The Adventures of Harry Richmond. Complete

Temple was in distress of spirits because of his having been ignominiously bought off. Saddlebank, however, put on such a pace that no one had leisure for melancholy. ‘I’ll get you fellows up to boiling point,’ said he. There was a tremendously hot sun overhead. On a sudden he halted, exclaiming: ‘Cooks and gridirons! what about sage and onions?’ Only Temple and I jumped at the meaning of this. We drew lots for a messenger, and it was miserable to behold an unfortunate fellow touch Saddlebank’s hand containing the notched bit of stick, and find himself condemned to go and buy sage and onions somewhere, without knowing what it was for how could he guess we were going to cook a raw goose! The lot fell to a boy named Barnshed, a big slow boy, half way up every class he was in, but utterly stupid out of school; which made Saddlebank say: ‘They’ll take it he’s the bird that wants stuffing.’ Barnshed was directed where to rejoin us. The others asked why he was trotted after sage and onions. ‘Because he’s an awful goose,’ said Saddlebank.

Temple and I thought the word was out and hurrahed, and back came Barnshed. We had a task in persuading him to resume his expedition, as well as Saddlebank to forgive us. Saddlebank’s anger was excessive. We conciliated him by calling him captain, and pretending to swear an oath of allegiance. He now led us through a wood on to some fields down to a shady dell, where we were to hold the feast in privacy. He did not descend it himself. Vexatious as it was to see a tramp’s tent there, we nevertheless acknowledged the respectful greeting of the women and the man with a few questions about tentpegs, pots, and tin mugs. Saddlebank remained aloft, keeping a look-out for the day-school fellows, Chaunter, Davis, and Bystop, my commissioners. They did not keep us waiting long. They had driven to the spot in a cart, according to Saddlebank’s directions. Our provisions were in three large hampers. We praised their forethought loudly at the sight of an extra bottle of champagne, with two bottles of ginger-wine, two of currant, two of raisin, four pint bottles of ale, six of ginger-beer, a Dutch cheese, a heap of tarts, three sally-lunns, and four shillingsworth of toffy. Temple and I joined our apples to the mass: a sight at which some of the boys exulted aloud. The tramp-women insisted on spreading things out for us: ten yards off their children squatted staring: the man smoked and chaffed us.

At last Saddlebank came running over the hill-side, making as if he meant to bowl down what looked a black body of a baby against the sky, and shouting, ‘See, you fellows, here’s a find!’ He ran through us, swinging his goose up to the hampers, saying that he had found the goose under a furze-bush. While the words were coming out of his mouth, he saw the tramps, and the male tramp’s eyes and his met.

The man had one eyebrow and his lips at one corner screwed in a queer lift: he winked slowly. ‘Odd! ain’t it?’ he said.

Saddlebank shouldered round on us, and cried, ‘Confound you fellows! here’s a beastly place you’ve pitched upon.’ His face was the colour of scarlet in patches.

‘Now, I call it a beautiful place,’ said the man, ‘and if you finds gooses hereabouts growing ready for the fire, all but plucking, why, it’s a bountiful place, I call it.’

The women tried to keep him silent. But for them we should have moved our encampment. ‘Why, of course, young gentlemen, if you want to eat the goose, we’ll pluck it for you and cook it for you, all nice,’ they said. ‘How can young gentlemen do that for theirselves?’

It was clear to us we must have a fire for the goose. Certain observations current among us about the necessity to remove the goose’s inside, and not to lose the giblets, which even the boy who named them confessed his inability to recognize, inclined the majority to accept the woman’s proposal. Saddlebank said it was on our heads, then.

To revive his good humour, Temple uncorked a bottle of champagne. The tramp-woman lent us a tin mug, and round it went. One boy said, ‘That’s a commencement’; another said, ‘Hang old Rippenger.’ Temple snapped his fingers, and Bystop, a farmer’s son, said, ‘Well, now I’ve drunk champagne; I meant to before I died!’ Most of the boys seemed puzzled by it. As for me, my heart sprang up in me like a colt turned out of stables to graze. I determined that the humblest of my retainers should feed from my table, and drink to my father’s and Heriot’s honour, and I poured out champagne for the women, who just sipped, and the man, who vowed he preferred beer. A spoonful of the mashed tarts I sent to each of the children. Only one, the eldest, a girl about a year older than me, or younger, with black eyebrows and rough black hair, refused to eat or drink.

