PROMETHEUS VINCTUS.
"I will not die like this! It is unseemly to die like this!" the Rev.
Thomas Hardenow was exclaiming at this very time, but a few miles off.
"I hope I am not a coward altogether; but the ignominy is unbearable.
In this den of Eumæus, this sty of Sycorax, entangled in the meshes of
a foul hog-net, and with hogs' grunt, grunt, for the chorus of my
woes! My Prometheus class is just waiting for me at the present
moment, so far as I can reckon here the climbing of the day; and I had
rendered into English verses that delicious bit of chorus--'With thy
woes of mighty groaning, mortals feel a fellow-moaning, And of Colchic
land indwellers, maids who never quail in fight;' and so on--how
small-minded of me to forget it now!--down to, 'And springs of
holy-watered rivers wail thy pitiable woe.' But instead of nymphs of
ocean, here comes that old pig again! If he could only grout up that
board--which he must do sooner or later--what part of me will he begin
upon? Probably this little finger--it is so white and helpless! If I
could only, only move!--to be eaten alive by pigs! Well, well--there
is not so very much left for them. Infinitely better men have had a
lower end than that. Only I would bend my knees--if bend them I
could--to the Giver of all good, that I may be insensible before the
pigs begin."
His plight was a very unfortunate one; but still in the blackest veil
of woe there is sure to be some little threadbare place--from so many
people having worn that veil--and even poor Hardenow had one good
"look-out." To wit, although he had been without food for
six-and-twenty hours now (having been caught in the treacherous toils
soon after he set his toes towards his dinner), he was not by any
means in the same state in which a Low-Church clergyman must have
been. His system was so attuned to fasting, and all his parts so
disciplined, that "cupboard" was only whispered among them in a
submissive manner; and even his stomach concluded sorrowfully that it
must be Friday.
Beyond this considerable advantage--which could not last much
longer--there was really little to console him. His cowardly captors,
not content with the rabbit-net twined round him, had swathed him also
in the stronger meshes of a corded gig-net. And even after that, Black
George, having had the handling of his legs, and discovered the vigour
of their boniness, was so impressed that he called out--"I never did
heckle such a wiry chap. Fetch a pair of they tough thongs, Tickuss,
same as thou makest use of for ringing of the pigs, my lad."
"Whish!--can't 'ee whish, with my name so pat?" Leviticus whispered
sulkily; but he brought the unyielding thongs, wherewith the fellow
and tutor of Brasenose very soon had his wrists and ankles strapped.
And in spite of all struggles through the livelong night, as firmly as
a trussed hare was he fixed.
Nevertheless, he could roll a little, though not very fast, because
his elbows stopped him; for being of the sharpest they stuck into the
ground, which was of a loamy nature. He fought with this difficulty,
as with every other; for a braver heart never dwelled in any body,
whether fat or lean; and he plucked up his angles from their bed of
earth, whenever the limits of cord would yield. He knew all about the
manufacture of twine--so far as one not in the trade could know
it--because he had got up the subject for the sake of a whipcord of a
puzzle in Theocritus; but this only served to make his case the worse;
for at that time honest string was made. The dressing, and the facing,
and the thousand other rogueries, make it quite impossible to tie a
good knot now; and even if a strap has any leather in it, its first
operation is a compromise.
But at that stouter period, bind made bound. Mr. Hardenow could roll a
little; but that was as much as he could do. And rolling did him very
little good, except by way of exercise; because he was pulled up short
so suddenly by feather-edged boarding, with a coat of tar. The place
in which he was penned was most unworthy of such an occupant. It was
not even the principal meal-house, or the best treasury of "wash." It
was not the kitchen of the tasteful pigs, or even their back-kitchen,
but something combining the qualities of their scullery and dust-bin.
But the floor was clean, and a man lying lowly, so far as smell was
concerned, had certainly the best of the situation; inasmuch as all
odours must ascend to the pure ether of the exalted. Hardenow knew
that it was vain to roll, because the door was padlocked, and the
lower end, to which he chiefly tended, had a loose board, lifted every
now and then by the unringed snout of a very good old sow. Pure
curiosity was her motive, and no evil appetite, as her eyes might
tell. She had never seen a fellow and a tutor of a college rolling, as
she herself loved to do; and yet in a comparatively clumsy way. She
grunted deep disapproval of his movements, and was vexed that her
instructions were entirely thrown away.
