Robert Michael Ballantyne
Freaks on the Fells: Three Months' Rustication
Story 1—Chapter 14.
A Surprise and a Battle
“Here! halloo! hi! Hobbs! I say,” shouted Mr Sudberry, running out at the front door, after having swept Lucy’s work-box off the table and trodden on the cat’s tail. “Where has that fellow gone to? He’s always out of the way. Halloo!” (looking up at the nursery window), “Mrs Brown!”
Mrs Brown, being deeply impressed with the importance of learning, (just because of Mrs Sudberry’s contempt thereof), was busily engaged at that moment in teaching Miss Tilly and Master Jacky a piece of very profound knowledge.
“Now, Miss Tilly, what is the meaning of procrastination?” (“Ho! hi! halloo-o-o-o,” from Mr Sudberry; but Mrs Brown, supposing the shout is meant for any one but herself; takes no notice of it.)
Tilly.—“Doing to-day what you might have put off till to-morrow.” (“Halloo! ho! don’t you hear? hi!” from below.)
Mrs Brown.—“No, you little goose! What is it, Jacky?”
Jacky.—“Doing to-morrow what you might have put off till to-day.” (“Hi! halloo! are you deaf up there?”)
Mrs Brown.—“Worse and worse, stupid little goose!”
Jacky, (indignantly).—“Well, then, if it’s neither one thing nor t’other, just let’s hear what you make it out to be—” (“Hi! ho! halloo! Mrs Bra–a–own!”)
“Bless me, I think papa is calling on me. Yes, sir. Was you calling, sir?” (throwing up the window and looking out.)
“Calling! no; I wasn’t ‘calling.’ I was shrieking, howling, yelling. Is Hobbs there?”
“No, sir; ’Obbs is not ’ere, sir.”
“Well, then, be so good as to go and look for him, and say I want him directly to go for the letters.”
“’Ere I am, sir,” said Hobbs, coming suddenly round the corner of the house, with an appearance of extreme haste.
Hobbs had, in fact, been within hearing of his master, having been, during the last half-hour, seated in McAllister’s kitchen, where the uproarious merriment had drowned all other sounds. Hobbs had become a great favourite with the Highland family, owing to his hearty good humour and ready power of repartee. The sharp Cockney, with the easy-going effrontery peculiar to his race, attempted to amuse the household—namely, Mrs McAllister, Dan, Hugh, and two good-looking and sturdy-limbed servant-girls—by measuring wits with the “canny Scot,” as he called the farmer. He soon found, however, that he had caught a Tartar. The good-natured Highlander met his raillery with what we may call a smile of grave simplicity, and led him slyly into committing himself in such a way that even the untutored servants could see how far the man was behind their master in general knowledge; but Hobbs took refuge in smart reply, confident assertion, extreme volubility, and the use of hard words, so that it sometimes seemed to the domestics as if he really had some considerable power in argument. Worthy Mrs McAllister never joined in the debate, except by a single remark now and then. She knew her son thoroughly, and before the Sudberrys had been a week at the White House she understood Hobbs through and through.
She was wont to sit at her spinning-wheel regarding this intellectual sparring with grave interest, as a peculiar phase of the human mind. A very sharp encounter had created more laughter than usual at the time when Mr Sudberry halloed for his man-servant.
“You must be getting deaf; Hobbs, I fear,” said the master, at once pacified by the man’s arrival; “go down and fetch—”
“Pray do not send him away just now,” cried Mrs Sudberry: “I have something particular for him to do. Can you go down yourself, dear?”
The good man sighed. “Well, I will go,” and accordingly away he went.
“Stay, my dear.”
“Well.”
“I expect one or two small parcels by the coach this morning; mind you ask for ’em and bring ’em up.”
“Ay, ay!” and Mr Sudberry, with his hands in his pockets, and his wideawake thrust back and very much on one side of his head, sauntered down the hill towards the road.
