The roads were deep in snow. The fall had begun two hours before light;
gently, and with large flakes--the presage of what was to come. Snow was
still falling in the afternoon; but now the wind had sprung up, and each
large flake was torn into a dozen as the wind played with them, driving
them upwards like dust, then catching them and sending them horizontally
and at speed over the ground, till they could find a resting-place in
some drift that was forming on the north sides of fences, or peace
beneath the brambles of some ditch.
An hour or more before dark the wind increased, and was blowing a whole
gale. What fun to be out in that: come on!
It was not long before man and dog were away. The roads would be safe on
such a day as this; so, for once, the two trudged along till they
overtook two waggons. How big they looked in the smother, each with its
team of three--a pair in the shafts, and one more ahead as leader.
Talking was difficult, or well-nigh impossible; but at least they could
join the men, and shout a word or two at times.
On the weather side the great horses looked twice their size, plastered
as they were with snow, their manes and the hair about their huge feet
all matted with ice. But on the lee they looked different animals, for
their coats were darkened, being drenched with sweat: it was with
difficulty that they kept their feet, and their breath came heavily
through their nostrils as they struggled on.
Not that they had a heavy load to draw. The waggons were empty. They had
come in with a full load in the morning, intending to bring coal back.
"But how was 'em to do that, in weather the like of this; or on roads
same as these here? Nay, nay," shouted the rearmost carter, "we's for
getting home, empty or somehow, if so be as these here can keep their
feets. The road below the snow is ice, I tell ye--just ice; and, what's
more, Fiddlehill lies just ahead for we." The last words were punctuated
with the crack of a whip like a pistol-shot: all talk was dropped after
that for a while; the wind was growing fiercer.
Both waggons were painted yellow, picked out with scarlet; but the paint
that had looked brilliant in the sun of the harvest days looked tawdry
and dirty now against the snow, and every patch or scar of rough usage
was easily discernible. Now and then the wind came with a savage gust,
carrying stray straws out of one of the waggons, though snow was
collecting on the floor: on the other, the cords of a tarpaulin,
indifferently secured, were smacking the yellow sides like a lash. Some
of these sounds did not suit Murphy very well; but he had found out the
best and safest place, and was making his way as well as he could,
sheltered beneath the rearmost waggon and between the tall hind wheels,
whose rims and spokes and hubs were hung and bespattered, like all else,
with snow.
It was true that he looked like some other person's dog, with a white
face and whiskers. But his master was white, too, from head to foot; what
recked it!
In another hour or less darkness would have shut down on the world,
though such a term as darkness was only relative on a day when it could
never have been said to have been light.
When the open was reached, the snow, broken into hard flakes, whipped
face and ears like nettles. Murphy was the best off of the party, save
when something had drawn him from beneath the waggon, and he was having a
game with the snow on his own account. Great wreaths hung to the fences,
or stood out in ledges where the banks were high. The sky, or rather the
whole air, was lead colour, and all distance was blotted out. Flocks of
crazy, distracted birds flew close by in great numbers, for the most part
finches and larks, with here and there a fieldfare or two, their breasts
and underwings buff colour. Then came a flight wholly made up of
buntings, whose brilliant yellows looked deep orange against the leaden
grey that shrouded all.
There was no end to the great host. They were all going one way: they
made no sound but the swish of wings, and uttered no single note: they
passed at speed as though in fear, yet all the while in obedience to the
supremest law of all. To the southward there would be protection; life
there would be preserved: here it was impossible--for birds. "Keep low;
press on!" Victory shall be to the strongest: the weak shall fall in this
pitiless wind, and the snow shall cover the dead, but in the end there
shall be a better life for some. "Keep low; press on!"
There was something weird in such a sight as that: there was something
weird also in the sound of the wind. It came sweeping over the fields,
tearing with angry gusts at the snow-laden briars in the fences, and
passing on with a moaning sound into the dark of the approaching night.
There was no sign of human beings anywhere. Familiar objects had all
changed their character, though it was only by these that whereabouts
could be told. The remains of a hay-rick by the roadside suddenly showed
up out of the mirk, with white top like some great ghost, its blackened
sides flecked here and there with snow. In the hot days of June two here
had seen it built; and, later on, watched the trussers at work on it,
when the price of hay had gone up, and farmers could make a few pounds.
But that job, like most others, had had to be abandoned now.
