The Jew on the Moor
[The scene is the kitchen of a small farm-house above the WalkhamRiver, on the western edge of Dartmoor. The walls, originally ofrough granite, have had their asperities smoothed down by many layersof whitewash. The floor is of lime-ash, nicely sanded. From theceiling--formed of rude, unplaned beams and the planching of thebedroom above--depends a rack crowded with hams and sides of bacon,all wrapped in newspapers. In the window a dozen geraniums areblooming, and beyond them the eye rests on the slope of Sharpitor andthe distant ridge of Sheepstor. The fireplace, which faces thewindow, is deep and capacious, and floored with granite slabs.On these burns a fire of glowing peat, and over the fire hangs acrock of milk in process of scalding. In the ingle behind it sitsthe relator of this story, drying his knees after a Dartmoor shower.From his seat he can look up the wide chimney and see, beyond thesmoke, the sky, and that it is blue again and shining. But helistens to the farmer's middle-aged sister, who stands at the tableby the window, and rolls out a pie-crust as she talks. (The farmeris a widower, and she keeps house for him.) She talks of a smallpicture--a silhouette executed in black and gold--that adorns thewall-space between the dresser and the tall clock, and directly abovethe side-table piled with the small library of the house.The portrait is a profile of a young man, somewhat noticeablyhandsome, in a high-necked coat and white stock collar.]* * * * * * *'It is none of our family, though it came to us near on a hundredyears ago. It came from America. A young gentleman sent it overfrom Philadelphia to my grandmother, with a letter to say he wasmarried and happy, and would always remember her. Perhaps he did;and, again, perhaps he didn't. That was the last my grandmotherheard of him.'But it wasn't made in America. It was made in the War Prison, overyonder at Princetown, where they keep the convicts now. I've heardthe man that drew and cut it out was a French sergeant, with only onearm. He had lost the other in the war, and his luck was to be leftuntil the very last draft. He finished it the morning he wasreleased, and he gave it to the young American--Adams, his name was--for a keepsake. The Americans had to stay behind, because their warwasn't over yet.'It came to my grandmother in this way: She was married to mygrandfather that owned this very farm, and lived in this very house;and twice a week she would drive over to the prison, to the marketthat used to be held there every day from before noon till nightfall.Sometimes my grandfather drove with her, but oftener not. She couldtake care of herself very well.'She sold poultry and pork, eggs and butter, and vegetables; lardsometimes, and straw, with other odds and ends. (The prisoners usedthe straw for plaiting bonnets.) Scores of salesmen used to travel tothe prison every day, from Tavistock, Okehampton, Moreton, and allaround the Moor: Jews, too, from Plymouth, with slop-clothing.But in all this crowd my grandmother held her own. The turnkeys knewher; the prisoners liked her for her good looks and good temper, andbecause she always dealt fair; and the agent (as they called thegovernor in those days) had given orders to set aside a table andtrestles for her twice a week, close inside the entrance of themarket square, on the side where the bettermost French prisonerslived in a building they called the Petty Caution.'But with the prisoners, though many a time her heart melted forthem, she was always very careful, and let it be known that she neversmuggled tobacco or messages even for her best customers. After awhile they got to understand this, and (though you may think itqueer) liked her none the less. The agent, on his part, trustedher--and the turnkeys and the military officials--and didn't respecther the less because she never told tales, though they knew she mighthave told many.'This went on, staid and regular, for close upon three years; andthen, one fine October evening, my grandmother, after reaching homewith her little cart, unharnessing and bedding up the donkey in hisstable, walked out to the orchard, where my grandfather was lookingover his cider apples, and says she to him,--'"William, I've a-done a dreadful deed."'My grandfather took off his hat, and rubbed the top of his head."Good Lord!" he says. "You don't tell me!"'"I've helped a prisoner to escape," says she.'"Then we'm lost and done for," says my grandfather. "How did itcome about?" And with that he waited a little, and said, "Damme, mydear, if any other person had brought me this tale I'd have tannedhis skin." For I must tell you my grandfather and grandmother dotedon one another.'"I know you would," said my grandmother, dismally. "And I can'tthink how the temptation took me. But the poor creatur' was littlemore'n a boy--and there were a-something in the eyes of him--"She meant to say there was a-something that reminded her of her owneldest, that she had lost a dozen years before.'I don't know whether my grandfather understood or whether he didn't.But all he said was, "However did you contrive it?"'"It came," she said, "of my takin' they six white rabbits to market.I sold mun all; and when they were sold, and the hutch standin'empty--" My grandmother pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed hereyes.'"You drove him out in the rabbit hutch?" asked my grandfather.'"With a handful of straw between him and the bars," she owned."He's nobbut a boy. You can't think how easy. And the look of himwhen he crep' inside--"'"Where is he?" asked my grandfather.'"Somewheres hangin' about the stable at this moment," she told him,with a kind o' sob.'So my grandfather went out to the back. He could not find theprisoner in the stable, but by-and-by he caught sight of him on theslope of the stubble field behind it. The poor lad had taken a hoe,and was pretending to work it, while he edged away in the dimmetylight.'"Hallo!" sings out my grandfather across the gate; and goes stridingup the field to him. "If I were you," says he, "I wouldn't hoestubble; because that's a new kind of agriculture in these parts, andlikely to attract notice."'"I was doin' my best," twittered the prisoner. He was adelicate-lookin' lad, very white just now about the gills."I come from Marblehead," he explained, "and, bein' bred to the sea,I didn't think it would matter."'"It will, you'll find, if you persevere with it. But come indoors.We'll stow you in the cider-loft for to-night, after you've taken abite of supper. And to-morrow--well, I'll have to think that out,"said my grandfather.'For the next few hours he felt pretty easy. He and his wife had agood reputation with the agent, who would take a long time beforesuspecting them of any hand in an escape. The three ate their suppertogether in good comfort, though from time to time my grandfatherpricked up his ears as though he heard the sound of a gun. But thewind blew from the south-west that night, and if a gun was fired thesound did not carry.'When supper was done my grandmother made a suggestion that the lad,instead of turning out to the cider-loft, should sleep in the garretoverhead; and my grandfather, after a look at the lad's face, shuthis lips, and would not gainsay her, though--as in bed he couldn'thelp reminding her--it would be difficult to pass off a visitor inthe garret, with two blankets, for a housebreaker.'As it happened, though, they were not disturbed that night. But mygrandfather, for thinking, took a very little sleep, and in themorning he went up to the garret with the best plan he could devise.'"I've been turnin' it over," he said, "and there's no road will helpyou across the Moor for days to come. You must bide here till thehue-an'-cry has blown over, and meantime the missus must fit up somedisguise for you; but you must bide in bed, for a man can't step outo' this house, front or back, without bein' visible from all the torsaround. So rest where you be, and I'll just dander down alongt'wards Walkhampton, where the Plymouth road runs under Sharpitor,an' where I've been meanin' to break up a taty-patch this long timepast. There's alway a plenty goin' and comin' 'pon the road, an'maybe by keepin' an eye open I'll learn what line the chase istakin'."'So my grandfather shouldered his biddick and marched off, down andacross the valley, marked off his patch pretty high on the slope, andfell to work. Just there he could keep the whole traffic of the roadunder his eye, as well as the fields around his house; and for amoment it gave him a shock as he called to mind that in the onlyfield that lay out of sight he'd left a scarecrow standing--in apatch that, back in the summer, he had cropped with pease for theagent's table up at the War Prison. To be sure, 'twasn't likely tomislead a search-party, and, if it did, why a scarecrow's ascarecrow; but my grandfather didn't like the thought of any of thesegentry being near the house. If they came at all they might beminded to search further. So he determined that when dinner-timecame he would go back home and take the scarecrow down.'The road (as I said) was always pretty full of traffic, coming andgoing between Plymouth and the War Prison. There were bakers'wagons, grocery vans, and vans of meat, besides market carts fromBickleigh and Buckland. My grandfather watched one and another goby, but made out nothing unusual until--and after he had been diggingfor an hour, maybe--sure enough he spied a mounted soldier coming upthe road at a trot, and knew that this must be one of the searchersreturning. In a minute more he recognised the man for anacquaintance of his, a sergeant of the garrison, and by nameGrimwold, and hailed him as he came close.'"Hallo! Is that you?" says the sergeant, reining up. "And how longmight you have been workin' there?"'"Best part of an hour," says my grandfather. "What's up?"'"There's a prisoner escaped, another o' those damned Yankees," saysthe sergeant. "I've been laying the alarm all the way to Plymouth.You ha'n't seen any suspicious-lookin' party pass this way, Isuppose?"'My grandfather said very truthfully that he hadn't, but promisedvery truthfully that he would keep an eye lifting. So the sergeantwished him good-day and rode on towards Two Bridges.'For the next twenty minutes nothing passed but a tax-cart and amarket woman with a donkey; and a while after them a veryqueer-looking figure hove in sight.''Twas a man walking, with a great sack on his shoulders and two orthree hats on his head, one atop of another. By the cut of his jib,as they say, my grandfather knew