Dick o' the Fens Part 9

"N-no, I don't think I'm hurt, father," replied d.i.c.k, hesitatingly; "only I feel--"

"Well, speak, my lad; don't keep anything back."

"Oh, no, I won't keep anything back, father!" said d.i.c.k, laughing; "but I felt as if I'd been one of those poor fellows in the Tower that they used to put on the rack--all stretchy like."

"Mak' you grow, Mester d.i.c.k," said Hickathrift, "mak' you grow into a great long chap like me--six foot four."

"I hope not," said the squire, laughing. "Draw the line this side of the six feet, d.i.c.k. There: the stiffness will soon pa.s.s off."

They sat talking for a time, but words soon grew few and far between.

The two fen-men swinging in their boat behind had recourse to the bra.s.s box again, each partaking of a rolled-up quid of opium, and afterwards crouched there in a half drowsy state, careless of their peril, while the squire and his companions pa.s.sed their time listening to the rush of the water and the creaking of the willow bough as it rubbed against the side of the boat, and wondered, as from time to time the wheelwright examined the rope and made it more secure, whether the branch would give way at its intersection with the trunk.

The darkness seemed as if it would never pa.s.s, whilst the cold now became painful; and as he heard d.i.c.k's teeth begin to chatter, the wheelwright exclaimed:

"Look here, young mester, I ain't hot, but there's a lot o' warmth comes out o' me. You come and sit close up, and you come t'other side, squire. It'll waarm him."

This was done, and with good effect, for the lad's teeth ceased their castanet-like action as he sat waiting for the daylight.

No word was spoken by the men in the little punt, and those uttered in the other grew fewer, as its occupants sat listening to the various sounds that came from a distance. For the flood had sent the non-swimming birds wheeling round in the darkness, and every now and then the whistling of wings was quite startling. The ducks of all kinds were in a high state of excitement, and pa.s.sed over in nights or settled down in the water with a tremendous outcry, while ever and again a peculiar clanging from high overhead gave warning that the wild-geese were on the move, either fleeing or attracted by some strange instinct to the watery waste.

But morning seemed as if it would never come, and it was not until hours upon hours had pa.s.sed that there was a cessation of the high wind, and a faint line of light just over the water, seaward, proclaimed that the dawn could not be far away.

"Can you see where we are?" said the squire, as it began to grow lighter.

"Ay, it's plain enough now, mester," was the reply; "and yonder's Grimsey."

"I can see Tom," said d.i.c.k just then; "and there's Farmer Tallington, and all the rest, right on the top of the roof."

In a few minutes more all was plain enough, and the reason apparent why the people at Tallington had not shown a light in the course of the night or done anything else to indicate their position, for it was evident that they had been driven from below stairs to the floor above, and from thence to the roof, where they must have sat out the evening hours, perhaps doubtful of how long the place would last before it was swept away.

So intent had the squire and d.i.c.k been in watching for the dawn, that the gradual cessation of the flowing water had pa.s.sed unnoticed; but it was plain now that the surface of the wide expanse out of which the Toft rose, with the old Priory buildings a couple of miles away, was now unruffled by the wind, and that the current had ceased to flow.

But for this the party of rescue in the two punts would not have been able to reach the inundated farm, for it was only here and there that a firm place could be found for the poles, which generally sank deeply in the peat covered by the water to an average depth of about eight feet.

In the course of half an hour the boats were close up to the reed thatch of the great farm-house, a rope made fast to the chimney-stack, and Mrs Tallington, the farmer, Tom, a couple of maids and three men were transferred to the boats, all stiff and helpless with the cold.

"I don't mind now," said Tom, shivering as he spoke. "A boat isn't much of a thing, but it will float, and all last night it seemed as if the old house was going to be swept away."

"Are these your horses?" said d.i.c.k, pointing to a group of dejected-looking animals standing knee-deep in company with some cattle, about a quarter of a mile away.

"Yes, and our cows," replied Tom, shivering. "Oh, I say, don't talk; I'm so cold and hungry!"

