Chapter Sixteen.
My Patient the Carpenter.
“Bring him in,” I said; and four stout fellows carried the insensible figure of a well built young man into the surgery and laid him on the couch.
“How was this?” I exclaimed. “There, shut the door, we don’t want a crowd in here.”
“It was Harry Linney got teasing him, sir, and betting him he couldn’t climb up the outside of the church tower.”
“And he climbed up and fell, eh?” I said, going on with my examination.
“Yes; that’s it,” said one of the men, staring.
“How stupid!” I exclaimed. “Men like you to be always like a pack of boys.”
“Is he killed, doctor?” said another in awestruck tones.
“Killed? no;” I replied, “but he has broken his left arm, and yes—no—yes—his collar-bone as well.”
“Poor old chap,” said a chorus of sympathising voices, and after bandaging and splinting the injuries I sent the man home.
He was too healthy and active a man to be ill long, and he rapidly improved, and in the course of my attendance I used to smile to myself and wonder whether Darwin was not right about our descent from the monkeys; for certainly the climbing propensity was very strong in Fred Fincher, who used to laugh when I talked to him about the folly of men to climb.
“Well, I dunno, sir,” he said, “climbing’s very useful sometimes. I’m a carpenter, and I have to climb a good deal about housetops in my trade, and nobody says it’s foolish then.”
“That’s a necessity,” I replied. “Yours was only a bit of foolish bravado.”
“Well, suppose it was, doctor,” he said smiling. “Anyhow I was not killed. It was nothing like getting up to oil the weathercock after all.”
“Oil what weathercock?” I said.
“Our weathercock, sir.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean at the old place, sir. You see this is how it was:—
“We’d got a weathercock a-top of our church spire at High Beechy; and it was a cock in real earnest, just like the great Dorking in Farmer Granger’s yard; only the one on the spire was gilt, and shone in the sun quite beautiful.
“There was another difference, though. Farmer Granger’s Dorking used to crow in the morn, and sometimes on a moonlight night; but the gilt one a-top of the steeple, after going on swinging round and round, to show quietly which way the wind blew, took it into its head to stick fast in calm weather, while in a rough wind—oh, lor’ a’ mercy! the way it would screech and groan was enough to alarm the neighbourhood, and alarm the neighbourhood it did.
“I wouldn’t believe as it was the weathercock at first, but quite took to old Mother Bonnett’s notion as it was signs of the times, and a kind of warning to High Beechy of something terrible to come to pass.
“But there, when you stood and saw it turning slowly round in the broad daylight, and heard it squeal, why, you couldn’t help yourself, but were bound to believe.
“Just about that time a chap as called himself Steeple Jack—not the real Steeple Jack, you know, but an impostor sort of fellow, who, we heard afterwards, had been going about and getting sovereigns to climb the spires, and oil the weathercocks, and do a bit of repairs, and then going off without doing anything at all—well, this fellow came to High Beechy, saw the Rector, and offered to go up, clean and scrape the weathercock, oil it and all, without scaffolding, for a five pound note.
“Parson said it was too much, and consulted churchwarden Round, who said ‘ditto;’ and so Steeple Jack did not get the job even when he came down to three pound, and then to a sovereign; for, bless you, we were too sharp for him at High Beechy, and suspected that all he wanted was the money, when, you know, we couldn’t have made him go up, it being a risky job.
“The weathercock went on squeaking then awfully, till one afternoon, when we were out on the green with the cricketing tackle for practice, the Rector being with me, for we were going to play Ramboro’ Town next week, and the Rector was our best bowler.
“He was a thorough gentleman was our Rector, and he used to say he loved a game at cricket as much as ever, and as to making one of our eleven, he used to do that, he said, because he was then sure that no one would swear, or take more than was good for him.
“Speaking for our lot, I’m sure it made us all respect him the more; and I tell you one thing it did besides, it seemed to make him our friend to go to in all kind of trouble, and what’s more, it fetched all our lot in the cricket club to church when I’m afraid if it hadn’t been out of respect to the parson we should have stopped away.
“Why, I’ve known him on a hot evening at practice between the overs suddenly cry ‘Hold hard!’ with the ball in his hands, and say—
“‘Tell you what, my lads, I think a glass of Tompkins’s home-brewed wouldn’t be amiss just now. Smith, my man, will you step across and tell them to send me a gallon?’