him at once for one of the PlymouthJews, that visited Princetown by the dozen with cast-off clothes forsale, and silver change for the gold pieces that found their waysometimes into the prison as prize-money. Sometimes, too, theycarried away the Bank of England notes that the Frenchmen were soclever at forging. But though, as he came near, the man had Jewwritten all over him, my grandfather couldn't call to mind that he'dever seen this particular Jew before.'What is more, it was plain enough in a minute that the Jew didn'trecognise my grandfather; for, catching sight of him aloft there onthe slope, first of all he gave a start, next he walked forward a fewsteps undecided-like, and last he pulled up, set down his bundle likea man tired, and looked behind him down the road. The road wasempty, so he turned his attention to my grandfather, and afterlooking at him very curiously for half a minute, "Good-morning," sayshe.'By this time my grandfather had guessed what was passing in theman's mind, and it came into his own to have a little fun.'"Good-morning, stranger," said he, through his nose, mimicking sowell as he could the American manner of speaking.'"How long have you been at work there, my man?" asks the Jew, stillglancing up and down the road.'"A long time," answers my grandfather, putting on a scared look, andhalting in his words. "This piece of ground belongs to me"--whichwas true enough, but didn't sound likely; for he was always acareless man in his dress (the only matter over which he and mygrandmother had words now and then), and to-day, feeling he had thewhip-hand of her, he had taken advantage to wear an old piece ofsacking in place of a coat.'"Oh, indeed," says the Jew, more than dubious, and thinking, nodoubt, of the three guineas that was the regular reward for taking anescaped prisoner.'"It's the tarnal truth," says my grandfather, and fell to whistling,like a man facing it out. But the tune he chose was "Yankee Doodle!"This, of course, made the Jew dead sure of his man. But he was alean little wisp of a man, and my grandfather too strongly built tobe tackled. So the pair stood eyeing one another until, glancing up,my grandfather saw three soldiers come round the corner of the roadfrom Plymouth, and with that he dropped his biddick and turned like adesperate man.'The Jew saw them too, and almost upon the same instant."Help, help!" he yelled, and leaving his bag where he had dropped it,tore down the road to meet the soldiers, waving both arms and stillshouting, "Help! A prisoner! A prisoner!"'My grandfather always said afterwards that, when he heard this, hefairly groaned. He wasn't by any means humorous as a rule, and, sofar as he was concerned, the joke had gone far enough; and he used toadd as a warning that a man may go so far in a joke he can't help butgo farther--'tis like hysterics with women. At any rate, he saw thesoldiers coming for him at the double, spreading themselves to headhim off, and as they came he broke and ran straight up the slopetowards the head of the tor.'This violent exercise didn't suit him at all, and glad enough hewas, after two minutes of it, to note that the soldiers wereshortening the distance hand over fist. For a moment he had a mindto drop, as though worn out with hunger and exhaustion, but his faceand shape wouldn't lend themselves to that deceit. So he held on anddid his best, until the foremost soldier drew within thirty yards andshouted out, threatening to fire. Turning and seeing that he had hismusket almost at the "present," my grandfather dropped his arms,stood still, and allowed them to take him like a lamb.'"But," said he, sulky-like, "if 'tis to the prison you mean to carryme, then carry me you shall. Back to the road I'll go with you, butnot a step farther on my own legs, and on that you may bet your lastdollar."'The soldiers--they were three raw youngsters of the SomersetMilitia--threatened at first to prick him along the road with theirbayonets. But by this time the little Jew had come up panting andyet almost capering with excitement.'"No bloodthed!" said he, in his lisping way. "I'll have nobloodthed! The man 'ith worth three guineath to me ath he ith.He thall have a cart, if it cotht me five shillingth! Where 'th thenearetht village?"'He ran off and down the road, while my grandfather sat down on theturf along with the soldiers, and smoked a pipe of tobacco.Very nice lads they were, too; but he felt shy in their company,thinking how badly he had deceived them, and also that the joke wasnear running dry. For, whatever cart the Jew might hire, the drivercouldn't help recognising a man so widely known as my grandfather.'But his luck stood yet. For the little man hadn't run abovethree-quarters of a mile on the road and was not half-way towardsBuckland--his nearest chance of a cart--when he came full tilt upon alight wagon and three more soldiers, with a fourth riding behind, andall conveying the prisoners' weekly pocket-money up to Princetown, insacks filled with small change. Here was a chance to save breath aswell as carriage hire, and the little Jew charged down on them sofiercely, as they crawled up the hill, that the corporal who sat onthe money with a musket across his knees, had nearly shot him for ahighwayman before giving him time to