It was on a blusterous windy night in the early part of November, 1812,
that three men were on the high road near to the little village of
Grassford, in the south of Devonshire. The moon was nearly at the full,
but the wild scud, and occasionally the more opaque clouds, passed over
in such rapid succession, that it was rarely, and but for a moment or
two, that the landscape was thrown into light and shadow; and the wind,
which was keen and piercing, bent and waved the leafless branches of the
trees which were ranged along the hedgerows, between which the road had
been formed.
The three individuals to whom we have referred appeared all of them to
have been indulging too freely in the ale which was sold at the
public-house about half a mile from the village, and from which they had
just departed. Two of them, however, comparatively speaking, sober,
were assisting home, by their _joint_ efforts, the third, who, supported
between them, could with difficulty use his legs. Thus did they
continue on; the two swayed first on the one side of the road, and then
on the other, by the weight of the third, whom they almost carried
between them. At last they arrived at a bridge built over one of those
impetuous streams so common in the county, when, as if by mutual
understanding, for it was without speaking, the two more sober deposited
the body of the third against the parapet of the bridge, and then for
some time were silently occupied in recovering their breath. One of the
two who remained leaning on the parapet by the side of their almost
lifeless companion was a man of about forty years of age, tall and
slender, dressed in a worn-out black coat, and a pair of trousers much
too short for him, the original colour of which it would have been
difficult to have surmised; a sort of clerical hat, equally the worse
for wear, was on his head. Although his habiliments were mean, still
there was something about his appearance which told of better days, and
of having moved in a different sphere in society; and such had been the
case. Some years before he had been the head of a grammar-school, with
a comfortable income; but a habit of drinking had been his ruin, and he
was now the preceptor of the village of Grassford, and gained his
livelihood by instructing the children of the cottagers for the small
modicum of twopence a head per week. This unfortunate propensity to
liquor remained with him and he no sooner received his weekly stipend
than he hastened to drown his cares, and the recollection of his former
position, at the ale-house which they had just quitted. The second
personage whom we shall introduce was not of a corresponding height with
the other: he was broad, square-chested, and short-dressed in
knee-breeches, leggings, and laced boots--his coat being of a thick
fustian, and cut short like a shooting-jacket: his profession was that
of a pedlar.
"It's odd to me," said the pedlar, at last breaking silence, as he
looked down upon the drunken man who lay at his feet, "why ale should
take a man off his legs; they say that liquor gets into the head, not
the feet."
"Well," replied the schoolmaster, who was much more inebriated than the
pedlar, "there's argument even in that and, you see, the perpendicular
deviation must arise from the head being too heavy, that's clear; and
then, you see, the feet, from the centre of gravity being destroyed,
become too light; and if you put that and that together, why, a man
can't stand. You understand my demonstration?"
"It was heavy wet, that ale, and so I suppose it's all right," replied
the pedlar; "but still ale a'n't poured into the head or into the feet
of a man, but into the internals, which are right in the middle of a
man; so, how do you make out your case, Mr Furness?"
"Why, Byres, you talk of the residuum."
"Never said a word about it; and, as I stand here, never even heard the
word before."
"Perhaps not: the residuum is, you see, Byres, what is left."
"If that's residgium, I didn't mean to say a word about it; there was
none left, for you drained the pot."
"Good, Byres; you have never been to college, that's clear. Now,
observe, when a man pours down into his stomach a certain quantity of
liquor, the spirituous or lighter part ascends to his head, and that
makes his head heavy. Do you understand?"
"No; what's light can't make things heavy."
"Can't it?--you know nothing about the matter. Have you not a proof
before you?" replied the schoolmaster, reeling, and catching hold of the
parapet for support; "look at that unfortunate man, who has yielded to
excess."
"Very true; I see that he's drunk, but I want to know how it is that he
got drunk?"
"By drinking."
"That I knew before."
"Then why ask any more questions? Had we not better proceed, and take
him home to his expectant and unhappy wife? 'Tis a sad, sad thing, that
a man should `put an enemy into his mouth to steal away his brains.'"
"Half a pint will do that with Rushbrook," replied the pedlar; "they say
that he was wounded on his head, and that half his brains are gone
already, and that's why he has a pension."
"Yes, seventeen pounds a year; paid quarterly, without deduction, and
only to walk four miles to get it," replied Furness; "yet how misplaced
is the liberality on the part of the government. Does he work? No; he
does nothing but drink and lie in bed all day, while I must be up early
and remain late, teaching the young idea at twopence per week. Friend
Byres, `mercy is not itself which oft looks so.' Now, it is my opinion
that it would be a kindness to this poor wretch if we were to toss him,
as he now is, over the bridge into the rushing stream; it would end all
his troubles."
