THE PENDULUM.
It may have been a year after this, it may have been two, I cannot
tell, when the next great event in my life occurred. I think it was
towards the close of an Autumn, but there was not so much about our
house as elsewhere to mark the changes of the seasons, for the grass
was always green. I remember it was a sultry afternoon. I had been out
almost the whole day, wandering hither and thither over the grass, and
I felt hot and oppressed. Not an air was stirring. I longed for a
breath of wind, for I was not afraid of the wind itself, only of the
trees that made it. Indeed, I delighted in the wind, and would run
against it with exuberant pleasure, even rejoicing in the fancy that I,
as well as the trees, could make the wind by shaking my hair about as I
ran. I must run, however; whereas the trees, whose prime business it
was, could do it without stirring from the spot. But this was much too
hot an afternoon for me, whose mood was always more inclined to the
passive than the active, to run about and toss my hair, even for the
sake of the breeze that would result therefrom. I bethought myself. I
was nearly a man now; I would be afraid of things no more; I would get
out my pendulum, and see whether that would not help me. Not this time
would I flinch from what consequences might follow. Let them be what
they might, the pendulum should wag, and have a fair chance of doing
its best.
[Illustration: “I SAT AND WATCHED IT WITH GROWING AWE.”]
I went up to my room, a sense of high emprise filling my little heart.
Composedly, yea solemnly, I set to work, even as some enchanter of old
might have drawn his circle, and chosen his spell out of his
iron-clasped volume. I strode to the closet in which the awful
instrument dwelt. It stood in the furthest corner. As I lifted it,
something like a groan invaded my ear. My notions of locality were not
then sufficiently developed to let me know that grannie’s room was on
the other side of that closet. I almost let the creature, for as such I
regarded it, drop. I was not to be deterred, however. I bore it
carefully to the light, and set it gently on the window sill, full in
view of the distant trees towards the west. I left it then for a
moment, as if that it might gather its strength for its unwonted
labours, while I closed the door, and, with what fancy I can scarcely
imagine now, the curtains of my bed as well. Possibly it was with some
notion of having one place to which, if the worst came to the worst, I
might retreat for safety. Again I approached the window, and after
standing for some time in contemplation of the pendulum, I set it in
motion, and stood watching it.
It swung slower and slower. It wanted to stop. It should not stop. I
gave it another swing. On it went, at first somewhat distractedly, next
more regularly, then with slowly retarding movement. But it should not
stop.
I turned in haste and got from the side of my bed the only chair in the
room, placed it in the window, sat down before the reluctant
instrument, and gave it a third swing. Then, my elbows on the sill, I
sat and watched it with growing awe, but growing determination as well.
Once more it showed signs of refusal; once more the forefinger of my
right hand administered impulse.
Something gave a crack inside the creature: away went the pendulum,
swinging with a will. I sat and gazed, almost horror-stricken. Ere many
moments had passed, the feeling of terror had risen to such a height
that, but for the very terror, I would have seized the pendulum in a
frantic grasp. I did not. On it went, and I sat looking. My dismay was
gradually subsiding.
I have learned since that a certain ancestor--or was he only a
great-uncle?--I forget--had a taste for mechanics, even to the craze of
the perpetual motion, and could work well in brass and iron. The
creature was probably some invention of his. It was a real marvel how,
after so many years of idleness, it could now go as it did. I confess,
as I contemplate the thing, I am in a puzzle, and almost fancy the
whole a dream. But let it pass. At worst, something of which this is
the sole representative residuum, wrought an effect on me which
embodies its cause thus, as I search for it in the past. And why should
not the individual life have its misty legends as well as that of
nations? From them, as from the golden and rosy clouds of morning,
dawns at last the true sun of its unquestionable history. Every boy has
his own fables, just as the Romes and the Englands of the world have
their Romuli and their Arthurs, their suckling wolves and their
granite-sheathed swords. Do they not reflect each other? I tell the
tale as ‘tis left in me.
