Pendle Tor
It was with much pleasurable anticipation that the picnic party set out
on Whit Monday for Pendle Tor. The four younger Greenwoods were left at
home, as the walk would be too far for them, but they announced their
intention of climbing a small hill behind the Vicarage in the afternoon,
and having an alfresco tea on their own account, which was to be equal,
if not superior, to that enjoyed by their elders--"because Mary will
just have finished baking, and she has promised to bring us some buns
straight out of the oven, and you certainly won't get those on Pendle
Tor," said Joan.
Although they might be debarred from the pleasure of hot tea-cakes, the
mountaineers nevertheless did not mean to starve on their journey, to
judge from the baskets full of provisions which they bore with them.
Leonard had taken a milk-can that would serve to boil the water in
instead of a kettle, it being lighter to carry, and having the added
advantage that they could pack the teacups inside.
"You see, an iron kettle is such a weight", he explained, "and the last
time we took one of those rubbishy sixpence-halfpenny tin ones the
solder all melted directly we put it on to the fire, and the spout
dropped off. We can sling the milk-can on a stick and prop it over the
fire, and it does splendidly."
"Mind you don't break the cups!" said Irene, expecting to hear a smash
after the reckless way in which the can was being swung about.
"Couldn't do it if I tried; they're all enamel ones. The Mater wouldn't
trust us with her best china, I assure you."
"There are ever so many trout up in the stream by Inglemere," remarked
Ralph. "If we could manage to tickle a few, we might fry them in the lid
of the milk-can."
"It's rank poaching!" declared Meta.
"I don't care in the least," returned Ralph. "If Sir Percy complains
that any are missing, you can give him the bones, with my compliments."
"I don't think he would mind your catching one or two," said Monica. "I
know Sir Percy rather well, and it is only real poachers that he's so
hard on, and excursionists who come sometimes and try to fish. You see,
as he says, if everyone were allowed to take fish, there would soon be
none left, and people would begin to do it for the sake of selling them,
and not for the sport. He allowed Mr. Cross's nephews to fish last
summer when they were staying at the Rectory, and he said I might too,
if I ever felt inclined."
"I've never seen trout tickled," said Lindsay.
"It will be a case of 'First catch your fish, then cook it'," laughed
Rhoda. "It isn't at all easy to whisk them out--they're the most
slippery things you can imagine. I'm glad we don't have to depend on
Ralph's skill for our dinner. I was hoping we might find some mushrooms,
and stew them in part of the milk we've brought. We could put the can
down among the ashes of the fire, and they'd be cooking while we ate the
first course."
"Well, it is certainly a case of 'First pick your mushrooms', for you
don't even know whether there'll be any," retorted Ralph. "The trout are
always there, at any rate."
It was a long walk to Pendle Tor, and appetites, sharpened by the fresh
air of the hills, began to grow rather keen; but as they had all
resolved not to have their picnic before they had reached the summit,
they staved off the edge of their hunger with a few biscuits, and,
trudging on, covered the last mile in such quick time that Leonard
declared it reminded him of a paper-chase. It was rather a steep pull to
gain the highest point, yet they were well rewarded when they reached it
by the bird's-eye view of the landscape around them, farms, churches,
and distant village looking like so many toys, and the fields like the
divisions in a map.
"I hope it doesn't mean to rain," said Monica, pointing to some rather
threatening clouds that were rolling up from the west.
"We shall get a nice wetting if it does, for we haven't an umbrella
amongst us!" returned Irene.
"Rain? Not it! Don't distress yourself; the glass was up to 'Fair' this
morning. It's only a little scrap of mist blowing over. I don't mind
giving you a butter-scotch in exchange for every drop of rain you get on
your hat to-day," declared Ralph, whose prophecies were generally in
exact accordance with his hopes, and who was apt to shut his eyes to
unwelcome truths.
"Better not promise too much, old chap, or you may have to pay up," said
Leonard. "I don't like the look of the sky myself. But what's the odds?
It won't be the first time we've been wet through, by a long way, and I
suppose we shan't melt."
"What about the lunch?" asked Rhoda. "I'm getting so famished, I can't
wait much longer."
