Jeremy sat on a high cliff overlooking the sea. He had never, since he was a tiny baby, had any fear of heights, and now his short, thick legs dangled1 over a fearful abyss in a way that would have caused his mother’s heart to go faint with terror had she seen it.
The sight before him was superb, not to be exceeded perhaps in the whole world for strength and even ferocity of outline combined with luxuriance and Southern softness of colour.
Here the two worlds met, the worlds of the north and the south; even in the early morning breeze there seemed to mingle2 the harsh irony3 of the high Glebeshire uplands and the gentle, caressing4 warmth of the sheltered coves5 and shell-scattered7 shores.
The sea was a vast curtain of silk, pale blue beyond the cove6, a deep and shining green in the depths immediately below Jeremy’s feet. That pale curtain was woven both of sea and sky, and seemed to quiver under the fingers of the morning breeze. It was suspended between two walls of sharp black rock, Jagged, ferocious8, ruthless. Sharp to Jeremy’s right, inside the black curve of stone, was a little beach of the palest yellow, and nestling on to it, standing9 almost within it, was a little old church with a crooked10 grey tower and a wandering graveyard11.
Behind the church stretched a lovely champaign of the gentlest, most English countryside: hills, green as brightly coloured glass, rising smoothly12 into the blue, little valleys thickly patched with trees, cottages from whose stumpy chimneys smoke was already rising, cows and sheep, and in the distance the joyful13 barking of a dog, the only sound in all that early scene save the curling whisper of the tide.
Jeremy had arrived with his family at Caerlyon Rectory the night before in a state of rebellious14 discontent. He had been disgusted when he heard that this summer they were to break the habit of years and to abandon his beloved cow farm in favour of a new camping ground.
And a rectory too! When they always lived so close to churches and had so eternally to do with them! No farm any more! No Mrs. Monk15, Mr. Monk and the little Monks16, no animals, no cows and pigs, no sheep and no horses; above all no Tim. No Tim with the red face and the strong legs; Tim, perhaps the best friend he had in the world, after, of course, Riley and Hamlet. He had felt it bitterly, and during that journey from Polchester to the sea, always hitherto so wonderful a journey, he had sulked and sulked, refusing to notice any of the new scenery, the novel excitements and fresh incidents (like the driving all the way, for instance, from St. Mary Moor17 in a big wagonette with farmers and their wives), lest he should be betrayed into any sort of disloyalty to his old friends.
The arrival at the Rectory, with its old walled garden, the flowers all glimmering18 in the dusk, the vast oak in the middle of the lawn, was, in spite of himself, an interesting experience, but he allowed no expression of amusement to escape from him and went to bed the moment after supper.
He awoke, of course, at a desperately19 early hour, and was compelled then to jump out of bed and look out of the window. He discovered to his excited amazement20 that the sea was right under his nose. This was marvellous to him.
At Cow Farm you could watch only a little cup of it between a dip in the trees, and that miles away. Here the garden seemed actually to border it, and you could watch it stretch with the black cliffs to the left of it, miles, miles, miles into the sky. The world was lovely at that hour; blackbirds and thrushes were on the dew-drenched lawn. Somewhere in the house a cuckoo-clock announced that it was just six o’clock. Before he knew what he was about he had slipped on his clothes, was down the dark stairs and out in the garden. . . .
As he sat dangling21 his feet above space and looked out to sea he argued with himself about Cow Farm. Of course Cow Farm would always be first, but that did not mean that other places could not be nice as well. He would never find anyone in Caerlyon as delightful22 as Tim, and if only Tim were here, everything would be perfect; but Tim could not, of course, be in two places at once, and he had to do his duty by the Monks.
As he sat there swinging his legs and looking down into that perfect green water, so clear that you could see gold and purple lights shifting beneath it and black lines of rock-like liquorice sticks twisting as the shadows moved, he was forced to admit to himself that he was terribly happy.
