camping out in epping forest
hen i returned home, my neighbours looked strangely on me, as though i were one risen from the dead, after nursing two people through the plague without hurt. i said not much, however, to any of them except to violet.
when i had told her all i had to tell, she said, “well, i think the tale ends rather flatly: you and master blower might as well have made a match of it.”
“truly, violet,” said i, “i think women of our age may be capable of a disinterested 206action, without question of matchmaking.”
“as to women of our age,” retorted she, “speak for yourself, if you please! you may make out yourself to be as old as you will; but i mean to stick at twenty-eight!”
i said not another word, but secretly wondered how strangely tender some people are on the subject of age. even master blower, who had owned to forty-four, did not like me to reckon him at fifty.
it was now quite the latter end of october, the distemper was abating, and people were beginning to venture back to their homes, and a few shops were re-opened. hugh braidfoot and his family returned among the rest. but too heedless an exposure to the infection yet lingering among us caused the 207distemper to rage again with great fury before it abated for good.
i now kept myself close, and spent the chief of the day at my needle or book, working much for the poor, who were like enough to be destitute in the winter. first, however, i put on mourning for my poor, dear father, whom i could not bear to deny this mark of remembrance, though the mortality being so great, people had quite left off wearing black for their friends. much he dwelt in my sad, solitary thoughts; and when they ran not on him, they chiefly settled on master blower. the more i considered their characters, the more beauty i found in them.
i never opened the shop-shutters now, except for a little light. trade was utterly stagnant; and my father’s business 208had dropped with him. the little i might have done in the perfumery line, had the town not been empty, would not have been worth speaking of: it was a mercy, therefore, that my dear father had left me well provided.
one evening, when it was getting too dusk to work or read, and i was falling into a muse, a tall shadow darkened the door, which happened to be ajar, and the next moment a man whom i did not immediately recognise, entered the parlour and stepped up to me.
“cherry! dear cherry!” he said in a stifled voice, and took me in his arms with a brother’s affection. it was poor mark.
“dear mark!” i said, “where have you been? oh, how often have i thought of you!”
209“aye, cherry, well you might, and pray for me, too,” said he, somewhat wildly. “oh, what a tale i have to tell you!—you will either hate or despise me.”
“you are ill, very ill,” said i, looking fearfully at his haggard face; “let me give you something before you say another word.”
“wine, then,” said he; and drank with avidity the glass i poured out, and then filled it again himself. “thanks, dear cherry!—will my uncle be coming in?”
i looked at him and at my dress, and could not speak; but there was no need—“ah!”—said he; and wrung my hand, and then dropped it.
“cherry,” said he, after a moment’s pause, “you know how afraid i was of the plague, and how my wife taunted 210me for it, and for taking the commonest precautions. she herself braved it, defied it; secure in her amulet and fortune-telling. what was worse, she cruelly exposed her servants to it, for the merest trifles. we had words about it often: bitter words, at last—she accused me, utterly without foundation, 211of caring more for the servant-girl than for her, reviled me for tempting my own fate by fear; finally, said i should be no great loss, for i had never cared much for her, nor she for me. all this embittered me against her. well, the poor maid caught the plague at the butchers’ stalls, and, the next night, was in the dead-cart. the following day, our youngest ’prentice died. the other decamped in the night. i now became nearly mad with fear and anger; and, finding my wife would not stir, or at least, as she said, ‘not yet,’ i considered that self-preservation was the first law of nature; and, taking a good supply of money with me, i left the house in the night. fear of being driven back was my sole feeling till i got clear out of london; then, i began to have an impression 212i had done wrong. but ’twas death, ’twas madness to think of turning back. on i went....
“it had been my impression, cherry, that, with plenty of money in my pocket, i could make my way wherever i would; but now, in whatever direction i went, i came upon a watchman, who, because i had no clean bill of health to show, would not let me pass. at length, after running hither and thither, throughout the night, i came upon a couple of men, with a small cart and horse. they seemed to be in the same strait as myself, and talked of fetching a compass to bow. i asked them to let me join them, and they consented. they were a rough sort of fellows; one it seemed had deserted his mother, the other his wife. their conduct, and their brutal 213way of talking of it, only made mine seem more ugly.
“on bow bridge the watch would have questioned us, but we crossed the road into a narrow way leading to old ford. afterwards we got on to homerton and hackney, and at length into the northern road. here we went on till we saw some men running towards us; then we struck into a lane, halted at a barn, and had some bread and cheese. the food was theirs, but i paid for my share; and i saw them curiously eyeing my money. afterwards they asked one or two questions about my resources, which i did not much like.
“well, we kept on till we were many miles from london, occasionally dodging villages and constables. at nightfall we reached the skirt of a wood. 214here my companions proposed to sleep; but as soon as they were fairly off, i stole away. i wandered a long way from them in the wood; at length took refuge in a cow-shed. i thought i heard voices, not far off, which made me uneasy; however, i was so tired that i fell asleep.
