Freaks on the Fells: Three Months' Rustication, R. M. Ballantyne [read dune .txt] 📗

for a moment, and looked as if he were afraid he was going to “catch it.” However, he forced a laugh and said—

“Come, Billy, you needn’t look so cross. You know I was hard put to it w’en I sent you aboord the ‘Fair Nancy,’ and you shouldn’t ought to owe me a grudge for puttin’ ye in the way o’ makin’ yer fortin’.”

The man kept edging towards the boy as he spoke, but the boy observed this and kept edging away, regarding the man with compressed lips and dilated eyes, but not vouchsafing a word in reply.

“I say, Billy, it’s unkind, you know, to forget old times like this. I want to shake hands; and there’s my old woman up on the hill as wants to see you again.”

Suddenly the fierce look left the boy’s face, and was replaced by a wild, waggish expression.

“Oh! your old woman wants to see me, does she? And you want to shake hands, do you? Now look here, Growler; I see through you! You thought to catch a flat, and you’ll find you’ve caught a tartar; or, rather, that the tartar has caught you. But I’ve grown merciful since I went to sea,” (the lad tucked-up his wristbands at this point, as if he really meditated a hand-to-hand encounter with his huge antagonist). “I do remember old times, and I know how richly you deserve to be hanged; but I don’t want to mix up my home-coming, if I can help it, with dirty work. Now, I’ll tell you what—I’ll give you your choice o’ two courses. Either take yourself off and be out o’ hail of this part of the country within twelve hours, or walk with me to the nearest police station and give yourself up. There—I’ll give you exactly two minutes to think over it.”

The youthful salt here pulled out an enormous double-case silver watch with an air of perfect nonchalance, and awaited the result. For a few seconds the gypsy was overwhelmed by the lad’s coolness; then he burst into a gruff laugh and rushed at him. He might as well have run at a squirrel. The boy sprang to one side, crossed the road at a bound, and, still holding the watch, said—

“Half a minute gone!”

Again the man rushed at his small opponent with similar result, and a cool remark, that another half minute was gone. This so exasperated the gypsy, that he ran wildly after the boy for half a minute, but the latter was as active as a kitten, and could not be caught.

“Time’s up; two minutes and a quarter; so don’t say that I’m not merciful. Now, follow me to the constable.”

So saying, Billy, as the man had called him, turned his back towards the pass, and ran off at full speed towards the village. The gypsy followed him at once, feeling that his only chance lay in capturing the boy; but so artfully did Billy hang back and allow his pursuer to come close up, that he had almost succeeded in enticing him into the village, when the man became suddenly aware of his folly, and stopped. Billy stopped too.

“What! you’re not game to come on?”

The man shook his fist, and, turning his face towards the pass, ran back towards his booth in the hills, intending to take the boy’s first piece of advice, and quit that part of the country. But Billy had no idea of letting him off thus. He now became the pursuer. However fast the gypsy ran, the sailor-lad kept up with him. If the man halted, as he frequently did in a breathless condition, and tried to gain over his adversary, Billy also stopped, said he was in no hurry, thrust his hands into his jacket pockets, and began to whistle. Thus he kept him in view until they once more stood in the pass. Here the man sat down on a large stone, thoroughly exhausted. The boy sat down on another stone opposite to him, looking quite fresh and jolly. Five years of hearty devotion to a noble calling had prepared the muscles of the little sailor for that day’s exercise. The same number of years spent in debauchery and crime had not prepared the vagabond giant for that day’s work.

“What has brought you back?” said Growler, savagely.

“To see the old granny whom you stole me from,” replied the boy. “Also, to have the satisfaction of puttin’ you in limbo; although I did not expect to have this pleasure.”

“Ha! ha!” laughed Growler, sarcastically, “you’ll fail in both. It’s not so easy to put me in limbo as you think—and your grandmother is dyin’.”

“That’s false!” cried Billy, springing half way across the road and shaking his little fist at his enemy—“you know it is. The landlord of the ‘Blue Boar’ told me he saw her at church strong and well last Sunday.”

“She’s dyin’, however, may be dead,” said the man, with a sneer so full of triumph, that it struck a chill to the heart of the poor boy.

Just at that moment, Jacky Sudberry turned slowly round a sharp angle of the road, and stood there transfixed, with his eyes like two saucers, and his mouth as round as an o.

The sight of this intruder distracted Billy’s attention for a moment. Growler at once bounded over the low wall and dived into the underwood. Billy hesitated to follow him, for the last piece of information weighed heavily on his mind. That moment’s hesitation was sufficient for the gypsy to make good his retreat. Although Billy leaped the wall the next moment, and darted hither and thither through the copse, he failed to catch sight of him again, and finally returned to the road, where he found Jacky seated on a stone, pondering in a state of bewilderment on what he had seen.

“Well, my boy, how goes it?” cried the sailor heartily, as he came forward, wiping his heated brow with a blue spotted cotton handkerchief.

“All right!” was Jacky’s prompt reply. “I say, was you fightin’ with that man?”

“Ay, that was I, and I’ve not done with him yet.”

