Murphy Part 6

Of course it took time; but a beginning was made in those halcyon, summer days, and the art of working by the hand gradually brought to some perfection. No little of this dog's gladness in life was centred eventually in this accomplishment, and he was never happier than when at practice. The education began by teaching him to lie down at the command--"Stop there," and then in leaving him behind for gradually lengthening periods. So well did he know these words, that he would act on them instantly, and in this way once lost his walk by a slight misunderstanding. An explanation of the method was being given one day, when walking with a friend. The opening words were of course used. Some time after the dog was missed, and it was not until steps had been retraced for a considerable distance that he was found, lying where he had first heard the words and looking a little shy.

The next proceeding was to start him, and then to stop him, till by degrees he came to understand the movement of the hands or arms. In this way it was possible to send him to great distances, or move him to right or left, much after the manner in which we who are soldiers move our men.

When a hand was uplifted high, he would drop at once, so that n.o.body would think that there was a dog within a mile: he might be lying in rough gra.s.s where the ragwort was high, or the wheat, as they say, was proud, and be himself invisible. But he could see well enough with those bright eyes of his, and the moment the arm was waved he was off with a stride of two yards or more, circling round and making the valley ring to his glad bark. He always entered into the whole fun of the thing, and looked upon it as the finest game that had ever been invented.

"Ah, well," remarked Job as he watched, and Scot gave tongue for very jealousy--"ah, well, I allus liked that dog."

And so did every one.

With each little addition to the sum of knowledge he possessed, master and dog grew closer to one another. It is always a moot point whether our dogs consider they belong to the family with which they live, or whether they do not regard the matter the other way about, and judge that the family belongs to them. In Murphy's case there is no shadow of doubt that, so far as his master was concerned, that master most certainly belonged to him. At first, the position had been different. There was reason for that. But even the reason had now apparently pa.s.sed out of mind: injustice had doubtless been forgiven, and what was far more wonderful--or rather, would have been, had man been in the case and not a dog--had also, so far as could be seen, been totally forgotten.

So completely had confidence been won that anything was permitted, even to the playful brandishing of a stick. Sticks were things to play with.

They had no relation to punishment at all. Besides, was not life a state to be enjoyed, and as happy as the day was long? And had he not taught his one great friend no end of facts of which he had hitherto been desperately ignorant?

It was all very well for Him to say that he had educated and trained this dog. The dog had all the while been training Him. It was all very well for Him to think in his heart that he had given this dog happiness in life. Happiness had in a measure also come back to Him. There had been, in more than one direction, a strange parallel between their cases, and as this had made itself felt, it had bound them both more closely together. They were now not only never apart, but they were of one mind in other ways as well--in joy of life as they found it under the sky; in the happiness of comradeship as they learnt to rely on it--indoors and out; in the deeper meaning of friendship, with the trust and undeviating truth that friendship claims; in the faith that the one had always in the other, through the good days and the hard.

Those who watched were often overheard to say, "The dog has taken charge of the man." And so he had, to a certain degree. He had learnt his master's habits exactly. He knew the time of day by the striking of the clock; and, morning after morning, at a particular hour, if this master, with his funny ways, delayed his going, he would get up from his familiar corner and come and stand and fix him with his eyes. Or, if this failed, would come, gently, closer, and lay his chin upon a knee, and make him lay down his work and come out for the regulation interval. In the longer marches of old days, there were halts in every hour. Come out! Come out!

New strength and new ideas are to be gathered outside; you will grow stale in here, whether you choose to practise this art or that. Houses are well enough to sleep in and to give shelter; but it is the heavens that give strength, and it is G.o.d's heaven that somehow, if only feebly, must get itself reflected in man's work.

So, in another instant, these two would be out together; the one going as far as tether would allow; the other doing what was yet another of his joys in life, and that caused such fun and merriment to lookers-on--the hunting of birds. Of that he never tired on the longest or the hottest day. Blackbirds gave the finest sport of all, as they generally flew only three feet above the ground. He knew their note at once; but probably the laugh of the green woodp.e.c.k.e.r vexed him more than most, while he certainly regarded the mocking notes of cuckoos as insults to himself. Of birds of various kinds he caught many, young and old, but was never known to hurt a single one.

The most remarkable of his exploits in this direction was when he found himself at one time by the sea. It was a lonely coast, where great crimson cliffs rose sheer out of the sand, their ledges, here and there, covered with tamarisk, gorse, and shaven thorn--right to their very summit three hundred feet above, from whence the moors stretched far away inland. A heavy surf beat there at times, setting these cliffs echoing in such a way as to make speech difficult. On these wild days it was well that this dog had learnt to work so perfectly by hand, for he had no fear of the rollers, and the wonder was that he escaped from being drowned.

