III
The Custom of the Country
Had a looker-on been posted in the immediate vicinity of the barrow,he would have learned that these persons were boys and men of theneighbouring hamlets. Each, as he ascended the barrow, had beenheavily laden with furze-faggots, carried upon the shoulder by meansof a long stake sharpened at each end for impaling them easily--twoin front and two behind. They came from a part of the heath a quarterof a mile to the rear, where furze almost exclusively prevailed as aproduct.
Every individual was so involved in furze by his method of carryingthe faggots that he appeared like a bush on legs till he had thrownthem down. The party had marched in trail, like a travelling flock ofsheep; that is to say, the strongest first, the weak and young behind.
The loads were all laid together, and a pyramid of furze thirty feetin circumference now occupied the crown of the tumulus, which wasknown as Rainbarrow for many miles round. Some made themselves busywith matches, and in selecting the driest tufts of furze, others inloosening the bramble bonds which held the faggots together. Others,again, while this was in progress, lifted their eyes and swept thevast expanse of country commanded by their position, now lying nearlyobliterated by shade. In the valleys of the heath nothing save itsown wild face was visible at any time of day; but this spot commandeda horizon enclosing a tract of far extent, and in many cases lyingbeyond the heath country. None of its features could be seen now, butthe whole made itself felt as a vague stretch of remoteness.
While the men and lads were building the pile, a change took place inthe mass of shade which denoted the distant landscape. Red suns andtufts of fire one by one began to arise, flecking the whole countryround. They were the bonfires of other parishes and hamlets that wereengaged in the same sort of commemoration. Some were distant, andstood in a dense atmosphere, so that bundles of pale strawlike beamsradiated around them in the shape of a fan. Some were large and near,glowing scarlet-red from the shade, like wounds in a black hide. Somewere Maenades, with winy faces and blown hair. These tinctured thesilent bosom of the clouds above them and lit up their ephemeralcaves, which seemed thenceforth to become scalding caldrons. Perhapsas many as thirty bonfires could be counted within the whole boundsof the district; and as the hour may be told on a clock-face whenthe figures themselves are invisible, so did the men recognize thelocality of each fire by its angle and direction, though nothing ofthe scenery could be viewed.
The first tall flame from Rainbarrow sprang into the sky, attractingall eyes that had been fixed on the distant conflagrations back totheir own attempt in the same kind. The cheerful blaze streaked theinner surface of the human circle--now increased by other stragglers,male and female--with its own gold livery, and even overlaid thedark turf around with a lively luminousness, which softened off intoobscurity where the barrow rounded downwards out of sight. It showedthe barrow to be the segment of a globe, as perfect as on the day whenit was thrown up, even the little ditch remaining from which the earthwas dug. Not a plough had ever disturbed a grain of that stubbornsoil. In the heath's barrenness to the farmer lay its fertility tothe historian. There had been no obliteration, because there had beenno tending.
It seemed as if the bonfire-makers were standing in some radiantupper story of the world, detached from and independent of the darkstretches below. The heath down there was now a vast abyss, and nolonger a continuation of what they stood on; for their eyes, adaptedto the blaze, could see nothing of the deeps beyond its influence.Occasionally, it is true, a more vigorous flare than usual from theirfaggots sent darting lights like aides-de-camp down the inclines tosome distant bush, pool, or patch of white sand, kindling these toreplies of the same colour, till all was lost in darkness again. Thenthe whole black phenomenon beneath represented Limbo as viewed fromthe brink by the sublime Florentine in his vision, and the mutteredarticulations of the wind in the hollows were as complaints andpetitions from the "souls of mighty worth" suspended therein.
It was as if these men and boys had suddenly dived into past ages, andfetched therefrom an hour and deed which had before been familiar withthis spot. The ashes of the original British pyre which blazed fromthat summit lay fresh and undisturbed in the barrow beneath theirtread. The flames from funeral piles long ago kindled there had shonedown upon the lowlands as these were shining now. Festival fires toThor and Woden had followed on the same ground and duly had their day.Indeed, it is pretty well known that such blazes as this the heathmenwere now enjoying are rather the lineal descendants from jumbledDruidical rites and Saxon ceremonies than the invention of popularfeeling about Gunpowder Plot.
Moreover to light a fire is the instinctive and resistant act of manwhen, at the winter ingress, the curfew is sounded throughout Nature.It indicates a spontaneous, Promethean rebelliousness against thatfiat that this recurrent season shall bring foul times, cold darkness,misery and death. Black chaos comes, and the fettered gods of theearth say, Let there be light.
