CHAPTER FOUR.
MARK EDEN HAS A MORNING'S WALK.
Eden, fresh from Linkeham, on account of a terrible attack of feverravaging the school to such an extent that it was considered wise toclose it for a time, was enjoying the pleasant change, and wondering howlong it would be before the school would reopen, and whether his father,Sir Edward Eden of Black Tor, would send him back.
"I ought to be old enough now to give up a schoolboy's life," he said tohimself, "and begin thinking of what I shall be as a man."
He said this to himself as he descended the stone steps which led to theplatform at the side of the precipice, where a natural Gothic arch hungover the entrance to the mine, which began with a steep slope runningdown through the limestone for fifty yards, and then opened out into anextensive cavity, whose roof was a hundred feet overhead, and in whosefloor the square hole had been cut to follow the great vein of lead,which spread like the roots of some gigantic tree in various directions.The great hole represented the trunk of the tree, and this had oncebeen solid lead ore, but all had been laboriously cut away, as well asmany of the branches, which represented the roots, though plenty wereleft to excavate, and fresh ones and new cavities were constantly beingformed, so that the Eden mine at Black Tor was looked upon as therichest in the county.
Mark Eden stopped to have a chat with some of his father's men, who weregoing and coming from the square trunk-hole, and he watched themascending and descending the greasy ladders fixed against the side, eachman bearing a candle, stuck in his leather cap.
"I shan't want to be a miner," he said, as he gazed down at the tinysparks of light below. "Faugh! how dark and dismal it looks. A dirtyhole. But father says dirty work brings clean money, and it's just aswell to be rich, I suppose. But what a life! Might just as well be amole."
He began to hum over an old English ditty, and his voice echoedstrangely from above.
"Let's see: Mary wants some of that blue spar, and I promised to get alot. Must go down one of these days with Dummy Rugg: he says he knowsof some fine bits. Not to-day, though."
He hurried out into the bright sunshine again, went up the steps to thecastle, which stood perched at the top of a huge mass of rock,surrounded on all sides by the deep gorge, and then crossed the naturalbridge to the main cliff, of which the foundation of the castle was thevast slice, split away, most probably by some volcanic disturbance.Masses of lava and scoria uncovered by the miners, from time to time,showed that volcanic action had been rife there at one period;additional suggestion that the said action had not yet died out, beingafforded by the springs of beautifully clear warm water, which bubbledout in several places in the district.
As the lad crossed the bridge, thinking nothing of the giddy, profounddepths on either side, there being not the slightest protection in theway of rail to the six-foot wide path, he shook back his brown hair,thrust his hands in his pockets, and with the sheath of his swordbanging against his legs, started off along the first level place for arun.
A looker-on would have wondered why he did this, and would have gazedahead to see what there was to induce him to make so wild a rush in adangerous place. But he would have seen nothing but rugged path,tree-top, and the face of the cliff, and would not have grasped the factthat the reason for the boy's wild dash was, that he was overchargedwith vitality, and that energy which makes a lad exert himself in thatnatural spontaneous effort to get rid of some of the vital gas, flashingalong his nerves and bubbling through his veins.
"What a day!" he cried aloud. "How blue the sky is. Hallo! there theygo."
He stopped suddenly to watch a cavernous hole in the cliff, from whichhalf-a-dozen blue rock-pigeons had darted out, and as he watched, othersswooped by, and darted in.
The next minute he went on, followed the path, and turned abuttress-like corner, which took him to the other side of the greatchine of limestone, which was here quite as precipitous, but clothedwith trees, which softened the asperities of nature, and hung fromshelf, crack, and chasm, to cast shadows down and down, right to wherethe river flashed and sparkled in its rapid flow, or formed deep darkpools, which reflected the face of the cliff in picture after picture.
"One never gets tired of this place," muttered the lad, as he began todescend a zigzag path, worn in the face of the cliff, starting thepowdered-headed jackdaws from their breeding shelves and holes, andsending the blackbirds chinking from out of the bushes which clung tothe grey precipice.
"That's where the brown owl's nest was," muttered the lad. "Bound tosay there's one this year. S'pose I'm getting too old forbirds'-nesting and climbing. Don't see why I should be, though."
He reached the river's bank at last, and after walking for a few yards,trampling down the white blossoms of the broad-leaved garlic, which heregrew in profusion, and suggested salad, he reached a rippling shallow,stepped down into the river, and waded across, the water only reachingto his ankles.
As he stepped out on the other side, and kicked and stamped to get ridof the water, he gazed along the winding dale at as glorious a bit ofEnglish scenery as England can produce; and on that bright May morning,as he breathed in the sweet almond-like odour of the fully-blownhawthorn blossom, he muttered: "Linkeham's nice enough, but the ladswould never believe how beautiful it is here. Hallo! there he goes. Iwonder where they are building this year."
He shaded his eyes as he looked up at a great blackbird, winging its wayhigh up above the top of the great cliff which hung over the river, andwatched till it disappeared, when, in a low melodious voice, he begansinging softly another snatch of an old English song, something aboutthree ravens that sat upon a tree, with a chorus of: "Down, a-down,a-down," which he repeated again and again, as if it helped him toreflect.
