The Nipper, page 13
She said now, ‘Well, we just can’t sit here and do nothing. If…if they’re going to blow it up they’ve got gunpowder of sorts, haven’t they?’
He nodded at her. ‘Yes; what they use for blastin’ the new faces down the pit, an’ a bit makes a mighty bang an’ brings a lot of stuff down; you have to scatter. But at the same time it would take a good few shots to blow up a house like the Manor.’
‘D’you think they’ve got enough to do it?’
He nodded dolefully. ‘They wouldn’t try else.’
She was leaning towards him now. ‘Gunpowder doesn’t go off if it’s wet, does it?’
‘No.’
‘Well, what about us trying to wet it?’
‘Wet it?’
‘Aye, there’s the old gourd there, we could fill it full of water. I could go up with you to this place and I could give a good account of meself with a stick.’
‘Don’t be daft, Ma.’
She was on her feet, her voice loud now. ‘I’m not daft, lad. And let me tell you somethin’. It won’t be the first time I’ve wielded a pick shank at a man’s head; I was only fifteen when I was in the riots.’ Her voice trailed away and she closed her eyes tight, and he stared at her for a moment. He had never heard before of her being in the riots. He said quietly, ‘But it’s an awful job gettin’ up, you’ve got to scramble.’
‘I can scramble, lad. Come on, get that gourd; we’ll fill it at the stream on our way. But—’ she paused and said now, ‘Your hands, are they painful?’ and he answered, ‘They’re all right.’
When they reached the foot of the bracken-covered hill he nodded to her to be quiet. He had told her what she had to do and, like Stan had done earlier in the day, she crawled after him up the steep hill in the shadow of the bracken; and when at last they came to the spot where Sandy and Stan had lain earlier, she pulled herself to his side and, their cheeks on the ground, they lay looking at each other with ears cocked, listening.
They must have lain like this for a full fifteen minutes, then Sandy raised his head and shook it slowly as if to say, there’s no-one there, but we’d better make sure, and she nodded to this. Then pulling the gourd gently towards her, for it was she who had insisted on dragging it up the hill, she got to her knees and made to rise, but Sandy’s hand halted her. Taking the gourd from her he handed her the pick shank before he crawled forward as stealthily as he could towards the cave entrance. There, he paused for a moment and looked back at her, and she gave him a half smile as if to reassure him that she was with him all the way. But her idea at this moment seemed more improbable than ever to him, yet, as she said, it was the unlikely things that came off. Element of surprise, she said. If he could spot the charges all he had to do was to dash forward and throw the water over them. That was all, just dash forward. His thoughts were derisive now. All this would end in was a broken head and her likely tied up.
His head poked forward, he was on one knee ready to spring. But he didn’t spring. As he stared through the dimness into the empty cave he slowly pulled himself through the opening and to his feet, and as he felt his mother rising from the earth at his side he let his gaze rest on her for a moment, then said, ‘They’ve gone, all of them.’
He walked forward. The fire was almost dead; the only evidence of their presence was a number of empty bottles lying in the corner and some rabbit bones sticking out of the ash.
‘They’ve been frightened off,’ she said. ‘Thank God. Thank God.’ He felt her body slowly subsiding with her relief, but he couldn’t share it. Knowing Big Mullen, he couldn’t see him giving up, not at this stage. But they had certainly gone. However, they could be inside there. He looked towards the bed in the corner. The bracken was laid out neatly. No, if there was anybody down there the bracken wouldn’t be like that unless they had left someone up above to straighten it and cover their tracks. He just couldn’t understand it. Of one thing though he was certain, Big Mullen hadn’t given up. He’d likely come back after the fair; and he said so, then added, ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
He dropped onto his hands and knees again and crawled out, his mother following, and when they were hidden in the bracken once more she said softly, ‘You think they’ll come back?’
‘Aye, sure of it,’ he said.
Time passed and the light changed; the long twilight had begun. At one point Sandy whispered, ‘You go on down.’ And she whispered back, ‘Don’t be silly; you can’t tackle them on your own.’
