Behind them a tall bony man with a cutlass was swing-
ing it high in the air, and limping, and swearing with great
velocity.
ing it high in the air, and limping, and swearing with great
velocity.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v04 - Bes to Bro
Then he came to me and gazed,
being wont to frighten thus young men.
"I would not harm you, lad," he said, with a lofty style of
sneering: “I have punished you enough for most of your imper-
tinence. For the rest I forgive you, because you have been
good and gracious to my little son. Go and be contented. "
For answer I smote him on the cheek, lightly, and not to
hurt him, but to make his blood leap up. I would not sully my
tongue by speaking to a man like this.
There was a level space of sward between us and the slough.
With the courtesy derived from London, and the procession I
had seen, to this place I led him. And that he might breathe
himself, and have every fibre cool, and every muscle ready, my
hold upon his coat I loosed, and left him to begin with me
whenever he thought proper.
I think he felt that his time was come. I think he knew
from my knitted muscles, and the firm arch of my breast, and
the way in which I stood, but most of all from my stern blue
eyes, that he had found his master. At any rate, a paleness
came, an ashy paleness on his cheeks, and the vast calves of his
legs bowed in, as if he were out of training.
Seeing this, villain as he was, I offered him first chance. I
stretched forth my left hand as I do to a weaker antagonist, and
I let him have the hug of me. But in this I was too generous;
having forgotten my pistol-wound, and the cracking of one of my
short lower ribs. Carver Doone caught me round the waist with
such a grip as never yet had been laid upon me.
I heard my rib go; I grasped his arm and tore the muscle
out of it* (as the string comes out of an orange); then I took
him by the throat, which is not allowed in wrestling, but he had
snatched at mine; and now was no time of dalliance. In vain he
* A far more terrible clutch than this is handed down, to weaker ages, of
the great John Ridd. - ED. L. D.
## p. 2028 (#222) ###########################################
2028
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
tugged and strained and writhed, dashed his bleeding fist into
my face, and flung himself on me with gnashing jaws. Beneath
the iron of my strength-for God that day was with me - I had
him helpless in two minutes, and his fiery eyes lolled out.
"I will not harm thee any more," I cried, so far as I could
for panting, the work being very furious: "Carver Doone, thou
art beaten; own it, and thank God for it; and go thy way, and
repent thyself. "
It was all too late. Even if he had yielded in his ravening
frenzy for his beard was like a mad dog's jowl-even if he
would have owned that for the first time in his life he had
found his master, it was all too late.
The black bog had him by the feet; the sucking of the ground
drew on him, like the thirsty lips of death. In our fury we had
heeded neither wet nor dry, nor thought of earth beneath us.
I myself might scarcely leap, with the last spring of o'erlabored
legs, from the engulfing grave of slime. He fell back, with his
swarthy breast (from which my grip had rent all clothing), like
a hummock of bog-oak, standing out the quagmire; and then he
tossed his arms to heaven, and they were black to the elbow,
and the glare of his eyes was ghastly. I could only gaze and
pant; for my strength was no more than an infant's from the
fury and the horror. Scarcely could I turn away, while, joint by
joint, he sank from sight.
―
LANDING THE TROUT
From Alice Lorraine'
HE trout knew nothing of all this. They had not tasted a
Tworm for a month, except when a sod of the bank fell in,
through cracks of the sun, and the way cold water has of
licking upward. And even the flies had no flavor at all; when
they fell on the water, they fell flat, and on the palate they
tasted hot, even under the bushes.
Hilary followed a path through the meadows, with the calm.
bright sunset casting its shadow over the shorn grass, or up in
the hedge-road, or on the brown banks where the drought had
struck. On his back he carried a fishing-basket, containing his
bits of refreshment; and in his right hand a short springy rod,
the absent sailor's favorite. After long council with Mabel, he
## p. 2029 (#223) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2029
had made up his mind to walk up-stream as far as the spot
where two brooks met, and formed body enough for a fly flipped
in very carefully to sail downward. Here he began, and the
creak of his reel and the swish of his rod were music to him,
after the whirl of London life.
The brook was as bright as the best cut-glass, and the twinkles
of its shifting facets only made it seem more clear. It twisted
about a little, here and there; and the brink was fringed now
and then with something, a clump of loosestrife, a tuft of avens,
or a bed of flowering water-cress, or any other of the many
plants that wash and look into the water. But the trout, the
main object in view, were most objectionably too much in view.
They scudded up the brook at the shadow of a hair, or even the
tremble of a blade of grass; and no pacific assurance could make
them even stop to be reasoned with. "This won't do," said
Hilary, who very often talked to himself, in lack of a better
comrade. "I call this very hard upon me. The beggars won't
rise till it is quite dark. I must have the interdict off my tobacco,
if this sort of thing is to go on. How I should enjoy a pipe just
now! I may just as well sit on a gate and think. No, hang it,
I hate thinking now. There are troubles hanging over me, as
sure as the tail of that comet grows. How I detest that comet!
No wonder the fish won't rise. But if I have to strip, and tickle
them in the dark, I won't go back without some for her. "
He was lucky enough to escape the weight of such horrible
poaching upon his conscience; for suddenly to his ears was borne
the most melodious of all sounds, the flop of a heavy fish sweetly.
jumping after some excellent fly or grub.
"Ha, my friend! " cried Hilary, "so you are up for your
supper, are you? I myself will awake right early. Still I behold
the ring you made. If my right hand forget not its cunning,
yon shall form your next ring in the frying-pan. "
He gave that fish a little time to think of the beauty of that
mouthful, and get ready for another, the while he was putting a
white moth on, in lieu of his blue upright. He kept the griz-
zled palmer still for tail-fly, and he tried his knots, for he knew
that this trout was a Triton.
Then, with a delicate sidling and stooping, known only to
them that fish for trout in very bright water of the summer-
time, compared with which art the coarse work of the salmon-
fisher is as that of a scene-painter to Mr. Holman Hunt's—with,
## p. 2030 (#224) ###########################################
2030
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
or in, or by, a careful manner, not to be described to those who
have never studied it, Hilary won access of the water, without
any doubt in the mind of the fish concerning the prudence of
appetite. Then he flipped his short collar in, not with a cast,
but a spring of the rod, and let his flies go quietly down a
sharpish run into that good trout's hole. The worthy trout
looked at them both, and thought; for he had his own favorite
spot for watching the world go by, as the rest of us have. So
he let the grizzled palmer pass, within an inch of his upper lip;
for it struck him that the tail turned up in a manner not wholly
natural, or at any rate unwholesome. He looked at the white
moth also, and thought that he had never seen one at all like it.
So he went down under his root again, hugging himself upon
his wisdom, never moving a fin, but oaring and helming his
plump, spotted sides with his tail.
"Upon my word, it is too bad," said Hilary, after three beau-
tiful throws, and exquisite management down-stream; "every-
thing Kentish beats me hollow. Now, if that had been one of
our trout, I would have laid my life upon catching him. One
more throw, however. How would it be if I sunk my flies?
That fellow is worth some patience. "
While he was speaking, his flies alit on the glassy ripple, like
gnats in their love-dance; and then by a turn of the wrist, he
played them just below the surface, and let them go gliding
down the stickle, into the shelfy nook of shadow where the big
trout hovered. Under the surface, floating thus, with the check
of ductile influence, the two flies spread their wings and quiv-
ered, like a centiplume moth in a spider's web. Still the old
trout, calmly oaring, looked at them both suspiciously. Why
should the same flies come so often, and why should they have
such crooked tails, and could he be sure that he did not spy the
shadow of a human hat about twelve yards up the water? Re-
volving these things, he might have lived to a venerable age
but for that noble ambition to teach, which is fatal to even the
wisest. A young fish, an insolent whipper-snapper, jumped in
his babyish way at the palmer, and missed it through over-eager-
"I'll show you the way to catch a fly," said the big trout
to him: "
open your mouth like this, my son.
With that he bolted the palmer, and threw up his tail, and
turned to go home again. Alas! his sweet home now shall
know him no more. For suddenly he was surprised by a most
ness.
>>>
## p. 2031 (#225) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2031
disagreeable sense of grittiness, and then a keen stab in the
roof of his mouth. He jumped, in his wrath, a foot out of the
water, and then heavily plunged to the depths of his hole.
"You've got it, my friend," cried Hilary, in a tingle of fine
emotions; "I hope the sailor's knots are tied with professional
skill and care. You are a big one, and a clever one too. It is
much if I ever land you. No net, or gaff, or anything. I only
hope that there are no stakes here. Ah, there you go! Now
comes the tug. ”
Away went the big trout down the stream, at a pace very
hard to exaggerate, and after him rushed Hilary, knowing that
his line was rather short, and that if it ran out, all was over.
