One of the chief actors in the incident about to be related was a
machine, and it is important that the reader should have this machine in
his mind's eye. It was a motor-bicycle, furnished in the midst with a
sputtering little engine, said to contain in its entrails the power of
three horses and a half. To the side thereof was attached a small
vehicle like a bath-chair, in which favoured friends of the writer are
from time to time either permitted or invited to ride.
On this occasion the bath-chair was empty, and a long journey was
drawing to a close. It is true that at various periods of the day I had
enjoyed the company of a passenger in this humble but lively little
carriage. The first had been a clergyman, who, I believe, had invented a
distant engagement for the sole purpose of inducing me to give him a
ride in my car. To him there had succeeded a series of small boys,
picked up in various villages, each of whom, at the conclusion of a
brief but mad career through space, was duly dismissed with a penny and
a strict injunction to be a good lad to his mother. The last lift had
been given to an aged wayfarer whose weary and travel-stained appearance
had excited my compassion. No sooner, however, was the machine under
weigh than I discovered, in spite of my will to believe otherwise, that
my passenger was suffering not from fatigue, but from intoxication. To
get rid of him was no easy matter, and the employment of stratagem
became necessary. What the stratagem was, I shall pass over; I will only
say that it was not in accordance with any _recognised_ form of the
categorical imperative. However, the ruse succeeded, and now, as I have
said, the car was empty. Thus were concluded the prolegomena to that
great act of altruism which was to crown the day.
It was in a part of the country consecrated by the genius of a great
novelist (as what part of England is not?) that these things took place.
I found myself in the narrow streets of an ancient town--and it was
market-day. The roadway was thronged with red-faced men and women; and
flocks of sheep, herds of cattle and pigs, provided the motor-cyclist
with a severe probation to the nerves. With much risk to myself, and not
a little to other people, I emerged from this place of danger and
joyfully swept over the bridge into the broad highway beyond the town.
Turning a corner, I became suddenly aware that the road a hundred yards
ahead was again blocked. Two carriers' carts, a brewer's waggon, and
some other miscellaneous vehicles were drawn up anyhow in the road, and
the drivers of these, having descended from their various perches, were
gathered around a figure lying prostrate on the ground. I, too, alighted
and forced my way into the group. In the midst was an old man, his
countenance pallid as death, save where a broad stream of blood pouring
from a gash two inches long, crimsoned his cheek from eye to chin. There
was a great bruise on his temple, and again on the back of his head--for
he had spun round in falling--was a lump the size of a pullet's first
egg.
"'Oss ran away and pitched him on the curb," said one whom I questioned.
"He's dying," said another, "if not already dead." For myself, I turned
sick at the sight; nevertheless, I could not help being struck by the
vigorous actions and attitude of an old woman, who, armed with a bucket
of water and a roller towel, seemed to be not merely bathing his wounds,
but giving the whole man a bath. I also noted the figure of a clergyman,
of whom all that I distinctly recall is that he had a tassel round his
hat.
"We must take him to the hospital," said I. "No," said an elderly man;
"he'll be dead before you get him there. He's nearly gone already.
Better fetch a doctor."
"Has anybody got a bicycle?" said the clergyman in the slightly
imperious accents of Keble College. "Yes," I replied, "I've got one, and
just the sort of bicycle for this business, too." "You'd better fetch
Ross," said the same voice, speaking once more in the tones which
indicate conscious possession of the Last Word on Everything Whatsoever.
"No," said the old woman, with enough defiance in her manner to frighten
a Pope, "No, Ross's no good. Fetch Conklin." "All right," I said; "if
one of you will show me where Conklin lives, I'll fetch him in a brace
of shakes."
Instantly the whole company, saving only the parson and the old woman,
volunteered. Selecting one who seemed of lighter weight than the rest
(he was a boy), I jumped up, called to my three horses, yoked up the
half-horse (kept in reserve for great occasions), and, letting all loose
at once, drove at top speed in the direction of Conklin's abode.
