I
There's no doubt that a man's opinions change with his business, because
the point of view's just everything. What be good to you is what you want
to happen and think ought to happen; and if it don't happen, then you'm a
bit fretful about it, and reckon there's a screw loose somewhere in the
order of things. For instance, I be a gamekeeper to-day, and I take a view
of fish and birds according; but once on a time I was a fly-by-night young
rip of a poacher, and had a very different idea about feathers and fins.
"A fish be no more the bank-owner's fish than the water in the river be
his water!" That's what I used to say. Because a salmon--he's a sea-fish,
and free as air and his own master. Same with a bird. How do I know
whether 'twas Squire Tom, or Squire Dick, or Squire Harry as reared a
pheasant I happen to knock over on a moony night? Birds will fly, as
Nature meant 'em; and, again, it may be just a wild bird, as never came
out of no boughten egg at all, but belonged to the country, like his
father and his grandfather afore him. And so 'tis common property, same as
the land did ought to be, and if I be clever enough to catch 'un and kill
'un--why, so much the better for me! All for free trade you see I was. And
in a poacher that must be the point of view. But time and chance play all
manner of funny pranks with a man; and time and chance it were that turned
me from this dangerous walk of life into what I be now. The way of it was
simple enough, in a manner of speaking, yet I'm sure no such thing
happened afore, or be like to hap again.
Woodcotes was a very great estate on the brink o' Dartmoor. In fact, the
covers crept up the hills as far as the fierce winds would let 'em; and
they was cold woods up over--cold and rocky and better liked by the foxes
than the pheasants. But the birds done very well half a mile lower down,
and the river that run through Woodcotes carried a lot of salmon at the
proper time. A ten-pound fish was no wonder, and more'n one twenty-pounder
have left it in my memory.
I was twenty-five on the night this tale begins--twenty-five year old, and
a proper night-hawk of a chap, as loved the hours of darkness and gloried
in the shedding of blood. Sport was in my veins, so to say, handed down
from father to son, for my grandfather had been a gamekeeper, and my
father a water-bailiff, and my uncle--my father's brother--a huntsman.
That was the line of life I'd thirsted for, or even to go for a jockey.
But Nature weren't of the same mind. I growed six foot tall afore I was
seventeen--my mother's family was all whackers--and so riding was out of
the question, and I went on the land and worked behind the horses instead
of on 'em.
Well, the river ran very suent through the water-meadows below my village,
and there was wonnerful fine stickles and reaches for trout, and proper
deep pools for salmon. And on a fine night in June, with the moonlight
bright as day, I was down beside it a bit after one o'clock, busy about a
little matter of night-lines. I meant to make an experiment, too, because
I'd read in a book how the salmon will come up to stare if you hold a
bright light over 'em. They'll goggle up at you and get dazed by the
light, and then you can spear 'em as easy as picking blackberries. 'Twas
news to me, but a thing very well to know if true, and I got a bull's-eye
lantern to prove it.
Through a hayfield--half cut, 'twas--I went, where the moon throwed a
shadow beside each uplifted pook, and the air was heavy with the scent,
and a corncrake somewhere was making a noise like sharpening a scythe. A
few trout were rising at the night moths, but nothing moved of any account
in the open, and I pushed forward where the hayfield ended at the edge of
the woods. There, just fifty yards inside the trees, was one of the
properest pools on the river; and, having set my night-lines for a trout
or two higher up, I came down to the salmon pool, spear in hand, and lit
my lantern and got on a rock in the mid-channel, where 'twas clear and
still, with nought but the oily twist and twirl of the currents running
deep beneath me.
I felt so bold as a lion that night, for Squire Champernowne, of
Woodcotes, had died at dawn, and the countryside was all in a commotion,
and I knowed, what with talking and drinking in the pubs and running about
all day, that not a keeper would be to work after dark. A very good man
had been the Squire, though peppery and uncertain in his temper, and quick
to take offence, but honest and well-liked by all who worked for him.
'Twas one of they tragical moments, long expected but none the less
exciting, when death came, and I felt certain sure that I should have the
river to myself till morning.
But I was wrong. Looking upstream by good chance afore I got to work, I
saw a man in the meadow moonlight. There he was, making for the woods. He
was following the path I followed, and in five minutes I saw that he'd be
on the river-bank within ten yards of me. Of course, I thought the chap
was after me and had tracked me down. It astonished me a good bit to mark
him, and I saw he was a tall, slim man, much lighter than me, though very
near the same height. He didn't tally with my knowledge of any of the
Woodcotes keepers, so I felt better and hoped as it might be a stranger,
or a lunatic, or somebody as wouldn't be feeling any interest in me. But I
had to shift, of course, so I nipped off my rock and went under the bank
where the ivy fell over at the tail of the salmon pool. 'Twas a deep,
sandy-bottomed reach, with the bank dipping in steeply o' one side and a
shelving, pebbly ridge the other. The river narrowed at the bottom of the
pool and fell over a fall. So there I went, and looked through the ivy
unseen and watched my gentleman along the river-path.
