OF GEORGE POTTER, HIS WHISTLE
“Regarding Mr. Sturton,” said Sir John, reining his horse to a walk when
the old town had sunk from view behind them, “you perfectly understand,
Robert, that I wish to give him sufficient rope to very thoroughly hang
himself?”
“Pre-cisely, sir!”
“He hath no suspicions as yet of our identity?”
“None whatever, sir.”
“’Tis pity I declared my name at the inn yonder, Robert.”
“Why, I don’t see, sir, how Mr. Sturton is going to find out as you’re
Sir John Dering—I mean, that Mr. Derwent is Sir John Dering, or that Sir
John Dering is Mr. Derwent, or that your honour is ekally both and each
other, the very same i-dentical person both together at the very same,
pre-cise moment, sir.”
“It certainly sounds sufficiently involved, Bob. But I will confess the
man puzzles me. I have even troubled to go through his accounts with my
lawyers and they seem perfectly in order—and yet I know him for a rogue
... and, moreover, he knocked me into a ditch and called me a ‘lad’!”
“Lorramity!” exclaimed Robert, his imperturbability momentarily shaken.
“The term ‘lad’ rankles, Bob: the ditch I heartily forgive him,
but—‘lad’!”
“The ex-pression, sir, so applied strikes me as blass-phemious, your
honour!” Sir John laughed and became thoughtful, seeing which Robert
reined his horse respectfully to the rear, and so they rode on for a
while in silence, then:
“Robert!”
“Sir?”
“Have you seen Sir Hector recently?”
“Day afore yesterday, sir.”
“How was he?”
“Doleful, sir. ‘Doleful’ is the only word for it! And, sir, he said a
thing which, begging his pardon, I felt bound to deny.”
“What was it, Bob?”
“Sir, he sets staring at his horses y-ears, being mounted, sir, and,
‘Robbie,’ says he, and remarkable bitter, sir, ‘Robbie, women are the
devil!’ Whereupon, sir, I made so bold as to answer, ‘Saving your
presence, Sir Hector—some!’”
“Highly discriminating, Bob!” said Sir John. “Anything more?”
“Aye, sir, he did. ‘Robbie,’ says he, ‘women ha’ made fools o’ men from
the beginning!’ says he, ‘and so they will to the end! A plague on ’em!’
says he, and spurs off at a gallop afore I could make retort ade-quate,
sir.”
“Hum!” murmured Sir John pensively. “As to our Mr. Sturton, have you felt
yourself impelled to any further acts of—hostility, Bob?”
“Only very slightly, your honour. To be particular, the day afore
yesterday, precise time three-thirty-five p.m., chancing to observe
certain young female in——”
“Damsel, Robert!”
“Yes, your honour ... in tears, sir, I stepped alongside of said young
fe——”
“Maid, Robert!”
“Exactly, sir ... and surprised Mr. S. addressing old Mr. Dumbrell with
extreme vin-dictiveness, your honour, and old Mr. Dumbrell’s hat in a
puddle, sir. Whereupon, felt it urgent to wipe Mr. S.’s face with said
hat, and so the action ended, sir. But, same evening, being approximately
fifteen or, say, twelve minutes to nine o’ the clock, observing Mr. S.
berating old Dame Haryott in fashion out-rageous, felt called upon to
re-monstrate with said Mr. S., who, there and then, sir, did call up two
fellows, very tough customers indeed, and ordered ’em to set about me,
which they immediately did. Being thus outnumbered three to one, sir,
attacked on both flanks and centre, I posted my rear agin a wall and was
preparing to maintain position to extremity when, at critical moment,
received reinforcements in shape of a man by name Potter, who played a
small bludgeon most determined and with so nice a dexterity as ’twas a
pleasure to witness, with the happy result, sir, that the enemy drew off,
leaving us masters o’ the field, your honour, which happened to be Dame
Haryott’s front garden.”
“And what, Bob—what do you think of Mr. Potter?”
“That he’s one as takes a deal o’ knowing, sir. But, your honour, he
happened to tell me a thing as set me wondering. He told me that Mr. S.
walks over to ‘The Black Horse’ at Wilmington very frequent, and there
meets or con-sorts with Christopher Oxham, Lord Sayle’s bailiff.”
“Well, Robert?”
“Well, sir, I determined to follow Mr. S. ... which I did ...
on-perceived, and got sight o’ this Oxham, a big chap, very bold and
loud-voiced. They seemed to have a deal to say, and, as they parted,
Oxham says: ‘My lord returns this week and the lads are all ready, so at
word from you we’ll act!’”