Then was seen in the streets of that old town such a scurrying and
scattering, both of men and beast, as the world has not beheld since the
most desperate moments of John Gilpin's ride. Back over the bridge,
where Cavaliers and Roundheads once stood at push of pike for fifty
minutes by "the towne clocke"; through the market-place, where the
cheap-jack ceased lying that he might regard us; past the policeman at
the Cross (slower at this point); up the steep gradient of the High
Street; right through a flock of geese (illustrious bird! who not only
warnest great cities of impending ruin, but keepest thyself out of
harm's way better than any four-footed beast of the field), we drove our
headlong course; and, in less time than this paragraph has taken to
write I stood on the doorstep, of the doctor's house. In another minute
I had seen him and told my tale.
The doctor received my gushings with perfect impassivity, and responded
with the merest apology for a grunt. But the repeated allusion to
flowing blood seemed at last to rouse him. He seized a black bag that
stood on the table, thrust in the necessary tackle, and said, "Come
along."
In the race back to the Field of Blood, I had no leisure to analyse the
structure of Conklin's mind. But a few remarks which he shouted in my
ear revealed the fact that his interests were by no means confined to
the performance of professional duty. I could not help wondering what
Ross was like. If any reader should be taken suddenly ill while staying
in that town, my advice, formed mainly on negative data, would be to
send for Ross during the acute stage of the malady, and to try Conklin's
treatment in convalescence. Or, better still, call them both in at once,
and then take your choice.
These mental observations were scarcely completed when a turn in the
road brought us in sight of our goal. Will the reader believe me when I
tell him that the goal seemed to have vanished? I could scarcely believe
it myself. Not a soul was to be seen. Stare as I would, no human form,
living or dead, prostrate or upright, wounded or whole, answered to my
gaze. Men, horses, and carts--all were gone! The whole insubstantial
pageant had faded, leaving not a wrack behind.
"This is the place," I said to Conklin; "but the man has disappeared."
For answer, he looked fixedly into the pupil of my left eye, expecting,
no doubt, to find there unmistakable signs of lunacy. "Wait a bit," I
cried, divining his thoughts; "here's somebody who will clear it up."
And I pointed to a cottage-door at which I suddenly espied the old woman
whose handling of the roller-towel had so impressed me. "Where," I
shouted, addressing her, "where is the wounded man?" "Took away," was
the laconic reply. "Took away!" I said; "and who has had the impudence
to take him away?"
"Why," said the old woman, "you hadn't been gone more'n two minutes when
his niece--her as keeps his house--comes driving home in a big cart.
'Hello!' she says, 'blest if that isn't Uncle Fred!' 'Yes,' says one of
'em, 'and got it pretty badly this time, I can tell yer. There's a
gentleman just gone to fetch Conklin.' 'Conklin?' says she. 'I'll
Conklin 'im! Who do you think's going to pay 'im? Not _me_! Let 'im as
fetches 'im pay 'im. 'Ere,' she says, 'some of yer help to put this old
man on the bottom of my cart, and look sharp, or Conklin'll be here in a
minute.' So they shoves the poor old thing on to the floor of the cart
with a sack of 'taters to keep him steady, and Eliza--that's her
name--'its the 'oss with a long stick as she carried instead of a whip,
sets off at full gallop, and was out of sight almost before you could
say so. Somebody else took the old man's pony, and the rest of 'em all
made off as fast as they could."
"And what did that clergyman do?" I asked.
"Jumped on his bicycle and went 'ome to his tea," said the old woman.
"The sneak!" I cried.
"You couldn't ha' used a better word," said the old woman, "and there's
plenty of people in this parish who'd be glad to hear you say it. And
the worst of it is, there's plenty more like him!" This last was shouted
with great emphasis, perhaps with a view to Conklin's edification, but
at all events with the air of a person who could produce supporting
evidence were such to be demanded.
There was a pause, and I endeavoured to collect my thoughts. "Doctor," I
said, making a desperate attempt to get as near the Good Samaritan as
these untoward developments rendered possible, "Doctor, what's your
fee?"
"The expression on your face is the best fee I've had for a long time,"
said the doctor; "I'm sorry I didn't bring my kodak."
"Doctor Conklin," I resumed, "I'll tell you one thing. You and this old
lady are the only members of the company who carry away an untarnished
reputation from this episode. As for me, I have been made a perfect fool
of. As for the rest of them,"--I waited for words to come, and, finally
lapsing into melodrama, said--"as for the rest of them, I leave them to
the company of their own consciences."
"There's one of 'em as hasn't got any," said the old woman.
