Produced by Donald Lainson
LORNA DOONE, A ROMANCE OF EXMOOR
by R. D. Blackmore
Preface
This work is called a 'romance,' because the incidents, characters,
time, and scenery, are alike romantic. And in shaping this old tale, the
Writer neither dares, nor desires, to claim for it the dignity or cumber
it with the difficulty of an historic novel.
And yet he thinks that the outlines are filled in more carefully, and
the situations (however simple) more warmly coloured and quickened, than
a reader would expect to find in what is called a 'legend.'
And he knows that any son of Exmoor, chancing on this volume, cannot
fail to bring to mind the nurse-tales of his childhood--the savage deeds
of the outlaw Doones in the depth of Bagworthy Forest, the beauty of
the hapless maid brought up in the midst of them, the plain John Ridd's
Herculean power, and (memory's too congenial food) the exploits of Tom
Faggus.
March, 1869.
CONTENTS
I. ELEMENTS OF EDUCATION
II. AN IMPORTANT ITEM
III. THE WARPATH OF THE DOONES
IV. A VERY RASH VISIT
V. AN ILLEGAL SETTLEMENT
VI. NECESSARY PRACTICE
VII. HARD IT IS TO CLIMB
VIII. A BOY AND A GIRL
IX. THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME
X. A BRAVE RESCUE AND A ROUGH RIDE
XI. TOM DESERVES HIS SUPPER
XII. A MAN JUSTLY POPULAR
XIII. MASTER HUCKABACK COMES IN
XIV. A MOTION WHICH ENDS IN A MULL
XV. MASTER HUCKABACK FAILS OF WARRANT
XVI. LORNA GROWS FORMIDABLE
XVII. JOHN IS CLEARLY BEWITCHED
XVIII. WITCHERY LEADS TO WITCHCRAFT
XIX. ANOTHER DANGEROUS INTERVIEW
XX. LORNA BEGINS HER STORY
XXI. LORNA ENDS HER STORY
XXII. A LONG SPRING MONTH
XXIII. A ROYAL INVITATION
XXIV. A SAFE PASS FOR KING'S MESSENGER
XXV. A GREAT MAN ATTENDS TO BUSINESS
XXVI. JOHN IS DRAINED AND CAST ASIDE
XXVII. HOME AGAIN AT LAST
XXVIII. JOHN HAS HOPE OF LORNA
XXIX. REAPING LEADS TO REVELLING
XXX. ANNIE GETS THE BEST OF IT
XXXI. JOHN FRY'S ERRAND
XXXII. FEEDING OF THE PIGS
XXXIII. AN EARLY MORNING CALLING
XXXIV. TWO NEGATIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMATIVE
XXXV. RUTH IS NOT LIKE LORNA
XXXVI. JOHN RETURNS TO BUSINESS
XXXVII. A VERY DESPERATE VENTURE
XXXVIII. A GOOD TURN FOR JEREMY
XXXIX. A TROUBLED STATE AND A FOOLISH JOKE
XL. TWO FOOLS TOGETHER
XLI. COLD COMFORT
XLII. THE GREAT WINTER
XLIII. NOT TOO SOON
XLIV. BROUGHT HOME AT LAST
XLV. A CHANGE LONG NEEDED
XLVI. SQUIRE FAGGUS MAKES SOME LUCKY HITS
XLVII. JEREMY IN DANGER
XLVIII. EVERY MAN MUST DEFEND HIMSELF
XLIX. MAIDEN SENTINELS ARE BEST
L. A MERRY MEETING A SAD ONE
LI. A VISIT FROM THE COUNSELLOR
LII. THE WAY TO MAKE THE CREAM RISE
LIII. JEREMY FINDS OUT SOMETHING
LIV. MUTUAL DISCOMFITURE
LV. GETTING INTO CHANCERY
LVI. JOHN BECOMES TOO POPULAR
LVII. LORNA KNOWS HER NURSE
LVIII. MASTER HUCKABACK'S SECRET
LIX. LORNA GONE AWAY
LX. ANNIE LUCKIER THAN JOHN
LXI. THEREFORE HE SEEKS COMFORT
LXII. THE KING MUST NOT BE PRAYED FOR
LXIII. JOHN IS WORSTED BY THE WOMEN
LXIV. SLAUGHTER IN THE MARSHES
LXV. FALLING AMONG LAMBS
LXVI. SUITABLE DEVOTION
LXVII. LORNA STILL IS LORNA
LXVIII. JOHN IS JOHN NO LONGER
LXIX. NOT TO BE PUT UP WITH
LXX. COMPELLED TO VOLUNTEER
LXXI. A LONG ACCOUNT SETTLED
LXXII. THE COUNSELLOR AND THE CARVER
LXXIII. HOW TO GET OUT OF CHANCERY
LXXIV. DRIVEN BEYOND ENDURANCE