“At word from Sturton!” repeated Sir John, and rode awhile musing.
“Sir,” said Robert, at last, “begging your pardon, but do you happen to
believe in ghosts, spectres, phantoms and such-like apparitions?”
“Why, no, Bob; I can’t say that I do. Why?”
“Well, I thought I didn’t, sir, but that night I—saw one ... aye,
manifest, your honour!”
“How?” questioned Sir John, glancing up sharply. “You actually saw a
ghost, Bob?”
“‘Actually’ is the word, sir. All I know is, that I saw something leaning
over Wilmington Churchyard wall ... a thing, your honour ... as I don’t
want to see again!”
“What sort of thing?”
“Well, sir, ’tis hard to tell ... and the light was bad ... but it
looked about eight foot high and had a pair o’ horns a yard wide and
more ... tipped wi’ fire! Aye, sir, I know it sounds outrageous, but
it looked worse than it sounds! Mr. S. see it too ... he was walking
p’r’aps a dozen yards or so in my front and me creeping in his rear ...
and suddenly he gives a kind o’ groan and dropped to his knees, then
scrambles to his feet and away he goes at a run, gasping and groaning
’till he was out o’ sight.”
“And what did you, Bob?”
“Well, sir, chancing to have a pistol handy, I let fly ... but though
I’ll swear my bullet took it clean through the head ... it didn’t do no
good, sir, not a bit—quite the re-verse, your honour; the thing got up
and danced at me, sir ... aye, jigged it did—Lord!”
“And then, Bob?”
“Why, then, sir, I took to my heels and bolted, ah—a sight faster than
Mr. S.”
“Hum!” quoth Sir John. “I don’t think you should have fired, Bob.”
“No, sir?”
“No, you might have injured it! Besides, ghosts are supposed to be
impervious to bullets, I believe. And the thing had horns, you say?”
“Sir, I’ll lay my oath on its horns ... ah, and fiery horns at that! And
there’s others have seen it too, before me.”
“Who, Bob?”
“Well, there’s Peter Bunkle for one, sir, as keeps ‘The Market Cross
Inn’ over at Alfriston; there’s Mr. Levitt, and Tom Burgess and others
besides.... There’s not a man of ’em dare stir out after dark.”
“I wonder!” murmured Sir John musingly. “I wonder!”
“You believe me, sir, I hope?”
“Implicitly, Bob! I do but cast about for a reasonable explanation.”
And here fell silence again save for the plodding hoof-strokes of their
horses, and an occasional gusty sigh from the ex-corporal, who, it
seemed, was also busied with his thoughts. It was after a somewhat louder
sigh than usual that Sir John addressed him suddenly: “How old are ye,
Bob?”
“My age, sir,” answered Robert gloomily, “is forty-five, your honour.”
“I remember you were a boy when you marched to the wars with my father
and Sir Hector.”
“Drummer in Sir Hector’s regiment, sir.”
“And a corporal when he bought you out. You ha’ been with me a good many
years now, Bob.”
“Twenty-two, sir ... ever since you was a very small boy ... a lifetime!
And during said time, your honour has treated me more like a ... a
friend, sir, than a servant. Consequently I am to-day more your honour’s
servant than ever. And I’m ... forty-five, sir!”
“What o’ that, Bob? So were you months ago, but it didn’t seem to grieve
you then.”
“Why, d’ye see, sir, the years march on a man at the double, but he never
heeds until one day he wakes up to find as he is ... forty-five!”
“And her name is Ann!” quoth Sir John.
Here, once again, the ex-corporal’s immutable calm was gravely
threatened; he flushed from shaven chin to neat wig, he blinked and
swallowed hard, but when he answered his voice was as steady and
unemotional as ever:
“Cor-rect, sir!”
“I’m monstrous glad to hear it, Bob. She hath a slender ankle, a low
voice, and is, I hazard, as good as she looks! ’Tis high time you thought
o’ marrying.”
At this the ex-corporal stared hard at his horse’s ears, from these to
the hedges, right and left; finally he spoke:
“Saving your presence, sir, ’tis not to be thought of—not for a moment,
your honour. Said young person being scarce turned of twenty years and
consequently out o’ the question——”
“Have you mentioned the question to her, Bob?”
“No, sir! Nor intend so to do ... ’twouldn’t be ... be ... ’twouldn’t ...
well—’twouldn’t, sir!”
“Still, I wonder what she would think?”
“Aye, your honour, so do I—vastly! But I don’t know ... never shall know,
so—can’t say, sir.”