He came, and the light of the moon shone on him between two trees, so that
I could mark who 'twas; and then I seed the man of all others in the world
I'd least have counted to see. For there, if you please, went young Mister
Cranston Champernowne, the nephew of the dead man, and thought to be heir
to Woodcotes! For Squire never married, but he had a good few nephews, and
two was his special favourites: this one and his brother, young Lawrence
Champernowne. They were the sons of General Sir Arthur Champernowne, a
famous fighter who'd got the Victoria Cross in India, and carried half the
alphabet after his name.
Well, there stood the young youth, and even in the owl-light I could see
he was a bit troubled of spirit. He looked about him, moved nervously, and
then fetched something out of his pocket. 'Twas black and shining, and I
felt pretty sure 'twas a bottle; but I only had time to catch one glimpse
of it, for he lifted his arm and flung it in the pool. It flashed and was
gone, and then, before the moony circles on the water had got to the bank,
the man was off. He walked crooked and shaky, and something told me as the
young fellow had done terrible wrong and felt it.
Whatever 'twas he'd hid, it lay now in the deepest part of the river, and
that, no doubt, he knew. But I knowed more. The bottom where his bottle
was lying happened to be fine sand with a clear lift to the little beach;
and so, given a proper tool, 'twas easy enough to rake over the river-bed
and fetch up anything of any size on that smooth surface.
Of course, my first thought was to fetch that bottle out of the water; but
then a cold shiver went through me, and I told myself to mind my own
business and leave Cranston Champernowne to mind his. Yet somehow I
couldn't do that. There was a sporting side to it, and a man like me
wasn't the sort to sit down tamely afore such a great adventure. So I said
to myself: "I'll have that bottle!"
My wits ran quick in them days, as was natural to a night-hawk, and I only
waited till the young chap was off through the woods, and then nipped back
into the grass field, fetched a haymaker's rake, made fast a brave stone
to 'un, got my night-lines up, and soon lowered down the rake over the
spot where the bottle went in. At the second drag I got him, and there,
sure enough, was the thing that Mister Champernowne had throwed in the
pool. But it weren't a bottle by no means. Instead, I found a black, tin,
waterproof canister a foot long; and, working at it, the lid soon came
off. Inside was one piece of paper and no more. That was all the canister
hid; and the next thing I done was to light up my lantern and see what
wonderful matter it could be as the young man was at such pains to do away
with so careful. For Woodcotes House was two mile from the river, and
Cranston Champernowne had been at all this trouble, you see, on the very
day of his uncle's death.
Well, I soon found out all about it, for the thing was simple enough. The
paper was a will, or, as I heard long after, a thing called a codicil--a
contrivance what you add to a will. And it revoked and denied everything
as the dead man had wrote before. In a few words the paper swept away
Squire Champernowne's former wills and testaments, and left Woodcotes to
Lawrence Champernowne, the son of General Sir Arthur and the brother of
the chap as had just flung the paper in the river.
So there 'twas, and even a slower-witted man than me might have read the
riddle in a moment. No doubt young Mister Cranston thought himself the
heir, and reckoned 'twas all cut and dried. Then, rummaging here and there
after his uncle was gone, he'd come upon this facer and found himself left
in the cold. The paper was dated two year back, and signed by two names of
women-servants at Woodcotes.
Well, I soon came to myself afore this great discovery, and though, no
doubt, the right and natural thing for me to have done, as a sporting sort
of blade always open to the main chance, would have been to go to Lawrence
Champernowne or his father, yet I hesitated; because, though I held a
poacher's ideas about game and such like, I wasn't different from other
folk in other matters. I'd got religion from my mother, for she taught me
the love of God, and father, the water-bailiff, he taught me the fear of
God likewise; and if you've got them two things properly balanced in your
intellects, you can't go far wrong. And at that moment the feeling in my
mind was not to be on the make. No, I swear to you I only felt sorry for
the young chap as had done this terrible deed. I was troubled for him, and
considered very like the temptation was too great, that he'd just fallen
into it in a natural fit of rage at his disappointment, and that
presently, when he came to his senses, he'd bitterly mourn such a
hookem-snivey deed. For, of course, Champernownes were great folk, high
above any small or mean actions, and with the fame of the family always
set up afore them. Yes, I thought it all out, and saw his mind working,
and felt so sure as death that a time would come when he would regret the
act and feel he'd ruined his life. "He'll return here some day afore 'tis
too late, and seek to fetch up the paper," I thought. And with that I was
just going to fling the canister back in the pool when a better idea took
hold on me. I'd make it easier and quicker for the man, and even now,
while he was smarting and doubtless battling with his better nature, I'd
help him in secret to do the right thing. He'd think it was a miracle,
too, for, of course, I wasn't going to give myself away over the business.