How long I sat thus gazing at the now self-impelled instrument, I
cannot say. The next point in the progress of the legend, is a gust of
wind rattling the window in whose recess I was seated. I jumped from my
chair in terror. While I had been absorbed in the pendulum, the evening
had closed in; clouds had gathered over the sky, and all was gloomy
about the house. It was much too dark to see the distant trees, but
there could be no doubt they were at work. The pendulum had roused
them. Another, a third, and a fourth gust rattled and shook the rickety
frame. I had done it at last! The trees were busy away there in the
darkness. I and my pendulum could make the wind.
The gusts came faster and faster, and grew into blasts which settled
into a steady gale. The pendulum went on swinging to and fro, and the
gale went on increasing in violence. I sat half in terror, half in
delight, at the awful success of my experiment. I would have opened the
window to let in the coveted air, but that was beyond my knowledge and
strength. I could make the wind blow, but, like other magicians, I
could not share in its benefits. I would go out and meet it on the open
plain. I crept down the stair like a thief--not that I feared
detention, but that I felt such a sense of the important, even the
dread, about myself and my instrument, that I was not in harmony with
souls reflecting only the common affairs of life. In a moment I was in
the middle of a storm--for storm it very nearly was and soon became. I
rushed to and fro in the midst of it, lay down and rolled in it, and
laughed and shouted as I looked up to the window where the pendulum was
swinging, and thought of the trees at work away in the dark. The wind
grew stronger and stronger. What if the pendulum should not stop at
all, and the wind went on and on, growing louder and fiercer, till it
grew mad and blew away the house? Ah, then, poor grannie would have a
chance of being buried at last! Seriously, the affair might grow
serious.
Such thoughts were passing in my mind, when all at once the wind gave a
roar which made me spring to my feet and rush for the house. I must
stop the pendulum. There was a strange sound in that blast. The trees
themselves had had enough of it, and were protesting against the
creature’s tyranny. Their master was working them too hard. I ran up
the stair on all fours: it was my way when I was in a hurry. Swinging
went the pendulum in the window, and the wind roared in the chimney. I
seized hold of the oscillating thing, and stopped it; but to my amaze
and consternation, the moment I released it, on it went again. I must
sit and hold it. But the voice of my aunt called me from below, and as
I dared not explain why I would rather not appear, I was forced to
obey. I lingered on the stair, half minded to return.
‘What a rough night it is!’ I heard my aunt say, with rare remark.
‘It gets worse and worse,’ responded my uncle. ‘I hope it won’t disturb
grannie; but the wind must roar fearfully in her chimney.’
I stood like a culprit. What if they should find out that I was at the
root of the mischief, at the heart of the storm!
‘If I could believe all that I have been reading to-night about the
Prince of the Power of the Air, I should not like this storm at all,’
continued my uncle, with a smile. ‘But books are not always to be
trusted because they are old,’ he added with another smile. ‘From the
glass, I expected rain and not wind.’
‘Whatever wind there is, we get it all,’ said my aunt. ‘I wonder what
Willie is about. I thought I heard him coming down. Isn’t it time,
David, we did something about his schooling? It won’t do to have him
idling about this way all day long.’
‘He’s a mere child,’ returned my uncle. ‘I’m not forgetting him. But I
can’t send him away yet.’
‘You know best,’ returned my aunt.
_Send me away!_ What could it mean? Why should I--where should I go?
Was not the old place a part of me, just like my own clothes on my own
body? This was the kind of feeling that woke in me at the words. But
hearing my aunt push back her chair, evidently with the purpose of
finding me, I descended into the room.
‘Come along, Willie,’ said my uncle. ‘Hear the wind how it roars!’
‘Yes, uncle; it does roar,’ I said, feeling a hypocrite for the first
time in my life. Knowing far more about the roaring than he did, I yet
spoke like an innocent!
‘Do you know who makes the wind, Willie?’
‘Yes. The trees,’ I answered.
My uncle opened his blue eyes very wide, and looked at my aunt. He had
had no idea what a little heathen I was. The more a man has wrought out
his own mental condition, the readier he is to suppose that children
must be able to work out theirs, and to forget that he did not work out
his information, but only his conclusions. My uncle began to think it
was time to take me in hand.