‘Let her bide, young gentlemen,’ said a woman; ‘she’s a regular obstinate, once she sets in for it.’

‘Ah!’ said the man, ‘I’ve seen pigs druv, and I’ve seen iron bent double. She’s harder ‘n both, once she takes ‘t into her head.’

‘By jingo, she’s pig-iron!’ cried Temple, and sighed, ‘Oh, dear old Heriot!’

I flung myself beside him to talk of our lost friend.

A great commotion stirred the boys. They shrieked at beholding their goose vanish in a pot for stewing. They wanted roast-goose, they exclaimed, not boiled; who cared for boiled goose! But the woman asked them how it was possible to roast a goose on the top of wood-flames, where there was nothing to hang it by, and nothing would come of it except smoked bones!

The boys groaned in consternation, and Saddlebank sowed discontent by grumbling, ‘Now you see what your jolly new acquaintances have done for you.’

So we played at catch with the Dutch cheese, and afterwards bowled it for long-stopping, when, to the disgust of Saddlebank and others, down ran the black-haired girl and caught the ball clean at wicket-distance. As soon as she had done it she was ashamed, and slunk away.

The boys called out, ‘Now, then, pig-iron!’

One fellow enraged me by throwing an apple that hit her in the back. We exchanged half-a-dozen blows, whereupon he consented to apologize, and roared, ‘Hulloa, pig-iron, sorry if I hurt you.’

Temple urged me to insist on the rascal’s going on his knees for flinging at a girl.

‘Why,’ said Chaunter, ‘you were the first to call her pig-iron.’

Temple declared he was a blackguard if he said that. I made the girl take a piece of toffy.

‘Aha!’ Saddlebank grumbled, ‘this comes of the precious company you would keep in spite of my caution.’

The man told us to go it, for he liked to observe young gentlemen enjoying themselves. Temple tossed him a pint bottle of beer, with an injunction to him to shut his trap.

‘Now, you talk my mother tongue,’ said the man; ‘you’re what goes by the name of a learned gentleman. Thank ye, sir. You’ll be a counsellor some day.’

‘I won’t get off thieves, I can tell you,’ said Temple. He was the son of a barrister.

‘Nor you won’t help cook their gooses for them, may be,’ said the man. ‘Well, kindness is kindness, all over the world.’

The women stormed at him to command him not to anger the young gentlemen, for Saddlebank was swearing awfully in an undertone. He answered them that he was the mildest lamb afloat.

Despairing of the goose, we resolved to finish the cold repast awaiting us. The Dutch cheese had been bowled into bits. With a portion of the mashed tarts on it, and champagne, it tasted excellently; toffy to follow. Those boys who chose ginger-wine had it, and drank, despised. The ginger-beer and ale, apples and sallylunns, were reserved for supper. My mind became like a driving sky, with glimpses of my father and Heriot bursting through.

‘If I’m not a prince, I’m a nobleman,’ I said to Temple.

He replied, ‘Army or Navy. I don’t much care which. We’re sure of a foreign war some time. Then you’ll see fellows rise: lieutenant, captain, colonel, General—quick as barrels popping at a bird. I should like to be Governor of Gibraltar.’

‘I’ll come and see you, Temple,’ said I.

‘Done! old Richie,’ he said, grasping my hand warmly.

‘The truth is, Temple,’ I confided to him, ‘I’ve an uncle-I mean a grandfather-of enormous property; he owns half Hampshire, I believe, and hates my father like poison. I won’t stand it. You’ve seen my father, haven’t you? Gentlemen never forget their servants, Temple. Let’s drink lots more champagne. I wish you and I were knights riding across that country there, as they used to, and you saying, “I wonder whether your father’s at home in the castle expecting our arrival.”’