“Then when it was brought all cool and foaming from out of the cellar, and he took the first glass as a matter of course, he’d got a knack of saying something sensible to a man in a way as did more good than the preaching in a month of Sundays.
“‘That!’ he’d say, with a smack of the lips when he’d finished the cool draught, ‘That’s good, refreshing, invigorating, and hearty. What a pity it is some men will be such fools as to take more than is good for them. Come, my lads, another glass round, and then to work.’
“Why, you may laugh at me, but we all of us loved our parson, and he could turn us all this way or that way with his little finger.
“Well, we were out on the green, as I said, and the talk turned about oiling the weathercock, and about how we’d heard as Steeple Jack, as he called himself, had undertaken to do Upperthorpe steeple, as is thirty feet lower than ours, and had got the money and gone off.
“‘I thought he was a rogue,’ said Billy Johnson. ‘He looked like it; drinking sort of fellow. Tell you what, I’m game to do it any time you like.’
“‘Not you,’ says Joey Rance. ‘It ain’t in you.’
“‘Ain’t it,’ says Billy, tightening his belt, and then—
“‘My good man,’ says the Rector, ‘I couldn’t think of allowing it.’
“You see, ours was a splendid spire, standing altogether a hundred and seventy feet six inches high; and as it says in the old history, was a landmark and a beacon to the country for miles round. There was a square tower seventy feet high, and out of this sprang the spire, tapering up a hundred feet, and certainly one of the finest in the county.
“‘Oh, I’d let him go, sir,’ says Joey: ‘he can climb like a squirrel.’
“‘Or a tom-cat,’ says another.
“‘More like a monkey,’ says Sam Rowley, our wicket-keeper.
“‘Never mind what I can climb like,’ says Billy. ‘I’m game to do it; so here goes.’
“‘But if you do get up,’ said the Rector, ‘you will want tools to take off and oil the weathercock, and you can’t carry them.’
“Just then a message came from the house that the Rector was wanted, and he went away in a hurry: and no sooner had he gone than there was no end of chaff about Billy, which ended in his pulling up his belt another hole, and saying—
“‘I’m going.’
“‘And what are you going to do when you get up there?’
“‘Nothing,’ he says, ‘but tie the rope up to the top of the spire, and leave it for some of you clever chaps to do the work.’
“‘What rope shall you use?’ I said.
“‘The new well rope,’ says Billy. ‘It’s over two hundred feet long.’
“Cricketing was set aside for that day, for Joey Rance went off and got the rope, coming back with it coiled over his arm, and throwing it down before Billy in a defiant sort of way, as much as to say—
“‘There, now let’s see you do it.’
“Without a word, Billy picked up the coil of rope and went in at the belfry door, to come out soon after on the top of the tower, and then, with one end of the rope made into a loop and thrown over his shoulders, he went to one edge of the eight-sided spire and began to climb up from crocket to crocket, which were about a yard apart, and looking like so many ornamental knobs sticking out from the sides.
“We gave him a cheer as he began to go up, and then sat on the grass wondering like to see how active and clever the fellow was as he went up yard after yard climbing rapidly, and seeming as if he’d soon be at the top.
“The whole of the village turned out in a state of excitement, and we had hard work to keep two brave fellows from going up to try at other corners of the spire.
“‘He’ll do it—he’ll do it!’ was the cry over and over again.
“And it seemed as if he would, for he went on rapidly till he was within some thirty feet of the top; when all of a sudden he seemed to lose his hold, and came sliding rapidly down between two rows of crockets, faster and faster, till he disappeared behind the parapet of the tower.
“We held our breath, one and all, as we saw him fall, and a cold chill of horror came upon us. It was not until he had reached the top of the tower that we roused ourselves to run to the belfry door, and began to go up the newel staircase to get to the poor fellow, whom we expected to find half-dead.
“‘Hallo!’ cried Billy’s voice, as we got half-way up the corkscrew, ‘I’m coming down.’
“‘Aint you hurt, then?’ cried Joey Rance.
“‘No, not much,’ said Billy, as we reached him by one of the loopholes in the stone wall. ‘Got some skin off, and a bit bruised.’
