In my opinion there's hardly an acre of Dartmoor as wouldn't set forth a
good tale, if us could only go back along into time and get hold of it.
Anyway, there's a 'mazing fine thing to be told about Vitifer Farm; and
you don't want to go back far, neither, for it all happened but ten year
ago.
Vitifer is one of the "tenement" farms and don't belong to the Duchy; and
Furze Hill farm, which adjoins Vitifer, be likewise land handed down from
father to son from generations forgot. The "tenements" are scattered over
Dartmoor, mostly in the valleys of East and West Dart; but Vitifer and
Furze Hill stood together half a mile distant from the famous Vitifer tin
mine that lies in the wild ground west of Hameldon. And Joe Gregory farmed
Vitifer when this fearful thing fell out, and his brother Amos Gregory was
master at Furze Hill.
The Duchy had long desired the land, for 'tis Duchy's rule to snap up the
tenement farms as they fall in the market, and indeed few will soon remain
in private possession; but for the minute the two brothers--middle-aged
bachelors both--held on where their forefathers had worked before them
time out of mind, and it looked almost as though they was going to be the
last of the ancient name to resist the over-lord of Dartmoor; for men come
and men go; but Duchy lasts for ever and, no doubt, will have all it wants
to the last rood afore many years be past.
One of the next generation, however, still stood for the Gregory race, and
he was a nephew to Joe and Amos. A third brother they had, but him and his
wife were dead, and their only son lived with Joe and was thought to be
his heir. Ernest Gregory he was called, and few thought he'd make old
bones, for the young man was pigeon-breasted and high-coloured and coughed
a good bit when first he came up from the "in country" to the Moor.
Along with his uncle, however, he put on flesh and promised better. Fair
and gentle he was--a quiet, timid sort of chap, who kept pretty much to
himself and didn't neighbour with the young men and maidens. He was said
to be vain behind his silence and to reckon himself a good deal cleverer
than us Merripit people; but I never found him anything but well behaved
and civil spoken to his elders, and I went so far sometimes as to ask his
Uncle Amos why for he didn't like the man. Because the master of Furze
Hill never did care about Ernest, though Joe Gregory, with whom the young
fellow lived at Vitifer, thought very highly of him indeed.
And Amos confessed he hadn't got no deep cause to dislike his nephew.
"To be plain, 'tis a woman's reason and no more," admitted Amos. "Ernest
have got a glide in his eye, poor chap, and God knows that's not a fault,
and yet I never can abide that affliction and it would put me off an angel
from heaven if the holy creature squinted."
It was a silly prejudice of the man, and in time I think he got it under
and granted that you did ought to judge a person by their acts and not by
their eyes; but human nature has its ingrained likes and dislikes, and I
for one couldn't question Amos, because I hate a hunchback, and I wouldn't
trust one of they humped people--man or woman--with anything that belonged
to me. The broadest-minded of us have got a weak spot like that somewhere
and hate some harmless thing if 'tis only a spider.
But, after he'd been along at Vitifer five years, I don't think a living
soul felt anything but kindly to Ernest, and when it was rumoured that
he'd got brave enough to go courting Sarah White from Postbridge,
everybody wished him luck, including his uncles--especially Amos himself;
for Joe's younger brother was very friendly to the Postbridge Whites, and
them who thought they knew, always said how he'd offered for Jenny White
twenty-five years before and might very like have won her if she hadn't
loved the water-keeper on East Dart better and married him instead.
Then happened the wondrous mystery of Joe Gregory. 'Twas just before
Christmas--rough stormy weather and not much doing on the high
ground--when Joe set out early one morning for Exeter to see his lawyers.
He'd done very well that year--better than Amos--and he was taking a
matter of one hundred and fifty pounds in cash to Exeter for his man of
business to invest for him. And Ernest drove him in to Ashburton, at
cocklight of a stormy day, and was going in again that evening to meet his
uncle and fetch him home.
All went well, and at the appointed time Joe's nephew set out once more
with a light trap and a clever horse, after dark, to meet the evening
train. And no more was heard till somewhere about ten o'clock of that
night. Then Amos Gregory, just finishing his nightcap and knocking out his
pipe to go to bed, much to his astonishment heard somebody banging on the
front door of Furze Hill. Guessing it was some night-foundered tramp, he
cussed the wanderer to hell; but cussing was only an ornament in his
speech, for a tenderer creature really never lived, and he wouldn't have
turned a stray cat from his door that fierce night, let alone a human.