He knew this to be true, but he could see that she was cramped and tired, and her face looked drawn.
When the light deepened still further he turned to her and said, ‘Something must have happened, he wouldn’t be at the fair at this time. It doesn’t look as if they’re comin’ back here after all…Come on, let’s go down.’ And thankfully she obeyed him.
But they had no sooner rounded the mound and slithered to the bottom of the hill than Sandy gripped her arm, warning her to lie still for his ears had picked up the sound of running steps. When he heard the steps coming directly towards him he reached out and grabbed the pick shank from her, then raising his head slightly he glimpsed the runner, and the next minute he was on his feet, crying, ‘Oh! It’s you, Stan.’
Stan stumbled forward and, looking his surprise as Norah Gillespie pulled herself up from the ground, said breathlessly, ‘I…I’ve been lookin’ all over for you; never thought you’d be here ’cos I knew…knew you were out with your mother’—he nodded deferentially to Norah Gillespie—‘Joe saw you. You’d better come back sharp; Old…Old Mark’s in your house.’
‘What!’
Norah Gillespie stiffened at the idea of the dirty old wild man being in her house, as poor as it was, but Sandy’s exclamation was bred of a different thought. ‘Is…is he all right?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. I don’t know whether he’s drunk or bad; he’s been jabbering all the time, but he’ll tell me nowt because, well because of me da. He wants to see you…Come on.’
They were running now, Norah Gillespie as swiftly as the boys, with her skirts held up to her knees.
‘He’ll likely be gone,’ gasped Sandy as they came within sight of Ballast Row.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Stan; ‘he was all out; I think he’d been dodgin’ them. His leg stump is torn and bleedin’.’
When they entered the house it was to see Old Mark lying full length on the clippy mat close to the fire as if begging warmth, yet the day was still hot. His eyes were closed, until Sandy knelt down beside him and said softly, ‘Mark! Mark!’ Then the old man’s lids moved upwards in the deep hollows of hair and when he recognised Sandy’s face his mouth began to work and he pulled himself onto his elbow and muttered, ‘Lad! Lad!’ Now he raised his eyes to where Norah Gillespie was standing looking down at him, and Sandy said, ‘It’s me ma, Mark, I told you of her. An’, an’ you know Stan. Stan’s all right, Mark, he’s…he’s not like his da.’
‘No-o Mul-len’s all right.’
‘Stan is.’ Sandy’s voice was soft and reassuring, but Old Mark still shook his head. Then gripping Sandy’s arm, he said, ‘Bad business, boy, bad business. Gonna blow it up, the house. Gonna blow the house up.’
Sandy now supported the old man with his arm as he asked, ‘When? When, Mark?’
‘The night.’
‘But…but there’s nobody there. We’ve just been up, me ma and me, to the cave.’
‘They’re there.’ The old man nodded slowly. ‘They’re there, all right, lad, inside.’
‘Inside?’
‘Aye, three of them. They left one up top to see to me an’ cover the traces, you know, me bed, straighten me bed. He lay on it and dropped asleep. Comfortable, that bed, comfortable.’ The hair on his face rippled slightly, then he added, ‘I got out. I had to crawl; they had smashed me crutch. Got a stick, but not much use. Looked for you, lad.’
‘Yes, yes, you did.’ Sandy patted the hooked hand that was raised to him. He had always been repulsed by the hook, but now he gripped it in tenderness and said slowly and quietly, ‘Can you tell us what they’re goin’ to do, an’ when?’
The old man nodded. Then taking his eyes from Sandy’s and looking at Stan he said, ‘Sure about him?’
‘Aye, I’ll swear on it.’
‘He told on me afore.’
‘No, I didn’t, never,’ put in Stan now; ‘I never told on you, Mark. The young ’uns, not me.’
‘Well’—the old man swung his hairy head—‘somebody did, somebody did.’
‘Tell us, Mark.’ Sandy’s tone was soft but urgent now. ‘Tell us all you know.’
