*CHAPTER IV*
*Mynheer Jan Grootz and Another*
The Gaffer Chops Logic--In Print--The London Coach--Simple Annals--AVillage Hampden--Bereft--An Offer of Service--A Hearty Send-off--OutsidePassengers--Introductions--Contractor to the Forces--Followed--The Manon the Road--Sherebiah Muses
It was a dull, damp day towards the end of November, a little more thanfour months after Captain Aglionby's unhappy departure from Winton St.Mary. There was again great bustle at the Berkeley Arms; MistressJoplady's ample face was red with exertion, and her voice, when she gavedirections to her servants, was raised to an acrimonious pitch far fromusual with her. The whole village appeared to be gathered either withinor without the inn. Gaffer Minshull was there, seated with his back tothe wall and leaning on his inseparable staff. Lumpy, Soapy Dick, LongRobin the tanner, Old Everlasting the miller, stood in a group about thedoor, talking to the ostler, who stood guard, with arms akimbo, overfour brimming pails of water ranged along the wall.
Soft Jemmy was standing a yard or two away, watching with open mouth aman who, straddling across a step-ladder, was smearing the ancientsign-board with daubs of black paint, obliterating every trace of thecrude heraldic design that had marked the inn's connection with the lordof the manor. When the board was one unbroken black, the painterdescended the ladder with his brush and can, winked at Jemmy, and wentinto the inn to "mix the flavours", as he said in passing. Thehalf-witted youth contemplated his handiwork for some minutes in mildsurprise; then he walked towards old Minshull and addressed himtimorously:
"Gaffer, I'm afeard my poor yead won't stand the wonder on't, but it meddo me good to know why John painter ha' covered that noble pictur wi'the colour o' sut."
"Why, boy, black's for sorrow, as 'ee med know wi'out tellen an 'eeweren't so simple, and 'tis a black day for Winton Simmary, so 'tis."
"Why be it more black to-day than 'tis a-Sunday?" asked the youth."'Tis Tuesday, gaffer, bean't it? and new pa'son didn't holler it inchurch for a holy day."
"Boy, your poor yead won't stand high things, 'tis true, but 'ee knowyoung pa'son be off to Lun'on town to-day, an' that's why all the soulsbe here, to see the last on un."
Jemmy looked up again at the defaced sign-board, puzzling his poorbrains to find some connection between it and the departure of "youngpa'son".
"'Tis a shame, gaffer," said Honest John, "to deceive the poor lad, whenyou know the sign bean't painted out for no such thing."
"Why, there now," returned old Minshull, "bean't it all one? I axe 'eethat, souls. Young pa'son be a-gwine to Lun'on 'cause his poorfeyther's dead an' gone; Pa'son Rochester be dead an' gone 'cause o' thefight; an I weren't afeard on un, I'd say the fight were all along o'Squire; and Mis'ess Joplady ha' changed the ancient sign of th' inn'cause her can't abear to think on't. Bean't that gospel truth, soulsall?"
The group looked impressed with the old man's logic. Mistress Joplady,coming for a moment to the door, had overheard his concluding sentences.
"'Tis true," she said, wiping away a tear. "I never liked Squire;nobody never did as I ever heerd on; but when pa'son died I couldn'tabear him. One thing I'm thankful for from the bottom o' my heart, andthat is, that my house is college property, like the church, and I cansnap my vingers at Squire, and I do." She suited the action to theword. "Has been the Berkeley Arms for a hunnerd years, but 'twill be sono longer. When paint's dry, up goos the yead o' Queen Annie, blessher! a poor soul as ha' lost all her childer, like myself, and theQueen's Head it'll be for ever more."
"Ay, things be main different in village now, sure," said Lumpy. "Tothink what mighty changes come in a little time! Zeems only a few dayssin' young pa'son won that noble match--you mind, souls, the day thelord's carriage broke under the weight of the Queen's purse--ay, the dayafore he were stopped in old road. I never understood the rights o'that bit o' work. Gaffer, hav 'ee got that printed paper ye read, wherethe Lun'on talk be given like the words of a book?"
Old Minshull slowly drew from his pocket a folded sheet, rather dirty,worn at the edges, and falling apart at the folds. He opened it outwith great care, and spread it on his knees.
