Works of Ellen Wood, page 1095
The carriages were left at the Crown. An old pony was chartered for some of the provisions, and we boys carried the rest. The people at St. Ann’s Well had been written to, and the room behind the well was in readiness for us. Once the baskets were deposited there, we were at liberty till dinner-time, and went on up the hill. Turning a corner which had hidden the upper landscape from view, we came upon Dan Sanker, who had got on first. He was standing to confront us, his face big with excitement, his nose flaming.
“If you’ll believe me, those cursed Frogs are here!”
In angry consternation — for the Frogs seemed to have no business to be at Malvern — we rushed on, turned another corner, and so brought ourselves into a wide expanse of upper prospect. Sure enough! About a hundred of the Frogs in their Sunday clothes were trooping down the hill. They had the start of us in arriving at Malvern, and had been to the top already.
“I’ll — be — jiggered!” cried Dan, savagely. “What a horrid lot they are! Look at their sneaking tail-coats. Wouldn’t I like to pitch into them!”
The college school wore the Eton jacket. Those preposterous coats, the tails docked to the size of the boys, did not improve the appearance of the Frogs. But as to pitching-in, Dan did not dare to do it after what had passed. It was his nose that made him so resentful.
“I desire that you will behave as gentlemen,” said Captain Sanker, who was behind with the Squire, and bid us halt. “Those poor boys are here, I see; but they will not, I am sure, molest you, neither must you molest them. Civility costs nothing, remember. What are you looking so cross for, Dan?”
“Oh, well, papa, it’s like their impudence, to come here to-day!” muttered Dan.
The captain laughed. “They may say it’s like yours, to come, Dan: they were here first. Go on, lads, and don’t forget yourselves.”
Tod’s whistle below was heard just then; and Dan, not caring to show his nose to the enemy, responded, and galloped back. We went on. The paths there are narrow, you know, and we expected to have all the string of Frogs sweeping past us, their coats brushing our jackets. But — perhaps not caring to meet us any more than we cared to meet them — most of them broke off on a detour down the steep of the hill, and so avoided us. About half-a-dozen came on. One of them was a big-shouldered, awkward, red-faced boy, taller than the rest of them and not unlike a real frog; he walked with his cap in his hand, and his brown hair stood on end like a porcupine’s. Indisputably ugly was he, with a mouth as wide as a frying-pan; but it was a pleasant and honest face, for all that. King suddenly darted to him as he was passing, and pulled him towards Captain Sanker, in excitement.
“Papa, this is the one I told you of; the one who saved me and didn’t mind the blows he got in doing it. I should have been knocked down, and my knee trampled on, but for him.”
Out went Captain Sanker’s hand to shake the boy’s. He did it heartily. As to the Frog, he blushed redder than before with modesty.
“You are a brave lad, and I thank you heartily,” said the captain, wringing his hand as though he’d wring it off. “You do honour to yourself, whoever you may be. There was not one of his own companions to think of him, and save him, and you did it in the midst of danger. Thank you, my lad.”
The captain slid half-a-crown into his hand, telling him to get some Malvern cakes. The boy stood back for us to go by. I was the last, and he spoke as if he knew me.
“Good-day, Master Johnny.”
Why, who was he? And, now I came to look at his freckled face, it seemed quite familiar. His great wide mouth brought me remembrance.
“Why, it’s Mark Ferrar! I didn’t know you at first, Mark.”
“We’ve come over here for the day in two vans,” said Mark, putting his grey cap on. “Eighty of the biggest of us; the rest are to come to-morrow. Some gent that’s visiting at St. Peter’s parsonage has given us the treat, sir.”
“All right, Mark. I’m glad you thought of King Sanker on Saturday.”
Ferrar touched his cap, and went vaulting down after his comrades. He was related to Daniel Ferrar, the Squire’s bailiff, of whom you have heard before, poor fellow, and also to the Batleys of South Crabb. He used to come over to Crabb, that’s where I had seen him.
Some donkeys came running down the hill, their white cloths flying. Captain Sanker stopped one and put King on him — for King was tired already. We soon got to the top then, and to Lady Harcourt’s Tower. Oh, it was a glorious day! The great wide prospect around stood out in all its beauty. The vale of Herefordshire on the one side with its rural plains and woods basked in the sunshine, its crops of ruddy pears and apples giving token of the perry and cider to come; on the other side rose the more diversified landscape that has been so much told and talked of. Over the green meadows and the ripening corn-fields lay Worcester itself: the cathedral showing out well, and the summit of the high church-spire of St. Andrew’s catching a glint of the sunlight. Hills caught the eye wherever it turned: Bredon Hill, Abberleigh Hills, the Old Hills; homesteads lay upon their lands, half hidden by their rick-yards and clustering trees; cattle and sheep browsed on the grass or lay in the shade to shelter themselves from the midday sun. To the right, on the verge of the horizon, far, far away, might be caught a glimpse of something that sparkled like a bed of stars — the Bristol Channel. It is not often you can discern that from Malvern, but this day that I am telling of was one of the clearest ever seen there; the atmosphere looking quite rarefied in spite of the sunlight.
