The night which followed was historic and memorable. Mrs. Loveday was
awakened by the boom of a distant gun: she told the miller, and they
listened awhile. The sound was not repeated, but such was the state of
their feelings that Mr. Loveday went to Bob's room and asked if he had
heard it. Bob was wide awake, looking out of the window; he had heard
the ominous sound, and was inclined to investigate the matter. While the
father and son were dressing they fancied that a glare seemed to be
rising in the sky in the direction of the beacon hill. Not wishing to
alarm Anne and her mother, the miller assured them that Bob and himself
were merely going out of doors to inquire into the cause of the report,
after which they plunged into the gloom together. A few steps' progress
opened up more of the sky, which, as they had thought, was indeed
irradiated by a lurid light; but whether it came from the beacon or from
a more distant point they were unable to clearly tell. They pushed on
rapidly towards higher ground.
Their excitement was merely of a piece with that of all men at this
critical juncture. Everywhere expectation was at fever heat. For the
last year or two only five-and-twenty miles of shallow water had divided
quiet English homesteads from an enemy's army of a hundred and fifty
thousand men. We had taken the matter lightly enough, eating and
drinking as in the days of Noe, and singing satires without end. We
punned on Buonaparte and his gunboats, chalked his effigy on
stage-coaches, and published the same in prints. Still, between these
bursts of hilarity, it was sometimes recollected that England was the
only European country which had not succumbed to the mighty little man
who was less than human in feeling, and more than human in will; that our
spirit for resistance was greater than our strength; and that the Channel
was often calm. Boats built of wood which was greenly growing in its
native forest three days before it was bent as wales to their sides, were
ridiculous enough; but they might be, after all, sufficient for a single
trip between two visible shores.
The English watched Buonaparte in these preparations, and Buonaparte
watched the English. At the distance of Boulogne details were lost, but
we were impressed on fine days by the novel sight of a huge army moving
and twinkling like a school of mackerel under the rays of the sun. The
regular way of passing an afternoon in the coast towns was to stroll up
to the signal posts and chat with the lieutenant on duty there about the
latest inimical object seen at sea. About once a week there appeared in
the newspapers either a paragraph concerning some adventurous English
gentleman who had sailed out in a pleasure-boat till he lay near enough
to Boulogne to see Buonaparte standing on the heights among his marshals;
or else some lines about a mysterious stranger with a foreign accent,
who, after collecting a vast deal of information on our resources, had
hired a boat at a southern port, and vanished with it towards France
before his intention could be divined.
In forecasting his grand venture, Buonaparte postulated the help of
Providence to a remarkable degree. Just at the hour when his troops were
on board the flat-bottomed boats and ready to sail, there was to be a
great fog, that should spread a vast obscurity over the length and
breadth of the Channel, and keep the English blind to events on the other
side. The fog was to last twenty-four hours, after which it might clear
away. A dead calm was to prevail simultaneously with the fog, with the
twofold object of affording the boats easy transit and dooming our ships
to lie motionless. Thirdly, there was to be a spring tide, which should
combine its manoeuvres with those of the fog and calm.
Among the many thousands of minor Englishmen whose lives were affected by
these tremendous designs may be numbered our old acquaintance Corporal
Tullidge, who sported the crushed arm, and poor old Simon Burden, the
dazed veteran who had fought at Minden. Instead of sitting snugly in the
settle of the Old Ship, in the village adjoining Overcombe, they were
obliged to keep watch on the hill. They made themselves as comfortable
as was possible in the circumstances, dwelling in a hut of clods and
turf, with a brick chimney for cooking. Here they observed the nightly
progress of the moon and stars, grew familiar with the heaving of moles,
the dancing of rabbits on the hillocks, the distant hoot of owls, the
bark of foxes from woods further inland; but saw not a sign of the enemy.
As, night after night, they walked round the two ricks which it was their
duty to fire at a signal--one being of furze for a quick flame, the other
of turf, for a long, slow radiance--they thought and talked of old times,
and drank patriotically from a large wood flagon that was filled every
day.
Bob and his father soon became aware that the light was from the beacon.
By the time that they reached the top it was one mass of towering flame,
from which the sparks fell on the green herbage like a fiery dew; the
forms of the two old men being seen passing and repassing in the midst of
it. The Lovedays, who came up on the smoky side, regarded the scene for
a moment, and then emerged into the light.
'Who goes there?' said Corporal Tullidge, shouldering a pike with his
sound arm. 'O, 'tis neighbour Loveday!'
'Did you get your signal to fire it from the east?' said the miller
hastily.
