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diff --git a/1392-h/1392-h.htm b/1392-h/1392-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bf10b65 --- /dev/null +++ b/1392-h/1392-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1342 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Seven Poor Travellers</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Seven Poor Travellers, by Charles Dickens</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Seven Poor Travellers, by Charles Dickens + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Seven Poor Travellers + + +Author: Charles Dickens + +Release Date: April 3, 2005 [eBook #1392] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1894 Chapman and Hall edition of “Christmas +Stories” by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>THE SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS—IN THREE CHAPTERS</h1> +<h2>CHAPTER I—IN THE OLD CITY OF ROCHESTER</h2> +<p>Strictly speaking, there were only six Poor Travellers; but, being +a Traveller myself, though an idle one, and being withal as poor as +I hope to be, I brought the number up to seven. This word of explanation +is due at once, for what says the inscription over the quaint old door?</p> +<blockquote><p>RICHARD WATTS, Esq.<br /> +by his Will, dated 22 Aug. 1579,<br /> +founded this Charity<br /> +for Six poor Travellers,<br /> +who not being ROGUES, or PROCTORS,<br /> +May receive gratis for one Night,<br /> +Lodging, Entertainment,<br /> +and Fourpence each.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was in the ancient little city of Rochester in Kent, of all the +good days in the year upon a Christmas-eve, that I stood reading this +inscription over the quaint old door in question. I had been wandering +about the neighbouring Cathedral, and had seen the tomb of Richard Watts, +with the effigy of worthy Master Richard starting out of it like a ship’s +figure-head; and I had felt that I could do no less, as I gave the Verger +his fee, than inquire the way to Watts’s Charity. The way +being very short and very plain, I had come prosperously to the inscription +and the quaint old door.</p> +<p>“Now,” said I to myself, as I looked at the knocker, +“I know I am not a Proctor; I wonder whether I am a Rogue!”</p> +<p>Upon the whole, though Conscience reproduced two or three pretty +faces which might have had smaller attraction for a moral Goliath than +they had had for me, who am but a Tom Thumb in that way, I came to the +conclusion that I was not a Rogue. So, beginning to regard the +establishment as in some sort my property, bequeathed to me and divers +co-legatees, share and share alike, by the Worshipful Master Richard +Watts, I stepped backward into the road to survey my inheritance.</p> +<p>I found it to be a clean white house, of a staid and venerable air, +with the quaint old door already three times mentioned (an arched door), +choice little long low lattice-windows, and a roof of three gables. +The silent High Street of Rochester is full of gables, with old beams +and timbers carved into strange faces. It is oddly garnished with +a queer old clock that projects over the pavement out of a grave red-brick +building, as if Time carried on business there, and hung out his sign. +Sooth to say, he did an active stroke of work in Rochester, in the old +days of the Romans, and the Saxons, and the Normans; and down to the +times of King John, when the rugged castle—I will not undertake +to say how many hundreds of years old then—was abandoned to the +centuries of weather which have so defaced the dark apertures in its +walls, that the ruin looks as if the rooks and daws had pecked its eyes +out.</p> +<p>I was very well pleased, both with my property and its situation. +While I was yet surveying it with growing content, I espied, at one +of the upper lattices which stood open, a decent body, of a wholesome +matronly appearance, whose eyes I caught inquiringly addressed to mine. +They said so plainly, “Do you wish to see the house?” that +I answered aloud, “Yes, if you please.” And within +a minute the old door opened, and I bent my head, and went down two +steps into the entry.</p> +<p>“This,” said the matronly presence, ushering me into +a low room on the right, “is where the Travellers sit by the fire, +and cook what bits of suppers they buy with their fourpences.”</p> +<p>“O! Then they have no Entertainment?” said I. +For the inscription over the outer door was still running in my head, +and I was mentally repeating, in a kind of tune, “Lodging, entertainment, +and fourpence each.”</p> +<p>“They have a fire provided for ’em,” returned the +matron—a mighty civil person, not, as I could make out, overpaid; +“and these cooking utensils. And this what’s painted +on a board is the rules for their behaviour. They have their fourpences +when they get their tickets from the steward over the way,—for +I don’t admit ’em myself, they must get their tickets first,—and +sometimes one buys a rasher of bacon, and another a herring, and another +a pound of potatoes, or what not. Sometimes two or three of ’em +will club their fourpences together, and make a supper that way. +But not much of anything is to be got for fourpence, at present, when +provisions is so dear.”</p> +<p>“True indeed,” I remarked. I had been looking about +the room, admiring its snug fireside at the upper end, its glimpse of +the street through the low mullioned window, and its beams overhead. +“It is very comfortable,” said I.</p> +<p>“Ill-conwenient,” observed the matronly presence.</p> +<p>I liked to hear her say so; for it showed a commendable anxiety to +execute in no niggardly spirit the intentions of Master Richard Watts. +But the room was really so well adapted to its purpose that I protested, +quite enthusiastically, against her disparagement.</p> +<p>“Nay, ma’am,” said I, “I am sure it is warm +in winter and cool in summer. It has a look of homely welcome +and soothing rest. It has a remarkably cosey fireside, the very +blink of which, gleaming out into the street upon a winter night, is +enough to warm all Rochester’s heart. And as to the convenience +of the six Poor Travellers—”</p> +<p>“I don’t mean them,” returned the presence. +“I speak of its being an ill-conwenience to myself and my daughter, +having no other room to sit in of a night.”</p> +<p>This was true enough, but there was another quaint room of corresponding +dimensions on the opposite side of the entry: so I stepped across to +it, through the open doors of both rooms, and asked what this chamber +was for.</p> +<p>“This,” returned the presence, “is the Board Room. +Where the gentlemen meet when they come here.”</p> +<p>Let me see. I had counted from the street six upper windows +besides these on the ground-story. Making a perplexed calculation +in my mind, I rejoined, “Then the six Poor Travellers sleep upstairs?”</p> +<p>My new friend shook her head. “They sleep,” she +answered, “in two little outer galleries at the back, where their +beds has always been, ever since the Charity was founded. It being +so very ill-conwenient to me as things is at present, the gentlemen +are going to take off a bit of the back-yard, and make a slip of a room +for ’em there, to sit in before they go to bed.”</p> +<p>“And then the six Poor Travellers,” said I, “will +be entirely out of the house?”