‘No, Willie,’ he said. ‘I must teach you better than that.’
I expected him to begin by telling me that God made the wind; but,
whether it was that what the old book said about the Prince of the
Power of the Air returned upon him, or that he thought it an unfitting
occasion for such a lesson when the wind was roaring so as might render
its divine origin questionable, he said no more. Bewildered, I fancy,
with my ignorance, he turned, after a pause, to my aunt.
‘Don’t you think it’s time for him to go to bed, Jane?’ he suggested.
My aunt replied by getting from the cupboard my usual supper--a basin
of milk and a slice of bread; which I ate with less circumspection than
usual, for I was eager to return to my room. As soon as I had finished,
Nannie was called, and I bade them good-night.
‘Make haste, Nannie,’ I said. ‘Don’t you hear how the wind is roaring?’
It was roaring louder than ever, and there was the pendulum swinging
away in the window. Nannie took no notice of it, and, I presume, only
thought I wanted to get my head under the bed-clothes, and so escape
the sound of it. Anyhow, she did make haste, and in a very few minutes
I was, as she supposed, snugly settled for the night. But the moment
she shut the door I was out of bed, and at the window. The instant I
reached it, a great dash of rain swept against the panes, and the wind
howled more fiercely than ever. Believing I had the key of the
position, inasmuch as, if I pleased, I could take the pendulum to bed
with me, and stifle its motions with the bed-clothes--for this happy
idea had dawned upon me while Nannie was undressing me--I was composed
enough now to press my face to a pane, and look out. There was a small
space amidst the storm dimly illuminated from the windows below, and
the moment I looked--out of the darkness into this dim space, as if
blown thither by the wind, rushed a figure on horseback, his large
cloak flying out before him, and the mane of the animal he rode
streaming out over his ears in the fierceness of the blast. He pulled
up right under my window, and I thought he looked up, and made
threatening gestures at me; but I believe now that horse and man pulled
up in sudden danger of dashing against the wall of the house. I shrank
back, and when I peeped out again he was gone. The same moment the
pendulum gave a click and stopped; one more rattle of rain against the
windows, and then the wind stopped also. I crept back to my bed in a
new terror, for might not this be the Prince of the Power of the Air,
come to see who was meddling with his affairs? Had he not come right
out of the storm, and straight from the trees? He must have something
to do with it all! Before I had settled the probabilities of the
question, however, I was fast asleep.
I awoke--how long after, I cannot tell--with the sound of voices in my
ears. It was still dark. The voices came from below. I had been
dreaming of the strange horseman, who had turned out to be the awful
being concerning whom Nannie had enlightened me as going about at night
to buy little children from their nurses, and make bagpipes of their
skins. Awaked from such a dream, it was impossible to lie still without
knowing what those voices down below were talking about. The strange
one must belong to the being, whatever he was, whom I had seen come out
of the storm; and of whom could they be talking but me? I was right in
both conclusions.
With a fearful resolution I slipped out of bed, opened the door as
noiselessly as I might, and crept on my bare, silent feet down the
creaking stair, which led, with open balustrade, right into the
kitchen, at the end furthest from the chimney. The one candle at the
other end could not illuminate its darkness, and I sat unseen, a few
steps from the bottom of the stair, listening with all my ears, and
staring with all my eyes. The stranger’s huge cloak hung drying before
the fire, and he was drinking something out of a tumbler. The light
fell full upon his face. It was a curious, and certainly not to me an
attractive face. The forehead was very projecting, and the eyes were
very small, deep set, and sparkling. The mouth--I had almost said
muzzle--was very projecting likewise, and the lower jaw shot in front
of the upper. When the man smiled the light was reflected from what
seemed to my eyes an inordinate multitude of white teeth. His ears were
narrow and long, and set very high upon his head. The hand which he
every now and then displayed in the exigencies of his persuasion, was
white, but very large, and the thumb was exceedingly long. I had
weighty reasons for both suspecting and fearing the man; and, leaving
my prejudices out of the question, there was in the conversation itself
enough besides to make me take note of dangerous points in his
appearance. I never could lay much claim to physical courage, and I
attribute my behaviour on this occasion rather to the fascination of
terror than to any impulse of self-preservation: I sat there in utter
silence, listening like an ear-trumpet. The first words I could
distinguish were to this effect:--
‘You do not mean,’ said the enemy, ‘to tell me, Mr Cumbermede, that you
intend to bring up the young fellow in absolute ignorance of the
decrees of fate?’