'No; from Abbotsea Beach.'
'But you are not to go by a coast signal!'
'Chok' it all, wasn't the Lord-Lieutenant's direction, whenever you see
Rainbarrow's Beacon burn to the nor'east'ard, or Haggardon to the
nor'west'ard, or the actual presence of the enemy on the shore?'
'But is he here?'
'No doubt o't! The beach light is only just gone down, and Simon heard
the guns even better than I.'
'Hark, hark! I hear 'em!' said Bob.
They listened with parted lips, the night wind blowing through Simon
Burden's few teeth as through the ruins of Stonehenge. From far down on
the lower levels came the noise of wheels and the tramp of horses upon
the turnpike road.
'Well, there must be something in it,' said Miller Loveday gravely. 'Bob,
we'll go home and make the women-folk safe, and then I'll don my
soldier's clothes and be off. God knows where our company will
assemble!'
They hastened down the hill, and on getting into the road waited and
listened again. Travellers began to come up and pass them in vehicles of
all descriptions. It was difficult to attract their attention in the dim
light, but by standing on the top of a wall which fenced the road Bob was
at last seen.
'What's the matter?' he cried to a butcher who was flying past in his
cart, his wife sitting behind him without a bonnet.
'The French have landed!' said the man, without drawing rein.
'Where?' shouted Bob.
'In West Bay; and all Budmouth is in uproar!' replied the voice, now
faint in the distance.
Bob and his father hastened on till they reached their own house. As
they had expected, Anne and her mother, in common with most of the
people, were both dressed, and stood at the door bonneted and shawled,
listening to the traffic on the neighbouring highway, Mrs. Loveday having
secured what money and small valuables they possessed in a huge pocket
which extended all round her waist, and added considerably to her weight
and diameter.
''Tis true enough,' said the miller: 'he's come! You and Anne and the
maid must be off to Cousin Jim's at King's-Bere, and when you get there
you must do as they do. I must assemble with the company.'
'And I?' said Bob.
'Thou'st better run to the church, and take a pike before they be all
gone.'
The horse was put into the gig, and Mrs. Loveday, Anne, and the servant-
maid were hastily packed into the vehicle, the latter taking the reins;
David's duties as a fighting-man forbidding all thought of his domestic
offices now. Then the silver tankard, teapot, pair of candlesticks like
Ionic columns, and other articles too large to be pocketed were thrown
into a basket and put up behind. Then came the leave-taking, which was
as sad as it was hurried. Bob kissed Anne, and there was no affectation
in her receiving that mark of affection as she said through her tears,
'God bless you!' At last they moved off in the dim light of dawn,
neither of the three women knowing which road they were to take, but
trusting to chance to find it.
As soon as they were out of sight Bob went off for a pike, and his
father, first new-flinting his firelock, proceeded to don his uniform,
pipe-claying his breeches with such cursory haste as to bespatter his
black gaiters with the same ornamental compound. Finding when he was
ready that no bugle had as yet sounded, he went with David to the cart-
house, dragged out the waggon, and put therein some of the most useful
and easily-handled goods, in case there might be an opportunity for
conveying them away. By the time this was done and the waggon pushed
back and locked in, Bob had returned with his weapon, somewhat mortified
at being doomed to this low form of defence. The miller gave his son a
parting grasp of the hand, and arranged to meet him at King's-Bere at the
first opportunity if the news were true; if happily false, here at their
own house.
'Bother it all!' he exclaimed, looking at his stock of flints.
'What?' said Bob.
'I've got no ammunition: not a blessed round!'
'Then what's the use of going?' asked his son.
The miller paused. 'O, I'll go,' he said. 'Perhaps somebody will lend
me a little if I get into a hot corner?'
'Lend ye a little! Father, you was always so simple!' said Bob
reproachfully.
'Well--I can bagnet a few, anyhow,' said the miller.
The bugle had been blown ere this, and Loveday the father disappeared
towards the place of assembly, his empty cartridge-box behind him. Bob
seized a brace of loaded pistols which he had brought home from the ship,
and, armed with these and a pike, he locked the door and sallied out
again towards the turnpike road.
By this time the yeomanry of the district were also on the move, and
among them Festus Derriman, who was sleeping at his uncle's, and had been
awakened by Cripplestraw. About the time when Bob and his father were
descending from the beacon the stalwart yeoman was standing in the stable-
yard adjusting his straps, while Cripplestraw saddled the horse. Festus
clanked up and down, looked gloomily at the beacon, heard the retreating
carts and carriages, and called Cripplestraw to him, who came from the
stable leading the horse at the same moment that Uncle Benjy peeped
unobserved from a mullioned window above their heads, the distant light
of the beacon fire touching up his features to the complexion of an old
brass clock-face.