</p> +<p>“Entirely out of the house,” assented the presence, comfortably +smoothing her hands. “Which is considered much better for +all parties, and much more conwenient.”</p> +<p>I had been a little startled, in the Cathedral, by the emphasis with +which the effigy of Master Richard Watts was bursting out of his tomb; +but I began to think, now, that it might be expected to come across +the High Street some stormy night, and make a disturbance here.</p> +<p>Howbeit, I kept my thoughts to myself, and accompanied the presence +to the little galleries at the back. I found them on a tiny scale, +like the galleries in old inn-yards; and they were very clean.</p> +<p>While I was looking at them, the matron gave me to understand that +the prescribed number of Poor Travellers were forthcoming every night +from year’s end to year’s end; and that the beds were always +occupied. My questions upon this, and her replies, brought us +back to the Board Room so essential to the dignity of “the gentlemen,” +where she showed me the printed accounts of the Charity hanging up by +the window. From them I gathered that the greater part of the +property bequeathed by the Worshipful Master Richard Watts for the maintenance +of this foundation was, at the period of his death, mere marsh-land; +but that, in course of time, it had been reclaimed and built upon, and +was very considerably increased in value. I found, too, that about +a thirtieth part of the annual revenue was now expended on the purposes +commemorated in the inscription over the door; the rest being handsomely +laid out in Chancery, law expenses, collectorship, receivership, poundage, +and other appendages of management, highly complimentary to the importance +of the six Poor Travellers. In short, I made the not entirely +new discovery that it may be said of an establishment like this, in +dear old England, as of the fat oyster in the American story, that it +takes a good many men to swallow it whole.</p> +<p>“And pray, ma’am,” said I, sensible that the blankness +of my face began to brighten as the thought occurred to me, “could +one see these Travellers?”</p> +<p>“Well!” she returned dubiously, “no!”</p> +<p>“Not to-night, for instance!” said I.</p> +<p>“Well!” she returned more positively, “no. +Nobody ever asked to see them, and nobody ever did see them.”</p> +<p>As I am not easily balked in a design when I am set upon it, I urged +to the good lady that this was Christmas-eve; that Christmas comes but +once a year,—which is unhappily too true, for when it begins to +stay with us the whole year round we shall make this earth a very different +place; that I was possessed by the desire to treat the Travellers to +a supper and a temperate glass of hot Wassail; that the voice of Fame +had been heard in that land, declaring my ability to make hot Wassail; +that if I were permitted to hold the feast, I should be found conformable +to reason, sobriety, and good hours; in a word, that I could be merry +and wise myself, and had been even known at a pinch to keep others so, +although I was decorated with no badge or medal, and was not a Brother, +Orator, Apostle, Saint, or Prophet of any denomination whatever. +In the end I prevailed, to my great joy. It was settled that at +nine o’clock that night a Turkey and a piece of Roast Beef should +smoke upon the board; and that I, faint and unworthy minister for once +of Master Richard Watts, should preside as the Christmas-supper host +of the six Poor Travellers.</p> +<p>I went back to my inn to give the necessary directions for the Turkey +and Roast Beef, and, during the remainder of the day, could settle to +nothing for thinking of the Poor Travellers. When the wind blew +hard against the windows,—it was a cold day, with dark gusts of +sleet alternating with periods of wild brightness, as if the year were +dying fitfully,—I pictured them advancing towards their resting-place +along various cold roads, and felt delighted to think how little they +foresaw the supper that awaited them. I painted their portraits +in my mind, and indulged in little heightening touches. I made +them footsore; I made them weary; I made them carry packs and bundles; +I made them stop by finger-posts and milestones, leaning on their bent +sticks, and looking wistfully at what was written there; I made them +lose their way; and filled their five wits with apprehensions of lying +out all night, and being frozen to death. I took up my hat, and +went out, climbed to the top of the Old Castle, and looked over the +windy hills that slope down to the Medway, almost believing that I could +descry some of my Travellers in the distance. After it fell dark, +and the Cathedral bell was heard in the invisible steeple—quite +a bower of frosty rime when I had last seen it—striking five, +six, seven, I became so full of my Travellers that I could eat no dinner, +and felt constrained to watch them still in the red coals of my fire. +They were all arrived by this time, I thought, had got their tickets, +and were gone in.—There my pleasure was dashed by the reflection +that probably some Travellers had come too late and were shut out.</p> +<p>After the Cathedral bell had struck eight, I could smell a delicious +savour of Turkey and Roast Beef rising to the window of my adjoining +bedroom, which looked down into the inn-yard just where the lights of +the kitchen reddened a massive fragment of the Castle Wall. It +was high time to make the Wassail now; therefore I had up the materials +(which, together with their proportions and combinations, I must decline +to impart, as the only secret of my own I was ever known to keep), and +made a glorious jorum. Not in a bowl; for a bowl anywhere but +on a shelf is a low superstition, fraught with cooling and slopping; +but in a brown earthenware pitcher, tenderly suffocated, when full, +with a coarse cloth. It being now upon the stroke of nine, I set +out for Watts’s Charity, carrying my brown beauty in my arms. +I would trust Ben, the waiter, with untold gold; but there are strings +in the human heart which must never be sounded by another, and drinks +that I make myself are those strings in mine.</p> +<p>The Travellers were all assembled, the cloth was laid, and Ben had +brought a great billet of wood, and had laid it artfully on the top +of the fire, so that a touch or two of the poker after supper should +make a roaring blaze. Having deposited my brown beauty in a red +nook of the hearth, inside the fender, where she soon began to sing +like an ethereal cricket, diffusing at the same time odours as of ripe +vineyards, spice forests, and orange groves,—I say, having stationed +my beauty in a place of security and improvement, I introduced myself +to my guests by shaking hands all round, and giving them a hearty welcome.