The brilliant lights and sooty shades which struggled upon the skinand clothes of the persons standing round caused their lineaments andgeneral contours to be drawn with Dureresque vigour and dash. Yet thepermanent moral expression of each face it was impossible to discover,for as the nimble flames towered, nodded, and swooped through thesurrounding air, the blots of shade and flakes of light upon thecountenances of the group changed shape and position endlessly. Allwas unstable; quivering as leaves, evanescent as lightning. Shadowyeye-sockets, deep as those of a death's head, suddenly turned intopits of lustre: a lantern-jaw was cavernous, then it was shining;wrinkles were emphasized to ravines, or obliterated entirely by achanged ray. Nostrils were dark wells; sinews in old necks were giltmouldings; things with no particular polish on them were glazed;bright objects, such as the tip of a furze-hook one of the mencarried, were as glass; eyeballs glowed like little lanterns. Thosewhom Nature had depicted as merely quaint became grotesque, thegrotesque became preternatural; for all was in extremity.
Hence it may be that the face of an old man, who had like others beencalled to the heights by the rising flames, was not really the merenose and chin that it appeared to be, but an appreciable quantity ofhuman countenance. He stood complacently sunning himself in the heat.With a speaker, or stake, he tossed the outlying scraps of fuel intothe conflagration, looking at the midst of the pile, occasionallylifting his eyes to measure the height of the flame, or to follow thegreat sparks which rose with it and sailed away into darkness. Thebeaming sight, and the penetrating warmth, seemed to breed in him acumulative cheerfulness, which soon amounted to delight. With hisstick in his hand he began to jig a private minuet, a bunch of copperseals shining and swinging like a pendulum from under his waistcoat:he also began to sing, in the voice of a bee up a flue--
"The king' call'd down' his no-bles all', By one', by two', by three'; Earl Mar'-shal, I'll' go shrive'-the queen', And thou' shalt wend' with me'.
"A boon', a boon', quoth Earl' Mar-shal', And fell' on his bend'-ded knee', That what'-so-e'er' the queen' shall say', No harm' there-of' may be'."
Want of breath prevented a continuance of the song; and the breakdownattracted the attention of a firm-standing man of middle age, whokept each corner of his crescent-shaped mouth rigorously drawn backinto his cheek, as if to do away with any suspicion of mirthfulnesswhich might erroneously have attached to him.
"A fair stave, Grandfer Cantle; but I am afeard 'tis too much for themouldy weasand of such a old man as you," he said to the wrinkledreveller. "Dostn't wish th' wast three sixes again, Grandfer, as youwas when you first learnt to sing it?"
"Hey?" said Grandfer Cantle, stopping in his dance.
"Dostn't wish wast young again, I say? There's a hole in thy poorbellows nowadays seemingly."
"But there's good art in me? If I couldn't make a little wind go along ways I should seem no younger than the most aged man, should I,Timothy?"
"And how about the new-married folks down there at the Quiet WomanInn?" the other inqui
red, pointing towards a dim light in thedirection of the distant highway, but considerably apart from wherethe reddleman was at that moment resting. "What's the rights of thematter about 'em? You ought to know, being an understanding man."
"But a little rakish, hey? I own to it. Master Cantle is that, orhe's nothing. Yet 'tis a gay fault, neighbour Fairway, that age willcure."
"I heard that they were coming home to-night. By this time they musthave come. What besides?"
"The next thing is for us to go and wish 'em joy, I suppose?"
"Well, no."
"No? Now, I thought we must. _I_ must, or 'twould be very unlikeme--the first in every spree that's going!
"Do thou' put on' a fri'-ar's coat', And I'll' put on' a-no'-ther, And we' will to' Queen Ele'anor go', Like Fri'ar and' his bro'ther.
"I met Mis'ess Yeobright, the young bride's aunt, last night, and shetold me that her son Clym was coming home a' Christmas. Wonderfulclever, 'a believe--ah, I should like to have all that's under thatyoung man's hair. Well, then, I spoke to her in my well-known merryway, and she said, 'O that what's shaped so venerable should talk likea fool!'--that's what she said to me. I don't care for her, be jownedif I do, and so I told her. 'Be jowned if I care for 'ee,' I said. Ihad her there--hey?"
"I rather think she had you," said Fairway.
"No," said Grandfer Cantle, his countenance slightly flagging."'Tisn't so bad as that with me?"
"Seemingly 'tis; however, is it because of the wedding that Clym iscoming home a' Christmas--to make a new arrangement because his motheris now left in the house alone?"
"Yes, yes--that's it. But, Timothy, hearken to me," said the Grandferearnestly. "Though known as such a joker, I be an understanding manif you catch me serious, and I am serious now. I can tell 'ee lotsabout the married couple. Yes, this morning at six o'clock they wentup the country to do the job, and neither vell nor mark have been seenof 'em since, though I reckon that this afternoon has brought 'em homeagain man and woman--wife, that is. Isn't it spoke like a man,Timothy, and wasn't Mis'ess Yeobright wrong about me?"