‘The Baron!’ said Temple. ‘He’s like a Baron, too. His health. Your health, sir! It’s just the wine to drink it in, Richie. He’s one of the men I look up to. It ‘s odd he never comes to see you, because he’s fond of you; the right sort of father! Big men can’t be always looking after little boys. Not that we’re so young, though, now. Lots of fellows of our age have done things fellows write about. I feel—’ Temple sat up swelling his chest to deliver an important sentiment; ‘I feel uncommonly thirsty.’

So did I. We attributed it to the air of the place, Temple going so far as to say that it came off the chalk, which somehow stuck in the throat.

‘Saddleback, don’t look glum,’ said Temple. ‘Lord, Richie, you should hear my father plead in Court with his wig on. They used to say at home I was a clever boy when I was a baby. Saddleback, you’ve looked glum all the afternoon.’

‘Treat your superiors respectfully,’ Saddlebank retorted.

The tramp was irritating him. That tramp had never left off smoking and leaning on his arm since we first saw him. Two boys named Hackman and Montague, not bad fellows, grew desirous of a whiff from his pipe. They had it, and lay down silent, back to back. Bystop was led away in a wretched plight. Two others, Paynter and Ashworth, attacked the apples, rendered desperate by thirst. Saddlebank repelled them furiously. He harangued those who might care to listen.

‘You fellows, by George! you shall eat the goose, I tell you. You’ve spoilt everything, and I tell you, whether you like it or not, you shall have apples with it, and sage and onions too. I don’t ask for thanks. And I propose to post outposts in the wood to keep watch.’

He wanted us to draw lots again. His fun had entirely departed from him; all he thought of was seeing the goose out of the pot. I had a feeling next to hatred for one who could talk of goose. Temple must have shared it.

‘We ‘ve no real captain now dear old Heriot ‘s gone,’ he said. ‘The school’s topsy-turvy: we’re like a lot of things rattled in a box. Oh, dear! how I do like a good commander. On he goes, you after him, never mind what happens.’

A pair of inseparable friends, Happitt and Larkins, nicknamed Happy-go-Lucky, were rolling arm-in-arm, declaring they were perfectly sober, and, for a proof of it, trying to direct their feet upon a lump of chalk, and marching, and missing it. Up came Chaunter to them: ‘Fat goose?’ he said-no more. Both the boys rushed straight as far as they could go; both sung out, ‘I’m done!’ and they were.

Temple and I contemplated these proceedings as matters belonging to the ordinary phenomena of feasting. We agreed that gentlemen were always the last to drop, and were assured, therefore, of our living out the field; but I dreaded the moment of the goose’s appearance, and I think he did also. Saddlebank’s pertinacity in withholding the cool ginger-beer and the apples offended us deeply; we should have conspired against him had we reposed confidence in our legs and our tongues.

Twilight was around us. The tramp-children lay in little bundles in one tent; another was being built by the women and the girl. Overhead I counted numbers of stars, all small; and lights in the valley-lights of palaces to my imagination. Stars and tramps seemed to me to go together. Houses imprisoned us, I thought a lost father was never to be discovered by remaining in them. Plunged among dark green leaves, smelling wood-smoke, at night; at morning waking up, and the world alight, and you standing high, and marking the hills where you will see the next morning and the next, morning after morning, and one morning the dearest person in the world surprising you just before you wake: I thought this a heavenly pleasure. But, observing the narrowness of the tents, it struck me there would be snoring companions. I felt so intensely sensitive, that the very idea of a snore gave me tremours and qualms: it was associated with the sense of fat. Saddlebank had the lid of the pot in his hand; we smelt the goose, and he cried, ‘Now for supper; now for it! Halloa, you fellows!’

‘Bother it, Saddlebank, you’ll make Catman hear you,’ said Temple, wiping his forehead.

I perspired coldly.

‘Catman! He’s been at it for the last hour and a half,’ Saddlebank replied.

One boy ran up: he was ready, and the only one who was. Presently Chaunter rushed by.

