Chapter XII: The Mock Burial

For various reasons the event of the mock burial was postponed until a night in late June; and then, through the dewy twilight of evening, numerous persons proceeded from Lydford and outlying hamlets to the field known as Thornyside above the river. Many motives took the company, but not one amongst them knew the facts. Certain folk felt interested in the revival of an ancient use; others were only concerned with the excitement of a new thing; and most attended from morbid desire to know what man and woman were to suffer this public denunciation and rebuke.

The light waned after nine o'clock, and the dots and clusters of spectators decreased upon the roads and thronged into a black mass about the centre of Jacob Taverner's field. In the midst two graves had been dug, and beside them, on trestles, lay two coffins close together. The lids hid their contents. A rope fastened between stakes ran round to prevent spectators from crowding upon performers.

Walter Agg and Peter Lethbridge were among the people. They smoked their pipes, stood at the ring-side, and joked with the men about them.

"When be the covers to be lifted, so as we shall see the parties?" asked Lethbridge.

Mr. Nathaniel Spry was near and answered.

"When the torches are lighted, I believe. The procession comes down from the cowshed over there. It is all to be done in the old way. Mr. Huggins and Mr. Churchward both remember the ceremony in their youth; and they were able to furnish the particulars. Wasn't you, Mr. Churchward?"

"I was," said Adam, who stood close at hand. "In my boyhood's days much was done that has been since forgotten. The common people have a rough sense of poetic justice. So has the human race in general. Jarratt Weekes, my son-in-law, asked me to be the minister on this occasion and read the burial service; but I refused, because it was contrary to the dignity of my age or my calling. Moreover, Jarratt will do it himself."

"He's the leading spirit, then?" asked Agg.

"I am violating no confidence when I answer that he is," replied Adam. "He has an active sense of justice--a thing specially acute in those who are suffering from injustice. I fear we are about to administer a harsh lesson to some erring brother and sister. Yet who shall say it won't be well deserved?"

"Perhaps the parties will," suggested Lethbridge; "bound to come as an ugly shock to them, no doubt."

"You are quite right, my man," declared Nathaniel Spry. "It is a very tragical thought, isn't it, Mr. Churchward? that the very people themselves may at this moment be laughing and joking by these graves, little knowing that their own effigies are lying within a few yards of them in those boxes."

"A very tragical thought indeed," admitted the schoolmaster. "So much so, in fact, that I wish we had three or four more constables here, instead of merely Arthur Routleigh. He is a good man enough for keeping order amid ordinary people; but he might lose his head at a crisis. However, he has the majesty of the Law behind him."

"Jimmery! There's Joe Tapson!" cried Agg suddenly. "What the mischief's that on his head?"

Mr. Tapson, clad in black, with flowing mourning bands fluttering from an old beaver hat, passed hastily and disappeared into the cowshed.

"He's the undertaker," explained Mr. Spry. "Everything is done in the proper way, so that the ceremony may be solemn and awe-striking. They wanted Valentine Huggins to be undertaker, but the old man was frightened to do anything so prominent. Then they asked me, but I had to refuse owing to my official position in Lydford as postmaster under Government."

"There goeth Noah Pearn, with his man and a barrel of beer," said Lethbridge. "He'll broach it under the hedge. Never loses a chance, that chap."

The crowd increased and began to grow impatient. Shouts were directed to the cowshed, which was now illuminated brightly from within. Then Mr. Huggins, in deep black, against which his white beard shone luminously, came out and hobbled to the policeman in charge of the ring.

"Tell 'em the procession moves at ten o'clock sharp, will 'e, Arthur? And mind you have a way cleared through the people to the graveside, so there shan't be nothing onseemly done."

Mr. Routleigh raised his voice and proclaimed the news. Then he drove some boys out of the ring. They had crept in behind him and were trying to peep under the coffin lids.