"Ah, Linus, Linus be the cry; and let the good be conqueror!" Mr.
Hardenow quoted, as his legs began to ache; "henceforth, if I have any
henceforth, how palpably shall I realise the difference between the
alindethra and the circular conistra! In this limited place I combine
the two; but without the advantages of either. I take it that, whether
of horse, or hen, or human being, the essential condition of
revolutionary enjoyment is--that the limbs be free. In my case, they
are not free. The exhilaration which would ensue, and of which, if I
remember rightly, Pliny speaks--or is it Ælian?--my memory seems to be
rolling too; but be the authority what it will, in my case that
exhilaration is (at least for the moment) not forthcoming. But I ought
to condemn myself far rather than writers who treat of a subject with
the gravity of authority; that is to say, if they ever tried it.
'Experimentum in corpore vili,' is what all writers have preferred. If
their own bodies were not too noble, what powerful impress they might
have left!"
After such a cynical delivery as this, it served him particularly
right to hit, in the course of revolution, upon a bit of bone even
harder than his own; a staunch piece of noble old ossification
(whether of herbivorous, carnivorous, or omnivorous dragon), such as
would have brought Professor Buckland from Christ Church headlong, or
even Professor Owen, from the British Museum, the Melampus of all good
dragons. Hardenow knew nothing about it; except that it ran into him,
and jerked him in such a way over the ground, that he got into the
highest corner, and gladly would have rubbed himself, if good hemp had
yielded room for it.
But this sad blow, which seemed at first the buffet of the third and
crowning billow of his woe, proved to be a blessing in disguise;
inasmuch as the reaction impelled him to a spot where he descried some
encouragement to work. And a little encouragement was enough for him.
By virtue of inborn calmness, long classical training and memories,
and pure Anglo-Catholic discipline, the young man was still "as fresh
as paint," in a trouble which would have exhausted the vigour of a far
more powerful and fiery man. Russel Overshute, for instance, even in
his best health would have worn his wits out long ago, by futile
wrath, and raving hunger.
Mr. Hardenow could not even guess how there came to be quite a thick
cluster of pretty little holes, of about the size of a swan's quill,
drilled completely through the board against which his mishap had
driven him. The board was a stoutish slab of larch, cut
"feather-edged;" and the saw having struck upon most of these holes
obliquely, their form was elliptic instead of round, and their axes
not being at right angles to the board, they attracted no attention by
admitting light, since the light of course entered obliquely. In some
parts as close as the holes of a colander, in other places scattered
more widely, they jotted the plank for nearly a yard of its length,
and afforded a fine specimen of the penetrative powers of a colony of
_Sirex gigas_, so often mistaken for the hornet.
But though as to their efficient cause he could form no opinion,
Hardenow hoped that their final cause might be to save his life; which
he quietly believed to be in great peril. For he knew that he lay in
the remote obscurity of a sad and savage wood, unvisited by justice,
trade, or benefit of clergy. Here, if no good spirit came, or unseen
genius, to release him, die he must at his own leisure, which would be
a long one. And he could discover no moral to be read from his
pre-historic skeleton; unless it were that very low one--"stick to thy
own business."
A man of ordinary mind would not have troubled his head about this.
"_Post me, diluvium_," is the strengthening sentiment of this age; no
fulcrum whatever for any good work; and the death of all immortality.
Hardenow would have none of that; he had no idea of leaving ashes fit
to nourish nothing. Collecting his energies for a noble protest
against having lived altogether in vain, he brought his fettered
heels, like a double-headed hammer, as hard as his probolistic swing
could whirl, against the very thickest-crowded cells of bygone
domicile. The wooden shed rang, and the uprights shook, and the nose
of the sow at the lower end was jarred, and her feelings hurt; for,
truly speaking, her motives had been misunderstood. And if Hardenow
had but kept pigs of his own, he would have gone to work down there,
to help her, and so perhaps have got her to release him from his
toils. Everybody, however, must be allowed to go to work in his own
way: and to find fault with him, when he tries to do his best, is (as
all kind critics own) alike ungraceful and ungracious. Mr. Hardenow
worked right hard, as he always did at everything, and his heels had
their sparables as good as new, and capable of calcitration, though he
wore nothing stronger than Oxford shoes with a bow of silk ribbon on
the instep. The ribbon held fast, and he kicked or rather swung his
feet by a process of revolution, as bravely as if he had Hessian boots
on. At the very first stroke he had fetched out a splinter as big as
the scoop of a marrow-spoon; and delivering his coupled heels
precisely where little tunnels afforded target, in a quarter of an
hour he had worked a good hole, and was able to refresh himself with
the largeness of the outer world.
