It seemed to me as if starting-time would never come, and I fidgeted in
and out from the kitchen to the stable to see if Ike had come back,
while Mrs Dodley kept on shaking her at me in a pitying way.
"Hadn't you better give it, up, my dear?" she said dolefully. "Out all
night! It'll be a trying time."
"What nonsense!" I said. "Why, sailors have to keep watch of a night
regularly."
"When the stormy wynds do blow," said Mrs Dodley with something between
a sniff and a sob. "Does Mrs Beeton know you are going?"
"No," I said stoutly.
"My poor orphan bye," she said with a real sob. "Don't--don't go."
"Why, Mrs Dodley," I cried, "any one would think I was a baby."
"Here, Grant," cried Mr Brownsmith, "hadn't you better lie down for an
hour or two. You've plenty of time."
"No, sir," I said stoutly; "I couldn't sleep if I did."
"Well, then, come and have some supper."
That I was quite willing to have, and I sat there, with the old
gentleman looking at me every now and then with a smile.
"You will not feel so eager as this next time, Master Grant."
At last I heard the big latch rattle on the gate, and started up in the
greatest excitement. Old Brownsmith gave me a nod, and as I passed
through the kitchen Mrs Dodley looked at me with such piteous eyes and
so wrinkled a forehead that I stopped.
"Why, what's the matter?" I asked.
"Oh, don't ask me, my dear, don't ask me. What could master be
a-thinking!"
Her words filled me with so much dread that I hurried out into the yard,
hardly knowing which I feared most--to go, or to be forced to stay at
home, for the adventure through the dark hours of the night began to
seem to be something far more full of peril than I had thought a ride up
to market on the cart would prove.
The sight of Ike, however, made me forget the looks of Mrs Dodley, and
I was soon busy with him in the stable--that is to say, I held the
lantern while he harnessed "Basket," the great gaunt old horse whom I
had so nicknamed on account of the way in which his ribs stuck out
through his skin.
"You don't give him enough to eat, Ike," I said.
"Not give him enough to eat!" he replied. "Wo ho, Bonyparty, shove yer
head through. That's the way. Not give him enough to eat, my lad!
Lor' bless you, the more he eats the thinner he gets. He finds the work
too hard for him grinding his oats, for he's got hardly any teeth worth
anything."
"Is he so old, then?" I asked, as I saw collar and hames and the rest
of the heavy harness adjusted.
"Old! I should just think he is, my lad. Close upon two hunderd I
should say's his age."
"Nonsense!" I said; "horses are very old indeed at twenty!"
"Some horses; but he was only a baby then. He's the oldest horse as
ever was, and about the best; ain't you, Basket? Come along, old chap."
The horse gave a bit of a snort and followed the man in a slow
deliberate way, born of custom, right out into the yard to where the
trestle-supported cart stood. Then as I held the lantern the great bony
creature turned and backed itself clumsily in between the shafts, and
under the great framework ladder piled up with baskets till its tail
touched the front of the cart, when it heaved a long sigh as if of
satisfaction.
"Look at that!" said Ike; "no young horse couldn't have done that, my
lad;" and as if to deny the assertion, Basket gave himself a shake which
made the chains of his harness rattle. "Steady, old man," cried Ike as
he hooked on the chains to the shaft, and then going to the other side
he started. "Hullo! what are you doing here?" he cried, and the light
fell upon Shock, who had busily fastened the chains on the other side.
He did not speak, but backed off into the darkness.
"Got your coat, squire?" cried Ike. "That's well. Open the gates,
Shock. That's your sort. Now, then, `Basket,' steady."
The horse made the chains rattle as he stuck the edges of his hoofs into
the gravel, the wheels turned, the great axle-tree rattled; there was a
swing of the load to left and another to right, a bump or two, and we
were out in the lane, going steadily along upon a lovely starlight
night.
As soon as we were clear of the yard, and Shock could be heard closing
the gates and rattling up the bar, Ike gave his long cart-whip three
tremendous cracks, and I expected to see "Basket" start off in a
lumbering trot; but he paid not the slightest heed to the sharp reports,
and it was evidently only a matter of habit, for Ike stuck the whip
directly after in an iron loop close by where the horse's great
well-filled nose-bag was strapped to the front-ladder, beneath which
there was a sack fairly filled with good old hay.
"Yes," said Ike, seeing the direction of my eyes, "we don't starve the
old hoss; do we, Bonyparty?"
He slapped the horse's haunch affectionately, and Basket wagged his
tail, while the cart jolted on.
The clock was striking eleven, and sounded mellow and sweet on the night
air as we made for the main road, having just ten miles to go to reach
the market, only a short journey in these railway times, but one which
it took the bony old horse exactly five hours to compass.
"It seems a deal," I said. "I could walk it in much less time."