He had never lived close, cheek-by-jowl, with the sea, as he was doing now. The thought of five whole weeks spent thus on the very edge of the water made him wriggle23 his legs so that there was very real danger of his falling over. The juxtaposition24 of Hamlet who had, of course, followed him, saved him from further danger. He knew that he himself was safe and would never fall, but Hamlet was another matter and must be protected. The dog was perilously26 near the edge, balancing on his fore-feet and sniffing27 down; so the boy got up and dragged the dog back, and then lay down among the sea-pinks and the heather and looked up into the cloudless sky.
Hamlet rested his head on the fatty part of his master’s thigh28 and breathed deep content. He had come into some place where there wandered a new company of smells, appetizing, tempting29. Soon he would investigate them. For the present it was enough to lie warm with his master and dream.
Suddenly he was conscious of something. He raised his head, and Jeremy, feeling his withdrawal30, half sat up and looked about him. Facing them both were a group of giant boulders31, scattered there in the heather, and looking like some Druid circle of ancient stones. Hamlet was now on all fours, his tail up, his hair bristling33.
“It’s all right,” said Jeremy lazily. “There’s nobody there——” But even as he looked an extraordinary phenomenon occurred. There rose from behind the boulder32 a tangled34 head of hair, and beneath the hair a round, hostile face and two fierce interrogative eyes. Then, as though this were not enough, there arose in line with the first head a second, and with the second a third, and then with the third a fourth. Four round, bullet heads, four fierce, hostile pairs of eyes staring at Hamlet and Jeremy.
Jeremy stared back, feeling that here was some trick played upon him, as when the conjurer at Thompson’s had produced a pigeon out of a handkerchief. The trick effect was heightened by the fact that the four heads and the sturdy bodies connected with them were graduated in height to a nicety, as you might see four clowns at a circus, as were the four bears, a symmetry almost divine and quite unnatural35.
The eldest36, the fiercest and most hostile, had a face and shoulders that might belong to a boy of sixteen, the youngest and smallest might have been Jeremy’s age. Jeremy did not notice any of this. Very plain to him the fact that the four faces, to whomsoever they might belong, did not care either for him or his dog. One to four; he was in a situation of some danger. He was suddenly aware that he had never seen boys quite so ferocious in appearance; the street boys of Polchester were milk and water to them. Hamlet also felt this. He was sitting up, his head raised, his body stiff, intent, and you could feel within him the bark strangled by the melodrama37 of the situation.
Jeremy said rather feebly:
“Hullo!”
“Get out of this!”
Fear was in his heart; he was compelled afterwards to admit it. He could only reply very feebly:
“Why?”
The eldest of the party, glaring, replied:
“If you don’t, we’ll make you.” Then: “This is ours here.”
Hamlet was now quivering all over, and Jeremy was afraid lest he should make a dash for the boulders. He therefore climbed on to his feet, holding Hamlet’s collar with his hand, and, smiling, answered:
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’ve only just come.”
“Well, get out, then,” was the only reply.
What fascinated him like a dream was the way that the faces did not move nor more body reveal itself. Painted against the blue sky, they might have been, ferocious stares and all. There was nothing more to be done. He beat an inglorious retreat, not, indeed, running, but walking with what dignity he could summon, Hamlet at his side uttering noises like a kettle on the boil.
II
He had not to wait long for some explanation of the vision. At breakfast (and it was a wonderful breakfast, with more eggs and bacon, cream and strawberry jam than he had ever known) his father said:
“Now, children, there’s one thing here that you must remember. Jeremy, are you listening?”
“Yes, father.”
“Don’t speak with your mouth full. There’s a farm near the church on the sand. You can’t mistake it.”
“Is the farm on the sand, father?” asked Mary, her eyes wide open.
“No, of course not. How could a farm be on the sand? The farm-house stands back at the end of the path that runs by the church. It’s a grey farm with a high stone wall. You can’t mistake it. Well, none of you children are to go near that farm—on no account whatever, on no account whatever, to go near it.”
“Because I say so is quite enough,” said Mr. Cole. “There’s a family staying there you must have nothing at all to do with. Perhaps you will see them in the distance. You must avoid them and never speak to them.”
“Are they very wicked?” asked Mary, her voice vibrating low with the drama of the situation.
