THE MOCK BURIAL
For various reasons the event of the mock burial was postponed until
a night in late June; and then, through the dewy twilight of evening,
numerous persons proceeded from Lydford and outlying hamlets to the
field known as Thornyside above the river. Many motives took the
company, but not one amongst them knew the facts. Certain folk felt
interested in the revival of an ancient use; others were only
concerned with the excitement of a new thing; and most attended from
morbid desire to know what man and woman were to suffer this public
denunciation and rebuke.
The light waned after nine o'clock, and the dots and clusters of
spectators decreased upon the roads and thronged into a black mass
about the centre of Jacob Taverner's field. In the midst two graves
had been dug, and beside them, on trestles, lay two coffins close
together. The lids hid their contents. A rope fastened between
stakes ran round to prevent spectators from crowding upon performers.
Walter Agg and Peter Lethbridge were among the people. They smoked
their pipes, stood at the ring-side, and joked with the men about
them.
"When be the covers to be lifted, so as we shall see the parties?"
asked Lethbridge.
Mr. Nathaniel Spry was near and answered.
"When the torches are lighted, I believe. The procession comes down
from the cowshed over there. It is all to be done in the old way.
Mr. Huggins and Mr. Churchward both remember the ceremony in their
youth; and they were able to furnish the particulars. Wasn't you,
Mr. Churchward?"
"I was," said Adam, who stood close at hand. "In my boyhood's days
much was done that has been since forgotten. The common people have
a rough sense of poetic justice. So has the human race in general.
Jarratt Weekes, my son-in-law, asked me to be the minister on this
occasion and read the burial service; but I refused, because it was
contrary to the dignity of my age or my calling. Moreover, Jarratt
will do it himself."
"He's the leading spirit, then?" asked Agg.
"I am violating no confidence when I answer that he is," replied
Adam. "He has an active sense of justice--a thing specially acute in
those who are suffering from injustice. I fear we are about to
administer a harsh lesson to some erring brother and sister. Yet who
shall say it won't be well deserved?"
"Perhaps the parties will," suggested Lethbridge; "bound to come as
an ugly shock to them, no doubt."
"You are quite right, my man," declared Nathaniel Spry. "It is a
very tragical thought, isn't it, Mr. Churchward? that the very people
themselves may at this moment be laughing and joking by these graves,
little knowing that their own effigies are lying within a few yards
of them in those boxes."
"A very tragical thought indeed," admitted the schoolmaster. "So
much so, in fact, that I wish we had three or four more constables
here, instead of merely Arthur Routleigh. He is a good man enough
for keeping order amid ordinary people; but he might lose his head at
a crisis. However, he has the majesty of the Law behind him."
"Jimmery! There's Joe Tapson!" cried Agg suddenly. "What the
mischief's that on his head?"
Mr. Tapson, clad in black, with flowing mourning bands fluttering
from an old beaver hat, passed hastily and disappeared into the
cowshed.
"He's the undertaker," explained Mr. Spry. "Everything is done in
the proper way, so that the ceremony may be solemn and awe-striking.
They wanted Valentine Huggins to be undertaker, but the old man was
frightened to do anything so prominent. Then they asked me, but I
had to refuse owing to my official position in Lydford as postmaster
under Government."
"There goeth Noah Pearn, with his man and a barrel of beer," said
Lethbridge. "He'll broach it under the hedge. Never loses a chance,
that chap."
The crowd increased and began to grow impatient. Shouts were
directed to the cowshed, which was now illuminated brightly from
within. Then Mr. Huggins, in deep black, against which his white
beard shone luminously, came out and hobbled to the policeman in
charge of the ring.
"Tell 'em the procession moves at ten o'clock sharp, will 'e, Arthur?
And mind you have a way cleared through the people to the graveside,
so there shan't be nothing onseemly done."
Mr. Routleigh raised his voice and proclaimed the news. Then he
drove some boys out of the ring. They had crept in behind him and
were trying to peep under the coffin lids.