"Yes, it will do. I didn't know the two had walked together sincelast fall, when her aunt forbad the banns. How long has this newset-to been mangling then? Do you know, Humphrey?"
"Yes, how long?" said Grandfer Cantle smartly, likewise turning toHumphrey. "I ask that question."
"Ever since her aunt altered her mind, and said she might have theman after all," replied Humphrey, without removing his eyes from thefire. He was a somewhat solemn young fellow, and carried the hookand leather gloves of a furze-cutter, his legs, by reason of thatoccupation, being sheathed in bulging leggings as stiff as thePhilistine's greaves of brass. "That's why they went away to bemarried, I count. You see, after kicking up such a nunny-watchand forbidding the banns 'twould have made Mis'ess Yeobright seemfoolish-like to have a banging wedding in the same parish all as ifshe'd never gainsaid it."
"Exactly--seem foolish-like; and that's very bad for the poor thingsthat be so, though I only guess as much, to be sure," said GrandferCantle, still strenuously preserving a sensible bearing and mien.
"Ah, well, I was at church that day," said Fairway, "which was a verycurious thing to happen."
"If 'twasn't my name's Simple," said the Grandfer emphatically. "Iha'n't been there to-year; and now the winter is a-coming on I won'tsay I shall."
"I ha'n't been these three years," said Humphrey; "for I'm so deadsleepy of a Sunday; and 'tis so terrible far to get there; and whenyou do get there 'tis such a mortal poor chance that you'll be chosefor up above, when so many bain't, that I bide at home and don't go atall."
"I not only happened to be there," said Fairway, with a freshcollection of emphasis, "but I was sitting in the same pew as Mis'essYeobright. And though you may not see it as such, it fairly made myblood run cold to hear her. Yes, it is a curious thing; but it mademy blood run cold, for I was close at her elbow." The speaker lookedround upon the bystanders, now drawing closer to hear him, with hislips gathered tighter than ever in the rigorousness of his descriptivemoderation.
"'Tis a serious job to have things happen to 'ee there," said a womanbehind.
"'Ye are to declare it,' was the parson's words," Fairway continued."And then up stood a woman at my side--a-touching of me. 'Well, bedamned if there isn't Mis'ess Yeobright a-standing up,' I said tomyself. Yes, neighbours, though I was in the temple of prayer that'swhat I said. 'Tis against my conscience to curse and swear incompany, and I hope any woman here will overlook it. Still what I didsay I did say, and 'twould be a lie if I didn't own it."
"So 'twould, neighbour Fairway."
"'Be damned if there isn't Mis'ess Yeobright a-standing up,' Isaid," the narrator repeated, giving out the bad word with the samepassionless severity of face as before, which proved how entirelynecessity and not gusto had to do with the iteration. "And the nextthing I heard was, 'I forbid the banns,' from her. 'I'll speak toyou after the service,' said the parson, in quite a homely way--yes,turning all at once into a common man no holier than you or I. Ah, herface was pale! Maybe you can call to mind that monument in Weatherburychurch--the cross-legged soldier that have had his arm knocked away bythe school-children? Well, he would about have matched that woman'sface, when she said, 'I forbid the banns.'"
The audience cleared their throats and tossed a few stalks into thefire, not because these deeds were urgent, but to give themselves timeto weigh the moral of the story.
"I'm sure when I heard they'd been forbid I felt as glad as if anybodyhad gied me sixpence," said an earnest voice--that of Olly Dowden, awoman who lived by making heath brooms, or besoms. Her nature was tobe civil to enemies as well as to friends, and grateful to all theworld for letting her remain alive.
"And now the maid have married him just the same," said Humphrey.
"After that Mis'ess Yeobright came round and was quite agreeable,"Fairway resumed, with an unheeding air, to show that his words were noappendage to Humphrey's, but the result of independent reflection.
"Supposing they were ashamed, I don't see why they shouldn't havedone it here-right," said a wide-spread woman whose stays creakedlike shoes whenever she stooped or turned. "'Tis well to call theneighbours together and to hae a good racket once now and then; and itmay as well be when there's a wedding as at tide-times. I don't carefor close ways."
"Ah, now, you'd hardly believe it, but I don't care for gay weddings,"said Timothy Fairway, his eyes again travelling round. "I hardlyblame Thomasin Yeobright and neighbour Wildeve for doing it quiet, ifI must own it. A wedding at home means five and six-handed reels bythe hour; and they do a man's legs no good when he's over forty."