'I think that before I start, Cripplestraw,' said Festus, whose lurid
visage was undergoing a bleaching process curious to look upon, 'you
shall go on to Budmouth, and make a bold inquiry whether the cowardly
enemy is on shore as yet, or only looming in the bay.'
'I'd go in a moment, sir,' said the other, 'if I hadn't my bad leg again.
I should have joined my company afore this; but they said at last drill
that I was too old. So I shall wait up in the hay-loft for tidings as
soon as I have packed you off, poor gentleman!'
'Do such alarms as these, Cripplestraw, ever happen without foundation?
Buonaparte is a wretch, a miserable wretch, and this may be only a false
alarm to disappoint such as me?'
'O no, sir; O no!'
'But sometimes there are false alarms?'
'Well, sir, yes. There was a pretended sally o' gunboats last year.'
'And was there nothing else pretended--something more like this, for
instance?'
Cripplestraw shook his head. 'I notice yer modesty, Mr. Festus, in
making light of things. But there never was, sir. You may depend upon
it he's come. Thank God, my duty as a Local don't require me to go to
the front, but only the valiant men like my master. Ah, if Boney could
only see 'ee now, sir, he'd know too well there is nothing to be got from
such a determined skilful officer but blows and musket-balls!'
'Yes, yes. Cripplestraw, if I ride off to Budmouth and meet 'em, all my
training will be lost. No skill is required as a forlorn hope.'
'True; that's a point, sir. You would outshine 'em all, and be picked
off at the very beginning as a too-dangerous brave man.'
'But if I stay here and urge on the faint-hearted ones, or get up into
the turret-stair by that gateway, and pop at the invaders through the
loophole, I shouldn't be so completely wasted, should I?'
'You would not, Mr. Derriman. But, as you was going to say next, the
fire in yer veins won't let ye do that. You are valiant; very good: you
don't want to husband yer valiance at home. The arg'ment is plain.'
'If my birth had been more obscure,' murmured the yeoman, 'and I had only
been in the militia, for instance, or among the humble pikemen, so much
wouldn't have been expected of me--of my fiery nature. Cripplestraw, is
there a drop of brandy to be got at in the house? I don't feel very
well.'
'Dear nephew,' said the old gentleman from above, whom neither of the
others had as yet noticed, 'I haven't any spirits opened--so unfortunate!
But there's a beautiful barrel of crab-apple cider in draught; and
there's some cold tea from last night.'
'What, is he listening?' said Festus, staring up. 'Now I warrant how
glad he is to see me forced to go--called out of bed without breakfast,
and he quite safe, and sure to escape because he's an old
man!--Cripplestraw, I like being in the yeomanry cavalry; but I wish I
hadn't been in the ranks; I wish I had been only the surgeon, to stay in
the rear while the bodies are brought back to him--I mean, I should have
thrown my heart at such a time as this more into the labour of restoring
wounded men and joining their shattered limbs together--u-u-ugh!--more
than I can into causing the wounds--I am too humane, Cripplestraw, for
the ranks!'
'Yes, yes,' said his companion, depressing his spirits to a kindred
level. 'And yet, such is fate, that, instead of joining men's limbs
together, you'll have to get your own joined--poor young sojer!--all
through having such a warlike soul.'
'Yes,' murmured Festus, and paused. 'You can't think how strange I feel
here, Cripplestraw,' he continued, laying his hand upon the centre
buttons of his waistcoat. 'How I do wish I was only the surgeon!'
He slowly mounted, and Uncle Benjy, in the meantime, sang to himself as
he looked on, '_Twen-ty-three and half from N.W._ _Six-teen and three-
quar-ters from N.E._'
'What's that old mummy singing?' said Festus savagely.
'Only a hymn for preservation from our enemies, dear nephew,' meekly
replied the farmer, who had heard the remark. '_Twen-ty-three and half
from N.W_.'
Festus allowed his horse to move on a few paces, and then turned again,
as if struck by a happy invention. 'Cripplestraw,' he began, with an
artificial laugh, 'I am obliged to confess, after all--I must see her!
'Tisn't nature that makes me draw back--'tis love. I must go and look
for her.'
'A woman, sir?'
'I didn't want to confess it; but 'tis a woman. Strange that I should be
drawn so entirely against my natural wish to rush at 'em!'
