



Produced by David Widger





SLAIN BY THE DOONES.

by R. D. Blackmore

Copyright: Dodd, Mead And Company, 1895




CHAPTER I--AFTER A STORMY LIFE.

To hear people talking about North Devon, and the savage part called
Exmoor, you might almost think that there never was any place in
the world so beautiful, or any living men so wonderful. It is not my
intention to make little of them, for they would be the last to permit
it; neither do I feel ill will against them for the pangs they allowed
me to suffer; for I dare say they could not help themselves, being so
slow-blooded, and hard to stir even by their own egrimonies. But when I
look back upon the things that happened, and were for a full generation
of mankind accepted as the will of God, I say, that the people who
endured them must have been born to be ruled by the devil. And in
thinking thus I am not alone; for the very best judges of that day
stopped short of that end of the world, because the law would not go any
further. Nevertheless, every word is true of what I am going to tell,
and the stoutest writer of history cannot make less of it by denial.

My father was Sylvester Ford of Quantock, in the county of Somerset,
a gentleman of large estate as well as ancient lineage. Also of high
courage and resolution not to be beaten, as he proved in his many rides
with Prince Rupert, and woe that I should say it! in his most sad death.
To this he was not looking forward much, though turned of threescore
years and five; and his only child and loving daughter, Sylvia, which
is myself, had never dreamed of losing him. For he was exceeding fond of
me, little as I deserved it, except by loving him with all my heart and
thinking nobody like him. And he without anything to go upon, except
that he was my father, held, as I have often heard, as good an opinion
of me.

Upon the triumph of that hard fanatic, the Brewer, who came to a timely
end by the justice of high Heaven--my father, being disgusted with
England as well as banished from her, and despoiled of all his property,
took service on the Continent, and wandered there for many years, until
the replacement of the throne. Thereupon he expected, as many others
did, to get his states restored to him, and perhaps to be held in high
esteem at court, as he had a right to be. But this did not so come
to pass. Excellent words were granted him, and promise of tenfold
restitution; on the faith of which he returned to Paris, and married a
young Italian lady of good birth and high qualities, but with nothing
more to come to her. Then, to his great disappointment, he found
himself left to live upon air--which, however distinguished, is not
sufficient--and love, which, being fed so easily, expects all who lodge
with it to live upon itself.

My father was full of strong loyalty; and the king (in his value of that
sentiment) showed faith that it would support him. His majesty took
both my father's hands, having learned that hearty style in France, and
welcomed him with most gracious warmth, and promised him more than he
could desire. But time went on, and the bright words faded, like a rose
set bravely in a noble vase, without any nurture under it.

Another man had been long established in our hereditaments by the
Commonwealth; and he would not quit them of his own accord, having a
sense of obligation to himself. Nevertheless, he went so far as to offer
my father a share of the land, if some honest lawyers, whom he quoted,
could find proper means for arranging it. But my father said: "If I
cannot have my rights, I will have my wrongs. No mixture of the two for
me." And so, for the last few years of his life, being now very poor
and a widower, he took refuge in an outlandish place, a house and small
property in the heart of Exmoor, which had come to the Fords on
the spindle side, and had been overlooked when their patrimony was
confiscated by the Brewer. Of him I would speak with no contempt,
because he was ever as good as his word.

In the course of time, we had grown used to live according to our
fortunes. And I verily believe that we were quite content, and
repined but little at our lost importance. For my father was a very
simple-minded man, who had seen so much of uproarious life, and the
falsehood of friends, and small glitter of great folk, that he was glad
to fall back upon his own good will. Moreover he had his books, and me;
and as he always spoke out his thoughts, he seldom grudged to thank the
Lord for having left both of these to him. I felt a little jealous of
his books now and then, as a very poor scholar might be; but reason is
the proper guide for women, and we are quick enough in discerning it,
without having to borrow it from books.

At any rate now we were living in a wood, and trees were the only
creatures near us, to the best of our belief and wish. Few might say in
what part of the wood we lived, unless they saw the smoke ascending from
our single chimney; so thick were the trees, and the land they stood
on so full of sudden rise and fall. But a little river called the Lynn
makes a crooked border to it, and being for its size as noisy a water as
any in the world perhaps, can be heard all through the trees and leaves
to the very top of the Warren Wood. In the summer all this was sweet
and pleasant; but lonely and dreary and shuddersome, when the twigs bore
drops instead of leaves, and the ground would not stand to the foot, and
the play of light and shadow fell, like the lopping of a tree, into one
great lump.