It was decided that the extreme top of the Tor was hardly a suitable
place--the wind was strong, and no water was available; so they climbed
some little distance down the cliff on the farther side, and at last hit
upon a sheltered spot among the rocks, where a small surface spring,
bubbling up from the ground, enabled them to fill the milk-can which was
to serve as a kettle. The boys cut large bundles of dry heather, and,
stacking it well together, soon had a good fire burning. They found it
after all impossible to suspend the can, for the flames burnt directly
through any stick that they tried to hang over the blaze; so they were
obliged to set it securely on an arrangement of stones, and rake the
fire round it. They had brought the tea in a muslin bag, which they
dropped into the can, to save a teapot; and though pouring out was
rather difficult, owing to the tin being so extremely hot, Meta managed
to dispense the cups without burning her fingers.
"You haven't provided the fish course yet," said Rhoda to Ralph. "I
thought we were to have fried trout as part of the feast."
"And I thought you were to give us mushrooms," retorted Ralph.
"Shouldn't care to wait while she cooked them," declared Leonard. "Ham
sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs are quite good enough for me. Did you
bring any salt? Another cup of tea, please, and don't be stingy with
the sugar, Meta. I like three lumps."
"I wonder why things always taste so different out-of-doors," said
Lindsay, looking reflectively at the three-cornered strawberry jam
pastry she was eating.
"Why, I saw you swallow an ant on your tart just now," said Ralph, "so
perhaps that has given it a flavour. Oh, you needn't distress yourself!
Ants are quite wholesome, I assure you. There are a frightful lot of
them crawling about here, though. I think we shall have to move on a
stave."
"Ugh! Yes. They're stinging me already!" agreed Lindsay.
They were all a little tired after their long walk, so they were glad to
sit and rest after lunch, asking riddles, cracking jokes, and listening
to the boys' school tales of exciting cricket matches, private feuds,
combats between class champions, and the punishments that had been meted
out to certain sneaks and bullies--accounts which were as thrilling in
their way as the doughty deeds of mail-clad knights of old, the warlike
sentiments being just the same, though the setting of the century might
differ. It was so interesting that nobody gave a thought to the time, or
remembered the ominous clouds that had been stretching themselves out
like long ribbons over the moor.
"Why, where's the view gone to?" cried Monica at last. "I thought we
could see Linforth and the lake from here, and the tower of Haversleigh
Church."
She might well exclaim in astonishment. Instead of the landscape which
had met their eyes before, there was nothing to be seen but a great
white wall of mist that seemed to close them in on every side, as if
some giant hand had suddenly drawn down a blind between them and the
distance.
"Whew!" exclaimed Ralph, starting to his feet, and indulging in a
long-drawn-out whistle. "This is a nice fix! We're in the middle of a
cloud. I never saw it coming up. It will be uncommonly awkward to get
out of it. What a shame of old Pendle Tor to play us such a trick!"
"Will it soon blow over, do you think?" asked Irene.
"I don't know," replied Meta rather gravely. "Sometimes the clouds stay
on these moors for days and days together. I wish we had noticed it
sooner, and gone down to the road again before we were surrounded. I'm
afraid it may be very difficult to find our way now."
"I don't think it's any use waiting," said Leonard, "it mayn't clear for
hours. We'd better pack up our traps, and make the best push we can to
try to strike the path."
"We must all stick close together," remarked Ralph. "It won't do to get
divided, or we might never find each other again. We'd better keep well
to the right; there's an old quarry on the left, and it wouldn't be
exactly pleasant to walk into it. Luckily I've a pocket compass on my
watch chain."
