The Broken Font: A Story of the Civil War, Vol. 2 (of 2)

by Moyle Sherer

  CHAP. XIII.

  Happy are those That knowing, in their births, they are subject to Uncertain change, are still prepared, and arm'd For either fortune:--a rare principle, And with much labour learn'd in wisdom's school. MASSINGER.

  One fair star was still shining in the eastern sky, and a cool wind,balmy with the odours of spring, blew pleasant upon his cheek, as atraveller, whose dusty feet showed that he had come many a mile uponmore public roads, walked rapidly across the footpath-way of a greenand dewy close, at the far end of which was the churchyard of Cheddar.

  The outline of the tall tower was majestically defined upon the lightof the dawning day, and beyond, hidden by well-remembered trees, laythe home of the wayfarer.

  In the low grey wall which surrounded this sacred enclosure there wasa very ancient stile, all rudely graven over with notches, crosses,and initial letters. The hand of the traveller was already upon thisstile, when he suddenly paused, as though some unwelcome objectpresented itself, and forbade his progress. His cheek changed, and hisheart sank, and he stood as still as though a spell were upon him. Yetit was no uncommon sight that arrested him, and one quite in keepingwith the hour and the scene.

  A sturdy old sexton, the scarebabe of all the infants in the parish,but the cheerful, though grim-looking, minister to many of his boyishsports and pleasures, was digging a grave under the north wall of thechurch, and had just thrown up a skull, which lay beside his mattock,near the pediment of the building.

  All men are superstitious:--the eye of the traveller, which, but aminute before, was beaming bright with hope, became sad and anxious;his lip quivered, and, instead of vaulting over the stile eagerly, andhurrying to the wicket of the vicarage, he leaned upon the low wallwith a feeling of faintness, his sight became dim, and his thoughtsconfused and mournful. He had been a long time absent in a foreignland,--some change might have taken place at home; and this idea onceadmitted to his mind, was followed by a crowd of most natural fears,and of melancholy images. These, however, were soon dispelled by thelively tones of the hale old sexton's voice. To relieve the dull andlonely labour of digging a grave, he was trolling out, in a sort ofhearty jig-jog cadence, a fragment of the Mayers' song:--

  "The moon shines bright, and the stars give a light, A little before it is day; So God bless you all, both great and small, And send you a joyful May."

  This snatch of an ancient medley, so familiar to Martin Noble from hisearliest years, called up the memory of May games, and summer days,and a happy boyhood; and a rush of bright recollections swept away thecloud from his mind, as a clearing wind drives the mist from amountain top, and lays it open to the glad play of the cheerfulsunbeams.

  Martin Noble, as we shall hence call our wayfarer, sprung lightly intothe churchyard, and approaching the old sexton, thus accosted him:--

  "Good morrow to you, Robert: I am glad to hear your voice once more,and to find you so stout and well."

  "Kindly spoken," said the old man, raising his head, and leaning onhis spade, "kindly spoken. Robert is my name, sure enough; but whatyours may be is more than I know, or can guess even, without you areyoung Blount that went to the wars. Perhaps, master, you made a bit ofguess-work, and never saw me before."

  "No, I am not young Blount, but I have seen you as often and knew youas well as he did; and to thy cap, thy jerkin, the keys at thy girdle,and thy grizzled beard, thou art just as I left thee, old Robert. Godgrant that I may find my own dear father as little altered."

  The spade fell from the old man's hand, and rubbing his eyes as if toclear his vision, at the same time coming closer to his object, heexclaimed,--

  "Odd's life, you cannot be Master Martin that went to foreign parts?"

  "Yes, but I am," said Martin, shaking the old man's hand:--"tell me,Robert, is my father well."

  "Oh yes, he's well,--that's to say, he don't ail, as I hear, God blesshim!--but as to well,--I can't call him well, after all, when I thinkof a kind soul like him without a----"

  "Heavens! my mother is not dead?"

  "Oh no; but have not you heard of all the changes here at Cheddar?"

  "Of what changes do you speak? I have heard nothing. It was only lastevening at sunset that I landed at Clevedon Creek in a fishing-boatwhich came alongside our brigantine as we were running up the Channelto Bristol. I journeyed hither, as you see, on foot, but I shall knowall by going home at once."

  "Stop, Master Martin, the parson's house is no home of thine now; anthou ring the bell, a sour face, and a hard word, and a slammed door,would be thy sorry welcome."

  "You don't surely mean that such a man as my father has been takenfrom his people, and from his own house and home?"

  "Yes but I do. The good shepherd is gone, and we have a false goatherdin his place,--a wolf in shepherd's clothing."

  "Where then is my father gone? Where shall I find him?"

  "I can't rightly tell you myself; but I'll take you to them that can.It's somewhere, however, near old Glastonbury Tor; and they tell methat master is as cheery as ever, though, God help him, he fares nobetter, as this world goes, than I do. Come, I'll take you to oldMistress Blount: right glad she'll be to see thee again, and a sadstory she'll have to tell thee about the old gentleman. God's blessingon his soul!--a was the poor man's friend."

  "What! is dear old Master Blount gone?"

  "Ay, it's an awful tale. The mistress will tell you all about it." Sosaying, he led the way to a wicket leading out of the churchyard at anopposite corner; but ere they reached it he stopped, observing, thatsecond thoughts were best.

  "No," said the old man, "if I take thee to Mistress Blount it may gether into trouble, and if I take thee to my bit of a cot, it may bringthee into trouble; for my old woman is as curious as a magpie and asleaky as a sieve, and every gossip near us would soon be on thelookout and the chatter. If thou go to the Jolly Woodcutter, near theMarket Cross, thou wilt find old Margery Broad the right hostess: shehath good liquor and few words, and neither meddles nor makes. Gobreak thy fast, and take rest, and in the evening thou canst setforward for Glastonbury. When the chimes go five, I'll bring one shallguide thee to thy father's."

