Far from the Madding Crowd

  CHAPTER II

  NIGHT--THE FLOCK--AN INTERIOR--ANOTHER INTERIOR

  It was nearly midnight on the eve of St. Thomas's, the shortest dayin the year. A desolating wind wandered from the north over the hillwhereon Oak had watched the yellow waggon and its occupant in thesunshine of a few days earlier.

  Norcombe Hill--not far from lonely Toller-Down--was one of the spotswhich suggest to a passer-by that he is in the presence of a shapeapproaching the indestructible as nearly as any to be found onearth. It was a featureless convexity of chalk and soil--an ordinaryspecimen of those smoothly-outlined protuberances of the globe whichmay remain undisturbed on some great day of confusion, when fargrander heights and dizzy granite precipices topple down.

  The hill was covered on its northern side by an ancient and decayingplantation of beeches, whose upper verge formed a line over thecrest, fringing its arched curve against the sky, like a mane.To-night these trees sheltered the southern slope from the keenestblasts, which smote the wood and floundered through it with a soundas of grumbling, or gushed over its crowning boughs in a weakenedmoan. The dry leaves in the ditch simmered and boiled in the samebreezes, a tongue of air occasionally ferreting out a few, andsending them spinning across the grass. A group or two of the latestin date amongst the dead multitude had remained till this verymid-winter time on the twigs which bore them and in falling rattledagainst the trunks with smart taps.

  Between this half-wooded half-naked hill, and the vague still horizonthat its summit indistinctly commanded, was a mysterious sheet offathomless shade--the sounds from which suggested that what itconcealed bore some reduced resemblance to features here. The thingrasses, more or less coating the hill, were touched by the wind inbreezes of differing powers, and almost of differing natures--onerubbing the blades heavily, another raking them piercingly, anotherbrushing them like a soft broom. The instinctive act of humankindwas to stand and listen, and learn how the trees on the right and thetrees on the left wailed or chaunted to each other in the regularantiphonies of a cathedral choir; how hedges and other shapes toleeward then caught the note, lowering it to the tenderest sob; andhow the hurrying gust then plunged into the south, to be heard nomore.

  The sky was clear--remarkably clear--and the twinkling of all thestars seemed to be but throbs of one body, timed by a common pulse.The North Star was directly in the wind's eye, and since evening theBear had swung round it outwardly to the east, till he was now ata right angle with the meridian. A difference of colour in thestars--oftener read of than seen in England--was really perceptiblehere. The sovereign brilliancy of Sirius pierced the eye with asteely glitter, the star called Capella was yellow, Aldebaran andBetelgueux shone with a fiery red.

  To persons standing alone on a hill during a clear midnight such asthis, the roll of the world eastward is almost a palpable movement.The sensation may be caused by the panoramic glide of the stars pastearthly objects, which is perceptible in a few minutes of stillness,or by the better outlook upon space that a hill affords, or by thewind, or by the solitude; but whatever be its origin, the impressionof riding along is vivid and abiding. The poetry of motion is aphrase much in use, and to enjoy the epic form of that gratificationit is necessary to stand on a hill at a small hour of the night,and, having first expanded with a sense of difference from the massof civilised mankind, who are dreamwrapt and disregardful of allsuch proceedings at this time, long and quietly watch your statelyprogress through the stars. After such a nocturnal reconnoitre it ishard to get back to earth, and to believe that the consciousness ofsuch majestic speeding is derived from a tiny human frame.

  Suddenly an unexpected series of sounds began to be heard in thisplace up against the sky. They had a clearness which was to be foundnowhere in the wind, and a sequence which was to be found nowhere innature. They were the notes of Farmer Oak's flute.

  The tune was not floating unhindered into the open air: it seemedmuffled in some way, and was altogether too curtailed in power tospread high or wide. It came from the direction of a small darkobject under the plantation hedge--a shepherd's hut--now presentingan outline to which an uninitiated person might have been puzzledto attach either meaning or use.

  The image as a whole was that of a small Noah's Ark on a smallArarat, allowing the traditionary outlines and general form ofthe Ark which are followed by toy-makers--and by these means areestablished in men's imaginations among their firmest, becauseearliest impressions--to pass as an approximate pattern. The hutstood on little wheels, which raised its floor about a foot from theground. Such shepherds' huts are dragged into the fields when thelambing season comes on, to shelter the shepherd in his enforcednightly attendance.

