3--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 been heavilyladen with furze faggots, carried upon the shoulder by means of a longstake sharpened at each end for impaling them easily--two in front andtwo behind. They came from a part of the heath a quarter of a mile tothe rear, where furze almost exclusively prevailed as a product.
Every individual was so involved in furze by his method of carrying thefaggots that he appeared like a bush on legs till he had thrown themdown. The party had marched in trail, like a travelling flock of sheep;that is to say, the strongest first, the weak and young behind.
The loads were all laid together, and a pyramid of furze thirty feet incircumference now occupied the crown of the tumulus, which was known asRainbarrow for many miles round. Some made themselves busy with matches,and in selecting the driest tufts of furze, others in loosening thebramble bonds which held the faggots together. Others, again, while thiswas in progress, lifted their eyes and swept the vast expanse of countrycommanded by their position, now lying nearly obliterated by shade. Inthe valleys of the heath nothing save its own wild face was visible atany time of day; but this spot commanded a horizon enclosing a tract offar extent, and in many cases lying beyond the heath country. None ofits features could be seen now, but the whole made itself felt as avague 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, and stoodin a dense atmosphere, so that bundles of pale straw-like beams radiatedaround them in the shape of a fan. Some were large and near, glowingscarlet-red from the shade, like wounds in a black hide. Some wereMaenades, with winy faces and blown hair. These tinctured the silentbosom of the clouds above them and lit up their ephemeral caves, whichseemed thenceforth to become scalding caldrons. Perhaps as manyas thirty bonfires could be counted within the whole bounds of thedistrict; and as the hour may be told on a clock-face when the figuresthemselves are invisible, so did the men recognize the locality of eachfire by its angle and direction, though nothing of the scenery could beviewed.
The first tall flame from Rainbarrow sprang into the sky, attracting alleyes that had been fixed on the distant conflagrations back to their ownattempt in the same kind. The cheerful blaze streaked the inner surfaceof the human circle--now increased by other stragglers, male andfemale--with its own gold livery, and even overlaid the dark turf aroundwith a lively luminousness, which softened off into obscurity where thebarrow rounded downwards out of sight. It showed the barrow to be thesegment of a globe, as perfect as on the day when it was thrown up, eventhe little ditch remaining from which the earth was dug. Not a ploughhad ever disturbed a grain of that stubborn soil. In the heath'sbarrenness to the farmer lay its fertility to the historian. There hadbeen no obliteration, because there had been no tending.
It seemed as if the bonfire-makers were standing in some radiant upperstory of the world, detached from and independent of the dark stretchesbelow. The heath down there was now a vast abyss, and no longer acontinuation of what they stood on for their eyes, adapted tothe 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 to somedistant bush, pool, or patch of white sand, kindling these to repliesof the same colour, till all was lost in darkness again. Then the wholeblack phenomenon beneath represented Limbo as viewed from the brink bythe sublime Florentine in his vision, and the muttered articulations ofthe wind in the hollows were as complaints and petitions from the ”soulsof 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 from thatsummit lay fresh and undisturbed in the barrow beneath their tread. Theflames from funeral piles long ago kindled there had shone down upon thelowlands as these were shining now. Festival fires to Thor and Woden hadfollowed on the same ground and duly had their day. Indeed, it is prettywell known that such blazes as this the heathmen were now enjoying arerather the lineal descendants from jumbled Druidical rites and Saxonceremonies than the invention of popular feeling 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 that fiatthat this recurrent season shall bring foul times, cold darkness, miseryand death. Black chaos comes, and the fettered gods of the earth 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 into pitsof lustre: a lantern-jaw was cavernous, then it was shining; wrinkleswere emphasized to ravines, or obliterated entirely by a changed ray.Nostrils were dark wells; sinews in old necks were gilt mouldings;things with no particular polish on them were glazed; bright objects,such as the tip of a furze-hook one of the men carried, were as glass;eyeballs glowed like little lanterns. Those whom Nature had depicted asmerely quaint became grotesque, the grotesque became preternatural; forall 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 mere noseand chin that it appeared to be, but an appreciable quantity of humancountenance. He stood complacently sunning himself in the heat. Witha speaker, or stake, he tossed the outlying scraps of fuel into theconflagration, looking at the midst of the pile, occasionally liftinghis eyes to measure the height of the flame, or to follow the greatsparks which rose with it and sailed away into darkness. The beamingsight, and the penetrating warmth, seemed to breed in him a cumulativecheerfulness, which soon amounted to delight. With his stick in his handhe began to jig a private minuet, a bunch of copper seals shining andswinging like a pendulum from under his waistcoat: he also began tosing, 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, who kepteach corner of his crescent-shaped mouth rigorously drawn back into hischeek, as if to do away with any suspicion of mirthfulness which mighterroneously have attached to him.