One of the disadvantageous points about the White House was its distance from any town or market. The nearest shop was four miles off, so that bread, butter, meat, and groceries, had to be ordered a couple of days beforehand, and were conveyed to their destination by the mail-coach. Even after they were deposited at the gate of Mr McAllister’s farm, there was still about half a mile of rugged cart-road to be got over before they could be finally deposited in the White House. This was a matter of constant anxiety to Mr Sudberry, because it was necessary that someone should be at the gate regularly to receive letters and parcels, and this involved constant attention to the time of the mail passing. When no one was there, the coachman left the property of the family at the side of the road. Hobbs, however, was usually up to time, fair weather and foul, and this was the first time his master had been called on to go for the letters.
Walking down the road, Mr Sudberry whistled an extremely operatic air, in the contentment of his heart, and glanced from side to side, with a feeling amounting almost to affection, at the various objects which had now become quite familiar to him, and with many of which he had interesting associations.
There was the miniature hut, on the roof of which he usually laid his rod on returning from a day’s fishing. There was the rude stone bridge over the burn, on the low parapet of which he and the family were wont to sit on fine evenings, and commune of fishing, and boating, and climbing, and wonder whether it would be possible ever again to return to the humdrum life of London. There was the pool in the same burn over which one day he, reckless man, had essayed to leap, and into which he had tumbled, when in eager pursuit of Jacky. A little below this was the pool into which the said Jacky had rushed in wild desperation on finding that his father was too fleet for him. Passing through a five-barred gate into the next field, he skirted the base of a high, precipitous crag, on which grew a thicket of dwarf-trees and shrubs, and at the foot of which the burn warbled. Here, on his left, stood the briar bush out of which had whirred the first live grouse he ever set eyes on. It was at this bird, that, in the madness of his excitement, he had flung first his stick, then his hat, and lastly his shout of disappointment and defiance. A little further on was that other bush out of which he had started so many grouse that he now never approached it without a stone in each hand, his eyes and nostrils dilated, and his breath restrained. He never by any chance on these occasions sent his artillery within six yards of the game; but once, when he approached the bush in a profound reverie, and without the usual preparation, he actually saw a bird crouching in the middle of it! To seize a large stone and hit the ground at least forty yards beyond the bush was the work of a moment. Up got the bird with a tremendous whizz! He flung his stick wildly, and, hitting it, (by chance), fair on the head, brought it down. To rush at it, fall on it, crush it almost flat, and rise up slowly holding it very tight, was the result of this successful piece of poaching. Another result was a charming addition to a dinner a few days afterwards.
At all these objects Mr Sudberry gazed benignantly as he sauntered along in the sunshine, indulging in sweet memories of the recent past, and whistling operatically.
The high-road gained, he climbed upon the gate, seated himself upon the top bar to await the passing of the mail, and began to indulge in a magnificent air, the florid character of which he rendered much more effective than the composer had intended by the introduction of innumerable flourishes of his own.
It was while thus engaged, and in the middle of a tremendous shake, that Mr Sudberry suddenly became aware of the presence of a man not more than twenty yards distant. He was lying down on the embankment beside the road, and his ragged dress of muddy-brown corduroy so resembled the broken ground on which he lay that he was not a very distinct object, even when looked at point-blank. Certainly Mr Sudberry thought him an extremely disagreeable object as he ended in an ineffective quaver and with a deep blush; for that man must be more than human, who, when caught in the act of attempting to perpetrate an amateur concert in all its parts, does not feel keenly.
Being of a sociable disposition, Mr Sudberry was about to address this ill-favoured beggar—for such he evidently was—when the coach came round a distant bend in the road at full gallop. It was the ordinary tall, top-heavy mail of the first part of the nineteenth century. Being a poor district, there were only two horses, a white and a black; but the driver wore a stylish red coat, and cracked his whip smartly. The road being all down hill at that part, the coach came on at a spanking pace, and pulled up with a crash.
The beggar turned his face to the ground, and pretended to be asleep.
Mr Sudberry noticed this; but, being interested in his own affairs, soon forgot the circumstance.
“Got any letters for me to-day, my man?”
Oh, yes, he has letters and newspapers too. Mr Sudberry mutters to himself as they are handed down, “Capital!—ha!—business; hum!—private; ho!—compasses; good! Any more?”
