The Storyteller.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2389, 2 January 1909, Page 12 (Supplement)

The Storyteller.

ONE OF DICK HURDLE’S GOOD STORIES. TOLD BY HIS OWN FIRESIDE, DECEMBER 31st., 190— .

(By Battie Hawkins.)

Dirty weather heaved -up round the foot of the sunset, and blowing broadside along cannoned the New Year Eve with a deluge, the darkness of which was almost like that of a coal mine. Never the less, by half-past ten some neighbors had dropped- in for a pipe—and a glass with Dick Hurdle, the veteran huntsman of a certain light attic pack whoso country can be seen any day from the cap of the Worcestershire Beacon. Dick Hurdle’s fireside was evbr a. pleasant enough place to pass a square hour in; 10-uight it was at its best. A roaring wood fire lapped long tongues up the chimney, while warmly reflecting itself on the wrinkled cheeks of the ruddy hunters mildly smoking their pipes, and on the beaming face of the stout little person, who dropped in for.an hour before conducting a peal of bells that should greet the New Year with goodwill. On a mat on the hearth a very old foxhound lay sleeping ; sometimes his hollow flanks panted with dreams of the chase, and lire throat hoarsely gave a somnolent note of hound music. On Dick Hurdle’s knee, the one nearest the fire, a black eat crouched blinking, and relieving (xcessive comfort by a soft monotonous purring.

• Sometimes <a pipe was emptied, pitpat on the firedogs,, sometimes a

branch of torn ivy thrashed the cottage casement like the whip of a passing rider, sometimes a breaking billow of wind thundered over the cottage like blazing guns of artillery; while uninterrupted through all, murmured the sing-song Worcestershire tongues of the old sporting ’fellows gathered in Dick’s hospitable kitchen, cheerily to greet the New Year, am an silence to drink to the death of the ©ld one.

Then, just as the grandfather’s clock, with a fox's mask on its bonnet, struck harshly eleven, Dick Hurdle’s pretty young granddaughter came to watch with him and his guests the Old Year out and the New \ear in.. She curtsied, and blushed ,and sat on .a footstool at his knee, and folded his wrinkled hand. Then the jolly-faced parson shifted his*pipe, and spoke thus to ids host s -pretty granddaughter : •‘What say you, my girl, to one of your granddad’s good stories? If the kindest lips in the company ask one, verily, he cannot say nay.” The -girl flushed quickly, but neither with sensitive vanity . nor tnniclenly shyness: there was sporting blood in her veins, and-the parson’s suggestion had touched it. Leaning forward, she eagerly -asked:

“Indeed, sir, I would like him ttoll that one where ho on th •mare jumps the pike-gate shoutin; ‘Yo-o-ick, Bello Barlow.’ ”

Pick chuckled, well pleased, and while stroking her hair replied thus: “The lass means that gallop o’ Lord Charlie’s and mine as scared two or three out ’o bed, come forty year b ick next time my old clock strikes. Ay, .av, ’twas a dare-devil gallop”— then, while pulling the tip of one weather-tanned ear, and .gazing reflectively into the fire, he .added'with emphasis—“ Damn me if it wasn’t!” “H’ml” coughed the parson—such being his habitual protest against oaths. Then he slapped one kilce •and shouted with gusto, “Take me for the Tope if the story won’t lit in the hour like a fish an the sea; i or to recall any famous event on its own anniversary is as admirable outside the church as in.” Then Dick was right pleased, but tried to look modest, and said, “Well, well, sir, I can’t say as ibis Lordship and me ever took our gallop to be what you call famous, , yet there’s no gainsaying as it saved a good pack of bounds to this part of the country, and begot some ; o the prettiest runs as ever a man sat down in his saddle or stood alp in his stirrups for.” The parson replied, “And, verily, I 'say, that in serving your sport you have served well your country.” “That may be,” Dick answered, “for gad, sir, I take it there’s no better ‘walk’ for the whelps ’o our ► ation than such as. wc hunters can give ’em, when the winter winds, soft as a lassie’s hair, the pasture like sponge, and the .quarry in front as grey at the tip as a badger.” ‘ ‘Here! here! ” assented the p arson. ' ' .“ ’Ere! ’ere!” echoed ‘all the .old. neighbors, and solemnly • lifted their glasses. ’ Then Dick called out, “Aye, lads, and you, sir, fill tip, and no heeltaps, and a health .to the .-sport os breeds a good man to serve a good country.”- a . When the toast was accomplished the pretty young granddaughter leaned from her.'footstool: “This is- sill very nice, but when shall wc get the story?” she saucily querried. . ' . Dick was well pleased at her eager- „ noss.. “That’s- right, my girl,” said he.; “always stick to,flic first .scent . jjsioiigas it runs above ground.” -....