LXXV. LIFE AND LORNA COME AGAIN
CHAPTER I
ELEMENTS OF EDUCATION
If anybody cares to read a simple tale told simply, I, John Ridd, of the
parish of Oare, in the county of Somerset, yeoman and churchwarden, have
seen and had a share in some doings of this neighborhood, which I will
try to set down in order, God sparing my life and memory. And they who
light upon this book should bear in mind not only that I write for the
clearing of our parish from ill fame and calumny, but also a thing which
will, I trow, appear too often in it, to wit--that I am nothing more
than a plain unlettered man, not read in foreign languages, as a
gentleman might be, nor gifted with long words (even in mine own
tongue), save what I may have won from the Bible or Master William
Shakespeare, whom, in the face of common opinion, I do value highly. In
short, I am an ignoramus, but pretty well for a yeoman.
My father being of good substance, at least as we reckon in Exmoor, and
seized in his own right, from many generations, of one, and that the
best and largest, of the three farms into which our parish is divided
(or rather the cultured part thereof), he John Ridd, the elder,
churchwarden, and overseer, being a great admirer of learning, and well
able to write his name, sent me his only son to be schooled at Tiverton,
in the county of Devon. For the chief boast of that ancient town (next
to its woollen staple) is a worthy grammar-school, the largest in the
west of England, founded and handsomely endowed in the year 1604 by
Master Peter Blundell, of that same place, clothier.
Here, by the time I was twelve years old, I had risen into the upper
school, and could make bold with Eutropius and Caesar--by aid of an
English version--and as much as six lines of Ovid. Some even said that
I might, before manhood, rise almost to the third form, being of a
perservering nature; albeit, by full consent of all (except my mother),
thick-headed. But that would have been, as I now perceive, an ambition
beyond a farmer's son; for there is but one form above it, and that made
of masterful scholars, entitled rightly 'monitors'. So it came to
pass, by the grace of God, that I was called away from learning,
whilst sitting at the desk of the junior first in the upper school, and
beginning the Greek verb [Greek word].
My eldest grandson makes bold to say that I never could have learned
[Greek word], ten pages further on, being all he himself could manage,
with plenty of stripes to help him. I know that he hath more head than
I--though never will he have such body; and am thankful to have stopped
betimes, with a meek and wholesome head-piece.
But if you doubt of my having been there, because now I know so little,
go and see my name, 'John Ridd,' graven on that very form. Forsooth,
from the time I was strong enough to open a knife and to spell my name,
I began to grave it in the oak, first of the block whereon I sate, and
then of the desk in front of it, according as I was promoted from one to
other of them: and there my grandson reads it now, at this present time
of writing, and hath fought a boy for scoffing at it--'John Ridd his
name'--and done again in 'winkeys,' a mischievous but cheerful device,
in which we took great pleasure.