Cripplestraw, seeing which way the wind blew, found it advisable to blow
in harmony. 'Ah, now at last I see, sir! Spite that few men live that
be worthy to command ye; spite that you could rush on, marshal the troops
to victory, as I may say; but then--what of it? there's the unhappy fate
of being smit with the eyes of a woman, and you are unmanned! Maister
Derriman, who is himself, when he's got a woman round his neck like a
millstone?'
'It is something like that.'
'I feel the case. Be you valiant?--I know, of course, the words being a
matter of form--be you valiant, I ask? Yes, of course. Then don't you
waste it in the open field. Hoard it up, I say, sir, for a higher class
of war--the defence of yer adorable lady. Think what you owe her at this
terrible time! Now, Maister Derriman, once more I ask ye to cast off
that first haughty wish to rush to Budmouth, and to go where your mis'ess
is defenceless and alone.'
'I will, Cripplestraw, now you put it like that!'
'Thank ye, thank ye heartily, Maister Derriman. Go now and hide with
her.'
'But can I? Now, hang flattery!--can a man hide without a stain? Of
course I would not hide in any mean sense; no, not I!'
'If you be in love, 'tis plain you may, since it is not your own life,
but another's, that you are concerned for, and you only save your own
because it can't be helped.'
''Tis true, Cripplestraw, in a sense. But will it be understood that
way? Will they see it as a brave hiding?'
'Now, sir, if you had not been in love I own to ye that hiding would look
queer, but being to save the tears, groans, fits, swowndings, and perhaps
death of a comely young woman, yer principle is good; you honourably
retreat because you be too gallant to advance. This sounds strange, ye
may say, sir; but it is plain enough to less fiery minds.'
Festus did for a moment try to uncover his teeth in a natural smile, but
it died away. 'Cripplestraw, you flatter me; or do you mean it? Well,
there's truth in it. I am more gallant in going to her than in marching
to the shore. But we cannot be too careful about our good names, we
soldiers. I must not be seen. I'm off.'
Cripplestraw opened the hurdle which closed the arch under the portico
gateway, and Festus passed under, Uncle Benjamin singing, _Twen-ty-three
and a half from N.W._ with a sort of sublime ecstasy, feeling, as Festus
had observed, that his money was safe, and that the French would not
personally molest an old man in such a ragged, mildewed coat as that he
wore, which he had taken the precaution to borrow from a scarecrow in one
of his fields for the purpose.
Festus rode on full of his intention to seek out Anne, and under cover of
protecting her retreat accompany her to King's-Bere, where he knew the
Lovedays had relatives. In the lane he met Granny Seamore, who, having
packed up all her possessions in a small basket, was placidly retreating
to the mountains till all should be over.
'Well, granny, have ye seen the French?' asked Festus.
'No,' she said, looking up at him through her brazen spectacles. 'If I
had I shouldn't ha' seed thee!'
'Faugh!' replied the yeoman, and rode on. Just as he reached the old
road, which he had intended merely to cross and avoid, his countenance
fell. Some troops of regulars, who appeared to be dragoons, were
rattling along the road. Festus hastened towards an opposite gate, so as
to get within the field before they should see him; but, as ill-luck
would have it, as soon as he got inside, a party of six or seven of his
own yeomanry troop were straggling across the same field and making for
the spot where he was. The dragoons passed without seeing him; but when
he turned out into the road again it was impossible to retreat towards
Overcombe village because of the yeomen. So he rode straight on, and
heard them coming at his heels. There was no other gate, and the highway
soon became as straight as a bowstring. Unable thus to turn without
meeting them, and caught like an eel in a water-pipe, Festus drew nearer
and nearer to the fateful shore. But he did not relinquish hope. Just
ahead there were cross-roads, and he might have a chance of slipping down
one of them without being seen. On reaching the spot he found that he
was not alone. A horseman had come up the right-hand lane and drawn
rein. It was an officer of the German legion, and seeing Festus he held
up his hand. Festus rode up to him and saluted.
'It ist false report!' said the officer.
Festus was a man again. He felt that nothing was too much for him. The
officer, after some explanation of the cause of alarm, said that he was
going across to the road which led by the moor, to stop the troops and
volunteers converging from that direction, upon which Festus offered to
give information along the Casterbridge road. The German crossed over,
and was soon out of sight in the lane, while Festus turned back upon the
way by which he had come. The party of yeomanry cavalry was rapidly
drawing near, and he soon recognized among them the excited voices of
Stubb of Duddle Hole, Noakes of Muckleford, and other comrades of his
orgies at the hall. It was a magnificent opportunity, and Festus drew
his sword. When they were within speaking distance he reined round his
charger's head to Budmouth and shouted, 'On, comrades, on! I am waiting
for you. You have been a long time getting up with me, seeing the
glorious nature of our deeds to-day!'