King’s donkey regaled himself with morsels of herbage, the donkey-boy lay stretched beside him, and we boys raced about. When an hour or two had passed, and we were as hot as fire and more hungry than hunters, we bethought ourselves of dinner. King got on his donkey again, and the rest of us whipped him up. When half-way down we saw Dr. Teal gesticulating and shouting, telling us to come on and not keep dinner waiting longer.
We had it in the room behind the well. It was a squeeze to sit round the table. Cold meats, and salad, and pastry, and all sorts of good things. Dan was next to me; he said he could hardly eat for thirst, and kept drinking away at the bottled ale.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Todhetley to him by-and-by, “don’t you think you had better drink some water instead — or lemonade? This bottled ale is very strong.”
“I am afraid it is,” said Dan. “I’ll go in for the tarts now.”
The room was stuffy; and after dinner a table was carried out to a sheltered place near the well: not much better than a little ledge of a path, but where we could not be overlooked, and should be quite out of the way of the hill-climbers. The bank rose perpendicularly above us, banks descended beneath to goodness knew where; there we sat at dessert, all sheltered. I think dark trees and shrubs overshaded us; but I am not altogether sure.
How it came about, I hardly know: but something was brought up about King’s store of ballads, and he was asked to give us his favourite one, “Lord Bateman,” for the benefit of the company. He turned very shy, but Captain Sanker told him not to be silly: and after going white and red for a bit, he began. Perhaps the reader would like to hear it. I never repeat it to myself, no, nor even a verse of it, but poor King Sanker comes before me just as I saw him that day, his back to the ravine below, his eyes looking at nothing, his thin hands nervously twisting some paper about that had covered the basket of raspberries.
Lord Bateman was a noble lord, A noble lord of high degree: He shipped himself on board a ship; Some foreign country he would see.
He sailed east, he sailèd west, Until he came unto Turkey, Where he was taken, and put in prison Until his life was quite weary.
In this prison there grew a tree: It grew so very stout and strong: And he was chained by the middle Until his life was almost gone.
The Turk, he had one only daughter, The fairest creature eye e’er did see: She stole the keys of her father’s prison, And said she’d set Lord Bateman free.
“Have you got houses? — have you got lands Or does Northumberland belong to thee? And what would you give to the fair young I Who out of prison would set you free?”
“Oh, I’ve got houses, and I’ve got lands, And half Northumberland belongs to me; And I’d give it all to the fair young lady That out of prison would set me free.”
Then she took him to her father’s palace, And gave to him the best of wine; And every health that she drank to him Was “I wish, Lord Bateman, you were mine.
“For seven long years I’ll make a vow; And seven long years I’ll keep it strong: If you will wed no other woman, I will wed no other man.”
Then she took him to her father’s harbour, And gave to him a ship of fame; “Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman; I fear I never shall see you again.”
When seven long years were gone and past, And fourteen days, well known to me; She packed up her gay gold and clothing, And said Lord Bateman she would see.
When she came to Lord Bateman’s castle, So boldly there she rang the bell: “Who’s there, who’s there?” cried the young proud porter: “Who’s there, who’s there, unto me tell?”
“Oh, is this Lord’s Bateman’s castle? And is his lordship here within?” “Oh yes, oh yes,” cried the young proud porter: “He has just now taken his young bride in.”
“Tell him to send me a slice of cake, And a bottle of the best of wine; And not to forget the fair young lady That did release him when close confined.”
Away, away went this young proud porter, Away, away, away went he; Until he came unto Lord Bateman, When on his bended knees fell he.
“What news, what news, my young porter; What news, what news have you brought unto me?” “Oh, there is the fairest of all young ladies That ever my two eyes did see.
“She has got rings on every finger, And on one of them she has got three; And she has as much gold round her middle As would buy Northumberland of thee.
“She tells you to send her a slice of cake, And a bottle of the best of wine; And not to forget the fair young lady That did release you when close confined.”
Lord Bateman in a passion flew; He broke his sword in splinters three; “I’ll give all my father’s wealth and riches Now, if Sophia has crossed the sea.”
Then up spoke his young bride’s mother — Who never was heard to speak so free: “Don’t you forget my only daughter, Although Sophia has crossed the sea.”
“I own I’ve made a bride of your daughter She’s none the better nor worse for me; She came to me on a horse and saddle, And she may go back in a carriage and three.”
Then another marriage was prepared, With both their hearts so full of glee: “I’ll range no more to foreign countries, Since my Sophia has crossed the sea.”
King stopped, just as shyly as he had begun. Some laughed, others applauded him; and the Squire told us that the first time he had ever heard “Lord Bateman” was in Sconton’s show, on Worcester racecourse, many a year ago.
After that, we broke up. I and some of the boys climbed up straight to Lady Harcourt’s Tower again. A few Frogs were about the hills, but they did not come in contact with us. When we got back to St. Ann’s the tea was ready in the room.
“And I wish to goodness they’d have it,” cried Dan, “for I’m as thirsty as a fish. I’ve been asleep out there all the while on the bench in the sun. Can’t we have tea, mother?”
“As soon as ever the gentlemen come back,” spoke up Mrs. Teal, who seemed to like order. “They went down to look at the Abbey.”