“Never mind what they are. They are not fit companions for you children. It is most unfortunate that they are here so close to us. Had I known it I would not, I think, have come here.”
Jeremy said nothing; these were, of course, his friends of the morning. He could see now straight across the breakfast-table those eight burning, staring eyes.
Later, from the slope of the green hill above the rectory, he looked across the gleaming beach at the church, the road, and then, in the distance, the forbidden farm. Strange how the forbidding of anything made one from the very bottom of one’s soul long for it! Yesterday, staring across the green slopes and hollows, the farm would have been but a grey patch sewn into the purple hill that hung behind it.
Now it was mysterious, crammed40 with hidden life of its own, the most dramatic point in the whole landscape. What had they done, that family that was so terrible? What was there about those four boys that he had never seen in any boys before? He longed to know them with a burning, desperate longing41. Nevertheless a whole week passed without any contact.
Once Jeremy saw, against the sky-line on the hill behind the church, a trail of four, single file, silhouetted42 black. They passed steadily43, secretly, bent44 on their own mysterious purposes. The sky, when their figures had left it, was painted with drama.
Once Mary reported that, wandering along the beach, a wild figure, almost naked, had started from behind a rock and shouted at her. She ran, of course, and behind her there echoed a dreadful laugh. But the best story of all was from Helen, who, passing the graveyard, had seen go down the road a most beautiful lady, most beautifully dressed. According to Helen, she was the most lovely lady ever seen, with jewels hanging from her ears, pearls round her neck, and her clothes a bright orange. She had walked up the road and gone through the gate into the farm.
The mystery would have excited them all even more than, in fact, it did had Caerlyon itself been less entrancing. But what Caerlyon turned out to be no words can describe! Those were the days, of course, before golf-links in Glebeshire, and although no one who has ever played on the Caerlyon links will ever wish them away (they, the handsomest, kindest, most fantastic sea links in all England), yet I will not pretend that those same green slopes, sliding so softly down to the sea-shore, bending back so gently to the wild mysteries of the Poonderry Moor, had not then a virgin45 charm that now they have lost! Who can decide?
But, for children thirty years ago, what a kingdom! Glittering with colour, they had the softness of a loving mother, the sudden, tumbled romance of an adventurous46 elder brother; they caught all the colours of the floating sky in their laps and the shadows flew like birds from shoulder to shoulder, and then suddenly the hills would shake their sides, and all those shadows would slide down to the yellow beach and lie there like purple carpets. You could race and race and never grow tired, lie on your back and stare into the fathomless47 sky, roll over for ever and come to no harm, wander and never be lost. The first gate of the kingdom and the last—the little golden square underneath48 the tower where the green witch has her stall of treasures that she never sells. . . .
III
Then the great adventure occurred. One afternoon the sun shone so gloriously that Jeremy was blinded by it, blinded and dream-smitten so that he sat, perched on the garden wall of the rectory, staring before him at the glitter and the sparkle, seeing nothing but, perhaps, a little boat of dark wood with a ruby49 sail floating out to the horizon, having on its boards sacks of gold and pearls and diamonds—gold in fat slabs50, pearls in white, shaking heaps, diamonds that put out the eyes, so bright they were—going . . . going . . . whither? He does not know, but shades his eyes against the sun and the boat has gone, and there is nothing there but an unbroken blue of sea with the black rocks fringing it.
Mary called up to him from the garden and suggested that they should go out and pick flowers, and, still in a dream, he climbed down from the wall and stood there nodding his head like a mandarin51. He suffered himself to be led by Mary into the high-road, only stopping for a moment to whistle for Hamlet, who came running across the lawn as though he had just been shot out of a cannon52.
It can have been only because he was sunk so deep in his dream that he wandered, without knowing it, down over the beach, jumping the hill-stream that intersected it, up the sand, past the church, out along the road that led straight to the forbidden farm. Nor was Mary thinking of their direction. She was having one of her happy days, her straw hat on the back of her head, her glasses full of sunlight, her stockings wrinkled about her legs, walking, her head in the air, singing one of her strange tuneless chants that came to her when she was happy.