‘Barnshed ‘s in custody; I’m away home,’ he said, passing.

We stared at the black opening of the dell.

‘Oh, it’s Catman; we don’t mind him,’ Saddlebank reassured us; but we heard ominous voices, and perceived people standing over a prostrate figure. Then we heard a voice too well known to us. It said, ‘The explanation of a pupil in your charge, Mr. Catman, being sent barefaced into the town—a scholar of mine-for sage and onions…’

‘Old Rippenger!’ breathed Temple.

We sat paralyzed. Now we understood the folly of despatching a donkey like Barnshed for sage and onions.

‘Oh, what asses we have been!’ Temple continued. ‘Come along-we run for it! Come along, Richie! They ‘re picking up the fellows like windfalls.’

I told him I would not run for it; in fact, I distrusted my legs; and he was staggering, answering Saddlebank’s reproaches for having come among tramps.

‘Temple, I see you, sir!’ called Mr. Rippenger. Poor Temple had advanced into the firelight.

With the instinct to defeat the master, I crawled in the line of the shadows to the farther side of a tent, where I felt a hand clutch mine. ‘Hide me,’ said I; and the curtain of the tent was raised. After squeezing through boxes and straw, I lay flat, covered by a mat smelling of abominable cheese, and felt a head outside it on my chest. Several times Mr. Rippenger pronounced my name in the way habitual to him in anger: ‘Rye!’

Temple’s answer was inaudible to me. Saddlebank spoke, and other boys, and the man and the woman. Then a light was thrust in the tent, and the man said, ‘Me deceive you, sir! See for yourself, to satisfy yourself. Here’s our little uns laid warm, and a girl there, head on the mat, going down to join her tribe at Lipcombe, and one of our women sleeps here, and all told. But for you to suspect me of combining—Thank ye, sir. You’ve got my word as a man.’

The light went away. My chest was relieved of the weight on it. I sat up, and the creature who had been kind to me laid mat and straw on the ground, and drew my head on her shoulder, where I slept fast.

CHAPTER VII. A FREE LIFE ON THE ROAD

I woke very early, though I had taken kindly to my pillow, as I found by my having an arm round my companion’s neck, and her fingers intertwisted with mine. For awhile I lay looking at her eyes, which had every imaginable light and signification in them; they advised me to lie quiet, they laughed at my wonder, they said, ‘Dear little fellow!’ they flashed as from under a cloud, darkened, flashed out of it, seemed to dip in water and shine, and were sometimes like a view into a forest, sometimes intensely sunny, never quite still. I trusted her, and could have slept again, but the sight of the tent stupefied me; I fancied the sky had fallen, and gasped for air; my head was extremely dizzy too; not one idea in it was kept from wheeling. This confusion of my head flew to my legs when, imitating her, I rose to go forth. In a fit of horror I thought, ‘I ‘ve forgotten how to walk!’

Summoning my manful resolution, I made the attempt to step across the children swaddled in matting and straw and old gowns or petticoats. The necessity for doing it with a rush seized me after the first step. I pitched over one little bundle, right on to the figure of a sleeping woman. All she did was to turn round, murmuring, ‘Naughty Jackie.’ My companion pulled me along gravely, and once in the air, with a good breath of it in my chest, I felt tall and strong, and knew what had occurred. The tent where I had slept struck me as more curious than my own circumstances. I lifted my face to the sky; it was just sunrise, beautiful; bits of long and curling cloud brushed any way close on the blue, and rosy and white, deliciously cool; the grass was all grey, our dell in shadow, and the tops of the trees burning, a few birds twittering.

I sucked a blade of grass.

‘I wish it was all water here,’ I said.

‘Come and have a drink and a bathe,’ said my companion.

We went down the dell and over a juniper slope, reminding me of my day at John Salter’s house and the last of dear Heriot. Rather to my shame, my companion beat me at running; she was very swift, and my legs were stiff.

‘Can you swim?’ she asked me.

‘I can row, and swim, and fence, and ride, and fire a pistol,’ I said.