"True. Once at the woman's house you can hardly say nay to being onein a jig, knowing all the time that you be expected to make yourselfworth your victuals."
"You be bound to dance at Christmas because 'tis the time o' year; youmust dance at weddings because 'tis the time o' life. At christeningsfolk will even smuggle in a reel or two, if 'tis no further on thanthe first or second chiel. And this is not naming the songs you'vegot to sing... For my part I like a good hearty funeral as well asanything. You've as splendid victuals and drink as at other parties,and even better. And it don't wear your legs to stumps in talkingover a poor fellow's ways as it do to stand up in hornpipes."
"Nine folks out of ten would own 'twas going too far to dance then, Isuppose?" suggested Grandfer Cantle.
"'Tis the only sort of party a staid man can feel safe at after themug have been round a few times."
"Well, I can't understand a quiet lady-like little body like TamsinYeobright caring to be married in such a mean way," said SusanNunsuch, the wide woman, who preferred the original subject. "'Tisworse than the poorest do. And I shouldn't have cared about the man,though some may say he's good-looking."
"To give him his due he's a clever, learned fellow in his way--a'mostas clever as Clym Yeobright used to be. He was brought up to betterthings than keeping the Quiet Woman. An engineer--that's
what the manwas, as we know; but he threw away his chance, and so 'a took a publichouse to live. His learning was no use to him at all."
"Very often the case," said Olly, the besom-maker. "And yet how peopledo strive after it and get it! The class of folk that couldn't useto make a round O to save their bones from the pit can write theirnames now without a sputter of the pen, oftentimes without a singleblot: what do I say?--why, almost without a desk to lean theirstomachs and elbows upon."
"True: 'tis amazing what a polish the world have been brought to,"said Humphrey.
"Why, afore I went a soldier in the Bang-up Locals (as we was called),in the year four," chimed in Grandfer Cantle brightly, "I didn't knowno more what the world was like than the commonest man among ye. Andnow, jown it all, I won't say what I bain't fit for, hey?"
"Couldst sign the book, no doubt," said Fairway, "if wast young enoughto join hands with a woman again, like Wildeve and Mis'ess Tamsin,which is more than Humph there could do, for he follows his father inlearning. Ah, Humph, well I can mind when I was married how I zid thyfather's mark staring me in the face as I went to put down my name.He and your mother were the couple married just afore we were andthere stood they father's cross with arms stretched out like a greatbanging scarecrow. What a terrible black cross that was--thy father'svery likeness in en! To save my soul I couldn't help laughing when Izid en, though all the time I was as hot as dog-days, what with themarrying, and what with the woman a-hanging to me, and what with JackChangley and a lot more chaps grinning at me through church window.But the next moment a strawmote would have knocked me down, for Icalled to mind that if thy father and mother had had high words once,they'd been at it twenty times since they'd been man and wife, and Izid myself as the next poor stunpoll to get into the samemess... Ah--well, what a day 'twas!"
"Wildeve is older than Tamsin Yeobright by a goodfew summers. Apretty maid too she is. A young woman with a home must be a fool totear her smock for a man like that."
The speaker, a peat or turf-cutter, who had newly joined the group,carried across his shoulder the singular heart-shaped spade of largedimensions used in that species of labour; and its well-whetted edgegleamed like a silver bow in the beams of the fire.
"A hundred maidens would have had him if he'd asked 'em," said thewide woman.
"Didst ever know a man, neighbour, that no woman at all would marry?"inquired Humphrey.
"I never did," said the turf-cutter.
"Nor I," said another.
"Nor I," said Grandfer Cantle.
"Well, now, I did once," said Timothy Fairway, adding more firmnessto one of his legs. "I did know of such a man. But only once, mind."He gave his throat a thorough rake round, as if it were the duty ofevery person not to be mistaken through thickness of voice. "Yes, Iknew of such a man," he said.
"And what ghastly gallicrow might the poor fellow have been like,Master Fairway?" asked the turf-cutter.
"Well, 'a was neither a deaf man, nor a dumb man, nor a blind man.What 'a was I don't say."
"Is he known in these parts?" said Olly Dowden.
"Hardly," said Timothy; "but I name no name... Come, keep the fire upthere, youngsters."
"Whatever is Christian Cantle's teeth a-chattering for?" said a boyfrom amid the smoke and shades on the other side of the blaze. "Be yea-cold, Christian?"
A thin jibbering voice was heard to reply, "No, not at all."
"Come forward, Christian, and show yourself. I didn't know you werehere," said Fairway, with a humane look across towards that quarter.
