Kitabı oku: «The Wolf Patrol: A Tale of Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts», sayfa 13

CHAPTER XXXVII
AT NEWMINSTER

'We come off pretty well,' said Chippy – 'lost naught but my stick.'

'I'll show you where to out another afore we get to Newminster,' said Mrs. Slade – 'a place where my man often cuts a stick. 'Tis a plantation of ashes on a bank lookin' to the north. Heavy, holdin' ground, too – just the spot for slow-growin' tough timber.'

She went to the towpath once more to unstrap the tin bucket from the horse's head, and set him to his task again.

'I fancy we shall have to stay somewhere in Newminster to-night, Chippy,' said Dick.

Chippy grunted in a dissatisfied fashion. The Raven was very keen on doing the trip for the smallest possible outlay of money. It seemed to him so much more scoutlike to live on the country, as they were fond of saying, and to pay for shelter did not seem to be playing the game.

Dick nodded. 'I know what you mean,' he said, for he had quite understood Chippy's grunt. 'But we're bound to make Newminster, and send off a card to show we've been in the town.'

'O' course,' said the Raven.

'And then it will be rather late to start off again and strike for the open country to search for a camping-place.'

'Right, Dick – quite right,' rejoined his comrade; 'the wust of it is as lodgin's cost money.'

'Needn't cost ye a single copper this night, anyhow,' said a voice in their ears, and the scouts jumped. Mrs. Slade had come up unseen, and had caught the last words of the Raven.

'Here y' are,' she went on, and pointed to the snug little cabin; 'that's yourn to-night if ye want it.'

'But you'll need it for yourselves,' cried Dick.

'Not this night,' she replied. 'I've got a married darter in Newminster. She've a-married a wharfinger in a good way o' business. Such a house as she've got! Upstairs, downstairs, an' a back-kitchen.'

Mrs. Slade visibly swelled in importance as she described her daughter's palatial surroundings. No doubt they seemed very extensive indeed after one small cabin. 'An' 'tis settled we stay wi' her to-night, so the cabin 'ere will be empty, an' ye're as welcome to it as can be.'

The scouts' eyes glistened, and they were easily induced to accept the kindly offer, and so they glided on their way towards the town, chatting together like old friends. Mrs. Slade pulled up for a moment at the ash plantation, and Chippy sprang out with the tomahawk. In five minutes he was back with a tough, straight ash-stick, which he trimmed and whittled with his knife as they made the last mile into the city.

At the wharf where the barge was to lie for the night they met Mr. Slade, a short, thick-set man, with a short, broad face between a fur cap and a belcher handkerchief. He was to the full as good-natured as his wife, and cordially re-echoed her invitation for the scouts to sleep in their cabin. The wharfinger's house was near at hand, so that the owners of the barge would not be far away.

The scouts stowed their haversacks and staves away in the cabin of the barge, shut it up, and locked it with the key which Mrs. Slade had lent to them, and left the key at the wharfinger's house. Then they put on their jackets and went for a stroll round the streets of the quaint old city. The long summer evening was dying as they stood below the fine west front of the cathedral, and watched the swallows skimming about the noble towers. Near at hand was a post-office, where Dick triumphantly scribbled, 'At Newminster. All well,' on a card, and dropped it into the letter-box.

'Supper and turn in now, Chippy,' he said,

'Righto,' murmured the Raven. 'We must be off early to-morrow. Road home 'ull work out three or four mile more'n the road 'ere.'

'That's a fact,' said Dick; 'but we'll turn up at Bardon by Saturday night without setting foot in a train yet. Now, Chippy, what shall we have for supper? We've got jolly good lodgings for nothing: we can afford something extra for supper.'

They were going down the street which would lead them back to the wharf, and the Raven paused in front of a butcher's shop.

'Can we sport a pound o' sausages?' he said. 'They'd mek' a good feed to-night, and we'd have one or two left for brekfast again.'