"Wonder where they are building this year," he said to himself again."I should like a couple of little ones to bring up. Get them young, andthey'd be as tame as tame."
He went on wondering where the ravens, which frequented theneighbourhood of the river and its mountainous cliffs, built theirnests; but wondering did not help him, and he gave up the riddle, andbegan, in his pleasant holiday idleness, to look about at other thingsin the unfrequented wilderness through which the river ran. To tracethe raven by following it home seemed too difficult, but it was easy tofollow a great bumble-bee, which went blundering by, alighting upon ablock of stone, took flight again, and landed upon a slope covered withmoss, entering at last a hole which went sloping down beneath thestones.
A little farther on, where a hawthorn whitened the bank with itsfragrant wreaths, there was a quick, fluttering rush, a glimpse of aspeckle-breasted thrush, and a little examination showed the neat nest,plastered inside smoothly with clay, like a cup, to hold four beautifulblue eggs, finely-spotted at the ends.
"Sitting, and nearly hatched," said the lad. "Might wait for them, andbring them up. I dunno, though. Sing best in the trees. Wouldn't hopabout the courtyard and cliffs like the young ravens. Wonder where theybuild?"
He went on, to stop and watch the trout and grayling, which kept dartingaway, as he approached the riverside, gleaming through the sunlit water,and hiding in the depths, or beneath some mass of rock or tree-root onthe other side.
"Rather stupid for me, getting to be a man, to think so much aboutbirds' nests; but I don't know: perhaps it isn't childish. Old Rayburnis always watching for them, and picking flowers, and chipping bits ofstone. Why, he has books full of pressed grasses and plants; and boxesfull of bits of ore and spar, and stony shells out of the caves andmines.--Well now, isn't that strange?"
He stopped short, laughing to himself, as he suddenly caught sight of adroll-looking figure, standing knee-deep in the river, busy with rod andline, gently throwing a worm-baited hook into the deep black water,under the projecting rocks at the foot of the cliff.
The figure, cut off, as it were, at the knees, looked particularly shortand stout, humped like a camel, by the creel swung behind to be out ofthe way. His dress was a rusty brown doubl
et, with puffed-out breechesbeneath, descending half-way down the thigh, and then all was bare. Asteeple-crowned, broad-brimmed hat, from beneath which hung an abundanceof slightly-curling silvery hair, completed the figure at which MarkEden gazed, unseen; for the old man was intent upon his fishing, andjust then he struck, and after a little playing, drew in and unhooked afinely-spotted trout, which he was about to transfer to his basket, whenhe was checked by a greeting from the back.
"Morning, Master Rayburn. That's a fine one."
"Ah, Mark, boy, how are you?" said the old man, smiling. "Yes: I've gothis brother in the basket, and I want two more. Better come and help meto eat them."
"Can't to-day.--Quite well?"
"Yes, thank God, boy. Well for an old man. I heard you were back fromschool. How's that?"
"Bad fever there. All sent home."
"That's sad. Ought to be at work, boy. Better come and read with me."
"Well, I will sometimes, sir."
"Come often, my boy; keep you out of mischief."
"Oh, I shan't get into mischief, sir."
"Of course not; idle boys never do. Not likely to get fighting, either.I see young Ralph Darley's at home. Fine chance for you," said the oldman, with a sarcastic ring in his voice, as he slipped his trout intothe basket.
"Is he?" cried the lad excitedly.
"Oh yes; he's up at the Cliff. Now then, why don't you fill yourpockets with big stones to throw at him, or cut a big club? Oh, I see,though. You've mounted a skewer. Pull it out, and try if the point'ssharp. I suppose you're going down the river to lay wait for him andkill him."
"There, you're as bad as ever, Master Rayburn," cried the lad, flushing,and looking mortified. "Last time I saw you it was just the same:laughing at, and bantering, and sneering at me. No wonder my fathergets angry with you, and doesn't ask you to the Tor."
"Yes, no wonder. Quarrels with me, boy, instead of with himself forkeeping up such a mad quarrel."
"It isn't father's fault, sir," cried the lad quickly. "It's the oldfeud that has been going on for generations."
"Old feud! Old disgrace!" cried the fisherman, throwing away the wormhe was about to impale on his hook, to see it snapped up at once by agood fish; and standing his rod in the water, like a staff to lean on,as he went on talking, with the cold water swirling about over hisknees, and threatening to wet his feather-stuffed breeches. "I'mashamed of your father and Ralph's father. Call themselves Christiangentlemen, and because a pair of old idiots of ancestors in the darkages quarrelled, and tried to cut one another's throats, they go on astheir fathers did before them, trying to seize each other's properties,and to make an end of one another, and encouraging their sons to grow upin the same vile way."
"My father is a gentleman and a knight, sir," cried Mark Eden hotly;"and I'm sure that he would never turn cut-throat or robber if he wasleft alone."
"Of course; and that's what Sir Morton Darley would say, or his soneither; and still the old feud is kept up. Look here, boy; suppose youwere to run against young Ralph now, what would happen?"
