They were not slow to take my hint; and indeed, as to the mere time of
day, it was best for us to be off, as it was past seven o'clock, and the
day promised to be very hot. So we got up and went down to our
boat--Ellen thoughtful and abstracted; the old man very kind and
courteous, as if to make up for his crabbedness of opinion. Clara was
cheerful and natural, but a little subdued, I thought; and she at least
was not sorry to be gone, and often looked shyly and timidly at Ellen and
her strange wild beauty. So we got into the boat, Dick saying as he took
his place, "Well, it _is_ a fine day!" and the old man answering "What!
you like that, do you?" once more; and presently Dick was sending the
bows swiftly through the slow weed-checked stream. I turned round as we
got into mid-stream, and waving my hand to our hosts, saw Ellen leaning
on the old man's shoulder, and caressing his healthy apple-red cheek, and
quite a keen pang smote me as I thought how I should never see the
beautiful girl again. Presently I insisted on taking the sculls, and I
rowed a good deal that day; which no doubt accounts for the fact that we
got very late to the place which Dick had aimed at. Clara was
particularly affectionate to Dick, as I noticed from the rowing thwart;
but as for him, he was as frankly kind and merry as ever; and I was glad
to see it, as a man of his temperament could not have taken her caresses
cheerfully and without embarrassment if he had been at all entangled by
the fairy of our last night's abode.
I need say little about the lovely reaches of the river here. I duly
noted that absence of cockney villas which the old man had lamented; and
I saw with pleasure that my old enemies the "Gothic" cast-iron bridges
had been replaced by handsome oak and stone ones. Also the banks of the
forest that we passed through had lost their courtly game-keeperish
trimness, and were as wild and beautiful as need be, though the trees
were clearly well seen to. I thought it best, in order to get the most
direct information, to play the innocent about Eton and Windsor; but Dick
volunteered his knowledge to me as we lay in Datchet lock about the
first. Quoth he:
"Up yonder are some beautiful old buildings, which were built for a great
college or teaching-place by one of the mediaeval kings--Edward the
Sixth, I think" (I smiled to myself at his rather natural blunder). "He
meant poor people's sons to be taught there what knowledge was going in
his days; but it was a matter of course that in the times of which you
seem to know so much they spoilt whatever good there was in the founder's
intentions. My old kinsman says that they treated them in a very simple
way, and instead of teaching poor men's sons to know something, they
taught rich men's sons to know nothing. It seems from what he says that
it was a place for the 'aristocracy' (if you know what that word means; I
have been told its meaning) to get rid of the company of their male
children for a great part of the year. I daresay old Hammond would give
you plenty of information in detail about it."
"What is it used for now?" said I.
"Well," said he, "the buildings were a good deal spoilt by the last few
generations of aristocrats, who seem to have had a great hatred against
beautiful old buildings, and indeed all records of past history; but it
is still a delightful place. Of course, we cannot use it quite as the
founder intended, since our ideas about teaching young people are so
changed from the ideas of his time; so it is used now as a dwelling for
people engaged in learning; and folk from round about come and get taught
things that they want to learn; and there is a great library there of the
best books. So that I don't think that the old dead king would be much
hurt if he were to come to life and see what we are doing there."
"Well," said Clara, laughing, "I think he would miss the boys."
"Not always, my dear," said Dick, "for there are often plenty of boys
there, who come to get taught; and also," said he, smiling, "to learn
boating and swimming. I wish we could stop there: but perhaps we had
better do that coming down the water."
The lock-gates opened as he spoke, and out we went, and on. And as for
Windsor, he said nothing till I lay on my oars (for I was sculling then)
in Clewer reach, and looking up, said, "What is all that building up
there?"
Said he: "There, I thought I would wait till you asked, yourself. That
is Windsor Castle: that also I thought I would keep for you till we come
down the water. It looks fine from here, doesn't it? But a great deal
of it has been built or skinned in the time of the Degradation, and we
wouldn't pull the buildings down, since they were there; just as with the
buildings of the Dung-Market. You know, of course, that it was the
palace of our old mediaeval kings, and was used later on for the same
purpose by the parliamentary commercial sham-kings, as my old kinsman
calls them."
"Yes," said I, "I know all that. What is it used for now?"
"A great many people live there," said he, "as, with all drawbacks, it is
a pleasant place; there is also a well-arranged store of antiquities of
various kinds that have seemed worth keeping--a museum, it would have
been called in the times you understand so well."
I drew my sculls through the water at that last word, and pulled as if I
were fleeing from those times which I understood so well; and we were
soon going up the once sorely be-cockneyed reaches of the river about
Maidenhead, which now looked as pleasant and enjoyable as the up-river
reaches.
The morning was now getting on, the morning of a jewel of a summer day;
one of those days which, if they were commoner in these islands, would
make our climate the best of all climates, without dispute. A light wind
blew from the west; the little clouds that had arisen at about our
breakfast time had seemed to get higher and higher in the heavens; and in
spite of the burning sun we no more longed for rain than we feared it.