'Good,' said Dick, and they laid down eightpence for a pound of sausages, and threepence for a small loaf, and returned to the barge. Here they fried their sausages and made some tea, for the fire in the stove was not out, and the good-natured bargewoman had left them a small bucketful of coke to make it up again.

After supper they carefully put out the fire, and turned in on the two bunks which lay one on either side of the little cabin. Here, wrapped in their blankets, they slept like tops till five o'clock in the morning.

Chippy was the first to wake, and he got up and thrust his head out at the hatch. His movements aroused his comrade, and Dick sprang to the floor.

'Lucky we've been in 'ere,' said Chippy. 'It's been pourin' o' rain in the night.'

So it had. The hollows among the stones which paved the wharf were filled with pools of water, and everywhere had the fresh-washed look which accompanies a heavy downpour.

'Well, we've been snug and dry enough,' cried Dick. 'Now for breakfast and a start.'

They had cooked the whole of the sausages the night before, so that they did not trouble to light a fire. They finished the loaf and the sausages, and were almost at the end of their meal, when Mrs. Slade came across from the wharfinger's house. Through her good offices they obtained a bucket of clean water, and washed their faces and hands, promising themselves a good dip in the first river they came to in their day's journey. So by half-past six they had said farewell to the bargewoman, and were marching through the silent streets of the little city in the sweet freshness of a June summer morning.

They had entered Newminster from the south: they were leaving it towards the north. In order to cover fresh ground all the time, they had planned their route so that their track as marked on the map showed as a very much flattened oval. They had worked towards Newminster on a south-westerly sweep; they were working home again on a north-easterly tack.

CHAPTER XXXVIII
HOMEWARD BOUND – A DISH OF EELS

For nearly three miles they held to the main road, going due north, then turned aside to a quiet grassy by-track running north-east, and were fairly launched on their new route. Moving in quiet, steady fashion, they made nine miles before they halted, then pulled up below an oak-tree on the borders of a little wood for a long halt during the heat of the day. Both, though in good, hard condition, were dripping with sweat, for the day was unwontedly sultry for early summer.

'Don't mind if I do stretch me legs a bit,' grunted the Raven.

'Yes,' said Dick; 'jolly stiff going to-day, Chippy. Isn't it hot? But we can take a good long rest now. We've broken the back of the day's journey.'

'Right time to do it, Dick,' said his friend.

'Rather,' said Dick; 'no time for a tramp like the freshness of the morning.'

The boys stretched themselves in the shade and lay at their ease for half an hour, then Dick sat up.

'Well,' he said, 'there seems a hollow inside me somewhere.'

'Same 'ere, Dick,' murmured the Raven. 'We'll fill up. Wot's the bill o' fare?'

'Chupatties and tea, I fancy,' replied the Wolf. 'We've been carrying the rest of that bag of flour about since Monday morning.'

'All to the good,' murmured Chippy, 'all to the good. Wot we've dropped in for has saved our – ' He pulled up abruptly, and did not utter the word 'cash,' which had been in his mind. 'Shan't mention that,' he continued in a lower whisper still, ''cept we're in the middle of a ten-acre field.'

Dick laughed. 'We got into a trifle of a fix the last time we discussed that subject,' he said. 'I say, Chippy, do you reckon that it was a bit of a blot on us as scouts that we were caught like that?'

Chippy heaved a deep sigh. 'I've never mentioned it,' he replied, 'but it's bin on my mind more'n once. Seems to me we orter scouted round more to find whether there wor enemies in the country. They 'ad us on toast, they did. Reg'lar let down for a pair o' scouts,' and Chippy sighed again.

In order to banish these melancholy thoughts, the Wolf and the Raven began to get something to eat. The Wolf opened his jacket and mixed the flour on the lining, while the Raven fetched water and made a fire, and chopped and peeled and heated a club.