Not many women were present, though many desired to be. Their men in most cases had forbidden them. Certain wives, however, who were not under dominion, attended the rite; and among these stood Mrs. Philip Weekes. Her daughter-in-law was beside her and, hidden from them, Susan Huggins and her gamekeeper also mingled with the people.

"I don't like it, whoever 'tis," declared Hephzibah. "But since it had to be, I'm here. To bury the living be a very terrible piece of work, and I hope to heaven nothing evil will come of it."

"She deserves it, whoever she be," said Jarratt's wife.

"You mean you don't know who 'tis?"

"Not me, mother."

Mrs. Weekes sniffed.

"It puzzles my spirit to know how a man can keep anything hidden from his wife. If I'd been in your shoes, I'd have got the woman's name, and the man's name too, out of my husband double quick. Guy Fawkes and angels!--who be they, I should like to know, to keep their two-penny-halfpenny thoughts from us? A son's different. Of course I couldn't make Jarratt tell me. I wish they'd get on with it. The dew be going through my shoes and chilling me to the knees."

The church clock presently struck ten and a wave of excitement rippled round the rope. People swept this way and that, as people will. Shouts and laughter rose. The grass, trampled under many feet, emitted its own odour, and from the open earth a faint smell came. The sky was clear and a few stars twinkled. Light still hung westward and the great bulk of Lydford Castle loomed square and black against it.

A dance of many flames suddenly flashed through the grey gloom of summer night. The dew answered, and the earth was streaked and shot with points of fire. Above the smoky effulgence of the torches, the sky appeared to grow very dark. Everything outside this radiance of orange flame disappeared and was lost. Only within the glare the procession appeared and moved forward--a medley of lurid lights and ink black shadows.

"They're coming, they're coming!" cried many voices, and the solitary policeman, opening the rope, struggled to make a way for them. Agg, Lethbridge, and others, seeing his efforts futile, lent their aid, and presently into the ring the performers slowly came with torches waving above them. From the shed which they had left there echoed a hollow reverberation, repeated at intervals of half a minute. This represented the lich bell. A hymn rose as the procession approached, and the shrill treble voices of six boys singing together sounded thin and strange under the night.

The choir, in long white smocks, led the way. Then came six men with torches; and then Mr. Huggins and Mr. Taverner appeared as mourners. More torches followed, and Jarratt Weekes next played his part in a parson's gown with a broad black stole hung over it. On one side of him walked a boy with a book; on the other side a boy carried a tall candle. The huge shape of the 'Infant' in black, with a hat-band streaming behind him, followed; and at his side walked Joe Tapson, similarly attired. The disparity in their sizes created much merriment.

Into the ring they came. The boys took their places between the graves; the men stuck their torches into sconces arranged for them upon poles.

Then attention was paid to the coffins. Jarratt opened the book and the boy with the big candle held it aloft, so that the light fell upon the page. All was done with absolute order and decorum. The spectators, not the performers, threatened to break the peace. A great sheaf of light rose up into the darkness; a babel of voices echoed. Laughter and shouts resounded round the ring, and under the flickering fire the people searched each other's faces and called out greetings. An effect impish and demonian danced upon every countenance. Flame and darkness played at hood-man-blind together, and now features were distorted, and now whole bodies loomed huge or shrank and shrivelled under the light. Mrs. Weekes observed this sinister transformation.

"Never seed such a shocking sight," she said to Philip.

"We'm like a ring of evil apes. 'Tis a flouting of religion to play these tricks with it, and I wish I'd not been such a fool as to come. To see us, you'd think 'twas Bostock's wild beasts, not Lydford, had broke loose. Just look at the awful shape Adam Churchward cuts!"

"He don't look worse than he feels, if 'tis with him as it is with me," answered Philip.

Elsewhere Agg spoke to Lethbridge.

"Can you mark Brendon? He was coming up a thought before ten o'clock from the station, and he promised to look out for us. I'm afraid he'll miss the fun."