“‘Why, we thought you were half killed,’ we said.
“‘Not I,’ he replied, gruffly; ‘the rope caught over one of the crockets, and that broke my fall a bit.’
“‘Going to try again?’ said Joey, with a sneer.
“‘No, I aint going to try again, neither,’ said Billy gruffly. ‘I left the rope up at the top there, thinking you were so clever you’d like to go.’
“‘Oh, I could do it if I liked,’ said Joey.
“‘Only you daren’t,’ said Bill, rubbing his elbows, and putting his lips to his bleeding knuckles.
“‘Daren’t I?’ said Joey.
“Without another word he pushed by Billy, and went on steadily up towards the top of the tower.
“‘I hope he’ll like it,’ said Billy, chuckling. ‘It aint so easy as he thinks. Let’s go down. I’m a good bit shook, and want a drop of brandy.’
“Poor fellow, he looked rather white when we got down; and to our surprise on looking up, on hearing a cheer, there was Joey hard at work, with the rope over his shoulder, climbing away, the lads cheering him again and again as he climbed higher and higher, till he at last reached the great copper support of the weathercock, and then, drawing himself up a bit higher, he clung there motionless for a few minutes, and we began to think that he had lost his nerve and was afraid to move.
“But that wasn’t it—he was only gathering breath; and we gave him a cheer, in which Billy Johnson heartily joined, as, up there looking as small as a crow the plucky fellow gave the weathercock a spin round, afterwards holding on by his legs, clasped round the copper support, while he took the rope from his shoulders, undid the loop, and then tied it securely to the great, strong copper rod.
“All this time he had had his straw hat on; and now, taking it off, he gave it a skim away from him; and away it went right out into space, to fall at last far from the foot of the tower.
“Joey now began to descend very slowly and carefully, as if the coming down was worse than the going up, and more than once he slipped; but he had tight hold of the rope with one hand, and that saved him, so that he only rested, and then continued his task.
“You see, the spire sloped so that he did not hang away from it, but against the stone sides; and so we went on watching him till he was about half-way down, when he stopped to rest, and, pulling up the rope a bit as he stood with one foot on a crocket, he tied in it a big loop, slipped one leg right through, and sat in it, swinging to and fro as he held on to the rope so as to rest his legs.
“We gave him another cheer, and so did the Rector, who just then came up, when Joey waved his hand.
“As he did this, something occurred which took away my breath; for, poor fellow, he seemed to slip, and, before we could utter a cry, he turned over and hung head downwards, falling, with his leg slipping through the loop, till his foot caught; and he hung by it, fighting hard for a few moments to get back, but all in vain; and, as we watched him, his struggles got weaker, so that he did not turn himself up so far when trying to reach the loop where his ankle was caught; and at last he hung there, swinging gently to and fro, only moving his hands.
“By this time the Rector, I and two more had got to the belfry door, and we ran panting up the dark staircase till we got out upon the leads.
“‘Hold on, Joey,’ I shouted. ‘I’m coming.’
“‘Make haste,’ he cried faintly, ‘I’m about done.’
“By this time I was about ten feet up, and climbing as hard as I could, forgetting all the danger in the excitement; for I don’t think I should have dared to go up on another occasion.
“It was very hard work, and as I climbed the wind seemed to blow terribly; but I got up and up, panting as I did so, till at last I was clinging there with one foot resting on a crocket, wondering what I should do.
“‘Look sharp, lad,’ said poor Joey, ‘It seems as if all my blood was rushing into my head.’
“I leaned over and got hold of the rope close to his ankle, but do anything more I could not. I had all the will in the world to help the poor fellow, but it took all my strength to keep myself with one hand from falling; and as to raising my old companion, I neither had the strength nor the idea as to how it could be done.
“The only way out of the difficulty seemed to be to take out my knife and cut the rope, and then the poor fellow would be killed.
“‘Come down,’ cried a voice below me.
“Looking towards the leads, there was the Rector stripped to his shirt and trousers, and with a coil of rope over his shoulder—for the new well rope had proved to be long enough to let him cut off some five and thirty feet.
“‘Don’t leave me,’ groaned Joey, who was half fainting. ‘I feel as if I should fall any moment. I say, lad, this is very awful!’