"MACBETH" AND "BANQUO" ON THE BLASTED HEATH
The scene was the top of a lofty hill in Northamptonshire, crossed by
the high road to London. The time, late afternoon of a dark and
thunderous day in July.
I had journeyed many miles that day--on wheels, according to the fashion
of this age--and had passed and overtaken hundreds, literally hundreds,
of tramps. With some of these I had already conversed as we sheltered
from recurrent storms under hedges or wayside trees; and I had
committed, with a joyful conscience, all the vices of indiscriminate
charity.
But now the rain came on in earnest. Blacker and blacker grew the skies,
and, just as I reached the top of this shelterless hill, the windows of
heaven were opened, and the flood burst.
No house was in sight. But, looking round me, in that spirit of despair
bred of black weather and a wet skin, I saw, in a large bare field, a
shepherd's box--a thing on wheels, large enough, perhaps, to accommodate
a prosperous vendor of ice-cream. Abandoning my iron friend to the cold
mercies of the ditch, I scaled the wall, crossed the field, and dived
into the dry interior of the box. At one bound I entered into full
possession of the freedom of Diogenes in his tub, with no Alexander to
bother me. The absolute seclusion of the country was all my own.
The box was closed by a half-door, with an aperture above facing towards
the road. Had the animal inside possessed four legs instead of two, his
body would have filled the box, and his head would have projected into
the rain. Though my head was inside, I could see well enough what was
going on in the road. Presently there passed two cyclists--a young man
and woman--racing through the storm. I shouted to them, but my voice was
drowned in the din. Some minutes elapsed, during which I had the company
of my thoughts. Then suddenly there appeared on the wall the incarnate
figures of two tramps, unquestionably such. They had seen the box, and
were making tracks for it with all their might.
I confess that for a moment my spirit quailed within me. Seen at that
distance, the newcomers looked ugly customers; they had me in a trap,
and, had I possessed pistols, I verily believe that I should have
"looked to the priming." But, having no alternatives of that kind before
me, necessity determined the policy I was to pursue, and I resolved at
once for a friendly attitude. Waiting till the tramps were well within
hearing, I thrust my head from the aforesaid aperture and cried aloud as
follows:
"Walk up, gentlemen! It's my annual free day. No charge for seats."
Macbeth and Banquo were not more affrighted by the apparition of witches
on the blasted heath than were these two individuals when they heard the
voice from the box, and saw the face of him that spake. They stopped
dead, stared, and, though I won't give this on oath, turned pale. I
believe they were genuinely scared.
Presently one of them--say Macbeth--broke into a loud and merry laugh.
The sound of it was worth more to me at that moment than a sheaf of
testimonials, for I remembered Carlyle's dictum that there is nothing
irremediably wrong with any man who can utter a hearty laugh.
"All right, guvnor," came the reply, "we'll take two stalls in the front
row."
"Good!" I replied. "Wire just received from the Prince and Princess of
Wales resigning their seats! Bring your own opera-glasses, and don't
forget the fans."
"Got 'em both," said Macbeth.
A moment later I found myself in close physical proximity to two of the
dirtiest rascals in Christendom. A reconciler of opposites, bent on
knocking our heads together, would have had an easy task, for there was
not more than eight inches between them. Misfortunes are said to bring
out the fragrance of noble natures, and I can testify that the wetting
these men had received most effectually brought out the fragrance of
theirs. And the ventilation was none too good.
The language in which the newcomers proceeded to introduce themselves
was not of the kind usually printed, though it had a distinctly
theological tinge. More strenuous blasphemy I have never heard on
land--or sea.
The introductions concluded--they were sufficient--Macbeth, as though
suddenly recollecting an interrupted train of thought, broke out: "Say,
mister, did yer see them two go by on bicycles just now?"
"Yes."
"Well, I see 'em, quarter of a mile oop the road, crouching oonder
t'hedge"--he spoke Yorkshire[4]--"wet to skin, and she nowt on but a
cotton blouse. So I sez to her, 'My dear, ye'll get yer death o' cold,'
'Yes,' she says, 'and me with a weak chest.' Pore young thing, I'm fair
sorry for her. I towd t'young man to tek his co-at off and put it
ra-ownd her. 'That'll do no good,' he sez; 'she's wet through a'ready.'