There was a field on their right, and a break in the hedge. Through the break she saw buttercups—thousands of them—and loose-strife and snapdragons. She climbed the gate and vanished into the field. Jeremy walked on, scarcely realizing her absence. Suddenly he heard a scream. He stopped and Hamlet stopped, pricking53 up his ears. Another scream, then a succession, piercing and terrible.
Then over the field gate Mary appeared, tumbling over regardless of all audiences and proprieties54, then running, crying, “Jeremy! Jeremy! Jeremy!” buttercups scattering55 from her hand as she ran. Her face was one question-mark of terror; her hat was gone, her hair-ribbon dangling, her stockings about her ankles. All she could do was to cling to Jeremy crying, “Oh, oh, oh! . . . Ah, ah, ah!”
“What is it?” he asked roughly, his fear for her making him impatient. “Was it a bull?”
“No—no. . . . Oh, Jeremy! . . . Oh, dear, oh, dear! . . . The boys! . . . They hit me—pulled my hair!”
“What boys?” But already he knew.
Recovering a little, she told him. She had not been in the field a moment, and was bending down picking her first buttercups, when she felt herself violently seized from behind, her arms held; and, looking up, there were three boys standing there, all around her. Terrible, fierce boys, looking ever so wicked. They tore her hat off her head, pulled her hair, and told her to leave the field at once, never to come into it again, that it was their field, and she’d better not forget it, and to tell all her beastly family that they’d better not forget it either, and that they’d be shot if they came in there.
“Then they took me to the gate and pushed me over. They were very rough. I’ve got bruises56.” She began to cry as the full horror of the event broke upon her.
Jeremy’s anger was terrible to witness. He took her by the arm.
“Come with me,” he said.
He led her to the end of the road beyond the church.
“Now you go home,” he said. “Don’t breathe a word to anyone till I get back.”
“I’ll get your hat,” he answered. “And take Hamlet with you.”
He watched her set off. No harm could come to her there, in the open. She had only to cross the beach and climb the hill. He watched her until she had jumped the stream, Hamlet running in front of her, then he turned back.
He climbed the gate into the field. There was no one; only the golden sea of buttercups, and near the gate a straw hat. He picked it up and, back in the road again, stood hesitating. There was only one thing he could do, and he knew it. But he hesitated. He had been forbidden to enter the place. And, besides, there were four of them. And such a four! Then he shrugged58 his shoulders, a very characteristic action of his, and marched ahead.
The gate of the farm swung easily open, and then at once he was upon them, all four of them sitting in a row upon a stone wall at the far corner of the yard and staring at him.
It was a dirty, messy place, and a fitting background for that company. The farm itself looked fierce with its blind grey wall and its sullen59 windows, and the yard was in fearful confusion, oozing60 between the stones with shiny yellow streams and dank, coagulating pools, piled high with heaps of stinking61 manure62, pigs wandering in the middle distance, hens and chickens, and a ruffian dog chained to his kennel63.
The four looked at Jeremy without moving.
Jeremy came close to them and said, “You’re a lot of dirty cads.”
They made neither answer nor movement.
“Dirty cads to touch my sister, a girl who couldn’t touch you.”
Still no answer. Only one, the smallest, jumped off the wall and ran to the gate behind Jeremy.
“I’m not afraid of you,” said Jeremy (he was—terribly afraid). “I wouldn’t be afraid of a lot of dirty sneaks64 like you are—to hit a girl!”
Still no answer. So he ended:
“And we’ll go wherever we like. It isn’t your field, and we’ve just as much right to it as you have!”
He turned to go, and faced the boy at the gate. The other three had now climbed off the wall, and he was surrounded. He had never, since the night with the sea-captain, been in so perilous25 a situation. He thought that they would murder him, and then hide his body under the manure—they looked quite capable of it. And in some strange way this farm was so completely shut off from the outside world, the house watched so silently, the wall was so high. And he was very small indeed compared with the biggest of the four. No, he did not feel very happy.
Nothing could be more terrifying than their silence; but, if they were silent, he could be silent too, so he just stood there and said nothing.