”A fair stave, Grandfer Cantle; but I am afeard 'tis too much forthe mouldy weasand of such a old man as you,” he said to the wrinkledreveller. ”Dostn't wish th' wast three sixes again, Grandfer, as you waswhen 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 Woman Inn?”the other inquired, pointing towards a dim light in the direction of thedistant highway, but considerably apart from where the reddleman wasat that moment resting. ”What's the rights of the matter about 'em? Youought to know, being an understanding man.”
”But a little rakish, hey? I own to it. Master Cantle is that, or he'snothing. Yet 'tis a gay fault, neigbbour Fairway, that age will cure.”
”I heard that they were coming home tonight. By this time they must havecome. 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 unlike me--thefirst 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 like afool!'--that's what she said to me. I don't care for her, be jowned if Ido, and so I told her. 'Be jowned if I care for 'ee,' I said. I had herthere--hey?”
”I rather think she had you,” said Fairway.
”No,” said Grandfer Cantle, his countenance slightly flagging. ”'Tisn'tso 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 man ifyou catch me serious, and I am serious now. I can tell 'ee lots aboutthe married couple. Yes, this morning at six o'clock they went up thecountry to do the job, and neither vell nor mark have been seen of 'emsince, though I reckon that this afternoon has brought 'em home againman and woman--wife, that is. Isn't it spoke like a man, Timothy, andwasn't Mis'ess Yeobright wrong about me?”
”Yes, it will do. I didn't know the two had walked together since lastfall, when her aunt forbad the banns. How long has this new set-to beenin 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 the manafter all,” replied Humphrey, without removing his eyes from the fire.He was a somewhat solemn young fellow, and carried the hook and leathergloves of a furze-cutter, his legs, by reason of that occupation, beingsheathed in bulging leggings as stiff as the Philistine's greaves ofbrass. ”That's why they went away to be married, I count. You see, afterkicking up such a nunny-watch and forbidding the banns 'twould have madeMis'ess Yeobright seem foolish-like to have a banging wedding in thesame parish all as if she'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't sayI 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 when youdo get there 'tis such a mortal poor chance that you'll be chose for upabove, when so many bain't, that I bide at home and don't go at all.”
”I not only happened to be there,” said Fairway, with a fresh collectionof emphasis, ”but I was sitting in the same pew as Mis'ess Yeobright.And though you may not see it as such, it fairly made my blood run coldto hear her. Yes, it is a curious thing; but it made my blood runcold, for I was close at her elbow.” The speaker looked round uponthe bystanders, now drawing closer to hear him, with his lips gatheredtighter than ever in the rigorousness of his descriptive moderation.
”'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 in company,and I hope any woman here will overlook it. Still what I did say I didsay, 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,' I said,”the narrator repeated, giving out the bad word with the same passionlessseverity of face as before, which proved how entirely necessity and notgusto had to do with the iteration. ”And the next thing I heard was, 'Iforbid the banns,' from her. 'I'll speak to you after the service,'said the parson, in quite a homely way--yes, turning all at once into acommon man no holier than you or I. Ah, her face was pale! Maybe youcan call to mind that monument in Weatherbury church--the cross-leggedsoldier that have had his arm knocked away by the schoolchildren? Well,he would about have matched that woman's face, when she said, 'I forbidthe 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 to becivil to enemies as well as to friends, and grateful to all the worldfor 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 have doneit here-right,” said a wide-spread woman whose stays creaked likeshoes whenever she stooped or turned. ”'Tis well to call the neighbourstogether and to hae a good racket once now and then; and it may aswell be when there's a wedding as at tide-times. I don't care for closeways.”
