THE STORY OF THE DEAD-ALIVE.
“Mark, mark, Ulysses! how the gods preserve
The men they love, even in their own despite!
They guide us, and we travel in the dark!
But when we most despair to hit the way
And least expect, we find ourselves arrived!”
_Lansdowne._
Black Morris drew his chair to his mother’s side, took her hand
lovingly in his own, and proceeded to tell his story:--
“When I met Bill Buckley,” said he, “in Thurston Wood, I was
struggling with a terrible temptation to take my own life, and so put
an end to my remorse for a wasted life and my fear of justice
together. Since that strange meeting with Mr. Clayton on the Bexton
highway I had lost all taste for the evil courses and companionships
which had so long disgraced my life. The idea of going back to them
filled me with a loathing that I can’t express, and I resolved to
break with them for ever. The thought of Jesus dying for His enemies,
of Mr. Clayton’s gentle kindness and forgiving love, with that ugly
scar upon his cheek, of my mother’s weakness and the minister’s visit
to her, upset me entirely, and I felt that I was too bad to live. I
went about from one place to another like a man in a dream. I kept
meeting with the fellows whose company I hated, and I could not get
away from them without appearing, at any rate, to be the same as
usual, though I believe they were led to suspect that I was not
altogether to be depended on. Things were like that up to the evening
of Kesterton Fair. I had been away to Gowthorp, to my Aunt Emma’s, to
get out of the road of a lot of fellows that I knew would want me to
go to the revels; but I felt so wretched that I could not stop
anywhere, and so it was that I was on the Kesterton Road, when Bill
Buckley, Dick Spink, and another chap, were on the look-out for Old
Crabtree. I refused to join them, when Bill Buckley seized me like a
vice, and with murder in his eyes declared that I should not leave
them till they had ‘settled with Old Crabtree.’ Mother!” said Black
Morris, “I had nothing to do with it, but the whole thing was done in
a few minutes, and when Spink hit the old man a blow on the head which
might have killed an ox, I managed to break away from Buckley, and ran
to the poor old fellow’s help. He fixed his eyes on me, with a look
such as I shall never forget, and said, ‘Black Morris! I know you!’ He
fell senseless directly after, and I felt that I should be charged
with highway robbery, and perhaps with murder. What happened after I
hardly know. I roamed about from place to place, expecting every
moment to be seized and punished for the crime. I said to myself it’s
no use; you’ve sold yourself to the devil, and must submit to the
bargain.” Here his voice faltered, and his hearers could not repress a
murmur of sympathy. “I felt myself to be the most forlorn and hopeless
wretch in the world. I found myself at last in Crib Corner, a dark,
low, sheltered spot in Thurston Wood, where I used to hide my gun and
other things. I heard a voice as plainly as I hear my own this
minute, ‘It’s all up with you, Black Morris! You can’t repent, and
you’re sure to be hanged. You had better shoot yourself like a man and
balk them all.’ I believe I should have done it, but for God’s mercy.
I went out with the gun in my hand, and walked rapidly up and down,
saying, I will; I will! Then I heard the cracking of the brushwood,
and I stood face to face with Bill Buckley! All the hate of a thousand
devils seized me at once. I clutched my gun, and my hands shook with
excitement as I heard the voice, as plain as ever, ‘Shoot him, Black
Morris; it’s the man who has put the halter round your neck!’ He
sneered at me and chuckled at the scrape he had brought me into. I
answered him in a passion; one word led to another; at last I told him
that the paper money had gone back to Old Crabtree. I was about to
tell him that I had told him of my innocence. Before I could finish
the sentence he yelled out, ‘Thoo black d----!’ and lifting his gun,
he fired at me. I seemed to feel an awful blow on my head, sharp pains
shot through my neck and face, everything reeled round me, and I fell
senseless on the ground. When I came to my senses I found myself
swimming, for you know I was always a good hand at that, swimming, as
naturally as though I had had my reason all the time. I heard the roar
and rush of water, and in a moment was floated along the cascade, and
plunged fathoms down into the deep pit below. I remember its being
awfully dark and cold. I had risen to the surface again on the further
side of the pit, and having recovered my breath, found myself at the
mouth of the shallow stream which feeds the fish-ponds. The rush of
water helped me through the opening, and seizing the grass and bushes
on the bank I managed to scramble out, to find myself laid on the
grass in Waverdale Park. For a long time I lay motionless and
helpless, though fully sensible, and I fancied I heard my father’s
voice at some distance having high words with somebody.”