"That's he," said Lumpy. "Gaffer, you be a scholard; read it out loudto us again."
"Ay, an' don't need spectacles neither," said Minshull proudly; "well,listen, souls."
Very slowly, and with as much deliberation as though he were reading itfor the first instead of the hundredth time, and moving his forefingeralong the line, the old man began to read the account of the attemptedrobbery of Lord Godolphin which the _Daily Courant_ presented to theLondon public a week after the event. The names of the principalpersons concerned appeared with a dash between the initial and finalletters, and Godolphin's was read by Minshull as "Lard G line n". Afterbriefly relating the incident, the writer of the paragraph added:
"'Tis said the Prisoner that broke jail was a Servant of a CaptainA----y, a Guest at that time of Esq. N----s B----y. The gallantCaptain's Commission (as it is credibly reported) is not under the sealof her Gracious Majestie, or King William lately Deceas'd of NobleMemorie, but of the Czar of Muscovy. 'Tis vouch'd by some 'twas noneother than the Great Cham."
"Ay, that's print," said Soapy Dick at the conclusion of the reading."The 'Cap'n A line y' was Cap'n Aglionby sure enough, an' some did zayas how 'twas he let the pris'ner out o' lock-up, and so brought shame toWill'm Nokes."
"Ay, an' some did say as how the Cap'n hisself made one o' the cut-purserogues as waylaid the lard," said Honest John.
"Old wives' tales," said Minshull. "My boy Sherry be wise for hisyears, an' he says Cap'n couldn't ha' let prisoner out, 'cause a' weremiles away at the time. And as for Cap'n bein' on the road--why, whenSir Godfrey coom in all the might o' the law to 'stablish the truth,Squire up and said as how Cap'n was abed and asleep on that early mornenwhen the deed was done."
"Ay true, Squire said so; but did a' take his dyin' oath like a commonman? Tell me that, souls."
At this moment the conversation was interrupted, and the villagers werethrilled into excitement by the distant tootle of a horn.
"Here be coach at last," cried the ostler. "Ten minutes behind time,and no sign of young Master Rochester. Giles coachman won't wait, nothe."
But as the coach came in sight at a bend of the road, two figures wereseen hastening along from the direction of the rectory. One was a tallyouthful form clad in black from his low felt hat to his buckle shoes.His steinkirk was black, and its fringed ends were tucked into a blackwaistcoat. Black were his plain drugget coat and breeches, black alsohis woollen stockings. Nothing redeemed the sable hue of his garmentssave his cambric shirt, the white front of which was much exposed, inthe fashion of the time. Harry Rochester's face was pale, itsexpression sad.
His companion, a head shorter than himself, was Sherebiah Minshull, cladin the sober brown of ordinary country wear, and trudging along steadilyunder the weight of a fair-sized valise. Winter or summer, hisappearance never varied: his firm round cheeks were always ruddy, hisblue eyes always bright; and his expression, now as always, was that ofplacid self-content, well becoming "a man of peace".
The two drew nearer to the inn, where the group had by this time beenenlarged by the accession of the greater part of the village population,women and children, workers and loafers, mingled in one interestedthrong. As Giles Appleyard was at that moment explaining to thepassenger at his side, he had never seen such a crowd at Winton St. Marybefore, though he had driven the coach, good weather and bad, forfifteen years come Christmas. It reminded him of the crowd at SalisburyFair.
"And seein' as how I've been laid up wi' a bad leg for two months," headded, "I'm behind the times, I be; news travels slow to them as don'tdrive coaches, and, i' feck, I know no more than the dead what thismortal big crowd do mean, i' feck I don't."
But many voices were ready to tell him when, having pulled up his foursteaming horses at the inn door, he descended with gr
ave deliberationfrom his perch, saluted Mistress Joplady with the gallantry of the road,and entered her house "to warm his nattlens", as he said, with a tankardof her home-brewed. Young pa'son was a-gwine to Lun'on town! It seemeda slight cause for such an unwonted scene; in reality it was a momentousevent in the life of Harry Rochester and in the history of his village.Small things bulk large in the imagination of rustic folk; a journey toLondon came within the experience of few of them; and the departure ofyoung pa'son, following so closely upon two such notable events as thecricket match and the attack on the Lord High Treasurer, had alreadyfurnished unfailing material for gossip, and would be the theme ofcomment and speculation for a year to come.
