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Crown and Sceptre: A West Country Story, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 11. Nat Is Very Much In The Way |
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_ CHAPTER ELEVEN. NAT IS VERY MUCH IN THE WAY Fred lay for some few moments thinking over his vivid dream and unable for a time to realise that he had been fast asleep. That was the morning sunshine sure enough, and this was his room; but his head felt in a whirl, and as if it was mixed up with some puzzle. But that was not the coinage of his brain that distant _pit-pat_ of a horse's hoofs upon the hard road; and springing out of bed, he ran to the window, threw it open, and looked out, straining his neck to get a glimpse of the distant way. For a few moments he could see nothing. Then there came into sight, rising out of a hollow, the head and broad shoulders of a horseman. As he progressed, more and more of his figure appealed as he ascended a slope, till at last the horse was in full view, but directly afterwards they seemed to top the ascent and begin to go down on the other side, with the sun flashing from stirrup and buckle, and from the hilt of the rider's sword. There were other bright flashes too all around, but they were from the dewdrops which spangled grass and leaf, as the rider seemed to grow shorter, his horse disappearing, till only his head and shoulders appeared above the ridge, and then they passed away, and the _pit-pat_ of the horse's hoofs died out. "Gone!" said Fred, thoughtfully. "No! there he is again;" and he strained his eyes to gaze at the tiny distant form of the military-looking man who had made so strong an impression upon him, but he did not become visible; it was only the sound of his horse's hoofs which were heard for the space of a minute, faint but clear, on the morning air. Then all was silent. "I half like that Captain Miles," said Fred to himself. "Wish I was going with him. Wonder where he has gone? To Plymouth, perhaps." Fred began to dress, after hesitating whether he should go to bed again. But the bright morning was so attractive, and after the first application of cold water, he felt a positive eagerness to get out in the fresh air. All the time he was dressing his head was full of his confused dream and the fight in the narrow passage, while the events of the preceding day had so impressed him that he hurried downstairs, glanced at the hall clock, which pointed to a quarter to five, and, taking his hat, ran out, and down the garden. "Morning, Master Fred," came from behind the hedge; and it was so sudden that the lad jumped. "You, Samson?" he cried. "Yes; I've been starting that gen'leman who come yesterday. Had to get up at four and have his horse ready. Going fishing?" "No; only for a walk." "Over to the Hall?" "Yes, Samson," replied the lad, impatiently. "Then, if you see that bad brother o' mine, Master Fred, don't you speak to him. I'm getting ashamed of him." "No: he's getting ashamed of you, Sam," cried Fred, tauntingly. "What?" "Well, he said so last night." "Ashamed of me, sir. I should like to see him be 'shamed of me. I'd give him something to be 'shamed about." "Oh yes, of course," cried Fred; and he ran on, forgetting all about the gardener in his eagerness to get to the lake. The birds were twittering and singing in the woods and coppices, the soft, silvery mists were rising from the hollow, and each broad fern frond glistened as if set with tiny jewels of every prismatic hue. Away too in the distance, as he topped a hill, one corner of the Hall lake could be seen glistening like burnished silver set in a frame of vivid green. But these were too common objects to take the boy's attention as he walked up the hill slope and trotted down the other side, for he was intent upon one thing only, a faint indication of which was given by his exclaiming once-- "How surprised old Scar will be!" It was not to go under his window and rouse Scar by throwing pebbles up at the lattice-pane, for instead of taking the dewy path round, by the high trees, which would have taken him at once to the house, Fred ran down the sharp slope into the little coombe, through which ran off the surplus waters of the lake. Here there was a clump of alders growing amongst the sandstone rocks, and three of the larger trees had been cut down to act as posts, to one of which the old flat-bottomed boat was fastened by a chain. The boy had about fifty yards to go through this clump of alders, a little winding path trampled by the cattle forming his way; and along this he turned, so as to get to the opening where the trees had been cut down, and the boat lay. But before he was three-parts of the way through, he heard a peculiar scraping sound, followed by a splash, and then a repetition, and another repetition, in regular rhythm and measure. Fred stopped short, listening. "How tiresome!" he muttered. "Scar must have told old Nat to bale her out before he went to bed. Wonder how long he'll be?" Evidently intending to wait until the man whom he heard was gone, Fred crept softly along, listening to the rhythmic splash of water, till he could peer through the thin growth at the person bailing out the boat. No sooner did he catch sight of him than he dashed forward to where Scarlett sat on the edge of the old punt wielding a shallow iron pot. "Fred!" "Scar!" "Why, what