Master Pring was not much of a man to talk. But for power of thought he
was considered equal to any pair of other men, and superior of course to
all womankind. Moreover, he had seen a good deal of fighting, not among
outlaws, but fine soldiers well skilled in the proper style of it.
So that it was impossible for him to think very highly of the Doones.
Gentlemen they might be, he said, and therefore by nature well qualified
to fight. But where could they have learned any discipline, any
tactics, any knowledge of formation, or even any skill of sword or
firearms? “Tush, there was his own son, Bob, now serving under Captain
Purvis, as fine a young trooper as ever drew sword, and perhaps on his
way at this very moment, under orders from the Lord Lieutenant, to rid
the country of that pestilent race. Ah, ha! We soon shall see!”
And in truth we did see him, even sooner than his own dear mother had
expected, and long before his father wanted him, though he loved him so
much in his absence. For I heard a deep voice in the kitchen one night
(before I was prepared for such things, by making a backway out of my
bedroom), and thinking it best to know the worst, went out to ask what
was doing there.
A young man was sitting upon the table, accounting too little of our
house, yet showing no great readiness to boast, only to let us know
who he was. He had a fine head of curly hair, and spoke with a firm
conviction that there was much inside it. “Father, you have possessed
small opportunity of seeing how we do things now. Mother is not to be
blamed for thinking that we are in front of what used to be. What do we
care how the country lies? We have heared all this stuff up at Oare. If
there are bogs, we shall timber them. If there are rocks, we shall blow
them up. If there are caves, we shall fire down them. The moment we get
our guns into position----”
“Hush, Bob, hush! Here is your master's daughter. Not the interlopers
you put up with; but your real master, on whose property you were born.
Is that the position for your guns?”
Being thus rebuked by his father, who was a very faithful-minded man,
Robert Pring shuffled his long boots down, and made me a low salutation.
But, having paid little attention to the things other people were
full of, I left the young man to convince his parents, and he soon was
successful with his mother.
Two, or it may have been three days after this, a great noise arose in
the morning. I was dusting my father's books, which lay open just as he
had left them. There was “Barker's Delight” and “Isaac Walton,” and the
“Secrets of Angling by J. D.” and some notes of his own about making of
flies; also fish hooks made of Spanish steel, and long hairs pulled from
the tail of a gray horse, with spindles and bits of quill for plaiting
them. So proud and so pleased had he been with these trifles, after the
clamour and clash of life, that tears came into my eyes once more, as I
thought of his tranquil and amiable ways.
“'Tis a wrong thing altogether to my mind,” cried Deborah Pring, running
in to me. “They Doones was established afore we come, and why not let
them bide upon their own land? They treated poor master amiss, beyond
denial; and never will I forgive them for it. All the same, he was
catching what belonged to them; meaning for the best no doubt, because
he was so righteous. And having such courage he killed one, or perhaps
two; though I never could have thought so much of that old knife. But
ever since that, they have been good, Miss Sillie, never even coming
anigh us; and I don't believe half of the tales about them.”
All this was new to me; for if anybody-had cried shame and death upon
that wicked horde, it was Deborah Pring, who was talking to me thus! I
looked at her with wonder, suspecting for the moment that the venerable
Councillor--who was clever enough to make a cow forget her calf--might
have paid her a visit while I was away. But very soon the reason of the
change appeared.
“Who hath taken command of the attack?” she asked, as if no one would
believe the answer; “not Captain Purvis, as ought to have been, nor even
Captain Dallas of Devon, but Spy Stickles by royal warrant, the man that
hath been up to Oare so long! And my son Robert, who hath come down to
help to train them, and understandeth cannon guns----”
“Captain Purvis? I seem to know that name very well. I have often heard
it from my father. And your son under him! Why, Deborah, what are you
hiding from me?”
Now good Mrs. Pring was beginning to forget, or rather had never borne
properly in mind, that I was the head of the household now, and entitled
to know everything, and to be asked about it. But people who desire to
have this done should insist upon it at the outset, which I had not been
in proper state to do. So that she made quite a grievance of it, when I
would not be treated as a helpless child. However, I soon put a stop to
that, and discovered to my surprise much more than could be imagined.
And before I could say even half of what I thought, a great noise arose
in the hollow of the hills, and came along the valleys, like the blowing
of a wind that had picked up the roaring of mankind upon its way.
Perhaps greater noise had never arisen upon the moor; and the cattle,
and the quiet sheep, and even the wild deer came bounding from
unsheltered places into any offering of branches, or of other heling
from the turbulence of men. And then a gray fog rolled down the valley,
and Deborah said it was cannon-smoke, following the river course; but to
me it seemed only the usual thickness of the air, when the clouds hang
low. Thomas Pring was gone, as behooved an ancient warrior, to see how
his successors did things, and the boy Dick Hutchings had begged leave
to sit in a tree and watch the smoke. Deborah and I were left alone, and
a long and anxious day we had.
At last the wood-pigeons had stopped their cooing,--which they kept up
for hours, when the weather matched the light,--and there was not a tree
that could tell its own shadow, and we were contented with the gentle
sounds that come through a forest when it falls asleep, and Deborah
Pring, who had taken a motherly tendency toward me now, as if to make
up for my father, was sitting in the porch with my hands in her lap, and
telling me how to behave henceforth, as if the whole world depended upon
that, when we heard a swishing sound, as of branches thrust aside,
and then a low moan that went straight to my heart, as I thought of my
father when he took the blow of death.
“My son, my Bob, my eldest boy!” cried Mistress Pring, jumping up and
falling into my arms, like a pillow full of wire, for she insisted upon
her figure still. But before I could do anything to help her----
“Hit her on the back, ma'am; hit her hard upon the back. That is what
always brings mother round,” was shouted, as I might say, into my ear by
the young man whom she was lamenting.
“Shut thy trap, Braggadose. To whom art thou speaking? Pretty much thou
hast learned of war to come and give lessons to thy father! Mistress
Sylvia, it is for thee to speak. Nothing would satisfy this young
springal but to bring his beaten captain here, for the sake of mother's
management. I told un that you would never take him in, for his father
have taken in you pretty well! Captain Purvis of the Somerset I know not
what--for the regiments now be all upside down. _Raggiments_ is the
proper name for them. Very like he be dead by this time, and better die
out of doors than in. Take un away, Bob. No hospital here!”
“Thomas Pring, who are you,” I said, for the sound of another low groan
came through me, “to give orders to your master's daughter? If you bring
not the poor wounded gentleman in, you shall never come through this
door yourself.”
“Ha, old hunks, I told thee so!” The young man who spoke raised his
hat to me, and I saw that it had a scarlet plume, such as Marwood de
Wichehalse gloried in. “In with thee, and stretch him that he may die
straight. I am off to Southmolton for Cutcliffe Lane, who can make a
furze-fagot bloom again. My filly can give a land-yard in a mile to Tom
Faggus and his Winnie. But mind one thing, all of you; it was none of us
that shot the captain, but his own good men. Farewell, Mistress Sylvia!”
With these words he made me a very low bow, and set off for his horse at
the corner of the wood--as reckless a gallant as ever broke hearts, and
those of his own kin foremost; yet himself so kind and loving.