Now there was a young man about this time, and not so very distant from
our place--as distances are counted there--who managed to make himself
acquainted with us, although we lived so privately. To me it was a
marvel, both why and how he did it; seeing what little we had to offer,
and how much we desired to live alone. But Mrs. Pring told me to look in
the glass, if I wanted to know the reason; and while I was blushing with
anger at that, being only just turned eighteen years, and thinking of
nobody but my father, she asked if I had never heard the famous rhymes
made by the wise woman at Tarrsteps:

          "Three fair maids live upon Exymoor,
          The rocks, and the woods, and the dairy-door.
          The son of a baron shall woo all three,
          But barren of them all shall the young man be."

Of the countless things I could never understand, one of the very
strangest was how Deborah Pring, our only domestic, living in the lonely
depths of this great wood, and seeming to see nobody but ourselves,
in spite of all that contrived to know as much of the doings of the
neighbourhood as if she went to market twice a week. But my father cared
little for any such stuff; coming from a better part of the world, and
having been mixed with mighty issues and making of great kingdoms, he
never said what he thought of these little combings of petty pie crust,
because it was not worth his while. And yet he seemed to take a kindly
liking to the young De Wichehalse; not as a youth of birth only, but
as one driven astray perhaps by harsh and austere influence. For his
father, the baron, was a godly man,--which is much to-the credit of
anyone, growing rarer and rarer, as it does,--and there should be no
rasp against such men, if they would only bear in mind that in their
time they had been young, and were not quite so perfect then. But lo!
I am writing as if I knew a great deal more than I could know until the
harrow passed over me.

No one, however, need be surprised at the favour this young man obtained
with all who came into his converse. Handsome, and beautiful as he was,
so that bold maids longed to kiss him, it was the sadness in his eyes,
and the gentle sense of doom therein, together with a laughing scorn of
it, that made him come home to our nature, in a way that it feels but
cannot talk of. And he seemed to be of the past somehow, although so
young and bright and brave; of the time when greater things were done,
and men would die for women. That he should woo three maids in vain, to
me was a stupid old woman's tale.

"Sylvia," my father said to me, when I was not even thinking of him, "no
more converse must we hold with that son of the Baron de Wichehalse. I
have ordered Pring to keep the door; and Mistress Pring, who hath the
stronger tongue, to come up if he attempted to dispute; the while I go
away to catch our supper."

He was bearing a fishing rod made by himself, and a basket strapped over
his shoulders.

"But why, father? Why should such a change be? How hath the young
gentleman displeased thee?" I put my face into his beard as I spoke,
that I might not appear too curious.

"Is it so?" he answered, "then high time is it. No more shall he enter
this "--_house_ he would have said, but being so truthful changed it
into--"hut. I was pleased with the youth. He is gentle and kind; but
weak--my dear child, remember that. Why are we in this hut, my dear? and
thou, the heiress of the best land in the world, now picking up sticks
in the wilderness? Because the man who should do us right is weak,
and wavering, and careth but for pleasure. So is this young Marwood de
Wichehalse. He rideth with the Doones. I knew it not, but now that I
know, it is enough."

My father was of tall stature and fine presence, and his beard shone
like a cascade of silver. It was not the manner of the young as yet to
argue with their elders, and though I might have been a little fluttered
by the comely gallant's lofty talk and gaze of daring melancholy, I said
good-bye to him in my heart, as I kissed my noble father. Shall I ever
cease to thank the Lord that I proved myself a good daughter then?




CHAPTER II.--BY A QUIET RIVER.

Living as we did all by ourselves, and five or six miles away from the
Robbers' Valley, we had felt little fear of the Doones hitherto, because
we had nothing for them to steal except a few books, the sight of which
would only make them swear and ride away. But now that I was full-grown,
and beginning to be accounted comely, my father was sometimes uneasy in
his mind, as he told Deborah, and she told me; for the outlaws showed
interest in such matters, even to the extent of carrying off young women
who had won reputation thus. Therefore he left Thomas Pring at home,
with the doors well-barred, and two duck guns loaded, and ordered me
not to quit the house until he should return with a creel of trout for
supper. Only our little boy Dick Hutchings was to go with him, to help
when his fly caught in the bushes.

My father set off in the highest spirits, as anglers always seem to do,
to balance the state in which they shall return; and I knew not, neither
did anyone else, what a bold stroke he was resolved upon. When it was
too late, we found out that, hearing so much of that strange race, he
desired to know more about them, scorning the idea that men of birth
could ever behave like savages, and forgetting that they had received
no chance of being tamed, as rough spirits are by the lessons of the
battlefield. No gentleman would ever dream of attacking an unarmed man,
he thought; least of all one whose hair was white. And so he resolved to
fish the brook which ran away from their stronghold, believing that he
might see some of them, and hoping for a peaceful interview.

