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The Weathercock: Being the Adventures of a Boy with a Bias, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 20. No News |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY. NO NEWS "Distin seems curiously agitated and disturbed," said the doctor. "Yes: he is a nervous, finely-strung youth," replied the rector. "The result of his birth in a tropical country. It was startling, too, his being fetched down from bed to hear such news." "Of course--of course," said the doctor; and preparations having been rapidly made by the rector, who mustered three lanterns, one being an old bull's-eye, they all started. "Better go down as far as the church, first, and collect our forces. Then we'll make a start for the moor. But who shall we have for guide?" "Perhaps I know the place best," said the doctor; and they started in silence, passing down the gravel drive, out at the gate, and then along the dark lane with the lights dancing fitfully amongst the trees and bushes on either side, and casting curiously weird shadows behind. As they reached the road, Macey, who carried one lantern, held it high above his head and shouted. "Hush--hush!" cried the doctor, for the lad's voice jarred upon him in the silence. "Distin's coming, sir," said Macey. There was an answering hail, and then the _pat-pat_ of steps, as Distin trotted after and joined them. By the time the church was reached, there was plenty of proof of Vane's popularity, for lanterns were dancing here and there, and lights could be seen coming from right up the street, while a loud eager buzz of voices reached their ears. Ten minutes after the doctor found himself surrounded by a band of about forty of the townsfolk, everyone of whom had some kind of lantern and a stick or pole, and all eager to go in search of the missing lad. Rounds the miller was one of the foremost, and carried the biggest lantern, and made the most noise. Chakes the sexton, was there, too, with his lantern--a dim, yellow-looking affair, whose sides were of horn sheets, with here and there fancy devices punched in the tin to supply air to the burning candle within. Crumps, from the dairy, Graders the baker, and John Wrench the carpenter, all were there, and it seemed a wonder to Macey where all the lanterns had come from. But it was no wonder, for Greythorpe was an ill-lit place, where candles and oil-lamps took the place of gas even in the little shops, and there were plenty of people who needed the use of a stable-light. There were two policemen stationed in Greythorpe, but they were off on their nightly rounds, and it was not until the weird little procession of light-bearers had gone half a mile from the town that there was a challenge from under a dark hedge, and two figures stepped out into the road. "Eh? Master Vane Lee lost?" said one of the figures, the lights proclaiming them to be the policemen, who had just met at one of their appointed stations; "then we'd better jyne you." This added two more lanterns to the bearers of light, but for a long time they were not opened, but kept as a reserved force--ready if wanted. At last, in almost utter silence, the moor was reached, the men were spread out, and the search began. But it was ended after an hour's struggling among the bushes, and an extrication of Chakes, and Wrench the carpenter, from deep bog holes into which they had suddenly stepped, and, on being drawn out, sent home. Then Rounds spoke out in his loud, bluff way. "Can't be done, doctor, by this light. It's risking the lives of good men and true. I want to find young Mester, and I'll try as if he was a son of my own, but we can't draw this mash to-night." There was a dead silence at this, and then the rector spoke out. "I'm afraid he is right, Lee. I would gladly do everything possible, but this place really seems impassable by night." The doctor was silent, and the rector spoke again: "What do you say, constable?" "As it can't be done, sir, with all respect to you as the head of the parish." "Seems to me like getting up an inquess, sir," said Dredge the butcher, "with ooz all dodging about here with our lights, like so many will-o'-the-wispies." "Ay, I was gooin' to say as theered be job for owd Chakes here 'fore morning if he gets ower his ducking." "I'm afraid you are right," said the doctor, sadly. "If I were sure that my nephew was somewhere here on the moor, I should say keep on at all hazards, but it is too dangerous a business by lantern light." "Let's give a good shout," cried the miller; "p'r'aps the poor lad may hear it. Now, then, all together: one, two three, and _Ahoy_!" The cry rang far out over the moor, and was faintly answered, so plainly that Macey uttered a cry of joy. "Come on," he cried; "there he is." "Nay, lad," said the miller; "that was on'y the echo." "No, no," said Macey; "it was an answer." "It did sound like it," said the rector; and the doctor remained in doubt. "You listen," said the miller; and, putting his hands on either side of his mouth, he gave utterance to a stentorian roar. "Vane, ho!" There was a pause, and a "ho!" came back. "All right?" roared the miller. "Right!" came back. "Good-night!" shouted the miller again. "Night!" "There, you see. Only an echo," said the miller. "Wish it wasn't. Why, if it had been his voice, lads, we'd soon ha' hed him home." "Yes, it's an echo, Aleck," said Gilmore, sadly. "But we could