The old man leant towards him and, his hand gripping his wrist, the fingers pressing on the whip weal, he said, ‘Soon as it’s dark. It’s all set, it’s…it’s right under the floor. Not near the fireplace, no. You know where I showed you, where the smell came up from the kitchen. Well, round there, atween the kitchen ceiling and the floor under their dining room and their parlour, that’s where it’s set.’
‘But they mightn’t be in there,’ Sandy put in now.
‘Oh, they’ll be there all right. They’ve picked the night, party, big party the night, house full. If they’re not in one place they’ll be in t’other; even might be in the Hall holdin’ their fine dances. Oh, Big Mullen’s planned it for the right time.’
‘But’—Sandy was shaking his head quickly now—‘they’ll go up with it themselves.’
‘Not, them, lad, not them; they’ve brought the trail of powder right to the rock, you know, where the door is bunged up into the old workin’s. They’ve planned everything to the minute. They’ll light the fuse from there, an’ by the time it reaches the House they’ll be in the cave and away. It’ll be dark and then they’ll be in their beds with their womenfolk to swear that they’ve never been out of them.’
‘But…but me da went to the fair the day.’ It was Stan’s voice muttering now; and the old man looked at him again and said, ‘Your da thinks of everythin’, lad; he went to the fair and made himself seen at the fair, but he was back like a streak of lightnin’, and he’s been down there with the others doin’ the job. An’ you can take it from me it’ll be done properly; there’s no-one can set a charge like John Felton. He’s as good as his da afore him and I should know ’cos I worked with him for years.’
Chapter Ten
Sandy let the old man lie back now. Standing up, he looked from his mother to Stan, then to the clock on the mantelpiece. But he had to go towards it to make out the time. It said twelve minutes to nine. He turned now, his breathing rapid as if he was still running, and said, ‘It’s just over an hour afore dark. Look, we’ve got to do something.’ He watched his mother clasp her hands and walk round the table, saying as she went, ‘If only there was somebody, somebody we could go to; if only Tom was here.’ She stopped. ‘He should be back now, he might be home now. Sandy, go on, run into Hebburn. You know where he lives, tell him.’
‘No, Ma, no.’ He shook his head rapidly. ‘By the time I got there and he got back, half an hour would be gone, an’ if we managed to fight our way into the cave or into the passage, it wouldn’t be any use then; they could set the fuse and fight us off, it’s so narrow. It’s got to be from the other way, from the Manor.’
‘But you’ve tried that way, boy.’
‘Not enough, not enough,’ he said now. ‘I’ve got to get in; I will get in.’
‘It’s over four miles, you’ll never make it.’
‘I will, Ma, I will.’
‘Where are you goin’? What are you gonna do?’ She came to the door with him and grabbed his arm; and he turned to her but looked towards Stan, saying, ‘You dash into Hebburn, Stan. You know Quarry Hill?’ He didn’t wait for Stan to answer. ‘Forty-two, number forty-two, that’s where Tom lives. Fetch him, and any others you can get. Take them to the cave; it’s a chance, if I don’t get through, well they might…just.’
‘But how are you going to get there in time, let alone get in?’ His mother was shaking his arm.
‘On The Nipper, Ma. The Nipper.’ He pushed his face towards her and said, ‘On the dratted Galloway.’ Then he was off, out of the door racing towards the pit and the field behind it. And his mind, too, raced as he ran. How long would it take The Nipper to do the four miles to the Manor? Half an hour? No, he was fresh, he could do it in less. But first he had to get to him. Then when he reached the Manor he had to get in. Aye, that was going to be the hardest part, getting in. But as his dad used to say, ‘Never worry how you’re going to feel at the end of the day, if you do you’ll be tired afore you start. One step at a time, lad; one step at a time.’
In the soft glow of the twilight he saw the field ahead and The Nipper standing alone away from the rest, his head over the rough gate as if he was waiting for him.