It weren't no tramp, however; it proved to be his nephew Ernest, and the
young man was clad in his oilskins and dripping with the storm rain and so
frightened as a rabbit.
In a word, he'd been to Ashburton and waited for the appointed train, only
to find his uncle hadn't come back by it. And so he bided, till the last
train of all, and still Joe hadn't turned up. So Ernest drove home, hoping
to find a telegram had come meanwhile and been brought up from Merripit
post office. But there weren't no telegram; and now he was properly feared
and had come over to Amos to know what did ought to be done.
First thing to do, in the opinion of Amos, was to pour a good dollop of
gin down Ernest's neck; then, when the shaking chap had got a bit of fight
in him, he explained that till the morn they were powerless to take
action.
"I know his lawyer, because Cousins and Slark be my lawyers also," said
Amos; "and they always was the family men of business, so if us hear
nought when the post office opens to-morrow, we'll send off a telegram to
them; and if they've got nothing to say, then we must tell the police."
Ernest was a good bit down-daunted and said he felt cruel sure evil had
over-got his uncle, and Amos didn't like it neither, for a more orderly
man than Joe Gregory and one more steadfast in doing what he promised
couldn't easily be found. However, they had to suffer till morning, and
Ernest went back to Vitifer, which stood not quarter of a mile away.
Morning brought no letter nor yet telegram, so Amos went down to Merripit
post office and sent a wire off to the Exeter lawyers axing for news of
his brother; and he waited till an answer came down. It ran like this:
_Mr. Gregory spent an hour with us yesterday and left at four o'clock to
catch down train._
_Cousins and Slark._
Well, that showed there was something wrong, and Amos felt he was up
against it. He never let the grass grow under his feet, and in twenty
minutes he was riding to Ashburton, to catch a train for Exeter. And afore
he went, he directed Ernest to tell the police that his uncle was missing.
So hue and cry began from that morning, and the centre of search was
Exeter, because from there came the last sure news of the man. The lawyers
made it clear that Joe was all right when he left them. He'd handed over
his money to be invested, and he'd put a codicil to his will, which, of
course, the lawyers didn't divulge to Amos. Then he'd gone off very
cheerful and hearty to buy a few things afore he catched his train. But
from that moment not a whisper of Joe Gregory could be heard. He wasn't a
noticeable sort of chap, being small with an everyday old face and
everyday grey whiskers; and nobody to the railway stations at Exeter or
Totnes, where he would change for the Ashburton line, had seen him to
their knowledge. Yet in the course of the next few days, when his
disappearance had got in the papers, three separate people testified as
they'd met Joe that evening, and Ernest Gregory was able to prove they
must have seen right. The first was a tobacconist's assistant at Exeter,
who came forward and said a little, countrified man had bought two wooden
pipes from him and a two-ounce packet of shag tobacco; and he said the
little man wore a billycock hat with a jay's blue wing feather in it. And
a barmaid at Newton Abbot testified that she'd served just such a man at
the station after the train from Exeter had come in, about five-thirty,
and afore it went out. She minded the jay's feather in his hat, because
she'd asked the customer what it was, and he'd told her. And lastly a
porter up at Moretonhampstead said that a small chap answering to the
description had got out of the Newton train to Moreton, which arrived at
Moreton at fifteen minutes after six. But he'd marked no jay's feather in
the man's hat and only just noticed him, being a stranger, as went out of
the station with half a dozen other travellers and gave up his ticket with
the rest. The tickets was checked, and sure enough, there were two from
Exeter to Moreton; but while Ernest could prove the jay's feather to be in
his uncle's hat, neither he nor anybody else could give any reason why Joe
should have gone to Moreton instead of coming home. He might have left the
train for a drink at Newton, where there was time for him to do so; but he
would have gone back to it no doubt in the ordinary course. Asked if he
came in alone for his drink, the barmaid said he did so and was prepared
to swear that nobody spoke to him in the bar but herself. And he'd gone
again afore the down train left. But at Totnes, where Joe was known by
sight and where he ought to have changed for Ashburton, none had seen him.