  "Why such delay? I would go at once."

  "It will be better for your father that you should not reachGlastonbury till after dusk; besides, you have been afoot all night,and a stretch on one of Dame Margery's pallets will do you no hurt."

  With these words they parted, and Martin Noble walked slowly downtowards the hostel. The rising sun was but just beginning to gild thecarved pinnacles of the church tower and the tops of the tallesttrees. The townlet itself lay, as yet, in deep shadow. The streetswere silent, and, but for here and there the figure of a solitarylabourer going early to the field, they were empty.

  Nobody was yet astir at the Jolly Woodcutter, therefore Martinpatiently took seat at the Market Cross, in one of the angularrecesses of that ancient hexagonal building which so convenientlyshelter poor wayfarers from sun and rain.

  As here he mused in silence, his reverie was suddenly broken by avoice from one of the adjoining seats, and he found he was not thesole occupant of the friendly building. His unseen neighbour thustalked with himself, or rather thought aloud,--

  "Ho, daylight!--truly the light is comfortable, and a pleasant thingit is to behold the sun: blessings on the man that built this shelterfor the houseless head. Jack, thou art a fool; I say thou art a fool,and I have often told thee so. Thou hast not one farthing in thypocket. I tell thee a man with empty pockets is and must be a fool;and it shall go hard with him if, though he keep his hands frompicking and stealing, he be not called a knave also. Here cometh afellow now, with a red face and a portly belly, who will say me a'sirrah' to a certainty, and talk to me comfortable words about thegallows. I am penniless, therefore I am a rogue; I am houseless,therefore I am a sorry vagabond. This is charitable judgment, andsound logic: so said the tapster last night when he thrust me f
orthinto the street, and bolted his door against me. They may call goldpoison to men's souls, but I verily think that one broad piece woulddo me no great hurt. A morning in the stocks, and without a breakfast,will never do: I must be off to the liberal fields, and try coaxing ata lone farm house."

  These words were followed by the sound of a shuffling footstep; andthe speaker turned sharply round by Martin's side of the cross, toavoid the questions of a burly personage who was advancing to callhim to account. The figure of the poor wanderer was sufficientlydeplorable; yet it was impossible to look upon it without a smile. Hewas a very tall and a remarkably spare man, with a long pale face, oneside of which was contracted so as to give the appearance of aperpetual winking:--his beard was yellow, and untrimmed. He washabited in a suit of plum-coloured cloth, which had been once of thebest quality, but was now faded and threadbare:--his shoes were wornout, and he limped, leaning on a stout cane. At one glance Martin sawthat he was one of those forlorn strolling players whose servicesduring these times of trouble were no longer needed, and whose age andinfirmity forbade him the privilege of following many of his callingto the camp. He was a cast off minister of pleasure, and, like acracked viol or an empty flagon, thrown aside as useless.

  "Whither away so fast, sirrah?" said the beadle, stepping after him;"what dost thou here alone in the street at this hour?"

  "Marry I am not alone, but in company that I would be happy to be wellrid of."

  "Why, thou knave, did I not see thee rub thine eyes, and shakethyself, and not a soul near thee?"

  "Nay, but I tell thee we were three:--first, there was myself; next,there was poverty, a fast traveller, that is even now pinching me,and, thirdly, there was an armed man called want, who belabours mewithout mercy."

  "None of thy foolery, rogue, or I'll clap thy claw-foot in thestocks:--thou wilt come to the gallows tree at last;--a sluggard allthy life long, I'll warrant me."

  "Look you, master, a slug is a fat thing, and a slow, that feedswithout working. Now, you see, I am as lean as a scarecrow, and, lameas I am, I will race thee for a breakfast."

  "Out, thou yellow-faced varlet; out, troop away; take thy gabble tothe common, and pick thy breakfast with the geese."

  "Have me to thy home, and give me part of thy manchets: it will be allthe same, for then I shall breakfast with the gander."

  Till this moment, neither of the parties had seen Martin; but nosooner did the aged and wandering son of Thespis espy his countenanceand smile than he boldly came back, and accosted him:--"Most gallantCavalier, for by the very curl of thy light beard I see thou art one,help me in my need. Thou seest that I am pricked with many thorns:help me, I say, and so may God help you, and cover your head inbattle."

  The beadle turned round with surprise; but before he had time to uttera single word Martin had slipped into the hand of the wanderer a pieceof silver; and as, at the very same moment, the door of the JollyWoodcutter was opened by a stout serving wench, he escaped thanks andquestions by entering the house.

  "Silver, by my luck!--silver--and a broad piece! look you," said theexulting wanderer; "now begone dull care: let us take no thought forto-morrow; we will begin our day with a morning's draught of sack,next, we will be clean shaven, for money is a gentleman. We will havea pasty to our dinner, and be a lord for the rest of the day. A broadpiece! I will drink canary; and this young cavalier shall hear myrecitations, and I will regale him with merry songs. There hangeth aviol de gamba in the barber's shop, and there be a score of old playbooks on his shelf: we will have a rare evening. I will reward thisyoung master: he hath breeding, and will take pleasure in my company;let to-morrow take care of itself, or let him take care of it for me:we will drink canary." These resolutions, the natural fruit ofMartin's inconsiderate bounty, had well nigh disconcerted his quietplan; but, luckily, the thoughtless player had drunk himself into asound sleep before the evening chimes struck five.