A BRAVE RESCUE AND A ROUGH RIDE
[Illustration: 077.jpg Illustrated Capital]
It happened upon a November evening (when I was about fifteen years old,
and out-growing my strength very rapidly, my sister Annie being turned
thirteen, and a deal of rain having fallen, and all the troughs in the
yard being flooded, and the bark from the wood-ricks washed down the
gutters, and even our water-shoot going brown) that the ducks in the
court made a terrible quacking, instead of marching off to their pen,
one behind another. Thereupon Annie and I ran out to see what might be
the sense of it. There were thirteen ducks, and ten lily-white (as the
fashion then of ducks was), not I mean twenty-three in all, but ten
white and three brown-striped ones; and without being nice about their
colour, they all quacked very movingly. They pushed their gold-coloured
bills here and there (yet dirty, as gold is apt to be), and they jumped
on the triangles of their feet, and sounded out of their nostrils; and
some of the over-excited ones ran along low on the ground, quacking
grievously with their bills snapping and bending, and the roof of their
mouths exhibited.
Annie began to cry “Dilly, dilly, einy, einy, ducksey,” according to
the burden of a tune they seem to have accepted as the national duck's
anthem; but instead of being soothed by it, they only quacked three
times as hard, and ran round till we were giddy. And then they shook
their tails together, and looked grave, and went round and round
again. Now I am uncommonly fond of ducks, both roasted and roasting and
roystering; and it is a fine sight to behold them walk, poddling one
after other, with their toes out, like soldiers drilling, and their
little eyes cocked all ways at once, and the way that they dib with
their bills, and dabble, and throw up their heads and enjoy something,
and then tell the others about it. Therefore I knew at once, by the way
they were carrying on, that there must be something or other gone wholly
amiss in the duck-world. Sister Annie perceived it too, but with a
greater quickness; for she counted them like a good duck-wife, and could
only tell thirteen of them, when she knew there ought to be fourteen.
And so we began to search about, and the ducks ran to lead us aright,
having come that far to fetch us; and when we got down to the foot of
the court-yard where the two great ash-trees stand by the side of the
little water, we found good reason for the urgency and melancholy of the
duck-birds. Lo! the old white drake, the father of all, a bird of high
manners and chivalry, always the last to help himself from the pan of
barley-meal, and the first to show fight to a dog or cock intruding upon
his family, this fine fellow, and pillar of the state, was now in a sad
predicament, yet quacking very stoutly. For the brook, wherewith he
had been familiar from his callow childhood, and wherein he was wont to
quest for water-newts, and tadpoles, and caddis-worms, and other game,
this brook, which afforded him very often scanty space to dabble in,
and sometimes starved the cresses, was now coming down in a great brown
flood, as if the banks never belonged to it. The foaming of it, and the
noise, and the cresting of the corners, and the up and down, like a wave
of the sea, were enough to frighten any duck, though bred upon stormy
waters, which our ducks never had been.
There is always a hurdle six feet long and four and a half in depth,
swung by a chain at either end from an oak laid across the channel. And
the use of this hurdle is to keep our kine at milking time from straying
away there drinking (for in truth they are very dainty) and to fence
strange cattle, or Farmer Snowe's horses, from coming along the bed of
the brook unknown, to steal our substance. But now this hurdle, which
hung in the summer a foot above the trickle, would have been dipped more
than two feet deep but for the power against it. For the torrent came
down so vehemently that the chains at full stretch were creaking, and
the hurdle buffeted almost flat, and thatched (so to say) with the
drift-stuff, was going see-saw, with a sulky splash on the dirty red
comb of the waters. But saddest to see was between two bars, where a
fog was of rushes, and flood-wood, and wild-celery haulm, and dead
crowsfoot, who but our venerable mallard jammed in by the joint of his
shoulder, speaking aloud as he rose and fell, with his top-knot full of
water, unable to comprehend it, with his tail washed far away from him,
but often compelled to be silent, being ducked very harshly against his
will by the choking fall-to of the hurdle.
For a moment I could not help laughing, because, being borne up high and
dry by a tumult of the torrent, he gave me a look from his one little
eye (having lost one in fight with the turkey-cock), a gaze of appealing
sorrow, and then a loud quack to second it. But the quack came out of
time, I suppose, for his throat got filled with water, as the hurdle
carried him back again. And then there was scarcely the screw of his
tail to be seen until he swung up again, and left small doubt by the
way he sputtered, and failed to quack, and hung down his poor crest, but
what he must drown in another minute, and frogs triumph over his body.
Annie was crying, and wringing her hands, and I was about to rush into
the water, although I liked not the look of it, but hoped to hold on by
the hurdle, when a man on horseback came suddenly round the corner of
the great ash-hedge on the other side of the stream, and his horse's
feet were in the water.
“Ho, there,” he cried; “get thee back, boy. The flood will carry thee
down like a straw. I will do it for thee, and no trouble.”
