Part 40 (2/2)
”As well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb,” hiccuped Blinkey, as he rushed through the yard with a lighted brand. I tried to stop him, but fell on my face in the deep straw, and got round the barns to the rick-yard just in time to here a crackle--there was no mistaking it; the windward stack was in a blaze of fire.
I stood awe-struck--I cannot tell how long--watching how the live flame-snakes crept and hissed, and leapt and roared, and rushed in long horizontal jets from stack to stack before the howling wind, and fastened their fiery talons on the barn-eaves, and swept over the peaked roofs, and hurled themselves in fiery flakes into the yard beyond--the food of man, the labour of years, devoured in aimless ruin!--Was it my doing? Was it not?
At last I recollected myself, and ran round again into the straw-yard, where the fire was now falling fast. The only thing which saved the house was the weltering ma.s.s of bullocks, pigs, and human beings drunk and sober, which, trampled out unwittingly the flames as fast as they caught.
The fire had seized the roofs of the cart-stables, when a great lubberly boy blubbered out:--
”Git my horses out! git my horses out o' the fire! I be so fond o' mun!”
”Well, they ain't done no harm, poor beasts!” And a dozen men ran in to save them; but the poor wretches, screaming with terror, refused to stir. I never knew what became of them-but their shrieks still haunt my dreams....
The yard now became a pandemonium. The more ruffianly part of the mob--and alas! there were but too many of them--hurled the furniture out of the windows, or ran off with anything that they could carry. In vain I expostulated, threatened; I was answered by laughter, curses, frantic dances, and brandished plunder. Then I first found out how large a portion of rascality shelters itself under the wing of every crowd; and at the moment, I almost excused the rich for overlooking the real sufferers, in indignation at the rascals. But even the really starving majority, whose faces proclaimed the grim fact of their misery, seemed gone mad for the moment. The old crust of sullen, dogged patience had broken up, and their whole souls had exploded into reckless fury and brutal revenge--and yet there was no hint of violence against the red fat woman, who, surrounded with her blubbering children, stood screaming and cursing at the first-floor window, getting redder and fatter at every scream. The worst personality she heard was a roar of laughter, in which, such is poor humanity, I could not but join, as her little starved drab of a maid-of-all-work ran out of the door, with a bundle of stolen finery under her arm, and high above the roaring of the flames, and the shouts of the rioters, rose her mistress's yell.
”O Betsy! Betsy! you little awdacious unremorseful hussy!--a running away with my best bonnet and shawl!”
The laughter soon, however, subsided, when a man rushed breathless into the yard, shouting, ”The yeomanry!”
At that sound; to my astonishment, a general panic ensued. The miserable wretches never stopped to enquire how many, or how far off, they were--but scrambled to every outlet of the yard, trampling each other down in their hurry. I leaped up on the wall, and saw, galloping down the park, a mighty armament of some fifteen men, with a tall officer at their head, mounted on a splendid horse.
”There they be! there they be! all the varmers, and young Squire Clayton wi' mun, on his grey hunter! O Lord! O Lord! and all their swords drawn!”
I thought of the old story in Herodotus--how the Scythian masters returned from war to the rebel slaves who had taken possession of their lands and wives, and brought them down on their knees with terror, at the mere sight of the old dreaded dog-whips.
I did not care to run. I was utterly disgusted, disappointed with myself--the people. I longed, for the moment, to die and leave it all; and left almost alone, sat down on a stone, buried my head between my hands, and tried vainly to shut out from my ears the roaring of the fire.
At that moment ”Blinkey” staggered out past me and against me, a writing-desk in his hands, shouting, in his drunken glory, ”I've vound ut at last! I've got the old fellow's money! Hus.h.!.+ What a vule I be, hollering like that!”--And he was going to sneak off, with a face of drunken cunning, when I sprung up and seized him by the throat.
”Rascal! robber! lay that down! Have you not done mischief enough already?”
”I wain't have no sharing. What? Do you want un yourself, eh? Then we'll see who's the stronger!”
And in an instant he shook me from him, and dealt me a blow with the corner of the desk, that laid me on the ground....
I just recollect the tramp of the yeomanry horses, and the gleam and jingle of their arms, as they galloped into the yard. I caught a glimpse of the tall young officer, as his great grey horse swept through the air, over the high yard-pales--a feat to me utterly astonis.h.i.+ng. Half a dozen long strides--the wretched ruffian, staggering across the field with his booty, was caught up.--The clear blade gleamed in the air--and then a fearful yell--and after that I recollect nothing.
Slowly I recovered my consciousness. I was lying on a truckle-bed--stone walls and a grated window! A man stood over me with a large bunch of keys in his hand. He had been wrapping my head with wet towels. I knew, instinctively, where I was.
”Well, young man,” said he, in a not unkindly tone--”and a nice job you've made of it! Do you know where you are?”.
”Yes,” answered I, quietly; ”in D * * * * gaol.”
”Exactly so!”
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE TRIAL.
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