All this time Hickathrift was diligently using the pole in the larger boat, and Dave leading the way in the other, both being well laden now, and progressing fairly fast toward the Toft, which stood up like an island of refuge in the midst of the vast lake, dotted here and there with the tops of trees. At times the poles touched a good firm tuft of heath or a patch of gravel, and the boat received a good thrust forward; at other times, when the bottom was soft, Hickathrift struck the water with it right and left as he stood up in the prow, using it as a kind of paddle.

Before they were half-way on their journey the sun came out from a cloud, just at the edge of the inundation; and with it and the prospect of warmth and food at the Priory, everybody's spirits began to rise.

"Might have been worse, neighbour," shouted the squire. "You sold all your sheep last week."

"Ay," said the farmer from Dave's punt; "and we might all have been drowned. It's a sore piece of business; but it shows a man what his neighbours are, and I won't murmur, only say as you do, it might have been worse."

"And thank G.o.d for sparing all our lives!" said the squire, taking off his hat.

"Amen!" said Farmer Tallington, and for a time there was nothing heard but a sob from Mrs Tallington and the splashing of the poles.

But two boys could not keep silence long with the sun shining and the place around wearing so novel a guise; and d.i.c.k soon burst out with:

"Look, Tom; look at the teal!"

He pointed to a flock forming quite a patch upon the water some hundreds of yards away.

"Ay," said the squire; "it's good for the wild-fowl, but bad for us.

The sooner the place is drained now, neighbour, the better, eh?"

"Ay, squire, you're right; but how are we to get rid of all this watter?"

"Ah, we must see," said the squire; and Dave and John Warren exchanged glances and shook their heads. "The sooner the draining works are commenced the better."

"Toft Fen wean't niver be drained, mester," said Dave in a low voice, as he rested his pole in the punt and stood there looking as if he believed himself to be a prophet.

"Oh, you think so, do you, Dave?" said the squire quietly. "I daresay hundreds of years ago, before the sea-wall was made, some men said that no farming could be done in the fen, but the sea has been kept out for all these years."

"Ay, but it's come through at last in its natural way, mester," said John Warren.

"Yes, John," said the squire: "but we men who think how to live, make nature work for us, and don't work for nature. So we're going to turn the sea off the land again, and drain the fresh water off as well, so as to turn this wild waste into fertile land. Do you hear, d.i.c.k?"

"Yes, father, I hear," said the lad; and he looked at Dave and John Warren, in whose boat he was, and read incredulity there; and as he gazed over the inundated fen, and thought of fishing, and shooting, and boating there, he felt himself thoroughly on the fen-men's side, while, feeling ashamed of this, he bent over the boat side, scooped up some water in his hand and drank, but only to exclaim, "Ugh!"

"Ah! what does it taste like, d.i.c.k?" said the squire.

"Half salt, father."

"Then it is the sea broke in," said the squire. "Ahoy! all right!" he shouted, standing up and waving his cap. "Shout, d.i.c.k, and let your mother see you're here. Come, cheer up, Mrs Tallington; there's a warm welcome for you yonder from the wife; the water will soon go down, and we're going to try and protect ourselves from such mischief coming again."

The squire was right; there was a warm welcome waiting for the homeless neighbours, to whom, after a good, snug, and hearty breakfast, everything looked very different from what it had seemed during the long dark stormy watches of the night.

[Wall, in fen-lands, the artificial bank or ridge of clay raised to keep back river, drain, or sea.]

CHAPTER FIVE.

THE ROMAN BANK.

It was like standing on a very long low narrow island, with the peculiarity that one side was sea, the other inland lake. The sun shone brilliantly, and the punt in which the squire, Farmer Tallington, Dave, Warren, Hickathrift, and the two lads had come was lying on the inner side of the sandy ridge covered with thin, wiry, harsh gra.s.s.

This ridge formed the island upon which they stood, in company with some sheep and cattle which had instinctively made their way to the high ground as the water rose.

The tide was down now; a great deal of the water had drained away, and the party were standing by a great breach in the bank through which at high-tide during the storm the sea had made its way.