</p> +<p>I found the party to be thus composed. Firstly, myself. +Secondly, a very decent man indeed, with his right arm in a sling, who +had a certain clean agreeable smell of wood about him, from which I +judged him to have something to do with shipbuilding. Thirdly, +a little sailor-boy, a mere child, with a profusion of rich dark brown +hair, and deep womanly-looking eyes. Fourthly, a shabby-genteel +personage in a threadbare black suit, and apparently in very bad circumstances, +with a dry suspicious look; the absent buttons on his waistcoat eked +out with red tape; and a bundle of extraordinarily tattered papers sticking +out of an inner breast-pocket. Fifthly, a foreigner by birth, +but an Englishman in speech, who carried his pipe in the band of his +hat, and lost no time in telling me, in an easy, simple, engaging way, +that he was a watchmaker from Geneva, and travelled all about the Continent, +mostly on foot, working as a journeyman, and seeing new countries,—possibly +(I thought) also smuggling a watch or so, now and then. Sixthly, +a little widow, who had been very pretty and was still very young, but +whose beauty had been wrecked in some great misfortune, and whose manner +was remarkably timid, scared, and solitary. Seventhly and lastly, +a Traveller of a kind familiar to my boyhood, but now almost obsolete,—a +Book-Pedler, who had a quantity of Pamphlets and Numbers with him, and +who presently boasted that he could repeat more verses in an evening +than he could sell in a twelvemonth.</p> +<p>All these I have mentioned in the order in which they sat at table. +I presided, and the matronly presence faced me. We were not long +in taking our places, for the supper had arrived with me, in the following +procession:</p> +<blockquote><p>Myself with the pitcher.<br /> +Ben with Beer.<br /> +Inattentive Boy with hot plates. Inattentive Boy with hot plates.<br /> +THE TURKEY.<br /> +Female carrying sauces to be heated on the spot.<br /> +THE BEEF.<br /> +Man with Tray on his head, containing Vegetables and Sundries.<br /> +Volunteer Hostler from Hotel, grinning,<br /> +And rendering no assistance.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>As we passed along the High Street, comet-like, we left a long tail +of fragrance behind us which caused the public to stop, sniffing in +wonder. We had previously left at the corner of the inn-yard a +wall-eyed young man connected with the Fly department, and well accustomed +to the sound of a railway whistle which Ben always carries in his pocket, +whose instructions were, so soon as he should hear the whistle blown, +to dash into the kitchen, seize the hot plum-pudding and mince-pies, +and speed with them to Watts’s Charity, where they would be received +(he was further instructed) by the sauce-female, who would be provided +with brandy in a blue state of combustion.</p> +<p>All these arrangements were executed in the most exact and punctual +manner. I never saw a finer turkey, finer beef, or greater prodigality +of sauce and gravy;—and my Travellers did wonderful justice to +everything set before them. It made my heart rejoice to observe +how their wind and frost hardened faces softened in the clatter of plates +and knives and forks, and mellowed in the fire and supper heat. +While their hats and caps and wrappers, hanging up, a few small bundles +on the ground in a corner, and in another corner three or four old walking-sticks, +worn down at the end to mere fringe, linked this smug interior with +the bleak outside in a golden chain.</p> +<p>When supper was done, and my brown beauty had been elevated on the +table, there was a general requisition to me to “take the corner;” +which suggested to me comfortably enough how much my friends here made +of a fire,—for when had <i>I</i> ever thought so highly of the +corner, since the days when I connected it with Jack Horner? However, +as I declined, Ben, whose touch on all convivial instruments is perfect, +drew the table apart, and instructing my Travellers to open right and +left on either side of me, and form round the fire, closed up the centre +with myself and my chair, and preserved the order we had kept at table. +He had already, in a tranquil manner, boxed the ears of the inattentive +boys until they had been by imperceptible degrees boxed out of the room; +and he now rapidly skirmished the sauce-female into the High Street, +disappeared, and softly closed the door.</p> +<p>This was the time for bringing the poker to bear on the billet of +wood. I tapped it three times, like an enchanted talisman, and +a brilliant host of merry-makers burst out of it, and sported off by +the chimney,—rushing up the middle in a fiery country dance, and +never coming down again. Meanwhile, by their sparkling light, +which threw our lamp into the shade, I filled the glasses, and gave +my Travellers, CHRISTMAS!—CHRISTMAS-EVE, my friends, when the +shepherds, who were Poor Travellers, too, in their way, heard the Angels +sing, “On earth, peace. Good-will towards men!”</p> +<p>I don’t know who was the first among us to think that we ought +to take hands as we sat, in deference to the toast, or whether any one +of us anticipated the others, but at any rate we all did it. We +then drank to the memory of the good Master Richard Watts. And +I wish his Ghost may never have had worse usage under that roof than +it had from us.</p> +<p>It was the witching time for Story-telling. “Our whole +life, Travellers,” said I, “is a story more or less intelligible,—generally +less; but we shall read it by a clearer light when it is ended. +I, for one, am so divided this night between fact and fiction, that +I scarce know which is which. Shall I beguile the time by telling +you a story as we sit here?”</p> +<p>They all answered, yes. I had little to tell them, but I was +bound by my own proposal. Therefore, after looking for awhile +at the spiral column of smoke wreathing up from my brown beauty, through +which I could have almost sworn I saw the effigy of Master Richard Watts +less startled than usual, I fired away.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II—THE STORY OF RICHARD DOUBLEDICK</h2> +<p>In the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine, a relative +of mine came limping down, on foot, to this town of Chatham. I +call it this town, because if anybody present knows to a nicety where +Rochester ends and Chatham begins, it is more than I do. He was +a poor traveller, with not a farthing in his pocket. He sat by +the fire in this very room, and he slept one night in a bed that will +be occupied to-night by some one here.</p> +<p>My relative came down to Chatham to enlist in a cavalry regiment, +if a cavalry regiment would have him; if not, to take King George’s +shilling from any corporal or sergeant who would put a bunch of ribbons +in his hat. His object was to get shot; but he thought he might +as well ride to death as be at the trouble of walking.</p> +<p>My relative’s Christian name was Richard, but he was better +known as Dick. He dropped his own surname on the road down, and +took up that of Doubledick. He was passed as Richard Doubledick; +age, twenty-two; height, five foot ten; native place, Exmouth, which +he had never been near in his life. There was no cavalry in Chatham +when he limped over the bridge here with half a shoe to his dusty feet, +so he enlisted into a regiment of the line, and was glad to get drunk +and forget all about it.</p> +<p>You are to know that this relative of mine had gone wrong, and run +wild. His heart was in the right place, but it was sealed up. +He had been betrothed to a good and beautiful girl, whom he had loved +better than she—or perhaps even he—believed; but in an evil +hour he had given her cause to say to him solemnly, “Richard, +I will never marry another man. I will live single for your sake, +but Mary Marshall’s lips”—her name was Mary Marshall—“never +address another word to you on earth. Go, Richard! Heaven +forgive you!” This finished him. This brought him +down to Chatham. This made him Private Richard Doubledick, with +a determination to be shot.