“What are you going to do about it?” suddenly asked the biggest of the four.
“Do about what?” he replied, his voice trembling in spite of himself; simply, as it seemed to him, from the noisy beating of his heart.
“Our cheeking your sister.”
“I can’t do much,” Jeremy said, “when there are four of you, but I’ll fight the one my own size.”
That hero, grinning, moved forward to Jeremy, but the one who had already spoken broke out:
“Let him out. We don’t want him. . . . And don’t you come back again!” he suddenly shouted.
“I will,” Jeremy shouted in return, “if I want to!” And then, I regret to say, took to his heels and ran pell-mell down the road.
IV
Now this was an open declaration of war and not lightly to be disregarded. Jeremy said not a word of it to anyone, not even to the wide-eyed Mary who had been waiting in a panic of terror under the oak tree, like the lady in Carpaccio’s picture of St. George and the Dragon, longing for her true knight65 to return, all “bloody66 and tumbled,” to quote Miss Jane Porter’s “Thaddeus.” He was not bloody nor was he tumbled, but he was serious-minded and preoccupied67.
This was all very nice, but it was pretty well going to spoil the holidays: these fellows hanging round and turning up just whenever they pleased, frightening everybody and perhaps—this sudden thought made, for a moment, his heart stand still—doing something really horrible to Hamlet!
He felt as though he had the whole burden of it on his shoulders, as though he were on guard for all the family. There was no one to whom he could speak. No one at all.
For several days he moved about as though in enemy country, looking closely at hedges, scanning hill horizons, keeping Hamlet as close to his side as possible. No sign of the ruffians, no word of them at home; they had faded into smoke and gone down with the wind.
Suddenly, one morning when he was in a hollow of the downs throwing pebbles69 at a tree, he heard a voice:
“Hands up, or I fire!”
He turned round and saw the eldest of the quartette quite close to him. Although he had spoken so fiercely, he was not looking fierce, but, rather, was smiling in a curious crooked kind of way. Jeremy could see him more clearly than before, and a strange enough object he was.
He was wearing a dirty old pair of flannel70 cricketing trousers and a grubby shirt open at the neck. One of his eyes was bruised71 and he had a cut across his nose, but the thing in the main that struck Jeremy now was his appearance of immense physical strength. His muscles seemed simply to bulge72 under his shirt, he had the neck of a prize-fighter. He was a great deal older than Jeremy, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years of age. His eyes, which were grey and clear, were his best feature, but he was no beauty, and in his dirty clothes and with his bruises he looked a most dangerous character.
Jeremy called Hamlet to him and held him by the collar.
“All right,” the ruffian said; “I’m not going to touch your dog.”
“I didn’t think you were,” said Jeremy, lying.
“Oh, yes, you did. I suppose you think we eat dog-flesh and murder babies. Lots of people do.”
The sudden sense that other folk in the world also thought the quartette outlaws73 was new to Jeremy. He had envisaged74 the affair as a struggle in which the Cole family only were engaged.
“Eat babies!” Jeremy cried. “No! Do you?”
“Of course not,” said the boy. “That’s the sort of damned rot people talk. They think we’d do anything.”
He suddenly sat down on the turf, and Jeremy sat down too, dramatically picturing to himself the kind of thing that would happen did his father turn the corner and find him there amicably75 in league with his enemy. There followed a queer in-and-out little conversation, bewildering in some strange way, so that they seemed to sink deeper and deeper into the thick velvet76 pile of the green downs, lost to all the world that was humming like a top beyond the barrier.
For some reason hidden deep in the green down Jeremy had never before known praise that pleased him so deeply. He flushed, kicking the turf with the heels of his boots.
“You were cads to hit my sister,” he said. He let Hamlet’s collar go, and the dog went over and smelt78 the dirty trousers and sniffed79 at the rough, reddened hand.
“How old are you?”
“Ten and a half.”
“I know. You’re called Cole. You’re the son of the parson at the rectory.”
Jeremy nodded his head. The boy was now sprawling80 his length, his head resting on his arms, his thick legs stretched out.
The boy nodded his head.