stop, and go on searching, sir," cried Macey. "It's such a pity to give up." "Only till daybreak, my lad," said the doctor, sadly. "We can do no good here, and the risk is too great." Gilmore uttered a low sigh, and Macey a groan, as, after a little more hesitation, it was decided to go back to the town, and wait till the first dawn, when the search could be resumed. "And, look here, my lads," cried the miller; "all of you as can had better bring bill-hooks and sickles, for it's bad going through these brambles, even by day." "And you, constables," said the rector; "you are on duty along the roads. You will keep a sharp look-out." "Of course, sir, and we'll communicate with the other men we meet from Lenby and Riby, and Dunthorpe. We shall find him, sir, never fear." The procession of lanterns was recommenced, but in the other direction now, and in utter despondency the doctor followed, keeping with the rector and his pupils, all trying in turn to suggest some solution of the mystery, but only for it to close in more darkly round them, in spite of all. The police then left them at the spot where they had been encountered, and promised great things, in which nobody felt any faith; and at last, disheartened and weary, the churchyard was reached, and the men dismissed, all promising to be ready to go on at dawn. Then there was a good deal of opening of lanterns, the blowing out of candle and lamp, the closing of doors, and an unpleasant, fatty smell, which gradually dispersed as all the men departed but the miller. "Hope, gentlemen," he said, in his big voice, "you don't think I hung back from helping you." "No, no, Rounds," said the doctor, sadly; "you are not the sort of man to fail us in a pinch." "Thankye, doctor," said the bluff fellow, holding out his hand. "Same to you. I aren't forgot the way you come and doctored my missus when she was so bad, and you not a reg'lar doctor, but out o' practice. But nivver you fear; we'll find the lad. I shan't go to bed, but get back and light a pipe. I can think best then; and mebbe I'll think out wheer the young gent's gone." "Thank you, Rounds," said the doctor. "Perhaps we had all better go and try and think it out, for Heaven grant that it may not be so bad as we fear." "Amen to that!" cried the miller, "as clerk's not here. And say, parson, I'll goo and get key of owd Chakes, and, at the first streak o' daylight, I'll goo to belfry, and pull the rope o' the ting-tang to rouse people oop. You'll know what it means." He went off; and the rest of the party, preceded by Joseph Bruff having sought his cottage, walked slowly back, all troubled by the same feeling, omitting Distin, that they had done wrong in giving up so easily, but at the same time feeling bound to confess that they could have done no good by continuing the search. As they reached the end of the rectory lane and the doctor said "good-night," the rector urged him to come up to the rectory and lie down on a couch till morning, but Doctor Lee shook his head. "No," he said, "it is quite time I was back. There is someone sorrowing there more deeply than we can comprehend. Till daybreak, Syme. Good-night." Macey stood listening to the doctor's retiring footsteps and then ran after him. "Hi! Macey!" cried Gilmore. "Mr Macey, where are you going?" cried the rector. But the boy heard neither of them as he ran on till the doctor heard the footsteps and stopped. "Yes," he said, "what is it?" "Only me--Aleck Macey, sir." "Yes, my lad? Have you brought a message from Mr Syme?" "No, sir; I only wanted--I only thought--I--I--Doctor Lee, please let me come and wait with you till it's time to start." Macey began falteringly, but his last words came out with a rush. "Why not go back to bed, my lad, and get some rest--some sleep?" "Rest?--sleep? Who is going to sleep when, for all we know, poor old Vane's lying helpless somewhere out on the moor. Let me come and stop with you." For answer the doctor laid his hand upon Macey's shoulder, and they reached the Little Manor swing-gate and passed up the avenue without a word. There were lights burning in two of the front windows, and long before they reached the front door in the porch, it was opened, and a warm glow of light shone out upon the advancing figures. It threw up, too, the figure of Aunt Hannah, who, as soon as she realised the fact that there were two figures approaching, ran out and before the doctor could enlighten her as to the truth, she flung her arms round Macey's neck, and hugged him to her breast, sobbing wildly. "Oh, my dear, my dear, where have you been--where have you been?" As she spoke, she buried her face upon the lad's shoulder, while Macey looked up speechlessly at the doctor, and he, choked with emotion as he was, could not for some moments find a word to utter. Still, clinging to him in the darkness Aunt Hannah now took tightly hold of the boy's arm, as if fearing he might again escape from her, and drawing him up toward the door from which the light shone now, showing Eliza and Martha both waiting, she suddenly grasped the truth, and uttered a low wail of agony. "Not found?" she cried. "Oh, how could you let me, how could you! It was too cruel, indeed, indeed!" Aunt Hannah's sobs broke out loudly now; and, unable to bear more, Macey glided away, and did not stop running after passing the gate till he reached the rectory door. _ |
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