</p> +<p>There was not a more dissipated and reckless soldier in Chatham barracks, +in the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine, than Private +Richard Doubledick. He associated with the dregs of every regiment; +he was as seldom sober as he could be, and was constantly under punishment. +It became clear to the whole barracks that Private Richard Doubledick +would very soon be flogged.</p> +<p>Now the Captain of Richard Doubledick’s company was a young +gentleman not above five years his senior, whose eyes had an expression +in them which affected Private Richard Doubledick in a very remarkable +way. They were bright, handsome, dark eyes,—what are called +laughing eyes generally, and, when serious, rather steady than severe,—but +they were the only eyes now left in his narrowed world that Private +Richard Doubledick could not stand. Unabashed by evil report and +punishment, defiant of everything else and everybody else, he had but +to know that those eyes looked at him for a moment, and he felt ashamed. +He could not so much as salute Captain Taunton in the street like any +other officer. He was reproached and confused,—troubled +by the mere possibility of the captain’s looking at him. +In his worst moments, he would rather turn back, and go any distance +out of his way, than encounter those two handsome, dark, bright eyes.</p> +<p>One day, when Private Richard Doubledick came out of the Black hole, +where he had been passing the last eight-and-forty hours, and in which +retreat he spent a good deal of his time, he was ordered to betake himself +to Captain Taunton’s quarters. In the stale and squalid +state of a man just out of the Black hole, he had less fancy than ever +for being seen by the captain; but he was not so mad yet as to disobey +orders, and consequently went up to the terrace overlooking the parade-ground, +where the officers’ quarters were; twisting and breaking in his +hands, as he went along, a bit of the straw that had formed the decorative +furniture of the Black hole.</p> +<p>“Come in!” cried the Captain, when he had knocked with +his knuckles at the door. Private Richard Doubledick pulled off +his cap, took a stride forward, and felt very conscious that he stood +in the light of the dark, bright eyes.</p> +<p>There was a silent pause. Private Richard Doubledick had put +the straw in his mouth, and was gradually doubling it up into his windpipe +and choking himself.</p> +<p>“Doubledick,” said the Captain, “do you know where +you are going to?”</p> +<p>“To the Devil, sir?” faltered Doubledick.</p> +<p>“Yes,” returned the Captain. “And very fast.”</p> +<p>Private Richard Doubledick turned the straw of the Black hole in +his month, and made a miserable salute of acquiescence.</p> +<p>“Doubledick,” said the Captain, “since I entered +his Majesty’s service, a boy of seventeen, I have been pained +to see many men of promise going that road; but I have never been so +pained to see a man make the shameful journey as I have been, ever since +you joined the regiment, to see you.”</p> +<p>Private Richard Doubledick began to find a film stealing over the +floor at which he looked; also to find the legs of the Captain’s +breakfast-table turning crooked, as if he saw them through water.</p> +<p>“I am only a common soldier, sir,” said he. “It +signifies very little what such a poor brute comes to.”</p> +<p>“You are a man,” returned the Captain, with grave indignation, +“of education and superior advantages; and if you say that, meaning +what you say, you have sunk lower than I had believed. How low +that must be, I leave you to consider, knowing what I know of your disgrace, +and seeing what I see.”</p> +<p>“I hope to get shot soon, sir,” said Private Richard +Doubledick; “and then the regiment and the world together will +be rid of me.”</p> +<p>The legs of the table were becoming very crooked. Doubledick, +looking up to steady his vision, met the eyes that had so strong an +influence over him. He put his hand before his own eyes, and the +breast of his disgrace-jacket swelled as if it would fly asunder.</p> +<p>“I would rather,” said the young Captain, “see +this in you, Doubledick, than I would see five thousand guineas counted +out upon this table for a gift to my good mother. Have you a mother?”</p> +<p>“I am thankful to say she is dead, sir.”</p> +<p>“If your praises,” returned the Captain, “were +sounded from mouth to mouth through the whole regiment, through the +whole army, through the whole country, you would wish she had lived +to say, with pride and joy, ‘He is my son!’”</p> +<p>“Spare me, sir,” said Doubledick. “She would +never have heard any good of me. She would never have had any +pride and joy in owning herself my mother. Love and compassion +she might have had, and would have always had, I know but not—Spare +me, sir! I am a broken wretch, quite at your mercy!” +And he turned his face to the wall, and stretched out his imploring +hand.</p> +<p>“My friend—” began the Captain.</p> +<p>“God bless you, sir!” sobbed Private Richard Doubledick.</p> +<p>“You are at the crisis of your fate. Hold your course +unchanged a little longer, and you know what must happen. <i>I</i> +know even better than you can imagine, that, after that has happened, +you are lost. No man who could shed those tears could bear those +marks.”</p> +<p>“I fully believe it, sir,” in a low, shivering voice +said Private Richard Doubledick.</p> +<p>“But a man in any station can do his duty,” said the +young Captain, “and, in doing it, can earn his own respect, even +if his case should be so very unfortunate and so very rare that he can +earn no other man’s. A common soldier, poor brute though +you called him just now, has this advantage in the stormy times we live +in, that he always does his duty before a host of sympathising witnesses. +Do you doubt that he may so do it as to be extolled through a whole +regiment, through a whole army, through a whole country? Turn +while you may yet retrieve the past, and try.”</p> +<p>“I will! I ask for only one witness, sir,” cried +Richard, with a bursting heart.</p> +<p>“I understand you. I will be a watchful and a faithful +one.”</p> +<p>I have heard from Private Richard Doubledick’s own lips, that +he dropped down upon his knee, kissed that officer’s hand, arose, +and went out of the light of the dark, bright eyes, an altered man.</p> +<p>In that year, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine, the French +were in Egypt, in Italy, in Germany, where not? Napoleon Bonaparte +had likewise begun to stir against us in India, and most men could read +the signs of the great troubles that were coming on. In the very +next year, when we formed an alliance with Austria against him, Captain +Taunton’s regiment was on service in India. And there was +not a finer non-commissioned officer in it,—no, nor in the whole +line—than Corporal Richard Doubledick.</p> +<p>In eighteen hundred and one, the Indian army were on the coast of +Egypt. Next year was the year of the proclamation of the short +peace, and they were recalled. It had then become well known to +thousands of men, that wherever Captain Taunton, with the dark, bright +eyes, led, there, close to him, ever at his side, firm as a rock, true +as the sun, and brave as Mars, would be certain to be found, while life +beat in their hearts, that famous soldier, Sergeant Richard Doubledick.