brought you over so soon?" "What are you doing there?" "Baling." "Yes; and you were going over yonder without me?" Scarlett sat tapping the gunwale of the boat with the pot, having ceased to bale. "Yes, I knew you were," continued Fred, in an altered tone, as the other remained silent. "Come, now, confess." "I don't know that I need call it confessing," said Scarlett, throwing back his head and speaking haughtily. "It's our boat, and our lake, and that place is all ours." "Yes; but we were schoolfellows, and we found it together." Scarlett winced a little at this. "And you were going to steal a march and find it all out by yourself. I do call it mean," cried Fred, angrily. "I didn't think you'd do such a thing, Scar, and--" "You thought just the same," said Scarlett, quickly, "and meant to take the boat before I was up, and that's why you are here." He looked sharply at Fred, who thrust his hands in his pockets, and suddenly became interested in the movements of a bald coot, which was paddling in and out among the reeds which grew right into the lake. "There now, you're found out too, and you're as bad as I am," cried Scarlett. "Well, I only meant it as a surprise. Is she very leaky?" Scarlett seemed disposed to hold off, but the interest of the project in hand swept all that away, and he replied sociably enough. "No; she has been so deep in the water and got so soaked, that I don't think much comes in." "Bale away, then," cried Fred. "Suppose you have a turn. I'm getting hot." Fred required no further hint, but stripping off his jerkin and rolling up his sleeves, he was soon at work scooping up the water and sending it flying and sparkling in the morning sunshine, while Scarlett sat and chatted. "I didn't care to ask Nat to clean out the boat," he said, "for he's such an inquisitive fellow. He'd have wanted to know what I was going to do, and if I hadn't told him--" "I know," said Fred, making a momentary iris as he sent the water flying, "he'd have hidden away and watched you." "Yes; sure to." "And Samson's just the same. I have to cheat him sometimes. But it didn't matter cheating old Nat. What I think was so shabby was trying to cheat me." Scarlett was silent for a minute. "I should have told you afterwards," he said. "Here, let me have a turn now." "No; I shall finish," replied Fred, wielding the old pot with increased energy, "just to show you how forgiving I am." "Ah! but you're found out too," cried Scarlett. "Well, I didn't mean any harm," cried Fred, with a droll look, "and should have told you afterwards." "Yes; but--" "Look here," cried Fred, "you say another word about it, and I'll throw all the water over you." "Let's make haste, then, and go and find the way in before breakfast." For answer Fred scooped away at such a rate that he had soon cleared the boat down to the little well-like hollow arranged to catch the drainings. "Now then," he cried, "I'm tired. You row." Scarlett unhooked the chain, gave the boat a good thrust, seized the oars, and in ten minutes more they were coasting along as near to the bank as the overhanging trees and projecting bushes would allow. For quite half an hour they searched to and fro, but without result. There were plenty of likely looking places overgrown with ivy, and sheltered by the willows, alders, and birches, but not one showed a sign of having been built up with rough blocks of stone, or presented a hole such as they had seen from the inside. "We shall never find it like this," said Fred, at last. "How are we to find it, then? And we must go soon, as some one will see us, and wonder what we are doing." "Oh no; they'll only think we are fishing," said Fred. "I'll tell you how to find it." "How?" "We must cut a long willow, and strip it all but the leaves on the end." "What for?" "Then one of us must go down the opening yonder, wade along the passage, poke the stick out through the hole, and shout." "Yes; that would do it nicely," said Scarlett. "But who's to do it?" "Let's both go." "Then we should be no wiser, because there would be no one out here to listen." "No," said Fred; and then, "Let's have another try." They had another try--a long and careful search, but the entrance had been too cunningly masked. "It's of no use," said Scarlett, drawing in the oars. "One of us must go." Silence. And Fred seemed to be deeply interested in the proceedings of a great flap-winged heron which had alighted on the further shore. "Will you go, Fred?" said Scarlett, at last. "No. It's your place, and you ought to go." "Yes," said Scarlett, slowly; "I suppose I ought." "No, no, I'll go," cried Fred, eagerly. "I will not be so shabby. Let's cut a stick, and then set me ashore." Scarlett nodded, and resuming the rowing, ran the boat's head ashore, close to a clump of willows. Then, taking out his knife, he hacked off a rod about ten feet long, trimmed off the twigs and leaves, all but a patch on the end, and, before his companion could realise what he intended, he had leaped ashore, given the boat a thrust, and run up the bank. "No, no," cried Fred. "I'll go." "It's my place, and I shall go myself," replied his companion. "Take the oars and row gently along. I don't think I shall mind. If I do, I'll come back and you shall go." "But you have no light." "No," said Scarlett, gravely; "but I know the way now, and that there's no danger, so I shall not care." Before Fred could offer further