Keeping his eyes on the water only, and the headlong speed of
the fugitive, headlong over a stake he fell, and took a deep
wound from another stake. Scarcely feeling it, up he jumped,
lifting his rod, which had fallen flat, and fearing to find no
strain on it. "Aha, he is not gone yet! " he cried, as the rod
bowed like a springle-bow.
He was now a good hundred yards down the brook from the
corner where the fight began. Through his swiftness of foot,
and good management, the fish had never been able to tighten
the line beyond yield of endurance. The bank had been free
from bushes, or haply no skill could have saved him; but now
they were come to a corner where a nut-bush quite overhung
the stream.
"I am done for now," said the fisherman; "the villain knows
too well what he is about. Here ends this adventure. "
Full though he was of despair, he jumped anyhow into the
water, kept the point of his rod close down, reeled up a little
as the fish felt weaker, and just cleared the drop of the hazel
boughs. The water flapped into the pockets of his coat, and he
saw red streaks flow downward. And then he plunged out to an
open reach of shallow water and gravel slope.
"I ought to have you now," he said, "though nobody knows
what a rogue you are; and a pretty dance you have led me! »
Doubting the strength of his tackle to lift even the dead
weight of the fish, and much more to meet his despairing rally,
he happily saw a little shallow gut, or back-water, where a small
spring ran out. Into this by a dexterous turn he rather led
than pulled the fish, who was ready to rest for a minute or two;
then he stuck his rod into the bank, ran down stream, and with
## p. 2032 (#226) ###########################################
2032
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
his hat in both hands appeared at the only exit from the gut.
It was all up now with the monarch of the brook. As he
skipped and jumped, with his rich yellow belly, and chaste sil-
ver sides, in the green of the grass, joy and glory of the highest
merit, and gratitude, glowed in the heart of Lorraine. "Two and
three quarters you must weigh. And at your very best you are!
How small your head is! And how bright your spots are! " he
cried, as he gave him the stroke of grace. "You really have
been a brave and fine fellow. I hope they will know how to
fry you "
While he cut his fly out of this grand trout's mouth, he felt
for the first time a pain in his knee, where the point of the
stake had entered it. Under the buckle of his breeches blood
was soaking away inside his gaiters; and then he saw how he
had dyed the water. After washing the wound and binding it
with dock-leaves and a handkerchief, he followed the stream
through a few more meadows, for the fish began to sport pretty
well as the gloom of the evening deepened; so that by the time.
the gables of the old farm-house appeared, by the light of a
young moon, and the comet, Lorraine had a dozen more trout
in his basket, silvery-sided and handsome fellows, though none
of them over a pound perhaps, except his first and redoubtable
captive.
A DANE IN THE DIKE
From Mary Anerley'
N
[ow, whether spy-glass had been used by any watchful mar-
iner, or whether only blind chance willed it, sure it is that
one fine morning Mary met with somebody. And this was
the more remarkable, when people came to think of it, because
it was only the night before that her mother had almost said as
much.
"Ye munna gaw doon to t' sea be yersell," Mistress Anerley
said to her daughter: "happen ye mought be one too many. "
Master Anerley's wife had been at "boarding-school," as
far south as Suffolk, and could speak the very best of south-
ern English (like her daughter Mary) upon polite occasion. But
family cares and farm-house life had partly cured her of her
## p. 2033 (#227) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2033
education, and from troubles of distant speech she had returned
to the ease of her native dialect.
"And if I go not to the sea by myself," asked Mary, with
natural logic, "why, who is there now to go with me? " She was
thinking of her sadly missed comrade, Jack.
"Happen some day, perhaps, one too many. "
The maiden was almost too innocent to blush; but her father
took her part as usual.
"The little lass sall gaw doon," he said, "wheniver sha likes. ”
And so she went down the next morning.
A thousand years ago the Dane's Dike must have been a very
grand intrenchment, and a thousand years ere that perhaps it was
still grander; for learned men say that it was a British work,
wrought out before the Danes had ever learned to build a ship.
Whatever, however, may be argued about that, the wise and the
witless do agree about one thing-the stronghold inside it had
been held by Danes, while severed by the Dike from inland parts,
and these Danes made a good colony of their own, and left to
their descendants distinct speech and manners, some traces of
which are existing even now. The Dike, extending from the
rough North Sea to the calmer waters of Bridlington Bay, is
nothing more than a deep dry trench, skillfully following the
hollows of the ground, and cutting off Flamborough Head and a
solid cantle of high land from the rest of Yorkshire. The corner
so intercepted used to be and is still called "Little Denmark";
and the in-dwellers feel a large contempt for all their outer
neighbors. And this is sad, because Anerley Farm lies wholly
outside of the Dike, which for a long crooked distance serves as
its eastern boundary.
Upon the morning of the self-same day that saw Mr. Jelli-
corse set forth upon his return from Scargate Hall, armed with
instructions to defy the devil, and to keep his discovery quiet-
upon a lovely August morning of the first year of a new cen-
tury, Mary Anerley, blithe and gay, came riding down the grassy
hollow of this ancient Dane's Dike. This was her shortest way
to the sea, and the tide would suit (if she could only catch it)
for a take of shrimps, and perhaps even prawns, in time for her
father's breakfast. And not to lose this, she arose right early,
and rousing Lord Keppel, set forth for the spot where she kept
her net covered with sea-weed. The sun, though up and brisk
already upon sea and foreland, had not found time to rout the
shadows skulking in the dingles. But even here, where sap of
IV-128
## p. 2034 (#228) ###########################################
2034
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
time had breached the turfy ramparts, the hover of the dew-mist
passed away, and the steady light was unfolded. .
For the season was early August still, with beautiful weather
come at last; and the green world seemed to stand on tiptoe to
make the extraordinary acquaintance of the sun. Humble plants
which had long lain flat stood up with a sense of casting some-
thing off; and the damp heavy trunks which had trickled for a
twelvemonth, or been only sponged with moss, were hailing the
fresher light with keener lines and dove-colored tints upon their
smoother boles. Then, conquering the barrier of the eastern
land crest, rose the glorious sun himself, strewing before him
trees and crags in long steep shadows down the hill. Then the
sloping rays, through furze and brush-land, kindling the sparkles
of the dew, descended to the brink of the Dike, and scorning to
halt at petty obstacles, with a hundred golden hurdles bridged it
wherever any opening was.
Under this luminous span, or through it where the crossing
gullies ran, Mary Anerley rode at leisure, allowing her pony to
choose his pace. That privilege he had long secured, in right
of age, and wisdom, and remarkable force of character. Con-
sidering his time of life, he looked well and sleek, and almost
sprightly; and so, without any reservation, did his gentle and
graceful rider. The maiden looked well in a place like that, as
indeed in almost any place; but now she especially set off the
color of things, and was set off by them. For instance, how
could the silver of the dew-cloud, and golden weft of sunrise,
playing through the dapples of a partly wooded glen, do better
(in the matter of variety) than frame a pretty moving figure in
a pink checked frock, with a skirt of russet murrey, and a bright
brown hat? Not that the hat itself was bright, even under the
kiss of sunshine, simply having seen already too much of the
sun, but rather that its early lustre seemed to be revived by a
sense of the happy position it was in; the clustering hair and
the bright eyes beneath it answering the sunny dance of life
and light. Many a handsomer face, no doubt, more perfect,
grand and lofty, received-at least if it was out of bed-the
greeting of that morning sun; but scarcely any prettier one, or
kinder, or more pleasant, so gentle without being weak, so good-
tempered without looking void of all temper at all.
Suddenly the beauty of the time and place was broken by
sharp, angry sound. Bang! bang! came the roar of muskets
fired from the shore at the mouth of the Dike, and echoing up
## p. 2035 (#229) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2035
the winding glen. At the first report the girl, though startled,
was not greatly frightened; for the sound was common enough in
the week when those most gallant volunteers entitled the "York-
shire Invincibles" came down for their annual practice of skilled
gunnery against the French. Their habit was to bring down a
red cock, and tether him against a chalky cliff, and then vie with
one another in shooting at him. The same cock had tested their
skill for three summers, but failed hitherto to attest it, prefer-
ring to return in a hamper to his hens, with a story of moving
adventures.
Mary had watched those Invincibles sometimes from a respect-
ful distance, and therefore felt sure (when she began to think)
that she had not them to thank for this little scare.
For they
always slept soundly in the first watch of the morning; and even
supposing they had jumped up with nightmare, where was the
jubilant crow of the cock? For the cock, being almost as invin-
cible as they were, never could deny himself the glory of a
crow when the bullet came into his neighborhood. He replied to
every volley with an elevated comb, and a flapping of his wings,
and a clarion peal, which rang along the foreshore ere the musket
roar died out. But before the girl had time to ponder what it
was, or wherefore, round the corner came somebody, running
very swiftly.