"Well, yes, Master Grant," said Ike, rubbing his nose; "it do seem a
deal, five hours--two mile an hour; but a horse is a boss, and you can't
make nothing else out of him till he's dead. I've been to market with
him hunderds upon hunderds of times, and he says it's five hours' work,
and he takes five hours to do it in; no more, and no less. P'r'a'ps I
might get him up sooner if I used the whip; but how would you like any
one to use a whip on you when you was picking apples or counting baskets
of strawbys into a wan?"
"Not at all," I said, laughing.
"Well, then, what call is there to use it on a boss? He knows what he
can do, and he doos it."
"Has Mr Brownsmith had him long?"
"Has _Old_ Brownsmith had him long?" he said correctively. "Oh, yes!
ages. I don't know how long. He had him and he was a old boss when I
come, and that's years ago. He's done nothing but go uppards and
down'ards all his life, and he must know how long it takes by now,
mustn't he?"
"Yes, I suppose so," I said.
"Of course he do, my lad. He knows just where his orf forefoot ought to
be at one o'clock, and his near hind-foot at two. Why, he goes like
clockwork. I just winds him up once with a bit o' corn and a drink o'
water, starts him, and there's his old legs go tick-tack, tick-tack, and
his head swinging like a pendulow. Use 'is secon' natur', and all I've
got to do is to tie up the reins to the fore ladder and go to sleep if I
like, for he knows his way as well as a Christian. 'Leven o'clock I
starts; four o'clock he gets to the market; and if it wasn't for
thieves, and some one to look after the baskets, that old hoss could go
and do the marketing all hisself."
It was all wonderfully fresh and enjoyable to me, that ride along the
quiet country road, with another market cart jolting on about a hundred
yards ahead, and another one as far behind, while no doubt there were
plenty more, but they did not get any closer together, and no one seemed
to hurry or trouble in the least.
We trudged on together for some distance, and then Ike made a couple of
seats for us under the ladder by folding up sacks, on one of which I
sat, on the other he. Very uncomfortable seats I should call them now;
most enjoyable I thought them then, and with no other drawback than a
switch now and then from the horse's long tail, an attention perfectly
unnecessary, for at that time of night there were no flies.
There was not much to see but hedgerows and houses and fields as we
jolted slowly on. Once we met what Ike called the "padrole," and the
mounted policeman, in his long cloak and with the scabbard of his sabre
peeping from beneath, looked to me a very formidable personage; but he
was not too important to wish Ike a friendly good-night.
We had passed the horse-patrol about a quarter of a mile, when all at
once we heard some one singing, or rather howling:
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
This was repeated over and over again, and seemed as we sat there under
our basket canopy to come from some one driving behind us; but the
jolting of the cart and the grinding of wheels and the horse's trampling
drowned the sound of the following vehicle, and there it went on:
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
But the singer pronounced it _Do-ho-ver_; and then it went on over and
over again.
"Yes," said Ike, as if he had been talking about something; "them
padroles put a stop to that game."
"What game?" I said.
"Highwaymen's. This used to be one of their fav'rite spots, from here
away to Hounslow Heath. There was plenty of 'em in the old days, with
their spanking horses and their pistols, and their `stand and deliver'
to the coach passengers. Now you couldn't find a highwayman for love or
money, even if you wanted him to stuff and putt in a glass case."
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
"I wish you'd stopped there," said Ike, in a grumbling voice. "Ah,
those used to be days. That's where Dick Turpin used to go, you know--
Hounslow Heath."
"But there are none now?" I said, with some little feeling of
trepidation.
"Didn't I tell you, no," said Ike, "unless that there's one coming on
behind. How much money have you got, lad?"
"Two shillings and sixpence and some halfpence."
"And I've got five and two, lad. Wouldn't pay to keep a blood-horse to
rob us, would it?"
"No," I said. "Didn't they hang the highwaymen in chains, Ike?"
"To be sure they did. I see one myself swinging about on Hounslow
Heath."
"Wasn't it very horrible?"
"I dunno. Dessay it was. Just look how reg'lar old Bonyparty goes
along, don't he--just in the same part of the road? I dessay he's
a-counting all the steps he takes, and checking of 'em off to see how
many more he's got to go through."
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
"I say, I wish that chap would pass us--it worries me," cried Ike
pettishly. Then he went on: "Roads warn't at all safe in those days, my
lad. There was footpads too--chaps as couldn't afford to have horses,
and they used to hang under the hedges, just like that there dark one
yonder, and run out and lay holt of the reins, and hold a pistol to a
man's head."
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
"Go agen then, and stop," growled Ike irritably. "Swep' all away, my
lad, by the road-police, and now--"
"There's a man standing in the dark here under this hedge, Ike," I
whispered. "Is--is he likely to be a foot-pad?"