‘I pledge myself to nothing in the matter,’ returned my uncle, calmly,
but with something in his tone which was new to me.
‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed the other. ‘Excuse me, sir, but what right
can you have to interfere after such a serious fashion with the young
gentleman’s future?’
‘It seems to me,’ said my uncle, ‘that you wish to interfere with it
after a much more serious fashion. There are things in which ignorance
may be preferable to knowledge.’
‘But what harm could the knowledge of such a fact do him?’
‘Upset all his notions, render him incapable of thinking about anything
of importance, occasion an utter--’
But _can_ anything be more important?’ interrupted the visitor.
My uncle went on without heeding him.
‘Plunge him over head and ears in--’
‘Hot water, I grant you,’ again interrupted the enemy, to my horror;
‘but it wouldn’t be for long. Only give me your sanction, and I promise
you to have the case as tight as a drum before I ask you to move a step
in it.’
‘But why should you take so much interest in what is purely our
affair?’ asked my uncle.
‘Why, of course you would have to pay the piper,’ said the man.
This was too much! _Pay_ the man that played upon me after I was made
into bagpipes! The idea was too frightful.
‘I must look out for business, you know; and, by Jove! I shall never
have such a chance, if I live to the age of Methuselah.’
‘Well, you shall not have it from me.’
‘Then,’ said the man, rising, ‘you are more of a fool than I took you
for.’
‘Sir!’ said my uncle.
‘No offence; no offence, I assure you. But it is provoking to find
people so blind--so wilfully blind--to their own interest. You may say
I have nothing to lose. Give me the boy, and I’ll bring him up like my
own son; send him to school and college, too--all on the chance of
being repaid twice over by--’
I knew this was all a trick to get hold of my skin. The man said it on
his way to the door, his ape-face shining dim as he turned it a little
back in the direction of my uncle, who followed with the candle. I lost
the last part of the sentence in the terror which sent me bounding up
the stair in my usual four-footed fashion. I leaped into my bed,
shaking with cold and agony combined. But I had the satisfaction
presently of hearing the _thud_ of the horse’s hoofs upon the sward,
dying away in the direction whence they had come. After that I soon
fell asleep.
I need hardly say that I never set the pendulum swinging again. Many
years after, I came upon it when searching for a key, and the thrill
which vibrated through my whole frame announced a strange and unwelcome
presence long before my memory could recall its origin.
It must not be supposed that I pretend to remember all the conversation
I have just set down. The words are but the forms in which, enlightened
by facts which have since come to my knowledge, I clothe certain vague
memories and impressions of such an interview as certainly took place.
In the morning, at breakfast, my aunt asked my uncle who it was that
paid such an untimely visit the preceding night.
‘A fellow from Minstercombe’ (the county town), ‘an attorney--what did
he say his name was? Yes, I remember. It was the same as the steward’s
over the way. Coningham, it was.’
‘Mr Coningham has a son there--an attorney too, I think,’ said my aunt.
My uncle seemed struck by the reminder, and became meditative.
‘That explains his choosing such a night to come in. His father is
getting an old man now. Yes, it must be the same.’
‘He’s a sharp one, folk say,’ said my aunt, with a pointedness in the
remark which showed some anxiety.
‘That he cannot conceal, sharp as he is,’ said my uncle, and there the
conversation stopped.
The very next evening my uncle began to teach me. I had a vague notion
that this had something to do with my protection against the
machinations of the man Coningham, the idea of whom was inextricably
associated in my mind with that of the Prince of the Power of the Air,
darting from the midst of the churning trees, on a horse whose
streaming mane and flashing eyes indicated no true equine origin. I
gave myself with diligence to the work my uncle set me.