When the dough was ready, Dick worked it into a long strip which was wound spirally round the club. Then the club was thrust into the ground beside the fire, one end of it being sharpened. Now and again the club was given a turn while the dough toasted steadily. Chippy watched the dough, and Dick made the tea.

They ate their meal, rested a couple of hours, then went on again. It was now midday, and tremendously hot. But they were not going a great way. The map showed the winding blue line of a river two miles ahead, and they were in search of it for a pleasant swim.

They gained the bank of the river, sat down a short time to cool off, then stripped and plunged in, and spent a delightful half-hour in the clear water. As they were dressing they observed that a faintly marked path ran through the meadow at the edge of the stream. They followed it when they were ready to march once more, and soon came upon a mill standing at the waterside. Above the mill was a broad pool, and in the shade of some bushes trout were feeding, or, more likely, playing, for now and again one would leap clean out of the water and fall back again with a flash of silver. The boys sat down on the bank beside the water and gazed upon the pleasant pool.

'It would come in handy if you could catch a few of those trout, Chippy,' said Dick. 'Those were all right we caught on Monday night.'

The Raven shook his head. 'Wish I could, Dick,' he replied; 'but that dodge ain't no use now, an' I couldn't get them over theer to look at anythin' I've got wi' me.'

'I suppose not,' said Dick. 'I say, Chippy, see that heap of stones just under the bank here.'

The Raven glanced down and saw what his brother scout was pointing at. It looked as if for generations the millers had flung their broken mill-stones into this part of the pool, and they lay piled against each other with black hollows between.

Chippy looked down thoughtfully, then his eyes lighted up. 'Never seen a more likely place in me life for big eels,' he grunted; 'they love a hole atwixt stones lik that.'

'Do you think we could catch a few?' cried Dick eagerly.

'Shouldn't wonder,' replied his comrade. 'We'll have a go, anyhow. Fust, we want some lobs.'

The search for lob-worms was made at once.

'We'll have to dig for them, I suppose,' said Dick.

'Not a bit of it,' said Chippy. 'I'll show ye a lot quicker way than that.'

He went to the side of the field where there was a ditch nearly dry in the hot sun. He walked along the ditch until he came to a stone. He turned the stone swiftly, and there was almost sure to be a big lob lying underneath it, sometimes two or three. Before they could withdraw into their holes the Raven's finger was pressed on their tails, and they were helpless. In a few moments he had collected more than a dozen big lobs, and these were carried back triumphantly to the mill-pool in his hat.

Next he cut a couple of hazel-rods about four feet long, and fairly stiff, tied a short line to each, and fastened a strong-eyed hook at the end of the line.

'Now we're ready,' he said. 'This little game's called "sniggling," an' it's a sure thing if only th' eel's at 'ome. Lemme get 'old 'o one fust, an' show ye how to pull 'im out.'

Chippy put a lob on his hook, and then pinched a small split bullet – of which his friend had given him half a dozen – on the line about six inches above the hook. He dropped the weighted bait into a dark hole between two fragments of stone, and moved it gently about. Two or three minutes passed; then the Raven drew his bait up.

'Nobody in,' he remarked; 'try next door.' He moved a yard along the bank, and dropped the bait into a second dark crevice. It was seized instantly, and the line sharply plucked.

'One 'ere,' said Chippy; 'there's no mistake about hearin' from him, if there's one about.'

'Look how he's pulling at the line!' cried Dick, as the slender cord jerked again and again.

'Yus,' said Chippy; 'nuthin' plucks an' pulls like an eel. Now he's got a good hold o' the bait, an' out he comes.'

The Raven began to pull firmly but slowly, keeping the line quite taut.

'Don't try to yank 'im out,' he said to his pupil. 'Sure's ye do, ye'll break the line an' lose the lot. Pull gently at 'im till he's tired; then out he comes, smooth an' easy.'

Three or four minutes passed before Chippy drew the snake-like head of the eel out of the black hole between the stones.