Thus requested, a faltering man, with reedy hair, no shoulders, and agreat quantity of wrist and ankle beyond his clothes, advanced a stepor two by his own will, and was pushed by the will of others half adozen steps more. He was Grandfer Cantle's youngest son.
"What be ye quaking for, Christian?" said the turf-cutter kindly.
"I'm the man."
"What man?"
"The man no woman will marry."
"The deuce you be!" said Timothy Fairway, enlarging his gaze to coverChristian's whole surface and a great deal more; Grandfer Cantlemeanwhile staring as a hen stares at the duck she has hatched.
"Yes, I be he; and it makes me afeard," said Christian. "D'ye think'twill hurt me? I shall always say I don't care, and swear to it,though I do care all the while."
"Well, be damned if this isn't the queerest start ever I know'd,"said Mr. Fairway. "I didn't mean you at all. There's another in thecountry, then! Why did ye reveal yer misfortune, Christian?"
"'Twas to be if 'twas, I suppose. I can't help it, can I?" He turnedupon them his painfully circular eyes, surrounded by concentric lineslike targets.
"No, that's true. But 'tis a melancholy thing, and my blood ran coldwhen you spoke, for I felt there were two poor fellows where I hadthought only one. 'Tis a sad thing for ye, Christian. How'st knowthe women won't hae thee?"
"I've asked 'em."
"Sure I should never have thought you had the face. Well, and whatdid the last one say to ye? Nothing that can't be got over, perhaps,after all?"
"'Get out of my sight, you slack-twisted, slim-looking maphrotightfool,' was the woman's words to me."
"Not encouraging, I own," said Fairway. "'Get out of my sight, youslack-twisted, slim-looking maphrotight fool,' is rather a hard way ofsaying No. But even that might be overcome by time and patience, so asto let a few grey hairs show themselves in the hussy's head. How oldbe you, Christian?"
"Thirty-one last tatie-digging, Mister Fairway."
"Not a boy--not a boy. Still there's hope yet."
"That's my age by baptism, because that's put down in the great bookof the Judgment that they keep in church vestry; but mother told me Iwas born some time afore I was christened."
"Ah!"
"But she couldn't tell when, to save her life, except that there wasno moon."
"No moon: that's bad. Hey, neighbours, that's bad for him!"
"Yes, 'tis bad," said Grandfer Cantle, shaking his head.
"Mother know'd 'twas no moon, for she asked another woman that had analmanac, as she did whenever a boy was born to her, because of thesaying, 'No moon, no man,' which made her afeard every man-child shehad. Do ye really think it serious, Mister Fairway, that there was nomoon?"
"Yes; 'No moon, no man.' 'Tis one of the truest sayings ever spit out.The boy never comes to anything that's born at new moon. A bad jobfor thee, Christian, that you should have showed your nose then of alldays in the month."
"I suppose the moon was terrible full when you were born?" saidChristian, with a look of hopeless admiration at Fairway.
"Well, 'a was not new," Mr. Fairway replied, with a disinterestedgaze.
"I'd sooner go without drink at Lammas-tide than be a man of no moon,"continued Christian, in the same shattered recitative. "'Tis said Ibe only the rames of a man, and no good for my race at all; and Isuppose that's the cause o't."
"Ay," said Grandfer Cantle, somewhat subdued in spirit; "and yet hismother cried for scores of hours when 'a was a boy, for fear he shouldoutgrow hisself and go for a soldier."
"Well, there's many just as bad as he." said Fairway. "Wethers mustlive their time as well as other sheep, poor soul."
"So perhaps I shall rub on? Ought I to be afeared o' nights, MasterFairway?"
"You'll have to lie alone all your life; and 'tis not to marriedcouples but to single sleepers that a ghost shows himself when 'a docome. One has been seen lately, too. A very strange one."
"No--don't talk about it if 'tis agreeable of ye not to! 'Twill makemy skin crawl when I think of it in bed alone. But you will--ah, youwill, I know, Timothy; and I shall dream all night o't! A very strangeone? What sort of a spirit did ye mean when ye said, a very strangeone, Timothy?--no, no--don't tell me."
"I don't half believe in spirits myself. But I think it ghostlyenough--what I was told. 'Twas a little boy that zid it."
"What was it like?--no, don't--"
"A red one. Yes, most ghosts be white; but this is as if it
had beendipped in blood."
Christian drew a deep breath without letting it expand his body, andHumphrey said, "Where has it been seen?"
