that I could find my direction by the heavenly bodies for I believed I could identify the Pole Star. My design was to head due South even though this was the way the Quiggs would assume I had gone, for the dogs would easily find my track and so there was no advantage in trying to baffle pursuit by describing a circle. Above all, the land to the north was inhospitable, but there were villages and towns not far to the South.

  For the rest of that day I rehearsed this sequence of events and choices so that I could act without needing to think, made ready my shirt and jacket to hold the potatoes, and practised gathering them up quickly. At last, as the dusk thickened, I heard the boys returning from work. Watching through the gaps in the boards I saw them go into the barn and then the Quiggs carrying their dinner in. At last the Quiggs came out, carrying lanthorns for it was now nearly dark, and locked the barn-door. Were they going to ignore me and immediately release the dogs? It appeared that they were talking together and despite all that I had earlier decided, I was tempted to make my escape now in the hope that they would not check. But just at that moment one of the lanthorns separated itself from the other two and came towards me. Quickly I lay on the floor and peered through a crack between my eye-lids. The lanthorn was held up above the door and a couple of potatoes hit the straw beside me. As soon as the light was removed I gathered up the potatoes and stuffed them into my shirt, went to the loosened board and removed it as quietly as I could, then stepped out into the yard. I heard the barking of the dogs quicken in the way that indicated that they were about to be released. My heart thumping and my instincts urging me to run, I forced myself to replace the plank, wedging it firmly back in place. Then I hurried to the wall and began to clamber up it. Although characteristic of that country, being made of large stones which offered many holds for the hands and feet, it was more difficult than I had anticipated because of my weakened condition and the awkwardness of the potatoes inside my shirt. Indeed, as I reached the top, three or four of them fell and I dared not climb down for them since I would now be easily visible against the star-scattered sky from the farmhouse, were it not for the intervening barn.

  Just as I began lowering myself down the other side I felt suddenly dizzy, and, rather than resist and risk injuring myself against the stones, I surrendered to the sensation of falling. To my horror, however, I fell much further than I had anticipated for there was a ditch on this side whose presence I had not suspected, and consequently I landed heavily and awkwardly.

  Although I had bruised my knee and grazed my shins, as well as twisted my ancle, I did not think my injuries were any more serious. But I quickly had something else to occupy me, for I heard the dogs running over to this side of the yard, probably having heard t
he sounds of my fall which — I hoped — had eluded the duller senses of their master. From the noises the animals began making just on the other side of the wall, I realized that they had found the potatoes and were devouring them. Thank goodness they were consuming the evidence instead of carrying it back to Quigg! I breathed as quietly as I could and after a few desultory barks, they dashed away to another part of the yard.

  I got up and felt a stab of pain when I put my weight on my right leg. It was obvious that I must abandon my intention of crossing the moors for I would be unable to scramble up ridges and jump across gulleys. I began to limp as fast as I was able towards the track that led up to the road and when I struck it I stayed parallel to it. I kept glancing round and just before I reached the crest of the ridge, I looked back at the farm for what I hoped would be the last time. I could see lights at two of the upper windows, but even as I watched one of them was extinguished. An occasional bark reached me but the farmstead looked completely at peace in the star-light and I hurried on. In a minute the road lay before me gleaming in the faint light. I took a moment to cram into my mouth one of the potatoes and then, turning left towards the South, I began to walk as fast as my injured leg would permit me.