Here they fell silent once more, and presently, rounding a bend in the
road, the glory of the Downs burst upon them; range upon range of noble
hills whose smooth slopes and gentle undulations have in them something
sublimely restful, something suggestive of that beneficent quietude, that
reposeful, kindly silence which is infinitely greater and better than any
speech.
Sir John, having paused awhile to behold this, now set his animal to a
trot, when he heard a rattle of wheels behind him and a piping, querulous
voice raised in loud complaint:
“Hi—theer! Hey! Caan’t ’ee see as oi be a-comin’ so faast as oi may?
Boide a bit, boide for oi, young man, ’tidn’t neighbourly t’ roide awaay
an’ never a word fur nobody nor no one!” And, glancing round, Sir John
espied Mr. Dumbrell, that ancient person, perched in a light cart beside
Mr. Potter, who drove a very likely-looking horse.
“How are you, Mr. Dumbrell? And you, Potter?” inquired Sir John as they
came up.
“Middlin’ bad, I be!” answered the Ancient One. “Oi be generally-allus
ailin’, oi be! What wi’ that theer ol’ bullet in my innards, an’ my
chacketin’ an’ barkin’, an’ me granddarter, an’ the axey—’tis gurt wonder
as oi doan’t vade an’ wither into my grave, that it be! An’ to-day I be
mighty cuss an’ cluck arl-through-along-on-account-of ’im a-comin’ back!
Means trouble ’e du—dannel ’im, oi sez!”
“Whom do you mean?”
“’Oo should oi mean ’cept ’im! Soon’sever ’e comes, along comes trouble,
so dannel ’e twoice, I sez.”
“Gaffer do mean Lord Sayle, sir,” explained Mr. Potter.
“Aye, ’im!” nodded the Ancient One fiercely. “I seen ’im, I did, lookin’
so black an’ gloomy-glum! ’E be a man as bean’t no account no’ow at arl,
as I’d up an’ tell ’un to ’is ’ead, I would! Ah, an’ t’other ’un’s as
bad.”
“Who is t’other one?”
“’Oo? Why, ’im fur sure! ’Im as bean’t nohow s’good as ’is feäther was
afore ’im—that’s ’oo, young man.”
“’E do mean Sir John Dering, sir,” explained Mr. Potter again.
“Ah!” snarled the Ancient One, shaking bony fist. “They be both on ’em
come back again to plague the country an’ the loikes o’ we!”
“Did you happen to see Sir John Dering, Potter?” inquired Sir John.
“No, sir, but they say ’e’s back in Sussex at last.”
“An’ ’ardly a mile awaay be ‘The Acorn’!” added the Ancient One; “an’
Ed’ard an’ ’is mistus’ brews good ale! An’ I be that tur’ble dry. What
wi’ me a-chacketin’ an’ Old Johnny a-tormentin’ o’ me!”
“Old Johnny?” inquired Sir John.
“Gaffer means the axey, sir,” quoth Mr. Potter.
“And pray what is the axey?”
“Don’t tell ’im, Jarge!” snarled Mr. Dumbrell. “’E mus’ be a barn fule.”
“’Tis the ager, sir,” explained the patient Potter.
“Is your ague indeed so bad, Mr. Dumbrell?”
“Bad?” screeched the old man—“worse’n bad it be, ah, a sight worse!
Nobody never ’ad it so worse as oi, nowhen! Shook arl to liddle bits oi
be——”
“Why, then, let us haste to ‘The Acorn’ forthwith.”
Thither they repaired in company, and found it to be a small, yet
cheery-looking hedge-tavern set at a bend of the tree-shaded road and
presided over by a large and cheery man remarkable for the width of his
smile and a pair of huge, hairy arms; a man who greeted them cheerily and
at whom Mr. Potter, in the act of aiding the Ancient One to earth, cocked
an eyebrow and lightly caressed his left whisker; whereupon the cheery
landlord nodded.
“Aye, aye, Jarge!” quoth he. “Same time, I reckon?”
“Near as mebbe, Ed’ard!” nodded Mr. Potter.
“Wind doo sou’-westerly, Jarge?”
“It be, Ben!” answered Mr. Potter, as they followed the cheery man into a
sunny, sand-strewn tap.
“Mr. Dumbrell,” said Sir John, “having regard to your ague, may I
suggest——”
“Ale!” snapped that Ancient Person. “I never drinks naum but ale, young
man, ’cept, p’r’aps a mug o’ gumboo now an’ then when ’tis to be ’ad, but
no sperrits for oi!”
The cheery Ed’ard, having attended duly to their several wants, forthwith
returned to smile at the road again.