It was all along of old Squire, they said; and the coachman, for thefirst and only time in his career, delayed his departure for someminutes after the horses had been watered, in order to listen to thestory. A few days after Lord Godolphin's flying visit, Squire Berkeleyhad fenced in a piece of land which time out of mind had been regardedas part of the village common. Old Gaffer Minshull, whose memory wentback fifty years, was called up to tell how in the year '53, just beforeChristmas, the then parson had held a prayer-meeting on that very spotto celebrate the making of Noll Crum'ell Lord Protector; he rememberedit well, for it lasted five hours, and old Jenny Bates fainted on theground and took to her bed from that day.
"Ay, 'twas a holy spot, an' Squire med ha' feared to touch un, as theold ancient folk feared to lay hands on the Lord's holy ark; but, bless'ee, Squire bean't afeard o' nothen, nay, not o' the still small voicepa'son do zay be inside on us all."
When the ground was fenced in the good parson was disposed to carry thematter to law. But though he had already won one case (a matter ofright of way) in the courts, the only result was that the squire hadcarried it to appeal, trusting in the power of the purse. The angryvillagers therefore determined to take the law into their own hands.Without consulting the rector, they assembled one evening towards theend of October, and hastening in a body to the disputed space, began tomake short work of the new fencing. But the squire had got wind oftheir intention, by some witchcraft of his own, they believed: he soonappeared on the scene at the head of a gang of his own men. There was afight; heads were broken, and the squire's party were getting badlymauled when the rector suddenly arrived and rushed between thecombatants.
"Ay, poor pa'son, I zee un now, I do," said Gaffer Minshull feelingly,"goen headlong into the rout wi' all his petticoats flyen! A fineupstanden man was pa'son, as ought to ha' been a man o' war. A' stoodin the eye of Squire, an' Squire opened on un, gave tongue to a deal o'hot an' scorchen words, a' did. But pa'son took no heed to'n, not he:he spoke up fair an' softly to Squire's men, and wi' that way o' his a'made 'em feel all fashly like; a' had a won'erful way wi' 'n, hadpa'son; an' they made off wi' their broken heads, they did; an' Squirewas left a-frothen an' cussen as he were a heathen Frenchman or Turk.Ah, poor pa'son! Such a fine sperit as he had, his frame were not builtfor 't; wi' my own aged eyes I seed un go blue at the lips, and a' puthis hand on his bosom, a' did, an' seemed as if all the breath wasblowed out of his mortal body; and a' went home-along a stricken soul,and two days arter his weak heart busted, an' young pa'son had nofeyther--ay, poor soul, no feyther, an' my boy Sherebiah be nighvarty-vour, and here I be. 'Tis strange ways Them above has wi' poorweak mortals--strange ways, ay sure!"
Mr. Berkeley took advantage of the rector's death to pay off old scores.The legal actions which Mr. Rochester had taken, on behalf of his flock,collapsed for want of further funds; he had already seriouslyimpoverished himself by his open-hearted generosity; and when the squirecame down on the dead man's estate for the law costs, Harry found that,after all debts were paid, he was possessed of some twenty guineas inall wherewith to start life.
His project of going to Oxford was necessarily abandoned. He was at aloss to find a career. Educated by his father with a view to enteringthe Church, he was fairly well grounded in classics and mathematics, andhad in addition a good acquaintance with French, and a great stock ofEnglish poetry; but his knowledge was not marketable. He was too youngfor a tutor's place, and had no influence to back him; friendless andhomeless, he was at his wits' end.
Then one day he bethought him of Lord Godolphin's promise. It had beenfrank and apparently sincere. My lord, it was true, had spoken of acountry benefice when Harry's Oxford days were over; but Harry reflectedthat the slight service he had rendered was not likely to appear greaterwith the lapse of time, while his need was actual and urgent. Why nottake the Lord Treasurer at his word, journey to London, and put his casebefore the man who, in all the kingdom, was the most able to help him ifhe would?
