CHAPTER XL
THE MAN AT LAST
This new alliance with Mrs. Busk not only refreshed my courage, buthelped me forward most importantly. In truth, if it had not been forthis I never could have borne what I had to bear, and met the perilswhich I had to meet. For I had the confidence of feeling now that herewas some one close at hand, an intelligent person, and well acquaintedwith the place and neighborhood, upon whom I could rely for warning,succor, and, if the worst should come to the very worst, revenge. It istrue that already I had Jacob Rigg, and perhaps the protector promisedby my cousin; but the former was as ignorant as he was honest, and ofthe latter, as he made no sign, how could I tell any thing?
Above all things, Mrs. Busk's position, as mistress of the letters, gaveme very great advantage both for offense and defense. For without thesmallest breach of duty or of loyal honor she could see that my letterspassed direct to me or from me, as the case might be, at the same timethat she was bound to observe all epistles addressed to strangers ornew-comers in her district, which extended throughout the valley. Andby putting my letters in the Portsmouth bag, instead of that forWinchester, I could freely correspond with any of my friends without anyone seeing name or postmark in the neighboring villages.
It is needless to say that I had long since explored and examined withgreat diligence that lonely spot where my grandfather met his terribleand mysterious fate. Not that there seemed to be any hope now, afteralmost nineteen years, of finding even any token of the crime committedthere. Only that it was natural for me, feeling great horror of thisplace, to seek to know it thoroughly.
For this I had good opportunity, because the timid people of the valley,toward the close of day, would rather trudge another half mile of thehomeward road than save brave legs at the thumping cost of hearts notso courageous. For the planks were now called "Murder-bridge;" andevery body knew that the red spots on it, which could never be seen bydaylight, began to gleam toward the hour of the deed, and glowed (as ifthey would burn the wood) when the church clock struck eleven.
This phenomenon was beyond my gifts of observation; and knowing thatmy poor grandfather had scarcely set foot on the bridge, if ever he setfoot there at all--which at present was very doubtful--also that hehad fallen backward, and only bled internally, I could not reconciletradition (however recent) with proven truth. And sure of no disturbancefrom the step of any native, here I often sat in a little boweredshelter of my own, well established up the rise, down which the pathmade zigzag, and screened from that and the bridge as well by sheaf oftwigs and lop of leaves. It was a little forward thicket, quite detachedfrom the upland copse, to which perhaps it had once belonged, andcrusted up from the meadow slope with sod and mould in alternate steps.And being quite the elbow of a foreland of the meadow-reach, it yieldedalmost a "bird's-eye view" of the beautiful glade and the wanderingbrook.
One evening when I was sitting here, neither drawing, nor working, noreven thinking with any set purpose, but idly allowing my mind to rove,like the rivulet, without any heed, I became aware of a moving figurein the valley. At first it did not appear to me as a thing at all worthnotice; it might be a very straightforward cow, or a horse, coming onlike a stalking-horse, keeping hind-legs strictly behind, in directdesire of water. I had often seen those sweet things that enjoy fourlegs walking in the line of distance as if they were no better off thanwe are, kindly desiring, perhaps, to make the biped spectator contentwith himself. And I was content to admire this cow or horse, or whateverit might be, without any more than could be helped of that invidiousfeeling which has driven the human race now to establish its right to atail, and its hope of four legs. So little, indeed, did I think of whatI saw, that when among the hazel twigs, parted carelessly by my hand,a cluster of nuts hung manifest, I gathered it, and began to crack andeat, although they were scarcely ripe yet.
But while employed in this pleasant way, I happened to glance againthrough my leafy screen, and then I distinguished the figure in thedistance as that of a man walking rapidly. He was coming down themill-stream meadow toward the wooden bridge, carrying a fishing rod, butclearly not intent on angling. For instead of following the courseof the stream, he was keeping quite away from it, avoiding also thefootpath, or, at any rate, seeming to prefer the long shadows of thetrees and the tufted places. This made me look at him, and very soon Ishrank into my nest and watched him.
As he came nearer any one could tell that he was no village workman,bolder than the rest, and venturesome to cross the "Murder-bridge" inhis haste to be at home. The fishing rod alone was enough to show thiswhen it came into clearer view; for our good people, though they fishedsometimes, only used rough rods of their own making, without any varnishor brass thing for the line. And the man was of different height andwalk and dress from any of our natives.