explain.'They whipped up the horses though, when they heard his story; andso, coming to the road under Sharpitor, and halting, they very soonhad my grandfather trussed and laid upon the bags of money, andjogged away with him towards the Two Bridges, the Jew and threemilitiamen tramping behind at the cart-tail.'It was one o'clock, or a little past, when they drove up to theprison gate; and a mist beginning to gather above North Hessary, asat this time of year it often does after a clear morning.My grandfather, looking out from under the tilt of the cart, felt ashe'd never felt before what a cheerless place it must seem to anew-comer, and his heart melted a little bit further towards the ladhe was hiding at home.'"Hallo!" says the sentry at the gate.'"You'll say something more than Hallo! when you see what we've gotinside here," promised the corporal.'Then they bundled my grandfather out in the light of day, and thecorporal proudly told the sentry to summon the agent at once.'"Good Lord!" said the sentry, "if it bain't Farmer Mugford!"'Just then, as it happened, forth stepped the agent himself from thewicket, starting for his walk that he took for his health's sakeevery afternoon. Captain Sharpland his name was, and later on, whenthe Americans mutinied, he was accused of treating them harshly, butmy grandfather said that a kinder-hearted man never stepped.'"Hallo," says Captain Sharpland, halting and putting up hiseyeglass. "Why, Mugford, whatever is the meaning of this?"'"You'd best ask the Jew here, sir," my grandfather answered, nursinghis sulks.'"If you pleathe, noble captain," put in the Jew, who didn't yetguess anything amiss, "we've thecured the ethcaped prithoner--after atuthle--"'"And pray, who the devil may you be?" asked Captain Sharpland,screwing his eyeglass into his eye. He disliked Jews, uponprinciple.'"Tho pleathe you, noble captain, my name 'th Nathan Nathaniel, ofThouththide Thtreet, Plymouth: and on my way thith morning, ath youthee, I came on the prithoner--"''"Prisoner be--" began Captain Sharpland, but broke off to swear atthe sentry, that was covering his face with his hands to hide hisgrins. "My good Mr Mugford, will you explain?"'"With pleasure, sir," my grandfather answered, and told his story,while the Jew's eyes grew wider and wider, and his jaw dropped lowerand lower.'"You claim compensation, of course?" said Captain Sharpland at theclose, and as gravely as he could, though he too had to smooth a handover his upper lip.'"Why, as for that, sir"--my grandfather was taken aback--"I took itfor a joke, and bear no grudge against Government for it."'"It wouldn't help you if you did," said Captain Sharpland. "But Isuggest that Mr Nathan, here, owes you a trifle--shall we put it attwenty pounds?"'But here Mr Nathan cast up his hands with a scream, and would havesat down in the roadway. The soldiers caught him, and held himupright, and you may guess if, in their temper at being fooled, theytwisted his arms a bit.'"Take him to my quarters, and we will discuss it," commanded CaptainSharpland, turning back to the wicket again, and leading the way.Well, the Jew, when he reached the agent's quarters, rolled on to hisknees, and whined so long, beating down the price, that 'twas wellafter four o'clock before he counted out the five guineas which wasthe least sum Captain Sharpland would hear of. My grandfathercounted them into his pocket, scarcely believing his good fortune.He stayed behind after the creature had slunk away out of the room--to have a laugh with the captain, who very heartily offered him aglass of grog upon the top of it; and with that it came over him howhe was deceiving this good man. He couldn't accept the drink; hecould scarcely muster up face to say "Good-night, sir, and thankyou," and if he, too, as he went out, didn't carry his tail betweenhis legs, I doubt if he felt much better satisfied with himself thandid Mr Nathan.'But just outside the gate he found something to distract his mind.The soldiers, in a rage at being made to look foolish, had beenwaiting there for Mr Nathan with their belts; and my grandfatherarrived in time to hear the wretched man howling for mercy, as theychevied him away over the moor under the lee of North Hessary andinto the dusk.'He stood and listened for a minute or so, but by-and-by there was anend of the yells, and the soldiers came strolling back, laughingtogether, as men who had taken a pleasant little revenge but notpushed it too far. So he turned his face for home, and reached it alittle after nightfall; and there he turned out his pocket in frontof my grandmother, who could not believe a word of the tale until shehad handled each guinea separately. Then she, too, flung her apronover her head, and laughed till she was weak. But my grandfatherwanted to know if by rights he oughtn't to share the money with theprisoner.'My grandmother couldn't make up her mind about this, and advised himto sleep on it. The young man (she said) had faithfully kept his bedall day, but was growing resty. So my grandfather, before supping,took a light and went upstairs to the garret.'"We've kept the scent wide to-day," he reported, very cheerful-like."But you'll have to lie still for a while yet."'"Lyin' here puts a strain on a man," the lad grumbled. "Couldn't Itake a turn