  It was only latterly that people had begun to call Gabriel "Farmer"Oak. During the twelvemonth preceding this time he had been enabledby sustained efforts of industry and chronic good spirits to leasethe small sheep-farm of which Norcombe Hill was a portion, and stockit with two hundred sheep. Previously he had been a bailiff for ashort time, and earlier still a shepherd only, having from hischildhood assisted his father in tending the flocks of largeproprietors, till old Gabriel sank to rest.

  This venture, unaided and alone, into the paths of farming as masterand not as man, with an advance of sheep not yet paid for, was acritical juncture with Gabriel Oak, and he recognised his positionclearly. The first movement in his new progress was the lambing ofhis ewes, and sheep having been his speciality from his youth, hewisely refrained from deputing the task of tending them at thisseason to a hireling or a novice.

  The wind continued to beat about the corners of the hut, but theflute-playing ceased. A rectangular space of light appeared in theside of the hut, and in the opening the outline of Farmer Oak'sfigure. He carried a lantern in his hand, and closing the doorbehind him, came forward and busied himself about this nook of thefield for nearly twenty minutes, the lantern light appearing anddisappearing here and there, and brightening him or darkening himas he stood before or behind it.

  Oak's motions, though they had a quiet-energy, were slow, and theirdeliberateness accorded well with his occupation. Fitness being thebasis of beauty, nobody could have denied that his steady swings andturns in and about the flock had elements of grace. Yet, although ifoccasion demanded he could do or think a thing with as mercurial adash as can the men of towns who are more to the manner born, hisspecial power, morally, physically, and mentally, was static, owinglittle or nothing to momentum as a rule.

  A close examination of the ground hereabout, even by the wanstarlight only, revealed how a portion of what would have beencasually called a wild slope had been appropriated by Farmer Oak forhis great purpose this winter. Detached hurdles thatched with strawwere stuck into the ground at various scattered points, amid andunder which the whitish forms of his meek ewes moved and rustled.The ring of the sheep-bell, which had been silent during his absence,recommenced, in tones that had more mellowness than clearness, owingto an increasing growth of surrounding wool. This continued till Oakwithdrew again from the flock. He returned to the hut, bringing inhis arms a new-born lamb, consisting of four legs large enough fora full-grown sheep, united by a seemingly inconsiderable membraneabout half the substance of the legs collectively, which constitutedthe animal's entire body just at present.

  The little speck of life he placed on a wisp of hay before the smallstove, where a can of milk was simmering. Oak extinguished thelantern by blowing into it and then pinching the snuff, the cot beinglighted by a candle suspended by a twisted wire. A rather hardcouch, formed of a few corn sacks thrown carelessly down, coveredhalf the floor of this little habitation, and here the young manstretched himself along, loosened his woollen cravat, and closed hiseyes. In about the time a person unaccustomed to bodily labour wouldhave decided upon which side to lie, Farmer Oak was asleep.

  The inside of the hut, as it now presented itself, was cosy andalluring, and the scarlet handful of fire in addition to the candle,reflecting its own genial colour upon whatever it co
uld reach, flungassociations of enjoyment even over utensils and tools. In thecorner stood the sheep-crook, and along a shelf at one side wereranged bottles and canisters of the simple preparations pertaining toovine surgery and physic; spirits of wine, turpentine, tar, magnesia,ginger, and castor-oil being the chief. On a triangular shelf acrossthe corner stood bread, bacon, cheese, and a cup for ale or cider,which was supplied from a flagon beneath. Beside the provisions laythe flute, whose notes had lately been called forth by the lonelywatcher to beguile a tedious hour. The house was ventilated by tworound holes, like the lights of a ship's cabin, with wood slides.

  The lamb, revived by the warmth began to bleat, and the sound enteredGabriel's ears and brain with an instant meaning, as expectedsounds will. Passing from the profoundest sleep to the most alertwakefulness with the same ease that had accompanied the reverseoperation, he looked at his watch, found that the hour-hand hadshifted again, put on his hat, took the lamb in his arms, and carriedit into the darkness. After placing the little creature with itsmother, he stood and carefully examined the sky, to ascertain thetime of night from the altitudes of the stars.

  The Dog-star and Aldebaran, pointing to the restless Pleiades, werehalf-way up the Southern sky, and between them hung Orion, whichgorgeous constellation never burnt more vividly than now, as itsoared forth above the rim of the landscape. Castor and Pollux withtheir quiet shine were almost on the meridian: the barren and gloomySquare of Pegasus was creeping round to the north-west; far awaythrough the plantation Vega sparkled like a lamp suspended amid theleafless trees, and Cassiopeia's chair stood daintily poised on theuppermost boughs.

  "One o'clock," said Gabriel.