"There'd be a fight," cried the lad, flushing up; and he drew in hisbreath with a hiss.
"Of course!" sneered the old man.
"Well, he never sees me without insulting me."
"And you never see him without doing the same."
"But--"
"But! Bah! I haven't patience with you all. Six of one; half a dozenof the other. Both your families well off in this world's goods, andyet miserable, Fathers, two Ahabs, longing for the other's land to makea garden of herbs; and if they got it, a nice garden of herbs it wouldbe! Why, Mark Eden, as I'm a scholar and a gentleman, my income isfifty pounds a year. My cottage is my own, and I'm a happier man thaneither of your fathers. Look about you, boy--here, at the great God'shandiwork; wherever your eyes rest, you see beauty. Look at thissilvery flashing river, the lovely great trees, the beautiful cliffs,and up yonder in the distance at the soft blues of the mountains,melting into the bluer skies. Did you ever see anything more gloriousthan this dale?"
"Never," cried the lad enthusiastically.
"Good, boy! That came from the heart. That heart's young and soft, andtrue, as I know. Don't let it get crusted over with the hard shell of afeud. Life's too great and grand to be wasted over a miserable quarrel,and in efforts to make others wretched. And it's so idiotic, Mark, foryou can't hurt other people without hurting yourself more. Look here,next time you, spring boy, meet the other spring boy, act at once; don'twait till you are summer men, or autumn men. When you get to be awinter man as I am, it will be too late. Begin now, while it is earlywith you. Hold out your hand and shake his, and become fast friends.Teach your fathers what they ought to have done when they were young.Come, promise me that."
"I can't, sir," said the boy, frowning. "And if I could, Ralph Darleywould laugh in my face."
"Bah!" ejaculated the old man, stamping the butt of his rod in thewater. "There, I've done with you both. You are a pair of youngravens, sons of the old ravens, who have their nests up on the stonycliffs, and you'll both grow up to be as bad and bitter as your fathers,and take to punching out the young lambs' eyes with your beaks. I'vedone with you both."
"No, you haven't, Master Rayburn," said the lad softly. "I was comingto see you this evening, to ask you to go with me for a day, hunting forminerals and those stones you showed me in the old cavern, where the hotspring is."
"Done with you, quite," said the old man fiercely, as he began to baithis hook with another worm.
"And I say, Master Rayburn, I want to come and read with you."
"An untoward generation," said the old man. "There, be off! I'mwasting time, and I want my trout, and _thymallus_, my grayling, for manmust eat, and it's very nice to eat trout and grayling, boy. Be off!I've quite done with you." And the old man turned his back, and waded afew steps upstream.
"I say, Master Rayburn," continued the lad, "when you said `Bah!' inthat sharp way, it was just like the bark of one of the great blackbirds."
"What, sir!" snapped the old man; "compare me to a raven?"
"You compared me and my father, and the Darleys, all to ravens, sir."
"Humph! Yes, so I did," muttered the old fisherman.
"I didn't mean to be rude. But you reminded me: I saw one of them flyover just before I met you, sir. Do you know where they are nestingthis year?"
"Eh?" cried the fisherman, turning sharply, with a look of interest inhis handsome old face. "Well, not for certain, Mark, but I've seen themseveral times lately--mischievous, murderous wretches. They kill agreat many lambs. They're somewhere below, near the High Cliffs. Ishouldn't at all wonder, if you got below there and hid among thebushes, you'd see where they came. It's sure to be in the rock face."
"I should like to get the young ones," said the lad.
"Yes, do, my boy; and if you find an addled egg or two, save them forme. Bring then on, and we'll blow them."
"I will," said the lad, smiling.--"Don't be hard on me, Master Rayburn."
"Eh? No, no, my boy; but I can't help being a bit put out sometimes.Coming down this evening, were you? Do. I'll save you a couple ofgrayling for supper--if I catch any," he added, with a smile.
"May I come?"
"Of course. Come early, my boy. I've a lot of things to show you thatI've found since you were at home, and we'll plan out some reading, eh?Mustn't go back and get rusty, because you are at home. We'll read agreat deal, and then you won't have time to think about knocking RalphDarley's brains out--if he has any. You haven't much, or you wouldn'thelp to keep up this feud."
"Oh, please don't say any more about that, Master Rayburn."
"Not a word, boy. Must go on--a beautiful worm morning."
The old man turned his back again.
"Don't be late," he cried; and he waded onward, stooping, and lookingmore humped and comical than ever, as he bent forward to throw his baitinto likely places, while Mark Eden went onward d
own-stream.
"I like old Master Rayburn," he said to himself; "but I wish he wouldn'tbe so bitter about the old trouble. It isn't our fault. Father wouldbe only too glad to shake hands and be friends, if the Darleys were onlynice, instead of being such savage beasts."
He went on, forcing his way among the bushes, and clambering over thegreat blocks of stone which strewed the sides of the river, and thenstopped suddenly, as he sent up a moor-hen, which flew across the river,dribbling its long thin toes in the water as it went.
"I wonder," he said thoughtfully, "whether the Darleys think we arebeasts too?"
Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the First Page 4