He leant on the gate for a moment panting while The Nipper tossed his head and neighed softly; then he muttered between gasps, ‘Right, lad. Right, lad. You’re going to have the fastest gallop of your life.’ Quickly unbarring the gate, he led The Nipper through, then having put the bar in place again he grasped the pony’s mane and swung himself up onto his back. He had no need to give any order, the slightest pressure of his heels and they were off and not forgetting for a moment the reason for his errand, the joy pulsing through The Nipper’s body was transferred to his own, and they became one again.
Near the crossroads they startled a group of people returning from the fair. They were evidently townspeople making their way back to Jarrow and Hebburn and both men and women seemed the worse for drink. They squealed and yelled and jumped into the ditch on one side or up the bank on the other as he rode through them, and their laughter and their curses followed him.
The shortest route, he knew, would be by the toll gate, then across the fells. But he didn’t want to be held up at the toll gate; the old woman there took her time, she was a cranky old thing. No, he’d have to add another half a mile to his journey, which would likely make it shorter in the long run.
His mind still planning, he thought, I’ll go through that wood and over the burn. But again he discarded the idea. The light would be fading fast when he got to the wood and there was always the danger of those vicious traps; he couldn’t let The Nipper run that risk. No, it would have to be the twisting bridle path until he came to the open land; he considered that narrow brush-bordered way couldn’t be any worse than the potholed rutted main road. It was well for them both that The Nipper was sure-footed.
And now he was turning off the road and galloping The Nipper into what looked like an impregnable thicket. He winced as the brambles tore at his bare legs, and in places he had to bury his face in The Nipper’s mane to avoid being caught up in overhanging branches. But all the while he encouraged the pony. ‘It’s all right, lad, you’re doing fine. Keep at it, keep at it. That’s a lad.’
In the open once more the fell land stretched before them, two miles across this, and then a mile up the road past the farm and along by the wall he’d be at the place where he had entered the grounds earlier in the day.
He had never known The Nipper go so fast, it was as if he, too, realised the urgency of the situation. He had never known a twilight fall into night so fast either, for it was almost dark now. There seemed to be no air, the night was heavy and clammy, portending rain. He felt the sweat from The Nipper mingling with his own, but he knew that more than half his own sweat was caused by fear.
They were now clear of the fells and on the roadway and The Nipper was still galloping gallantly, his hoofs beating rhythmically. The sound filled Sandy’s ears, vibrated through his head and seemed to set the pace to his breathing.
They passed the farm. It was no use stopping here, the time now was too short for that. Then they came to the wall from which he had seen the young lady in the gig, and for the first time The Nipper came to a halt. The Nipper wasn’t a jumper; he had cleared the four-foot ditch time and time again in Farmer Blyth’s field but a four-foot wall was a different thing altogether. He stood, his head bobbing and his nostrils sending forth a white vapour like steam.
Aw no; they weren’t going to be baulked now. He hadn’t thought of this. The house was a good mile away; it was no good trying to run there. He looked behind him. A ditch bordered the other side of the road, but a little way to the right was an entrance to a gateless field. That was it, it’d give him a long run.
In the field he patted The Nipper’s neck, then whispered, ‘Take it, boy, take it. Ready? Come on now.’ With a sharp pressure of his knees, he drove The Nipper at the wall, and The Nipper galloped towards it, then came to a skidding stop, his four feet splayed, and Sandy just saved himself from going over his head and landing on the top of the wall.
Straightening himself again he turned The Nipper back into the field, and once again, bending low, he patted him and said, ‘Now this time, lad, take it, take it.’ Again he pressed his knees into the flanks, and again The Nipper charged at the wall, and Sandy almost laughed aloud as he felt his body rise in the air, The Nipper still between his legs. There was the sound of hooves hitting the top of the wall. The Nipper stumbled but righted himself sharply again. They were over and galloping across the field towards the broken wall.
Now the pony was in his stride again and they streaked across the parkland where, in the distance, like a thousand stars coming out in the night sky, the lights from the house shone, and as Sandy raced towards them he felt as if he was flying into heaven itself.