</p> +<p>Eighteen hundred and five, besides being the great year of Trafalgar, +was a year of hard fighting in India. That year saw such wonders +done by a Sergeant-Major, who cut his way single-handed through a solid +mass of men, recovered the colours of his regiment, which had been seized +from the hand of a poor boy shot through the heart, and rescued his +wounded Captain, who was down, and in a very jungle of horses’ +hoofs and sabres,—saw such wonders done, I say, by this brave +Sergeant-Major, that he was specially made the bearer of the colours +he had won; and Ensign Richard Doubledick had risen from the ranks.</p> +<p>Sorely cut up in every battle, but always reinforced by the bravest +of men,—for the fame of following the old colours, shot through +and through, which Ensign Richard Doubledick had saved, inspired all +breasts,—this regiment fought its way through the Peninsular war, +up to the investment of Badajos in eighteen hundred and twelve. +Again and again it had been cheered through the British ranks until +the tears had sprung into men’s eyes at the mere hearing of the +mighty British voice, so exultant in their valour; and there was not +a drummer-boy but knew the legend, that wherever the two friends, Major +Taunton, with the dark, bright eyes, and Ensign Richard Doubledick, +who was devoted to him, were seen to go, there the boldest spirits in +the English army became wild to follow.</p> +<p>One day, at Badajos,—not in the great storming, but in repelling +a hot sally of the besieged upon our men at work in the trenches, who +had given way,—the two officers found themselves hurrying forward, +face to face, against a party of French infantry, who made a stand. +There was an officer at their head, encouraging his men,—a courageous, +handsome, gallant officer of five-and-thirty, whom Doubledick saw hurriedly, +almost momentarily, but saw well. He particularly noticed this +officer waving his sword, and rallying his men with an eager and excited +cry, when they fired in obedience to his gesture, and Major Taunton +dropped.</p> +<p>It was over in ten minutes more, and Doubledick returned to the spot +where he had laid the best friend man ever had on a coat spread upon +the wet clay. Major Taunton’s uniform was opened at the +breast, and on his shirt were three little spots of blood.</p> +<p>“Dear Doubledick,” said he, “I am dying.”</p> +<p>“For the love of Heaven, no!” exclaimed the other, kneeling +down beside him, and passing his arm round his neck to raise his head. +“Taunton! My preserver, my guardian angel, my witness! +Dearest, truest, kindest of human beings! Taunton! For God’s +sake!”</p> +<p>The bright, dark eyes—so very, very dark now, in the pale face—smiled +upon him; and the hand he had kissed thirteen years ago laid itself +fondly on his breast.</p> +<p>“Write to my mother. You will see Home again. Tell +her how we became friends. It will comfort her, as it comforts +me.”</p> +<p>He spoke no more, but faintly signed for a moment towards his hair +as it fluttered in the wind. The Ensign understood him. +He smiled again when he saw that, and, gently turning his face over +on the supporting arm as if for rest, died, with his hand upon the breast +in which he had revived a soul.</p> +<p>No dry eye looked on Ensign Richard Doubledick that melancholy day. +He buried his friend on the field, and became a lone, bereaved man. +Beyond his duty he appeared to have but two remaining cares in life,—one, +to preserve the little packet of hair he was to give to Taunton’s +mother; the other, to encounter that French officer who had rallied +the men under whose fire Taunton fell. A new legend now began +to circulate among our troops; and it was, that when he and the French +officer came face to face once more, there would be weeping in France.</p> +<p>The war went on—and through it went the exact picture of the +French officer on the one side, and the bodily reality upon the other—until +the Battle of Toulouse was fought. In the returns sent home appeared +these words: “Severely wounded, but not dangerously, Lieutenant +Richard Doubledick.”</p> +<p>At Midsummer-time, in the year eighteen hundred and fourteen, Lieutenant +Richard Doubledick, now a browned soldier, seven-and-thirty years of +age, came home to England invalided. He brought the hair with +him, near his heart. Many a French officer had he seen since that +day; many a dreadful night, in searching with men and lanterns for his +wounded, had he relieved French officers lying disabled; but the mental +picture and the reality had never come together.</p> +<p>Though he was weak and suffered pain, he lost not an hour in getting +down to Frome in Somersetshire, where Taunton’s mother lived. +In the sweet, compassionate words that naturally present themselves +to the mind to-night, “he was the only son of his mother, and +she was a widow.”</p> +<p>It was a Sunday evening, and the lady sat at her quiet garden-window, +reading the Bible; reading to herself, in a trembling voice, that very +passage in it, as I have heard him tell. He heard the words: “Young +man, I say unto thee, arise!”</p> +<p>He had to pass the window; and the bright, dark eyes of his debased +time seemed to look at him. Her heart told her who he was; she +came to the door quickly, and fell upon his neck.</p> +<p>“He saved me from ruin, made me a human creature, won me from +infamy and shame. O, God for ever bless him! As He will, +He Will!”</p> +<p>“He will!” the lady answered. “I know he +is in heaven!” Then she piteously cried, “But O, my +darling boy, my darling boy!”</p> +<p>Never from the hour when Private Richard Doubledick enlisted at Chatham +had the Private, Corporal, Sergeant, Sergeant-Major, Ensign, or Lieutenant +breathed his right name, or the name of Mary Marshall, or a word of +the story of his life, into any ear except his reclaimer’s. +That previous scene in his existence was closed. He had firmly +resolved that his expiation should be to live unknown; to disturb no +more the peace that had long grown over his old offences; to let it +be revealed, when he was dead, that he had striven and suffered, and +had never forgotten; and then, if they could forgive him and believe +him—well, it would be time enough—time enough!</p> +<p>But that night, remembering the words he had cherished for two years, +“Tell her how we became friends. It will comfort her, as +it comforts me,” he related everything. It gradually seemed +to him as if in his maturity he had recovered a mother; it gradually +seemed to her as if in her bereavement she had found a son. During +his stay in England, the quiet garden into which he had slowly and painfully +crept, a stranger, became the boundary of his home; when he was able +to rejoin his regiment in the spring, he left the garden, thinking was +this indeed the first time he had ever turned his face towards the old +colours with a woman’s blessing!</p> +<p>He followed them—so ragged, so scarred and pierced now, that +they would scarcely hold together—to Quatre Bras and Ligny. +He stood beside them, in an awful stillness of many men, shadowy through +the mist and drizzle of a wet June forenoon, on the field of Waterloo. +And down to that hour the picture in his mind of the French officer +had never been compared with the reality.