remonstrance, Scarlett had run into the nearest patch of woodland and disappeared. "I don't like letting him go," muttered Fred, as he gazed at the spot where his companion had disappeared. "It seems as if I were a coward. Perhaps I am, for it does seem shivery work to do. Never mind, I'll go next time," he added quickly; and, taking the oars, he sat down where his companion had vacated the seat, and began to row slowly back to where he fancied the entrance must be. Then followed so long a period of waiting that the boy grew anxious, and after rowing to and fro for some time outside the thick growth which edged that portion of the lake, he made up his mind that something must be wrong, and determined to land and go in search of Scarlett. "How horrible if he has waded into a deep place, and gone down!" he muttered, as he bent over the oars, to pull with all his might, when he fancied he heard a distant hail. He ceased rowing, and the water rippled about beneath the front as he listened. "Where are you?" he cried. "Here," came from apparently a great distance. "Where's here?" "Here, here, here. Can't you see?" The voice seemed to come from far away, and he drew in the oars, and stood up in the boat to look from side to side, searching eagerly, and trying to pierce the bushes and overhanging ivy, which screened the rocky shore. "Here! Hoy!" Fred faced round now, and looked across the lake, to see Nat standing on the farther shore. "What are you doing? Got any?" shouted Nat. Fred put his hands to the sides of his mouth, and shouted back. "No! not yet." "Where's Master Scarlett?" "Ashore." "Oh!" "He thinks we've been setting eel-lines," muttered Fred, as, to his great annoyance, he saw the gardener seat himself on the distant bank and watch him. "Oh, what a bother!" he cried, with an impatient stamp on the bottom of the boat. "Well, he must think so, then." To induce the spy upon his proceedings to go on in this belief, Fred stooped down in the boat, and picked up and threw in an imaginary line. After which, he took up one oar, and, standing upright, began to paddle the boat in toward the bank, where a large birch drooped over and dipped its delicate sprays of leaves almost into the surface of the lake. "I'll moor her fast here," thought Fred, "and go ashore and warn Scar. We can't do any more, with that fellow watching." To this end, he paddled the boat close to the silver trunk of the birch, whose roots ran down into the clear water, forming quite a delicate fringe, amongst which the tiny perch loved to play. He was in the act of fastening the chain as he stood up, and had passed it round one of the lower boughs, being fairly well screened now from Nat's observation by the delicate spray, when a fly seemed to tickle his ear. Fred struck at it viciously without looking round, and went on fastening the chain, when the fly again seemed to tickle him, this time low down in the nape of his neck. "Get out! Will you?" he cried: and he turned, sharply struck at the fly, and caught-- The end of the willow rod with its tuft of leaves. "Oh!" he ejaculated, as the tug he gave at the wand was replied to by another at the end; and as he looked, he saw that it came from out of a dense mass of twiggy alder above his head, where a quantity of ivy grew. "Scar," he cried, giving the wand a shake, "are you there?" "Yes," came in a faint whisper that sounded very hollow and strange. "Didn't you hear me shout!" "No." "I was afraid to cry too loud, because it goes backward so, rumbling all along the passage. Whereabouts is it?" "By the big birch-tree; just where we thought it couldn't be." "Eh? Speak up." "By the big birch-tree; just where we thought it couldn't be; and I can't speak louder, because Nat's over the other side, watching." "Can he see you now?" "No. But are you all right!" "Yes." "You're higher up than I thought. Stop till I push the boat closer, and I'll see if I can find any loose stones." "Stop a minute," said Scarlett, in the same smothered voice, which sounded faint as a whisper. "Let me see if I can move any of them." Fred waited, and, peering through the twigs, he could see that Nat was patiently waiting for him to come in sight again. "Some of them seem loose," came from within; "but I can't get them out." "Don't stop to try now," said Fred. "Let's come another time; we can't make any mistake, now. Oh!" The cry was involuntary, for all at once a patch of ivy just above the level of the water seemed to be driven outward, and several stones about the size of his head fell with a splash down among the alder roots, followed by a heavy gush of water, which poured forth fiercely into the woody edge of the lake, and continued to pour as if a fresh lake was discharging its waters into the old one. So near was the edge of the boat, that the water nearly rushed in; but though it was afterwards slightly drawn toward it, a snatch at a bough drew it back, and Fred stood gazing wonderingly at the rush which foamed in. Then he looked across the lake, wondering whether Nat could hear and see. But he was too far distant to see more than a little ebullition which might have been caused by the movement of the oars and boat, for the water that poured in was discharged in quite a dense thicket of moisture-loving growth. "I say, Scar," cried Fred, at last, alarmed by the silence, and after listening to the surging noise of the water for