He spoke the last.few words with vigor .unusual, and one of the guests, who had even been known as “a handy chap with a spade,” grinned a good-humored peccavi. And now Dick emptied his pipe; and prepared for his story. ** “But first,” slid he, “let’s have another stick oil the fire. Gad, how the rain spits down on’t! This time forty year back there was no wind; no, rain, only coldness —bitter coldness, but no frost; gad, if there had been, his lordship and me might have broken our’osses’ backs and our own in the caper wo went through.” Then the company* 4 settled down to hear a story .all had heard before, but which -all agreed could well afford to bo heard full many a time. ■»« * * *

“ ’Tis nigh fifty year,” began Dick, “since I was made second whip to the pack, in tho days who Squire Onslow was master —a liberal gentleman who worked up tho hunt - hisselfj and troubled little about, subscriptions. Though, maybe, this was Hobson’s choice, for tho country in cur parts was then as poor as a Essex farmer; .and as for Lord Charlie, God bless him! he never had more than too little for the keep ’o one decent couple ’o hunters. 'But the squire seemed always glad enough to ease his own purse on the sport, aud soon after I’d become whip he’d drafted into our kennels some of tho very host blood in the lrngdom. Then we was proud o’ our hounds —real jiroud, when, all o’ a sudden, came a bolt from tho ’blue.

‘Come forty year back this New Year’s Eve, I was tucking up the old-un, he was getting then ancient and cranky, and I’d just given him his grog in bed, when a handful o’ gravel came up, soft and shy, on the window.

“ ‘Now what’s the game?’ croaked the old-un, suspicious like, 'for the start I gave him told him the tiling as his deaf ears couldn’t be hearing. “I looked out and there was Lord Charlie beckoning like mad in the moonlight.

“■‘lt’s no game,’ said I, ‘but only Lord Charlie wanting me quick.’ “ ‘Then don’t let un want long,’ croaked the old-un

“Ay. ay, it was ever so, all on us would serve penniless Lord Charlie to the death, just for a breeze o’ his beautiful voice, a glance o’ his nierrv blue eye.

•Ho down I went,'and found him off bis ’oss, leaning over the garden gate. - “ ‘There’s the devil.,abroad,’ blurts he, in a whisper, ‘and .unless you and me, Dick, cm do summat uncommon smart to-night, there won’t be a good hound left in the kennels to-morrow. “If a ’oss had pitched me into cold water in the heat o’ a run I couldn’t have lost my wind any quicker. While I stood open-moutlied in my wonder his lordship, wont on :

“ ‘The squire is in a confounded fix, and tho only way out seems to bo the sale o’ the best o’ the hounds. A. chap as will raise him the money ho wants Is coming for them in the

morning.

“ ‘Oh, lor, can’t tho missus do nothing?’ groaned I. For I loved them hounds very dear. “ ‘You should sec her trying,’ said • Ids lordship; then, very soft, ‘I shall never forget this evening, Dick — never. While the squire isjocked in his library, sobbing lik a child for the hounds he loves, and" writing notes o’ explanation round to the hunt as i-s too poor to help him, she, pretty creature stands besides his ■door, wringing her hands, and praying through the keyhole that he will “please take her jewels,” because his happiness, is more to her than “a hundred, hundred necklaces.” ’ “‘A right royal lady!’ cried 1, boyishlike —‘a right royal lady I’ “ ‘But the squire is as firm ..as a rock,’ his lordship went on. ‘He’ll pay his own debts, says he, and let no woman do ’t for him! And so, when I was leaving,. Mrs. Onslow comes to me in the hall, and says this, “If-in the morning there’s never a hound -in the kennels, my husband will take my jewels to keep bis word that is given, and all will be well.” Then, Dick,’ said his lordship, ‘I held her hand, and accepted the task. And —how there’s .another man wanted.’

“My throat was too , choky for much speechifying. “‘Where’s the order, my lord? Here’s the man,’ I said, short-like.. “ ‘lt must be a drag,’ said he, just as short, ‘and you on the grey mare must run it. Then make me a parson if snow doesn’t fall before midnight- and hide every trace of us.’ “ ‘The squire ’ull sack me, for sure,’ -said I, rather mournful; ‘but I’ll do it, .and maybe he’ll thank me one day, for the sake o’ -good sport and good meaning.’ “.‘Then bo down the lane by the kennels at eleven, and sharp,’ said his lordship, ‘and let the drag be strong at the ditch, for that’s where I’ll put on the hounds. And when somewhere behind the hedge you hear lue whisper ’’Bello Barlow,” make steady and straight for “The Folly’ r a-top.o’ Cors Hill. There my manull . be waiting snug, with -gruel and litter- forfi .bound and horse, and

victual and grog for we two: And f’ve made it all right at'the old pike-

gate, whioh ’ull open quick enough for you and me "and the hounds, but slow enough for the squire, if he should scent us and follow. And the signal to tell ye all’s well behind shall bo three cracks o’ my pocket pistol.’ “But my ’faco at this time was a blazo o’ rago at summat his lordship had said. ‘Why is tho signal whisper to be “Bello , Barlow ?” ’ I growled, and my limbs trembled, and piy fingers curled, in liko the limbs of a creature .gathering to spring.