Not many women were present, though many desired to be. Their men in
most cases had forbidden them. Certain wives, however, who were not
under dominion, attended the rite; and among these stood Mrs. Philip
Weekes. Her daughter-in-law was beside her and, hidden from them,
Susan Huggins and her gamekeeper also mingled with the people.
"I don't like it, whoever 'tis," declared Hephzibah. "But since it
had to be, I'm here. To bury the living be a very terrible piece of
work, and I hope to heaven nothing evil will come of it."
"She deserves it, whoever she be," said Jarratt's wife.
"You mean you don't know who 'tis?"
"Not me, mother."
Mrs. Weekes sniffed.
"It puzzles my spirit to know how a man can keep anything hidden from
his wife. If I'd been in your shoes, I'd have got the woman's name,
and the man's name too, out of my husband double quick. Guy Fawkes
and angels!--who be they, I should like to know, to keep their
two-penny-halfpenny thoughts from us? A son's different. Of course
I couldn't make Jarratt tell me. I wish they'd get on with it. The
dew be going through my shoes and chilling me to the knees."
The church clock presently struck ten and a wave of excitement
rippled round the rope. People swept this way and that, as people
will. Shouts and laughter rose. The grass, trampled under many
feet, emitted its own odour, and from the open earth a faint smell
came. The sky was clear and a few stars twinkled. Light still hung
westward and the great bulk of Lydford Castle loomed square and black
against it.
A dance of many flames suddenly flashed through the grey gloom of
summer night. The dew answered, and the earth was streaked and shot
with points of fire. Above the smoky effulgence of the torches, the
sky appeared to grow very dark. Everything outside this radiance of
orange flame disappeared and was lost. Only within the glare the
procession appeared and moved forward--a medley of lurid lights and
ink black shadows.
"They're coming, they're coming!" cried many voices, and the solitary
policeman, opening the rope, struggled to make a way for them. Agg,
Lethbridge, and others, seeing his efforts futile, lent their aid,
and presently into the ring the performers slowly came with torches
waving above them. From the shed which they had left there echoed a
hollow reverberation, repeated at intervals of half a minute. This
represented the lich bell. A hymn rose as the procession approached,
and the shrill treble voices of six boys singing together sounded
thin and strange under the night.
The choir, in long white smocks, led the way. Then came six men with
torches; and then Mr. Huggins and Mr. Taverner appeared as mourners.
More torches followed, and Jarratt Weekes next played his part in a
parson's gown with a broad black stole hung over it. On one side of
him walked a boy with a book; on the other side a boy carried a tall
candle. The huge shape of the 'Infant' in black, with a hat-band
streaming behind him, followed; and at his side walked Joe Tapson,
similarly attired. The disparity in their sizes created much
merriment.
Into the ring they came. The boys took their places between the
graves; the men stuck their torches into sconces arranged for them
upon poles.
Then attention was paid to the coffins. Jarratt opened the book and
the boy with the big candle held it aloft, so that the light fell
upon the page. All was done with absolute order and decorum. The
spectators, not the performers, threatened to break the peace. A
great sheaf of light rose up into the darkness; a babel of voices
echoed. Laughter and shouts resounded round the ring, and under the
flickering fire the people searched each other's faces and called out
greetings. An effect impish and demonian danced upon every
countenance. Flame and darkness played at hood-man-blind together,
and now features were distorted, and now whole bodies loomed huge or
shrank and shrivelled under the light. Mrs. Weekes observed this
sinister transformation.
"Never seed such a shocking sight," she said to Philip.
"We'm like a ring of evil apes. 'Tis a flouting of religion to play
these tricks with it, and I wish I'd not been such a fool as to come.
To see us, you'd think 'twas Bostock's wild beasts, not Lydford, had
broke loose. Just look at the awful shape Adam Churchward cuts!"
"He don't look worse than he feels, if 'tis with him as it is with
me," answered Philip.
Elsewhere Agg spoke to Lethbridge.
"Can you mark Brendon? He was coming up a thought before ten o'clock
from the station, and he promised to look out for us. I'm afraid
he'll miss the fun."