He didn’t say this boastfully, but quite calmly, stating well-known facts. Jeremy opened his eyes wide.
“What are you called?” he asked.
“Humphrey Charles Ruthven.”
“Where do you go to school?”
“I don’t go. I was kicked out of Harrow. But it didn’t matter anyway, because my governor couldn’t pay the school bills.”
Expelled! This was exciting indeed.
Jeremy inquired, but his friend would give no reasons—only looked at him curiously83 and smiled. Then he suddenly went on in another tone: “You know everyone hates us, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know that,” said Jeremy. “Why is it?”
“Because we’re bad,” Humphrey said solemnly. “Our hand is against everyone, and everyone’s hand is against us.”
“But why?” asked Jeremy again.
“Well, for one thing, they don’t like father. He’s got, if you were speaking very politely, what you’d call a damned bad temper. By Jove, you should see him lose it! He’s broken three chairs in the farm already! I don’t suppose we shall be here very long. We’re always moving about. Then another reason is that we never have any money. Father makes a bit racing84 sometimes, and then we’re flush for a week or two, but it never lasts long.
“Why,” he went on, drawing himself up with an air of pride, “we owe money all over the country. That’s why we came down to this rotten dull hole—because we hadn’t been down here before. And another reason they don’t like us is because that woman who lives with us isn’t father’s wife and she isn’t our mother either. I should rather think not! She’s a beast. I hate her,” he added reflectively.
There was a great deal of all this that Jeremy didn’t understand, but he got from it an immense impression of romance and adventure.
And then, as he looked across at the boy opposite to him, a new feeling came to him, a feeling that he had never known before. It was an exciting, strange emotion, something that was suddenly almost adoration85. He was aware, all in a second, that he would do anything in the world for this strange boy. He would like to be ordered by him to run down the shoulder of the down and race across the sands and plunge86 into the sea, and he would do it, or to be commanded by him all the way to St. Mary’s, ever so many miles, to fetch something for him. It was so new an experience that he felt exceedingly shy about it, and could only sit there kicking at the turf and saying nothing.
Humphrey’s brow was suddenly as black as thunder. He got up.
“I see what it is,” he said. “You’re like the rest. Now I’ve told you what we are, you don’t want to have anything more to do with us. Well, you needn’t. Nobody asked you. You can just go back to your old parson and say to him, ‘Oh, father, I met such a wicked boy to-day. He was naughty, and I’m never going to talk to him again.’ All right, then. Go along.”
The attack was so sudden that Jeremy was taken entirely87 by surprise. He had been completely absorbed by this new feeling; he had not known that he had been silent.
“Oh, no. I don’t care what you are or your father or whether you haven’t any money. I’ve got some money. I’ll give it you if you like. And you shall have threepence more on Saturday—fourpence, if I know my Collect. I say”—he stammered88 over this request—“I wish you’d throw a stone from here and see how far you can.”
Humphrey was immensely gratified. He bent down and picked up a pebble68; then, straining backwards89 ever so slightly, slung90 it. It vanished into the blue sea. Jeremy sighed with admiration91.
“You can throw,” he said. “Would you mind if I felt the muscle on your arm?” He felt it. He had never imagined such a muscle.
“Do you think I could have more if I worked at it?” he asked, stretching out his own arm.
Humphrey graciously felt it. “That’s not bad for a kid of your size,” he said. “You ought to lift weights in the morning. That’s the way to bring it up.” Then he added: “You’re a sporting kid. I like you. I’ll be here again same time to-morrow,” and without another word was running off, with a strange jumping motion, across the down.
Jeremy went home, and could think of nothing at all but his adventure. How sad it was that always, without his in the least desiring it, he was running up against authority. He had been forbidden to go near the farm or to have anything to do with the wild, outlawed92 tenants93 of it, and now here he was making close friends with one of the worst of them.
He could not help it. He did not want to help it. When he looked round the family supper-table how weak, colourless and uninteresting they all seemed! No muscles, no outlawry94, no running from place to place to escape the police! He saw Humphrey standing against the sky and slinging95 that stone. He could throw! There was no doubt of it. He could throw, perhaps, better than anyone else in the world.