[Illustration: 079.jpg A Brave Rescue]
With that he leaned forward, and spoke to his mare--she was just of the
tint of a strawberry, a young thing, very beautiful--and she arched up
her neck, as misliking the job; yet, trusting him, would attempt it. She
entered the flood, with her dainty fore-legs sloped further and further
in front of her, and her delicate ears pricked forward, and the size of
her great eyes increasing, but he kept her straight in the turbid rush,
by the pressure of his knee on her. Then she looked back, and wondered
at him, as the force of the torrent grew stronger, but he bade her go
on; and on she went, and it foamed up over her shoulders; and she tossed
up her lip and scorned it, for now her courage was waking. Then as the
rush of it swept her away, and she struck with her forefeet down the
stream, he leaned from his saddle in a manner which I never could have
thought possible, and caught up old Tom with his left hand, and set him
between his holsters, and smiled at his faint quack of gratitude. In a
moment all these were carried downstream, and the rider lay flat on his
horse, and tossed the hurdle clear from him, and made for the bend of
smooth water.
They landed some thirty or forty yards lower, in the midst of our
kitchen-garden, where the winter-cabbage was; but though Annie and I
crept in through the hedge, and were full of our thanks and admiring
him, he would answer us never a word, until he had spoken in full to the
mare, as if explaining the whole to her.
“Sweetheart, I know thou couldst have leaped it,” he said, as he patted
her cheek, being on the ground by this time, and she was nudging up to
him, with the water pattering off her; “but I had good reason, Winnie
dear, for making thee go through it.”
She answered him kindly with her soft eyes, and smiled at him very
lovingly, and they understood one another. Then he took from his
waistcoat two peppercorns, and made the old drake swallow them, and
tried him softly upon his legs, where the leading gap in the hedge was.
Old Tom stood up quite bravely, and clapped his wings, and shook off the
wet from his tail-feathers; and then away into the court-yard, and his
family gathered around him, and they all made a noise in their throats,
and stood up, and put their bills together, to thank God for this great
deliverance.
Having taken all this trouble, and watched the end of that adventure,
the gentleman turned round to us with a pleasant smile on his face, as
if he were lightly amused with himself; and we came up and looked at
him. He was rather short, about John Fry's height, or may be a little
taller, but very strongly built and springy, as his gait at every step
showed plainly, although his legs were bowed with much riding, and he
looked as if he lived on horseback. To a boy like me he seemed very old,
being over twenty, and well-found in beard; but he was not more than
four-and-twenty, fresh and ruddy looking, with a short nose and keen
blue eyes, and a merry waggish jerk about him, as if the world were not
in earnest. Yet he had a sharp, stern way, like the crack of a pistol,
if anything misliked him; and we knew (for children see such things)
that it was safer to tickle than tackle him.
[Illustration: 081.jpg Tom Faggus]
“Well, young uns, what be gaping at?” He gave pretty Annie a chuck on
the chin, and took me all in without winking.
“Your mare,” said I, standing stoutly up, being a tall boy now; “I never
saw such a beauty, sir. Will you let me have a ride of her?”
“Think thou couldst ride her, lad? She will have no burden but mine.
Thou couldst never ride her. Tut! I would be loath to kill thee.”
“Ride her!” I cried with the bravest scorn, for she looked so kind and
gentle; “there never was horse upon Exmoor foaled, but I could tackle in
half an hour. Only I never ride upon saddle. Take them leathers off of
her.”
He looked at me with a dry little whistle, and thrust his hands into his
breeches-pockets, and so grinned that I could not stand it. And Annie
laid hold of me in such a way that I was almost mad with her. And he
laughed, and approved her for doing so. And the worst of all was--he
said nothing.
“Get away, Annie, will you? Do you think I'm a fool, good sir! Only
trust me with her, and I will not override her.”
“For that I will go bail, my son. She is liker to override thee. But the
ground is soft to fall upon, after all this rain. Now come out into the
yard, young man, for the sake of your mother's cabbages. And the mellow
straw-bed will be softer for thee, since pride must have its fall. I
am thy mother's cousin, boy, and am going up to house. Tom Faggus is my
name, as everybody knows; and this is my young mare, Winnie.”
What a fool I must have been not to know it at once! Tom Faggus, the
great highwayman, and his young blood-mare, the strawberry! Already her
fame was noised abroad, nearly as much as her master's; and my longing
to ride her grew tenfold, but fear came at the back of it. Not that I
had the smallest fear of what the mare could do to me, by fair play and
horse-trickery, but that the glory of sitting upon her seemed to be too
great for me; especially as there were rumours abroad that she was not a
mare after all, but a witch. However, she looked like a filly all over,
and wonderfully beautiful, with her supple stride, and soft slope of
shoulder, and glossy coat beaded with water, and prominent eyes full of
docile fire. Whether this came from her Eastern blood of the Arabs newly
imported, and whether the cream-colour, mixed with our bay, led to
that bright strawberry tint, is certainly more than I can decide, being
chiefly acquaint with farm-horses. And these come of any colour and
form; you never can count what they will be, and are lucky to get four
legs to them.
