by M. R. James
VII
THE BAT-BALL
It had certainly been an eventful day and evening, and I felt that myadventures could not be quite at an end yet, for I had still to find outwhat new power or sense the Fourth Jar had brought me. I stood andthought, and tried quite vainly to detect some difference in myself. Andthen I went to the window and drew the curtain aside and looked out onthe road, and within a few minutes I began to understand.
There came walking rapidly along the road a young man, and he turned inat the garden gate and came straight up the path to the house door. Ibegan to be surprised, not at his coming, for it was not so very late,but at the look of him. He was young, as I said, rather red-faced, butnot bad-looking; of the class of a farmer, I thought. He wore biggishbrown whiskers--which is not common nowadays--and his hair was ratherlong at the back--which also is not common with young men who want tolook smart--but his hat, and his clothes generally, were the really oddpart of him. The hat was a sort of low top-hat, with a curved brim; itspread out at the top and it was brushed rough instead of smooth. Hiscoat was a blue swallow-tail with brass buttons. He had a broad tiewound round and round his neck, and a Gladstone collar. His trouserswere tight all the way down and had straps under his feet. To put it inthe dullest, shortest way, he was "dressed in the fashion of eighty orninety years ago," as we read in the ghost stories. Evidently he knewhis way about very well. He came straight up to the front door and, asfar as I could tell, into the house, but I did not hear the door openor shut or any steps on the stairs. He must, I thought, be in mylandlady's parlour downstairs.
I turned away from the window, and there was the next surprise. It wasas if there was no wall between me and the sitting-room. I saw straightinto it. There was a fire in the grate, and by it were sitting face toface an old man and an old woman. I thought at once of what one of theboys had said, and I looked curiously at them. They were, you would havesaid, as fine specimens of an old-fashioned yeoman and his wife asanyone could wish to see. The man was hale and red-faced, with greywhiskers, smiling as he sat bolt upright in his arm-chair. The old ladywas rosy and smiling too, with a smart silk dress and a smart cap, andtidy ringlets on each side of her face--a regular picture of wholesomeold age; and yet I hated them both. The young man, their son, I suppose,was in the room standing at the door with his hat in his hand, lookingtimidly at them. The old man turned half round in his chair, looked athim, turned down the corners of his mouth, looked across at the oldlady, and they both smiled as if they were amused. The son came fartherinto the room, put his hat down, leaned with both hands on the table,and began to speak (though nothing could be heard) with an earnestnessthat was painful to see, because I could be certain his pleading wouldbe of no use; sometimes he spread out his hands and shook them, everynow and again he brushed his eyes. He was very much moved, and so was I,merely watching him. The old people were not; they leaned forward alittle in their chairs and sometimes smiled at each other--again as ifthey were amused. At last he had done, and stood with his hands beforehim, quivering all over. His father and mother leaned back in theirchairs and looked at each other. I think they said not a single word.The son caught up his hat, turned round, and went quickly out of theroom. Then the old man threw back his head and laughed, and the old ladylaughed too, not so boisterously.
I turned back to the window. It was as I expected. Outside the gardengate, in the road, a young slight girl in a large poke-bonnet and shawland rather short-skirted dress was waiting, in great anxiety, as I couldsee by the way she held to the railings. Her face I could not see. Theyoung man came out; she clasped her hands, he shook his head; they wentoff together slowly up the road, he with bowed shoulders, supportingher, she, I dare say, crying. Again I looked round to the sitting-room.The wall hid it now.
It sounds a dull ordinary scene enough, but I can assure you it washorribly disturbing to watch, and the cruel calm way in which the fatherand mother, who looked so nice and worthy and were so abominable,treated their son, was like nothing I had ever seen.
Of course I know now what the effect of the Fourth Jar was; it made meable to see what had happened in any place. I did not yet know how farback the memories would go, or whether I was obliged to see them if Idid not want to. But it was clear to me that the boys were sometimestaught in this way. "We were watching them like we do at school," one ofthem said, and though the grammar was poor, the meaning was plain, and Iwould ask Slim about it when we next met. Meanwhile I must say I hopedthe gift would not go on working instead of letting me go to sleep. Itdid not.
Next day I met my landlady employing herself in the garden, and askedher about the people who had formerly lived in the house.
