Beauchamp; or, The Error.
Page 5
CHAPTER V.The old Mill.
It was just in the gray of the morning, and the silver light of dawnwas stealing through the deep glens of the wood, brightening the dewyfilaments that busy insects had spun across and across the grass, andshining in long, glistening lines, upon the broad clear stream. It wasa lovely stream as ever the eye of meditation rested on, or thoughtfulangler walked beside; and from about two miles beyond Slingsby Park towithin half a mile of the small town of Tarningham, it presented anendless variety of quiet English scenery, such as does the heart ofman good to look upon. In one part it was surrounded by high hills,not unbroken by jagged rocks and lofty banks, and went on tumbling inminiature cascades and tiny rapids. At another place it flowed on ingreater tranquillity through green meadows, flanked on either hand bytall, stately trees, at the distance of eighty or ninety yards fromthe banks; not in trim rows, all ranged like rank and file uponparades, but straggling out as chance or taste had decided, sometimesgrouping into masses, sometimes protruding far towards the stream,sometimes receding coyly into the opening of a little dell. Then againthe river dashed on at a more hurried rate through a low copse,brawling as it went over innumerable shelves of rock and masses ofstone, or banks of gravel, which attempted to obstruct its course; andnearer still to the town it flowed through turfy banks, slowly andquietly, every now and then diversified by a dashing ripple over ashallow, and a tumble into a deep pool.
It was in the gray of the morning, then, that a man in a velveteenjacket was seen walking slowly along by the margin, at a spot wherethe river was in a sort of middle state, neither so fierce and restiveas it seemed amongst the hills, nor so tranquil and sluggish as in theneighbourhood of the little town. There were green fields around; andnumerous trees and copses approaching sometimes very close to thewater, but sometimes breaking away to a considerable distance, andgenerally far enough off for the angler to throw a fly without hookingthe branches around. Amongst some elms, and walnuts, and Huntingdonpoplars on the right bank, was an old square tower of very roughstone, gray and cold-looking, with some ivy up one side, clusteringround the glassless window. It might have been mistaken for the ruinof some ancient castle of no great extent, had it not been for theaxle-tree and some of the spokes and fellies of a dilapidatedwater-wheel projecting over the river, and at once announcing for whatpurposes the building had been formerly used, and that they had longceased. There was still a little causeway and small stone bridge of asingle arch spanning a rivulet that here joined the stream, and from adoorway near the wheel still stretched a frail plank to the otherside of the dam, which, being principally constructed of rude layersof rock, remained entire, and kept up the water so as to form anartificial cascade. Early as was the hour, some matutinal trout, who,having risen by times and perhaps taken a long swim before breakfast,felt hungry and sharpset, were attempting to satisfy their voraciousmaws by snapping at a number of fawn-coloured moths which imprudentlytrusted themselves too near the surface of the water. The religiousbirds were singing their sweet hymns all around, and a largegoatsucker whirled by on his long wings, depriving the trout of many adelicate fly before it came within reach of the greedy jaws that werewaiting for it below the ripple.
But what was the man doing while fish, flies, and birds were thusengaged? Marry he was engaged in a very curious and mysteriousoccupation. With a slow step and a careful eye fixed upon the glassysurface beneath him, he walked along the course of the current downtowards the park paling that you see there upon the left. Was headmiring the speckled tenants of the river? Was he admiring his ownreflected image on the shining mirror of the stream? He might be doingeither, or both; but, nevertheless, he often put his finger and thumbinto the pocket of a striped waistcoat; pulled out some small roundballs, about the size of a pea or a little larger, marvellously likeone of those boluses which doctors are sometimes fain to prescribe,and chemists right willing to furnish, but which patients find itsomewhat difficult to swallow. These he dropped one by one into thewater, wherever he found a quiet place, and thus proceeded till he hadcome within about three hundred yards of the park wall. There hestopped the administration of these pills; and then, walking a littlefurther, sat down by the side of the river, in the very midst of atall clump of rushes.