In a moment Mary saw that this man had been shot at, and
was making for his life away; and to give him every chance she
jerked her pony aside, and called and beckoned; and without a
word he flew to her. Words were beyond him, if his breath
should come back, and he seemed to have no time to wait for
that. He had outstripped the wind, and his own wind, by his
speed.
"Poor man! " cried Mary Anerley, "what a hurry you are in!
But I suppose you cannot help it. Are they shooting at you? "
The runaway nodded, for he could not spare a breath, but
was deeply inhaling for another start, and could not even bow
without hindrance. But to show that he had manners, he took
off his hat. Then he clapped it on his head and set off again.
"Come back! " cried the maid; "I can show you a place. I
can hide you from your enemies forever. "
The young fellow stopped. He was come to that pitch of
exhaustion in which a man scarcely cares whether he is killed
or dies. And his face showed not a sign of fear.
## p. 2036 (#230) ###########################################
2036
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
"Look! That little hole-
once, and this cloth over you! "
He snatched it, and was gone, like the darting lizard, up a
little puckering side issue of the Dike, at the very same instant
that three broad figures and a long one appeared at the lip of
the mouth. The quick-witted girl rode on to meet them, to give
the poor fugitive time to get into his hole and draw the brown
skirt over him. The dazzle of the sun, pouring over the crest,
made the hollow a twinkling obscurity; and the cloth was just
in keeping with the dead stuff around. The three broad men,
with heavy fusils cocked, came up from the sea-mouth of the
Dike, steadily panting, and running steadily with a long-enduring
stride.
Behind them a tall bony man with a cutlass was swing-
ing it high in the air, and limping, and swearing with great
velocity.
—
up there-by the fern. Up at
"Coast-riders," thought Mary, "and he a free-trader [smug.
gler]! Four against one is cowardice. "
"Halt! " cried the tall man, while the rest were running past
her; "halt! ground arms; never scare young ladies. " Then he
flourished his hat, with a grand bow to Mary.
"Fair young
Mistress Anerley, I fear we spoil your ride. But his Majesty's
duty must be done. Hats off, fellows, at the name of your king!
Mary, my dear, the most daring villain, the devil's own son, has
just run up here - scarcely two minutes-you must have seen
him. Wait a minute; tell no lies- excuse me, I mean fibs.
Your father is the right sort. He hates those scoundrels. In
the name of his Majesty, which way is he gone? "
"Was it -oh, was it a man, if you please? Captain Carro-
way, don't say so. "
You are
―
"A man? Is it likely that we shot at a woman?
trifling. It will be the worse for you. Forgive me - but we
are in such a hurry. Whoa! whoa! pony. "
"You always used to be so polite, sir, that you quite surprise
me. And those guns look so dreadful! My father would be
quite astonished to see me not even allowed to go down to the
sea, but hurried back here, as if the French had landed. ”
"How can I help it, if your pony runs away so? " For Mary
all this time had been cleverly contriving to increase and exag-
gerate her pony's fear, and so brought the gunners for a long
way up the Dike, without giving them any time to spy at all
about. She knew that this was wicked from a loyal point of
-
## p. 2037 (#231) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2037
view; not a bit the less she did it. "What a troublesome little
horse it is! " she cried. "O Captain Carroway, hold him just a
moment. I will jump down, and then you can jump up, and
ride after all his Majesty's enemies. "
"The Lord forbid! He slews all out of gear, like a carronade
with rotten lashings. If I boarded him, how could I get out of
his way? No, no, my dear, brace him up sharp, and bear clear. "
"But you wanted to know about some enemy, captain. An
enemy as bad as my poor Lord Keppel? "
«< Mary, my dear, the very biggest villain! A hundred golden
guineas on his head, and half for you. Think of your father,
my dear, and Sunday gowns. And you must have a young man
by-and-by, you know-such a beautiful maid as you are. And
you might get a leather purse, and give it to him. Mary, on
your duty, now? »
«< Captain, you drive me so, what can I say? I cannot bear
the thought of betraying anybody. "
"Of course not, Mary dear; nobody asks you. He must be
half a mile off by this time. You could never hurt him now;
and you can tell your father that you have done your duty to
the king. "
-
"Well, Captain Carroway, if you are quite sure that it is too
late to catch him, I can tell you all about him. But remember
your word about the fifty guineas. "
"Every farthing, every farthing, Mary, whatever my wife may
say to it. Quick! quick! Which way did he run, my dear? "
"He really did not seem to me to be running at all; he was
too tired. "
"To be sure, to be sure, a worn-out fox. We have been two
hours after him; he could not run; no more can we. But which
way did he go, I mean? "
"I will not say anything for certain, sir; even for fifty guin-
eas. But he may have come up here-mind, I say not that
he did - and if so, he might have set off again for Sewerby.
Slowly, very slowly, because of being tired. But perhaps, after
all, he was not the man you mean.
>>>>
«Forward, double-quick! We are sure to have him! " shouted
the lieutenant for his true rank was that- flourishing his cut-
lass again, and setting off at a wonderful pace, considering his
limp. "Five guineas every man Jack of you. Thank you, young
mistress-most heartily thank you. Dead or alive, five guineas! "
-
―
## p. 2038 (#232) ###########################################
2038
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
With gun and sword in readiness, they all rushed off; but one
of the party, named John Cadman, shook his head and looked
back with great mistrust at Mary, having no better judgment of
women than this, that he never could believe even his own wife.
And he knew that it was mainly by the grace of womankind
that so much contraband work was going on. Nevertheless, it
was out of his power to act upon his own low opinions now.
The maiden, blushing deeply with the sense of her deceit,
was informed by her guilty conscience of that nasty man's sus
picions, and therefore gave a smack with her fern whip to Lord
Keppel, impelling him to join, like a loyal little horse, the pur-
suit of his Majesty's enemies. But no sooner did she see all the
men dispersed, and scouring the distance with trustful ardor,
than she turned the pony's head toward the sea again, and rode
back round the bend of the hollow. What would her mother
say if she lost the murrey skirt, which had cost six shillings at
Bridlington fair? And ten times that money might be lost much
better than for her father to discover how she lost it. For Mas-
ter Stephen Anerley was a straight-backed man, and took three
weeks of training in the Land Defense Yeomanry, at periods not
more than a year apart, so that many people called him "Cap-
tain" now; and the loss of his suppleness at knee and elbow had
turned his mind largely to politics, making him stiffly patriotic,
and especially hot against all free-traders putting bad bargains
to his wife, at the cost of the king and his revenue. If the bar-
gain were a good one, that was no concern of his.
Not that Mary, however, could believe, or would even have
such a bad mind as to imagine, that any one, after being helped
by her, would be mean enough to run off with her property.
And now she came to think of it, there was something high and
noble, she might almost say something downright honest, in the
face of that poor persecuted man. And in spite of all his pant-
ing, how brave he must have been, what a runner, and how
clever, to escape from all those cowardly coast-riders shooting
right and left at him! Such a man steal that paltry skirt that
her mother made such a fuss about! She was much more likely
to find it in her clothes-press filled with golden guineas.
Before she was as certain as she wished to be of this (by rea-
son of shrewd nativity), and while she believed that the fugitive
must have seized such a chance and made good his escape
toward North Sea or Flamborough, a quick shadow glanced
## p. 2039 (#233) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2039
across the long shafts of the sun, and a bodily form sped after
it. To the middle of the Dike leaped a young man, smiling, and
forth from the gully which had saved his life. To look at him,
nobody ever could have guessed how fast he had fled, and how
close he had lain hid. For he stood there as clean and spruce
and careless as ever a sailor can be wished to be.
Limber yet
stalwart, agile though substantial, and as quick as a dart while
as strong as a pike, he seemed cut out by nature for a true
blue-jacket; but condition had made him a smuggler, or, to put
it more gently, a free-trader. Britannia, being then at war with
all the world, and alone in the right (as usual), had need of such
lads, and produced them accordingly, and sometimes one too
many. But Mary did not understand these laws. This made
her look at him with great surprise, and almost doubt whether
he could be the man, until she saw her skirt neatly folded in
his hand, and then she said, "How do you do, sir? "
The free-trader looked at her with equal surprise. He had
been in such a hurry, and his breath so short, and the chance of
a fatal bullet after him so sharp, that his mind had been astray
from any sense of beauty, and of everything else except the
safety of the body. But now he looked at Mary, and his breath
again went from him.
"You can run again now; I am sure of it," said she; "and
if you would like to do anything to please me, run as fast as
possible. "
"What have I to run away from now? " he answered, in a
deep sweet voice. “I run from enemies, but not from friends. ”
"That is very wise. But your enemies are still almost within
call of you.
They will come back worse than ever when they
find you are not there. "
"I am not afraid, fair lady, for I understand their ways. I
have led them a good many dances.