"Can't see him; but he may be here," answered Peter. "Look at Jacob Taverner. I'll die of laughing in a minute. The toad's pretending to cry!"

Jarratt Weekes at this moment shouted for peace. Then Joe Tapson and William Churchward approached the coffin-lids, while a very real silence fell as the dolls were revealed. The creator's heart beat fast under his great bosom. He hungered to hear a shout of instant recognition; and indeed this was not long delayed.

With a ghostly semblance of life the effigies stared out, and the feet of the coffins were lowered so that all might see. The throng massed in front of the show, and the ringside behind the performers was left empty.

What the people saw was a long, thin doll in riding breeches, Norfolk jacket, and hard hat. It stared out with sunken, sallow cheeks, and the torchlight played upon its life-size, life-like body. In the other coffin lay the female doll, and her tow hair was drawn back from her forehead and her red lips smiled. The face had been most carefully modelled and painted; therefore its resemblance to Sarah Jane Brendon was clear to all who knew her.

"God's light! what's this?" Lethbridge asked loudly; but Agg did not answer.

A great murmur shook the throng. Names were cried back and forward. A few laughed, some already shouted angrily for the mummery to cease.

"'Tis Sarah Jane and Hilary Woodrow--sure as I'm a sinful man," said Philip Weekes to his wife.

She did not answer, but glared at the figures.

Several voices cried out "Sarah Jane Brendon!" Others remembered the vanished farmer and named him. A spirit decidedly averse from the performers was apparent in the crowd, and Philip Weekes voiced it.

"This is a damned, wicked, wanton shame!" he roared out; "and I say it, though my own son's mixed in it."

"Order--order!" yelled a voice or two.

Mr. Huggins tried to get out of the ring, but was drawn back by the Infant. Mr. Churchward and Mr. Spry among the spectators also showed fear, and the latter, feeling that the sooner he departed from Thornyside the better for his reputation, set out to do so. Adam, in much concern, followed him. Jarratt Weekes, unmoved, proceeded grimly with the service as long as he could be heard. He had seen what none else had as yet; he had marked where the great form of Daniel Brendon suddenly reared itself behind the crowd. His voice shook at the sight, but he proceeded--

"'Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live and is full of misery. He cometh up and is cut----'"

Then shouts drowned his voice and a resolute and angry faction got over the rope with intent to stop the proceedings.

Mr. Taverner was appealed to by Jarratt Weekes.

"Stop 'em--stop 'em!--they can't interfere. This is private land!" he shouted.

But Jacob had gone over to the other side.

"If I'd known who it was----" he began, and stripped his mourning band off his hat.

At this sign the ring was broken up; a torch fell here and there and illuminated the open graves; then, like the sudden charge of some great beast, Brendon, who had at last understood, ploughed through the people and cast them to right and left. In another moment his hand was on the collar of Jarratt Weekes. With one sweep of his arm he tore the surplice off; then he dashed the book aside; and then he shook the mummer till Jarratt screamed and an answering scream came from his mother.

"Speak," said Daniel. "Tell me why you've done this; and tell me why I shouldn't let the life out of you for doing it!"

"Let go my neck, then," answered the other. Then he shouted to the people, "Why don't you pull this fool away? D'you want to see me killed?"

"Sarve you right," cried a dozen voices. "We'd do the like if we was the husband!"

"Speak!" repeated Brendon. His eyes burnt redder than the flames of the torch-fires round him.

"Then I will. I've done this thing because it was true. Ask John Prout. True afore the living God; and may He blast me, and strike me with all the curses of hell for all eternity now and for evermore if it ban't true. True!--ask Prout--ask them we've mimicked here--they'll not deny it!"

He pointed to the puppets staring mildly up at their makers.

For a moment Brendon held off and glared round him.

"Don't you believe the filthy liar, Dan!" bellowed Agg from the crowd.