in the fields, now that dark has fallen? I'd promise notto stray far from the house."'"That's a notion," my grandfather agreed. "I once had to lie in bedtwo days with a quinsy, and I hated it." He considered for a while,and could see no objection. "Come down and sup with us," he said;"and afterwards, if the missus agrees, you can take a stroll.But don't make too much noise when you let yourself in again."'Well, so it was fixed; and after supper the lad put on a pair ofhigh-lows my grandfather lent him, and started off for a ramble inthe night air, with a plenty of instructions about the safest paths.At nine o'clock, which was their regular hour, my grandfather andgrandmother made out the light and went to bed, leaving the door onthe latch. It was an hour before my grandfather could get to sleep.He was thinking of the five guineas, and how they ought rightfully tobe divided.'At five in the morning his wife woke him, and declared that in herbelief the lad was still abroad. If he had returned and gone to hisgarret she must have heard; but she had heard nothing. She harped onthis till my grandfather climbed out and went to the garret for alook; and sure enough the bed was empty.'They lay awake till daylight, the pair of them, cogitating this andthat. But when the dawn came, my grandfather could stand it nolonger. He pulled on his breeches and boots, went downstairs, andhad scarcely thrown open the door before he heard screams and saw awretched figure, naked to the shirt, running across the yard towardsthe house. It was Nathan the Jew, and he tumbled in front of mygrandfather, and caught hold of him by the boots while he yelled formercy.'What do you suppose, was the explanation? My grandfather couldscarcely make head or tail of it, even after listening to the Jew'sstory. And neither he nor my grandmother ever set eyes on theprisoner lad again. But about nine months later there came a letterfrom America that helped to clear things up.'The poor boy--so he wrote in his letter--being turned loose underthe sky after fifteen months of captivity, just couldn't go back tothe garret. Though the night was pitch black and full of mist, andthe stars hidden, he wanted no more than to pace to and fro, and lookup and open his chest to it. To and fro he went, a bit farther eachtime, but always keeping my grandfather's directions somewhere at theback of his mind, and always searching back till he could see theglimmer of whitewash showing him where the house stood. In theletter he sent to my grandmother he told very freely of the thoughtsthat came to him there while he felt his way back and forth; and to astaid woman that had never been shut up behind bars the writing--orthe most of it--was mad enough. "Liberty! Liberty!" it kept saying:and "good though it was, how much better if he'd been able to seejust one star through the fog!"'By little and little he stretched his tether so far, forgetting howthe time went, that the dawn overtook him a good half-mile from thehouse; and through the gray of it he caught sight of a man standingabout fifty yards away, and right in his path. He turned to run, andthen his heart almost jumped out of his mouth as he saw another manstanding to catch him with arms held wide!'But what had happened was, he had strayed into the pea-patch andthe figure with its arms stretched out was no man at all, but ascarecrow. The lad had no sooner made sure of this than he whippedbehind it, stretched out his hands upon the cross-trees that servedit for arms, and clung there, praying.'Now the man creeping down the field was Nathan the Jew. He had beenwandering the Moor all night, crazy with terror; and when the dawnshowed him a house, he could have turned Christian and dropped on hisknees. But casting a glance over his shoulder as he ran towards it,he caught sight of the scarecrow. For a second or two he ran faster,believing it to be either a man or a ghost. He took another glanceback and came to a halt.'He knew it now for a scarecrow. He stood, and he stood, and he eyedit.'The scarecrow had a suit of clothes that was all tatters, and an oldbeaver hat. It was the hat that took Nathan's fancy. Beaver hatscost a deal of money in those days: but they had a knack of lasting,and Nathan had scarcely ever met with one, however old, that hecouldn't sell for a few pence. For a minute or so he stood there,letting his sense of business get the better of his fright; then heswallowed down the last doubt sticking in his throat, walked straightup to the scarecrow, and made a grab at the hat.'"Leave my head alone, can't you?" said the scarecrow. And with thatMr Nathan dropped in a fit; yet not so quick but that before droppinghe caught a straight blow full on the jaw.'When he came to, his coat was gone, and his bag, and his hats,including the scarecrow's. But the rest of the scarecrow stood overhim, with its arms stretched out just as before; and he pickedhimself up and ran from it.'As for the lad, by this time he had made the best of two milestowards Plymouth. In his letter he apologised very prettily to mygrandmother for not saying good-bye. He owed his life to her, hesaid; but being taken unawares he had done the best he could in thecircumstances.'
THE END.* * * * * * * * * * * *
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