When they cannot
take another step, they will come back to Anerley for breakfast. "
"I dare say they will; and we shall be glad to see them. My
father is a soldier, and his duty is to nourish and comfort the
forces of the King. "
"Then you are young Mistress Anerley? I was sure of it
before. There are no two such. And you have saved my life.
It is something to owe it so fairly. "
The young sailor wanted to kiss Mary's hand; but not being
used to any gallantry, she held out her hand in the simplest
manner to take back her riding skirt; and he, though longing in
. •
## p. 2040 (#234) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2040
his heart to keep it, for a token or pretext for another meeting,
found no excuse for doing so.
And yet he was not without some
resource.
For the maiden was giving him a farewell smile, being quite
content with the good she had done, and the luck of recovering
her property; and that sense of right which in those days formed.
a part of every good young woman said to her plainly that she
must be off. And she felt how unkind it was to keep him any
longer in a place where the muzzle of a gun, with a man behind
it, might appear at any moment. But he, having plentiful breath
again, was at home with himself to spend it.
"Fair young lady," he began, for he saw that Mary liked to
be called a lady, because it was a novelty, "owing more than I
ever can pay you already, may I ask a little more? Then it is
that on your way down to the sea, you would just pick up (if
you should chance to see it) the fellow ring to this, and perhaps
you will look at this to know it by. The one that was shot away
flew against a stone just on the left of the mouth of the Dike,
but I durst not stop to look for it, and I must not go back that
way now. It is more to me than a hatful of gold, though nobody
else would give a crown for it. "
"And they really shot away one of your earrings? Careless,
cruel, wasteful men! What could they have been thinking of? "
"They were thinking of getting what is called 'blood-money. '
One hundred pounds for Robin Lyth. Dead or alive-one hun-
dred pounds. "
"Then are you the celebrated Robin Lyth-the new Robin
Hood, as they call him? The man who can do almost anything? "
"Mistress Anerley, I am Robin Lyth; but, as you have seen,
I cannot do much.
They have missed the best chance
they ever had at me; it will make their temper very bad. If
they shot at me again, they could do no good. Crooked mood
makes crooked mode. "
•
You may
"You forget that I should not see such things.
like very much to be shot at; but-but you should think of
other people. "
"I shall think of you only-I mean of your great kindness,
and your promise to keep my ring for me. Of course you will
tell nobody. Carroway will have me like a tiger if you do.
Farewell, young lady-for one week, farewell. "
With a wave of his hat he was gone, before Mary had time
to retract her promise; and she thought of her mother.
## p. 2041 (#235) ###########################################
2041
WILLIAM BLAKE
(1757-1827)
OET-PAINTER, visionary, and super-mystic in almost all capaci-
ties, William Blake was born in London in 1757.
the second son of humble people-his father but a stock-
He was
Su
ing merchant. An "odd little boy," he was destined to be recog-
nized as "one of the most curious and abnormal personages of the
later eighteenth and earlier nineteenth centuries. " Allan Cunning-
ham describes him by saying that Blake at ten years of age was an
artist and at twelve a poet. He seems really to have shown in
childhood his double gift. But the boy's
education was rudimentary, his advantages
not even usual, it would seem. To the end
of his life, the mature man's works betray
a defective common-schooling, a lament-
able lack of higher intellectual training —
unless we suspect that the process would
have disciplined his mind, to the loss of
bizarre originality. Most of what Blake
learned he taught himself, and that at hap-
hazard. The mistiness and inexplicability
of his productions is part of such a pro-
cess, as well as of invincible temperament.
WILLIAM BLAKE
In 1767 Blake was studying drawing
with Mr. Pars, at the sometime famous Strand Academy, where he
was reckoned a diligent but egotistical pupil. At fourteen he be-
came apprenticed, for a livelihood,-afterward exchanged for the
painter's and illustrator's freer career,-to James Basire, an academic
but excellent engraver, whose manner is curiously traceable through
much of Blake's after work. Even in the formal atmosphere of the
Royal Academy's antique school, Blake remained an opinionated and
curiously "detached" scholar, with singular critical notions, with half-
expressed or very boldly expressed theories as to art, religion, and
most other things. In 1782 he married a young woman of equally
humble derivation, who could not even sign the marriage register.
He developed her character, educated her mind, and made her a
devoted and companionable wife, full of faith in him. Their curious
and retired ménage was as happy in a practical and mundane aspect
as could be hoped from even a normal one.
## p. 2042 (#236) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2042
(
In 1780 he began to exhibit, his first picture being The Death of
Earl Godwin. ' After exhibiting five others, however, ending with
'Jacob's Dream,' he withdrew altogether from public advertisement.
Several devoted patrons-especially Mr. Linnell, and a certain Mr.
Thomas Butts, who bought incessantly, anything and everything,-
seized upon all he drew and painted. In his literary undertakings
he was for the most part his own editor and printer and publisher.
His career in verse and prose began early. In 1783 came forth
the charming collection Poetical Sketches,' juvenile as the fancies of
his boyish days, but full of a sensitive appreciation of nature worthy
of a mature heart, and expressed with a diction often exquisite.
The volume was not really public nor published, but printed by the
kindly liberality of two friends, one of them Flaxman. In 1787,
"under the direction of the spirit of his dead brother," Robert, he
decided on publishing a new group of lyrics and fancies, Songs
of Innocence,' by engraving the text of the poems and its marginal
embellishments on copper-printing the pages in various tints, color-
ing or recoloring them by hand, and even binding them, with his
wife's assistance. The medium for mixing his tints, by the by, was
"revealed to him by Saint Joseph. "
With this volume-now a rarity for the bibliophile - began
Blake's system of giving his literary works and many of his ex-
traordinary artistic productions their form and being.
Like a poet-
printer of our own day, Mr. William Morris, Blake insisted that each
page of text, all his delicate illustrations, every cover even, should
pass through his own fingers, or through those of his careful and
submissive helpmeet. The expense of their paper was the chief one
to the light purse of the queerly assorted, thrifty pair.
<
In 1789 appeared another little volume of verses, Songs of Inno-
cence. ' This also was ushered into existence as a dual book of
pictures and of poetry. In 1794 came the Songs of Experience,'
completing that brief lyrical trio on which rests Blake's poetical
reputation and his claim on coming generations of sympathetic read-
ers. To these early and exquisite fruits of Blake's feeling succeeded
a little book For Children,' the mystic volume The Gates of
Paradise,' 'The Visions of the Daughters of Albion,' 'America, a
Prophecy,' Part First of his Book of Urizen,' and a collection of
designs without text, treated in the methods usual with him, besides
other labors with pencil and pen.
But the wonderful and disordered imagination of the artist and
poet now embodied itself in a strange group of writings for which
no parallel exists. To realize them, one must imagine the most
transcendent notions of Swedenborg mingled with the rant of a
superior kind of Mucklewrath. Such poems as 'The Book of Thel,'
## p. 2043 (#237) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2043
in spite of beautiful allegoric passages; 'The Gates of Paradise';
'Tiriel,' an extended narrative-fantasy in irregular unrhymed verses;
even the striking 'Marriage of Heaven and Hell,'-may be reckoned
as mere prologues to such productions as 'Jerusalem,' 'The Emana-
tion of the Giant Albion,' 'Milton,' and the "prophecies" embodied in
the completed Urizen,' the 'Europe,' 'Ahania,' and 'The Book of
Los. ' Such oracular works Blake put forth as dictated to him by
departed spirits of supreme influence and intellectuality, or by angelic
intelligences, quite apart from his own volition; indeed, only with his
"grateful obedience. » Such claims are not out of place in the
instance of one who "saw God"; who often "conversed familiarly
with Jesus Christ "; who "was" Socrates; who argued conclusions for
hours at a time with Moses, with Milton, with Dante, with the
Biblical prophets, with Voltaire; who could "see Satan" almost at
will-all in vivid conceptions that sprang up in his mind with such
force as to set seemingly substantial and even speaking beings before
him. In his assumption of the seer, Blake was not a charlatan: he
believed fully in his supernatural privileges. To him his modest
London lodging held great company, manifest in the spirit.
Blake's greater "prophetic" writings ended, he busied himself
with painting and illustration. He was incessant in industry; indeed,
his ordinary recreation at any time was only a change of work
from one design to another. So were wrought out the (incomplete)
series of plates for Young's 'Night Thoughts'; the drawings for Hay-
ley's 'Life of Cowper,' and for the same feeble author's 'Ballads on
Anecdotes relating to Animals'; the 'Dante' designs; the 'Job'
series of prints; a vast store of aquarelle and distemper paintings
and plates, and a whole gallery of "portraits» derived from sitters
of distinction in past universal history. These sitters, it is needless
to say, were wholly invisible to other eyes than Blake's. The sub-
jects vary from likenesses of Saint Joseph and the Virgin Mary to
those of Mahomet and Shakespeare. Sundry of the old masters,
Titian included, reviewed his efforts and guided his brush!
being wont to frighten thus young men.