There are no more; but there is a parcel or two. The coachman gets down and opens the door of the box behind. The insides peep out, and the outsides look down with interest. A great many large and heavy things are pulled out and laid on the road.
Mr Sudberry remarks that it would have been “wiser to have stowed his parcels in front.”
The coachman observes that these are his parcels, shuts the door, mounts the box, and drives away, with the outsides grinning and the insides stretching their heads out, leaving Mr Sudberry transfixed and staring.
“‘One or two small parcels,’” murmured the good man, recalling his wife’s words; “‘and mind you bring ’em up.’ One salmon, two legs of mutton, one ham, three dozen of beer, a cask of—of—something or other, and a bag of—of—ditto, (groceries, I suppose), ‘and mind you bring ’em up!’ How! ‘that is the question!’” cried Mr Sudberry, quoting Hamlet, in desperation.
Suddenly he recollected the beggar-man. “Halloo! friend; come hither.”
The man rose slowly, and rising did not improve his appearance. He was rather tall, shaggy, loose-jointed, long-armed, broad-shouldered, and he squinted awfully. His nose was broken, and his dark colour bespoke him a gypsy.
“Can you help me up to yonder house with these things, my man?”
“No,” said the man, gruffly, “I’m footsore with travellin’, but I’ll watch them here while you go up for help.”
“Oh! ahem!” said Mr Sudberry, with peculiar emphasis; “you seem a stout fellow, and might find more difficult ways of earning half a crown. However, I’ll give you that sum if you go up and tell them to send down a barrow.”
“I’ll wait here,” replied the man, with a sarcastic grin, limping back to his former seat on the bank.
“Oh! very well, and I will wait here,” said Mr Sudberry, seating himself on a large stone, and pulling out his letters.
Seeing this, the gypsy got up again, and looked cautiously along the road, first to the right and then to the left. No human being was in sight. Mr Sudberry observed the act, and felt uncomfortable.
“You’d better go for help, sir,” said the man, coming forward.
“Thank you, I’d rather wait for it.”
“This seems a handy sort of thing to carry,” said the gypsy, taking up the sack that looked like groceries, and throwing it across his shoulder. “I’ll save you the trouble of taking this one up, anyhow.”
He went off at once at a sharp walk, and with no symptom either of lameness or exhaustion. Mr Sudberry was after him in a moment. The man turned round and faced him.
“Put that where you took it from!” thundered Mr Sudberry.
“Oh! you’re going to resist.”
The gypsy uttered an oath, and ran at Mr Sudberry, intending to overwhelm him with one blow, and rob him on the spot. The big blockhead little knew his man. He did not know that the little Englishman was a man of iron frame; he only regarded him as a fiery little gentleman. Still less did he know that Mr Sudberry had in his youth been an expert boxer, and that he had even had the honour of being knocked flat on his back more than once by professional gentlemen—in an amicable way, of course—at four and sixpence a lesson. He knew nothing of all this, so he rushed blindly on his fate, and met it—that is to say, he met Mr Sudberry’s left fist with the bridge of his nose, and his right with the pit of his stomach; the surprising result of which was that the gypsy staggered back against the wall.
But the man was not a coward, whatever other bad qualities he might have been possessed of. Recovering in a moment, he rushed upon his little antagonist, and sent in two sledge-hammer blows with such violence that nothing but the Englishman’s activity could have saved him from instant defeat. He ducked to the first, parried the second, and returned with such prompt good-will on the gypsy’s right eye, that he was again sent staggering back against the wall; from which point of observation he stared straight before him, and beheld Mr Sudberry in the wildness of his excitement, performing a species of Cherokee war-dance in the middle of the road. Nothing daunted, however, the man was about to renew his assault, when George and Fred, all ignorant of what was going on, came round a turn of the road, on their way to see what was detaining their father with the letters.
“Why, that’s father!” cried Fred.
“Fighting!” yelled George.
They were off at full speed in a moment. The gypsy gave but one glance, vaulted the wall, and dived into the underwood that lined the banks of the river. He followed the stream a few hundred yards, doubled at right angles on his course, and in ten minutes more was seen crossing over a shoulder of the hill, like a mountain hare.
Story 1—Chapter 15.