At the bottom of the whole fun of this new situation lay the fact that these cliffs were inhabited by innumerable gulls. To catch one of these was Murphy's aim, and often was he washed out on to the sands in a smother of spindrift, in his mad eagerness to attain his end. The herring-gulls were the finest sport of all, with their constant melancholy cries--"pew-il," "pee-ole," or their hoa.r.s.er note of warning, "kak-k-kak"; their bodies two feet in length; their spread of wing no less than four feet four. For months he chased them, till at last some must possibly have known him. It was perhaps on this account that one of them was not quick enough in getting under way on one occasion. Murphy flung himself into the air and got him; and not only got him, but brought him along, with the great wings beating the air about him, so that the dog was scarcely visible for the bird. It was the old story again, of the hare in his earlier days, for the gull was not harmed, and when liberated flew out to sea, with the cry "pew-il," "pee-ole" flung back from the waves as he went.

"I never thought to live tu zee the like o' that," remarked a longsh.o.r.eman pa.s.sing at the time: but then he was a stranger to Murphy, and also to his ways.

What happiness was to be had in life; what sport and splendid fun--sport all day long; fun without end! Did not the morning begin with a game?--the dog lying down in one corner of the hall, fixing his master with his eye as he appeared, and then, after pausing a while as if to say, "Are you ready?" launching himself full tilt, till he was brought up in a final leap against his master's chest, full five feet from the ground. Of course the whole hall was in a smother every time, with mats and rugs all out of place upon the slippery floor. And then the noise!

The only thing was to leave the house and work off some of the steam out there.

No dog with a particle of nervousness or hesitation left would do such things as that. But he only did them with his master. When with others, report had it that he was a different dog, with no taste for hunting or for chasing birds--a dog, in fact, that invariably got into one room and lay there alone, unless he changed his place for the mat by the front door.

Of course He would come back. Folk always did. There could be no break in this friendship: it would last for ever. He had heard his master count the years: "Four"--that was his own age--he knew that much; and from four his master would count up to ten; then hesitate; then say "eleven"; then hesitate again, and remark, "twelve--perhaps: yes, little man; you'll see me out--easy!"

And those who watched and looked on added this to what they had said before, "What _will_ happen, if anything happens to that dog?"

It was a funny way of putting it, but the remark was always met, in reply, with, "Don't let us meet trouble half-way, or make a circuit of the hills to look for it;

"'Fortis cadere, cedere non potest.'"

XI

The roads were deep in snow. The fall had begun two hours before light; gently, and with large flakes--the presage of what was to come. Snow was still falling in the afternoon; but now the wind had sprung up, and each large flake was torn into a dozen as the wind played with them, driving them upwards like dust, then catching them and sending them horizontally and at speed over the ground, till they could find a resting-place in some drift that was forming on the north sides of fences, or peace beneath the brambles of some ditch.

An hour or more before dark the wind increased, and was blowing a whole gale. What fun to be out in that: come on!

It was not long before man and dog were away. The roads would be safe on such a day as this; so, for once, the two trudged along till they overtook two waggons. How big they looked in the smother, each with its team of three--a pair in the shafts, and one more ahead as leader.

Talking was difficult, or well-nigh impossible; but at least they could join the men, and shout a word or two at times.

On the weather side the great horses looked twice their size, plastered as they were with snow, their manes and the hair about their huge feet all matted with ice. But on the lee they looked different animals, for their coats were darkened, being drenched with sweat: it was with difficulty that they kept their feet, and their breath came heavily through their nostrils as they struggled on.

Not that they had a heavy load to draw. The waggons were empty. They had come in with a full load in the morning, intending to bring coal back.

"But how was 'em to do that, in weather the like of this; or on roads same as these here? Nay, nay," shouted the rearmost carter, "we's for getting home, empty or somehow, if so be as these here can keep their feets. The road below the snow is ice, I tell ye--just ice; and, what's more, Fiddlehill lies just ahead for we." The last words were punctuated with the crack of a whip like a pistol-shot: all talk was dropped after that for a while; the wind was growing fiercer.

Both waggons were painted yellow, picked out with scarlet; but the paint that had looked brilliant in the sun of the harvest days looked tawdry and dirty now against the snow, and every patch or scar of rough usage was easily discernible. Now and then the wind came with a savage gust, carrying stray straws out of one of the waggons, though snow was collecting on the floor: on the other, the cords of a tarpaulin, indifferently secured, were smacking the yellow sides like a lash. Some of these sounds did not suit Murphy very well; but he had found out the best and safest place, and was making his way as well as he could, sheltered beneath the rearmost waggon and between the tall hind wheels, whose rims and spokes and hubs were hung and bespattered, like all else, with snow.

It was true that he looked like some other person's dog, with a white face and whiskers. But his master was white, too, from head to foot; what recked it!

In another hour or less darkness would have shut down on the world, though such a term as darkness was only relative on a day when it could never have been said to have been light.

