Complete Works of Thomas Hardy (Illustrated) (898 page)

They thanked me, and the dairyman, as one of the most active of the group taking a spade in one hand, and a light in the other, prepared to creep in first and foremost.  He had not advanced many steps before here appeared in the outer cave, looking as pale as death.

CHAPTER VI

How all Our Difficulties Came to an End.

“What’s the matter!” said the shoemaker.

“Somebody’s there!” he gasped.

“It can’t be,” said a farmer. “Till those boys found the hole, not a being in the world knew of such a way in.”

“Well, come and harken for yourselves,” said the dairyman.

We crept close to the gallery mouth and listened. Peck, peck, peck; scrape, scraper scrape, could be heard distinctly inside.

“Whoever they call themselves, they are at work like the busy bee!” said the farmer.

It was ultimately agreed that some of the party should go softly round into Grim Billy, creep up the ascent within the cave, and peer through the opening that looked down through the roof of the cave before us. By this means they might learn, unobserved, what was going on.

It was no sooner proposed than carried out. The baker and shoemaker were the ones that went round, and, as there was nothing to be seen where the others waited, I thought I would bear them company. To get to Grim Billy, a circuit of considerable extent was necessary; moreover, we had to cross the mill-stream. The mill had been stopped for the night, some time before, and, hence, it was by a pure chance we noticed that the river was gradually draining itself out. The misfortune initiated by Steve was again upon the village.

“I wonder if the miller knows it?” murmured the shoemaker. “If not, we won’t tell him, or he may lose his senses outright.”

“Then the folks in the cave are enemies!” said the farmer.

“True,” said the baker, “for nobody else can have done this — let’s push on.”

Grim Billy being entered, we crawled on our hands and knees up the slope, which eventually terminated at the hole above Nick’s Pocket — a hole that probably no human being had passed through before we were hoisted up through it on the evening of our marvellous escape.  We were careful to make no noise in ascending, and, at the edge, we gazed cautiously over.

A striking sight met our view.  A number of East Poley men were assembled below on the floor, which had been for awhile submerged by our exploit; and they were working with all their might to build and close up the old outlet of the stream towards West Poley, having already, as it appeared, opened the new opening towards their own village, discovered by Steve.  We understood it in a moment, and, descending with the same softness as before, we returned to where our comrades were waiting for us in the other cave, where we told them the strange sight we had seen.

“How did they find out the secret?” the shoemaker inquired under his breath.  “We have guarded it as we would ha’ guarded our lives.”

“I can guess!” replied the baker.  “Have you forgot how somebody went away from Master Steve Draycot’s bedroom in the dusk last night, and we didn’t know who it was?  Half an hour after, such a man was seen crossing the hill to East Poley; I was told so to-day.  We’ve been surprised, and must hold our own by main force, since we can no longer do it by stealth.”

“How, main force?” asked the blacksmith and a farmer simultaneously.

“By closing the gallery they went in by,” said the baker.  “Then we shall have them in prison, and can bring them to book rarely.”

The rest being all irritated at having been circumvented so slily and selfishly by the East Poley men, the baker’s plan met with ready acceptance. Five of our body at once chose hard boulders from the outer cave, of such a bulk that they would roll about half-way into the passage or gallery — where there was a slight enlargement — but which would pass no further.  These being put in position, they were easily wedged there, and it was impossible to remove them from within, owing to the diminishing size of the passage, except by more powerful tools than they had, which were only spades.  We now felt sure of our antagonists, and in a far better position to argue with them than if they had been free.  No longer taking the trouble to preserve silence, we, of West Poley, walked in a body round to the other cave — Grim Billy — ascended the inclined floor like a flock of goats, and arranged ourselves in a group at the opening that impended over Nick’s Pocket.

The East Poley men were still working on, absorbed in their labour, and were unconscious that twenty eyes regarded them from above like stars.

“Let’s halloo!” said the baker.