”Ah, now, you'd hardly believe it, but I don't care for gay weddings,”said Timothy Fairway, his eyes again travelling round. ”I hardly blameThomasin Yeobright and neighbour Wildeve for doing it quiet, if I mustown it. A wedding at home means five and six-handed reels by the 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 one ina jig, knowing all the time that you be expected to make yourself worthyour 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 than thefirst or second chiel. And this is not naming the songs you've got tosing.... For my part I like a good hearty funeral as well as anything.You've as splendid victuals and drink as at other parties, and evenbetter. And it don't wear your legs to stumps in talking over a poorfellow'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 the mughave been round a few times.”
”Well, I can't understand a quiet ladylike little body like TamsinYeobright caring to be married in such a mean way,” said Susan Nunsuch,the wide woman, who preferred the original subject. ”'Tis worse than thepoorest do. And I shouldn't have cared about the man, though some maysay he's good-looking.”
”To give him his due he's a clever, learned fellow in his way--a'most asclever as Clym Yeobright used to be. He was brought up to better thingsthan keeping the Quiet Woman. An engineer--that's what the man was, aswe know; but he threw away his chance, and so 'a took a public house tolive. 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 use tomake a round O to save their bones from the pit can write their namesnow without a sputter of the pen, oftentimes without a single blot--whatdo I say?--why, almost without a desk to lean their stomachs and elbowsupon.”
”True--'tis amazing what a polish the world have been brought to,” saidHumphrey.
”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 know nomore what the world was like than the commonest man among ye. And now,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. Heand your mother were the couple married just afore we were and therestood they father's cross with arms stretched out like a great bangingscarecrow. What a terrible black cross that was--thy father's verylikeness in en! To save my soul I couldn't help laughing when I zid en,though all the time I was as hot as dog-days, what with the marrying,and what with the woman a-hanging to me, and what with Jack Changleyand a lot more chaps grinning at me through church window. But the nextmoment a strawmote would have knocked me down, for I called to mindthat if thy father and mother had had high words once, they'd been atit twenty times since they'd been man and wife, and I zid myself as thenext poor stunpoll to get into the same mess.... Ah--well, what a day'twas!”
”Wildeve is older than Tamsin Yeobright by a good-few summers. A prettymaid too she is. A young woman with a home must be a fool to tear hersmock 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 the widewoman.
”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 firmness toone of his legs. ”I did know of such a man. But only once, mind.” Hegave his throat a thorough rake round, as if it were the duty of everyperson not to be mistaken through thickness of voice. ”Yes, I knew ofsuch a man,” he said.
”And what ghastly gallicrow might the poor fellow have been like, MasterFairway?” 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 boy fromamid the smoke and shades on the other side of the blaze. ”Be ye a-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 step ortwo by his own will, and was pushed by the will of others half a dozensteps 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, thoughI do care all the while.”
”Well, be damned if this isn't the queerest start ever I know'd,” saidMr. Fairway. ”I didn't mean you at all. There's another in the country,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 know thewomen won't hae thee?”
”I've asked 'em.”
”Sure I should never have thought you had the face. Well, and what didthe last one say to ye? Nothing that can't be got over, perhaps, afterall?”
”'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 old beyou, 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 book ofthe Judgment that they keep in church vestry; but Mother told me I wasborn some time afore I was christened.”
”Ah!”
”But she couldn't tell when, to save her life, except that there was nomoon.”
”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 hadan almanac, 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 job forthee, Christian, that you should have showed your nose then of all daysin 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 disinterested gaze.
”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 I beonly the rames of a man, and no good for my race at all; and I supposethat'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 must live 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 married couplesbut to single sleepers that a ghost shows himself when 'a do come. Onehas been seen lately, too. A very strange one.”