‘Oh, dear,’ said she, after eyeing me enviously. I could see that I had checked a recital of her accomplishments.

We arrived at a clear stream in a gentleman’s park, where grass rolled smooth as sea-water on a fine day, and cows and horses were feeding.

‘I can catch that horse and mount him,’ she said.

I was astonished.

‘Straddle?’

She nodded down for ‘Yes.’

‘No saddle?’

She nodded level for ‘No.’

My respect for her returned. But she could not swim.

‘Only up to my knees,’ she confessed.

‘Have a look at me,’ said I; and I stripped and shot into the water, happy as a fish, and thinking how much nicer it was than champagne. My enjoyment made her so envious that she plucked off her stockings, and came in as far as she dared. I called to her. ‘You’re like a cow,’ and she showed her teeth, bidding me not say that.

‘A cow! a cow!’ I repeated, in my superior pleasure.

She spun out in a breath, ‘If you say that, I ‘ll run away with every bit of your clothes, and you’ll come out and run about naked, you will.’

‘Now I float,’ was my answer, ‘now I dive’; and when I came up she welcomed me with a big bright grin.

A smart run in the heat dried me. I dressed, finding half my money on the grass. She asked me to give her one of those bits-a shilling. I gave her two, upon which she asked me, invitingly, if ever I tossed. I replied that I never tossed for money; but she had caught a shilling, and I could not resist guessing ‘heads,’ and won; the same with her second shilling. She handed them to me sullenly, sobbing, yet she would not take them back.

‘By-and-by you give me another two,’ she said, growing lively again. We agreed that it would be a good thing if we entered the village and bought something. None of the shops were open. We walked through the churchyard. I said, ‘Here’s where dead people are buried.’

‘I’ll dance if you talk about dead people,’ said she, and began whooping at the pitch of her voice. On my wishing to know why she did it, her reply was that it was to make the dead people hear. My feelings were strange: the shops not open, and no living people to be seen. We climbed trees, and sat on a branch talking of birds’ eggs till hunger drove us to the village street, where, near the public-house, we met the man-tramp, who whistled.

He was rather amusing. He remarked that he put no questions to me, because he put no question to anybody, because answers excited him about subjects that had no particular interest to him, and did not benefit him to the extent of a pipe of ‘tobacco; and all through not being inquisitive, yesterday afternoon he had obtained, as if it had been chucked into his lap, a fine-flavoured fat goose honourably for his supper, besides bottles of ale, bottles of ginger-pop, and a fair-earned half-crown. That was through his not being inquisitive, and he was not going to be inquisitive now, knowing me for a gentleman: my master had tipped him half-a-crown.

Fortunately for him, and perhaps for my liberty, he employed a verb marvellously enlightening to a schoolboy. I tipped him another half-crown. He thanked me, observing that there were days when you lay on your back and the sky rained apples; while there were other days when you wore your fingers down to the first joint to catch a flea. Such was Fortune!

In a friendly manner he advised me to go to school; if not there, then to go home. My idea, which I had only partly conceived, was to have a look at Riversley over a hedge, kiss my aunt Dorothy unaware, and fly subsequently in search of my father. Breakfast, however, was my immediate thought. He and the girl sat down to breakfast at the inn as my guests. We ate muttonchops and eggs, and drank coffee. After it, though I had no suspicions, I noticed that the man grew thoughtful. He proposed to me, supposing I had no objection against slow travelling, to join company for a couple of days, if I was for Hampshire, which I stated was the county I meant to visit.

‘Well then, here now, come along, d ‘ye see, look,’ said he, ‘I mustn’t be pounced on, and no missing young gentleman in my society, and me took half-a-crown for his absence; that won’t do. You get on pretty well with the gal, and that ‘s a screaming farce: none of us do. Lord! she looks down on such scum as us. She’s gipsy blood, true sort; everything’s sausages that gets into their pockets, no matter what it was when it was out. Well then, now, here, you and the gal go t’ other side o’ Bed’lming, and you wait for us on the heath, and we ‘ll be there to comfort ye ‘fore dark. Is it a fister?’