They met, then, every day, and for a glorious, wonderful week nobody knew. I am sorry to say that Jeremy was involved at once in a perfect mist of lies and false excuses. What a business it was being always with the family! He had felt it now for a long time, the apparent impossibility of going anywhere or doing anything without everybody all round you asking multitudes of questions. “Where are you going to, Jeremy?” “Where have you been?” “What have you been doing?” “I haven’t seen you for the last two hours, Jeremy. Mother’s been looking for you everywhere!”
So he lied and lied and lied. Otherwise, he got no harm from this wonderful week. One must do Humphrey that justice that he completely respected Jeremy’s innocence96. He even, for perhaps the first time in his young life, tried to restrain his swearing. They found the wild moor at the back of the downs a splendid hunting-ground. Here, in the miles of gorse and shrub97 and pond and heather, they were safe from the world, their companions birds and rabbits. Humphrey knew more about animals than anyone in England—he said so himself, so it must be true. The weather was glorious, hot and gorse-scented. They bathed in the pools and ran about naked, Humphrey doing exercises, standing on his head, turning somersaults, lifting Jeremy with his hands as though he weighed nothing at all. Humphrey’s body was brown all over, like an animal’s. Humphrey talked and Jeremy listened. He told Jeremy the most marvellous stories, and Jeremy believed every word of them. They sat on a little hummock98, with a dark wood behind them, and watched the moon rise.
“You’re a decent kid,” said Humphrey. “I like you better than my brothers. I suppose you’ll forget me as soon as I’m gone.”
“I’ll never forget you,” said Jeremy. “Can’t you leave your family and be somebody else? Then you can come and stay with us.”
“Stay with a parson? Not much. You’ll see me again one day. I’ll send you a line from time to time and let you know where I am.”
Finally, they swore friendship. They exchanged gifts. Humphrey gave Jeremy a broken pocket-knife, and Jeremy gave Humphrey his silver watch-chain. They shook hands and swore to be friends for ever.
And then the final and terrible tragedy occurred.
V
On the afternoon that followed the friendship-swearing Humphrey did not appear at the accustomed place. Jeremy waited for several hours and then went melancholy100 home. At breakfast next morning there were those grown-up, mysterious allusions101 that mean that some catastrophe102, too terrible for tender ears, is occurring.
“I never heard anything so awful,” said Aunt Amy.
“It’s so sad to me,” said Jeremy’s mother, sighing, “that people should want to do these things.”
“It’s abominable,” said Mr. Cole, “that they were ever allowed to come here at all. We should have been told before we came.”
“But do you really think——” said Aunt Amy.
“I know, because Mrs.——”
“But just fancy if——”
“It’s quite possible, especially when——”
“What a dreadful thing that——”
Jeremy sat there, feeling as though everyone were looking at him. What had happened to Humphrey? He must go at once and find out.
He slipped off after breakfast, and before he reached the bottom of the downs, heard shouts and cries. He ran across the beach and was soon involved in a crowd of farmers, women, boys and animals all shouting, crying out and barking together. Being small he was able to worry his way through without any attention being paid to him; indeed, everyone was too deeply excited by what was happening in the yard of the farm to notice small boys. When at last he got to the gate and looked through, he beheld103 an extraordinary scene. Among the cobbles and the manure heaps and the filth104 many things were scattered—articles of clothing, some chairs and a table, some pictures, many torn papers. The yard was almost filled with men and women, all of them apparently105 shouting and screaming together. A big red-faced man next to Jeremy was crying over and over again: “That’ll teach him to meddle106 with our women.” “That’ll teach him to meddle with our women. . . .”