"I would not harm you, lad," he said, with a lofty style of
sneering: “I have punished you enough for most of your imper-
tinence. For the rest I forgive you, because you have been
good and gracious to my little son. Go and be contented. "
For answer I smote him on the cheek, lightly, and not to
hurt him, but to make his blood leap up. I would not sully my
tongue by speaking to a man like this.
There was a level space of sward between us and the slough.
With the courtesy derived from London, and the procession I
had seen, to this place I led him. And that he might breathe
himself, and have every fibre cool, and every muscle ready, my
hold upon his coat I loosed, and left him to begin with me
whenever he thought proper.
I think he felt that his time was come. I think he knew
from my knitted muscles, and the firm arch of my breast, and
the way in which I stood, but most of all from my stern blue
eyes, that he had found his master. At any rate, a paleness
came, an ashy paleness on his cheeks, and the vast calves of his
legs bowed in, as if he were out of training.
Seeing this, villain as he was, I offered him first chance. I
stretched forth my left hand as I do to a weaker antagonist, and
I let him have the hug of me. But in this I was too generous;
having forgotten my pistol-wound, and the cracking of one of my
short lower ribs. Carver Doone caught me round the waist with
such a grip as never yet had been laid upon me.
I heard my rib go; I grasped his arm and tore the muscle
out of it* (as the string comes out of an orange); then I took
him by the throat, which is not allowed in wrestling, but he had
snatched at mine; and now was no time of dalliance. In vain he
* A far more terrible clutch than this is handed down, to weaker ages, of
the great John Ridd. - ED. L. D.
## p. 2028 (#222) ###########################################
2028
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
tugged and strained and writhed, dashed his bleeding fist into
my face, and flung himself on me with gnashing jaws. Beneath
the iron of my strength-for God that day was with me - I had
him helpless in two minutes, and his fiery eyes lolled out.
"I will not harm thee any more," I cried, so far as I could
for panting, the work being very furious: "Carver Doone, thou
art beaten; own it, and thank God for it; and go thy way, and
repent thyself. "
It was all too late. Even if he had yielded in his ravening
frenzy for his beard was like a mad dog's jowl-even if he
would have owned that for the first time in his life he had
found his master, it was all too late.
The black bog had him by the feet; the sucking of the ground
drew on him, like the thirsty lips of death. In our fury we had
heeded neither wet nor dry, nor thought of earth beneath us.
I myself might scarcely leap, with the last spring of o'erlabored
legs, from the engulfing grave of slime. He fell back, with his
swarthy breast (from which my grip had rent all clothing), like
a hummock of bog-oak, standing out the quagmire; and then he
tossed his arms to heaven, and they were black to the elbow,
and the glare of his eyes was ghastly. I could only gaze and
pant; for my strength was no more than an infant's from the
fury and the horror. Scarcely could I turn away, while, joint by
joint, he sank from sight.
―
LANDING THE TROUT
From Alice Lorraine'
HE trout knew nothing of all this. They had not tasted a
Tworm for a month, except when a sod of the bank fell in,
through cracks of the sun, and the way cold water has of
licking upward. And even the flies had no flavor at all; when
they fell on the water, they fell flat, and on the palate they
tasted hot, even under the bushes.
Hilary followed a path through the meadows, with the calm.
bright sunset casting its shadow over the shorn grass, or up in
the hedge-road, or on the brown banks where the drought had
struck. On his back he carried a fishing-basket, containing his
bits of refreshment; and in his right hand a short springy rod,
the absent sailor's favorite. After long council with Mabel, he
## p. 2029 (#223) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2029
had made up his mind to walk up-stream as far as the spot
where two brooks met, and formed body enough for a fly flipped
in very carefully to sail downward. Here he began, and the
creak of his reel and the swish of his rod were music to him,
after the whirl of London life.
The brook was as bright as the best cut-glass, and the twinkles
of its shifting facets only made it seem more clear. It twisted
about a little, here and there; and the brink was fringed now
and then with something, a clump of loosestrife, a tuft of avens,
or a bed of flowering water-cress, or any other of the many
plants that wash and look into the water. But the trout, the
main object in view, were most objectionably too much in view.
They scudded up the brook at the shadow of a hair, or even the
tremble of a blade of grass; and no pacific assurance could make
them even stop to be reasoned with. "This won't do," said
Hilary, who very often talked to himself, in lack of a better
comrade. "I call this very hard upon me. The beggars won't
rise till it is quite dark. I must have the interdict off my tobacco,
if this sort of thing is to go on. How I should enjoy a pipe just
now! I may just as well sit on a gate and think. No, hang it,
I hate thinking now. There are troubles hanging over me, as
sure as the tail of that comet grows. How I detest that comet!
No wonder the fish won't rise. But if I have to strip, and tickle
them in the dark, I won't go back without some for her. "
He was lucky enough to escape the weight of such horrible
poaching upon his conscience; for suddenly to his ears was borne
the most melodious of all sounds, the flop of a heavy fish sweetly.
jumping after some excellent fly or grub.
"Ha, my friend! " cried Hilary, "so you are up for your
supper, are you? I myself will awake right early. Still I behold
the ring you made. If my right hand forget not its cunning,
yon shall form your next ring in the frying-pan. "
He gave that fish a little time to think of the beauty of that
mouthful, and get ready for another, the while he was putting a
white moth on, in lieu of his blue upright. He kept the griz-
zled palmer still for tail-fly, and he tried his knots, for he knew
that this trout was a Triton.
Then, with a delicate sidling and stooping, known only to
them that fish for trout in very bright water of the summer-
time, compared with which art the coarse work of the salmon-
fisher is as that of a scene-painter to Mr. Holman Hunt's—with,
## p. 2030 (#224) ###########################################
2030
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
or in, or by, a careful manner, not to be described to those who
have never studied it, Hilary won access of the water, without
any doubt in the mind of the fish concerning the prudence of
appetite. Then he flipped his short collar in, not with a cast,
but a spring of the rod, and let his flies go quietly down a
sharpish run into that good trout's hole. The worthy trout
looked at them both, and thought; for he had his own favorite
spot for watching the world go by, as the rest of us have. So
he let the grizzled palmer pass, within an inch of his upper lip;
for it struck him that the tail turned up in a manner not wholly
natural, or at any rate unwholesome. He looked at the white
moth also, and thought that he had never seen one at all like it.
So he went down under his root again, hugging himself upon
his wisdom, never moving a fin, but oaring and helming his
plump, spotted sides with his tail.
"Upon my word, it is too bad," said Hilary, after three beau-
tiful throws, and exquisite management down-stream; "every-
thing Kentish beats me hollow. Now, if that had been one of
our trout, I would have laid my life upon catching him. One
more throw, however. How would it be if I sunk my flies?
That fellow is worth some patience. "
While he was speaking, his flies alit on the glassy ripple, like
gnats in their love-dance; and then by a turn of the wrist, he
played them just below the surface, and let them go gliding
down the stickle, into the shelfy nook of shadow where the big
trout hovered. Under the surface, floating thus, with the check
of ductile influence, the two flies spread their wings and quiv-
ered, like a centiplume moth in a spider's web. Still the old
trout, calmly oaring, looked at them both suspiciously. Why
should the same flies come so often, and why should they have
such crooked tails, and could he be sure that he did not spy the
shadow of a human hat about twelve yards up the water? Re-
volving these things, he might have lived to a venerable age
but for that noble ambition to teach, which is fatal to even the
wisest. A young fish, an insolent whipper-snapper, jumped in
his babyish way at the palmer, and missed it through over-eager-
"I'll show you the way to catch a fly," said the big trout
to him: "
open your mouth like this, my son.
With that he bolted the palmer, and threw up his tail, and
turned to go home again. Alas! his sweet home now shall
know him no more. For suddenly he was surprised by a most
ness.
>>>
## p. 2031 (#225) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2031
disagreeable sense of grittiness, and then a keen stab in the
roof of his mouth. He jumped, in his wrath, a foot out of the
water, and then heavily plunged to the depths of his hole.
"You've got it, my friend," cried Hilary, in a tingle of fine
emotions; "I hope the sailor's knots are tied with professional
skill and care. You are a big one, and a clever one too. It is
much if I ever land you. No net, or gaff, or anything. I only
hope that there are no stakes here. Ah, there you go! Now
comes the tug. ”
Away went the big trout down the stream, at a pace very
hard to exaggerate, and after him rushed Hilary, knowing that
his line was rather short, and that if it ran out, all was over.
Keeping his eyes on the water only, and the headlong speed of
the fugitive, headlong over a stake he fell, and took a deep
wound from another stake. Scarcely feeling it, up he jumped,
lifting his rod, which had fallen flat, and fearing to find no
strain on it. "Aha, he is not gone yet! " he cried, as the rod
bowed like a springle-bow.