'A good un,' he snapped, drew on the line a little harder, and swung an eel weighing half a pound or more to the bank, where he promptly put one foot on the eel and drew the line taut.

'See wot I'm doin'?' said the Raven. 'If ye don't look out, he'll tangle hisself all up in yer line, an' give ye a fine old job to get 'im free.' With that he whipped out his knife, and despatched the wriggling creature by cutting off its head.

Dick now took his stick and line to try his luck, while his comrade dug out hook and bait, which had vanished down the eel's throat. Dick caught a little one in the first hole that he tried, and drew it safely to the bank. But there he failed to control its wild, sinuous movements, and it tangled itself up in his line in such a style that Chippy had to come to his aid.

After that he got on much better, and caught two good-sized ones, and held them and the line taut, while Chippy sailed in with the knife and whipped their heads off.

In a short time they had seven, for the holes were well furnished with occupants, and with these seven they stayed content. They washed them in a quiet backwater, and rubbed them as clean as they could with wisps of dry grass, and then packed them in Chippy's haversack, with more dry grass about them.

'Mek' us a jolly good supper to-night,' said the Raven.

'They will,' cried Dick. 'Now for the road again. We've got an uphill stretch before us, Chippy, according to the map.'

CHAPTER XXXIX
THE STORM – WHAT HAPPENED WHILE THEY DRIED THEIR CLOTHES

Within a mile again, the track they were following – a very ancient vicinal way – began to rise over a long stretch of moorland used mainly for sheep-walks, and covered in places with wide patches of low-growing bilberry-bushes. On some of these bushes the purple little berries were already ripe, and the boys gathered them in handfuls, and ate them as they walked.

Suddenly a low, heavy muttering called their attention to the western sky, and they saw a blue-black cloud rising swiftly.

'Thunder,' said Dick; 'that's what this terrific heat has meant.'

'Best step out,' remarked the Raven. 'No shelter about 'ere for a mile or two.'

They stayed no longer to gather bilberries, but pushed on at a steady swinging stride, looking back from time to time at the storm, which seemed to pursue them. A wind sprang up, and wild gusts raced past them, and howled across the moor. Light, swift clouds which seemed to be flying before the storm hurried across the sky, and the sunshine was swallowed up and the day darkened.

Dick looked back and whistled.

'Here comes the rain, Chippy,' he said. 'We'd better put our jackets on.' They did so, but the Raven shrugged his shoulders as if he was of the opinion that jackets would be but slight protection against the downpour now rushing upon them.

The thunder-shower was perhaps a couple of miles away, and marching across the country in a line as straight as if drawn with a ruler. A clump of pines stood out darkly against the white veil of the streaming rain. As the scouts looked, the pines were swallowed up, and the wall of water stalked swiftly on towards them.

They looked round, but there was not the faintest chance of gaining the least shelter. All round them the earth was covered with low-growing bushes; there was neither tree nor hedge nor fence to break the force of the torrential downpour. A mile in front the road topped the ridge and disappeared.

'There may be shelter beyond the ridge, Chippy,' cried Dick. 'Let's run for it.'

They ran, but in vain. Long before they gained the ridge the storm was upon them – first a few heavy drops, then a downpour which made the earth smoke again. In two minutes the scouts were wet to the skin, and the storm lasted twenty. Then it raced past them, hissing and roaring, and left them tramping down the farther side of the ridge, their boots full of water, and not a dry thread about them save for the blankets stowed in the waterproof haversacks.

When the rain passed away, the two scouts, who had been tramping steadily along without growling at the weather, stopped and looked at each other, leaning on their sticks.

'Well, Chippy,' laughed Dick, 'we look like a pair of drowned rats.'

'That's about it, Dick,' grunted the Raven, and tried to do a step or two of a dance. This set the water bubbling out over the tops of his shoes.

'We must dry ourselves somehow or other,' went on Dick. 'You know, B. P. says it's jolly dangerous to go on in your wet clothes.'

