Harper's New Monthly Magazine. No. XVI.—September, 1851—Vol. III. VariousЧитать онлайн книгу.
about fifty miles from London, situated on the banks of a river much resorted to by anglers, and sent a hearty invitation to Joel to come and visit him, what words may paint the bright anticipations of the exulting hosier? He had not been well of late – needed summer holidays; and, in short Joel could not resist the tempting offer.
Patty urged her husband with affectionate solicitude, to "keep watch" over himself; but she loved him too well, and was too unselfish, to object to his accepting her brother's hospitality. "Make hay while the sun shines, my dear," she said; "you may never have such another opportunity. Business is slack just now – besides, baby is weaned, and I can mind the shop with Charlie; only – " here there was a private whispered admonition, the tenor of which may be inferred from Joel's answer, accompanied by a hearty kiss: "I promise you, my ducky, that I will never taste a drop, except when I get wet-footed, and then only just enough to keep the cold out."
"Ah, that cold, Joel!" replied Patty, "it's a queer thing, that cold is! always trying to gain a footing; and nothing but a sip of brandy to keep it out!" And the wife shook her head.
It was too much felicity for Joel Jerdan! – the gathering together his scanty assortment of rods and tackle – the laying out his hard-earned money to purchase more – the packing his portmanteau and setting out on a gay summer's morning!
Yet his dreams fell short of reality when Joel first beheld the paradise of greenerie wherein "The Swan" nestled on the picturesque beauties of Wood End. Here he could fish off the bank from a variegated flower-garden, whose roses hung over the broad, deep waters, where monsters of the finny tribes abounded. Here he did fish off the emerald bank; but, alas! the fish were strangely shy or cunning. Joel labored most assiduously; but somehow, he caught nothing. There was always something wrong; either it was too hot, or the water was too clear, or the fish wouldn't take the particular bait at that particular spot, and they must be sought up or down stream for miles. And so Joel followed the river's course patiently, day by day striving most manfully to ensnare the wary inhabitants of the treacherous element, on whose tranquil bosom wan lilies reposed as peacefully as primroses on the hill-side graves reflected nigh. "Try the pools of Ellendeen," said one; and "Try the pools of Ellendeen," said another, until Joel determined he would try these far-famed still waters, though it was a good way up stream to reach them. However, a farmer offered to give him a lift in his cart, and drop him on the road to market, leaving Joel to work his way back to Wood End as might suit his sport or inclination; and well supplied with refreshing viands, stowed away in his basket, slung across his shoulder sportsman-like with leathern belt, Joel set forth to try his luck in the "bottomless pit," for so the deepest pool of Ellendeen was significantly named by the peasant-folk, with whom the domain bounding the water was in ill-repute.
Solemn and stately were the neighboring woods, and a gray castellated mansion frowned on the summit of a high hill overhanging the water. It was uninhabited now, the family were extinct, and, of course, there was a legend attached.
A former lord of Ellendeen was most anxious for a son and heir; but on his unhappy lady presenting him with nothing but daughters, he swore that on the birth of the next he would throw it into the pool beside the wood. He did so with his own wicked hands more than once; and tradition said that no less than four baby daughters of the ancient race of Ellendeen were engulfed in those deep, dismal waters, which refused to yield their dead, and, in short, proved to be "bottomless." However, whether it was that they were left very much to themselves, or that the fish in Ellendeen Pools were really finer than elsewhere, report had not exaggerated their abundance and size; and Joel, to his infinite satisfaction, managed to capture some "splendid fellows," according to his own phrase.
It was a solitary place. The river here was dark and sleeping; it was a fitting scene for the enactment of the baby tragedy. The air was sultry, as if a storm were brewing, clouds were lowering, and the heat was intense. There was "no cold" to keep out, and Joel's feet were perfectly dry, but so was his throat; and Edwards, his kindly brother-in-law, had placed a flask of brandy in the basket, saying he might like "a little in water by-and-by." Joel was very thirsty and he drank a vast deal of water out of a horn cup, pouring in just enough spirit to take the "chill off," which in his heated condition, was not safe or pleasant.