A Dream and a Ball
That evening Mr Sudberry, having spent the day in a somewhat excited state—having swept everything around him, wherever he moved, with his coat-tails, as with the besom of destruction—having despatched a note to the nearest constabulary station, and having examined the bolts and fastenings of the windows of the White House—sat down after supper to read the newspaper, and fell fast asleep, with his head hanging over the back of his chair, his nose turned up to the ceiling, and his mouth wide open. His loving family—minus Tilly and Jacky, who were abed—encircled the table, variously employed; and George stood at his elbow, fastening up a pair of bookshelves of primitive construction, coupled together by means of green cord.
While thus domestically employed, they heard a loud, steady thumping outside. The Sudberrys were well acquainted by this time with that sound and its cause. At first it had filled Mrs Sudberry with great alarm, raising in her feeble mind horrible reminiscences of tales of burglary and midnight murder. After suffering inconceivable torments of apprehension for two nights, the good lady could stand it no longer, and insisted on her husband going out to see what it could be. As the sound appeared to come from the cottage, or off-shoot from the White House, in which the McAllisters lived, he naturally went there, and discovered that the noise was caused by the stoutest of the two servant-girls. This sturdy lass, whose costume displayed a pair of enormous ankles to advantage, and exhibited a pair of arms that might have made a prize-fighter envious, was standing in the middle of the floor, with a large iron pot before her and a thick wooden pin in her hands, with the end of which she was, according to her own statement, “champin’ tatties.”
Mrs McAllister, her son, Hugh and Dan, and the other servant-girl, were seated round the walls of the room, watching the process with deep interest, for their supper was in that pot. The nine dogs were also seated round the room, watching the process with melancholy interest; for their supper was not in that pot, and they knew it, and wished it was.
“My dear,” said Mr Sudberry, on returning to the parlour, “they are ‘champing tatties.’”
“What?”
“‘Champing tatties,’ in other words, mashing potatoes, which it would seem, with milk, constitute the supper of the family.”
Thus was Mrs Sudberry’s mind relieved, and from that night forward no further notice was taken of the sound.
But on the present occasion the champing of the tatties had an unwonted effect on Mr Sudberry. It caused him to dream, and his dreams naturally took a pugilistic turn. His breathing became quick and short; his face began to twitch; and Lucy suggested that it would be as well to “awake papa,” when papa suddenly awaked himself; and hit George a tremendous blow on the shoulder.
“Hallo! father,” cried George remonstratively, rubbing the assaulted limb; “really, you know, if you come it in this way often, you will alienate my affections, I fear.”
“My dear boy!—what?—where? Why, I was dreaming!”
Of course he was, and the result of his dream was that everybody in the room started up in surprise and excitement. Thereafter they sat down in a gay and very talkative humour. Soon afterwards a curious squeaking was heard in the adjoining cottage, and another thumping sound began, which was to the full as unremitting as, and much more violent than, that caused by “champin’ tatties.” The McAllister household, having supped, were regaling themselves with a dance.
“What say to a dance with them?” said George.
“Oh!” cried Lucy, leaping up.
“Capital!” shouted Mr Sudberry, clapping his hands.
A message was sent in. The reply was, “heartily welcome!” and in two minutes Mr Sudberry and stout servant-girl Number 1, George and stout girl Number 2, Hugh and Lucy, Dan and Hobbs, (the latter consenting to act as girl Number 3), were dancing the Reel o’ Tullochgorum like maniacs, to the inspiring strains of McAllister’s violin, while Peter sat in a corner in constant dread of being accidentally sat down upon. Fred, in another corner, looked on, laughed, and was caressed furiously by the nine dogs. Mrs Sudberry talked philosophy in the window, with grave, earnest Mrs McAllister, whose placid equanimity was never disturbed, but flowed on, broad and deep, like a mighty river, and whose interest in all things, small and great, seemed never to flag for a moment.