Not that he could, however skilled now in rolling, roll himself out of
his black jail yet--for the piece punched out was only four inches
wide--but that he got a very decent width (in proportion at least to
man's average view) for clear consideration of the world outside. And
what he saw now was a pretty little sight, or peep at country scenery.
For the wood, just here, was not so thick that a man could not see it
by reason of the trees--as the Irishman forcibly observed--but a
dotted slope of bush and timber widening and opening sunny reaches out
of the narrow forest track. There was no house to be seen, nor
cottage, nor even barn or stable, nor any moving creature, except a
pig or two grouting in the tufted grass, and gray-headed daws at
leisure perking and prying, for the good of their home-circle.
But presently the prisoner espied a wicket-gate, nearly at the bottom
of the sylvan slope, with a little space roughly stoned before
it--almost a sure sign, in a neighbourhood like that, of a human
dwelling-place inside. And when Hardenow's eyes, recovering tone,
assured him of the existence of some moss-grown steps, for the
climbing of a horse upon either side, he felt a sudden (though it may
not have been a strictly logical) happiness, from the warm idea that
there must be some of the human race not far from him. He placed his
lips close to the hole which he had made, and shouted his very
loudest, and then stopped a little while, to watch what might come of
it, and then sent forth another shout. But nothing came of it, except
that the pigs pricked up their ears and looked around and grunted; and
the jackdaws gave a little jerk or two, and flapped their wings, but
did not fly; and a soft woody echo, of a fibrous texture, answered as
weakly as a boy who does not know.
This was pretty much what Hardenow expected. He saw that the
wicket-gate was a long way off, three or four hundred yards perhaps;
but he did not know that his jailer, Tickuss Cripps, was the man who
lived inside of it. Otherwise his sagacious mind would have yielded
quiet mercy to his lungs. For Leviticus was such a cruel and cowardly
blunderer, that, in mere terror, he probably would have dashed grand
brains out. But luckily he was far away now, and so were all other
spies and villains; and only a little child--boy or girl, at that
distance nobody could say which--toddled out to the wicket-gate, and
laid fat arms against it, and laboured, with impatient grunts, to push
it open. Having seen no one for a long time now, Hardenow took an
extraordinary interest in the efforts of this child. The success or
the failure of this little atom could not in any way matter to him;
yet he threw his whole power of sight into the strain of the distant
conflict. He made up his mind that if the child got out, he should be
able to do the like.
Then having most accurate "introspection" (so far as humanity has such
gift) he feared that his mind must be a little on the wane, ere ever
such weakness entered it. To any other mind the wonder would have been
that his should continue to be so tough; but he hated shortcomings,
and began to feel them. Laying this nice question by, until there
should be no child left to look at, he gazed with his whole might at
this little peg of a body, in the distance, toppling forward, and
throwing out behind the weight of its great efforts. He wondered at
his own interest--as we all ought to wonder, if we took the trouble.
This little peg, now in battle with the gate, was a solid Peg in
earnest; a fine little Cripps, about five years old, as firm as if
just turned out of a churn. She was backward in speech, as all the
Crippses are; and she rather stared forth her ideas than spoke them.
But still, let her once get a settlement concerning a thing that must
be done to carry out her own ideas; and in her face might be seen,
once for all, that stop she never would till her own self had done it.
Hardenow could not see any face, but he felt quite a surety of
sturdiness, from the solid mould of attitude.
That heavy gate, standing stiffly on its heels, groaned
obstreperously, and gibed at the unripe passion of this little maid.