On the steps of the farm-house an extraordinary woman was standing, quite alone, no one near to her, standing there, contempt in her eyes and a curious smile, almost of pleasure, on her lips. Even to Jeremy’s young innocence she was over-coloured. Her face was crimson107; she wore a large hat of bright green and a bright green dress with a flowing train. She did not move; she might have been painted into the stone. But Jeremy’s gaze (seen dimly and as it were upwards108 through a pair of high, widely extended farmer’s legs) was soon withdrawn109 from this highly coloured lady to the central figure of the scene. This was a man who seemed to Jeremy the biggest and blackest human he had ever seen. He had jet-black hair, a black beard, and struggling now in the middle of the yard between three rough-looking countrymen, his clothes were almost torn from the upper part of his body. His face was bleeding, and even as Jeremy caught sight of him he snatched one arm free and caught one of his captors a blow that sent him reeling. For one instant he seemed to rise above the crowd, gathering110 himself together for a mighty111 effort; he seemed, in that second, to look towards Jeremy, his eyes staring out of his head, his great chest heaving, his legs straining. But at once four men were upon him and began to drive him towards the gate, the crowd bending back and driving Jeremy into a confusion of thighs112 and legs behind which he could see nothing. Then suddenly once more the scene cleared, and the boy saw a figure run from the house, crying something, his hand raised. Someone caught the figure and stayed it; for a second of time Jeremy saw Humphrey’s face flaming with anger. Then the crowd closed round.
At the same instant the black man seemed to be whirled towards them, there was a crushing, a screaming, a boot seemed to rise from the ground of its own volition113 and kick him violently in the face and he fell down, down, down, into a bottomless sea of black pitch.
VI
For three days he was in bed, his head aching, one cheek swollen114 to twice its natural size, one eye closed. To his amazement no one scolded him; no one asked him how he had been caught in that crowd. Everyone was very kind to him.
Once he asked his mother “What had happened?” She told him that “They were very wicked people and had gone away.”
When he was up and about again he went to the farm and looked through the gate. Within there was absolute stillness. A pig was snuffling amongst the manure.
He went out to the moor. It was a perfect afternoon, only a little breeze blowing. The pools, slightly ruffled115, were like blue lace. A rabbit sitting in front of his hole did not move. He threw himself, face downwards116 on the ground, burying his nose in it, feeling in some strange way that Humphrey was there.
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1
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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2
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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3
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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5
coves
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| n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 )；家伙 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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7
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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10
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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12
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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13
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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15
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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17
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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18
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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19
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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20
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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21
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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22
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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23
wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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24
juxtaposition
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| n.毗邻，并置，并列 | |
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25
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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26
perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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27
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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28
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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29
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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30
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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31
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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32
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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33
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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34
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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35
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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36
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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37
melodrama
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| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
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38
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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39
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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40
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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41
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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42
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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43
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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44
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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45
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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46
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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47
fathomless
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| a.深不可测的 | |
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48
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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49
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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50
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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51
Mandarin
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| n.中国官话，国语，满清官吏；adj.华丽辞藻的 | |
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52
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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53
pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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54
proprieties
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| n.礼仪，礼节；礼貌( propriety的名词复数 )；规矩；正当；合适 | |
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55
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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56
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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57
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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58
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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59
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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60
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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61
stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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62
manure
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| n.粪，肥，肥粒；vt.施肥 | |
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63
kennel
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| n.狗舍，狗窝 | |
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64
sneaks
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| abbr.sneakers (tennis shoes) 胶底运动鞋（网球鞋）v.潜行( sneak的第三人称单数 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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65
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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66
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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67
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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68
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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69
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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70
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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71
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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72
bulge
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| n.突出，膨胀，激增；vt.突出，膨胀 | |
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73
outlaws
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| 歹徒，亡命之徒( outlaw的名词复数 )； 逃犯 | |
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74
envisaged
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| 想像，设想( envisage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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76
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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77
plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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78
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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79
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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80
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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81
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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82
wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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83
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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84
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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85
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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86
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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87
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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88
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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90
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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91
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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92
outlawed
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| 宣布…为不合法（outlaw的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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93
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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94
outlawry
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| 宣布非法，非法化，放逐 | |
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95
slinging
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| 抛( sling的现在分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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96
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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97
shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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98
hummock
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| n.小丘 | |
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99
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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100
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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101
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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102
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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103
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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104
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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105
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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106
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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107
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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108
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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109
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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110
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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111
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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112
thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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113
volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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114
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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115
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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116
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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