"Who can he be?" I whispered to myself, as my heart began to beatheavily, and then seemed almost to stop, as it answered, "This is theman who was in the churchyard." Ignoble as it was, and contemptible,and vile, and traitorous to all duty, my first thought was about my ownescape; for I felt that if this man saw me there he would rush upthe hill and murder me. Within pistol-shot of the very place where mygrandfather had been murdered--a lonely place, an unholy spot, and I waslooking at the hand that did it.
The thought of this made me tremble so, though well aware that my deathmight ensue from a twig on the rustle, or a leaf upon the flutter, thatmy chance of making off unseen was gone ere I could seize it. For nowthe man was taking long strides over the worn-out planks of the bridge,disdaining the hand-rail, and looking upward, as if to shun sight of thefooting. Advancing thus, he must have had his gaze point-blank upon mylair of leafage; but, luckily for me, there was gorse upon the ridge,and bracken and rag-thistles, so that none could spy up and through thefooting of my lurking-place. But if any person could have spied me,this man was the one to do it. So carefully did he scan the distanceand inspect the foreground, as if he were resolved that no eye should beupon him while he was doing what he came to do. And he even drew fortha little double telescope, such as are called "binoculars," and fixedit on the thicket which hid me from him, and then on some other darkplaces.
No effort would compose or hush the heavy beating of my heart; my lipswere stiffened with dread of loud breath, and all power of motion leftme. For even a puff of wind might betray me, the ruffle of a spray, orthe lifting of a leaf, or the random bounce of a beetle. Great perilhad encompassed me ere now, but never had it grasped me as this did, andparalyzed all the powers of my body. Rather would I have stood in themidst of a score of Mexican rovers than thus in the presence of that oneman. And yet was not this the very thing for which I had waited, longed,and labored? I scorned myself for this craven loss of nerve, but thatdid not enable me to help it. In this benumbed horror I durst not evenpeep at the doings of my enemy; but presently I became aware that he hadmoved from the end of the planks (where he stood for some time as calmlyas if he had done nothing there), and had passed round the back of thehawthorn-tree, and gone down to the place where the body was found, andwas making most narrow and minute search there. And now I could watchhim without much danger, standing as I did well above him, while hiseyes were steadfastly bent downward. And, not content with eyesightonly, he seemed to be feeling every blade of grass or weed, every singlestick or stone, craning into each cranny of the ground, and probingevery clod with his hands. Then, after vainly searching with the veryutmost care all the space from the hawthorn trunk to the meadow-leet(which was dry as usual), he ran, in a fury of impatience, to his rod,which he had stuck into the bank, as now I saw, and drew off the buttend, and removed the wheel, or whatever it is that holds the fishingline; and this butt had a long spike to it, shining like a halberd in apicture.
This made me shudder; but my spirit was returning, and therewith mypower of reasoning, and a deep stir of curiosity. After so many yearsand such a quantity of searching, what could there still be left to seekfor in this haunted and horrible place? And who was the man t
hat waslooking for it?
The latter question partly solved itself. It must be the murderer, andno other, whoever he might be among the many black spots of humanity.But as to the other point, no light could be thrown upon it, unless thesearch should be successful, and perhaps not even then. But now thisanxiety, and shame of terror, made me so bold--for I can not call itbrave--that I could not rest satisfied where I was, and instead ofblessing every leaf and twig that hid me from the enemy, nothing woulddo for me but to creep nearer, in spite of that truculent long brightspike.
I thought of my father, and each fibre of my frame seemed to harden withvigor and fleetness. Every muscle of my body could be trusted now. I hadalways been remarkably light of foot. Could a man of that age catch me?It was almost as much as Firm Gundry could do, as in childish days I hadproved to him. And this man, although his hair was not gray, must be onthe slow side of fifty now, and perhaps getting short of his very wickedbreath. Then I thought of poor Firm, and of good Uncle Sam, and how theyscorned poltroonery; and, better still, I thought of that great Powerwhich always had protected me: in a word, I resolved to risk it.