It banged her chubby knees, and it bruised her warted hand, and it
even bestowed a low cowardly buffet upon her expressive and determined
cheek. And while she lamented this wrong, and allowed want of judgment
to kick out at it, unjust it may have been, but true it is, that she
received a still worse visitation. The forefoot of the gate, which was
quite shaky and rattlesome in its joints, came down like a skittle-pin
upon her little toes, which were only protected on a Sunday. "Ototoi,
Ototoi!" cried Mr. Hardenow, with a thrilling gush of woe, as if his
own toes were undergoing it. Bitter, yet truly just, lamentation awoke
all the echoes of the woods and hills, and Hardenow thought that it
was all up now--that this small atom of the wooded world would accept
her sad fate, and run in to tell her mother.
But no; this child was the Carrier's niece; and a man's niece--under
some law of the Lord, untraced by acephalous progeny--takes after him
oftentimes a great deal closer than his own beloved daughter does.
Whether or no, here was this little animal, as obstinate as the very
Carrier. Taught by adversity she did thus:--Against the gate-post she
settled her most substantial availability, and exerted it, and spared
it not. Therewith she raised one solid leg, and spread the naked foot
thereof, while her lips were as firm as any toe of all the lot,
against the vile thing that had knocked her about, and the power that
was contradicting her. Nothing could withstand this fixed resolution
of one of the far more resolute moiety of humanity. With a creak of
surrender, the gate gave back; and out came little Peggy Cripps, with
a broad face glowing with triumph, which suddenly fell into a length
of terror, as the vindictive gate closed behind her. To get out had
been a great labour, but to get back was an impossibility; and
Hardenow, even so far away, could interpret the gesture of despair and
horror. "Poor little thing! How I wish that I could help her!" he said
to himself, and very soon began to think that mutual aid might with
proper skill be compassed.
With this good idea, he renewed his shouts, but offered them in a more
insinuating form; and being now assured that the child was female, his
capacious mind framed a brief appeal to the very first instinct of all
female life. Possibly therefore the fairer half of pig and daw
creation appropriated with pleasure his address. At any rate, although
the child began to look around, she had no idea whence came the words,
"Pretty little dear! little beauty!" etc., with which the learned
prisoner was endeavouring to allure her.
But at last, by a very great effort and with pain, Hardenow managed to
extract from the nets his white cravat, or rather his cravat which had
been white, when it first hung down his back from the taloned clasp of
the hollies. By much contrivance and ingenious rollings, he brought
out a pretty good wisp of white, and hoisted it bravely betwixt gyved
feet, and at the little breach displayed it. And the soft breath of
May, which was wandering about, came and uncrinkled, and in little
tatters waved the universal symbol of Succession Apostolical, as well
as dinner-parties.
Little Peggy happened at this moment to be staring, with a loose
uncertain glimpse of thought that somebody somewhere was calling her.
By the flutter of the white cravat, her wandering eyes were caught at
last, and fixed for a minute of deliberate growth of wonder. Not a
step towards that dreadful white ghost would she budge; but a
steadfast idea was implanted in her mind, and was likely to come up
very slowly.
"It is waste of time; I have lost half an hour. The poor little
thing--I have only scared her. Now let me think what I ought to do
next."
But even while he addressed himself to that very difficult problem,
Hardenow began to feel that he could not grapple with it. His mind was
as clear as ever, but his bodily strength was failing. He had often
fasted for a longer time, but never with his body invested thus, and
all his members straitened. The little girl sank from his weary eyes,
though he longed to know what would become of her; and he scarcely had
any perception at all of pigs that were going on after their manner,
and rabbits quite ready for their early dinner, the moment the sun
began to slope, and a fine cock partridge, who in his way was proud
because his wife had now laid a baker's dozen of eggs, and but for his
dissuasion would begin to sit to-morrow; and after that a round-nosed
hare, with a philoprogenitive forehead, but no clear idea yet of
leverets; and after that, as the shadows grew long, a cart, drawn by a
horse, as carts seem always to demand that they shall be--the horse of
a strong and incisive stamp (to use the two pet words of the day), the
cart not so very far behind him there, as they gave word to stop at
the gate to one another--and in the cart, and above the cart, and
driving both it and the horse thereof, as Abraham drove on the plain
of Mamre, Zacchary Cripps; and sitting at his side, the far-travelled
and accomplished Esther.