In a minute or two something white, about the length of eighteeninches, floated down; and instantly stretching forth a long hookedstick, our friend drew dexterously in to the shore a fine large troutof a pound and a half in weight. The poor fellow was quite dead, or atleast so insensible that he did not seem at all surprised or annoyedto find himself suddenly out of his element, and into anothergentleman's pocket, though the transition was somewhat marvellous,from the fresh clear stream to a piece of glazed buckram. Most peoplewould have disliked the change, but Mister Trout was in that sort ofstate that he did not care about any thing. Hardly was he thusdeposited when one of his finny companions--perhaps his own brother,or some other near relation--was seen coming down the stream with hisstomach upwards, a sort of position which, to a trout, is the same asstanding on the head would be to a human being. This one was nearerthe bank, and first he hit his nose against a stump of tree, then,whirling quietly round, he tried the current tail foremost; but it wasall of no avail, he found his way likewise into the pocket, and twomore were easily consigned to the same receptacle, all of them showingthe same placid equanimity. At length one very fine fish, which seemedto weigh two pounds and a half, at the least, followed advice, andtook a middle course. He was out of reach of the stick; the water wastoo deep at that spot to wade, and what was our friend of the pocketto do? He watched the fish carried slowly down the stream towards theplace where the river passed under an archway into Sir John Slingsby'spark. It was fat and fair, and its fins were rosy as if the morningsun had tinged them. Its belly was of a glossy white, with a kindlylook about its half-expanded gills, that quite won our friend'saffection. Yet he hesitated; and being a natural philosopher, he knewthat by displacing the atoms of water the floating body might bebrought nearer to the shore. He therefore tried a stone: but whetherhe threw it too far, or not far enough, I cannot tell; certain it is,the trout was driven further away than before, and to hisinexpressible disappointment, he saw it carried through the arch. Hewas resolved, however, that it should not thus escape him. Difficultcircumstances try, if they do not make, great men; and taking a littlerun, he vaulted over the park paling and into the park.
He was just in the act of getting over again, perhaps feeling if hestayed too long it might be considered an intrusion, and had the fishin his hand, so that his movements were somewhat embarrassed, when alittle incident occurred which considerably affected his plans andpurposes for the day.
I have mentioned an old mill, and sundry trees and bushes at differentdistances from the bank, breaking the soft green meadow turf in a verypicturesque manner. In the present instance, these various objectsproved not only ornamental but useful--at least to a personage who hadbeen upon the spot nearly as long as our friend in the velveteenjacket. That personage had been tempted into the mill either by itscurious and ancient aspect, or by the open door, or by surprise, or bysome other circumstance or motive; and once in he thought he might aswell look out of the window. When he did look out of the window, thefirst thing his eyes fell upon, was the first-mentioned gentlemandropping his pills into the water; and there being something curiousand interesting in the whole proceeding, the man in the mill watchedthe man by the river for some minutes. He then quietly slipped out,and as the door was on the opposite side from that on which theoperations I have described were going on, he did so unperceived. Itwould seem that the watcher became much affected by what he saw; forthe next minute he glided softly over the turf behind a bush, andthence to a clump of trees, and then to a single old oak with a goodwide trunk--rather hollow and somewhat shattered about the branches,but still with two or three of the lower boughs left, having a fairshow of leaves, like a fringe of curly hair round the poll of somebald Anacreon. From that he went to another, and so on; in
fact,dodging our first friend all the way down, till the four first troutwere pocketed, and the fifth took its course into the park. When thebetrayer of these tender innocents, however, vaulted over the palingin pursuit, the dodger came out and got behind some bushes--brambles,and other similar shrubs that have occasionally other uses thanbearing blackberries; and no sooner did he see the successful chaserof the trout, with his goodly fish in his hand and one leg over thepaling, about to return to the open country, than taking two stepsforward, he laid his hand upon his collar, and courteously helped himover somewhat faster than he would have come without such assistance.
The man of fishes had his back to his new companion at the moment whenhe received such unexpected support; but as soon as his feet touchedthe ground on the other side, he struggled most unreasonably to freehis collar from the grasp that still retained it. He did not succeedin this effort; far from it; for he well-nigh strangled himself in theattempt to get out of that iron clutch; but, nevertheless, hecontrived, at the risk of suffocation, to bring himself face to facewith his tenacious friend, and beheld, certainly what he did notexpect to see. No form of grim and grisly gamekeeper was before him;no shooting-jacket and leathern leggings; but a person in the garb ofa gentleman of good station, furnished with arms, legs, and chest ofdimensions and materials which seemed to show that a combat would beneither a very safe nor pleasant affair.
"Who the devil are you?" asked the lover of trout, in the same termswhich Mr. Wittingham had used the night before to the very samepersonage.
"Ha, ha, my friend!" exclaimed Ned Hayward; "so you have beenhocussing the trout have you?" And there they stood for a few minuteswithout any answers to either question.