A PAINFUL DUTY
It is all very fine for those fine people who can carry on like that. My
sister Grace gave ten thoughts to every pound of her own butter, for one
she could spare to every thousand pounds of Stoneman's money. A great
weight of cash hung against him at first, in the scales of honest
affection; but goodness, and kindness, and manly conduct, and
bashfulness--thriving rather shyly in "the House" perhaps, but sprouting
more freely in our fine air--had gone down plump against the adverse
weight of a metal which we seldom find too heavy. Yet people should keep
their felicity quiet; even as a cat (whose name may be akin to it)
should purr before the fire, instead of squealing on the chimney-pot.
But Jackson went aloft, and began to look down upon me, to whom he owed
everything, as he surely must have known. He chaffed me about my
Oriental Princess, a subject not only too lofty for him, but exceedingly
painful to me just now. For I felt myself out in the cold, as it were;
and with all due allowance for exalted spirits, there is such a thing as
good taste; and there is, or ought to be, such a thing as sympathy. And
the deeper a man is down in the hole of love, the more should the fellow
at the top desire, and strive (without hooking him in the back) to wind
him up to bank again. However, I never let them hear a groan, but
endeavoured to content myself by meditating on the comparative grandeur
of my own position.
Grace was all pity, and flutter, and excitement, and very tender
interest about my state of mind, and laid down the law, like the Lord
Chief-Justice in some very complicated Liquidation-suit. But when I
said to her point-blank, "Very well; as you have it all so clear, let me
drive you in mother's pony-trap; and then you will make it all right for
me with Sûr Imar, and with Dariel," to my great disgust her answer was,
"I am quite ready, George--if dear Jack thinks it proper."
"Dear Jack, indeed!" I replied with undisguised contempt, for Stoneman
had persuaded her to drop the "son"; or perhaps she had made him his own
father. At any rate, they had found out between them that "Jack" was of
higher rank among the novelists than his offspring had as yet attained.
However that might be, he was her Jack-of-all trades now; and I, who
once did everything, must be proud of second fiddle.
That settled all interference of theirs. And, in truth, I would not have
let her interfere if a thousand dear Jacks had sanctioned it. In the
flow or ebb of his own affairs, let every man paddle his own canoe.
Inspirited thus, I made up my mind that if Harold did not appear right
early, the proper thing for me would be to pay my visit without him, for
the master of the place had clearly said that I might call upon him at
any time; though that would be of little comfort to me, unless I might
call upon his daughter too. And here I confessed myself quite at a loss,
being entirely in the dark as to the social usages, and the tiptop tone
of the Caucasus, which must be in a position to look down upon ours. But
I said to myself, "Shall extreme humility bring me to so low a pass,
that a savage young Osset--whatever that may be--shall trample on the
British flag? That a swaggering bully who scorns noble dogs, and breaks
the legs of lovebirds, shall scare a young Englishman from his true
love, and carry her off, and disdainfully treat her, as Rakhan his
father behaved to his mother? Where is my courage, or sense of right, or
even manly compassion, that I should permit such a sacrilege as that?"
Not only was I warmed by these large reflections, but touched up also by
the little prick of thorns, which the May-bloom hedge of another
fellow's love-nest sometimes administers to the plodder in the lane. So
I came to this practical conclusion--take the bull by the horns, and
have it out with him. For this gallant purpose, forth I set about two
o'clock of a November day, with a little drizzle in the air, but not
what an Englishman would call a real fog.
Perhaps I may have mentioned, though I will not be too sure, that a
little trifle of a brook arises, among the few fields which we still
kept in hand, and contrives to make its way, without venturing upon
noise, but accepting every zigzag that any hedgerow offers, down the
trend of land that goes away very mildly, until it gets view of a
valley. And then there are thickets, and corners of halt, and windings
of the little water, and flat beds strewn with the season's leaves,
where birds of the neighbourhood, or of passage, find an agreeable
change of diet, or of rest when their wings are weary. And a man with a
gun may get a very pleasant shot, if he probes this sweet home of theirs
warily.
Even the tiniest brook ever seen must lead to something larger; but
according to the lie of the land, this runnel must wayfare long on its
own account, before it meets the Pebblebourne. Woodcocks are apt to be
somewhat capricious birds. Sometimes we never heard of one almost
throughout the winter, and the next year, perhaps, it would come into
their heads that there was nothing like a happy Surrey coppice. This
year they had taken that correct view of us, and our duty was to make it
final. So I whistled for my favourite spaniel _Bess_, and with my old
breechloader on my arm, set off for a roundabout walk towards St.
Winifred's. If I had the luck to bring down a long-bill, perhaps a fair
creature might immortalise him.
After a long rough trudge through fern and swamp and briary thicket, I
heard the murmur of a larger stream, which could be no other than the
Pebblebourne. Daylight began to fail, and the mist was deepening in the
valley, so I took a short cut towards the ancient walls with my little
offering provided. A woodcock, a leash of snipe, and a widgeon were more
than I had expected, and a pheasant or two would have borne them
company, if it had been lawful.