"Oh yes," said she. "I can tell you about them, for my father heremembered old Mr. and Mrs. Eld quite well when he was a slip of a lad.They wasn't liked in the place, neither of them, partly through bein' sohard-like to their workpeople, and partly from them treating their onlyson so bad--I mean to say turning him right off because he marriedwithout asking permission. Well, no doubt, that's what he shouldn't havedone, but my father said it was a very nice respectable young girl hemarried, and it do seem hard for them never to say a word of kindnessall those years and leave every penny away from the young people. Whatbecome of them, do you say, sir? Why, I believe they emigrated away tothe United States of America and never was heard of again, but the oldpeople they lived on here, and I never heard but what they was easy intheir minds right up to the day of their death. Nice-looking old peoplethey was too, my father used to say; seemed as if butter wouldn't meltin their mouths, as the saying is. Now I don't know when I've thoughtof them last, but I recollect my father speaking of them as well, andthe way they're spoke of on their stone that lays just to the right-handside as you go up the churchyard path--well, you'd think there never wassuch people. But I believe that was put up by them that got theproperty; now what was that name again?"
But about that time I thought I must be getting on. I also thought (asbefore) that it would be well for me not to go very far away from thehouse.
As I strolled up the road I pondered over the message which Wag's fatherhad been so good as to send me. "If they're about the house, give themhorseshoes; if there's a bat-ball, squirt at it. I think there's asquirt in the tool-house." All very well, no doubt. I had one horseshoe,but that was not much, and I could explore the tool-house and borrow thegarden squirt. But more horseshoes?
At that moment I heard a squeak and a rustle in the hedge, and could nothelp poking my stick into it to see what had made the noise. The stickclinked against something with its iron ferrule. An oldhorseshoe!--evidently shown to me on purpose by a friendly creature. Ipicked it up, and, not to make a long story of it, I was helped by muchthe same devices to increase my collection to four. And now I felt itwould be wise to turn back.
As I turned into the back garden and came in sight of the littlepotting-shed or tool-house or whatever it was, I started. Someone wasjust coming out of it. I gave a loud cough. The party turned roundhastily; it was an old man in a sleeved waistcoat, made up, I thought,to look like an "odd man." He touched his hat civilly enough, and showedno surprise; but, oh, horror! he held in his hand the garden squirt.
"Morning," I said; "going to do a bit of watering?" He grinned. "Juststepped up to borrer this off the lady; there's a lot of fly gets on theplants this weather."
"I dare say there is. By the way, what a lot of horseshoes you peopleleave about. How many do you think I picked up this morning just alongthe road? Look here!" and I held one out to him, and his hand cameslowly out to meet it, as though he could not keep it back.
His face wrinkled up into a horrible scowl, and what he was going to sayI don't know, but just then his hand clutched the horseshoe and he gavea shout of pain, dropped the squirt and the horseshoe, whipped round asquick as any young man could, and was off round the corner of the shedbefore I had really taken in what was happening. Before I tried to seewhat had become of him, I snatched up the squirt and the horseshoe, andal
most dropped them again. Both were pretty hot--the squirt much thehotter of the two; but both of them cooled down in a few seconds. Bythat time my old man was completely out of sight. And I should notwonder if he was away some time; for perhaps you know, and perhaps youdon't know, the effect of an old horseshoe on that sort of people. Notonly is it of iron, which they can't abide, but when they see or, stillmore, touch the shoe, they have to go over all the ground that the shoewent over since it was last in the blacksmith's hands. Only I doubt ifthe same shoe will work for more than one witch or wizard. Anyway, I putthat one aside when I went indoors. And then I sat and wondered whatwould come next, and how I could best prepare for it. It occurred to methat it would do no harm to put one of the shoes where it couldn't beseen at once, and it also struck me that under the rug just inside thebedroom door would not be a bad place. So there I put it, and then fellto smoking and reading.
A knock at the door.
"Come in," said I, a little curious; but no, it was only the maid. Asshe passed me (which she did quickly) I heard her mutter something about"'ankerchieves for the wash," and I thought there was something notquite usual about the voice. So I looked round. She was back to me, butthe dress and the height and the hair was what I was accustomed to see.Into the bedroom she hurried, and the next thing was a scream like thatof at least two cats in agony! I could just see her leap into the air,come down again on the rug, scream again, and then bundle, hopping,limping--I don't know what--out of the room and down the stairs. I didcatch sight of her feet, though; they were bare, they were greenish, andthey were webbed, and I think there were some large white blisters onthe soles of them. You would have thought that the commotion would havebrought the household about my ears; but it did not, and I can onlysuppose that they heard no more of it than they did of the things whichthe birds and so on say to each other.