He mentioned the matter to Gaffer Minshull, rather expecting that thesturdy veteran would pour cold water on his idea. To his surprise theold man urged him to carry it out, and overbore the objections whichevery high-spirited lad, even in those days of patronage, must have hadto soliciting favours from the great. His eagerness was partiallyexplained to Harry when the old fellow added a suggestion of his own.He was seriously concerned about his boy Sherebiah. In spite of strictinjunctions to have nothing to do with the expedition against thesquire's fencing, Sherebiah, man of peace as he was, had been attractedto the scene as a moth to a candle. At first he had watched events froma distance, among other interested spectators; but when he saw the fightat its beginning go against the villagers, owing to the superiortraining of the squire's men, many of whom were old soldiers, he couldcontain himself no longer. At the head of the waverers he dashed intothe affray, and set such an example of valour that it would have gonehardly with the enemy but for the opportune arrival of the rector.
From that moment Sherebiah was a marked man. Whatever reasons the fatherhad for fearing Mr. Berkeley were strengthened when it became evidentthat the squire had marked and would resent the son's action. Sherebiahhad been doing no good in the village since he suddenly returned to it,from no one knew where, a few years before. His father was anxious thathe should go away for a time, at least until the squire's anger hadcooled. He welcomed the opportunity afforded by the approachingdeparture of Harry.
"Let un goo wi' 'ee," he said. "'Tis a knowen boy, handy, with a headfull o' wise things he's larned in the world. He'd be proud to sarve'ee, ay, that he would."
"But, gaffer, I can't afford a servant. Twenty guineas are all I have,and I know not what may happen. If Lord Godolphin fails me, my moneywill soon be gone, and then there'll be two poor fellows instead ofone."
"Never fear. I bean't afeard for 'ee. And what does the Book say?Why, 'twas the holy King David as said it hisself: 'Once I were young,'says he, 'and now I be old; but never ha' I knowed the righteousforsaken, nor his seed a-beggen bread neither.' That's what he said,and he knowed a thing or two, so he did."
"Perhaps he didn't know everything, gaffer. Well, you're set on it, Isee. Sherry would certainly be better out of the squire's way; so hecan come with me, and as soon as I find something to do he had betterlook for employment, and London ought to be a good place for that."
Thus it happened that, on this November morning, the two passengers whohad booked places in the Salisbury coach for London were Harry Rochesterand Sherebiah Minshull.
The story took a long time in the telling in the parlour of the inn, andGiles Appleyard was somewhat perturbed when he saw by the big clock inthe corner that his departure was overdue. He drained his tankard,wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and went out, calling loudlyto the passengers to take their places. Harry shook hands all round;every man had something to say to him that was intended to be pleasantand encouraging, but was in many cases the reverse. His heart was fullas he thought of leaving the good folk among whom he had lived and whosekindly feeling for him was so evident. When, last of all, MistressJoplady flung her arms round his neck and hugged him to her ample bosom,and then wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron, he felt a lump inhis throat, and was glad to escape and mount to his place on the roof ofthe coa
ch.
"All right, Bill?" shouted the coachman over his shoulder.
"Ay."
"Let goo, ostler."
And gathering up the reins he cracked his whip, and with a clatter andrumble the heavy vehicle, amid a volley of cheers, lurched forward onthe way to London.
The journey of nearly seventy miles was not likely to be pleasant. Thestage-coaches of those days were large and clumsy structures, with hardsprings. The inside passengers were jolted and jostled; the outsidepassengers had no proper seats, but found what sitting room they couldamong the packages and bundles. On this morning, there was only oneother passenger on the roof of the coach, a stout broad-faced mandressed in brown clothes much like Sherebiah's. He had retained hisseat during the scene of farewell, and sat solemnly munching a thicksausage, scanning the crowd out of shrewd little twinkling eyes thatseemed a size too small for the other features. When his sausage wasfinished, he filled a huge pipe and sat puffing in stolid silence.
For some time after the coach started, no word was spoken by the threepassengers. Harry was wrapt in his thoughts, brooding over the past,dreaming about the future. Sherebiah had lit his pipe as soon as he wassettled, and smoked on contentedly, stealing a glance every now and thenat the broad figure separated from him by a large travelling trunk. Heseemed to find some amusement in these occasional peeps at hisneighbour, who by and by returned his glance.
