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Cutlass and Cudgel

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<h3>Chapter Four.</h3> Ramillies—commonly known by his father’s men as Ram—Shackle trotted up over the hill, stopping once to flop down on the grass to gaze at the cutter, lying a mile out now from the shore, and thinking how different she was with her trim rigging and white sails to the rough lugger of his father, and the dirty three-masted vessels that ran to and fro across the Channel, and upon which he had more than once taken a trip. He rose with a sigh, and continued his journey down into the hollow, and along a regular trough among the hills, to the low, white-washed stone building, roofed with thin pieces of the same material, and gaily dotted and splashed with lichen and moss. He was met by a comfortable-looking, ruddy-faced woman, who shouted,—“What is it, Ram?” when he was fifty yards away. The boy stated his errand. “Father says you were to take all that?” “Yes.” “Then there’s a cargo coming ashore to-night, Ram.” “Yes, mother, and the cutter’s lying a mile out.” “Oh, dear, dear, dear!” cried the woman; “I hope there won’t be no trouble, boy.” She stood wiping her dry hands upon her apron, and gazed thoughtfully with wrinkled brow straight before her for a minute, as if conjuring up old scenes; then, taking down a basket as she moved inside, she began to pack up the various things in the dairy, while Ram looked on. “Father didn’t say anything about a bottle of cream, mother,” said the boy, grinning. “Then hear, see, and say nothing, my lad,” cried his mother. “And I don’t think he said you was to send that piece of pickled pork, mother.” “He said chickens, didn’t he?” “Said a chickun.” “Chicken means chickens,” cried Mrs Shackle, “and you can’t eat chicken without pork or bacon. ’Tisn’t natural.” “Father said two rolls of butter.” “Yes, and I’ve put three. There, these are all the eggs I’ve got, and you mind you don’t break ’em!” “Oh, I say, mother,” cried Ram, “aren’t it heavy!” “Nonsense! I could carry it on my finger; there, run along like a good boy, and you must ask for her ladyship, and be very respectful, and say, Mother’s humble duty to you, my lady, and hopes you won’t mind her sending a bit o’ farm fare.” “But she ought to be thankful to us, mother?” “And so she will be, Ram?” “But you make me speak as though we were to be much obliged to her for taking all these good things.” “You take the basket, and hold your tongue. Father’s right, you chatter a deal too much.” Ram took the basket, grunted because it was so heavy, and then set off up the hill-slope towards where the patch of thick woodland capped one side of the deep valley, and at last came in sight of a grim-looking stone house, with its windows for the most part covered by their drawn-down blinds. Under other circumstances, with fairly kept gardens and trim borders, the old-fashioned building, dating from the days of Henry the Seventh, would have been attractive enough, with its background of trees, and fine view along the valley out to the far-stretching blue sea; but poverty seemed to have set its mark upon the place, and the boy was so impressed by the gloomy aspect of the house, that he ceased whistling as he went across the front, outside the low wall, and round to the back, where his progress was stopped by the scampering of feet, and a dog came up, barking loudly. “Get out, or I’ll jump on you—d’ye hear?” said Ram fiercely. “Down, Grip, down!” cried a pleasant voice, and a girl of fifteen came running out, looking bright and animated with her flushed cheeks and long hair. “Don’t be afraid of him, Ram; he will not bite.” “I’m not afraid of him, Miss Celia; if he’d tried to bite me, I’d have kicked him into the back-garden.” “You would not dare to,” cried the girl indignantly. “Oh yes, I would,” said Ram, showing his white teeth. “Wouldn’t do for me to be ’fraid of no dogs.” The girl half turned away, but her eye caught the basket. “What’s that you came to sell?” she said. “Sell? I don’t come to sell. Father and mother sent this here. It’s butter, and chickuns, and pork, and cream, and eggs.” “Oh!” cried the girl joyously, “my mother will be so—” She stopped short, remembering sundry lessons she had received, and the tears came