"I'll not forget my promise to my dear little Patty," said Joel to himself, as he sipped. "Not one drop of brandy alone will I touch. Ah, bless me! how her precious heart would ache if she were to hear this tale of the wicked lord and those dear innocents? She'd most think she could see their pretty upturned faces in the water. I wonder, now, if there's any truth in such a queer story." And Joel fell into a reverie as he wondered; and, sitting down on the bank, he fell asleep, and dreamt that instead of hooking a fine heavy fish he had pulled out a baby girl! Great was his horror, and he awoke with a start, to find that darkness was rapidly gathering round him, while a few pattering drops now and then betokened the approach of a storm, as the grumbling thunder faintly died away in the distance. One draught to fortify himself, and Joel commenced his homeward route – a rather difficult undertaking, seeing that he was a stranger, and obliged to diverge frequently from the immediate proximity of the river, which, however, was a sure guide, as it flowed past "The Swan's" very door. But rivers are stray, winding things; and after an hour's hard toiling over uneven paths, moving slowly and carefully, for caution was extremely necessary on the river's bank, poor little Joel Jerdan became thoroughly nervous and exhausted, as the rain pelted down and the thunder burst over head. Wet through in a trice, he had recourse to his brandy-flask. "Even Patty would recommend it now," said he; and his thoughts reverted to his snug little room behind the shop, where, beside a comfortable fire, he was wont to enjoy a frugal supper with his beloved helpmate. Now, here he was, wandering and houseless, uncertain of the way, wet through, and no sight or sound of human kind to greet his longing eyes or ears. No. He only heard the rushing of waters, the wailing of winds, and those strange, mysterious noises which issue from desolate woods by night. It was enough to appall a stouter heart than Joel Jerdan's; no wonder he had recourse to the brandy-flask!
"Catch me a-going a-fishing in a strange place again!" murmured he to himself; "only catch me at it, that's all!"
An impression that he was trespassing on haunted ground, and that, at the same time, his basket became heavier and heavier, oppressed Joel Jerdan with a sensation almost approaching to suffocation; and he ejaculated aloud, as if to increase his courage – talking at himself to himself – "Who says that Joel is tipsy? Who dares to say so is – is – a reprobate. Who dares to say that Joel Jerdan carries a basket full of dead babies instead of fish?" But just as the reeling piscator came to this portion of his argument, a light appeared but a short distance off, and, as he made toward it, a low, dull sound, as of monotonous knocking, fell on his ear, notwithstanding his perceptions were not particularly acute.
Joel staggered onward until he reached a building from whence the sounds appeared to proceed; and, creeping slowly toward an aperture, peeped in with a remarkably sagacious expression of countenance, no doubt, had the darkness permitted it to be visible. What he beheld there caused him to start backward so suddenly that, coming in contact with a felled tree, whose bared trunk was stretched along the ground, he fell violently on his face, the blood spurting from his nose, and a cry escaping at the same moment from the hapless intruder. Joel Jerdan had seen three spectral-looking men working at a coffin, engaged in finishing the dismal receptacle with all their might, as if it was wanted in a hurry. When he recovered from temporary stupor occasioned by his fall, the scared little man in vain essayed to speak or move; for his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, and his legs were powerless to sustain his own slight weight. Once, indeed, he thickly muttered, "Brandy, more brandy!" but immediately sank back helpless and hopeless, for he heard a voice say, "We'll put him in when it is finished; it is just done. We're in good time, and it'll be the safest place for the drunken rascal." Poor Joel Jerdan! to be put in a coffin alive at the suggestion of one whom he considered an evil spirit!
He heard another one say, "Halloo! let's have a look into his basket! Ho, ho, they are fine plump ones. Put them in with him, and let's be off at once."
Off at once! Where? thought the terrified and miserable man – where are they off to? To the "bottomless pit" of Ellendeen, said Conscience, and for stealing the dread secrets of the haunted pool, in the shape of the long sought-for Ellendeen babies! As to the