Halloo we did with such vigour that the East Poley men, taken absolutely unawares, well nigh sprang into the air at the shock it produced on their nerves. Their spades flew from their hands, and they stared around in dire alarm, for the echoes confused them as to the direction whence their hallooing came. They finally turned their eyes upwards, and saw us individuals of the rival village far above them, illuminated with candles and with countenances grave and stern as a bench of unmerciful judges.

“Men of East Poley,” said the baker, “we have caught ye in the execution of a most unfair piece of work. Because of a temporary turning of our water into your vale by a couple of meddlesome boys — a piece of mischief that was speedily repaired — you have thought fit to covet our stream. You have sent a spy to find out its secret, and have meanfully come here to steal the stream for yourselves forever. This cavern is in our parish, and you have no right here at all.”

“The waters of the earth be as much ours as yours,” said one from beneath. But the remainder were thunderstruck, for they knew that their chance had lain entirely in strategy and not in argument.

The shoemaker then spoke: “Ye have entered upon our property, and diverted the water, and made our parish mill useless, and caused us other losses. Do ye agree to restore it to its old course, close up the new course ye have been at such labour to widen — in short, to leave things as they have been from time immemorial?”

“No-o-o-o!” was shouted from below in a yell of defiance.

“Very well, then,” said the baker, “we must make you. Gentlemen, ye are prisoners. Until you restore that water to us, you will bide where you be.The East Poley men rushed to escape by the way they had entered. But halfway up the tunnel a barricade of adamantine blocks barred their footsteps. “Bring spades!” shouted the foremost. But the stones were so well wedged, and the passage so small, that, as we had anticipated, no engineering force at their disposal could make the least impression upon the blocks. They returned to the inner cave disconsolately.

“D’ye give in?” we asked them.

“Never!” said they doggedly.

“Let ‘em sweat — let ‘em sweat,” said the shoemaker, placidly.  “They’ll tell a different tale by to-morrow morning.  Let ‘em bide for the night, and say no more.”

In pursuance of this idea we withdrew from our position, and, passing out of Grim Billy, went straight home.  Steve was excited by the length of my stay, and still more when I told him the cause of it.  ‘What — got them prisoners in the cave?” he said.  “I must go myself to-morrow and see the end of this!”

Whether it was partly due to the excitement of the occasion, or solely to the recuperative powers of a strong constitution, cannot be said; but certain it is that next morning, on hearing the villagers shouting and gathering together, Steve sprang out of bed, declaring that he must go with me to see what was happening to the prisoners.  The doctor was hastily called in, and gave it as his opinion that the outing would do Steve no harm, if he were warmly wrapped up; and soon away we went, just in time to overtake the men who had started on their way.

With breathless curiosity we entered Grim Billy, lit our candles and clambered up the incline.  Almost before we reached the top, exclamations ascended through the chasm to Nick’s Pocket, there being such words as, “We give in!” “Let us out!” “We give up the water forever!”

Looking in upon them, we found their aspect to be very different from what it had been the night before.  Some had extemporized a couch with smock-frocks and gaiters, and jumped up from a sound sleep thereon; while others had their spades in their hands, as if undoing what they had been at such pains to build up, as was proved in a moment by their saying eagerly, “We have begun to put it right, and shall finish soon — we are restoring the river to his old bed — give us your word, good gentlemen, that when it is done we shall be free!”

“Certainly,” replied our side with great dignity.  “We have said so already.”

Our arrival stimulated them in the work of repair, which had hitherto been somewhat desultory.  Then shovels entered the clay and rubble like giants’ tongues; they lit up more candles, and in half an hour had completely demolished the structure raised the night before with such labour and amazing solidity that it might have been expected to last forever. The final stone rolled away, the much tantalised river withdrew its last drop from the new channel, and resumed its original course once more.

While the East Poley men had been completing this task, some of our party had gone back to Nick’s Pocket, and there, after much exertion, succeeded in unpacking the boulders from the horizontal passage admitting to the inner cave. By the time this was done, the prisoners within had finished their work of penance, and we West Poley men, who had remained to watch them, rejoined our companions. Then we all stood back, while those of East Poley came out, walking between their vanquishers, like the Romans under the Caudine Forks, when they surrendered to the Samnites.  They glared at us with suppressed rage, and passed without saying a word.