"Can't see him; but he may be here," answered Peter. "Look at Jacob
Taverner. I'll die of laughing in a minute. The toad's pretending
to cry!"
Jarratt Weekes at this moment shouted for peace. Then Joe Tapson and
William Churchward approached the coffin-lids, while a very real
silence fell as the dolls were revealed. The creator's heart beat
fast under his great bosom. He hungered to hear a shout of instant
recognition; and indeed this was not long delayed.
With a ghostly semblance of life the effigies stared out, and the
feet of the coffins were lowered so that all might see. The throng
massed in front of the show, and the ringside behind the performers
was left empty.
What the people saw was a long, thin doll in riding breeches, Norfolk
jacket, and hard hat. It stared out with sunken, sallow cheeks, and
the torchlight played upon its life-size, life-like body. In the
other coffin lay the female doll, and her tow hair was drawn back
from her forehead and her red lips smiled. The face had been most
carefully modelled and painted; therefore its resemblance to Sarah
Jane Brendon was clear to all who knew her.
"God's light! what's this?" Lethbridge asked loudly; but Agg did not
answer.
A great murmur shook the throng. Names were cried back and forward.
A few laughed, some already shouted angrily for the mummery to cease.
"'Tis Sarah Jane and Hilary Woodrow--sure as I'm a sinful man," said
Philip Weekes to his wife.
She did not answer, but glared at the figures.
Several voices cried out "Sarah Jane Brendon!" Others remembered the
vanished farmer and named him. A spirit decidedly averse from the
performers was apparent in the crowd, and Philip Weekes voiced it.
"This is a damned, wicked, wanton shame!" he roared out; "and I say
it, though my own son's mixed in it."
"Order--order!" yelled a voice or two.
Mr. Huggins tried to get out of the ring, but was drawn back by the
Infant. Mr. Churchward and Mr. Spry among the spectators also showed
fear, and the latter, feeling that the sooner he departed from
Thornyside the better for his reputation, set out to do so. Adam, in
much concern, followed him. Jarratt Weekes, unmoved, proceeded
grimly with the service as long as he could be heard. He had seen
what none else had as yet; he had marked where the great form of
Daniel Brendon suddenly reared itself behind the crowd. His voice
shook at the sight, but he proceeded--
"'Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live and is
full of misery. He cometh up and is cut----'"
Then shouts drowned his voice and a resolute and angry faction got
over the rope with intent to stop the proceedings.
Mr. Taverner was appealed to by Jarratt Weekes.
"Stop 'em--stop 'em!--they can't interfere. This is private land!"
he shouted.
But Jacob had gone over to the other side.
"If I'd known who it was----" he began, and stripped his mourning
band off his hat.
At this sign the ring was broken up; a torch fell here and there and
illuminated the open graves; then, like the sudden charge of some
great beast, Brendon, who had at last understood, ploughed through
the people and cast them to right and left. In another moment his
hand was on the collar of Jarratt Weekes. With one sweep of his arm
he tore the surplice off; then he dashed the book aside; and then he
shook the mummer till Jarratt screamed and an answering scream came
from his mother.
"Speak," said Daniel. "Tell me why you've done this; and tell me why
I shouldn't let the life out of you for doing it!"
"Let go my neck, then," answered the other. Then he shouted to the
people, "Why don't you pull this fool away? D'you want to see me
killed?"
"Sarve you right," cried a dozen voices. "We'd do the like if we was
the husband!"
"Speak!" repeated Brendon. His eyes burnt redder than the flames of
the torch-fires round him.
"Then I will. I've done this thing because it was true. Ask John
Prout. True afore the living God; and may He blast me, and strike me
with all the curses of hell for all eternity now and for evermore if
it ban't true. True!--ask Prout--ask them we've mimicked
here--they'll not deny it!"
He pointed to the puppets staring mildly up at their makers.
For a moment Brendon held off and glared round him.
"Don't you believe the filthy liar, Dan!" bellowed Agg from the crowd.