This is the manner of a 'winkey,' which I here set down, lest child
of mine, or grandchild, dare to make one on my premises; if he does,
I shall know the mark at once, and score it well upon him. The scholar
obtains, by prayer or price, a handful of saltpetre, and then with the
knife wherewith he should rather be trying to mend his pens, what does
he do but scoop a hole where the desk is some three inches thick. This
hole should be left with the middle exalted, and the circumfere dug more
deeply. Then let him fill it with saltpetre, all save a little space in
the midst, where the boss of the wood is. Upon that boss (and it will be
the better if a splinter of timber rise upward) he sticks the end of his
candle of tallow, or 'rat's tail,' as we called it, kindled and burning
smoothly. Anon, as he reads by that light his lesson, lifting his eyes
now and then it may be, the fire of candle lays hold of the petre with
a spluttering noise and a leaping. Then should the pupil seize his pen,
and, regardless of the nib, stir bravely, and he will see a glow as of
burning mountains, and a rich smoke, and sparks going merrily; nor will
it cease, if he stir wisely, and there be a good store of petre, until
the wood is devoured through, like the sinking of a well-shaft. Now well
may it go with the head of a boy intent upon his primer, who betides to
sit thereunder! But, above all things, have good care to exercise this
art before the master strides up to his desk, in the early gray of the
morning.
Other customs, no less worthy, abide in the school of Blundell, such as
the singeing of nightcaps; but though they have a pleasant savour, and
refreshing to think of, I may not stop to note them, unless it be that
goodly one at the incoming of a flood. The school-house stands beside a
stream, not very large, called Lowman, which flows into the broad river
of Exe, about a mile below. This Lowman stream, although it be not fond
of brawl and violence (in the manner of our Lynn), yet is wont to flood
into a mighty head of waters when the storms of rain provoke it; and
most of all when its little co-mate, called the Taunton Brook--where
I have plucked the very best cresses that ever man put salt on--comes
foaming down like a great roan horse, and rears at the leap of the
hedgerows. Then are the gray stone walls of Blundell on every side
encompassed, the vale is spread over with looping waters, and it is a
hard thing for the day-boys to get home to their suppers.
And in that time, old Cop, the porter (so called because he hath copper
boots to keep the wet from his stomach, and a nose of copper also, in
right of other waters), his place is to stand at the gate, attending to
the flood-boards grooved into one another, and so to watch the torrents
rise, and not be washed away, if it please God he may help it. But long
ere the flood hath attained this height, and while it is only waxing,
certain boys of deputy will watch at the stoop of the drain-holes, and
be apt to look outside the walls when Cop is taking a cordial. And in
the very front of the gate, just without the archway, where the ground
is paved most handsomely, you may see in copy-letters done a great
P.B. of white pebbles. Now, it is the custom and the law that when
the invading waters, either fluxing along the wall from below the
road-bridge, or pouring sharply across the meadows from a cut called
Owen's Ditch--and I myself have seen it come both ways--upon the very
instant when the waxing element lips though it be but a single pebble of
the founder's letters, it is in the license of any boy, soever small
and undoctrined, to rush into the great school-rooms, where a score of
masters sit heavily, and scream at the top of his voice, 'P.B.'
Then, with a yell, the boys leap up, or break away from their standing;
they toss their caps to the black-beamed roof, and haply the very books
after them; and the great boys vex no more the small ones, and the small
boys stick up to the great ones. One with another, hard they go, to see
the gain of the waters, and the tribulation of Cop, and are prone to
kick the day-boys out, with words of scanty compliment. Then the masters
look at one another, having no class to look to, and (boys being no more
left to watch) in a manner they put their mouths up. With a spirited
bang they close their books, and make invitation the one to the other
for pipes and foreign cordials, recommending the chance of the time, and
the comfort away from cold water.
But, lo! I am dwelling on little things and the pigeons' eggs of the
infancy, forgetting the bitter and heavy life gone over me since then.
If I am neither a hard man nor a very close one, God knows I have had no
lack of rubbing and pounding to make stone of me. Yet can I not somehow
believe that we ought to hate one another, to live far asunder, and
block the mouth each of his little den; as do the wild beasts of the
wood, and the hairy outrangs now brought over, each with a chain upon
him. Let that matter be as it will. It is beyond me to unfold, and
mayhap of my grandson's grandson. All I know is that wheat is better
than when I began to sow it.