'Sat under a waggon wi' nuthin' on while he dried 'em when he'd been wet,' quoted Chippy.

'And you remember his dodge for drying his toggery?' said Dick.

'Rather,' returned the Raven; 'fire under a cage o' sticks.'

'Right,' said Dick; 'and there's a copse ahead. We'll halt in it, and dry ourselves.'

They marched briskly for the copse, hung their haversacks on the branch of a small, low-growing oak, and went to work at building a fire. It was no easy task, but by searching in corners where thick bushes had turned aside the worst of the downpour, they found odd handfuls of dry stuff to start their blaze. Luckily the matches had been in Dick's haversack, and were perfectly dry. A small dead larch afforded them twigs and sticks when once the fire was started, and Dick chopped the dead tree into small, handy pieces, and fed the flames with them. They did not want a lasting fire, but a heap of hot ashes, and this would be soonest afforded by small pieces of wood.

While Dick was busy with the tomahawk, Chippy attacked a thicket of tall, straight-growing hazels with his knife, and cut an armful of the springy rods. As soon as the fire burned down, the boys took the rods, sharpened each end, took an end each, bent the rod into an arch, and drove the ends deeply into the soft earth. In this way they had soon covered the fire in, as it were, with a great basket. Then they stripped off their sodden raiment, wrung it out, and spread it over the bent hazel-rods to dry.

The excellence of the plan was soon manifest. Clouds of steam began to rise from the wet clothes, and promised that they would soon be dry. But it was cool after the rain, and the clothes hid the fire, and the scouts felt no inclination to sit under a waggon, as their great leader had done; they felt more inclined to move about a little to warm themselves.

'It's jolly cold compared with the heat before the thunderstorm,' said Dick.

'Ain't it?' said Chippy. 'I'll race ye to th' end o' the copse an' back. That'll warm us a bit.'

'Right,' said Dick. 'Let's cut along where the larches and firs are. It'll be fun sprinting over the fir-needles, and soft to the feet. Where do we run to?'

'The big beech yonder,' said the Raven. 'I'll count. We'll go at three.'

He counted, and away bounded the two scouts, racing at their fastest for the big beech which they were to touch, then to return to their fire.

Now, the last thing they expected to have was a witness of their race. They believed that the copse was a lonely patch of wood on the lonely heath. So it was, save for one house which lay just beyond the wood where the ridge sloped away to the south. The house was that of a sheep-farmer, whose flocks fed over the moorland; and as the boys raced through the little wood, the shepherd left the farmsteading, where he had been sheltering from the storm, and came up through the copse to go about his business.

The scouts did not see him, but he saw the scouts. For a few moments he watched the race, his mouth gaping wide in true rustic wonder; then he turned, and hastily retraced his steps to the farm. He burst into the kitchen, where the farmer and his wife were seated at a round table in front of the wide hearth, taking their tea.

'Maister! maister!' cried the shepherd, 'theer's two bwoys a-runnin' about i' the copse wi' ne'er a stitch on 'em.'

'What's that ye say, Diggory?' cried the farmer's wife.

'Ne'er a stitch on 'em, missis, a-runnin' about there like two pixies, they be. A' niver seed such a sight afore in a Christian land. 'Tis like haythens, on'y they be white uns 'stead o' black uns.'

'What do ye make of it, Tom?' said the farmer's wife to her husband.

'Maybe 'tis nought but his simple-minded talk,' replied the farmer, taking a huge bite out of a slice of bread-and-butter.

'No, maister,' cried the shepherd. ''Tis Gospel true, ivery word. Ne'er a stitch on 'em.' And he waved his left hand like an orator.

Suddenly an angry flush sprang to the farmer's face, and he stood up.

'Then, 'tis gipsies!' he cried.

'I dunno,' said the shepherd. 'Brown they hain't, but white as milk.'

'I'll mark their white for 'em,' cried the farmer; and stepping quickly to the wall, he seized a long cart-whip which hung there, and strode from the house.