“I see from their manner that we have not heard the last of this,” said the Man who had Failed, thoughtfully. He had just joined us, and learnt the state of the case.

“I was thinking as much,” said the shoemaker. “As long as that cave is known in Poley, so long will they bother us about the stream.”

“I wish it had never been found out,” said the baker bitterly. “If not now upon us, they will be playing that trick upon our children when we are dead and gone.”

Steve glanced at me, and there was sadness in his look.

We walked home considerably in the rear of the rest, by no means a tease. It was impossible to disguise from ourselves that Steve had lost the good feeling of his fellow parishioners by his explorations and their results.

As the West Poley men had predicted, so it turned out. Some months afterwards, when I had gone back to my home and school, and Steve was learning to superintend his mother’s farm, I heard that another midnight entry had been made into the cave by the rougher characters of East Poley.  They diverted the stream as before, and when the miller and other inhabitants of the west village rose in the morning, behold, their stream was dry! The West Poley folk were furious, and rushed to Nick’s Pocket. The mischief-makers were gone, and there was no legal proof as to their identity, though it was indirectly clear enough where they had come from. With some difficulty the water was again restored, but not till Steve had again been spoken of as the original cause of the misfortunes.

About this time I paid another visit to my cousin and aunt. Steve seemed to have grown a good deal older than when I had last seen him, and, almost as soon as we were alone, he began to speak on the subject of the mill-stream.

“I am glad you have come, Leonard,” he said, “for I want to talk to you.  I have never been happy, you know, since the adventure; I don’t like the idea that by a freak of mine our village should be placed at the mercy of the East Poleyites; I shall never be liked again unless I make that river as secure from interruption as it was before.”

“But that can’t be,” said I.

“Well, I have a scheme,” said Steve musingly.  “I am not so sure that the river may not be made as secure as it was before.”

“But how?  What is the scheme based on?” I asked, incredulously.

“I cannot reveal to you at present,” said he.  “All I can say is, that I have injured my native village, that I owe it amends, and that I’ll pay the debt if it’s a possibility.”

I soon perceived from my cousin’s manner at meals and elsewhere that the scheme, whatever it might be, occupied him to the exclusion of all other thoughts.  But he would not speak to me about it.  I frequently missed him for spaces of an hour or two, and soon conjectured that these hours of absence were spent in furtherance of his plan.

The last day of my visit came round, and to tell the truth I was not sorry, for Steve was so preoccupied as to be anything but a pleasant companion.  I walked up to the village alone, and soon became aware that something had happened.

During the night another raid had been made upon the river head — with but partial success, it is true; but the stream was so much reduced that the mill-wheel would not turn, and the dipping pools were nearly empty.  It was resolved to repair the mischief in the evening, but the disturbance in the village was very great, for the attempt proved that the more unscrupulous characters of East Poley were not inclined to desist.

Before I had gone much further, I was surprised to discern in the distance a figure which seemed to be Steve’s, though I thought I had left him at the rear of his mother’s premises.

He was making for Nick’s Pocket, and following thither I reached the mouth of the cave just in time to see him enter.

“Steve!” I called out.  He heard me and came back.  He was pale, and there seemed to be something in his face which I had never seen there before.   

“Ah — Leonard,” he said, you have traced me.  Well, you are just in time.  The folks think of coming to mend this mischief as soon as their day’s work is over, but perhaps it won’t be necessary. My scheme may do instead.”

“How — do instead?” asked I.

“Well, save them the trouble,” he said with assumed carelessness.  “I had almost decided not to carry it out, though I have got the materials in readiness, but the doings of the night have stung me; I carry out my plan.”

“When?”

“Now — this hour — this moment. The stream must flow into its right channel, and stay there, and no man’s hands must be able to turn it elsewhere. Now good-bye, in case of accidents.”