“Bless my soul!” said Piggy Morris, strangely stirred; “that must have
been when I met with the young squire!”
“A severe and smarting pain in my head roused me,” said Black Morris,
continuing his startling story, “and then I recollected all about it.
I found that the skin, flesh, and hair had gone from near one temple,
that part of my ear was shot away, and I could feel some grains of
shot beneath the skin of my neck. My plunge into the cold and rapid
waters of the beck had stopped the bleeding. I felt that Bill Buckley
had missed his aim by an inch, and that, for good or evil, my life was
spared. I do not know whether you believe me, but there and then,
wounded and weak as I was, I fell upon my knees and thanked God. I
prayed as I had never prayed since I was a child. ‘Lord have mercy on
my poor soul!’ I said, ’and the life Thou hast spared shall be Thine
for ever!’ Mr. Clayton’s words about Jesus praying for His enemies
came into my mind, and I said, ‘Jesus! I have been Thy enemy, pray for
me.’ Mother mine! there and then I felt and knew that I was forgiven;
I seemed to hear a voice from the skies saying to me, ‘Go in peace and
sin no more!’ I got up with a strange peace in my heart, such as I had
never felt before.” Here Black Morris’s voice failed him, and he burst
into tears. Mother and sister wept in tender and thankful joy. Mr.
Clayton looked at Piggy Morris through his own tears, and saw two
pearly drops falling unhindered down the father’s bearded and sunburnt
face.
“New strength was given me,” continued Black Morris, “I bound my head
with my handkerchief, and was preparing to move away, when I heard
voices in the park. The remembrance of Old Crabtree’s murder, for as
such my fears had painted it, came back upon me like a thunderbolt. I
knew that I should now be in danger of a more successful attack from
Buckley, so silently stealing off under the shadow of the hedge, I
gained the shelter of Thurston Wood.”
“What a pity,” said Mr. Clayton, “that you did not follow the voices,
or go straight home to Midden Harbour!”
“I know it now,” said Morris, “but I could not get rid of my horror of
the gallows and of Bill Buckley’s hate. I had a new and passionate
love for life, and longed to get to some distant place, where,
unknown, unnoted, I could begin a new and better career. I struck
across the country, and found myself at last by a little solitary inn
on the turnpike road to Hull. The landlady regarded me with a good
deal of suspicion, but as I paid for some refreshment, and told her I
had fallen into some water, and should pass on after I had dried my
clothes, she did not further interfere. At last I found myself in
Hull, and got a job at some oil mills, and both there and at my
lodgings, in a quiet street, I felt that I was comparatively safe from
observation and pursuit; but, somehow or other, my peace of mind was
gone; all my new hatred of self and sin was as great as ever, but
still I had lost the joy and comfort which came to me in Waverdale
Park. Then I thought about my mother, and I began to feel that I had
done wrong to go away. Somebody seemed to say, ‘What doest thou here?’
I tried to pray, but could not, until one night after I had got to
bed, I tossed and sighed and grew so wretched that I got out of bed,
and falling on my knees, I said, ‘Oh! my God! tell me what to do?’ ‘Go
home!’ was the instant and powerful impression on my mind. ‘That’s
God’s orders,’ I said, and went to bed again with the settled resolve
to start for Nestleton as soon as Saturday came. As I was returning to
work after the dinner hour next day, I was walking along Silver-street
when I heard a well-known voice shout, ‘Black Morris!’ and I saw Old
Adam Olliver standing with his hands uplifted and both eyes and mouth
open, in unmistakable surprise. He stared and looked so thoroughly
thunderstricken as to attract the attention of the passers-by. When I
advanced to meet him, the old man drew back a few paces, but said
never a word.