Jacky breathed hard and looked upon the young sailor-lad with a deep reverential awe, feeling that he was in the presence of a real Jack the Giant-killer.

“He runn’d away!” said Jacky in amazement. “Did you hit him hard?”

“Not with my fists; they ain’t big enough for that yet. We’ve only had a sparring-match with words and legs.”

Jacky glanced at Billy’s legs as if he regarded them in the light of dire engines of destruction. Indeed, his active mind jumped at once to the conclusion that the sailor’s must be a kicking mode of warfare; but he was too much amazed to make any rejoinder.

“Now, my boy, I’m going this way, so I’ll bid you good-day,” said Billy. Jacky informed him that he was going the same way,—having only been taking a stroll,—and would willingly go back: whereupon Billy put his arm round his shoulder, as boys are wont to do, and Jacky grasped Billy round the waist, and thus they wandered home together.

“I say, you’re a funny chap,” observed the young sailor, in a comic vein, as they went along.

“So are you,” replied Jacky, with intense gravity, being deeply serious.

Billy laughed; but as the two friends at that moment emerged from the pass and came in sight of the White House, the laugh was suddenly checked, and was followed by a sound that was not unlike choking. Jacky looked up in alarm, and was surprised to see tears hopping over his companion’s brown cheeks. To find a lad who could put a giant to flight was wonderful enough, but to find one who could cry without any reason at all was beyond belief. Jacky looked perplexed and said, “I say, what’s the matter?”

“Oh! nothing; only this is my old home, and my scrimmage with that villain has made me come plump on it without thinkin’. I was born here. I know every stone and bush. I—I—there’s the old—”

He choked again at this point, and Jacky, whose mind was only opening, stood looking on in silent wonder.

“My old granny lives here; old Moggy—”

The expression of Jacky’s face caused Billy to stop.

“Why, what’s wrong, boy?”

“Is—is—o–old Moggy your granny?” cried Jacky, eagerly, stumbling over his words as if he had come upon stepping-stones in the dark.

“Ay; what then?”

“Eh! I know her.”

“Do you, my boy?”

“Ye–yes; sh–she’s dyin’!”

The result of this remark was that the sailor-boy turned deadly pale, and stared at his little friend without being able to utter a word. Mere human nature taught Jacky that he had made a mistake in being so precipitate: but home education had not taught him to consider the feelings of others. He felt inclined to comfort his new friend, but knew not how to do it. At last a happy thought occurred to him, and he exclaimed eagerly—

“B–but sh–she’s not dead yet!”

“Does she live in the same cottage?” asked the boy, in a low, husky voice, not considering that his companion could not know what cottage she had occupied in former days. Jacky, also ignoring this fact, nodded his head violently, being past speech with excitement, and pointed in the direction of the hut.

Without another word, Billy, (more correctly speaking, Willie), at once took to his heels, and was followed by Jacky as fast as his short legs could carry him.

Flora Macdonald was administering a glass of hot wine and water to her patient, when the door was quickly, yet gently, opened, and a sailor-lad sprang into the room, fell on his knees beside the lowly couch, seized the old woman’s hand, gazed for a few seconds into her withered face, and then murmuring, “Granny, it’s me,” laid his head on her shoulder and burst into tears.

Flora gently drew the boy away.

“Willie, is it possible; can it be you?”

“Is she dyin’?” said Willie, looking up in Flora’s face with an expression of agony.

“I trust not, dear boy; but the doctor says she is very ill, and must be kept quiet.”

“Hoot, awa’ wi’ the doctor! He’s wrang,” cried old Moggy, suddenly raising herself with great energy on one elbow; “don’t I see my ain Willie there, as I’ve seen him in my dreams mony and mony a night?” (Flora grasped Willie’s arm to prevent his running towards her, and pointed to Jacky, who had at that moment entered the room, and was at once recognised by Moggy.) “Ay, little did I think when I said yestreen, ‘Thy wull be done,’ that He wad send my ain laddie back again!”

She folded Jacky, who had gone to the bedside, in her arms, and was with difficulty prevailed on to let him go. It was quite evident that her mind was wandering.

The effect of this little episode on Willie was powerful and twofold. A pang of jealousy at first shot through his heart like a flash of lightning; but when he perceived that the loving embrace was meant for his old self he broke down, and the tears once more tumbled over his brown cheeks.

“She cannot recognise you just now, dear Willie,” said Flora, deeply touched by the sorrow of the lad; “and, even if she could, I fear it would do her harm by exciting her too much. Come, my poor fellow,” (leading him softly to the door), “I am just going up to visit a kind English family, where they will be only too glad to put you up until it is safe to let her know that you have returned.”

“But she may die, and never know that I have returned,” said Willie, almost passionately, as he hung back.

“She is in God’s loving hands, Willie.”

“Can I not stay and help you to nurse her?” asked the boy, in pitiful tones.

Flora shook her head, and Willie meekly suffered himself to be led out of the hut.

This, then, was the home-coming that he had longed for so intensely; that he had dreamed of so often when far away upon the sea! No