“But his lordship laughed soft, and striking a match in" tiny moonlight

held it . close to the white of his linen cuff, saying, . ‘Here’s your order, Dick, written plain in a deuced neat little hand. Como, read it ,for, after all, my... order .comes only secondhand.’

“I growled the fiercer. ‘l’ve changed my mind, and- won’t have nothing to do with disobeying the . squire. A man. has a right to do as he will with his own. Let the squire sell ’em.’ “But his lordship only laughed softer, and with another lighted match at liis cuff said, ‘Mrs. Onslow s maid sent this message here on mv sleeve Dick —wrote it herself, you know; they why won’t you read it?’ “I looked down fast enough then. And there, on the white of tho linen, was written in pencil: ‘Save the hounds, Dick, and one day the master will thank you, and so will the mistress, and so will —Belle Barlow.’ “Tingling all over with love of the girl - and lust of the venture, I ups like the young blood I was, and ‘May I never marry Belle Barlow,’ says I, ‘if the hounds overtakes me tonight.’ “On the stroko of eleven, while the moon was mounting her highest, I walked the grey mare down the lane. by the kennels. She was swinging herself like a greyhound, and getting impatient of loitering; while my ears had the skin off ’em listening to hear that honey-sweet whisper ‘Bello Barlow.’ Then, all of a sudden, .1 heard it just above the hedge. • “I turned tho mare’s head, and lifted her into a quiet canter, holding her steady. For Cors Hill was a-good nine miles away, and ~ the mare’s best style, sober start, rattling finish. “Never was she more full o’ her own quicksilver; ready to leap and stay for a night, but only to race for a short ten Thinutes. Tucking her hind legs under her girth, and her forefeet, out broad and easy, she went along like a rocking-chair, playing ah the time with her snaffle ; while I listened, and listened, to hear tho first whimper o’ hound as ’ud mean us to bustle along. “AYe was bound to pass through the street o’ Ledbury, but the folks tlicie was either to bed, or busy a New Year feasting; they took no notice o’ us, though wo made a bit o’ a

clatter. “Clap, clap, went the shoes o’ the mare on the old-fashioned cobble. (Jlap, clap, echoed all the old houses. Yet no one looked out, as I seed, save one'dame, and she with her head through a window screams, ‘Hie, hie! a birth or a death, young man—it’s no matter which. Hie, hie, here’s old Ann Gampy awake in her nightcap, -and ready for either.’ “I shouted hack saiicy and impudent, lor, gad, I was hub a boy. “ ‘Gramercy!’ I heard her cry then, ‘it’s none but the devil: may Ins nag go lame afore morning!’. “As though' the mare heard the bad wish she tossed her head and went prouder. '~- : “Aaad now came the ravenous whimper of hound, soundiiag shrill on on tile cold air. Tho mare heard it too, and blew out her nostrils with joy, and showed by the toss o’ the rein as she- puzzled a bit at running afore ’em instead o’ behind. Howsoever, I whispered, ‘All’s right,’ and she took it for gospeL “We’d topped a small hill when I looked back to see the promise o’ snow as Lord Charlie had prophesied. And I muttered '.Hurra,’ as from the west to north not a star could be seen' But the moon at her highest a-shining before us was bright as the white o’ Belle’s eye. “Then I stood up to listen the better, and slowed in the mare, and felt on my teeth the bitter breath o’ snow as was coming. A moment or so and, then, brittle and sharp, came the three quick cracks o’ Lord Charlie’s pistol. “The hounds was safe off, and Lord Charlie behind ’em. .

“Then over the mare I leaned, and told her the task. With a blow o’ the

nostrils she flung herself out. ..She cl;ug her toes into the hills going up, sin? spread out her ‘breast going dowai ’em, and safe on the level she played with her snaffle. So we left six mile and a half behind us.

“-Now closer —too close to our heels, came the clamoring hounds, the beauties had gained on us breasting a pitch—and were gaining. I lifted the mare to ,a thundering gallop down the long, straight road that leads to the pike-gate. For didn’t 'I - know- a chock could spoil everything- when the •squire, in his honesty, might be after us on one of his fleetest, God bless him ! .. ' - .