But I had not reckoned upon fire-arms, which such a scoundrel was prettysure to have; and that idea struck cold upon my valor. Nevertheless, Iwould not turn back. With no more sound than a field-mouse makes in thebuilding of its silken nest, and feet as light as the step of the windupon the scarcely ruffled grass, I quitted my screen, and went glidingdown a hedge, or rather the residue of some old hedge, which wouldshelter me a little toward the hollow of the banks. I passed low places,where the man must have seen me if he had happened to look up; but hewas stooping with his back to me, and working in the hollow of the drywater trough. He was digging with the long spike of his rod, and I heardthe rattle of each pebble that he struck.
Before he stood up again, to ease his back and to look at theground which he still had to turn, I was kneeling behind a short,close-branched holly, the very last bush of the hedge-row, scarcelyfifteen yards from the hawthorn-tree. It was quite impossible to getnearer without coming face to face with him. And now I began again totremble, but with a great effort conquered it.
The man was panting with his labor, and seemed to be in a vile tempertoo. He did not swear, but made low noises full of disappointment. Andthen he caught up his tool, with a savage self-control, and fell toagain.
Now was my time to see what he was like, and engrave him on my memory.But, lo! in a moment I need not do that. The face was the bad imageof my father's. A lowered, and vicious, and ill-bred image of a noblecountenance--such as it was just possible to dream that my dear father'smight have fallen to, if his mind and soul had plunged away from thegood inborn and implanted in them. The figure was that of a tall strongman, with shoulders rather slouching, and a habit of keeping his headthrown back, which made a long chin look longer. Altogether he seemed aperilous foe, and perhaps a friend still more perilous.
Be he what he might, he was working very hard. Not one of all UncleSam's men, to my knowledge, least of all Martin, would have worked sohard. With his narrow and ill-adapted tool he contrived to turn over, inless than twenty minutes, the entire bed of the meadow-leet, or trough,for a length of about ten yards. Then he came to the mouth, where thewater of the main stream lapped back into it, and he turned up thebottom as far as he could reach, and waited for the mud he had raised toclear away. When this had flowed down with the stream, he walked in forsome little distance till the pool grew deep; but in spite of all hislabor, there was nothing.
Meanwhile the sunset glow was failing, and a gray autumnal haze crept upthe tranquil valley. Shadows waned and faded into dimness more diffuse,and light grew soft and vague and vaporous. The gleam of water, and thegloss of grass, and deep relief of trees, began to lose their severalphase and mingle into one large twilight blend. And cattle, fromtheir milking sheds, came lowing for more pasture; and the bark of ashepherd's dog rang quick, as if his sheep were drowsy.
In the midst of innocent sights and sounds that murderer's heart misgavehim. He left his vain quest off, and gazed, with fear and hate ofnature's beauty, at the change from day to night which had not waitedfor him. Some touch of his childhood moved him perhaps, some thought oftimes when he played "I spy," or listened to twilight ghost tales; atany rate, as he rose and faced the evening, he sighed heavily.
Then he strode away; and although he passed me almost within length ofhis rod, there was little fear of his discovering me, because his mindwas elsewhere.
It will, perhaps, be confessed by all who are not as brave as lionsthat so far I had acquitted myself pretty well in this trying matter.Horribly scared as I was at first, I had not allowed this to conquerme, but had even rushed into new jeopardy. But now the best part of mycourage was spent; and when the tall stranger refixed his rod and calmlyrecrossed those ominous planks, I durst not set forth on the perilouserrand of spying out his ways and tracking him. A glance was enough toshow the impossibility in those long meadows of following without beingseen in this stage of the twilight. Moreover, my nerves had been triedtoo long, and presence of mind could not last forever. All I could do,therefore, was to creep as far as the trunk of the hawthorn-tree, andthence observe that my enemy did not return by the way he had come, buthastened down the dusky valley.
One part of his labors has not been described, though doubtless a highlyneedful one. To erase the traces of his work, or at least obscure themto a careless eye, when he had turned as much ground as he thought itworth his while to meddle with, he trod it back again to its level asnearly as might be, and then (with a can out of his fishing basket)sluiced the place well with the water of the stream. This made it lookto any heedless person, who would not descend to examine it, as if therehad been nothing more than a little reflux from the river, caused by aflush from the mill-pond. This little stratagem increased my fear of acunning and active villain.
Erema; Or, My Father's Sin Page 40