He was now a good hundred yards down the brook from the
corner where the fight began. Through his swiftness of foot,
and good management, the fish had never been able to tighten
the line beyond yield of endurance. The bank had been free
from bushes, or haply no skill could have saved him; but now
they were come to a corner where a nut-bush quite overhung
the stream.
"I am done for now," said the fisherman; "the villain knows
too well what he is about. Here ends this adventure. "
Full though he was of despair, he jumped anyhow into the
water, kept the point of his rod close down, reeled up a little
as the fish felt weaker, and just cleared the drop of the hazel
boughs. The water flapped into the pockets of his coat, and he
saw red streaks flow downward. And then he plunged out to an
open reach of shallow water and gravel slope.
"I ought to have you now," he said, "though nobody knows
what a rogue you are; and a pretty dance you have led me! »
Doubting the strength of his tackle to lift even the dead
weight of the fish, and much more to meet his despairing rally,
he happily saw a little shallow gut, or back-water, where a small
spring ran out. Into this by a dexterous turn he rather led
than pulled the fish, who was ready to rest for a minute or two;
then he stuck his rod into the bank, ran down stream, and with
## p. 2032 (#226) ###########################################
2032
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
his hat in both hands appeared at the only exit from the gut.
It was all up now with the monarch of the brook. As he
skipped and jumped, with his rich yellow belly, and chaste sil-
ver sides, in the green of the grass, joy and glory of the highest
merit, and gratitude, glowed in the heart of Lorraine. "Two and
three quarters you must weigh. And at your very best you are!
How small your head is! And how bright your spots are! " he
cried, as he gave him the stroke of grace. "You really have
been a brave and fine fellow. I hope they will know how to
fry you "
While he cut his fly out of this grand trout's mouth, he felt
for the first time a pain in his knee, where the point of the
stake had entered it. Under the buckle of his breeches blood
was soaking away inside his gaiters; and then he saw how he
had dyed the water. After washing the wound and binding it
with dock-leaves and a handkerchief, he followed the stream
through a few more meadows, for the fish began to sport pretty
well as the gloom of the evening deepened; so that by the time.
the gables of the old farm-house appeared, by the light of a
young moon, and the comet, Lorraine had a dozen more trout
in his basket, silvery-sided and handsome fellows, though none
of them over a pound perhaps, except his first and redoubtable
captive.
A DANE IN THE DIKE
From Mary Anerley'
N
[ow, whether spy-glass had been used by any watchful mar-
iner, or whether only blind chance willed it, sure it is that
one fine morning Mary met with somebody. And this was
the more remarkable, when people came to think of it, because
it was only the night before that her mother had almost said as
much.
"Ye munna gaw doon to t' sea be yersell," Mistress Anerley
said to her daughter: "happen ye mought be one too many. "
Master Anerley's wife had been at "boarding-school," as
far south as Suffolk, and could speak the very best of south-
ern English (like her daughter Mary) upon polite occasion. But
family cares and farm-house life had partly cured her of her
## p. 2033 (#227) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2033
education, and from troubles of distant speech she had returned
to the ease of her native dialect.
"And if I go not to the sea by myself," asked Mary, with
natural logic, "why, who is there now to go with me? " She was
thinking of her sadly missed comrade, Jack.
"Happen some day, perhaps, one too many. "
The maiden was almost too innocent to blush; but her father
took her part as usual.
"The little lass sall gaw doon," he said, "wheniver sha likes. ”
And so she went down the next morning.
A thousand years ago the Dane's Dike must have been a very
grand intrenchment, and a thousand years ere that perhaps it was
still grander; for learned men say that it was a British work,
wrought out before the Danes had ever learned to build a ship.
Whatever, however, may be argued about that, the wise and the
witless do agree about one thing-the stronghold inside it had
been held by Danes, while severed by the Dike from inland parts,
and these Danes made a good colony of their own, and left to
their descendants distinct speech and manners, some traces of
which are existing even now. The Dike, extending from the
rough North Sea to the calmer waters of Bridlington Bay, is
nothing more than a deep dry trench, skillfully following the
hollows of the ground, and cutting off Flamborough Head and a
solid cantle of high land from the rest of Yorkshire. The corner
so intercepted used to be and is still called "Little Denmark";
and the in-dwellers feel a large contempt for all their outer
neighbors. And this is sad, because Anerley Farm lies wholly
outside of the Dike, which for a long crooked distance serves as
its eastern boundary.
Upon the morning of the self-same day that saw Mr. Jelli-
corse set forth upon his return from Scargate Hall, armed with
instructions to defy the devil, and to keep his discovery quiet-
upon a lovely August morning of the first year of a new cen-
tury, Mary Anerley, blithe and gay, came riding down the grassy
hollow of this ancient Dane's Dike. This was her shortest way
to the sea, and the tide would suit (if she could only catch it)
for a take of shrimps, and perhaps even prawns, in time for her
father's breakfast. And not to lose this, she arose right early,
and rousing Lord Keppel, set forth for the spot where she kept
her net covered with sea-weed. The sun, though up and brisk
already upon sea and foreland, had not found time to rout the
shadows skulking in the dingles. But even here, where sap of
IV-128
## p. 2034 (#228) ###########################################
2034
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
time had breached the turfy ramparts, the hover of the dew-mist
passed away, and the steady light was unfolded. .
For the season was early August still, with beautiful weather
come at last; and the green world seemed to stand on tiptoe to
make the extraordinary acquaintance of the sun. Humble plants
which had long lain flat stood up with a sense of casting some-
thing off; and the damp heavy trunks which had trickled for a
twelvemonth, or been only sponged with moss, were hailing the
fresher light with keener lines and dove-colored tints upon their
smoother boles. Then, conquering the barrier of the eastern
land crest, rose the glorious sun himself, strewing before him
trees and crags in long steep shadows down the hill. Then the
sloping rays, through furze and brush-land, kindling the sparkles
of the dew, descended to the brink of the Dike, and scorning to
halt at petty obstacles, with a hundred golden hurdles bridged it
wherever any opening was.
Under this luminous span, or through it where the crossing
gullies ran, Mary Anerley rode at leisure, allowing her pony to
choose his pace. That privilege he had long secured, in right
of age, and wisdom, and remarkable force of character. Con-
sidering his time of life, he looked well and sleek, and almost
sprightly; and so, without any reservation, did his gentle and
graceful rider. The maiden looked well in a place like that, as
indeed in almost any place; but now she especially set off the
color of things, and was set off by them. For instance, how
could the silver of the dew-cloud, and golden weft of sunrise,
playing through the dapples of a partly wooded glen, do better
(in the matter of variety) than frame a pretty moving figure in
a pink checked frock, with a skirt of russet murrey, and a bright
brown hat? Not that the hat itself was bright, even under the
kiss of sunshine, simply having seen already too much of the
sun, but rather that its early lustre seemed to be revived by a
sense of the happy position it was in; the clustering hair and
the bright eyes beneath it answering the sunny dance of life
and light. Many a handsomer face, no doubt, more perfect,
grand and lofty, received-at least if it was out of bed-the
greeting of that morning sun; but scarcely any prettier one, or
kinder, or more pleasant, so gentle without being weak, so good-
tempered without looking void of all temper at all.
Suddenly the beauty of the time and place was broken by
sharp, angry sound. Bang! bang! came the roar of muskets
fired from the shore at the mouth of the Dike, and echoing up
## p. 2035 (#229) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2035
the winding glen. At the first report the girl, though startled,
was not greatly frightened; for the sound was common enough in
the week when those most gallant volunteers entitled the "York-
shire Invincibles" came down for their annual practice of skilled
gunnery against the French. Their habit was to bring down a
red cock, and tether him against a chalky cliff, and then vie with
one another in shooting at him. The same cock had tested their
skill for three summers, but failed hitherto to attest it, prefer-
ring to return in a hamper to his hens, with a story of moving
adventures.
Mary had watched those Invincibles sometimes from a respect-
ful distance, and therefore felt sure (when she began to think)
that she had not them to thank for this little scare.
For they
always slept soundly in the first watch of the morning; and even
supposing they had jumped up with nightmare, where was the
jubilant crow of the cock? For the cock, being almost as invin-
cible as they were, never could deny himself the glory of a
crow when the bullet came into his neighborhood. He replied to
every volley with an elevated comb, and a flapping of his wings,
and a clarion peal, which rang along the foreshore ere the musket
roar died out. But before the girl had time to ponder what it
was, or wherefore, round the corner came somebody, running
very swiftly.
In a moment Mary saw that this man had been shot at, and
was making for his life away; and to give him every chance she
jerked her pony aside, and called and beckoned; and without a
word he flew to her. Words were beyond him, if his breath
should come back, and he seemed to have no time to wait for
that. He had outstripped the wind, and his own wind, by his
speed.