"Mizzly mornen," said Sherebiah, with a nod.
"Zo," grunted the other. His eyes were resting on Sherebiah's pipe.
"Tobacco be a great comfort," said the latter, noting the look. "MasterHarry there, he bean't come to 't yet; true, 'tis not for babes an'sucklens; but I took to 'bacca when Susan wouldn't take me, and 'tisbetter nor any wife."
"Where you get dat pipe?" asked the stranger, in a slow pleasant voicewith a foreign accent.
"This pipe! Why, over in Amesbury; see, 'tis marked wi' the gauntlet,sure token of a Amesbury pipe, an' there's no better in the land. Whymed 'ee axe such a feelen question, now?"
"Once I zaw a pipe like it, wid de mark on it--de gauntlet, you zay."
"Oh! I say, master, what part o' the land med 'ee hail from? Yourtongue makes me think 'ee med be a Dutchman, though I wouldn't say so toyour face."
The man looked at his interrogator without replying. He stuffed thetobacco down into his pipe with a fat forefinger which exactly fittedthe bowl.
"You know Amsterdam, my vrient?" he said.
"Ha' been there, mynheer; so 'tis Amsterdam you hail from! Well, I ha'been in wuss places. Ay, ha' seed summat o' the world, I have, and Iknowed 'ee by your cut for a Dutchman."
There was silence again for a space. Both the men sat smoking, heedlessof all things around them. They finished their pipes at the samemoment, and, moved by a mutual impulse, each handed his pouch to theother.
"Virginia," said Sherebiah laconically.
"Ah! Barbados," returned the other. "My name, Jan Grootz."
"And it becomes 'ee," said Sherebiah. "Now mine bean't so good a match;'tis over long for one o' my inches, and over proud for a man so meek:Sherebiah Stand-up-and-bless Minshull in the church book, but plainSherry to them as I takes to, like young pa'son there."
Harry was roused from his reverie at hearing himself mentioned. Helooked for the first time at his fellow-passenger, who at that momentlifted his podgy right hand and pointed to a windmill in full sail alittle distance from the road.
"Ay sure, minds 'ee of home; your country's full of mills, to be sure.Mebbe you be a miller, now?"
The Dutchman waited to blow a great cloud from his mouth before heanswered.
"A sailor," he said; "but I have mills."
"A skipper," rejoined Sherry, looking over his costume. "'Tis not for meto say, but to mortal eye you be more like a varmer.--'Tis a skipperfrom Holland," he added, including Harry in the conversation, "that hasa mill or two to his name and smokes 'bacca out o' Barbados."
"Jan Grootz," said the Dutchman.
Harry acknowledged the introduction, and remarked on the slowness oftheir progress over the rough road. On this Mynheer Grootz volunteeredthe remark that, having come all the way from Bristol, he would be gladwhen the journey was ended. By degrees he became still morecommunicative; and when the coach pulled up at Basingstoke for themid-day meal, Harry had learnt that the Dutchman had been to Bristol toinspect a vessel of which he was part-owner, and which had come mostfortunately to port after being first knocked about by a Frenchprivateer, then badly damaged by a storm. It was to the storm that sheowed her escape from the Frenchman, and to her captain's seamanship herescape from the storm. Grootz was particularly gratified at her safearrival, for she represented a large amount not only to him personally,but to others who could ill afford to lose on a venture upon which hehad persuaded them to embark.
When the journey was resumed, the conversation became still morefriendly. Harry liked the look of the Dutchman. His broad face withits wide nose and little eyes was not handsome, but its expressioninspired confidence; and the careful slowness of his speech, and hishabit of pointing with his forefinger when he wished to be emphatic,were a little amusing. He asked no questions, but Harry by and by foundhimself explaining his own position and relating the events that had ledto it, and told him of his projected visit to Lord Godolphin. At thisup came the forefinger.