The room in which all this was going on was of the plainest possible description. It was the hall, the parlour, the dining-room, the drawing-room, and the library of the McAllister Family. Earth was the floor, white-washed and uneven were the walls, non-existent was the ceiling, and black with peat-smoke were the rafters. There was a dresser, clean and white, and over it a rack of plates and dishes. There was a fire-place—a huge yawning gulf; with a roaring fire, (for culinary purposes only, being summer),—and beside it a massive iron gallows, on which to hang the family pot. Said pot was a caldron; so big was it that there was a species of winch and a chain for raising and lowering it over the fire; in fact, a complicated sort of machinery, mysterious and soot-begrimed, towered into the dark depths of the ample chimney. There was a brown cupboard in one corner, and an apoplectic eight-day clock in another. A small bookshelf supported the family Bible and several ancient and much-worn volumes. Wooden benches were ranged round the walls; and clumsy chairs and tables, with various pails, buckets, luggies, troughs, and indescribable articles, completed the furniture of the picturesque and cosy apartment. The candle that lighted the whole was supported by a tall wooden candlestick, whose foot rested on the ground, and whose body, by a simple but clumsy contrivance, could be lengthened or shortened at pleasure, from about three to five feet.
But besides all this, there was a world of matériel disposed on the black rafters above—old farm implements, broken furniture, an old musket, an old claymore, a broken spinning-wheel, etcetera, all of which were piled up and so mingled with the darkness of the vault above, that imagination might have deemed the spot a general rendezvous for the aged and the maimed of “still life.”
Fast and furious was the dancing that night. Native animal spirits did it all. No artificial stimulants were there. “Tatties and mulk” were at the bottom of the whole affair. The encounter of that forenoon seemed to have had the effect of recalling the spirit of his youth to Mr Sudberry, and his effervescing joviality gave tone to all the rest.
“Now, Fred, you must take my place,” said he, throwing himself in an exhausted condition on a “settle.”
“But perhaps your partner may want a rest?” suggested Fred.
Lass Number 1 scorned the idea: so Fred began.
“Are your fingers not tired?” asked Mr Sudberry, wiping his bald forehead, which glistened as if it had been anointed with oil.
“Not yet,” said McAllister quietly.
Not yet! If the worthy Highlander had played straight on all night and half the next day, he would have returned the same answer to the same question.
“You spend a jolly life of it here,” said Mr Sudberry to Mrs McAllister.
“Ay, a pleasant life, no doot; but we’re not always fiddling and dancing.”
“True, but the variety of herding the cattle on these splendid hills is charming.”
“So it is,” assented Mrs McAllister; “we’ve reason to be contented with our lot. Maybe ye would grow tired of it, however, if ye was always here. I’m told that the gentry whiles grow tired of their braw rooms, and take to plowterin’ aboot the hills and burns for change. Sometimes they even dance wi’ the servants in a Highland cottage!”
“Ha! you have me there,” cried Mr Sudberry, laughing.
“Let me sit down, pa, pray do!” cried Lucy. Her father rose quickly, and Lucy dropped into his place quite exhausted.
“Come, father, relieve me!” cried Fred. “I’m done up, and my partner won’t give in.”
To say truth, it seemed as if the said partner, (stout lass Number 1), never would give in at all. From the time that the Sudberrys entered she had not ceased to dance reel after reel, without a minute of breathing-time. Her countenance was like the sun in a fog; her limbs moved as deftly and untiringly, after having tired out father and son, as they did when she began the evening; and she now went on, with a quiet smile on her face, evidently resolved to show their English guests the nature of female Highland metal.
In the midst of all this the dogs suddenly became restive, and began to growl. Soon after, a knock came to the door, and the dogs rushed at it, barking violently. Mr McAllister went out, and found that a company of wandering beggars had arrived, and prayed to be allowed to sleep in the barn. Unfortunate it was for them that they came so soon after Mr Sudberry’s unpleasant rencounter with one of their fraternity. The good man of the house, although naturally humane and hospitable to such poor wanderers, was on the present occasion embittered against them; so he ordered them off.
This incident brought the evening to an abrupt termination, as it was incumbent on the farmer to see the intruders safely off his premises. So the Sudberrys returned, in a state of great delight, excitement, and physical warmth, to their own parlour.
The only other fact worth recording in regard to this event is, that the Sudberrys were two hours late for breakfast next morning!