"Not exactly here; but in this same heth. But 'tisn't a thing totalk about. What do ye say," continued Fairway in brisker tones, andturning upon them as if the idea had not been Grandfer Cantle's--"whatdo you say to giving the new man and wife a bit of a song to-nightafore we go to bed--being their wedding-day? When folks are justmarried 'tis as well to look glad o't, since looking sorry won'tunjoin 'em. I am no drinker, as we know, but when the womenfolk andyoungsters have gone home we can drop down across to the Quiet Woman,and strike up a ballet in front of the married folks' door. 'Twillplease the young wife, and that's what I should like to do, for many'sthe skinful I've had at her hands when she lived with her aunt atBlooms-End."
"Hey? And so we will!" said Grandfer Cantle, turning so briskly thathis copper seals swung extravagantly. "I'm as dry as a kex with bidingup here in the wind, and I haven't seen the colour of drink sincenammet-time today. 'Tis said that the last brew at the Woman is verypretty drinking. And, neighbours, if we should be a little late inthe finishing, why, tomorrow's Sunday, and we can sleep it off?"
"Grandfer Cantle! you take things very careless for an old man," saidthe wide woman.
"I take things careless; I do--too careless to please the women! Klk!I'll sing the 'Jovial Crew,' or any other song, when a weak old manwould cry his eyes out. Jown it; I am up for anything.
"The king' look'd o'ver his left' shoul-der', And a grim' look look'-ed hee', Earl Mar'-shal, he said', but for' my oath' Or hang'-ed thou' shouldst bee'."
"Well, that's what we'll do," said Fairway. "We'll give 'em a song,an' it please the Lord. What's the good of Thomasin's cousin Clyma-coming home after the deed's done? He should have come afore, if sobe he wanted to stop it, and marry her himself."
"Perhaps he's coming to bide with his mother a little time, as shemust feel lonely now the maid's gone."
"Now, 'tis very odd, but I never feel lonely--no, not at all," saidGrandfer Cantle. "I am as brave in the night-time as a' admiral!"
The bonfire was by this time beginning to sink low, for the fuel hadnot been of that substantial sort which can support a blaze long.Most of the other fires within the wide horizon were also dwindlingweak. Attentive observation of their brightness, colour, and lengthof existence would have revealed the quality of the material burnt,and through that, to some extent the natural produce of the districtin which each bonfire was situate. The clear, kingly effulgence thathad characterized the majority expressed a heath and furze countrylike their own, which in one direction extended an unlimited number ofmiles; the rapid flares and extinctions at other points of the compassshowed the lightest of fuel--straw, beanstalks, and the usual wastefrom arable land. The most enduring of all--steady unaltering eyeslike Planets--signified wood, such as hazel-branches, thorn-faggots,and stout billets. Fires of the last-mentioned materials were rare,and though comparatively small in magnitude beside the transientblazes, now began to get the best of them by mere long continuance.The great ones had perished, but these remained. They occupied theremotest visible positions--sky-backed summits rising out of richcoppice and plantation districts to the north, where the soil wasdifferent, and heath foreign and strange.
Save one; and this was the nearest of any, the moon of the wholeshining throng. It lay in a direction precisely opposite to that ofthe little window in the vale below. Its nearness was such that,notwithstanding its actual smallness, its glow infinitely transcendedtheirs.
This quiet eye had attracted attention from time to time; and whentheir own fire had become sunken and dim it attracted more; some evenof the wood fires more recently lighted had reached their decline, butno change was perceptible here.
"To be sure, how near that fire is!" said Fairway. "Seemingly. I cansee a fellow of some sort walking round it. Little and good must besaid of that fire, surely."
"I can throw a stone there," said the boy.
"And so can I!" said Grandfer Cantle.
"No, no, you can't, my sonnies. That fire is not much less than amile off, for all that 'a seems so near."
"'Tis in the heath, but not furze," said the turf-cutter.
"'Tis cleft-wood, that's what 'tis," said Timothy Fairway. "Nothingwould burn like that except clean timber. And 'tis on the knap aforethe old captain's house at Mistover. Such a queer mortal as that manis! To have a little fire inside your own bank and ditch, that nobodyelse may enjoy it or come anigh it! And what a zany an old chap mustbe, to light a bonfire when there's no youngsters to please."
"Cap'n Vye has been for a long walk to-day, and is quite tired out,"said Grandfer Cantle, "so 'tisn't likely to be he."
"And he would hardly afford good fuel like that," said the wide woman.
"Then it must be his grand-daughter," said Fairway. "Not that a bodyof her age can want a fire much."
"She is very strange in her ways, living up there by herself, and suchthings please her," said Susan.
"She's a well-favoured maid enough," said Humphrey the furze-cutter;"especially when she's got one of her dandy gowns on."
"That's true," said Fairway. "Well, let her bonfire burn an't will.Ours is well-nigh out by the look o't."