"Ah, my young vrient, you are de son of a minister: ver' well: you knowde good Book: ver' well: 'Put not your drust in princes;' de words aredrue. I tell you dis; besides my mills and my ships, I do oder dings; Isupply food for de men and horses of de English and Dutch armies; and Ihave met princes; yes--I, Jan Grootz. I tell you dis; wid a good honestmerchant of London or of Amsterdam, I care not, man knows where hestand; his foot is on de solid rock; but wid dukes and grand-dukes andoder princes--ah! man tread a quicksand. Dey promise, but do dey pay?You are good boy, I dink; mind you, I do not say I know, for outside donot always speak drue; de apple may be red, and all de time a maggot atcore. I tell you dis; seven year ago I make contract over hay wid youngcaptain of Bavarian Elector; it was in Namur campaign; he look good, hespeak good, I am well content; but donder! my hay I lose, and 3242thalers 3 groschen beside. Dis den I tell you; avoid arms and de law,drive some honest trade: zo you respect yourself, and oder people deyrespect you. You owe noding; nobody owe you; you are a man."
Ever since the departure from Basingstoke, Sherebiah, sitting justbehind Harry, had taken no part in the conversation, but appeared tofind something curiously interesting in the road behind, for after onceor twice looking over his shoulder he at last faced round altogether,and sat with his back to the horses. Just as the Dutchman finished hisspeech--the longest to which he had yet given utterance, and one thathis slow delivery lengthened beyond its natural extent--Sherebiah turnedround, tapped Harry on the shoulder, and in a low tone said:
"Summat's i' the wind."
"What do you mean, Sherry?"
"Wind yourself about and look down the road behind."
"Well, I see nothing--stay, there's a horseman just topping the hill, agood mile behind us: what of that?"
"Why, 'tis like this. He always is a mile behind: that's where 'tis. Iseed him afore we come to Basingstoke; but he didn't come to the inn toeat his vittles, not he. I seed him again when we was a mile this sideo' Basingstoke; what had he been doen, then, while we eat and drank? Westop, he falls behind; when we trot, he trots; 'tis as if he were a bobat th' end of a line, never nearer never vurther."
"You think we are being followed?"
"That's what I do think, sure enough."
"A highwayman?"
"Mebbe, mebbe not; most like not, for 'tis not dark enough, and he'salways in sight."
"Perhaps he thinks he can't be seen."
"Not reckonen on the height of the coach roof? But I seed him, I did,two hours an' more agoo."
"Why should he follow the coach, I wonder? He may belong to someoneinside."
"Mebbe, mebbe not; 't
is curious anyways."
"Well, the fellow is clearly dogging the coach; if your curiositytroubles you, suppose you slip off a mile before we reach the nextpost-house and try to get a nearer look at him as he passes? You cancatch up the coach while they change horses."
"Ay, I will, sure. We be nigh the river now; over the bridge and wecome to Hounslow heath, a fearsome place for highwaymen. We change atthe Bull and Gate, then run straight into Lun'on: oh, I know the road."
It was late in the afternoon by the time the coach reached the inn wherethe last change of the journey was made. Ten minutes before, Sherebiahnimbly slipped down, crept through a gap in the hedge, and waited forthe pursuer to appear. Presently he heard the clatter of hoofs; thesound grew louder, but all at once began to diminish. Scrambling backinto the road, he was just in time to see the horseman strike off atfull speed along a by-road to his left, which led, as Sherebiah knew, toLondon by a course only a mile or two longer than the main highway. Theman must evidently have changed his horse somewhere on the road, andcould only have taken the detour in a desire to arrive in London aheadof the coach.
Sherebiah stared long and earnestly at the retreating figure. Hefrowned and looked puzzled as he set off to overtake the coach. Thedriver was mounting the box as he came up.
"Well, what do you make of it?" asked Harry.
"He be gone off by a side road," replied Sherebiah.
"So your curiosity is not to be satisfied after all?"
"Well, he rid away hard to the left, wi' his back towards me, an' 'tisgrowen duskish, an' nowt but a owl could see clear."
But when Sherebiah clambered to his place he wore a sober look which didnot escape the clear little eyes of Jan Grootz, who silently extendedhis pouch to him. Sherebiah refilled and puffed away, every now and thenremoving the pipe from his mouth and staring contemplatively at thebowl.
The Adventures of Harry Rochester: A Tale of the Days of Marlborough and Eugene Page 6