”No--don't talk about it if 'tis agreeable of ye not to! 'Twill make myskin crawl when I think of it in bed alone. But you will--ah, you will,I know, Timothy; and I shall dream all night o't! A very strange one?What sort of a spirit did ye mean when ye said, a very strange one,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 to talkabout. What do ye say,” continued Fairway in brisker tones, and turningupon them as if the idea had not been Grandfer Cantle's--”what do yousay to giving the new man and wife a bit of a song tonight afore we goto bed--being their wedding-day? When folks are just married 'tis aswell to look glad o't, since looking sorry won't unjoin 'em. I am nodrinker, as we know, but when the womenfolk and youngsters have gonehome we can drop down across to the Quiet Woman, and strike up a balletin front of the married folks' door. 'Twill please the young wife, andthat's what I should like to do, for many's the skinful I've had at herhands when she lived with her aunt at Blooms-End.”
”Hey? And so we will!” said Grandfer Cantle, turning so briskly that hiscopper seals swung extravagantly. ”I'm as dry as a kex with biding uphere 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 in thefinishing, 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 Clym a-cominghome after the deed's done? He should have come afore, if so be hewanted to stop it, and marry her himself.”
”Perhaps he's coming to bide with his mother a little time, as she mustfeel 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 nighttime as a' admiral!”
The bonfire was by this time beginning to sink low, for the fuel had notbeen of that substantial sort which can support a blaze long. Mostof the other fires within the wide horizon were also dwindling weak.Attentive observation of their brightness, colour, and length ofexistence would have revealed the quality of the material burnt, andthrough that, to some extent the natural produce of the district inwhich each bonfire was situate. The clear, kingly effulgence that hadcharacterized the majority expressed a heath and furze country liketheir own, which in one direction extended an unlimited number of miles;the rapid flares and extinctions at other points of the compass showedthe lightest of fuel--straw, beanstalks, and the usual waste fromarable land. The most enduring of all--steady unaltering eyes likePlanets--signified wood, such as hazel-branches, thorn-faggots, andstout billets. Fires of the last-mentioned materials were rare, andthough comparatively small in magnitude beside the transient blazes, nowbegan to get the best of them by mere long continuance. The great oneshad perished, but these remained. They occupied the remotest visiblepositions--sky-backed summits rising out of rich coppice and plantationdistricts to the north, where the soil was different, and heath foreignand strange.
Save one; and this was the nearest of any, the moon of the whole shiningthrong. It lay in a direction precisely opposite to that of the littlewindow in the vale below. Its nearness was such that, notwithstandingits actual smallness, its glow infinitely transcended theirs.
This quiet eye had attracted attention from time to time; and when theirown fire had become sunken and dim it attracted more; some even ofthe wood fires more recently lighted had reached their decline, but nochange was perceptible here.
”To be sure, how near that fire is!” said Fairway. ”Seemingly. I can seea fellow of some sort walking round it. Little and good must be said ofthat 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 a mileoff, for all that 'a seems so near.”
”'Tis in the heath, but no 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 afore theold captain's house at Mistover. Such a queer mortal as that man is! Tohave a little fire inside your own bank and ditch, that nobody else mayenjoy it or come anigh it! And what a zany an old chap must be, to lighta bonfire when there's no youngsters to please.”
”Cap'n Vye has been for a long walk today, and is quite tired out,” saidGrandfer 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 granddaughter,” said Fairway. ”Not that a body ofher 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. Oursis 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 better gethome-along, neighbours? The heth isn't haunted, I know; but we'd betterget 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 except intowns. It should be by day in outstep, ill-accounted places like this!”
”Nonsense, Christian. Lift up your spirits like a man! Susy, dear, youand I will have a jig--hey, my honey?--before 'tis quite too dark to seehow well-favoured you be still, though so many summers have passed sinceyour husband, a son of a witch, snapped you up from me.”
This was addressed to Susan Nunsuch; and the next circumstance of whichthe beholders were conscious was a vision of the matron's broad formwhisking off towards the space whereon the fire had been kindled. Shewas lifted bodily by Mr. Fairway's arm, which had been flung round herwaist before she had become aware of his intention. The site of the firewas now merely a circle of ashes flecked with red embers and sparks, thefurze having burnt completely away. Once within the circle he whirledher round and round in a dance. She was a woman noisily constructed;in addition to her enclosing framework of whalebone and lath, she worepattens summer and winter, in wet weather and in dry, to preserve herboots from wear; and when Fairway began to jump about with her, theclicking of the pattens, the creaking of the stays, and her screams ofsurprise, 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, fromwalking through that prickly furze, and now you must make 'em worse withthese vlankers!”