</p> +<p>The famous regiment was in action early in the battle, and received +its first check in many an eventful year, when he was seen to fall. +But it swept on to avenge him, and left behind it no such creature in +the world of consciousness as Lieutenant Richard Doubledick.</p> +<p>Through pits of mire, and pools of rain; along deep ditches, once +roads, that were pounded and ploughed to pieces by artillery, heavy +waggons, tramp of men and horses, and the struggle of every wheeled +thing that could carry wounded soldiers; jolted among the dying and +the dead, so disfigured by blood and mud as to be hardly recognisable +for humanity; undisturbed by the moaning of men and the shrieking of +horses, which, newly taken from the peaceful pursuits of life, could +not endure the sight of the stragglers lying by the wayside, never to +resume their toilsome journey; dead, as to any sentient life that was +in it, and yet alive,—the form that had been Lieutenant Richard +Doubledick, with whose praises England rang, was conveyed to Brussels. +There it was tenderly laid down in hospital; and there it lay, week +after week, through the long bright summer days, until the harvest, +spared by war, had ripened and was gathered in.</p> +<p>Over and over again the sun rose and set upon the crowded city; over +and over again the moonlight nights were quiet on the plains of Waterloo: +and all that time was a blank to what had been Lieutenant Richard Doubledick. +Rejoicing troops marched into Brussels, and marched out; brothers and +fathers, sisters, mothers, and wives, came thronging thither, drew their +lots of joy or agony, and departed; so many times a day the bells rang; +so many times the shadows of the great buildings changed; so many lights +sprang up at dusk; so many feet passed here and there upon the pavements; +so many hours of sleep and cooler air of night succeeded: indifferent +to all, a marble face lay on a bed, like the face of a recumbent statue +on the tomb of Lieutenant Richard Doubledick.</p> +<p>Slowly labouring, at last, through a long heavy dream of confused +time and place, presenting faint glimpses of army surgeons whom he knew, +and of faces that had been familiar to his youth,—dearest and +kindest among them, Mary Marshall’s, with a solicitude upon it +more like reality than anything he could discern,—Lieutenant Richard +Doubledick came back to life. To the beautiful life of a calm +autumn evening sunset, to the peaceful life of a fresh quiet room with +a large window standing open; a balcony beyond, in which were moving +leaves and sweet-smelling flowers; beyond, again, the clear sky, with +the sun full in his sight, pouring its golden radiance on his bed.</p> +<p>It was so tranquil and so lovely that he thought he had passed into +another world. And he said in a faint voice, “Taunton, are +you near me?”</p> +<p>A face bent over him. Not his, his mother’s.</p> +<p>“I came to nurse you. We have nursed you many weeks. +You were moved here long ago. Do you remember nothing?”</p> +<p>“Nothing.”</p> +<p>The lady kissed his cheek, and held his hand, soothing him.</p> +<p>“Where is the regiment? What has happened? Let +me call you mother. What has happened, mother?”</p> +<p>“A great victory, dear. The war is over, and the regiment +was the bravest in the field.”</p> +<p>His eyes kindled, his lips trembled, he sobbed, and the tears ran +down his face. He was very weak, too weak to move his hand.</p> +<p>“Was it dark just now?” he asked presently.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“It was only dark to me? Something passed away, like +a black shadow. But as it went, and the sun—O the blessed +sun, how beautiful it is!—touched my face, I thought I saw a light +white cloud pass out at the door. Was there nothing that went +out?”</p> +<p>She shook her head, and in a little while he fell asleep, she still +holding his hand, and soothing him.</p> +<p>From that time, he recovered. Slowly, for he had been desperately +wounded in the head, and had been shot in the body, but making some +little advance every day. When he had gained sufficient strength +to converse as he lay in bed, he soon began to remark that Mrs. Taunton +always brought him back to his own history. Then he recalled his +preserver’s dying words, and thought, “It comforts her.”</p> +<p>One day he awoke out of a sleep, refreshed, and asked her to read +to him. But the curtain of the bed, softening the light, which +she always drew back when he awoke, that she might see him from her +table at the bedside where she sat at work, was held undrawn; and a +woman’s voice spoke, which was not hers.</p> +<p>“Can you bear to see a stranger?” it said softly. +“Will you like to see a stranger?”</p> +<p>“Stranger!” he repeated. The voice awoke old memories, +before the days of Private Richard Doubledick.</p> +<p>“A stranger now, but not a stranger once,” it said in +tones that thrilled him. “Richard, dear Richard, lost through +so many years, my name—”</p> +<p>He cried out her name, “Mary,” and she held him in her +arms, and his head lay on her bosom.</p> +<p>“I am not breaking a rash vow, Richard. These are not +Mary Marshall’s lips that speak. I have another name.”</p> +<p>She was married.</p> +<p>“I have another name, Richard. Did you ever hear it?”</p> +<p>“Never!”</p> +<p>He looked into her face, so pensively beautiful, and wondered at +the smile upon it through her tears.</p> +<p>“Think again, Richard. Are you sure you never heard my +altered name?”</p> +<p>“Never!”</p> +<p>“Don’t move your head to look at me, dear Richard. +Let it lie here, while I tell my story. I loved a generous, noble +man; loved him with my whole heart; loved him for years and years; loved +him faithfully, devotedly; loved him without hope of return; loved him, +knowing nothing of his highest qualities—not even knowing that +he was alive. He was a brave soldier. He was honoured and +beloved by thousands of thousands, when the mother of his dear friend +found me, and showed me that in all his triumphs he had never forgotten +me. He was wounded in a great battle. He was brought, dying, +here, into Brussels. I came to watch and tend him, as I would +have joyfully gone, with such a purpose, to the dreariest ends of the +earth. When he knew no one else, he knew me. When he suffered +most, he bore his sufferings barely murmuring, content to rest his head +where your rests now. When he lay at the point of death, he married +me, that he might call me Wife before he died. And the name, my +dear love, that I took on that forgotten night—”</p> +<p>“I know it now!” he sobbed. “The shadowy +remembrance strengthens. It is come back. I thank Heaven +that my mind is quite restored! My Mary, kiss me; lull this weary +head to rest, or I shall die of gratitude. His parting words were +fulfilled. I see Home again!”</p> +<p>Well! They were happy. It was a long recovery, but they +were happy through it all. The snow had melted on the ground, +and the birds were singing in the leafless thickets of the early spring, +when those three were first able to ride out together, and when people +flocked about the open carriage to cheer and congratulate Captain Richard +Doubledick.