"Let God strike me blind and mad now afore the people if it's not true. Prout saw it--with his own eyes he saw it. Kill me if you like--but it's true--true as the Bible is true--and you'll live to know it," cried Weekes; and his grim earnestness appeared to affect the principal listener.

Ignorant of what was doing, the boy in the shed still struck an old iron bin to imitate a passing bell. The sound acted on the people as a drum on a dervish. Brendon stood irresolute.

"Fling the beastly man into one of them graves and that big, fat fool after him!" shouted a voice.

There was a rush for Weekes and William Churchward. Mud and stones were flung, and a clod struck Jarratt in the mouth.

"Let him go--don't be cowards--let the man take his folly away!" cried Hephzibah shrilly; but none listened. Amid roars and shouts the mob surrounded Weekes and the younger Churchward. Joe Tapson and the choir boys were kicked heartily; Mr. Huggins had escaped in time, and now lurked behind a distant hedge and waited trembling to see what might happen. The people next threw the dolls out of their coffins, trod their putty faces into pulp and played football with their limbs. A man embraced the female figure amid roars of laughter. Then he danced with it.

Half a dozen resolute labourers dragged the Infant into one grave; while others, including a private enemy or two, tied Weekes within an empty coffin and lowered him into the second pit.

The passing bell still boomed on. Then the policeman, whose efforts towards maintaining peace were vain, did a definite thing, rushed up to the cowshed and stopped it.

Elsewhere Noah Pearn suffered. He had been standing rather anxiously beside his beer barrel, until some reckless spirits discovered the drink, and summoned others. Then Pearn was thrust into a ditch without ceremony, and his liquor consumed under the darkness. Many of the men present had come for miles, and those who belonged to the neighbourhood cared nothing for the publican's threats. They drank and presently emptied the barrel. Then a few intoxicated jesters began to throw earth on Weekes and William Churchward, and it was not until the parents of the two sufferers summoned aid and resolutely attacked the reckless party, that Jarratt and the bruised and battered Infant were rescued.

The torches expired and the folk at last departed. They left nothing to mark the event but a torn and trampled field, the dismembered limbs of the puppets, and the shattered timbers of their coffins.

Dawn found these things in their hideousness, and it also rose upon two men deep in conversation together. Agg and Lethbridge, appreciating the gravity of the position, had hurried home that some preparation for Daniel's coming might be made. But he did not come. They waited ready to intercept him and learn his mood and his intentions; then night passed and morning failed to bring him. Therefore they guessed that he must have followed the word of Jarratt Weekes literally, and turned his face to the sea that he might speak with Prout. They scorned the story, and dared not name it at Ruddyford. But at the earliest opportunity they despatched a telegram to Prout from Mary Tavy and warned him that he must stand between Daniel Brendon and the master.

"He'll soon calm the man down, if 'tis false, as it must be," said Agg. "Pray God no note of this gets to Sarah Jane's ears; yet that's a vain hope, for everybody on Dartymoor will be chattering of it inside twelve hours."

"I'm thinking of the man," answered Lethbridge. "If 'tis false, he'll have the hide off Jarratt Weekes for this night's work; and if 'twas true, he wouldn't stop short of----"

"'True'! Who that have ever met that clean, fearless creature would dare say it? Prout will calm the man down; but Lord pity them who get within reach of Brendon's rage when he goes into Lydford again."

"He may have believed it, however, and gone from that field and hanged himself," argued Lethbridge.

"Never! Would he wrong his wife like that--or Mr. Woodrow either? No, he ban't the sort to let a lie change him. This blackguard thing calls to be answered, and these insulted people will answer it."

"Daniel will for 'em, more likely. Master's so good as buried in real earnest and far beyond fighting; and as for Sarah Jane, 'tis her husband's part to make her name and fame sweet afore the nation."

"Which he will do--have no fear of that," answered Walter Agg.

At an early hour they despatched their telegram and Prout received it. Half guessing the truth, he waited in fearful anxiety; but Brendon did not come.