The vagary of Timothy Fairway was infectious. The turf-cutter seized oldOlly Dowden, and, somewhat more gently, poussetted with her likewise.The young men were not slow to imitate the example of their elders, andseized the maids; Grandfer Cantle and his stick jigged in the form of athree-legged object among the rest; and in half a minute all that couldbe seen on Rainbarrow was a whirling of dark shapes amid a boilingconfusion of sparks, which leapt around the dancers as high as theirwaists. The chief noises were women's shrill cries, men's laughter,Susan's stays and pattens, Olly Dowden's ”heu-heu-heu!” and thestrumming of the wind upon the furze-bushes, which formed a kind of tuneto the demoniac measure they trod. Christian alone stood aloof, uneasilyrocking himself as he murmured, ”They ought not to do it--how thevlankers do fly! 'tis tempting the Wicked 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 their speed.
”'Twas behind you, Christian, that I heard it--down here.”
”Yes--'tis behind me!” Christian said. ”Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,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, ofBlooms-End?” came to them in the same voice, as a long, slim indistinctfigure approached the barrow.
”Ought we not to run home as hard as we can, neighbours, as 'tis gettinglate?” said Christian. ”Not run away from one another, you know; runclose together, I mean.”
”Scrape up a few stray locks of furze, and make a blaze, so that we cansee 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 track isrough, 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 been herefor 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 in thegroundwork, though the finish is queer. My meaning is just to say howcurious I felt. I half thought it 'twas the devil or the red ghost theboy 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 a handkerchiefover his head he'd look for all the world like the Devil in the pictureof 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 standing whichcan only be expressed by the word genteel. Her face, encompassed bythe blackness of the receding heath, showed whitely, and with-outhalf-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 enthroned within.At moments she seemed to be regarding issues from a Nebo denied toothers around. She had something of an estranged mien; the solitudeexhaled from the heath was concentrated in this face that had risen fromit. The air with which she looked at the heathmen betokened a certainunconcern at their presence, or at what might be their opinions ofher for walking in that lonely spot at such an hour, thus indirectlyimplying that in some respect or other they were not up to her level.The explanation lay in the fact that though her husband had been a smallfarmer she herself was a curate's daughter, who had once dreamt of doingbetter things.
Persons with any weight of character carry, like planets, theiratmospheres along with them in their orbits; and the matron who enterednow upon the scene could, and usually did, bring her own tone into acompany. Her normal manner among the heathfolk had that reticence whichresults from the consciousness of superior communicative power. Butthe effect of coming into society and light after lonely wandering indarkness is a sociability in the comer above its usual pitch, expressedin the features even more than in words.
”Why, 'tis Mis'ess Yeobright,” said Fairway. ”Mis'ess Yeobright, not tenminutes 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. ”Mindyou don't get lost. Egdon Heth is a bad place to get lost in, and thewinds do huffle queerer tonight than ever I heard 'em afore. Them thatknow Egdon best have been pixy-led here at times.”
”Is that you, Christian?” said Mrs. Yeobright. ”What made you hide awayfrom me?”
”'Twas that I didn't know you in this light, mis'ess; and being a man ofthe mournfullest make, I was scared a little, that's all. Oftentimes ifyou could see how terrible down I get in my mind, 'twould make 'ee quitenervous for fear I should die by my hand.”
”You don't take after your father,” said Mrs. Yeobright, looking towardsthe fire, where Grandfer Cantle, with some want of originality, wasdancing by himself among the sparks, as the others had done before.
”Now, Grandfer,” said Timothy Fairway, ”we are ashamed of ye. A reverentold patriarch man as you be--seventy if a day--to go hornpiping likethat 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 I forgethow I'm looked up to by the rest of 'em. My spirits must be wonderfulgood, you'll say? But not always. 'Tis a weight upon a man to be lookedup 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; and seeingthe bonfire and hearing Olly's voice among the rest I came up here tolearn what was going on. I should like her to walk with me, as her wayis 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 your nieceand her husband were coming straight home as soon as they were married,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 go withlong 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 which Fairwayhad pointed out; and the two women descended the tumulus.