  Being a man not without a frequent consciousness that there was somecharm in this life he led, he stood still after looking at the skyas a useful instrument, and regarded it in an appreciative spirit,as a work of art superlatively beautiful. For a moment he seemedimpressed with the speaking loneliness of the scene, or rather withthe complete abstraction from all its compass of the sights andsounds of man. Human shapes, interferences, troubles, and joyswere all as if they were not, and there seemed to be on the shadedhemisphere of the globe no sentient being save himself; he couldfancy them all gone round to the sunny side.

  Occupied thus, with eyes stretched afar, Oak gradually perceivedthat what he had previously taken to be a star low down behind theoutskirts of the plantation was in reality no such thing. It was anartificial light, almost close at hand.

  To find themselves utterly alone at night where company is desirableand expected makes some people fearful; but a case more trying byfar to the nerves is to discover some mysterious companionship whenintuition, sensation, memory, analogy, testimony, probability,induction--every kind of evidence in the logician's list--have unitedto persuade consciousness that it is quite in isolation.

  Farmer Oak went towards the plantation and pushed through its lowerboughs to the windy side. A dim mass under the slope reminded himthat a shed occupied a place here, the site being a cutting into theslope of the hill, so that at its back part the roof was almost levelwith the ground. In front it was formed of board nailed to posts andcovered with tar as a preservative. Through crevices in the roof andside spread streaks and dots of light, a combination of which madethe radiance that had attracted him. Oak stepped up behind, where,leaning down upon the roof and putting his eye close to a hole, hecould see into the interior clearly.

  The place contained two women and two cows. By the side of thelatter a steaming bran-mash stood in a bucket. One of the women waspast middle age. Her companion was apparently young and graceful;he could form no decided opinion upon her looks, her position beingalmost beneath his eye, so that he saw her in a bird's-eye view, asMilton's Satan first saw Paradise. She wore no bonnet or hat, buthad enveloped herself in a large cloak, which was carelessly flungover her head as a covering.

  "There, now we'll go home," said the elder of the two, resting herknuckles upon her hips, and looking at their goings-on as a whole."I do hope Daisy will fetch round again now. I have never been morefrightened in my life, but I don't mind breaking my rest if sherecovers."

  The young woman, whose eyelids were apparently inclined to falltogether on the smallest provocation of silence, yawned withoutparting her lips to any inconvenient extent, whereupon Gabriel caughtthe infection and slightly yawned in sympathy.

  "I wish we were rich enough to pay a man to do these things," shesaid.

  "As we are not, we must do them ourselves," said the other; "for youmust help me if you stay."

  "Well, my hat is gone, however," continued the younger. "It went overthe hedge, I think. The idea of such a slight wind catching it."

  The cow standing erect was of the Devon breed, and was encased in atight warm hide of rich Indian red, as absolutely uniform from eyesto tail as if the animal had been dipped in a dye of that colour, herlong back being mathematically level. The other was spotted, greyand white. Beside her Oak now noticed a little calf about a day old,looking idiotically at the two women, which showed that it had notlong been accustomed to the phenomenon of eyesight, and often turningto the lantern, which it apparently mistook for the moon, inheritedinstinct having as yet had little time for correction by experience.Between the sheep and the cows Lucina had been busy on Norcombe Hilllately.

  "I think we had better send for some oatmeal," said the elder woman;"there's no more bran."

  "Yes, aunt; and I'll ride over for it as soon as it is light."

  "But there's no side-saddle."

  "I can ride on the other: trust me."

  Oak, upon hearing these remarks, became more curious to observe herfeatures, but this prospect being denied him by the hooding effect ofthe cloak, and by his aerial position, he felt himself drawing uponhis fancy for their details. In making even horizontal and clearinspections we colour and mould according to the wants within uswhatever our eyes bring in. Had Gabriel been able from the first toget a distinct view of her countenance, his estimate of it as veryhandsome or slightly so would have been as his soul required adivinity at the moment or was ready supplied with one. Having forsome time known the want of a satisfactory form to fill an increasingvoid within him, his position moreover affording the widest scope forhis fancy, he painted her a beauty.

  By one of those whimsical coincidences in which Nature, like a busymother, seems to spare a moment from her unremitting labours to turnand make her children smile, the girl now dropped the cloak, andforth tumbled ropes of black hair over a red jacket. Oak knewher instantly as the heroine of the yellow waggon, myrtles, andlooking-glass: prosily, as the woman who owed him twopence.

  They placed the calf beside its mother again, took up the lantern,and went out, the light sinking down the hill till it was no morethan a nebula. Gabriel Oak returned to his flock.