Very much sobered in spirits, the picnic party hastily packed up the
baskets, and, choosing Ralph as guide, set off down the hillside, hoping
to find some track that would lead eventually into the road below. It
was a strange walk, groping their way through what Monica described as
"white darkness". The heavy mist hung in the air like a blanket, so
completely shutting them in that they could scarcely see each other at a
distance of even a few feet, and it was only by keeping near enough to
touch one another that they managed to avoid being separated. Though
they had some general idea of their direction, they did not really know
where they were walking, and stumbled blindly on through heather and
bilberry bushes, over stones and rocks, only feeling that they were
going downhill. It was very slow progress. Ralph stopped continually to
consult his compass, and occasionally gave a loud "cooee", in case they
might find some wandering shepherd or countryman who would be able to
help them. There was no answer to his calls, however--only the
occasional bleat of a sheep that sounded far off and muffled through
the mist. They knew there was neither cottage nor farm within hail, and
unless they could strike the road they might wander on hour after hour
over the moors, only getting farther and farther out of their way. Tired
out with the rough trudge, the girls at last declared they must sit
still for a few minutes and rest.
"I'm awfully sorry to have landed you in such a hole," said Ralph, "but
who would have thought those innocent-looking clouds would have come
down on us like feather beds? You really never know what to expect on
these hills."
"I wonder what we'd better do?" said Monica.
"Stay where we are," suggested Irene.
"It would be too cold to spend the night here," replied Meta.
"We haven't even our jackets with us," added Lindsay.
"Unless we're quite dead beat, we'd better push on," said Leonard. "I'm
hoping we may come to the stream, because we could find our way along
the banks to Whitcombe, at any rate. I've been listening for it all the
time, but I haven't heard a sound."
"I wish we had a divining rod!" groaned Rhoda. "That would tell us in
what direction the water lay. We've been going south-east all the time,
haven't we?"
"Yes, I believe the stream lay due south from where we started,"
answered Ralph, "but I didn't dare to turn that way, because of the
quarry. Perhaps we may strike it higher up. If you're rested, girls,
we'll be going."
The damp, clinging clouds appeared to have settled down to stay. The
wind that had been blowing earlier in the day, when they ascended Pendle
Tor, had ceased, and there was not even the breath of a breeze to blow
away the clammy mist that was already drenching their clothes with a
chilly dew. It was now half-past five o'clock, and they had been
wandering for more than an hour.
"I haven't an idea where we are, nor how far we've come," said Ralph. "I
only know I've been steering east by the compass. Of course we've been
going very slowly, but I think we shouldn't be far from the brook. If we
could find that, it would be an enormous help."
"I believe I hear water now," said Rhoda, pausing a moment. "I'm sure I
do: to our left. Listen!"
All stood still, with every sense on the alert, straining their ears
intently for the faintest murmur. In the far distance it seemed to them
that they could certainly catch the unmistakable rush of a stream
flowing swiftly over a rough, stony bed. Guided by the sound, they
stumbled on, till at length, after climbing over a number of rocks,
they reached the welcome brook that was to be their path to home and
safety.
"I'm uncommonly glad to see it!" said Ralph, stooping to take a drink.
"I began to think we should never get back again. If we follow it down,
it will lead us straight into Whitcombe. Of course, that's far enough
out of our way, but we might get a trap there, and drive home."
It was a most terrible scramble down the bed of the stream, over jagged
rocks, among briers and bushes, and through rushes and reeds. The mist
still wrapped them round, and they did not dare to venture away from the
water to find smoother walking. The three visitors, who were not
accustomed to such exploits, were nearly exhausted, while even sturdy
Meta and Rhoda showed signs of giving in.
"We're at the old bridge now," said Ralph, trying to encourage them. "We
can climb up and get on to the road. It's only about three miles farther
to Whitcombe village. We're bound to find a trap of some sort there, and
then you'll be all right."
"I think the mist is lifting a little," said Leonard; "it isn't half as
thick as it was. Look at the sun trying to get through!"
"I believe we're walking straight out of the edge of the clouds. That's
what it is!" declared Ralph. "I begin to see the trees. Hurrah! It's
clearing ever so. We'll scramble up the bank, and we shall get along
much faster on the road than down here on these wretched stones. Cheer
up, girls! You'll soon be in Whitcombe now."
An hour afterwards, very footsore and weary, the party limped into
Whitcombe, a small hamlet consisting of a wayside inn and a handful of
cottages. It was eight o'clock, and the sun, behind long bars of crimson
and grey, had already begun to sink below the horizon. They were nine
miles away from home, as the stream had led them in quite a different
direction from Linforth, and, as Leonard expressed it, they had
"altogether landed themselves in a jolly pickle". Just at present tea
seemed the most pressing necessity, so a council of war was held to see
what funds could be mustered for the purpose. These did not amount to
very much. Lindsay and Rhoda were penniless, Monica also had left her
purse at the Vicarage. Irene and Meta mustered a shilling between them.