When the open was reached, the snow, broken into hard flakes, whipped face and ears like nettles. Murphy was the best off of the party, save when something had drawn him from beneath the waggon, and he was having a game with the snow on his own account. Great wreaths hung to the fences, or stood out in ledges where the banks were high. The sky, or rather the whole air, was lead colour, and all distance was blotted out. Flocks of crazy, distracted birds flew close by in great numbers, for the most part finches and larks, with here and there a fieldfare or two, their b.r.e.a.s.t.s and underwings buff colour. Then came a flight wholly made up of buntings, whose brilliant yellows looked deep orange against the leaden grey that shrouded all.

There was no end to the great host. They were all going one way: they made no sound but the swish of wings, and uttered no single note: they pa.s.sed at speed as though in fear, yet all the while in obedience to the supremest law of all. To the southward there would be protection; life there would be preserved: here it was impossible--for birds. "Keep low; press on!" Victory shall be to the strongest: the weak shall fall in this pitiless wind, and the snow shall cover the dead, but in the end there shall be a better life for some. "Keep low; press on!"

There was something weird in such a sight as that: there was something weird also in the sound of the wind. It came sweeping over the fields, tearing with angry gusts at the snow-laden briars in the fences, and pa.s.sing on with a moaning sound into the dark of the approaching night.

There was no sign of human beings anywhere. Familiar objects had all changed their character, though it was only by these that whereabouts could be told. The remains of a hay-rick by the roadside suddenly showed up out of the mirk, with white top like some great ghost, its blackened sides flecked here and there with snow. In the hot days of June two here had seen it built; and, later on, watched the trussers at work on it, when the price of hay had gone up, and farmers could make a few pounds.

But that job, like most others, had had to be abandoned now.

Why, here was the great stoggle oak by the pool, on whose limbs in former times, tradition had it, many a highwayman had swung! The storm to it was nothing: it had weathered so many: the world was a fair place; but life was full of tests as well as trials. "Heads up! Bear yourselves like men," its limbs seemed to roar in solemn, deep diapason. "Heads up!--there is a haven for all ahead!"

It was fifty yards further on before the voice of the oak was lost. But as man and dog worked further still, for very joy of the wind and the snow and love for the elements at their worst--the horses struggling, the waggoners calling to them loudly and urging them to put their best into it, with many a crack of the whip--there suddenly fell a lull, and for a moment there was peace. And just then, up from the valley, there came other sounds--the larch and the firs down there were sighing out a tune to themselves, being partly sheltered by the hill.

It was time to turn back. There was a lane in the direction of those last sounds: home could easily be reached that way, and, likely enough, with the set of the wind, the roadway itself would have been swept almost bare.

The waggons were lost to sight in a moment, though the woody rattle of the axles could still be heard: snow was falling heavily again: the cold was becoming intense: the wind was now dropping altogether. A dead bird or two were pa.s.sed, lying in the snow, claws in air and already stiff: a felt and a yellowhammer were side by side at the bottom of the hill. It was like the dead in gay uniforms, lying scattered after an action. A little further on there was a blackbird, to Murphy's very evident glee.

He found it at once, and was for carrying it home; it was still warm. But this was no time for fooling. It was already dark and growing darker; the proper thing to do was to keep together and make for home. Travelling was none too easy, even for tall men, and really difficult for dogs in places.

At points where field gates opened on to the road, drifts had formed two feet in depth, right across the way, and it was necessary to pick up the dog and carry him, though to the latter's thinking that was a silly thing to do. Time was, when his master had had to do that; but he had then been no better than a child in arms. Now he was a man, and had come to man's estate, and, furthermore, had learnt what life was, with its hours full of health, and crammed with fresh adventures and experiences, as, of course, it should be. His muscles were hard and flexible as steel, his heart strong with life, his brain quick to learn whatsoever his master thought best that he should know. Health, strength, what happiness it all was! The neighbourhood of those waggons had been rather depressing, and the crack of those whips somewhat disconcerting; but he did not stop to reason why. It was enough that he and his master were together. The past might look after itself, and so might the future; this was the all-sufficient present.

A deep silence reigned in the valley; even the larch and the firs had given up their songs. There was the scrunch of the foot at each step, and now and then a rustle in the hedge, as a bramble became overweighted with snow and dislodged its load into the ditch, or last year's leaves, still clinging to some oak, rustled and were still again. Otherwise the world was dead or asleep; it made little difference which.

A cottage was pa.s.sed further on, and a c.h.i.n.k of light from a candle within showed that the snowflakes were still falling fast. This way would be impa.s.sable by morning. At the turn of the lane voices were heard. They were some way off; but it was easy to recognise that they were those of two men talking. Presently the voices became more audible. It was too dark to see who the men were as they pa.s.sed: at night, when snow is falling, those met are up and gone by almost before their approach is realised. There was just time for a "Good-night," with a "Good-night to you, Sir," in reply.

For an instant there was silence: then the men began talking again.

"Bless the Lord!--did you see who that was, Tom, and on such a night as this!" remarked one.

"Don't know as I know'd un."

"Not know un?"

"Why, bless the life on yer--that's Him an' his dog!"

"There, was it now? Him an' his dog, for sure. Carrying un, wus he? Like un."