a few minutes. "Yes." "Are you all safe?" "Yes, of course." "What does all this water mean?" "I was pushing against the wall high up, and slipped, and my knees struck against the bottom, driving out some of the stones." "Then--Stop a minute; Nat's going away." The lad held some of the twigs aside, and could see that the gardener was moving off, apparently tired of waiting, and, once he was out of sight, there was no occasion to be so particular about shouting, and a conversation was painfully carried on above the rushing noise of the water. "I can't understand it, Scar," cried Fred. "There must be a stream running through that passage." There was no reply; but the willow wand was withdrawn, and the next minute it appeared through the hole where the water was rushing. "I say, Scar." "Yes." "Haven't you done some harm, and oughtn't we to let them know up at the house?" "I don't know. I couldn't help it." "I thought the passage was partly under the water," said Fred to himself, "and so it ran in; but it couldn't have been meant to be wet like that. I say, Scar," he cried aloud, "whereabouts is the bottom where your feet are?" "Eh?" "I say, where are your feet?" "Where this stick is," came back more clearly now. And it suddenly struck Fred that the water was not pouring out in quite so great a volume. But for the moment he could not see the stick for the foam. Directly after, though, he made out where it was being moved to and fro, exactly on a level with the surface of the lake. "I'm coming back now," cried Scarlett; and his voice was plainly heard, after which Fred sat watching the water, rapidly draining away with less and less violence, till he heard a shout, answered it, and soon after Scarlett came along, forcing his way through the hazels till he reached the edge of the lake, and, by the help of one of the boughs of the birch, swung himself lightly into the boat, and began looking curiously at the opening, nearly hidden by the growth, through which the water still poured. "No wonder we could not find the place," he said, as he at once placed the right construction on the presence of the water; "and, do you know, all that could not have come from the lake." "Where could it have come from, then?" "It must have drained in by degrees from the sides in wet weather, and the stones at the end dammed it up, so that it couldn't get away." "Nonsense! The water would have pushed the stones down." "It did, as soon as I pushed too. The wall was only just strong enough before." "I tell you it must have run in from the lake." "It couldn't, Fred. The bottom of the passage is higher; and when I came out the water was only just over my shoes. By to-morrow you see if it isn't drained right out. There, you see, it has pretty well stopped now." Scarlett was quite right, for the water was now flowing out silently, and in very small volume. "Well, we will not argue about it," said Fred. "Perhaps you're right, but I don't think you are. Anyhow, we've found the way in, and you couldn't have done it without me." "No; nor you without me, Fred." "No; and I say--Oh!" "What's the matter?" "Don't I want my breakfast." "Yes; it must be nearly time. Come up and have some with me." Fred shook his head. "No," he said. "Your father did not seem to want me there last night." "Nonsense!" "Oh no, it was not. You come home with me. What's that?" Scarlett listened, for there was a rustling and crashing noise, as of some animal forcing its way down through the hazel stubs to get to the edge of the lake to drink. They waited breathlessly as the sounds grew nearer, and then stopped. The silence only lasted a minute, and then plainly enough came a familiar voice. "I thought it was just here. Now, where have they got themselves to?" Then the rustling was continued, and Nat came into sight. The boys glanced sharply at the place where the water flowed, but there was nothing now but a feeble trickle, not likely to excite attention. "Oh, there you are, Master Scarlett! Well, how many have you caught?" "Not one, Nat," cried Fred, sharply. "You don't put your lines in the right places, lads. Where are they now?" "Not going to tell you," replied Fred, sharply. "There, hear that? Didn't some one call?" "No," cried Nat; "I didn't hear nobody. Show me where your lines are laid. Aren't put any down here, have you?" "No; it wouldn't be any use." "I should think not. Why, if you hooked an eel, he'd run in and out among the dead wood and roots till your lines would be all tangled together, and you'd lose them." "Will you come and show us a good place, then, Nat?" said Fred, for Scarlett was a little puzzled as to what was going on. "Yes; I'll show you," said the gardener, who, like most of his class, was as much interested in the chance of a little fishing as the boys themselves. So, swinging himself into the boat, he took the oars, and, to the great relief of the two lads, rowed right away towards where a little rivulet entered the lake. "Glad I saw what you were both going to do," continued Nat. "Only waste of time muddling in there among the wood. You might catch a few perch or an old carp, but that would be about all." Ten minutes later he ceased rowing in front of the mouth of the rivulet. "There," he said; "set your lines about here, and you'll catch as many as you want, and--breakfast-time. Let's get ashore." _ |
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