He held out his hand; I agreed; and he remarked that he now counted a breakfast in the list of his gains from never asking questions.

I was glad enough to quit the village in a hurry, for the driver of the geese, or a man dreadfully resembling him, passed me near the public-house, and attacked my conscience on the cowardly side, which is, I fear, the first to awaken, and always the liveliest half while we are undisciplined. I would have paid him money, but the idea of a conversation with him indicated the road back to school. My companion related her history. She belonged to a Hampshire gipsy tribe, and had been on a visit to a relative down in the East counties, who died on the road, leaving her to be brought home by these tramps: she called them mumpers, and made faces when she spoke of them. Gipsies, she said, were a different sort: gipsies camped in gentlemen’s parks; gipsies, horses, fiddles, and the wide world—that was what she liked. The wide world she described as a heath, where you looked and never saw the end of it I let her talk on. For me to talk of my affairs to a girl without bonnet and boots would have been absurd. Otherwise, her society pleased me: she was so like a boy, and unlike any boy I knew.

My mental occupation on the road was to calculate how many hill-tops I should climb before I beheld Riversley. The Sunday bells sounded homely from village to village as soon as I was convinced that I heard no bells summoning boarders to Rippenger’s school. The shops in the villages continued shut; however, I told the girl they should pay me for it next day, and we had an interesting topic in discussing as to the various things we would buy. She was for bright ribands and draper’s stuff, I for pastry and letter-paper. The smell of people’s dinners united our appetites. Going through a village I saw a man carrying a great baked pie, smelling overpoweringly, so that to ask him his price for it was a natural impulse with me. ‘What! sell my Sunday dinner?’ he said, and appeared ready to drop the dish. Nothing stopped his staring until we had finished a plateful a-piece and some beer in his cottage among his family. He wanted to take me in alone. ‘She’s a common tramp,’ he said of the girl.

‘That’s a lie,’ she answered.

Of course I would not leave her hungry outside, so in the end he reluctantly invited us both, and introduced us to his wife.

‘Here’s a young gentleman asks a bit o’ dinner, and a young I-d’n-know-what ‘s after the same; I leaves it to you, missus.’

His wife took it off his shoulders in good humour, saying it was lucky she made the pie big enough for her family and strays. They would not accept more than a shilling for our joint repast. The man said that was the account to a farthing, if I was too proud to be a poor man’s guest, and insisted on treating him like a public. Perhaps I would shake hands at parting? I did cordially, and remembered him when people were not so civil. They wanted to know whether we had made a runaway match of it. The fun of passing a boys’-school and hearing the usher threaten to punish one fellow for straying from ranks, entertained me immensely. I laughed at them just as the stupid people we met laughed at me, which was unpleasant for the time; but I knew there was not a single boy who would not have changed places with me, only give him the chance, though my companion was a gipsy girl, and she certainly did look odd company for a gentleman’s son in a tea-garden and public-house parlour. At nightfall, however, I was glad of her and she of me, and we walked hand in hand. I narrated tales of Roman history. It was very well for her so say, ‘I’ll mother you,’ as we lay down to sleep; I discovered that she would never have hooted over churchyard graves in the night. She confessed she believed the devil went about in the night. Our bed was a cart under a shed, our bed-clothes fern-leaves and armfuls of straw. The shafts of the cart were down, so we lay between upright and level, and awakening in the early light I found our four legs hanging over the seat in front. ‘How you have been kicking!’ said I. She accused me of the same. Next minute she pointed over the side of the cart, and I saw the tramp’s horse and his tents beneath a broad roadside oak-tree. Her face was comical, just like a boy’s who thinks he has escaped and is caught. ‘Let’s run,’ she said. Preferring positive independence, I followed her, and then she told me that she had overheard the tramp last night swearing I was as good as a fistful of half-crowns lost to him if he missed me. The image of Rippenger’s school overshadowed me at this communication. With some melancholy I said: ‘You’ll join your friends, won’t you?’