"Either a footpad or a policeman. Which does he look like?" said Ike.
"Policeman," I whispered. "I think I saw the top of his hat shine."
"Right, lad. You needn't be scared about them sort o' gentlemen now.
As Old Brownsmith says, gas and steam-engines and police have done away
with them, and the road's safe enough, night or day."
We jolted on past the policeman, who turned his bull's-eye lantern upon
us for a moment, so that I could see Basket's ribs and the profile of
Ike's great nose as he bent forward with his arms resting on his legs.
There was a friendly "good-night," and we had left him about a couple of
hundred yards behind, when, amidst the jolting of the cart and the
creaking of the baskets overhead, ike said suddenly:
"Seem to have left that chap behind, or else he's gone to--"
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
"Why, if he ar'n't there agen!" cried Ike savagely. "Look here, it
worries me. I'd rayther have a dog behind barking than a chap singing
like that. I hates singing."
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
"Look here," said Ike; "I shall just draw to one side and wait till
he've gone by. Steady, Bony; woa, lad! Now he may go on, and sing all
the way to Dover if he likes."
Suiting the action to the word Ike pulled one rein; but Basket kept
steadily on, and Ike pulled harder. But though Ike pulled till he drew
the horse's head round so that he could look at us, the legs went on in
the same track, and we did not even get near the side of the road.
"He knows it ain't right to stop here," growled Ike. "Woa, will yer!
What a obstin't hammer-headed old buffler it is! Woa!"
Basket paid not the slightest heed for a few minutes. Then, as if he
suddenly comprehended, he stopped short.
"Thankye," said Ike drily; "much obliged. It's my belief, though, that
the wicked old walking scaffold was fast asleep, and has on'y just woke
up."
"Why, he couldn't go on walking in his sleep, Ike," I exclaimed.
"Not go on walking in his sleep, mate! That there hoss couldn't! Bless
your 'art, he'd do a deal more wonderful things than that. Well, that
there chap's a long time going by. I can't wait."
Ike looked back, holding on by the iron support of the ladder.
"I carnt see nothing. Just you look, mate, your side." I looked back
too, but could see nothing, and said so. "It's strange," growled Ike.
"Go on, Bony." The horse started again, the baskets creaked, the wheels
ground the gravel, and the cart jolted and jerked in its own particular
springless way, and then all of a sudden:
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
Ike looked sharply round at me, as if he half suspected me of
ventriloquism, and it seemed so comical that I began to laugh.
"Look here," he said in a hoarse whisper, "don't you laugh. There's
something wrong about this here."
He turned the other way, and holding tightly by the ladder looked out
behind, leaning a good way from the side of the cart.
"I can't see nothinct," he grumbled, as he drew back and bent forward to
pat the horse. "Seems rum."
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover." There was the song or
rather howl again, sounding curiously distant, and yet, odd as it may
seem, curiously near, and Ike leant towards me.
"I say," he whispered, "did you ever hear of anything being harnted?"
"Yes," I said, "I've heard of haunted houses."
"But you never heerd of a harnted market cart, did yer?"
"No," I said laughing; "never."
"That's right," he whispered.
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
I burst out laughing, though the next moment I felt a little queer, for
Ike laid his hand on my shoulder.
"Don't laugh, my lad," he whispered; "there's some'at queer 'bout this
here."
"Why, nonsense, Ike!" I said.
"Ah! you may say it's nonsense; but I don't like it."
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
This came very softly now, and it had such an effect on Ike that he
jumped down from the shaft into the road, and taking his whip from the
staple in which it was stuck, he let the cart pass him, and came round
the back to my side.
"Well?" I said; "is there a cart behind?"
"I can't hear one, and I can't see one," he whispered; "and I says it's
very queer. I don't like it, my lad, so there."
He let the cart pass him, went back behind it again, reached his own
seat, and climbed in under the ladder.
Bump, jolt, creak, on we went, and all at once Basket kicked a flint
stone, and there was a tiny flash of fire.
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."
There it was again, so loud that Ike seized the reins, and by main force
tried to stop the horse, which resisted with all its might, and then
stopped short with the baskets giving a jerk that threatened to send
them over the front ladder, on to the horse's back.
Ike jumped down on one side and I jumped down on the other. I was not
afraid, but the big fellow's uneasiness had its effect upon me, and I
certainly felt uncomfortable. There was something strange about riding
along that dark road in the middle of the night, and this being my first
experience of sitting up till morning the slightest thing was enough to
put me off my balance.
The horse went on, and Ike and I met at the back, looked about us, and
then silently returned to our seats, climbing up without stopping the
horse; but we had not been there a minute before Ike bounded off again,
for there once more, buzzing curiously in the air, came that curious
howling song:
"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."