“‘Here’s the parson coming up,’ I said.
“And so it was; for he went to the row of crockets on the other side of Joey, who now hung, looking blue in the face, and with his eyes closed.
“‘He must make haste—make haste,’ he moaned, softly.
“I stopped, holding on, while the Rector climbed up quicker than either of us had done it, drawing himself up by his arms in a wonderful way till he was abreast of we two—me holding on, and Joey hanging on by one foot.
“As soon as the Rector reached us, he said a few words of encouragement to Joey, who did not speak a word, and then climbing higher, tied the short rope he carried to the long rope just above the loop-knot which held Joey’s ankle. Then coming down a little, he tied his rope tightly round Joey, just under the armpits.
“‘That will bear you, my lad,’ he said. ‘But catch fast hold of it with your hands, while I cut your foot free.’
“Climbing up higher once more, he pulled out his knife, opened it with his teeth, and then began to saw through the strands of the loop that held Joey’s ankle, till there was a snap, a jerk, and a heavy swinging to and fro; for the poor fellow had fallen two or three feet, and was now hanging by the rope round his breast right way upwards.
“He did not make any effort for a few minutes, and as cheer after cheer came to us from below, he swung there, with us holding on for dear life.
“‘Can you climb down now, Rance,’ said the Rector, ‘if I cut you free?’
“‘No, sir,’ he said hoarsely, ‘I’ve no use in my arms or legs—they’re all pins and needles.’
“‘Then we must lower you down,’ said the Rector, calmly. And getting hold of the long piece of rope, he climbed up once more, as coolly as if he was on an apple tree in his own orchard, and saw that the knots were fast; then coming down, he passed his long rope through the one round Joey’s breast, and tied it again round him.
“‘Now,’ he said, ‘Fincher and I will hold on by this rope, and you can let yourself slide through the other loop—one arm first, and then the other, steadily.’
“The poor fellow had hard work to do it; but the loop was loose enough to let him work it over his head, and then with the Rector striding across from the crocket at one angle to that on the other, and me holding on to the rope as well, we let him down, sliding with his back to the stone, till his feet touched the leads, when he fell down all of a heap.
“‘Untie the rope,’ said the Rector, ‘and get him down.’
“He spoke very hoarsely, shouting to them below; and a cheer came up.
“‘Now, Fincher,’ said the Rector, ‘we’ve got to get down.’
“As he spoke, he made a running noose in the rope with the end he held in his hand, let it run up to the the big noose, and pulled it tight.
“Then he made an effort to get his legs together on one angle; but the distance he had been striding was too great, and he couldn’t recover himself, but swung away by his hands.
“‘I can’t help it, Fincher—I must go first,’ he cried. And he was already sliding down the rope as he spoke; but I was so unnerved and giddy now, that I dared not look down.
“I believe I quite lost my head then for a few moments; for I was clinging there for life a hundred and twenty feet above the ground, and the wind seemed to be trying to push me from my hold.
“I was brought to myself, though, just as the landscape about me seemed to be spinning round, by feeling the rope touch my side; and I clasped it convulsively with both hands, and then, winding my legs round it, slid rapidly down, the rope seeming to turn to fire as it passed through my hands.
“A few moments later, and I was safe on the tower leads, trying like the rest to smile at the danger we had passed through; but it was a faint sickly kind of smile and we were all very glad to get down to the green, and cared nothing for the cheers of the people.
“The rope was left hanging there, and stayed till it rotted away; but somehow before a week was out, that weathercock stopped squeaking, as if some one had been up to oil it, and, though nothing was said about it, I’ve always felt as sure as sure that the Rector went up by himself and did it early one morning before any one was up.
“He was cool-headed enough to do it, for he certainly saved Joe Rance’s life, and I know no one in the village would have done it without bragging after. At all events, the weathercock was oiled, and as I said over and over again to Joey, ‘if Parson didn’t oil that weathercock, who did?’
“That all goes to prove what I say,” I replied when he had finished. “You were all guilty of foolhardiness just to gratify a little vanity.”
“Well, you see, doctor, no man likes for his mates to think him a coward.”
“Let them think, so long as you know you are not.”
“That’s what Parson said,” replied Fincher, “when he talked about it next day.”
“Then Parson, as you so politely call him, was quite right.”