“‘Hallo! Adam Olliver!’ said I. ’Is that you?’
“‘The Lord hae massy on us! Black Morris! are ye alive?’ and again the
old man started back in undisguised astonishment. ‘Why, all Nestleton
thinks ’at you’er layd at t’ bottom o’ Thurston Beck!’
“I felt half inclined to be thankful that this was so, because it put
any search for me on Old Crabtree’s account out of the question, and
with that feeling came one of sorrow that he had found me out. The
thought of my mother’s bitter grief, however, soon dissipated that
idea, and I felt how wrong it had been of me to go away. All this
passed through my mind in a moment. I said, ‘How is my mother, Adam?’
“The old man smiled, as he answered,--
“‘Just middlin’. Ah’s glad ’at you’ve ax’d efther hor. Ye’r heart’s
somewhere’s i’ t’ right spot; an’ t’ best thing yo can deea is te gan
streyt away yam an’ see ’er. Bud, bless my sowl, Black Morris! are yo’
alive?’
“He told me he had come to Hull, a greater journey than he had ever
taken in his life, to see an aged and dying sister; that he had closed
her eyes in peace, and was returning the next day.
“‘An’ you’ll gan wi’ ma’, weean’t yo’?’ said he.
“I replied, ‘I will. But tell me where you are staying, and I’ll come
and see you.’
“From him I learnt the pleasing news that Old Crabtree had survived
his injuries; that he was in all respects an altered man; and that he
had expressed his opinion that I was innocent of the outrage that
nearly took his life.
“‘Bud,’ said Adam, ‘there’s a pratty peck o’ trubble aboot you. They
say ’at t’ yung squire was fun’ i’ t’ spot wheer yo’ were kill’d, wi’
your gun iv his hand, an’ your blood on his clooas; an’ ’at he
murder’d yo’ iv a quarrel aboot Lucy Blyth. Ah nivver beleeaved it,
though ah did think ’at somebody ’ad shutten yo’. Maister Philip’s a
good lad, an’ wadn’t ho’t a worm. It’s throan ’im intiv a brain
feeaver, an’ t’ poor aud squire’s varry near fit for Bedlam wi’
sorro’. Gan yer ways yam, Morris, as fast as ye’r legs’ll carry yo’,
an’ put t’ poor aud man oot ov ’is misery.’
“I reached Waverdale Hall late at night, and told the squire all about
it. He insisted, in his gratitude, that I should stay all night, and
so it happened that when Bill Buckley, the housebreaker, saw me, he
fell on the stairs like a dead man, shrieking, ‘Black Morris’s ghost!’
And now, mother,” said he, as he concluded his stirring recital, “I’m
back again to be a comfort and a help to you; and never again, by
God’s help, to cause you a sigh or a tear.”
The proud and happy mother, like the parent of the prodigal in the
unmatched Gospel story, “fell upon his neck and kissed him.”
“Father,” said Black Morris, “I’ve been a bad and reckless son;
forgive _me_, once for all.”
Piggy Morris rose from his chair, took the two hands of his son in
his, and said,--
“Son Jack, a greater brute of a feyther never made a lad go wrong.
Forgive _me_, once for all.”
Mary was utterly overcome at this, and flinging her arms around her
father’s neck, kissed him on either cheek, which was in itself a deed
unknown from childhood until now.
“Let us pray,” said Mr. Clayton. That good man lifted up his voice in
praise and prayer; and no happier, holier scene took place on that
cold December day, and no more sweetly solemn spot was looked upon by
angels than that which was sheltered by the roof-tree of Piggy
Morris.