_Vessels large may venture more,
But little boats should keep near shore._
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
The children set out with renewed pleasure, enheartened by the rest,
and food.
Soon they heard a strange medley of sounds that their beating hearts
told them came from the fair. Men’s voices shouting, the sound of
wheels and stirring, a clamour of many musical instruments, each one
not having anything to do with any other, and then they saw lights;
and very shortly they were surrounded by a crowd of humanity, and an
overwhelming sense of excitement and unrest.
The next time your father takes you to the Tate Gallery look at Mr.
Frith’s picture of the “Derby Day.” It will give you some idea of
the crowd of busy people and pleasure-seekers that Mousie and Robin
suddenly found themselves among. The lights were being lit along the
little booths, blending strangely with the summer twilight, and Robin
saw acrobats in spangles and scarlet climbing and leaping before
their master’s show. He heard a roar of laughter and applause at a
fellow grinning through a horse-collar, for there was a competition
as to who could make the most excruciating grimaces, his visage
embellished by this frame. The crowd was to determine who was the
winner, and there had been already four competitors upon the little
stage. This one was acquiring by his efforts immense applause, as
he seemed to be able to twist his face anyhow; he stretched it
longer than you would think possible; he would open his mouth and
raise his eyebrows, so that his chin dropped still further and his
forehead shot up into a point. Then, while the crowd was shouting
encouragement, he would collapse his face suddenly, and all the
length of it would fold into wrinkles, like the gurgoyle on the
church tower at home. His very head seemed to flatten, and his ears
grow out. Certainly he was a master of the art, and the children
watched in amazement till their interest was taken by some other
marvel of the fair. But Captain Marryat has described all this so
well in “Peter Simple.” Why should we not have his words here?
“The coloured flags flapping in all directions, the grass so green,
the white tents and booths, the shining gilt gingerbread. The variety
of toys and the variety of noise, the quantity of people and the
quantity of sweetmeats; little boys so happy and shop people so
polite. The music at the booths and the bustle and eagerness of the
people outside was enough to make one’s heart jump. There was Flynt
and Gyngell, with fellows tumbling head over heels, playing such
tricks, eating fire and drawing yards of tape out of their mouths.
There was the Royal Circus, all the horses standing in a line with
men and women standing on their backs waving flags, while trumpeters
blew trumpets. And the largest giant in the world, and Mr. Paap the
smallest dwarf in the world, and a female dwarf who was smaller
still. The learned pig, the Herefordshire ox, and finally Miss
Biffin, who did everything without arms or legs.”
So writes Captain Marryat. What a gay scene he paints. All honour
to him for one of the best story-tellers. May all children read his
books.
Just as Robin and Mousie were leaving Miss Biffin’s bower they heard
shouts of “Fire! fire!” and suddenly the crowd of strollers and
sight-seers all moved with one accord. Mousie and Rob were shoved
and jostled till they were borne along in the rush of people, as
helpless as a couple of corks on a Scotch burn.
When they passed out from the narrowed alleys of the fair, made by
the lines of booths and side-shows, the press became less great, and
they were able to keep clear of the rush.
How frightened they were at this sudden stampede; and now, to add
to their dismay and the general excitement, they saw a fierce
conflagration among some ricks. These ricks were standing about four
fields’ distant, and what at first had been one fitful tongue of
flame climbing stealthily the side of the dark mass, swiftly grew to
be sevenfold and leaping. And from sevenfold it spread like molten
gold over the stack, as if fire had been poured over it. And now
a strange rushing sound grew out upon the air, and the stack was
brilliantly illumined. The figures of the onlookers were cut out
black against the glare. Then a heavy scroll of smoke mounted up into
the divine beauty of the night sky, defiling it with thick vapour.
Now and then there would come a lull in the fierce demolition, as if
even the insatiable maw of the fire were momentarily replete. Then
again it would break out all the more fiercely, and a bevy of sparks
would swing out, and sail away against the darkness, like a great
swarm of golden bees. The flames would mount ever higher and higher,
and the rushing sound grow, and grow. How the antlered flames leaped
and roared into the night sky, what a fierce light they shed on the
surrounding world. How black and jagged the shadows were, how vast
the columns of drifting smoke. The great elms in the hedgerow stood
changed in the strange light, their lofty stillness intensified by
the clamour, and all the depths of their cool leafage showing grey in
the strong light.
The birds flew into the very faces of the onlookers, witless of their
direction, and the rats ran from the burning hayricks among the
crowd, blinded by the glare.
To Rob and Mousie, who had lived such sheltered lives, it was as if
they had been transported to some other planet, to a world of tumult
and alarm. They had no words to express their pitiful state; they
stood dumbly clinging together.
And then two figures came towards them as they stood somewhat in the
shadow--the figures of two men.
“The mischief’s done right enough, but it’s all for nothing, and
we’ll get nothing for our trouble. We’re lucky if we gets quit of
this; they’ve got news of it after all. I’ve been to the side-door
and the front-door, but the whole place is barred; why, the very
windows have their shutters up, and the great bulldog in the yard
that Freedom said she’d poisoned, standing right up against the
opening, showing his teeth. There’s been foul play somewhere;
we’ve been split upon; and if I can lay my finger on who’s done
it, I’ll----” his speech lost itself in a string of oaths and
maledictions while he trod heavily forward to where the children
stood. And as he turned his great ugly visage upon them, Mousie
screamed, “It’s the man in the wood, Robin! it’s the man who killed
the woman in the wood!” And before Robin could say a word in answer,
he felt a great blow, as if the earth had jumped up and slapped him,
and he knew nothing more. Then one of the men caught the frightened
Mousie and tied a cruel bandage so quickly round her that she could
neither scream nor speak, and another picked up Robin where he lay
quite still upon the ground, and between them they carried the
children away swiftly.
The men walked till they came to a belt of trees, far out upon the
Down. Here they set their burdens by the embers of a fire of charred
wood. Two or three rail-backed ponies were picketed out upon the
green, and a great van loomed dark in the half-light. Several rough,
unkempt faces peered at them, and dark forms crouched about the fire,
stirring its embers to a fitful flame.
Mousie and Robin were in a gipsies’ encampment, and the very thick of
their adventure about to begin.