"How dark 'tis now the fire's gone down!" said Christian Cantle,looking behind him with his hare eyes. "Don't ye think we'd betterget home-along, neighbours? The heth isn't haunted, I know; but we'dbetter get home... Ah, what was that?"
"Only the wind," said the turf-cutter.
"I don't think Fifth-of-Novembers ought to be kept up by night exceptin towns. It should be by day in outstep, ill-accounted places likethis!"
"Nonsense, Christian. Lift up your spirits like a man! Susy, dear,you and I will have a jig--hey, my honey?--before 'tis quite too darkto see how well-favoured you be still, though so many summers havepassed since your husband, a son of a witch, snapped you up from me."
This was addressed to Susan Nunsuch; and the next circumstance ofwhich the beholders were conscious was a vision of the matron's broadform whisking off towards the space whereon the fire had been kindled.She was lifted bodily by Mr. Fairway's arm, which had been flung roundher waist before she had become aware of his intention. The site ofthe fire was now merely a circle of ashes flecked with red embersand sparks, the furze having burnt completely away. Once within thecircle he whirled her round and round in a dance. She was a womannoisily constructed; in addition to her enclosing framework ofwhalebone and lath, she wore pattens summer and winter, in wet weatherand in dry, to preserve her boots from wear; and when Fairway began tojump about with her, the clicking of the pattens, the creaking of thestays, and her screams of surprise, formed a very audible concert.
"I'll crack thy numskull for thee, you mandy chap!" said Mrs. Nunsuch,as she helplessly danced round with him, her feet playing likedrumsticks among the sparks. "My ankles were all in a fever before,from walking through that prickly furze, and now you must make 'emworse with these vlankers!"
The vagary of Timothy Fairway was infectious. The turf-cutter seizedold Olly Dowden, and, somewhat more gently, poussetted with herlikewise. The young men were not slow to imitate the example of theirelders, and seized the maids; Grandfer Cantle and his stick jigged inthe form of a three-legged object among the rest; and in half a minuteall that could be seen on Rainbarrow was a whirling of dark shapesamid a boiling confusion of sparks, which leapt around the dancersas high as their waists. The chief noises were women's shrillcries, men's laughter, Susan's stays and pattens, Olly Dowden's"heu-heu-heu!" and the strumming of the wind upon the furze-bushes,which formed a kind of tune to the demoniac measure they trod.Christian alone stood aloof, uneasily rocking himself as he murmured,"They ought not to do it--how the vlankers do fly! 'tis tempting theWicked one, 'tis."
"What was that?" said one of the lads, stopping.
"Ah--where?" said Christian, hastily closing up to the rest.
The dancers all lessened the
ir speed.
"'Twas behind you, Christian, that I heard it--down there."
"Yes--'tis behind me!" Christian said. "Matthew, Mark, Luke, andJohn, bless the bed that I lie on; four angels guard--"
"Hold your tongue. What is it?" said Fairway.
"Hoi-i-i-i!" cried a voice from the darkness.
"Halloo-o-o-o!" said Fairway.
"Is there any cart track up across here to Mis'ess Yeobright's,of Blooms-End?" came to them in the same voice, as a long, slimindistinct figure approached the barrow.
"Ought we not to run home as hard as we can, neighbours, as 'tisgetting late?" said Christian. "Not run away from one another, youknow; run close together, I mean."
"Scrape up a few stray locks of furze, and make a blaze, so that wecan see who the man is," said Fairway.
When the flame arose it revealed a young man in tight raiment, and redfrom top to toe. "Is there a track across here to Mis'ess Yeobright'shouse?" he repeated.
"Ay--keep along the path down there."
"I mean a way two horses and a van can travel over?"
"Well, yes; you can get up the vale below here with time. The trackis rough, but if you've got a light your horses may pick along wi'care. Have ye brought your cart far up, neighbour reddleman?"
"I've left it in the bottom, about half a mile back. I stepped on infront to make sure of the way, as 'tis night-time, and I han't beenhere for so long."
"Oh, well, you can get up," said Fairway. "What a turn it did give mewhen I saw him!" he added to the whole group, the reddleman included."Lord's sake, I thought, whatever fiery mommet is this come to troubleus? No slight to your looks, reddleman, for ye bain't bad-looking inthe groundwork, though the finish is queer. My meaning is just tosay how curious I felt. I half thought it 'twas the devil or the redghost the boy told of."
"It gied me a turn likewise," said Susan Nunsuch, "for I had a dreamlast night of a death's head."
"Don't ye talk o't no more," said Christian. "If he had handkerchiefover his head he'd look for all the world like the Devil in thepicture of the Temptation."
"Well, thank you for telling me," said the young reddleman, smilingfaintly. "And good night t'ye all."