They were coming up then, puffing over the walk; Tod and Fred Sanker with them. We sat down to tea; and it was half over when the two young Sankers, King and Toby, were missed.
“Tiresome monkeys!” cried the captain. “I never came over here with a party yet, but we had to spend the last hour or two hunting some of them up. Well, I’ll not bother myself over it: they shall find their way home as they can.”
Toby ran in presently. He had only been about the hills, he said, and had not seen King.
“I dare say King’s still in the place where we had dessert,” said Hetta Sanker, just then thinking of it. “He stayed behind us all, saying he was tired. You boys can go and see.”
I and Jim Teal ran off together. King was not there. One of the women at the well said that when she went out for the chairs and things, just before tea-time, nobody was there.
“Oh, he’ll turn up presently,” said the captain. And we went on with our tea, and forgot him.
It was twilight when we got down to the village to start for home. The Squire set off first: the same party with him as in the morning, except that Mrs. Teal took her husband’s place. When they were bringing out the post-carriage, King was again thought of.
“He has stayed somewhere singing to himself,” said Mrs. Sanker.
We went off in different directions, shouting our throats hoarse. Up as far as St. Ann’s, and along the hill underneath, and in all the corners of the village: no King. It was getting strange.
“I should hope none of those impudent Frogs have made off with him!” cried Toby Sanker.
“They are capable of anything, mind you,” added Dan.
One vanload of Frogs had started; the other was getting ready to start. The boys, gaping and listening about, saw and heard all our consternation at the dilemma we were in. Mrs. Todhetley, who did not understand the state of social politics, as between them and the college school, turned and inquired whether they had seen King.
“A delicate lad, who walks lame,” she explained. “We think he must have fallen asleep somewhere on the hill: and we cannot start without him.”
The Frogs showed themselves good-natured; and went tearing up towards the hill to look for King. In passing the Unicorn, a pleasure-party of young men and women, carrying their empty provision-baskets, came running downwards, saying that they had heard groaning under a part of the hill — and described where. I seemed to catch the right place, as if by instinct, and was up there first. King was lying there; not groaning then, but senseless or dead.
Looking upwards to note the position, we thought he must have fallen down from the place where we had sat at dessert. Hetta Sanker said she had left him there by himself, to rest.
“He must have dropped asleep, and fallen down,” cried Dr. Teal.
King came to as they lifted him, and walked a few steps; but looked around and fell aside as though his head were dazed. Dr. Teal thought that there was not much the matter, and that he might be conveyed to Worcester. Ferrar helped to carry him down the hill, and the other Frogs followed. A fine fury their van-driver was in, at their having kept him waiting!
King was made comfortable along the floor of the waggonette, upon some rugs and blankets lent by the Crown; and so was taken home. When Captain Sanker found what had happened, he grew excited, and went knocking at half the doctors’ doors in Worcester. Mr. Woodward was the first in, then Dr. Malden and Mr. Carden came running together. By what the captain had said, they expected to find all the house dead.
King seemed better in the morning. The injury lay chiefly in his head. We did not hear what the doctors made of it. He was sensible, and talked a little. When asked how he came to fall, all he said was that he “went over and could not save himself.”
Coming in, from carrying the news of how he was to the Squire and Mrs. Todhetley at the Star, I found Mark Ferrar at the door.
“Mr. Johnny,” said he, in a low voice, his plain face all concern, “how did it happen? Sure he was not pushed over?”
“Of course not. Why do you ask it?”
Ferrar paused. “Master Johnny, when boys are lame they are more cautious. He’d hardly be likely to slip.”
“He might in walking. It’s only a narrow ledge there. And his sister says she thinks he went to sleep when she left him. She was the last who saw him.”
Mark’s wide mouth went into all sorts of contortions, and the freckles shone in the sun in his effort to get the next words out.
“I fancy it was me that saw him last, Master Johnny. Leastways, later than his sister.”
“Did you? How was that?”
“He must have seen me near the place, and he called to me. There was nobody there but him, and some chairs and a table and glasses and things. He asked me to sit down, and began telling me he had been saying ‘Lord Bateman’ to them all. I didn’t know what ‘Lord Bateman’ meant, Master Johnny — and he said he would tell it me; he should not mind then, but he had minded saying it to the company. It was poetry, I found; but he stopped in the middle, and told me to go then, for he saw some of them coming — —”
“Some of what?” I interrupted.
“Well, I took it to mean some of his grown-up party, or else the college boys. Anyway, he seemed to want me gone, sir, and I went off at once. I didn’t see him after that.”
“He must have fallen asleep, and somehow slipped over.”
“Yes, sir. What a pity he was left in that shallow place!”
King seemed to have all his wits about him, but his face had a white, odd look in it. He lay in a room on the first floor, that belonged in general to the two girls. When I said Mark Ferrar was outside, King asked me to take him up. But I did not like taking him without speaking to Captain Sanker; and I went to him in the parlour.
“The idea of a Frog coming into our house!” cried resentful Dan, as he heard me. “It’s like his impudence to stop outside it! What next? Let him wait till King’s well.”