</p> +<p>But even then it became necessary for the Captain, instead of returning +to England, to complete his recovery in the climate of Southern France. +They found a spot upon the Rhône, within a ride of the old town +of Avignon, and within view of its broken bridge, which was all they +could desire; they lived there, together, six months; then returned +to England. Mrs. Taunton, growing old after three years—though +not so old as that her bright, dark eyes were dimmed—and remembering +that her strength had been benefited by the change resolved to go back +for a year to those parts. So she went with a faithful servant, +who had often carried her son in his arms; and she was to be rejoined +and escorted home, at the year’s end, by Captain Richard Doubledick.</p> +<p>She wrote regularly to her children (as she called them now), and +they to her. She went to the neighbourhood of Aix; and there, +in their own château near the farmer’s house she rented, +she grew into intimacy with a family belonging to that part of France. +The intimacy began in her often meeting among the vineyards a pretty +child, a girl with a most compassionate heart, who was never tired of +listening to the solitary English lady’s stories of her poor son +and the cruel wars. The family were as gentle as the child, and +at length she came to know them so well that she accepted their invitation +to pass the last month of her residence abroad under their roof. +All this intelligence she wrote home, piecemeal as it came about, from +time to time; and at last enclosed a polite note, from the head of the +château, soliciting, on the occasion of his approaching mission +to that neighbourhood, the honour of the company of cet homme si justement +célèbre, Monsieur le Capitaine Richard Doubledick.</p> +<p>Captain Doubledick, now a hardy, handsome man in the full vigour +of life, broader across the chest and shoulders than he had ever been +before, dispatched a courteous reply, and followed it in person. +Travelling through all that extent of country after three years of Peace, +he blessed the better days on which the world had fallen. The +corn was golden, not drenched in unnatural red; was bound in sheaves +for food, not trodden underfoot by men in mortal fight. The smoke +rose up from peaceful hearths, not blazing ruins. The carts were +laden with the fair fruits of the earth, not with wounds and death. +To him who had so often seen the terrible reverse, these things were +beautiful indeed; and they brought him in a softened spirit to the old +château near Aix upon a deep blue evening.</p> +<p>It was a large château of the genuine old ghostly kind, with +round towers, and extinguishers, and a high leaden roof, and more windows +than Aladdin’s Palace. The lattice blinds were all thrown +open after the heat of the day, and there were glimpses of rambling +walls and corridors within. Then there were immense out-buildings +fallen into partial decay, masses of dark trees, terrace-gardens, balustrades; +tanks of water, too weak to play and too dirty to work; statues, weeds, +and thickets of iron railing that seemed to have overgrown themselves +like the shrubberies, and to have branched out in all manner of wild +shapes. The entrance doors stood open, as doors often do in that +country when the heat of the day is past; and the Captain saw no bell +or knocker, and walked in.</p> +<p>He walked into a lofty stone hall, refreshingly cool and gloomy after +the glare of a Southern day’s travel. Extending along the +four sides of this hall was a gallery, leading to suites of rooms; and +it was lighted from the top. Still no bell was to be seen.</p> +<p>“Faith,” said the Captain halting, ashamed of the clanking +of his boots, “this is a ghostly beginning!”</p> +<p>He started back, and felt his face turn white. In the gallery, +looking down at him, stood the French officer—the officer whose +picture he had carried in his mind so long and so far. Compared +with the original, at last—in every lineament how like it was!</p> +<p>He moved, and disappeared, and Captain Richard Doubledick heard his +steps coming quickly down own into the hall. He entered through +an archway. There was a bright, sudden look upon his face, much +such a look as it had worn in that fatal moment.</p> +<p>Monsieur le Capitaine Richard Doubledick? Enchanted to receive +him! A thousand apologies! The servants were all out in +the air. There was a little fête among them in the garden. +In effect, it was the fête day of my daughter, the little cherished +and protected of Madame Taunton.</p> +<p>He was so gracious and so frank that Monsieur le Capitaine Richard +Doubledick could not withhold his hand. “It is the hand +of a brave Englishman,” said the French officer, retaining it +while he spoke. “I could respect a brave Englishman, even +as my foe, how much more as my friend! I also am a soldier.”</p> +<p>“He has not remembered me, as I have remembered him; he did +not take such note of my face, that day, as I took of his,” thought +Captain Richard Doubledick. “How shall I tell him?”</p> +<p>The French officer conducted his guest into a garden and presented +him to his wife, an engaging and beautiful woman, sitting with Mrs. +Taunton in a whimsical old-fashioned pavilion. His daughter, her +fair young face beaming with joy, came running to embrace him; and there +was a boy-baby to tumble down among the orange trees on the broad steps, +in making for his father’s legs. A multitude of children +visitors were dancing to sprightly music; and all the servants and peasants +about the château were dancing too. It was a scene of innocent +happiness that might have been invented for the climax of the scenes +of peace which had soothed the Captain’s journey.</p> +<p>He looked on, greatly troubled in his mind, until a resounding bell +rang, and the French officer begged to show him his rooms. They +went upstairs into the gallery from which the officer had looked down; +and Monsieur le Capitaine Richard Doubledick was cordially welcomed +to a grand outer chamber, and a smaller one within, all clocks and draperies, +and hearths, and brazen dogs, and tiles, and cool devices, and elegance, +and vastness.</p> +<p>“You were at Waterloo,” said the French officer.</p> +<p>“I was,” said Captain Richard Doubledick. “And +at Badajos.”</p> +<p>Left alone with the sound of his own stern voice in his ears, he +sat down to consider, What shall I do, and how shall I tell him? +At that time, unhappily, many deplorable duels had been fought between +English and French officers, arising out of the recent war; and these +duels, and how to avoid this officer’s hospitality, were the uppermost +thought in Captain Richard Doubledick’s mind.</p> +<p>He was thinking, and letting the time run out in which he should +have dressed for dinner, when Mrs. Taunton spoke to him outside the +door, asking if he could give her the letter he had brought from Mary. +“His mother, above all,” the Captain thought. “How +shall I tell <i>her</i>?”</p> +<p>“You will form a friendship with your host, I hope,” +said Mrs. Taunton, whom he hurriedly admitted, “that will last +for life. He is so true-hearted and so generous, Richard, that +you can hardly fail to esteem one another. If He had been spared,” +she kissed (not without tears) the locket in which she wore his hair, +“he would have appreciated him with his own magnanimity, and would +have been truly happy that the evil days were past which made such a +man his enemy.”