“Talking of spirits,” said Sir John as they sat, all four, with their
foaming tankards before them, “ex-Corporal Robert Doubleday here tells me
that he saw a ghost the other night——”
“Well, what o’ that?” piped the Ancient One. “Theer be ’ostesses o’
ghostesses ’ereabouts in Sussex, I rackon. What the rabbits, young man!
I du tell ’ee as I’ve seed ghostesses galore, wi’ corpse-candles, an’
willy-wipsies, aye, an’ fairieses afore noo! Wait till I’ve blowed the
fob off’n my ale, an’ I’ll tell ’ee.”
“Fairieses?” questioned Sir John.
“Some folk do call ’em fairies, sir,” explained Mr. Potter.
“Aye, young man,” cried Mr. Dumbrell, wiping his mouth, “fairieses—liddle
bits o’ creeters bigger’n a squrrel an’ not so gurt as Mus’ Reynolds——”
“’E means a fox, sir,” quoth the explanatory Potter, observing Sir John’s
puzzled look.
“’Old y’r tongue, Jarge, du!” snarled the old man. “Keep y’r mouth shet,
Jarge, an’ gi’e me a chanct to spik, will ’ee? I be a bit oldish, mebbe,
but I bean’t nowise doddlish!”
“Not you, Gaffer, not you!” answered Mr. Potter soothingly.
“Well, then, young man,” continued Mr. Dumbrell, “dappen ye sh’uld be
a-walkin’ along-about the four-wents, Wilmington way, arter dark, you’d
see the ghost o’ pore Tom Stickley as were shot ’longside o’ me whiles we
was landin’ tubs over tu Cuckmere ’aven, one night thirty year agone an’
more! Pore Tom wears a sheet, ’e du, all mucked wi’ gore an’ gubber ...
though why e’ should walk Wilmington way, I dunno.”
“But this ghost, Mr. Dumbrell, wore a pair of horns—eh, Bob?”
“Horns, indeed, sirs!” quoth Robert—“horns a yard wide, I’ll lay my oath,
and all afire!”
“’Orns!” exclaimed the Ancient One scornfully. “I’ve seed ’em wi’ ’orns
a-shootin’ out sparks an’ flame afore now, I ’ave! ’Orns? If ye was to go
up-along Windover, aye, or Furrel at midnight—which nobody don’t never
nowise du—you’d see more on ’em wi’ ’orns than ye could count in a month
o’ Sundays, aye, that ye would!”
“Allus s’posin’ as they’ve got the ‘sight,’ gaffer!” added Mr. Potter.
“Some ’as the gift o’ seem’ an’ some ’asn’t!”
“Do you believe in ghosts, Potter?” inquired Sir John.
“Why, sir, I do—an’ then again—I doan’t. Ye see, sir, it do ’appen as
I’ve never ackcherly seen one, prexactly, as ye might say, but that be
because I ain’t got the gift o’ seein’, but I ain’t consequently agoin’
for to deny the fac’.”
“I dunno,” quoth the Ancient One thoughtfully—“I dunno as Windover bean’t
a more likely plaace to see ’em than Furrel, for it were on Windover as
pore young ’Obden was done to death, an’ the saame wik ’is ghost ’peared
tu James Sturton somewheres over by the Long Man an’ nigh fritted ’e out
o’ ’is moind.”
“But,” said Sir John, “this particular ghost, considering his horns,
would seem to be the very devil——”
“Hesh—hesh!” shrilled the Ancient One. “Doan’t ’ee knoaw as _’e_ aren’t
to be light-spoke on? _’E_ doan’t like it no’ow! An’ if so be as _’e_ be
come fur Mus’ Sturton, I dunno as it bean’t about toime. An’ now my ale
be finished an’ I bean’t agoin’ to ’ave no more—an’ Jarge bean’t neither!
And, look’ee, Mus’ Robert,” he admonished, wagging bony finger fiercely
in the ex-corporal’s face, “if ye should hap’ t’ see my granddarter Ann,
doan’t ’ee say naun to her about this here liddle drop o’ ale, mind, or
she’ll be givin’ me a middlin’ dish o’ tongues, I rackon! Come on, Jarge,
an’ ’elp me inter the cart.”
This intricate manœuvre being successfully accomplished, they jogged
on together in company; and Sir John noticed that Mr. Potter possessed
a sweet though singularly penetrating whistle, and that the tune he
rendered, a simple, country air, was always the same. And Sir John
further noticed that Mr. Potter whistled only when in the neighbourhood
of certain cottages, and also that so soon as they approached these
habitations they would behold a man leaning pensively over gate, or in
doorway, or busied in the garden, which men, glancing at Mr. Potter,
would always behold him in the act of smoothing his neatly trimmed, left
side-whisker; whereupon they would nod and flourish hand, fork, mattock
or hoe, as the case might be, with a cheery hail of:
“Aye, aye, Jarge!”