"Poor man! " cried Mary Anerley, "what a hurry you are in!
But I suppose you cannot help it. Are they shooting at you? "
The runaway nodded, for he could not spare a breath, but
was deeply inhaling for another start, and could not even bow
without hindrance. But to show that he had manners, he took
off his hat. Then he clapped it on his head and set off again.
"Come back! " cried the maid; "I can show you a place. I
can hide you from your enemies forever. "
The young fellow stopped. He was come to that pitch of
exhaustion in which a man scarcely cares whether he is killed
or dies. And his face showed not a sign of fear.
## p. 2036 (#230) ###########################################
2036
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
"Look! That little hole-
once, and this cloth over you! "
He snatched it, and was gone, like the darting lizard, up a
little puckering side issue of the Dike, at the very same instant
that three broad figures and a long one appeared at the lip of
the mouth. The quick-witted girl rode on to meet them, to give
the poor fugitive time to get into his hole and draw the brown
skirt over him. The dazzle of the sun, pouring over the crest,
made the hollow a twinkling obscurity; and the cloth was just
in keeping with the dead stuff around. The three broad men,
with heavy fusils cocked, came up from the sea-mouth of the
Dike, steadily panting, and running steadily with a long-enduring
stride.
Behind them a tall bony man with a cutlass was swing-
ing it high in the air, and limping, and swearing with great
velocity.
—
up there-by the fern. Up at
"Coast-riders," thought Mary, "and he a free-trader [smug.
gler]! Four against one is cowardice. "
"Halt! " cried the tall man, while the rest were running past
her; "halt! ground arms; never scare young ladies. " Then he
flourished his hat, with a grand bow to Mary.
"Fair young
Mistress Anerley, I fear we spoil your ride. But his Majesty's
duty must be done. Hats off, fellows, at the name of your king!
Mary, my dear, the most daring villain, the devil's own son, has
just run up here - scarcely two minutes-you must have seen
him. Wait a minute; tell no lies- excuse me, I mean fibs.
Your father is the right sort. He hates those scoundrels. In
the name of his Majesty, which way is he gone? "
"Was it -oh, was it a man, if you please? Captain Carro-
way, don't say so. "
You are
―
"A man? Is it likely that we shot at a woman?
trifling. It will be the worse for you. Forgive me - but we
are in such a hurry. Whoa! whoa! pony. "
"You always used to be so polite, sir, that you quite surprise
me. And those guns look so dreadful! My father would be
quite astonished to see me not even allowed to go down to the
sea, but hurried back here, as if the French had landed. ”
"How can I help it, if your pony runs away so? " For Mary
all this time had been cleverly contriving to increase and exag-
gerate her pony's fear, and so brought the gunners for a long
way up the Dike, without giving them any time to spy at all
about. She knew that this was wicked from a loyal point of
-
## p. 2037 (#231) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2037
view; not a bit the less she did it. "What a troublesome little
horse it is! " she cried. "O Captain Carroway, hold him just a
moment. I will jump down, and then you can jump up, and
ride after all his Majesty's enemies. "
"The Lord forbid! He slews all out of gear, like a carronade
with rotten lashings. If I boarded him, how could I get out of
his way? No, no, my dear, brace him up sharp, and bear clear. "
"But you wanted to know about some enemy, captain. An
enemy as bad as my poor Lord Keppel? "
«< Mary, my dear, the very biggest villain! A hundred golden
guineas on his head, and half for you. Think of your father,
my dear, and Sunday gowns. And you must have a young man
by-and-by, you know-such a beautiful maid as you are. And
you might get a leather purse, and give it to him. Mary, on
your duty, now? »
«< Captain, you drive me so, what can I say? I cannot bear
the thought of betraying anybody. "
"Of course not, Mary dear; nobody asks you. He must be
half a mile off by this time. You could never hurt him now;
and you can tell your father that you have done your duty to
the king. "
-
"Well, Captain Carroway, if you are quite sure that it is too
late to catch him, I can tell you all about him. But remember
your word about the fifty guineas. "
"Every farthing, every farthing, Mary, whatever my wife may
say to it. Quick! quick! Which way did he run, my dear? "
"He really did not seem to me to be running at all; he was
too tired. "
"To be sure, to be sure, a worn-out fox. We have been two
hours after him; he could not run; no more can we. But which
way did he go, I mean? "
"I will not say anything for certain, sir; even for fifty guin-
eas. But he may have come up here-mind, I say not that
he did - and if so, he might have set off again for Sewerby.
Slowly, very slowly, because of being tired. But perhaps, after
all, he was not the man you mean.
>>>>
«Forward, double-quick! We are sure to have him! " shouted
the lieutenant for his true rank was that- flourishing his cut-
lass again, and setting off at a wonderful pace, considering his
limp. "Five guineas every man Jack of you. Thank you, young
mistress-most heartily thank you. Dead or alive, five guineas! "
-
―
## p. 2038 (#232) ###########################################
2038
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
With gun and sword in readiness, they all rushed off; but one
of the party, named John Cadman, shook his head and looked
back with great mistrust at Mary, having no better judgment of
women than this, that he never could believe even his own wife.
And he knew that it was mainly by the grace of womankind
that so much contraband work was going on. Nevertheless, it
was out of his power to act upon his own low opinions now.
The maiden, blushing deeply with the sense of her deceit,
was informed by her guilty conscience of that nasty man's sus
picions, and therefore gave a smack with her fern whip to Lord
Keppel, impelling him to join, like a loyal little horse, the pur-
suit of his Majesty's enemies. But no sooner did she see all the
men dispersed, and scouring the distance with trustful ardor,
than she turned the pony's head toward the sea again, and rode
back round the bend of the hollow. What would her mother
say if she lost the murrey skirt, which had cost six shillings at
Bridlington fair? And ten times that money might be lost much
better than for her father to discover how she lost it. For Mas-
ter Stephen Anerley was a straight-backed man, and took three
weeks of training in the Land Defense Yeomanry, at periods not
more than a year apart, so that many people called him "Cap-
tain" now; and the loss of his suppleness at knee and elbow had
turned his mind largely to politics, making him stiffly patriotic,
and especially hot against all free-traders putting bad bargains
to his wife, at the cost of the king and his revenue. If the bar-
gain were a good one, that was no concern of his.
Not that Mary, however, could believe, or would even have
such a bad mind as to imagine, that any one, after being helped
by her, would be mean enough to run off with her property.
And now she came to think of it, there was something high and
noble, she might almost say something downright honest, in the
face of that poor persecuted man. And in spite of all his pant-
ing, how brave he must have been, what a runner, and how
clever, to escape from all those cowardly coast-riders shooting
right and left at him! Such a man steal that paltry skirt that
her mother made such a fuss about! She was much more likely
to find it in her clothes-press filled with golden guineas.
Before she was as certain as she wished to be of this (by rea-
son of shrewd nativity), and while she believed that the fugitive
must have seized such a chance and made good his escape
toward North Sea or Flamborough, a quick shadow glanced
## p. 2039 (#233) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2039
across the long shafts of the sun, and a bodily form sped after
it. To the middle of the Dike leaped a young man, smiling, and
forth from the gully which had saved his life. To look at him,
nobody ever could have guessed how fast he had fled, and how
close he had lain hid. For he stood there as clean and spruce
and careless as ever a sailor can be wished to be.
Limber yet
stalwart, agile though substantial, and as quick as a dart while
as strong as a pike, he seemed cut out by nature for a true
blue-jacket; but condition had made him a smuggler, or, to put
it more gently, a free-trader. Britannia, being then at war with
all the world, and alone in the right (as usual), had need of such
lads, and produced them accordingly, and sometimes one too
many. But Mary did not understand these laws. This made
her look at him with great surprise, and almost doubt whether
he could be the man, until she saw her skirt neatly folded in
his hand, and then she said, "How do you do, sir? "
The free-trader looked at her with equal surprise. He had
been in such a hurry, and his breath so short, and the chance of
a fatal bullet after him so sharp, that his mind had been astray
from any sense of beauty, and of everything else except the
safety of the body. But now he looked at Mary, and his breath
again went from him.
"You can run again now; I am sure of it," said she; "and
if you would like to do anything to please me, run as fast as
possible. "
"What have I to run away from now? " he answered, in a
deep sweet voice. “I run from enemies, but not from friends. ”
"That is very wise. But your enemies are still almost within
call of you.
They will come back worse than ever when they
find you are not there. "
"I am not afraid, fair lady, for I understand their ways. I
have led them a good many dances.
When they cannot
take another step, they will come back to Anerley for breakfast. "
"I dare say they will; and we shall be glad to see them. My
father is a soldier, and his duty is to nourish and comfort the
forces of the King. "
"Then you are young Mistress Anerley? I was sure of it
before. There are no two such. And you have saved my life.