For years there had been a bitter feud between the sheep-farmer and a large family of gipsies of the name of King. The Kings went about the country in several small bands, and for generations the copse had been a favourite halting-place. But one spring the farmer lost some lambs, and was persuaded that the gipsies had been at the bottom of his loss. So he forbade them the use of the copse, and drove them out whenever he found they had dared to pitch their camp there. He was a hasty-tempered man, utterly fearless and quite unforgiving, so that a regular war had sprung up between himself and the Kings. Now he was persuaded that his enemies had sought the shelter of his copse, and he was off at once to attack them.

He arrived on the scene to find the scouts turning their clothes. Instead of heathens, they now looked like Red Indians; for they had remembered the dry blankets in the haversacks, had taken them out, and were wrapped in them like a pair of braves.

They saw nothing of the angry farmer till he burst upon them through a thicket of brambles within a dozen yards of the fire, so busy were they with turning their steaming clothes.

The farmer's wrath rose higher at sight of the steam and smoke. A fire was the very thing he had defied the gipsies again and again to make on his land. He cracked his whip with a vicious snap, and rushed upon the scouts.

'I'll larn ye to make a fire on my land arter the many times I've a-warned ye,' he bellowed.

The attack and the outcry were both so sudden that the scouts were taken by surprise. Dick was on the side of the rush. He saw that an onslaught was meant, though he knew not why, and grabbed at his staff. He forgot to keep hold of the blanket, and it slid to the ground, and left him defenceless. Down came the hissing thong, and wrapped itself right round him, a regular rib-binder.

A yell of pain burst from the Wolf's lips; then he shut his teeth tight. The surprise had forced that first cry from him, and he did not intend to utter another. But the whip was already hissing through the air, and flight was the only thing possible; he made a spring clean across the heap of drying clothes, and fled.

'Tom, Tom,' panted a shrill voice behind, 'why will ye be so franzy? These be no gipsy lads. Look at their clothes a-dryin'!'

The farmer's wife, well knowing her husband's impetuous temper, had followed up, and at sight of her Dick tucked himself away behind a wide-stemmed beech.

The farmer looked down at the heap of steaming clothes, and was struck with the force of his wife's remark.

'Why, 'tis a sort o' uniform,' he muttered.

'O' course it's a uniform,' cried Chippy, who had stood his ground wrapped in his blanket and flourishing the tomahawk. 'It's the uniform o' Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts, an' what ye want to come 'ere for an' fetch my mate one acrost the ribs I'm blest if I know.'

'Bring my blanket here, Chippy,' called out Dick from his refuge. 'I dropped it in my hurry.'

'Why, ye see, I thought 'twor gipsy tramps startin' a fire in this copse, an' I've forbid it,' said the farmer slowly, scratching his head, and gradually getting hold of the idea that he had made a full-sized mistake.

'Tramps!' snorted Chippy in scorn, taking Dick's blanket, and marching across to his friend. 'D'ye reckon we look like tramps?' He simply bellowed the question, for he was immensely proud of his new scout's uniform, and quite forgot that at present he was arrayed only in a blanket.

'They've been in the wet, and they're dryin' their clothes,' went on the farmer's wife. 'Come home, Tom, an' leave 'em be; they'll do no harm.'

The farmer was already regretting his hasty blow, but, being a man who could never be made to express the opinion that he was in the wrong, he said nothing, merely turned away, and beat a retreat.

'Here's your blanket, Dick,' said the Raven. 'I felt ready, I can tell ye, to chuck the chopper at that confounded old hayseed of a farmer.'

'He did fetch me one for luck,' said Dick, rubbing the weal which now began to show up on his body. 'It seems we're trespassing.'

'Not to do any harm,' growled the Raven. 'But he's off now; the wife's fetchin' him away. She seems a good sort.'

The two scouts went back to their fire, and again turned the clothes, which were drying fast. Before long they were able to dress again, and march on their way.