Why, here was the great stoggle oak by the pool, on whose limbs in former
times, tradition had it, many a highwayman had swung! The storm to it was
nothing: it had weathered so many: the world was a fair place; but life
was full of tests as well as trials. "Heads up! Bear yourselves like
men," its limbs seemed to roar in solemn, deep diapason. "Heads
up!--there is a haven for all ahead!"
It was fifty yards further on before the voice of the oak was lost. But
as man and dog worked further still, for very joy of the wind and the
snow and love for the elements at their worst--the horses struggling, the
waggoners calling to them loudly and urging them to put their best into
it, with many a crack of the whip--there suddenly fell a lull, and for a
moment there was peace. And just then, up from the valley, there came
other sounds--the larch and the firs down there were sighing out a tune
to themselves, being partly sheltered by the hill.
It was time to turn back. There was a lane in the direction of those last
sounds: home could easily be reached that way, and, likely enough, with
the set of the wind, the roadway itself would have been swept almost
bare.
The waggons were lost to sight in a moment, though the woody rattle of
the axles could still be heard: snow was falling heavily again: the cold
was becoming intense: the wind was now dropping altogether. A dead bird
or two were passed, lying in the snow, claws in air and already stiff: a
felt and a yellowhammer were side by side at the bottom of the hill. It
was like the dead in gay uniforms, lying scattered after an action. A
little further on there was a blackbird, to Murphy's very evident glee.
He found it at once, and was for carrying it home; it was still warm. But
this was no time for fooling. It was already dark and growing darker; the
proper thing to do was to keep together and make for home. Travelling was
none too easy, even for tall men, and really difficult for dogs in
places.
At points where field gates opened on to the road, drifts had formed two
feet in depth, right across the way, and it was necessary to pick up the
dog and carry him, though to the latter's thinking that was a silly thing
to do. Time was, when his master had had to do that; but he had then been
no better than a child in arms. Now he was a man, and had come to man's
estate, and, furthermore, had learnt what life was, with its hours full
of health, and crammed with fresh adventures and experiences, as, of
course, it should be. His muscles were hard and flexible as steel, his
heart strong with life, his brain quick to learn whatsoever his master
thought best that he should know. Health, strength, what happiness it all
was! The neighbourhood of those waggons had been rather depressing, and
the crack of those whips somewhat disconcerting; but he did not stop to
reason why. It was enough that he and his master were together. The past
might look after itself, and so might the future; this was the
all-sufficient present.
A deep silence reigned in the valley; even the larch and the firs had
given up their songs. There was the scrunch of the foot at each step, and
now and then a rustle in the hedge, as a bramble became overweighted with
snow and dislodged its load into the ditch, or last year's leaves, still
clinging to some oak, rustled and were still again. Otherwise the world
was dead or asleep; it made little difference which.
A cottage was passed further on, and a chink of light from a candle
within showed that the snowflakes were still falling fast. This way would
be impassable by morning. At the turn of the lane voices were heard. They
were some way off; but it was easy to recognise that they were those of
two men talking. Presently the voices became more audible. It was too
dark to see who the men were as they passed: at night, when snow is
falling, those met are up and gone by almost before their approach is
realised. There was just time for a "Good-night," with a "Good-night to
you, Sir," in reply.
For an instant there was silence: then the men began talking again.
"Bless the Lord!--did you see who that was, Tom, and on such a night as
this!" remarked one.
"Don't know as I know'd un."
"Not know un?"
"Why, bless the life on yer--that's Him an' his dog!"
"There, was it now? Him an' his dog, for sure. Carrying un, wus he? Like
un."
"Ah--allus together, ain't 'em?"
"For his part, he don't seem to have much else."
It would be well to get on, and not to stand there gaping into the
darkness, listening to what you were never meant to hear. The truth of
the old saying generally holds good; and sometimes words accidentally
overheard in such ways are fixed in the mind for life. These last were
like a stab.
"Don't seem to have much else?" What did the fellow mean? How invariably
lookers-on misjudged! What a mistake it was to pass judgment at all--on
anything or anybody!
"... Much else ... much else...?"
The road was less deeply covered here. The dog was heavy: a few yards
more and he was put down. As the journey was resumed, he took to playing
in the darkness, and, in his winning and affectionate way, with the
fingers of his master's hand, as much as to say, "Thank you: we are
together; the rest matters little."
"Him and his dog ... much else ... much else...?" The words kept time
with the footfall.
How dark it was!
And cold--the thermometer marked minus 1°.