He withdrew from their sight down the barrow.
"I fancy I've seen that young man's face before," said Humphrey. "Butwhere, or how, or what his name is, I don't know."
The reddleman had not been gone more than a few minutes when anotherperson approached the partially revived bonfire. It proved to be awell-known and respected widow of the neighbourhood, of a standingwhich can only be expressed by the word genteel. Her face,encompassed by the blackness of the receding heath, showed whitely,and without half-lights, like a cameo.
She was a woman of middle-age, with well-formed features of the typeusually found where perspicacity is the chief quality enthronedwithin. At moments she seemed to be regarding issues from a Nebodenied to others around. She had something of an estranged mien; thesolitude exhaled from the heath was concentrated in this face thathad risen from it. The air with which she looked at the heathmenbetokened a certain unconcern at their presence, or at what might betheir opinions of her for walking in that lonely spot at such an hour,this indirectly implying that in some respect or other they were notup to her level. The explanation lay in the fact that though herhusband had been a small farmer she herself was a curate's daughter,who had once dreamt of doing better things.
Persons with any weight of character carry, like planets, theiratmospheres along with them in their orbits; and the matron whoentered now upon the scene could, and usually did, bring her owntone into a company. Her normal manner among the heathfolk hadthat reticence which results from the consciousness of superiorcommunicative power. But the effect of coming into society and lightafter lonely wandering in darkness is a sociability in the comer aboveits usual pitch, expressed in the features even more than in words.
"Why, 'tis Mis'ess Yeobright," said Fairway. "Mis'ess Yeobright, notten minutes ago a man was here asking for you--a reddleman."
"What did he want?" said she.
"He didn't tell us."
"Something to sell, I suppose; what it can be I am at a loss tounderstand."
"I am glad to hear that your son Mr. Clym is coming home at Christmas,ma'am," said Sam, the turf-cutter. "What a dog he used to be forbonfires!"
"Yes. I believe he is coming," she said.
"He must be a fine fellow by this time," said Fairway.
"He is a man now," she replied quietly.
"'Tis very lonesome for 'ee in the heth tonight, mis'ess," saidChristian, coming from the seclusion he had hitherto maintained."Mind you don't get lost. Egdon Heth is a bad place to get lost in,and the winds do huffle queerer tonight than ever I heard 'em afore.Them that know Egdon best have been pixy-led here at times."
"Is that you, Christian?" said Mrs. Yeobright. "What made you hideaway from me?"
"'Twas that I didn't know you in this light, mis'ess; and being aman of the mournfullest make, I was scared a little, that's all.Oftentimes if you could see how terrible down I get in my mind,'twould make 'ee quite nervous for fear I should die by my hand."
"You don't take after your father," said Mrs. Yeobright, lookingtowards the fire, where Grandfer Cantle, with some want oforiginality, was dancing by himself among the sparks, as the othershad done before.
"Now, Grandfer," said Timothy Fairway, "we are ashamed of ye. Areverent old patriarch man as you be--seventy if a day--to gohornpiping like that by yourself!"
"A harrowing old man, Mis'ess Yeobright," said Christian despondingly."I wouldn't live with him a week, so playward as he is, if I could getaway."
"'Twould be more seemly in ye to stand still and welcome Mis'essYeobright, and you the venerablest here, Grandfer Cantle," said thebesom-woman.
"Faith, and so it would," said the reveller checking himselfrepentantly. "I've such a bad memory, Mis'ess Yeobright, that Iforget how I'm looked up to by the rest of 'em. My spirits must bewonderful good, you'll say? But not always. 'Tis a weight upon a manto be looked up to as commander, and I often feel it."
"I am sorry to stop the talk," said Mrs. Yeobright. "But I must beleaving you now. I was passing down the Anglebury Road, towards myniece's new home, who is returning tonight with her husband; andseeing the bonfire and hearing Olly's voice among the rest I came uphere to learn what was going on. I should like her to walk with me, asher way is mine."
"Ay, sure, ma'am, I'm just thinking of moving," said Olly.
"Why, you'll be safe to meet the reddleman that I told ye of," saidFairway. "He's only gone back to get his van. We heard that yourniece and her husband were coming straight home as soon as they weremarried, and we are going down there shortly, to give 'em a song o'welcome."
"Thank you indeed," said Mrs. Yeobright.
"But we shall take a shorter cut through the furze than you can gowith long clothes; so we won't trouble you to wait."
"Very well--are you ready, Olly?"
"Yes, ma'am. And there's a light shining from your niece's window,see. It will help to keep us in the path."
She indicated the faint light at the bottom of the valley whichFairway had pointed out; and the two women descended the tumulus.