We waited and waited for his pleasant face, and long, deliberate step
upon the steep, and cheerful shout for his Sylvia, to come and ease down
his basket, and say--"Well done, father!" But the shadows of the trees
grew darker, and the song of the gray-bird died out among them, and the
silent wings of the owl swept by, and all the mysterious sounds of night
in the depth of forest loneliness, and the glimmer of a star through
the leaves here and there, to tell us that there still was light in
heaven--but of an earthly father not a sign; only pain, and long sighs,
and deep sinking of the heart.

But why should I dwell upon this? All women, being of a gentle and
loving kind,--unless they forego their nature,--know better than I at
this first trial knew, the misery often sent to us. I could not believe
it, and went about in a dreary haze of wonder, getting into dark places,
when all was dark, and expecting to be called out again and asked what
had made such a fool of me. And so the long night went at last, and no
comfort came in the morning. But I heard a great crying, sometime the
next day, and ran back from the wood to learn what it meant, for there
I had been searching up and down, not knowing whither I went or why. And
lo, it was little Dick Hutchings at our door, and Deborah Pring held him
by the coat-flap, and was beating him with one of my father's sticks.

"I tell 'ee, they Doo-uns has done for 'un," the boy was roaring betwixt
his sobs; "dree on 'em, dree on 'em, and he've a killed one. The squire
be layin' as dead as a sto-un."

Mrs. Pring smacked him on the mouth, for she saw that I had heard it.
What followed I know not, for down I fell, and the sense of life went
from me.

There was little chance of finding Thomas Pring, or any other man to
help us, for neighbours were none, and Thomas was gone everywhere he
could think of to look for them. Was I likely to wait for night again,
and then talk for hours about it? I recovered my strength when the sun
went low; and who was Deborah Pring, to stop me? She would have come,
but I would not have it; and the strength of my grief took command of
her.

Little Dick Hutchings whistled now, I remember that he whistled, as he
went through the wood in front of me. Who had given him the breeches on
his legs and the hat upon his shallow pate? And the poor little coward
had skiddered away, and slept in a furze rick, till famine drove him
home. But now he was set up again by gorging for an hour, and chattered
as if he had done a great thing.

There must have been miles of rough walking through woods, and tangles,
and craggy and black boggy hollows, until we arrived at a wide open
space where two streams ran into one another.

"Thic be Oare watter," said the boy, "and t'other over yonner be
Badgefry. Squire be dead up there; plaise, Miss Sillie, 'ee can goo
vorrard and vaind 'un."

He would go no further; but I crossed the brook, and followed the
Badgery stream, without knowing, or caring to know, where I was. The
banks, and the bushes, and the rushing water went by me until I came
upon--but though the Lord hath made us to endure such things, he hath
not compelled us to enlarge upon them.

In the course of the night kind people came, under the guidance of
Thomas Pring, and they made a pair of wattles such as farmers use for
sheep, and carried home father and daughter, one sobbing and groaning
with a broken heart, and the other that should never so much as sigh
again. Troubles have fallen upon me since, as the will of the Lord is
always; but none that I ever felt like that, and for months everything
was the same to me.

But inasmuch as it has been said by those who should know better,
that my father in some way provoked his merciless end by those vile
barbarians, I will put into plainest form, without any other change,
except from outlandish words, the tale received from Dick Hutchings,
the boy, who had seen and heard almost everything while crouching in the
water and huddled up inside a bush.

"Squire had catched a tidy few, and he seemed well pleased with himself,
and then we came to a sort of a hollow place where one brook floweth
into the other. Here he was a-casting of his fly, most careful, for if
there was ever a trout on the feed, it was like to be a big one, and
lucky for me I was keeping round the corner when a kingfisher bird flew
along like a string-bolt, and there were three great men coming round a
fuzz-bush, and looking at squire, and he back to them. Down goes I, you
may say sure enough, with all of me in the water but my face, and that
stuck into a wutts-clump, and my teeth making holes in my naked knees,
because of the way they were shaking.

"'Ho, fellow!' one of them called out to squire, as if he was no better
than father is, 'who give thee leave to fish in our river?'

"'Open moor,' says squire, 'and belongeth to the king, if it belongeth
to anybody. Any of you gentlemen hold his majesty's warrant to forbid an
old officer of his?'

"That seemed to put them in a dreadful rage, for to talk of a warrant
was unpleasant to them.

"'Good fellow, thou mayest spin spider