'Well,' I sez, 'she's not been wet through all her life, has she? Why
didn't you put it on her while she were dry? Sense? You've got no more
sense nor a blind rabbit.' But it was no good. My! What rain! Nivver see
nothing like it. They'll be fair drownded. I think I'll go and fetch 'em
in. Holy potatoes!" (Will anyone explain this expression? It was evoked
by a crash of thunder which burst immediately above the box and seemed
to hurl us into space.)
[Footnote 4: The reader who would get the full flavour of Macbeth's
conversation should translate it, if he can, into a broad Yorkshire
dialect. This I have indicated here and there by the spelling of a word,
which is as far as, or perhaps farther than, my own competence extends.]
"No good fetching 'em in now," I replied, taking a point of view which I
afterwards saw to have been that of the Priest and the Levite. "They'd
suffer more damage getting here than staying where they are. Besides,
where would you put 'em?"
"That's trew," said Macbeth. "This ain't no place for ladies, anyhow."
(It wasn't!) "But just think of that pore young thing--nowt on, I tell
yer, but a cotton blouse. Hello! there's a cart coming. I'll tell t'man
to tek 'em oop."
Out jumped Macbeth into the pelting rain, and presently I heard him
shouting to the man in charge: "Hey, mister! There's a young man and
woman crouching under t'hedge oop t'ro-ad. She nowt on but a cotton
blouse! It isn't sa-afe, yer know, in this thoonder and lightnin'. Tek
her oop, and put a sack or two on her."
I gathered the result of the interview was satisfactory to Macbeth, for
presently he came back, steaming, into the box. For some minutes he
continued to mutter with the thunder, about "poor young things," "cotton
blouses," and "weak chests."
But the altruistic passion in the man had spent itself for the moment,
and now the conversation began to take other forms. Banquo began to
enter into the dialogue. His contributions so far had been mainly
interjectory and blasphemous--a department of which he was obviously a
more versatile exponent than the other, who was by no means a 'prentice
hand. And here I must note a curious thing. Whether it was that the box
afforded no proper theatre for exhibiting the natural dignity of my
carriage, or that the light was not good, or that I am a ruffian at
heart and had been caught at an unguarded moment--whatever the true
cause may have been, I am certain that up to this moment my two
companions had no suspicion that I was not a tramp like themselves.
It was Banquo who unmasked the truth. His mind was less preoccupied with
the sufferings of the "poor young thing," and no doubt had been taking
observations. The result of these he proceeded to communicate to Macbeth
by a series of nudges and winks which, in the close proximity of the
moment, I felt rather than saw. On the whole, I am sorry that their
first delusion--if, indeed, it was a delusion, of which I am genuinely
doubtful--was not maintained. However, the discovery opened the way to
fresh developments. They ceased to address me as "Johnny," "Old Joker,"
or something worse; ceased swearing, for which, lover of originality as
I am, I was thankful; and began generally to pay me the respect due to
the fact that the soles of my boots were intact. Theirs were in a very
different condition.
I can't disguise that there was something like an awkward pause. But I
exerted myself to bridge the chasm, and, thanks to them rather than to
me, it was bridged.
"Where are you going to-night?" I asked as soon as the _modus vivendi_
was assured.
"Ain't going nowhere in particular," said Banquo. "We just go anywhere."
"What!" I said, "don't you know where you'll pass the night?"
"Well, it's just this way," returned the other. "Me and my mate here are
musicians, and we just go this way and that according to where the
publics are. It's in the publics we makes what living we gets--singing
in the bars and cadging for drink and coppers."
"And a bloomin' shame we should have to do it!" chimed in Macbeth. "But
what can yer do? My trade's a mason; Leeds is where I come from; but
when they're short of work, if you've got _two_ grey hairs and another
chap's got only _one_, you gets the sack, and has to live as best yer
can.
"God knows I don't want this beastly life. But it's a good thing I've
got it to turn to. Most on 'em has nowt but their trades, and them's the
ones as has to starve. But me and my mate here happens to be moosical.
Used to sing in St. ---- Church in Leeds. Leading bass, I was--a bit
irregular, I'll own, and that's why they wouldn't keep me on. My mate
plays the cornet. He used to be in the band of the ---- Fusiliers.
Served in South Africa, he did, and got a sock in the face from a shell;
yer can see the 'ole under his eye. Good thing it didn't 'it him in the
ma-outh, or he wouldn't ha' been able to play the cornet any more. Know
Yorkshire, mister?"