Читать книгу A Whim, and Its Consequences - G. P. R. James - Страница 10

There was a narrow broken path up the bank. There was a high stile at the top. But Chandos was up the one and over the other in a moment. He did not like to hear a scream at all, and still less a scream from a woman's lips. When he could see into the field, a sight presented itself not altogether uncommon in England, where we seldom, if ever, guard against an evil till it is done, and never take warning by an evil that is done. More than twelve years ago, a pamphlet was printed, called, "What will the Government do with the Railroads?"--and in it was detailed very many of the evils which a prudent and scientific man could foresee, from suffering railways to proceed unregulated. It was sent, I believe, by the author to a friend who undertook to answer it. The answer consisted of two or three sheets of paper, folded as a book, and bearing on each page the word "Nothing." The answer was quite right. Government did nothing--till it was too late.

People never tether dangerous bulls till they have killed someone; and when Chandos entered the field, the first sight that met his eyes was a tall, powerful old man on the ground, and two young and graceful women at some distance: one still flying fast towards a gate, under the first strong irresistible impulse of terror; the other, stopping to gaze back, and wringing her hands in agony. Close by the old man was an enormous brindled bull, with short horns, which was running slowly back, with its eyes fixed upon the prostrate figure before it, as if to make another rush at him as he lay; and at a short distance from the bull was a ragged little boy, of some eight or nine years old, who, with the spirit of a hero, was running straight towards the furious beast, shouting loudly, in the vain hope, apparently, that his infant voice would terrify the tyrant of the field.

Luckily, Chandos had a stout sapling oak in his hand; and he, too, sprang forward with the swift fire of youth. But before he could reach the spot, the bull, attracted by the vociferations of the boy, turned upon his little assailant, and with a fearful rush caught him on his horns, and tossed him high into the air. The next moment, however, Chandos was upon him. He was young, active, tremendously powerful, and, though not quite equal in strength to bull-bearing Milo, was no insignificant antagonist. He had a greater advantage still, however. He had been accustomed to country life from his early youth, and knew the habits of every beast of the field. The bull, in attacking the boy, had turned away from both the old man and Chandos, and, with a bound forward, the latter seized the savage animal by the tail, striking it furiously with his stick. The bull at first strove to turn upon him, or to disengage himself; but Chandos held on with a grasp of iron, though swung round and round by the efforts of his antagonist; and all the time he thundered blows upon it as thick as hail; now upon its side, now upon its head, but oftener upon its legs; and still he shouted--as, in the desperate conflict, his eyes passed over the figures of the two ladies, or the old man, who was now rising slowly from the ground--"Run! run!"

How the combat was to end for himself, of course he knew not, for, though staggering, and evidently intimidated by so sudden an attack, the bull was still strong and furious; but Chandos had all his senses in full activity, and when, after several fierce plunges to escape, the animal again swung itself round to reach him, he aimed a tremendous blow with his full force at the fore-knee, on which its whole weight rested. The leg gave way under the pain, and the monstrous beast rolled prostrate on the ground.

Not a minute was to be lost: the bull was struggling up again; but the instinct of self-preservation is strong, and in a moment Chandos drew a knife from his pocket, and cut a sinew of the leg--although it was with pain and a feeling almost of remorse that he did it. The animal gave a sort of shrill scream, and instantly rolled over on its side again.

"There, that is done," said the young man, speaking to himself; and then running up to the old gentleman, he inquired, "Are you hurt, Sir?--Are you much hurt?"

"A little--not much," said General Tracy; "but the boy--the boy! You are a gallant fellow, upon my life; but so is that poor boy."

The General received no reply, for Chandos was already by the side of the boy. He gazed into his face as the little fellow lay upon his back motionless. The dark hazel eyes were clear and bright, and the complexion, bronzed with exposure, still showed a good ruddy glow in the middle of the check.

"He cannot be much hurt," thought Chandos, as he bent earnestly over him; "there is none of the paleness of bodily suffering; and, thank God! the after-crop of grass is long and thick. Well, my boy," he continued aloud, "what has the bull done to you?"

"Given me a skylarking," answered the boy, in a good strong voice.

"But has he hurt you anywhere?" asked Chandos; while General Tracy moved slowly up, and the two young ladies stood, trembling and out of breath, at a distance.

"No," said the little fellow; "he didn't poke me; he guv me a thump under the arm, and I went over his head."

"But why do you not get up then?" inquired Chandos.

"Because it is comfortable to lie here; and because, when I try to get up, my shoulder twinges," was the boy's answer.

"Let me look," said Chandos; and turning him upon his side, he pulled down the collar of the ragged jacket, when he evidently saw a protuberance which was never put upon any mortal shoulder by nature. It was dislocated. The grief of General Tracy was great for the poor boy's misfortune, incurred in his defence; but he gave it no exuberant expression.

"You are a good boy," he said; "a very good boy; and you shall be rewarded. Your shoulder will soon be well, and I will take care of you. Who are your father and mother? We must send and let them know;" and as he spoke, he looked round towards the bull, who, with a true philosophical spirit, seemed, by this time, to have made up his mind to his fate, and was lying quite still, with his fore quarters in the natural position of a bull at rest, and his hind quarters thrown over on one side, not altogether easy. His tongue was hanging out of his mouth, too.