Suddenly from a little glade of covert a frightful sound invaded me. It
was not like the cry of a cow for her calf, nor that of a dog with a
cart-wheel on his tail, nor even the fitful palinode of a cat upon the
roof, suffering deep remorse of love. But if there be any organ capable
of combining a wail, a bellow, a shriek, and a yell, with a howl and a
moan, and a few other indications that all is not perfect bliss here
below, that instrument must have been doing its utmost in the dusky
copse before me. My pet spaniel little _Bess_ slank away behind my
heels, and covered her eyes with her ears to exclude such an audible
vision of the Evil One. But a man alone, or at any rate a member of the
human race alone, could compass an effect so horrendous. My blood ran as
cold as the water in my boots, and if I had stopped to think for even
half a second, right-about-face would have been the order.
But real curiosity must never stop to think. With a few rapid steps I
was over the low stile, and stood in the tangled enclosure. Like the
shrillest fog-screecher that has ever been invented, that sound led me
unmistakeably, until I saw a little dark man struggling for his life
against victorious bondage. He was corded to a tree no larger in the
trunk than he was, so that it just filled the hollow of his back; his
wrists were tied behind it, and his feet being lifted high enough above
the ground to deprive him of all leverage, the publication of his sorrow
was the sole resource. The last light of day was rolling, rather than
flashing, in his helpless eyes; and the cruel distortion of his
anguished face might have foiled his own mother's faith in him. And his
yells were not those of our language, which can assert itself, even in
our outcries.
My impulse of course was to rush forward, and succour this poor victim;
and I went for it at once, although I saw that two strong men sat gazing
at him. One of them was tall and dark, and a foreigner all over; while
the other was bulky and big of limb; and both were jeering pleasantly.
With my gun on the left arm, I pulled out a knife, and rushing between
them before they could rise, cut the cords of the captive, and eased him
down on my shoulder, and lo, it was Allai!
He uttered a guttural something, altogether beyond my philology, and
picked up his pet little jingal from the moss, and was off like a hare,
before I could speak. When I turned round, a man stood on either side
of me, but not quick enough to grasp my arms. I jumped back, so as to
get the tree in front, and cried, "Fair play, you rascals! If you want
to taste an ounce of shot apiece, here it is at your service."
The tall man turned away, as if that proposal were not much to his
liking. But the other stood his ground, and spoke, as if he knew that I
would not fire. "Who are you? What's your business here? Mind your own
affairs. We were only having a bit of fun."
"Well, and so am I. It is quite as good fun to scare two scamps, as to
bully a helpless little devil."
"Right you are," he exclaimed with a laugh, which made me think better
of him, for he could not know that I had drawn my cartridges when I left
off shooting; "but we are not scamps, young man; we were performing a
painful duty."
"You said it was a bit of fun just now. At any rate I have stopped it.
And if you find that a grievance, I will put down my gun and meet you.
But only one at a time, mind."
"What an obliging man you are! And you stand nearly six inches over me.
My friend would have a better chance with you. But he does not
understand 'the box.' You have spoiled our day's work. Who are you?"
"I have a right to ask that question first. I am in my own
neighbourhood, as you can see. But you are a stranger, and doing strange
things. Tell me your name, sir; and you shall have mine."
"Fair enough. I am Captain Strogue of the British Pioneers,--not ashamed
of my name, and not likely to be, though it is better known all round
the world than at home. You think me a coward for tormenting a small
chap. It only shows your ignorance of that race."
"It is not brave to torture anybody, Captain Strogue. But that is no
longer my business. My name is George Cranleigh, well known about here.
What I have done I would do again, and so would any other Englishman."
"Likely enough. But it is unlucky, and you may have done a world of
mischief. However, I bear no grudge against you. Some day perhaps you
will be sorry for it. But where the deuce is the--why, hang me upside
down, if he has not vanished!"
The Captain seemed eager to do the like, and it was not my place to stop
him. He lifted his brown hat to me, and was gone, leaving upon me the
impression of a man, resolute, testy, adventurous, excitable, and
perhaps unscrupulous.
As to the other man, although he had not presented himself distinctly,
what other could he be than Hafer, the son of Imar's sister Marva, and
now the Chief of the Osset tribe? Although I had not seen his face that
night when he left Dariel weeping (neither had I seen it plainly now),
the figure and carriage and style of dress were quite enough to convince
me. Even in the dark there had been something about that fellow--or
Prince, as some would call him--and about the moral smell of his nature,
unpleasant, to use the mildest word that I can think of, to my plain and
simple elements. He might be the better man of the two, more kindly,
more trusty, more lovable, and of a higher stamp in every way. Never
mind; I had not the least desire, though he were all that, to resemble
him. And Providence, having made us as we are, cannot take it amiss if
we are satisfied.
"I shall have a good look at him some day," I thought, "and then I am
sure to feel that I was right. I can have no prejudice against him,
merely because he has dared to look at Dariel. She, who takes so long to
see what I am, is not at all likely to be carried by storm by this
fellow's olive complexion, and fine nose, and black eyes, and sable
moustache, and all the rest of it. Why, he is a brute, and nothing else,
however handsome he may try to look! I can scarcely believe him to be
that noble man's own nephew."