Mr. Faggus gave his mare a wink, and she walked demurely after him, a
bright young thing, flowing over with life, yet dropping her soul to a
higher one, and led by love to anything; as the manner is of females,
when they know what is the best for them. Then Winnie trod lightly upon
the straw, because it had soft muck under it, and her delicate feet came
back again.
“Up for it still, boy, be ye?” Tom Faggus stopped, and the mare stopped
there; and they looked at me provokingly.
“Is she able to leap, sir? There is good take-off on this side of the
brook.”
Mr. Faggus laughed very quietly, turning round to Winnie so that she
might enter into it. And she, for her part, seemed to know exactly where
the fun lay.
“Good tumble-off, you mean, my boy. Well, there can be small harm to
thee. I am akin to thy family, and know the substance of their skulls.”
“Let me get up,” said I, waxing wroth, for reasons I cannot tell you,
because they are too manifold; “take off your saddle-bag things. I will
try not to squeeze her ribs in, unless she plays nonsense with me.”
[Illustration: 083.jpg Bill Dadds]
Then Mr. Faggus was up on his mettle, at this proud speech of mine; and
John Fry was running up all the while, and Bill Dadds, and half a dozen.
Tom Faggus gave one glance around, and then dropped all regard for me.
The high repute of his mare was at stake, and what was my life compared
to it? Through my defiance, and stupid ways, here was I in a duello,
and my legs not come to their strength yet, and my arms as limp as a
herring.
Something of this occurred to him even in his wrath with me, for he
spoke very softly to the filly, who now could scarce subdue herself;
but she drew in her nostrils, and breathed to his breath and did all she
could to answer him.
“Not too hard, my dear,” he said: “let him gently down on the mixen.
That will be quite enough.” Then he turned the saddle off, and I was
up in a moment. She began at first so easily, and pricked her ears so
lovingly, and minced about as if pleased to find so light a weight upon
her, that I thought she knew I could ride a little, and feared to show
any capers. “Gee wug, Polly!” cried I, for all the men were now looking
on, being then at the leaving-off time: “Gee wug, Polly, and show what
thou be'est made of.” With that I plugged my heels into her, and Billy
Dadds flung his hat up.
Nevertheless, she outraged not, though her eyes were frightening Annie,
and John Fry took a pick to keep him safe; but she curbed to and fro
with her strong forearms rising like springs ingathered, waiting and
quivering grievously, and beginning to sweat about it. Then her master
gave a shrill clear whistle, when her ears were bent towards him, and I
felt her form beneath me gathering up like whalebone, and her hind-legs
coming under her, and I knew that I was in for it.
First she reared upright in the air, and struck me full on the nose with
her comb, till I bled worse than Robin Snell made me; and then down
with her fore-feet deep in the straw, and her hind-feet going to heaven.
Finding me stick to her still like wax, for my mettle was up as hers
was, away she flew with me swifter than ever I went before, or since, I
trow. She drove full-head at the cobwall--“Oh, Jack, slip off,” screamed
Annie--then she turned like light, when I thought to crush her, and
ground my left knee against it. “Mux me,” I cried, for my breeches were
broken, and short words went the furthest--“if you kill me, you shall
die with me.” Then she took the court-yard gate at a leap, knocking my
words between my teeth, and then right over a quick set hedge, as if the
sky were a breath to her; and away for the water-meadows, while I lay
on her neck like a child at the breast and wished I had never been
born. Straight away, all in the front of the wind, and scattering clouds
around her, all I knew of the speed we made was the frightful flash of
her shoulders, and her mane like trees in a tempest. I felt the earth
under us rushing away, and the air left far behind us, and my breath
came and went, and I prayed to God, and was sorry to be so late of it.
[Illustration: 084.jpg A Rough Ride]
All the long swift while, without power of thought, I clung to her crest
and shoulders, and dug my nails into her creases, and my toes into her
flank-part, and was proud of holding on so long, though sure of being
beaten. Then in her fury at feeling me still, she rushed at another
device for it, and leaped the wide water-trough sideways across, to and
fro, till no breath was left in me. The hazel-boughs took me too hard
in the face, and the tall dog-briers got hold of me, and the ache of
my back was like crimping a fish; till I longed to give up, thoroughly
beaten, and lie there and die in the cresses. But there came a shrill
whistle from up the home-hill, where the people had hurried to watch us;
and the mare stopped as if with a bullet, then set off for home with
the speed of a swallow, and going as smoothly and silently. I never had
dreamed of such delicate motion, fluent, and graceful, and ambient,
soft as the breeze flitting over the flowers, but swift as the summer
lightning. I sat up again, but my strength was all spent, and no time
left to recover it, and though she rose at our gate like a bird, I
tumbled off into the mixen.
[Illustration: 085.jpg Tailpiece]