"Next, please!" said I, as I lighted a pipe; but if you will believe it,there was no next. Lunch, the afternoon, tea, all passed by, and I wascompletely undisturbed. "They must be saving up for the bat-ball," Ithought. "What in the world can it be?"
As candle-time came on, and the moon began to make herself felt, I tookup my old position at the window, with the garden squirt at hand and twofull jugs of water on the floor--plenty more to be got from the bathroomif wanted. The leaden box of the Five Jars was in the right place forthe moonbeams to fall on it.... But no moonbeams would touch itto-night! Why was this? There were no clouds. Yet, between the orb ofthe moon and my box, there was some obstruction. High up in the sky wasa dancing film, thick enough to cast a shadow on the area of the window;and ever, as the moon rode higher in the heavens, this obstructionbecame more solid. It seemed gradually to get its bearings and settleinto the place where it would shut off the light from the box mostcompletely. I began to guess. It was the bat-ball; neither more nor lessthan a dense cloud of bats, gradually forming itself into a solid ball,and coming lower, and nearer to my window. Soon they were only aboutthirty feet off, and I felt that the moment was come.
I have never much liked bats or desired their company, and now, as Istudied them through the glass, and saw their horrid little wicked facesand winking wings, I felt justified in trying to make things asunpleasant for them as I could. I charged the squirt and let fly, andagain, and again, as quick as I could fill it. The water spread a bitbefore it reached the ball, but not too much to spoil the effect; andthe effect was almost alarming. Some hundreds of bats all shrieking outat once, and shrieking with rage and fear (not merely from theexcitement of chasing flies, as they generally do). Dozens of themdropping away, with wings too soaked to fly, some on to the grass, wherethey hopped and fluttered and rolled in ecstasies of passion, some intobushes, one or two plumb on to the path, where they lay motionless; thatwas the first tableau. Then came a new feature. From both sides theredarted into the heart of the ball two squadrons of figures flying atgreat speed (though without wings) and perfectly horizontal, with armsjoined and straight out in front of them, and almost at the same instantseven or eight more plunged into the ball from above, as if takingheaders. The boys were out.
I stopped squirting, for I did not know whether the water would fellthem as it felled the bats; but a shrill cry rose from below:
"Go on, M! go on, M!"
So I aimed again, and it was time, for a knot of bats just then detacheditself from the main body and flew full-face towards me. My shot caughtthe middle one on the snout, and as I swung the squirt to left andright, it disabled four or five others, and discouraged the rest.Meanwhile the ball was cloven again and again by the arms of the flyingsquadrons, which shot through it from side to side and from top tobottom (though never, as appeared later, quite through the middle), andthough it kept closing up again, it was plainly growing smaller as moreand more of the bats outside, which were exposed to the squirt, droppedaway.
I suddenly felt something alight on my shoulder, and a voice said in myear, "Wag says if you _could_ throw a shoe into the middle now, hebelieves it would finish them. Can you?" It was, I think, Dart who hadbeen sent with the message.
"Horseshoes, I suppose he means," I said. "I'll try."
"Wait till we're out of the way," said Dart, and was off.
In a moment more I heard--not what I was rather expecting, a horn ofElf-land, but two strokes on the bell. I saw the figures of the boysshoot up and away to left and right, leaving the bat-ball clear, and thebats shrieked aloud, I dare say in triumph at the enemy's retreat.
There were two horseshoes left. I had no idea how they would fly, and Ihad not much confidence in my power of aiming; but it must be tried, andI threw them edgeways, like quoits. The first skimmed the top of theball, the second went straight through the middle. Something which thebats in the very centre were holding--something soft--was pierced by it,and burst. I think it must have been a globe of jelly-like stuff in athin skin. The contents spurted out on to some of the bats, and seemedto scald the fur off them in an instant and singe up all the membranesof their wings. They fell down at once, with broken screams. The restdarted off in every direction, and the ball was gone.
"Now don't be long," said a voice from the window-sill.
I thought I knew what was meant, and looked to the leaden casket. As ifto make up for lost time, the moonbeam had already made an opening allround the part on which it shone, and I had but to turn the other sidetowards it--not even very slowly--to get the whole lid free. Aftercleansing my hands in the water, I made trial of the Fifth Jar, and, asI replaced it, a chorus of applause and cheering came up from below.
The Jars were mine.