“as soon as day dawned, i made off; and, not knowing which track to take, went on at random, till i came to a large old barn. to my surprise, i heard some one praying within. i looked in, and saw, not one, but a dozen men, and two or three women and children. i stood reverently aside till the old man had done, and heard him pray that they might all continue to be spared from the awful visitation. when they uncovered their faces, i stept forward, on which there was a 215loud cry, and they warned me off. it was to no use speaking, they would not hear me as i had no passport. dispirited and hungry, i strayed away till i came to the skirt of the wood, in sight of a cluster of houses. i was about to make for them, when three men, with a pitchfork, bludgeon, and horsewhip, rushed upon me and collared me, saying, ‘here’s one of them!’—i struggled, and said, ‘one of whom? i belong to no party, and am a healthy, innocent man.’ ‘that sounds well,’ said one of them, ‘but we guess you are one of a gang that, after threatening and intimidating our town yesterday, broke into a lone farmhouse last night; so we’ll take you before a magistrate.’ ‘do so,’ said i, ‘for it will be better than starving in the wood, and i shall be able to clear myself.’ so, after a 216time, finding i made no resistance, they gave over dragging me, and let me walk by myself, only keeping close about me, with an ugly bull-dog at my heels. however, i did not feel over-sure, cherry, that my story would satisfy the magistrate, so when we reached a small public-house where we found a constable, i privately slipped a half-crown into his hand, and he, after a little parley, gave it as his opinion that i was an honest man, whereon the others desisted from giving me in charge. but they would by no means admit me into the house, only brought out some bread and beer and set them at a distance, and then went away while i ate and drank.
“there seemed nothing to do but to turn again into the wood; and as i was without object, foot-sore, and spiritless, 217i paused at the first inviting spot i came to, and cast myself along under a tree. here i suppose i slept a good while: when i awoke, it was with a strange sense of depression, and it occurred to me i might be plague-stricken after all. as if i could fly yet from the distemper, if that were the case, i resolved to be moving; for i had no mind to die like a rat in a hole. just then i heard voices close on the other side the tree; and, eyeing the speakers between the branches, could make out a numerous band of men and a few women, who were eating and drinking. i did not like their appearance much, and thought of retreating, when one of them, seeing me stir, cries,—‘a spy!’ and drags me into the midst. i was pretty roughly handled till they settled it to their minds 218i was a harmless sort of a fellow; and then they told me they would let me join the crew if i would cast my lot among them, and put whatever i had about me into the common stock. i was no ways minded to do this; however, i gave them a few shillings, which, after a little demur, they took, and i then was free of the company. i soon had reason to apprehend they were the band who had affrighted the townsmen the day before, and plundered the farm in the night; and it seemed as if a select council of them were concerting something of the sort again, though they did not invite me to participate. as this was not the sort of company i had any mind to associate with, i dragged through the afternoon and evening as well as i could, mostly apart. they then began to put up 219booths and tents for the night, at which i was glad to assist, rather than do nothing; but i lay a little way off, under a tree. in the night i felt some one lugging at the little parcel of clothing i laid my head upon.—i hit a blow at random, which made whoever it was move off without a word; and then i thought it was time for me to move off too. i got away unperceived, and could not settle again all night. when day broke, i was in a part of the forest that was new to me.... the sun was shining on some gnarled old oaks, and along green glades; there were birds singing, hares running across the grass, and wildflowers overhanging a little brook of clear water. oh, cherry! how i should have enjoyed idling in such a place if i had had a quiet mind!
220“i drank some water, and washed my face; and just then i saw some women passing through the trees, carrying large, country loaves, and tin cans of milk. they did not see me, but set down their burthens near a large stone. then they retreated and stood a little way off, and presently, two pretty-looking girls came tripping out of the wood, took up the loaves, emptied the milk into brown pitchers of their own, put some silver on the stone, and cried, ‘here’s your money, good people!’”
“then they returned into the wood, and i followed them. i said, ‘shall i carry one of your pitchers?’ they looked affrighted, and cried, ‘pray, sir, keep off ... how do we know that you may not have the plague?’ i said, ‘i assure you, it was to escape from the plague that i came into the wood, and 221here i seem likely to starve, though i have plenty of money.’ they looked at one another, and said, ‘if it be true, his case is hard,—let us tell my father.’ they went away, and by and by an elderly man came to me from among the trees. he questioned me very narrowly, and satisfying himself at length that i was both sound and respectable, he admitted me to their little encampment, which consisted of five or six little huts, a family in each; besides a few cabins the single men had set up for themselves. i did the like, added my stock to theirs, and continued with them all the time their encampment lasted, which was till yesterday, when, the weather turning cold, and the news of the abatement of the distemper having reached us, we resolved to return to our homes.—i 222could make you quite in love with our camp life, cherry, if i chose to enlarge upon some things, and leave others out of sight,—in short, make it appear the thing it was not. but, honestly speaking, though we were very thankful to buy our safety at the price of much inconvenience, all the romance of our situation soon faded away, and we were right glad to set our faces homewards again, even without being fully certified we could do so with impunity.”
“but, to what a home did i return! the house was padlocked up, and everything in the possession of the lord mayor. and, from a watchman out of employ, who was taking care of a house over the way, and who did not know me, i heard the circumstances of my wife’s frightful death. oh, cherry! we did not care for each 223other much; but i fear it was cowardly and cruel of me to forsake her!”
—and mark laid his head on his arms and wept. presently he said, “what to do, i know not. i shall be able, by application to the lord mayor to-morrow, to get back my house and property; but—to tell you the truth—i have no great fancy to go back there; at any rate, till the house has been well fumigated. so that ... will you take compassion on me, and let me return awhile to my old quarters, cherry?”
of course i said i would.