It is something to owe it so fairly. "
The young sailor wanted to kiss Mary's hand; but not being
used to any gallantry, she held out her hand in the simplest
manner to take back her riding skirt; and he, though longing in
. •
## p. 2040 (#234) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2040
his heart to keep it, for a token or pretext for another meeting,
found no excuse for doing so.
And yet he was not without some
resource.
For the maiden was giving him a farewell smile, being quite
content with the good she had done, and the luck of recovering
her property; and that sense of right which in those days formed.
a part of every good young woman said to her plainly that she
must be off. And she felt how unkind it was to keep him any
longer in a place where the muzzle of a gun, with a man behind
it, might appear at any moment. But he, having plentiful breath
again, was at home with himself to spend it.
"Fair young lady," he began, for he saw that Mary liked to
be called a lady, because it was a novelty, "owing more than I
ever can pay you already, may I ask a little more? Then it is
that on your way down to the sea, you would just pick up (if
you should chance to see it) the fellow ring to this, and perhaps
you will look at this to know it by. The one that was shot away
flew against a stone just on the left of the mouth of the Dike,
but I durst not stop to look for it, and I must not go back that
way now. It is more to me than a hatful of gold, though nobody
else would give a crown for it. "
"And they really shot away one of your earrings? Careless,
cruel, wasteful men! What could they have been thinking of? "
"They were thinking of getting what is called 'blood-money. '
One hundred pounds for Robin Lyth. Dead or alive-one hun-
dred pounds. "
"Then are you the celebrated Robin Lyth-the new Robin
Hood, as they call him? The man who can do almost anything? "
"Mistress Anerley, I am Robin Lyth; but, as you have seen,
I cannot do much.
They have missed the best chance
they ever had at me; it will make their temper very bad. If
they shot at me again, they could do no good. Crooked mood
makes crooked mode. "
•
You may
"You forget that I should not see such things.
like very much to be shot at; but-but you should think of
other people. "
"I shall think of you only-I mean of your great kindness,
and your promise to keep my ring for me. Of course you will
tell nobody. Carroway will have me like a tiger if you do.
Farewell, young lady-for one week, farewell. "
With a wave of his hat he was gone, before Mary had time
to retract her promise; and she thought of her mother.
## p. 2041 (#235) ###########################################
2041
WILLIAM BLAKE
(1757-1827)
OET-PAINTER, visionary, and super-mystic in almost all capaci-
ties, William Blake was born in London in 1757.
the second son of humble people-his father but a stock-
He was
Su
ing merchant. An "odd little boy," he was destined to be recog-
nized as "one of the most curious and abnormal personages of the
later eighteenth and earlier nineteenth centuries. " Allan Cunning-
ham describes him by saying that Blake at ten years of age was an
artist and at twelve a poet. He seems really to have shown in
childhood his double gift. But the boy's
education was rudimentary, his advantages
not even usual, it would seem. To the end
of his life, the mature man's works betray
a defective common-schooling, a lament-
able lack of higher intellectual training —
unless we suspect that the process would
have disciplined his mind, to the loss of
bizarre originality. Most of what Blake
learned he taught himself, and that at hap-
hazard. The mistiness and inexplicability
of his productions is part of such a pro-
cess, as well as of invincible temperament.
WILLIAM BLAKE
In 1767 Blake was studying drawing
with Mr. Pars, at the sometime famous Strand Academy, where he
was reckoned a diligent but egotistical pupil. At fourteen he be-
came apprenticed, for a livelihood,-afterward exchanged for the
painter's and illustrator's freer career,-to James Basire, an academic
but excellent engraver, whose manner is curiously traceable through
much of Blake's after work. Even in the formal atmosphere of the
Royal Academy's antique school, Blake remained an opinionated and
curiously "detached" scholar, with singular critical notions, with half-
expressed or very boldly expressed theories as to art, religion, and
most other things. In 1782 he married a young woman of equally
humble derivation, who could not even sign the marriage register.
He developed her character, educated her mind, and made her a
devoted and companionable wife, full of faith in him. Their curious
and retired ménage was as happy in a practical and mundane aspect
as could be hoped from even a normal one.
## p. 2042 (#236) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2042
(
In 1780 he began to exhibit, his first picture being The Death of
Earl Godwin. ' After exhibiting five others, however, ending with
'Jacob's Dream,' he withdrew altogether from public advertisement.
Several devoted patrons-especially Mr. Linnell, and a certain Mr.
Thomas Butts, who bought incessantly, anything and everything,-
seized upon all he drew and painted. In his literary undertakings
he was for the most part his own editor and printer and publisher.
His career in verse and prose began early. In 1783 came forth
the charming collection Poetical Sketches,' juvenile as the fancies of
his boyish days, but full of a sensitive appreciation of nature worthy
of a mature heart, and expressed with a diction often exquisite.
The volume was not really public nor published, but printed by the
kindly liberality of two friends, one of them Flaxman. In 1787,
"under the direction of the spirit of his dead brother," Robert, he
decided on publishing a new group of lyrics and fancies, Songs
of Innocence,' by engraving the text of the poems and its marginal
embellishments on copper-printing the pages in various tints, color-
ing or recoloring them by hand, and even binding them, with his
wife's assistance. The medium for mixing his tints, by the by, was
"revealed to him by Saint Joseph. "
With this volume-now a rarity for the bibliophile - began
Blake's system of giving his literary works and many of his ex-
traordinary artistic productions their form and being.
Like a poet-
printer of our own day, Mr. William Morris, Blake insisted that each
page of text, all his delicate illustrations, every cover even, should
pass through his own fingers, or through those of his careful and
submissive helpmeet. The expense of their paper was the chief one
to the light purse of the queerly assorted, thrifty pair.
<
In 1789 appeared another little volume of verses, Songs of Inno-
cence. ' This also was ushered into existence as a dual book of
pictures and of poetry. In 1794 came the Songs of Experience,'
completing that brief lyrical trio on which rests Blake's poetical
reputation and his claim on coming generations of sympathetic read-
ers. To these early and exquisite fruits of Blake's feeling succeeded
a little book For Children,' the mystic volume The Gates of
Paradise,' 'The Visions of the Daughters of Albion,' 'America, a
Prophecy,' Part First of his Book of Urizen,' and a collection of
designs without text, treated in the methods usual with him, besides
other labors with pencil and pen.
But the wonderful and disordered imagination of the artist and
poet now embodied itself in a strange group of writings for which
no parallel exists. To realize them, one must imagine the most
transcendent notions of Swedenborg mingled with the rant of a
superior kind of Mucklewrath. Such poems as 'The Book of Thel,'
## p. 2043 (#237) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2043
in spite of beautiful allegoric passages; 'The Gates of Paradise';
'Tiriel,' an extended narrative-fantasy in irregular unrhymed verses;
even the striking 'Marriage of Heaven and Hell,'-may be reckoned
as mere prologues to such productions as 'Jerusalem,' 'The Emana-
tion of the Giant Albion,' 'Milton,' and the "prophecies" embodied in
the completed Urizen,' the 'Europe,' 'Ahania,' and 'The Book of
Los. ' Such oracular works Blake put forth as dictated to him by
departed spirits of supreme influence and intellectuality, or by angelic
intelligences, quite apart from his own volition; indeed, only with his
"grateful obedience. » Such claims are not out of place in the
instance of one who "saw God"; who often "conversed familiarly
with Jesus Christ "; who "was" Socrates; who argued conclusions for
hours at a time with Moses, with Milton, with Dante, with the
Biblical prophets, with Voltaire; who could "see Satan" almost at
will-all in vivid conceptions that sprang up in his mind with such
force as to set seemingly substantial and even speaking beings before
him. In his assumption of the seer, Blake was not a charlatan: he
believed fully in his supernatural privileges. To him his modest
London lodging held great company, manifest in the spirit.
Blake's greater "prophetic" writings ended, he busied himself
with painting and illustration. He was incessant in industry; indeed,
his ordinary recreation at any time was only a change of work
from one design to another. So were wrought out the (incomplete)
series of plates for Young's 'Night Thoughts'; the drawings for Hay-
ley's 'Life of Cowper,' and for the same feeble author's 'Ballads on
Anecdotes relating to Animals'; the 'Dante' designs; the 'Job'
series of prints; a vast store of aquarelle and distemper paintings
and plates, and a whole gallery of "portraits» derived from sitters
of distinction in past universal history. These sitters, it is needless
to say, were wholly invisible to other eyes than Blake's. The sub-
jects vary from likenesses of Saint Joseph and the Virgin Mary to
those of Mahomet and Shakespeare. Sundry of the old masters,
Titian included, reviewed his efforts and guided his brush!