"Let God strike me blind and mad now afore the people if it's not
true. Prout saw it--with his own eyes he saw it. Kill me if you
like--but it's true--true as the Bible is true--and you'll live to
know it," cried Weekes; and his grim earnestness appeared to affect
the principal listener.
Ignorant of what was doing, the boy in the shed still struck an old
iron bin to imitate a passing bell. The sound acted on the people as
a drum on a dervish. Brendon stood irresolute.
"Fling the beastly man into one of them graves and that big, fat fool
after him!" shouted a voice.
There was a rush for Weekes and William Churchward. Mud and stones
were flung, and a clod struck Jarratt in the mouth.
"Let him go--don't be cowards--let the man take his folly away!"
cried Hephzibah shrilly; but none listened. Amid roars and shouts
the mob surrounded Weekes and the younger Churchward. Joe Tapson and
the choir boys were kicked heartily; Mr. Huggins had escaped in time,
and now lurked behind a distant hedge and waited trembling to see
what might happen. The people next threw the dolls out of their
coffins, trod their putty faces into pulp and played football with
their limbs. A man embraced the female figure amid roars of
laughter. Then he danced with it.
Half a dozen resolute labourers dragged the Infant into one grave;
while others, including a private enemy or two, tied Weekes within an
empty coffin and lowered him into the second pit.
The passing bell still boomed on. Then the policeman, whose efforts
towards maintaining peace were vain, did a definite thing, rushed up
to the cowshed and stopped it.
Elsewhere Noah Pearn suffered. He had been standing rather anxiously
beside his beer barrel, until some reckless spirits discovered the
drink, and summoned others. Then Pearn was thrust into a ditch
without ceremony, and his liquor consumed under the darkness. Many
of the men present had come for miles, and those who belonged to the
neighbourhood cared nothing for the publican's threats. They drank
and presently emptied the barrel. Then a few intoxicated jesters
began to throw earth on Weekes and William Churchward, and it was not
until the parents of the two sufferers summoned aid and resolutely
attacked the reckless party, that Jarratt and the bruised and
battered Infant were rescued.
The torches expired and the folk at last departed. They left nothing
to mark the event but a torn and trampled field, the dismembered
limbs of the puppets, and the shattered timbers of their coffins.
Dawn found these things in their hideousness, and it also rose upon
two men deep in conversation together. Agg and Lethbridge,
appreciating the gravity of the position, had hurried home that some
preparation for Daniel's coming might be made. But he did not come.
They waited ready to intercept him and learn his mood and his
intentions; then night passed and morning failed to bring him.
Therefore they guessed that he must have followed the word of Jarratt
Weekes literally, and turned his face to the sea that he might speak
with Prout. They scorned the story, and dared not name it at
Ruddyford. But at the earliest opportunity they despatched a
telegram to Prout from Mary Tavy and warned him that he must stand
between Daniel Brendon and the master.
"He'll soon calm the man down, if 'tis false, as it must be," said
Agg. "Pray God no note of this gets to Sarah Jane's ears; yet that's
a vain hope, for everybody on Dartymoor will be chattering of it
inside twelve hours."
"I'm thinking of the man," answered Lethbridge. "If 'tis false,
he'll have the hide off Jarratt Weekes for this night's work; and if
'twas true, he wouldn't stop short of----"
"'True'! Who that have ever met that clean, fearless creature would
dare say it? Prout will calm the man down; but Lord pity them who
get within reach of Brendon's rage when he goes into Lydford again."
"He may have believed it, however, and gone from that field and
hanged himself," argued Lethbridge.
"Never! Would he wrong his wife like that--or Mr. Woodrow either?
No, he ban't the sort to let a lie change him. This blackguard thing
calls to be answered, and these insulted people will answer it."
"Daniel will for 'em, more likely. Master's so good as buried in
real earnest and far beyond fighting; and as for Sarah Jane, 'tis her
husband's part to make her name and fame sweet afore the nation."
"Which he will do--have no fear of that," answered Walter Agg.
At an early hour they despatched their telegram and Prout received
it. Half guessing the truth, he waited in fearful anxiety; but
Brendon did not come.