"My mother is Sally Stanley," answered the boy; "and who my father is I don't know."

"Right," said the General, laconically; "right, to a proverb."

"Did not I see you with the gipseys this morning?" inquired Chandos. "Are you not little Tim?"

"Yes," answered the gipsey boy; and the moment after he added, "there comes farmer Thorpe. He'll be precious angry with you for hocking his bull."

"Then you are not the owner of the bull?" said General Tracy, turning quickly to Chandos.

"Oh, no, Sir," answered the other; "I was only passing by chance, and heard a lady scream, which made me run to give help. I have just been engaged as head-gardener to Mr. Arthur Tracy."

"He should have engaged you as bull-driver," said the General, "as bull-fighter, as matador."

"Perhaps he may not have much work in that way, Sir," answered Chandos; and was about to retire; but the General exclaimed, "Stay, stay! What can we do with this poor lad? He is a fine fellow. I must take care of him for life; for I rather think he has saved mine at the risk of his own. I wish we could get him down to my brother's place; for we must have his shoulder looked to, in the first instance."

At that moment, a stout, black-browed, middle-aged man came across the field, looked down at the bull for a moment, and then advanced, with a sturdy and determined look, to General Tracy and Chandos, without saying a word till he was close to them, when he exclaimed, with a very menacing air, "Holla, Sirs, what have you been doing with my bull?"

"What has your bull, if that one be yours, been doing with us? is the question which should be asked," replied General Tracy, turning sharp upon him; but wincing dreadfully, as if the sudden movement gave him great pain.

"That's by the mark," answered the farmer, staring at the General first, and at Chandos afterwards; as if the spirit of his own bull had entered into him, and he was determined to toss them both. "He is a brute beast, and accountable to no un; but them as ha' hocked un are reasonable creeturs, and accountable to I. So, I say, what ha' you two been doing with my bull?"

"The first thing I did with him," answered Chandos, "was what I will do to you, if you are insolent, master farmer. I gave him a good thrashing. And in the next place, as there was no chance of saving my life, and that of others, from him, if I spared him, I was obliged to cut the tendon of his leg, in self-defence."

"Oh! you thrashed un, did you?" said the farmer, pulling off his coat; "and you'll thrash me, will you? Now, let's see."

"I insist upon nothing of this kind taking place," said General Tracy, seeing Chandos quietly deposit his stick on the grass. "Rose, my love, run by that gate, to the Plough and Harrow public-house. The landlord is a constable. Tell him to come here. I intend to give this man into charge. I recollect hearing before of this bull being a dangerous animal, and of farmer Thorpe having been warned to take proper precautions. Be quick, Rose; for I will punish this man if I live."

"Oh, that's to be the way, is it?" said the rude farmer, in a tone not less insolent than ever; "if folks can't fight without constables for their bottle-holders, that's not my plan; but I can tell you one thing, old Tracy--for I know you well enough--I'll have the law of you for doing a mischief to my bull; and this fellow I'll thrash heartily the first time I can get him without a constable to back him. So, good day to you all, and be damned."

With this just, eloquent, and courteous speech farmer Thorpe resumed his coat, and returned to the side of his bull. While General Tracy remarked dryly to the two young ladies, who had now joined him, "We came out, my flowers, to see a specimen of the real English peasant, and we have found one, though not a very favourable one, it must be confessed. But now, what is to be done with the poor boy. If I could but get him down to the house, we would send for old Andrew Woodyard, the surgeon."

"I'd rather go home to mother," said the boy; "she'll put my shoulder all right, in a minute."

"Your mother is no more capable of putting that shoulder right, than she is of flying through the air on a broomstick," replied the General.

"I will carry him down, Sir," said Chandos; "I was going to catch the coach; but I must put off my journey till to-morrow, I suppose; for the poor lad must be attended to."

He accordingly lifted him up off the grass, and was about to carry him down to Northferry House, in his arms; but little Tim, though by the grimaces he made it was evident he suffered much pain, declared he would rather walk, saying, that it did not hurt him half so much as being "lugged along by any one." Chandos, who knew something of the habits of his people, exacted a solemn promise from him, that he would not attempt to run away; and, in return, assured him that his mother should be sent for instantly. With this little Tim seemed satisfied; and as they walked along, the General entered into consultation with his nieces and Chandos, as to what was best to be done with the boy, on his arrival; for he suddenly remembered a very fierce and intractable prejudice which his brother had against all copper-coloured wanderers. "The boy might pass well enough," he said, "for he's as fair (very nearly) as an Englishman; but if his mother and all his anomalous kindred, are to come down and visit him, we shall have brother Arthur dying of gout in the stomach, as sure as if he ate two Cantalupe melons before going to bed."

It was finally settled, however, on the suggestion of Chandos, that little Tim should be taken down to the head-gardener's cottage, which was at some distance from the house, and he himself promised to remain there the night, till the injuries the boy had received could be properly attended to.

In the council of war, which ended in this determination, it must be remarked that Rose Tracy took no part, though her sister Emily did. Rose said not one word, but came a little behind the rest, and more than once she looked at Chandos, with a long earnest gaze, then dropped into silent thought.