'Well said, Derriman, well said!' replied the foremost of the riders.
'Have you heard anything new?'
'Only that he's here with his tens of thousands, and that we are to ride
to meet him sword in hand as soon as we have assembled in the town ahead
here.'
'O Lord!' said Noakes, with a slight falling of the lower jaw.
'The man who quails now is unworthy of the name of yeoman,' said Festus,
still keeping ahead of the other troopers and holding up his sword to the
sun. 'O Noakes, fie, fie! You begin to look pale, man.'
'Faith, perhaps you'd look pale,' said Noakes, with an envious glance
upon Festus's daring manner, 'if you had a wife and family depending upon
ye!'
'I'll take three frog-eating Frenchmen single-handed!' rejoined Derriman,
still flourishing his sword.
'They have as good swords as you; as you will soon find,' said another of
the yeomen.
'If they were three times armed,' said Festus--'ay, thrice three times--I
would attempt 'em three to one. How do you feel now, my old friend
Stubb?' (turning to another of the warriors.) 'O, friend Stubb! no
bouncing health to our lady-loves in Oxwell Hall this summer as last. Eh,
Brownjohn?'
'I am afraid not,' said Brownjohn gloomily.
'No rattling dinners at Stacie's Hotel, and the King below with his
staff. No wrenching off door-knockers and sending 'em to the bakehouse
in a pie that nobody calls for. Weeks of cut-and-thrust work rather!'
'I suppose so.'
'Fight how we may we shan't get rid of the cursed tyrant before autumn,
and many thousand brave men will lie low before it's done,' remarked a
young yeoman with a calm face, who meant to do his duty without much
talking.
'No grinning matches at Mai-dun Castle this summer,' Festus resumed; 'no
thread-the-needle at Greenhill Fair, and going into shows and driving the
showman crazy with cock-a-doodle-doo!'
'I suppose not.'
'Does it make you seem just a trifle uncomfortable, Noakes? Keep up your
spirits, old comrade. Come, forward! we are only ambling on like so many
donkey-women. We have to get into Budmouth, join the rest of the troop,
and then march along the coast west'ard, as I imagine. At this rate we
shan't be well into the thick of battle before twelve o'clock. Spur on,
comrades. No dancing on the green, Lockham, this year in the moonlight!
You was tender upon that girl; gad, what will become o' her in the
struggle?'
'Come, come, Derriman,' expostulated Lockham--'this is all very well, but
I don't care for 't. I am as ready to fight as any man, but--'
'Perhaps when you get into battle, Derriman, and see what it's like, your
courage will cool down a little,' added Noakes on the same side, but with
secret admiration of Festus's reckless bravery.
'I shall be bayoneted first,' said Festus. 'Now let's rally, and on!'
Since Festus was determined to spur on wildly, the rest of the yeomen did
not like to seem behindhand, and they rapidly approached the town. Had
they been calm enough to reflect, they might have observed that for the
last half-hour no carts or carriages had met them on the way, as they had
done further back. It was not till the troopers reached the turnpike
that they learnt what Festus had known a quarter of an hour before. At
the intelligence Derriman sheathed his sword with a sigh; and the party
soon fell in with comrades who had arrived there before them, whereupon
the source and details of the alarm were boisterously discussed.
'What, didn't you know of the mistake till now?' asked one of these of
the new-comers. 'Why, when I was dropping over the hill by the cross-
roads I looked back and saw that man talking to the messenger, and he
must have told him the truth.' The speaker pointed to Festus. They
turned their indignant eyes full upon him. That he had sported with
their deepest feelings, while knowing the rumour to be baseless, was soon
apparent to all.
'Beat him black and blue with the flat of our blades!' shouted two or
three, turning their horses' heads to drop back upon Derriman, in which
move they were followed by most of the party.
But Festus, foreseeing danger from the unexpected revelation, had already
judiciously placed a few intervening yards between himself and his fellow-
yeomen, and now, clapping spurs to his horse, rattled like thunder and
lightning up the road homeward. His ready flight added hotness to their
pursuit, and as he rode and looked fearfully over his shoulder he could
see them following with enraged faces and drawn swords, a position which
they kept up for a distance of more than a mile. Then he had the
satisfaction of seeing them drop off one by one, and soon he and his
panting charger remained alone on the highway.