Burning as the sun was, there was a fresh feeling in the air that almost
set us a-longing for the rest of the hot afternoon, and the stretch of
blossoming wheat seen from the shadow of the boughs. No one unburdened
with very heavy anxieties could have felt otherwise than happy that
morning: and it must be said that whatever anxieties might lie beneath
the surface of things, we didn't seem to come across any of them.
We passed by several fields where haymaking was going on, but Dick, and
especially Clara, were so jealous of our up-river festival that they
would not allow me to have much to say to them. I could only notice that
the people in the fields looked strong and handsome, both men and women,
and that so far from there being any appearance of sordidness about their
attire, they seemed to be dressed specially for the occasion,--lightly,
of course, but gaily and with plenty of adornment.
Both on this day as well as yesterday we had, as you may think, met and
passed and been passed by many craft of one kind and another. The most
part of these were being rowed like ourselves, or were sailing, in the
sort of way that sailing is managed on the upper reaches of the river;
but every now and then we came on barges, laden with hay or other country
produce, or carrying bricks, lime, timber, and the like, and these were
going on their way without any means of propulsion visible to me--just a
man at the tiller, with often a friend or two laughing and talking with
him. Dick, seeing on one occasion this day, that I was looking rather
hard on one of these, said: "That is one of our force-barges; it is quite
as easy to work vehicles by force by water as by land."
I understood pretty well that these "force vehicles" had taken the place
of our old steam-power carrying; but I took good care not to ask any
questions about them, as I knew well enough both that I should never be
able to understand how they were worked, and that in attempting to do so
I should betray myself, or get into some complication impossible to
explain; so I merely said, "Yes, of course, I understand."
We went ashore at Bisham, where the remains of the old Abbey and the
Elizabethan house that had been added to them yet remained, none the
worse for many years of careful and appreciative habitation. The folk of
the place, however, were mostly in the fields that day, both men and
women; so we met only two old men there, and a younger one who had stayed
at home to get on with some literary work, which I imagine we
considerably interrupted. Yet I also think that the hard-working man who
received us was not very sorry for the interruption. Anyhow, he kept on
pressing us to stay over and over again, till at last we did not get away
till the cool of the evening.
However, that mattered little to us; the nights were light, for the moon
was shining in her third quarter, and it was all one to Dick whether he
sculled or sat quiet in the boat: so we went away a great pace. The
evening sun shone bright on the remains of the old buildings at
Medmenham; close beside which arose an irregular pile of building which
Dick told us was a very pleasant house; and there were plenty of houses
visible on the wide meadows opposite, under the hill; for, as it seems
that the beauty of Hurley had compelled people to build and live there a
good deal. The sun very low down showed us Henley little altered in
outward aspect from what I remembered it. Actual daylight failed us as
we passed through the lovely reaches of Wargrave and Shiplake; but the
moon rose behind us presently. I should like to have seen with my eyes
what success the new order of things had had in getting rid of the
sprawling mess with which commercialism had littered the banks of the
wide stream about Reading and Caversham: certainly everything smelt too
deliciously in the early night for there to be any of the old careless
sordidness of so-called manufacture; and in answer to my question as to
what sort of a place Reading was, Dick answered:
"O, a nice town enough in its way; mostly rebuilt within the last hundred
years; and there are a good many houses, as you can see by the lights
just down under the hills yonder. In fact, it is one of the most
populous places on the Thames round about here. Keep up your spirits,
guest! we are close to our journey's end for the night. I ought to ask
your pardon for not stopping at one of the houses here or higher up; but
a friend, who is living in a very pleasant house in the Maple-Durham
meads, particularly wanted me and Clara to come and see him on our way up
the Thames; and I thought you wouldn't mind this bit of night
travelling."
He need not have adjured me to keep up my spirits, which were as high as
possible; though the strangeness and excitement of the happy and quiet
life which I saw everywhere around me was, it is true, a little wearing
off, yet a deep content, as different as possible from languid
acquiescence, was taking its place, and I was, as it were, really new-
born.
We landed presently just where I remembered the river making an elbow to
the north towards the ancient house of the Blunts; with the wide meadows
spreading on the right-hand side, and on the left the long line of
beautiful old trees overhanging the water. As we got out of the boat, I
said to Dick--
"Is it the old house we are going to?"
"No," he said, "though that is standing still in green old age, and is
well inhabited. I see, by the way, that you know your Thames well. But
my friend Walter Allen, who asked me to stop here, lives in a house, not
very big, which has been built here lately, because these meadows are so
much liked, especially in summer, that there was getting to be rather too
much of tenting on the open field; so the parishes here about, who rather
objected to that, built three houses between this and Caversham, and
quite a large one at Basildon, a little higher up. Look, yonder are the
lights of Walter Allen's house!"