</p> +<p>She left the room; and the Captain walked, first to one window, whence +he could see the dancing in the garden, then to another window, whence +he could see the smiling prospect and the peaceful vineyards.</p> +<p>“Spirit of my departed friend,” said he, “is it +through thee these better thoughts are rising in my mind? Is it +thou who hast shown me, all the way I have been drawn to meet this man, +the blessings of the altered time? Is it thou who hast sent thy +stricken mother to me, to stay my angry hand? Is it from thee +the whisper comes, that this man did his duty as thou didst,—and +as I did, through thy guidance, which has wholly saved me here on earth,—and +that he did no more?”</p> +<p>He sat down, with his head buried in his hands, and, when he rose +up, made the second strong resolution of his life,—that neither +to the French officer, nor to the mother of his departed friend, nor +to any soul, while either of the two was living, would he breathe what +only he knew. And when he touched that French officer’s +glass with his own, that day at dinner, he secretly forgave him in the +name of the Divine Forgiver of injuries.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Here I ended my story as the first Poor Traveller. But, if +I had told it now, I could have added that the time has since come when +the son of Major Richard Doubledick, and the son of that French officer, +friends as their fathers were before them, fought side by side in one +cause, with their respective nations, like long-divided brothers whom +the better times have brought together, fast united.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III—THE ROAD</h2> +<p>My story being finished, and the Wassail too, we broke up as the +Cathedral bell struck Twelve. I did not take leave of my travellers +that night; for it had come into my head to reappear, in conjunction +with some hot coffee, at seven in the morning.</p> +<p>As I passed along the High Street, I heard the Waits at a distance, +and struck off to find them. They were playing near one of the +old gates of the City, at the corner of a wonderfully quaint row of +red-brick tenements, which the clarionet obligingly informed me were +inhabited by the Minor-Canons. They had odd little porches over +the doors, like sounding-boards over old pulpits; and I thought I should +like to see one of the Minor-Canons come out upon his top stop, and +favour us with a little Christmas discourse about the poor scholars +of Rochester; taking for his text the words of his Master relative to +the devouring of Widows’ houses.</p> +<p>The clarionet was so communicative, and my inclinations were (as +they generally are) of so vagabond a tendency, that I accompanied the +Waits across an open green called the Vines, and assisted—in the +French sense—at the performance of two waltzes, two polkas, and +three Irish melodies, before I thought of my inn any more. However, +I returned to it then, and found a fiddle in the kitchen, and Ben, the +wall-eyed young man, and two chambermaids, circling round the great +deal table with the utmost animation.</p> +<p>I had a very bad night. It cannot have been owing to the turkey +or the beef,—and the Wassail is out of the question—but +in every endeavour that I made to get to sleep I failed most dismally. +I was never asleep; and in whatsoever unreasonable direction my mind +rambled, the effigy of Master Richard Watts perpetually embarrassed +it.</p> +<p>In a word, I only got out of the Worshipful Master Richard Watts’s +way by getting out of bed in the dark at six o’clock, and tumbling, +as my custom is, into all the cold water that could be accumulated for +the purpose. The outer air was dull and cold enough in the street, +when I came down there; and the one candle in our supper-room at Watts’s +Charity looked as pale in the burning as if it had had a bad night too. +But my Travellers had all slept soundly, and they took to the hot coffee, +and the piles of bread-and-butter, which Ben had arranged like deals +in a timber-yard, as kindly as I could desire.</p> +<p>While it was yet scarcely daylight, we all came out into the street +together, and there shook hands. The widow took the little sailor +towards Chatham, where he was to find a steamboat for Sheerness; the +lawyer, with an extremely knowing look, went his own way, without committing +himself by announcing his intentions; two more struck off by the cathedral +and old castle for Maidstone; and the book-pedler accompanied me over +the bridge. As for me, I was going to walk by Cobham Woods, as +far upon my way to London as I fancied.</p> +<p>When I came to the stile and footpath by which I was to diverge from +the main road, I bade farewell to my last remaining Poor Traveller, +and pursued my way alone. And now the mists began to rise in the +most beautiful manner, and the sun to shine; and as I went on through +the bracing air, seeing the hoarfrost sparkle everywhere, I felt as +if all Nature shared in the joy of the great Birthday.</p> +<p>Going through the woods, the softness of my tread upon the mossy +ground and among the brown leaves enhanced the Christmas sacredness +by which I felt surrounded. As the whitened stems environed me, +I thought how the Founder of the time had never raised his benignant +hand, save to bless and heal, except in the case of one unconscious +tree. By Cobham Hall, I came to the village, and the churchyard +where the dead had been quietly buried, “in the sure and certain +hope” which Christmas time inspired. What children could +I see at play, and not be loving of, recalling who had loved them! +No garden that I passed was out of unison with the day, for I remembered +that the tomb was in a garden, and that “she, supposing him to +be the gardener,” had said, “Sir, if thou have borne him +hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away.” +In time, the distant river with the ships came full in view, and with +it pictures of the poor fishermen, mending their nets, who arose and +followed him,—of the teaching of the people from a ship pushed +off a little way from shore, by reason of the multitude,—of a +majestic figure walking on the water, in the loneliness of night. +My very shadow on the ground was eloquent of Christmas; for did not +the people lay their sick where the more shadows of the men who had +heard and seen him might fall as they passed along?</p> +<p>Thus Christmas begirt me, far and near, until I had come to Blackheath, +and had walked down the long vista of gnarled old trees in Greenwich +Park, and was being steam-rattled through the mists now closing in once +more, towards the lights of London. Brightly they shone, but not +so brightly as my own fire, and the brighter faces around it, when we +came together to celebrate the day. And there I told of worthy +Master Richard Watts, and of my supper with the Six Poor Travellers +who were neither Rogues nor Proctors, and from that hour to this I have +never seen one of them again.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1392-h.htm or 1392-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/3/9/1392 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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