And no doubt, if the young fellow saw a miracle worked on his behalf, he'd
turn from his wickedness and repent.
In a word, my purpose was to put the paper back in his path again, afore
he got home; and not only that, but I meant to speak a word or two--just a
voice he should hear out of the night. I might save his soul, and, whether
or no, 'twas a sporting idea to try to do so. So I set to work, and even
in them exciting moments I thought what strange messengers the Lord do
choose to run His Almighty errands.
I knowed the way the young chap had to go, and how long 'twould take. Two
miles from the river lay Woodcotes, and, by following over a hill and
dropping down t'other side, I could get in his track again and be at the
edge of the home gardens where he'd come out. I saved half a mile going
that way, and would be able to get there long afore him.
Of course, all this went through my head a lot quicker than I set it down.
Like a flash came my determination, and I acted on it, and ran through the
night and headed him off, and hid in a rhododendron bush just by the main
drive, where he'd leave the woods on his way home. And right in his path,
where his feet must go, I'd put the tin canister. 'Twas dry again, and
flashed in the moonlight so bright that he couldn't miss it nohow.
Still as a mouse I waited for him, and just over my head hooted an owl.
"Hoo-hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!" he shouted out; and another, long ways
off, answered to him.
What should I say? was the question in my mind while I waited for Mr.
Champernowne. And first I thought I'd say nothing at all; but then I
reckoned 'twould be more solemn and like a miracle if I did. I minded a
thing my father used to speak when I was a li'l one. He'd tell it out very
serious, and being poetry made it still more so. "Don't you do it, else
you'll rue it!" That's what my father used to tell me a score of times a
day, when I was a boy, and the words somehow came in my mind that night.
Therefore I resolved to speak 'em and make 'em sound so mysterious as I
could, just when the young fellow found the canister.
It all went very well--in fact, a lot better than I'd hoped for, chance
favoured me in a very peculiar way, and the Dowl hisself couldn't have
planned a greater or more startling surprise for Cranston Champernowne.
Along he came presently, with his head down and his shoulders up. Like a
haunted creature he crept from the woods; his face was white, and misery
stared out of it. Presently he looked upward at the moon, while he walked
along like an old, tired man. And when I see his face, I was terrible glad
I'd took such a lot of trouble for him, because 'twas properly ravaged
with suffering. He came to the canister, and the owl was hollering for all
he was worth, and the matter fell out like this. First Mister Champernowne
catched sight of the canister and stood still, as if the sight had froze
him; then the bird shouted, and I had to wait for him to shut up afore I
had my say.
"Hoo-hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!" went the owl. Then, the moment he stopped,
I spoke, very loud and slow.
"Don't you do it, or else you'll rue it!" I said.
And the young man gazed up into the air and very near fell down in a fit,
I believe, for he 'peared to think he'd heard but one voice, and that the
owl was telling to him! I'm sure it must have been like that with him, for
he cried aloud and he lifted up his hands, and he shook like a reed in the
river.
"Good God in Heaven, what's this? Am I mad?" he says. Then the owl was
frightened, and slipped away silent on open wing, and the young man stood
still staring and panting. He put his hands over his face to wipe away the
canister, for 'twas clear that he didn't believe the thing was real; but
when he looked again, there it lay, glittering like a star--the very item
he'd thrown in the deepest part of the river not an hour afore! Then he
crept towards it very slow, as if 'twas a snake; and he bent and touched
it and found it to be a real thing and not a dream. With that he picked it
up and strained his ears to listen; and I could see the sweat shining on
the face of 'un and the breath of the man puffing in a mist on the night
air. He stood all doubtful for a little, while I bided so still that not a
leaf moved; then he went on his way, like a creature sick or drunk, and he
passed into the gardens and disappeared from sight.
I waited till he was properly gone, and after that I got back in the woods
and returned to the river. Always a neat and tidy man--as poachers mostly
are--I took the hayrake back to the field and wound up my lines. Then I
went home, for 'twas peep of day by now, and I felt I'd done a very proper
night's work, and wondered if there'd ever be anything to show for it.
Well, there wasn't--in fact, it looked much as if I'd done a miracle for
nothing. Days passed by. Squire Champernowne got buried with a proper
flare-up, and we heard that Mr. Cranston Champernowne was heir to
Woodcotes and the farms and all. And next time I was out and about on the
river according to my custom, I heard the owl hollering, and I said to the
owl: "You and me had our trouble for nought, my old dear, for 'tis very
clear he wouldn't listen to us. He was a hard case and a bad lot, and 'tis
no good honest folk like you and me putting a man into the straight road
if he won't bide in it."
And the owl--he goes--"Hoo-hoo-hoo!"--laughing like.