Ralph had a sixpence, while the contents of Leonard's pockets proved to
be exactly those of the traditional schoolboy's, twopence-halfpenny and
an old knife.
"I'm afraid it won't go very far," said Ralph. "We shall have to ask
them to give us tick. Come along! We'll try the inn, and see what they
will do for us."
"We must tell them who we are," added Meta, "and say Father will pay
afterwards."
The sight of seven such _bona fide_ travellers appeared to occasion much
surprise, to both the good woman at the bar and the few villagers who,
with pipes and glasses, were sitting discussing local politics and the
chances of the harvest. Tea at the unwonted hour of eight seemed an
unprecedented request, and the landlady was not content until she had
satisfied her curiosity as to who her guests were, where they came from,
and what they wanted at Whitcombe at that time in the evening.
"What we want is some tea," said Ralph, after a brief explanation of
their adventure, "and anything in the shape of a conveyance that can
take us back to Linforth to-night. We've only one and
eightpence-halfpenny amongst us, but my father will pay the rest when we
get home. If you like, I'll leave you my watch and chain."
"You've no need to do that!" laughed the landlady. "I'm sure I can trust
you. Come into the little parlour, and have your teas there. The young
ladies look ready to drop, and this is no fit place for them to sit down
in. Those mists be nasty things up Pendle Tor. It's a mercy as you've
got down at all. There was a gentleman from London caught there last
autumn, and he wandered round and round in a circle for two days before
it cleared and they found him. He was nigh dead, too, with the cold and
the damp. My son Albert shall put the horse in the trap and drive you
home. I dare say you'll manage to cram in somehow."
No tea was ever so acceptable as the large, steaming cups which they
drank in the stuffy little parlour, and no carriage and pair could have
been more welcome than the old market cart that came round to the door
afterwards. It was rather a problem how to pack themselves and the
driver into it, but Lindsay sat on Meta's knee, and Rhoda squeezed
herself between her two brothers on the front seat. The horse walked up
and down hill, and only rose to a measured trot on level ground, so it
took a considerable time to accomplish the nine-mile journey, and it was
nearly eleven o'clock before they reached the Vicarage. Very tired and
cold and cramped, they rushed into the house, where Mrs. Greenwood, in
an agony of suspense, had been imagining all the accidents which could
possibly have happened to them, and was preparing herself for the worst.
The Vicar and some of the neighbours, it appeared, were out searching
for them with lanterns, so a messenger was quickly sent through the
village to spread the good news of their safe arrival.
"You can't complain you've had no excitement here," said Ralph to the
three guests. "We almost drowned you on Saturday, and to-day we nearly
lost you on the moors. You're going to-morrow, or we might have had some
more hairbreadth escapes. At any rate, I don't think you'll forget
Pendle Tor in a hurry!"
Lindsay had certainly plenty of news to relate when she returned to the
Manor. Her classmates were quite envious, and poor Cicely was a little
wistful lest Rhoda should have usurped her place in her friend's
affections. Of that, however, she need not have been afraid. Lindsay was
faithful to her chosen chum, and had so many things to ask about, as
well as adventures to tell, that the two were soon chattering as fast as
usual. Cicely had made no further important discoveries during the few
days, though she had kept a careful watch on Mrs. Wilson, and had once
noticed her go up to the lantern room carrying a jug in her hand. Scott
had not been in the house again, but he had been seen talking earnestly
with "The Griffin" in the garden. He had gone hastily away when Cicely
approached, so he evidently did not wish the conversation to be
overheard. Whether it had anything to do with the mystery or not, it was
of course impossible to say.
"I'm rather glad, on the whole, that nothing particular happened while
you were away," said Cicely. "I should have wanted so dreadfully to
tell somebody, I'm afraid Marjorie Butler might have wormed it out of
me. As it is, they none of them know, and we still have the secret to
ourselves."