up into her eyes as she felt that she must be proud and not show her delight at the receipt of homely delicacies to which they were strangers. “Take your basket to the side door, and deliver your message to Keziah,” she said distantly. “Yes, miss,” said Ram, beginning to whistle, as he strode along with his basket, but he turned back directly and followed the girl. “I say, Miss Celia,” he cried. “Yes, Ram.” “You like Grip, don’t you?” “Yes, of course.” “Then I won’t never kick him, miss. Only I arn’t fond on him. Here, mate,” he continued, dropping on one knee, “give us your paw.” The dog, a sturdy-looking deerhound, growled, and closed up to his mistress. “D’ye hear? Give’s your paw. What yer growling about?” The dog didn’t say, but growled more fiercely. “Grip, down! Give him your paw,” cried the girl. The dog turned his muzzle up to his mistress, and uttered a low whine. “Says he don’t like to shake hands with a lad like me,” said Ram, laughing. “But I say he is to, sir,” cried the girl haughtily. “Give him your paw, Grip.” She took the dog by the ear and led him unwillingly toward the boy, whose eyes sparkled with delight while the hound whimpered and whined and protested, as if he had an unconquerable dislike to the act he was called upon to perform. “Now,” cried the girl, “directly, sir. Give him your paw.” What followed seemed ludicrous in the extreme to the boy, for, in obedience to his mistress’s orders, the dog lifted his left paw and turned his head away to gaze up at his mistress. “The wrong paw, sir,” she cried. “Now, again.” “Pow how!” howled the dog, raising his paw now to have it seized by the boy, squeezed and then loosened, a termination which seemed to give the animal the most profound satisfaction. For now it was over, he barked madly and rushed round and round the boy in the most friendly way. “There, miss,” said Ram with a grin; “we shall be friends now. Nex’ rats we ketch down home, I’ll bring up here for him to kill. Hey, Grip! Rats! Rats!” The dog bounded up to the boy, rose on his hind legs and placed his forepaws on the lad’s chest, barking loudly. “Good dog, then. Good-bye, miss; I must get back.” “Oh!” “You call, miss?” cried the boy, turning as he went whistling away. “Yes, yes, Ram,” said the girl hesitatingly, and glancing behind her, then up at the house where all was perfectly still. “Do you remember coming up and bringing a basket about a month ago?” “Yes, miss, I r’member. That all, miss?” “No,” said the girl, still hesitating. “Ram, are the men coming up to the house in the middle of the night?” “Dunno what you mean, miss.” “You do, sir, for you were with them. I saw you and ever so many more come up with little barrels slung over their shoulders.” Ram’s face was a study in the comic line as he shook his head. “Yes you were, sir, and it was wicked smuggling. I order you to tell me directly. Are they coming up to-night?” “Mustn’t tell,” said the boy slowly. “Then they are,” cried the girl, with her handsome young face puckering up with the trouble which oppressed her, and after standing looking thoughtful and anxious for a few moments, she went away toward the front of the house, while Ram went round to the side and delivered his basket. “Course we are,” he said to himself, as he went down the hill again. “But I warn’t going to blab. What a fuss people do make about a bit o’ smuggling! How pretty she looks!” and he stopped short to admire her—the she being the White Hawk, which lay motionless on the calm sea. “Wish I could sail aboard a boat like that, and be dressed like that young chap with his sword. I would like to wear a sword. I told father so, and he said I was a fool.” He threw himself down on the short turf, which was dotted with black and grey, as the rooks, jackdaws, and gulls marched about feeding together in the most friendly way, where the tiny striped snails hung upon the strands of grass by millions. “It’ll be a fog again to-night,” he said thoughtfully, “and she’s sure to come. Ha, ha, ha!” he laughed, as he made a derisive gesture towards the cutter; “watch away. You may wear your gold lace and cocked hats and swords, but you won’t catch us, my lads; we’re too sharp for that.” <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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