At last, reaching a place where the ways divided, Mr. Potter pulled up
his horse.
“We be a-goin’ round Glynde way, sir,” he explained. “If you should hap’
along to Alfriston, I’d be proud to ’ave ye drop in on Potter, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Potter, I certainly will,” answered Sir John.
“Aye, an’ you too, likewise, Mus’ Robert.”
“Thank’ee kindly,” answered the Corporal; “but I’d like to ask you, Mr.
Dumbrell, ha’ you ever known a ghost take harm from a pistol-ball fired
point-blank?”
“Never, nowise, nohow!” answered Mr. Dumbrell decidedly, “and because
why? Because ghostesses be moighty ingenurious things, d’ye see, an’
can’t never be ’urted nowhere an’ nowhen!”
“True for you, gaffer!” quoth Mr. Potter, surveying a soaring lark
with an expression of placid and guileless pleasure. “I’ve ’eerd my
grandfeäther say as it weren’t no manner o’ good a-shootin’ at a
ghost ’cept you ’ad your piece charged wi’ a silver bullet, an’ even
then ’twere allus to be expected as your bullet might bounce off the
ghost—backwent-like—an’ strike ye wi’ mortal effec’, d’ye see. Good
artenoon, sirs!”
“An’ mind this,” added the Ancient One, bony finger a-wag, “it bean’t
nowise ’ealthy-loike for no man to go nowheres nohow, nowhere an’ nowhen
i’ the dark ’ereabouts—no!”
Hereupon Mr. Potter touched his horse with the whip and away went that
likely animal at such pace that the rattling cart and its occupants were
very soon out of sight.
“Ha!” quoth Sir John thoughtfully, as they pursued their way towards High
Dering. “Hum! The hunting of spectres would seem to be a highly dangerous
sport, Bob.”
“Agreed, sir!”
“And yet—notwithstanding—I think, yes—I think we will adventure it one of
these nights, Bob.”
“Very good, sir!” answered Robert the imperturbable.
Reaching Dering Village at last, an unpleasant surprise awaited them; for
no sooner had Sir John dismounted before the ‘Dering Arms’ than he was
confronted by four stalwart men, formidable fellows armed with sticks and
clad in a neat livery who, stepping out of the inn, stood grouped in the
doorway, barring his entrance.
“Well, my lads,” inquired Sir John, chin uplifted, “what is it?”
“Ask ’im,” answered one insolently, a surly, blue-jowled fellow, with a
back-handed gesture towards the woeful landlord who stood shrinking in
the background.
“Be good enough to explain, Mr. Nixon.”
“Why, ye see, sirs,” mumbled the landlord, “these be Mus’ Sturton’s men,
an’ this be Dering, an’ Mus’ Sturton’s word is as you must go.”
“You mean that we are to be turned out?”
“Mus’ Sturton says as you must go, sirs,” repeated the landlord miserably.
“Pray, what livery do these men wear?”
“Why, sir, it be the Dering livery, though they be straangers
’ereabouts——”
“Ha!” murmured Sir John, “I thought I recognised it. And we are to go,
are we?”
“An’ the sooner the better!” growled the blue-jowled man truculently.
Here ex-Corporal Robert, leaving the horses to stand, made preparations
for instant action but paused in grim surprise, for Sir John was laughing
in sheer, unalloyed delight.
“You hear, Bob, you hear?” he gasped. “Come, let us go.”
“Go, sir!” exclaimed the Corporal. “Go!”
“At once, Bob. So get our valises and effects—I see Mr. Nixon has ’em all
ready for us—and let us begone.”
“But—but ... go, is it?” stammered the Corporal, clenching his fists.
“Aye, Bob. Don’t you see we are driven forth of Sir John Dering’s inn
on Sir John Dering’s land by men wearing Sir John Dering’s livery and
acting under instructions of Sir John Dering’s steward! It is all quite
delightfully grotesque! So get our things, Bob, nor seek to ruin so
exquisite a situation by violence; let us rather steal humbly away. We
will try Alfriston, Bob.”
“Aye, sir!” sighed the Corporal. “But, sir, such meekness, such—horrible
meekness, your honour——”
“What of it, Bob?”
“’Tis so imprece-dented sir, as to be almost beyond natur’, your honour.”
Laughing, Sir John remounted and, laughing still, rode off to seek him a
new lodging.