"And save us the trouble of getting him home," replied Byres, who
determined to humour his more inebriated companion. "Well, Mr Furness,
I've no objection. Why should he live? Is he not a sinecurist--one of
the locusts who fatten on the sweat and blood of the people, as the
Sunday paper says? Don't you remember my reading it this morning?"
"Very true, Master Byres."
"What d'ye say, then?--shall we over with him?"
"We must think a little," replied the schoolmaster, who put his hand up
to his chin, and remained silent for a minute or two. "No," resumed he,
at last; "on second thoughts I cannot do it. He halves his beer with
me. No pension--no beer; that's a self-evident proposition and
conclusion. It were ingratitude on my part, and I cannot consent to
your proposal," continued the schoolmaster; "nay, more, I will defend
him against your murderous intentions to the very last."
"Why, Master Furness, you must be somewhat the worse for liquor
yourself: it was your proposal to throw him over the bridge, not mine."
"Take care what you say," replied the schoolmaster; "would you accuse me
of murder, or intent to murder?"
"No, not by no means--only you proposed heaving him over the bridge: I
will say that."
"Friend Byres, it's my opinion you'll say anything but your prayers; but
in your present state I overlook it. Let us go on, or I shall have two
men to carry home instead of one. Come, now, take one of his arms,
while I take the other, and raise him up. It is but a quarter of a mile
to the cottage."
Byres, who, as we observed, was by far the more sober of the two, did
not think it worth his while to reply to the pedagogue. After a few
staggers on the part of the latter, their comrade was raised up and led
away between them.
The drunken man appeared to be so far aware of what was going on that he
moved his legs mechanically, and in a short time they arrived at the
cottage-door, which the pedagogue struck with his fist so as to make it
rattle on its hinges. The door was opened by a tall, handsome woman,
holding a candle in her hand.
"I thought so," said she, shaking her head. "The old story: now he will
be ill all night, and not get up till noon."
"What a weary life it is with a drunken husband. Bring him and thank
you kindly for your trouble."
"It has been hard work and hot work," observed the schoolmaster, sitting
down in a chair, after they had placed their comrade on the bed.
"Indeed, and it must be," replied the wife. "Will you have a drop of
small beer, Mr Furness?"
"Yes, if you please, and so will Mr Byres, too. What a pity it is your
good man will not keep to small beer."
"Yes, indeed," replied the wife, who went into the back premises, and
soon returned with a quart mug of beer.
The schoolmaster emptied half the mug, and then handed it to the pedlar.
"And my little friend Joey, fast asleep, I'll warrant!"
"Yes, poor child, and so should I have been by this time; the clock has
gone twelve."
"Well, Mrs Rushbrook, I wish you a good night. Come, Mr Byres, Mrs
Rushbrook must want to be in bed."
"Good night, Mr Furness, and good night, sir, and many thanks."
The schoolmaster and pedlar quitted the cottage. Mrs Rushbrook, after
having watched them for a minute, carefully closed the door.
"They're gone now," said she, as she turned to her husband.
What would have created much astonishment could anybody else have
witnessed it, as soon as his wife had spoken, Rushbrook immediately
sprang upon his feet, a fine-looking man, six feet in height, very erect
in his bearing,--and proved to be perfectly sober.
"Jane, my dear," said he, "there never was such a night: but I must be
quick, and lose no time. Is my gun ready?"
"Everything's ready; Joey is lying down on his bed, but all ready
dressed, and he awakes in a minute."
"Call him, then, for there is no time to lose. That drunken fool,
Furness, proposed throwing me over the bridge. It was lucky for them
that they did not try it, or I should have been obliged to settle them
both, that they might tell no tales. Where's Mum?"
"In the wash-house. I'll bring him and Joey directly."
The wife left the room, while Rushbrook took down his gun and
ammunition, and prepared himself for his expedition. In a minute or two
a shepherd's dog, which had been released from the wash-house, made his
appearance, and quietly lay down close to his master's feet; it was soon
followed by Mrs Rushbrook, accompanied by Joey, a thin, meagre-looking
boy, of about twelve years old, very small for his age, but apparently
as active as a cat, and with energy corresponding. No one would have
thought he had been roused from his sleep; there was no yawning or
weariness of motion--on the contrary, his large eye was as bright as an
eagle's, as he quietly, although quickly, provided himself with a sack,
which he threw over his shoulders, and a coil of line, which he held in
his hand, waiting until his father was ready to start. The wife put out
the lights, softly opened the cottage-door, looked well round, and then
returned to her husband, who, giving a low whistle, as a summons to Joey
and the dog, walked out of the door. Not a word was spoken; the door
was softly shut to; and the trio crept stealthily away.