So we walked over the grass of the meadows under a flood of moonlight,
and soon came to the house, which was low and built round a quadrangle
big enough to get plenty of sunshine in it. Walter Allen, Dick's friend,
was leaning against the jamb of the doorway waiting for us, and took us
into the hall without overplus of words. There were not many people in
it, as some of the dwellers there were away at the haymaking in the
neighbourhood, and some, as Walter told us, were wandering about the
meadow enjoying the beautiful moonlit night. Dick's friend looked to be
a man of about forty; tall, black-haired, very kind-looking and
thoughtful; but rather to my surprise there was a shade of melancholy on
his face, and he seemed a little abstracted and inattentive to our chat,
in spite of obvious efforts to listen.
Dick looked on him from time to time, and seemed troubled; and at last he
said: "I say, old fellow, if there is anything the matter which we didn't
know of when you wrote to me, don't you think you had better tell us
about it at once? Or else we shall think we have come here at an unlucky
time, and are not quite wanted."
Walter turned red, and seemed to have some difficulty in restraining his
tears, but said at last: "Of course everybody here is very glad to see
you, Dick, and your friends; but it is true that we are not at our best,
in spite of the fine weather and the glorious hay-crop. We have had a
death here."
Said Dick: "Well, you should get over that, neighbour: such things must
be."
"Yes," Walter said, "but this was a death by violence, and it seems
likely to lead to at least one more; and somehow it makes us feel rather
shy of one another; and to say the truth, that is one reason why there
are so few of us present to-night."
"Tell us the story, Walter," said Dick; "perhaps telling it will help you
to shake off your sadness."
Said Walter: "Well, I will; and I will make it short enough, though I
daresay it might be spun out into a long one, as used to be done with
such subjects in the old novels. There is a very charming girl here whom
we all like, and whom some of us do more than like; and she very
naturally liked one of us better than anybody else. And another of us (I
won't name him) got fairly bitten with love-madness, and used to go about
making himself as unpleasant as he could--not of malice prepense, of
course; so that the girl, who liked him well enough at first, though she
didn't love him, began fairly to dislike him. Of course, those of us who
knew him best--myself amongst others--advised him to go away, as he was
making matters worse and worse for himself every day. Well, he wouldn't
take our advice (that also, I suppose, was a matter of course), so we had
to tell him that he _must_ go, or the inevitable sending to Coventry
would follow; for his individual trouble had so overmastered him that we
felt that _we_ must go if he did not.
"He took that better than we expected, when something or other--an
interview with the girl, I think, and some hot words with the successful
lover following close upon it, threw him quite off his balance; and he
got hold of an axe and fell upon his rival when there was no one by; and
in the struggle that followed the man attacked, hit him an unlucky blow
and killed him. And now the slayer in his turn is so upset that he is
like to kill himself; and if he does, the girl will do as much, I fear.
And all this we could no more help than the earthquake of the year before
last."
"It is very unhappy," said Dick; "but since the man is dead, and cannot
be brought to life again, and since the slayer had no malice in him, I
cannot for the life of me see why he shouldn't get over it before long.
Besides, it was the right man that was killed and not the wrong. Why
should a man brood over a mere accident for ever? And the girl?"
"As to her," said Walter, "the whole thing seems to have inspired her
with terror rather than grief. What you say about the man is true, or it
should be; but then, you see, the excitement and jealousy that was the
prelude to this tragedy had made an evil and feverish element round about
him, from which he does not seem to be able to escape. However, we have
advised him to go away--in fact, to cross the seas; but he is in such a
state that I do not think he _can_ go unless someone _takes_ him, and I
think it will fall to my lot to do so; which is scarcely a cheerful
outlook for me."
"O, you will find a certain kind of interest in it," said Dick. "And of
course he _must_ soon look upon the affair from a reasonable point of
view sooner or later."
"Well, at any rate," quoth Walter, "now that I have eased my mind by
making you uncomfortable, let us have an end of the subject for the
present. Are you going to take your guest to Oxford?"
"Why, of course we must pass through it," said Dick, smiling, "as we are
going into the upper waters: but I thought that we wouldn't stop there,
or we shall be belated as to the haymaking up our way. So Oxford and my
learned lecture on it, all got at second-hand from my old kinsman, must
wait till we come down the water a fortnight hence."
I listened to this story with much surprise, and could not help wondering
at first that the man who had slain the other had not been put in custody
till it could be proved that he killed his rival in self-defence only.
However, the more I thought of it, the plainer it grew to me that no
amount of examination of witnesses, who had witnessed nothing but the ill-
blood between the two rivals, would have done anything to clear up the
case. I could not help thinking, also, that the remorse of this homicide
gave point to what old Hammond had said to me about the way in which this
strange people dealt with what I had been used to hear called crimes.
Truly, the remorse was exaggerated; but it was quite clear that the
slayer took the whole consequences of the act upon himself, and did not
expect society to whitewash him by punishing him. I had no fear any
longer that "the sacredness of human life" was likely to suffer amongst
my friends from the absence of gallows and prison.