“Soon the soven-feet-tlirce white gate was in view—not open, but — shut, and no keeper anigli it. I saw it clean in the moonlight, and . yelled like the devil. Then, guessing the truth- —how the (fellow was - drank - o’' -tho money Lord Charlie had sont himj

and how a’-twould take—-well, Lord Charlie to wake him, and how tho keen beauties was well-nigh upon us — in' a jiffy I’d made vip my mind. “The pike-gate was high, but so was the marc’s 'reputation for jumping. My blood nan hot, but I kept •my bead cool, as down the slope wo swung like .' on© ..creature, tlio mare and me. ■ • ■'•

“And now, by the way she stiffened her'muscles and pricked her ears, I knew sho’d begun to sec and to measure lior task. 'ln the ’ cool, clear moonlight the bars o’ the gat© word plain as a hurdle in sunshine. : “Nearer we. bounded, and I gave her her head, for she was no youngling and her judgment was perfect. Not a sound did I make her-attention to take——not a whisper. I, just more than ever, made myself one with her — and now we were at it. - . ‘

“I caught my. breath, and leaned forward.

“She gathered herself. like the-rol-ling tide wave of the Severn. A thrill in the chest, a rush in the ears, and her big neck went up liko a beam towards heaven.

“ ‘Yo-o-ick, Bello Barlow !’ I holloaed like mad, —I shouted it up in tlic

“‘Yo-o-ick, Bello Barlow!’ All things the night seemed to echo, as the mare staggered forward a bit in' the mud of the'road, but righted hfirself with grand spirit.

“I stooped from the saddle, and kissed her hot neck as we galloped

along. “Then, in the distance, I heard Lord Charlie talking just soft like, to wake the old pike-keeper up. 1 grinned a hit, and on my hot Hips fell the first flake o’ snow. As we dropped along into the village o’ Stone, we saw the lights in the tower o’ the church,, and heard the chimes rush out, hailing the New Year in. . “Quicker, and quicker, the snow fell quiet and large as moon-daisies, and soon there was a white sheet on the ground over which the bold mare went as soft as a ghost. No tracing us now in the morning.

“I laughed out loud, riding on; huLslowed in the mare, and kept the 1 drag - close to the nose of the pack, now all the white stuff was a-floor.

“At last, blowing and sweating, wo scratched up the fide to ‘The Folly.’ And none too soon neither, for* the moon had gone out, and the night was growing .blinder each minute, and the snow .beginning to ball round the hoofs o’ the mare.

“Another five minutes, and she stood in the shed- o’ ‘The Folly,’ stretched out, with her quivering tail horizontal, and Lord Charlie s man a-zizzing and zizzing at he wliisped her down with a reverence begot of the tiling she had done at tho pikegate. * * • • *

Well, well, lads, and you, sir, the hounds was saved right enough, the last straggler coming up with Lord Charles close to his heels. “Then a few more minutes brought tho show high as a ’oss’s fetlock, and wc knew ourselves as safe as could be up there, in the hush o’ the whiteness, with plenty o’ victual and warmth for beast and man.

“And there we was snowed in for a week, -for never was such a fall in the country. ’Twas well for us as young Lord Charlie has sent up provisions to feast a small garrison, he having predicted the snow, and —as ho confessed to mo only t’other day, over a pipe and a glass in this hero cottage —having prayed hard for it as the one thing wanted to finish the saving o’ them hounds. “However, at the ond o’ a week the old squire managed to come -apounding up to ns, swearing as - a convict- gaol was too good for me, and a much worse place too good for Lord Charlie. But, bless your hearts ! the pretty young laaissus made everything right- 'for everybody. Her pearls paid the squire’s debts, after all, and in another year or two his busiiaess affairs were again as right as his heart.

“As for my rewards, they were the best heaven knew. First, I married Bello Barlow. Second, when the squire got stiff-like in the joints he made mo his huntsman.

J.‘And so, lads, and you, sir, the story is told and-done. Bat I shall never forget the night we saved them hounds—-never.

“'When all the creatures was littered and fed, aiad Lord Charlie and his man sitting down to talk it over, along o’ their japes and glasses, I just crept out into the white snow to think o’ ißeliie Barlow, who was waiting, not so .far away, either, to whisper—again—‘Well done.’ “And that—well, lads, and you sir*, that is the —end. *. * * * • *

“A very good story, and well told,” cried the .parson: “thank ye, Dick, heartily.” . “Then out all the: men went to Dick’s little garden, for the rain had passed, and the moon shone out of a clearing sky. And as the parson, high in the tower of his church, helped to jiiiH the first muffled knell of tile Old Year, .the veteran huntei's stood, hat in hand, silent. -But, on the first crashing chimes of . the New' Year, Dick squared his old shoulders and led a “View -Holloa” that for tlio moment drowneddho bells, and made the night, like the youth of bis lifeecho. "• -. ->: r