The police followed the Moreton clue, but nobody there reported sight of
Joe on the night he disappeared. He'd got a friend or two at Moreton; but
not one had fallen in with him since the autumn ram fair, when he was over
there with his nephew for the day.
The law done all in its power; the down lines were searched from Newton,
and Amos Gregory offered a reward of fifty pounds for any news of his lost
brother; but not a speck, or sign, of Joe came to light. A month passed
and the nine days' wonder began to die down a bit.
I met Amos about then, and we was both on horseback riding to Ashburton,
and he told me that he was bound for the lawyers, to make inquiry of how
the law stood in the matter and what he ought to do about Vitifer Farm.
"My nephew Ernest, is carrying on there," he told me, "and he's a good
farmer enough and can be trusted to do all that's right; but there's no
money to be touched and I must find out if they'll tell me what have got
to be done and how the law stands."
He was a lot cut up, for him and his brother had always been very good
friends; and he was troubled for his nephew also, because Ernest had lost
his nerve a good deal over the tragedy.
"He's taking on very bad and can't get over it," said Amos to me. "The
natural weakness of his character have come out under this shock, and the
poor chap be like a fowl running about with its head off. He never had
more wits than please God he should have, and this great disaster finds
him unmanned. He will have it his uncle's alive. He's heard of men losing
their memory and getting into wrong trains and so on. But I tell him that
with all the noise that's been made over the country, if Joe was living,
though he might be as mad as a hatter, 'tis certain by now we should have
wind of him."
"Certain sure," I said. "He's a goner without a doubt, and 'twill take a
miracle ever to get to the bottom of this."
I was reminded of them words a fortnight later, for it did take a miracle
to find the shocking truth. In fact you may say it took two. And one
without the other might just as well not have happened. And 'tis no good
saying the days of miracles be passed, because they ban't.
I heard later that the lawyers let Amos read his brother's will and got a
power of attorney for him to act and carry on. And the will left Vitifer
Farm to Amos, on the condition that he would keep on his nephew Ernest. It
was four year old; and the codicil, that Joe wrote the day he disappeared,
ordained that when Amos died, Vitifer shouldn't be sold to Duchy, but
handed down to the next generation of the Gregorys in the shape of Ernest.
Well, Amos had no quarrel with that, and when he went home, he asked his
nephew if he'd known about the codicil, and he said he had not. And when
he learned of his uncle's kind thought for him, he broke down and wept
like a child, till Amos had to speak rough and tell him to keep a stiff
upper lip and bear himself more manly.
"If you be going to behave like a girl over this fearful loss, I shan't
have no use for you at Vitifer," Amos warned the young chap. "You must
face this very sad and terrible come-along-of-it same as I be doing. And
you must show me what you're good for, else I may do something you won't
like. This tragedy reminds me, Ernest," he said, "that I haven't made my
own will yet, and as you be my next-of-kin, if your poor uncle have gone
home, that means you'll inherit Furze Hill also in course of time and be
able to run a ring fence round both places. But that remains to be seen;
and if you are going to show that you haven't got manhood enough to face
the ups and downs of life, then I shall turn elsewhere for one to follow
me and young Adam White, my godson, may hap to be the man."
He gave his nephew a bit more advice and told him he'd best to go on
courting the maiden, Sarah White, to distract his mind.
"For you're the sort," said Amos, "that be better with a strong-willed
woman at your elbow in my opinion, and if Sally takes you, I shall be glad
of it."
So Ernest bucked up a bit from that day forth, and no doubt the fact that
he was to have Vitifer in the course of nature, decided Sarah, for she
agreed to wed the young man ten days afterwards, and Amos was pleased, and
decided that the wedding should fall out next Easter.
Ernest Gregory, as we all marked, was a changed man from that hour; for
though he was built to feel trouble very keen, he hadn't the intellects to
feel it very deep, and in the glory of winning Sarah, he beamed forth
again like the sun from a cloud. And nobody blamed him, because, whether
your heart be large or small, a dead uncle, however good he was, can't be
expected to come between a man and the joy of a live sweetheart, who has
said "Yes" to him.