Red Ryvington

Front matter

Works by William Westall. UNIFORM WITH "RED RYVINGTON." Cheap Edition, cloth, 2s. The Old Factory. "Well studied, no doubt from life, and the love story is most tenderly and powerfully told." — Academy. " Better than a novel, it is a good book." — Spectator. " The Old Factory may be recommended as both interesting and amusing." — Graphic. "Mr. "Westall has written an agreeable book Vivid and in teresting'." — Manchester Guardian. " In The Old Factory, experience and observation confer a value a^ove that of ordinary fiction on the graphic pages. Mr. William Westall, the author, must have had continual opportunity of studying his subject, every phase and mood of which he has on the tip of his pen The courtship is as good a piece of written description as nature and art can make it Well sustained to the last, the interest is enlivened by freshness of character drawing, and by a truthfulness and probability of incident, never suffered t<> sink into the vapid trickery of the mechanical novelist, at once high-flown and dull."— Daily Telegraph.

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Chapter I. The Bells

A ST. hmer morning in the valley of the Upper Rhone. A. wayfarer in orthodox pedestrian costume — knickerbockers, Norfolk jacket, helmet-shaped hat, and mountain bootsis walking leisurely down the Furca road. In one hand he carries a stout alpenstock, strong enough to sustain a man's weight over a crevasse ; from his belt is suspended a geological hammer. A strap slung across his right shoulder holds a light waterproof coat ; a second, slung across the other shoulder, supports a light hand-bag. Other incumbrances the traveller has none. He has discovered that Switzerland possesses the cheapest and best organised parcel post in Europe. Before setting out on a journey he puts a postage stamp on his baggage and consigns it to the nearest post office, addressed to his next destination, where he never fails to find it on his arrival thither.

Our wayfarer is young ; he does not look more than five or six and twenty, and his countenance, equally with his dress, attest his English nationality. The bronze tint of it, and the peeled appearance of his cheeks, show that he has lately spent much time in the open air, and probably made more than one excursion among the glaciers of the high Alps. As touching stature he is rather under than over middle height, wide-shoul dered and deep-chested ; and the breadth of his hand, as it grasps his alpenstock, shows that it has been accustomed to wield heavier tools than painter's brush or writer's pen. His face is oval and perhaps too long to suit a fastidious taste, albeit the defect is rendered less apparent by a long tawny beard, which, moreover, so completely covers his mouth and chin that it is difficult to determine whether these important features denote firmness of character or weakness of purpose.

To complete our description, it remains only to add that the traveller has a broad, intelligent forehead, a somewhat large, though straight, nose, well-marked eyebrows, and large, deep blue eyes, the whites of them remarkably clear and bright, a sign of health and high spirits often observable in persons of temperate habits who have passed some time in the open air at great altitudes. From time to time the pedestrian pauses to break a geological specimen from an erratic block, to gather from the wayside an alpine flower, or to gaze on the prospect around him ; as well he may, for the scene is one of stupendous grandeur. He is between two mountains, ihe Galenstock and the Grimsel. Behind him rises the great mass of the cloud-pinnacled Furca. Peaks still loftier — the Alps of the Valais and the Oberland, the Shreckhorn, the Finsteraarhorn, and the Mischabel — crowned with their eternal diadems of snow, are in view.

The road he is traversing, cut in the flank of the Galenstock, skirts the great Rhone glacier, which gleams in the unclouded sunshine like a frozen Niagara, as if some mighty cascade, leaping down the gorge, had been stopped in full career and turned into ice by the stroke of an enchanter's wand. As the traveller advances, the character of the scenery changes. Hardly a sign of vegetation is visible. He is enclosed between great ramparts of rock. The ground is strewn with huge blocks of weird shape, like the ruins of a shattered planet, while great ribs of granite, which might be the bones of a buried world, thrust themselves from the ground. A tremendous rift intersects the valley, down which the new-born Rhone, as if mad with joy at being freed from its icy prison, forces its way; but so deep is the abyss that in the upper air the wild uproar of its foam-churned waters sounds like the murmur of a summer stream.

The road is a marvel, winding now between frowning crags, now, where the valley widens out, through green meadows, brilliant with cowslips, primroses, and the blue gentian, skirting ever and anon the gloomy gorge through which rushes the turbid torrent, swollen by the melting of alpine snows. Seen from afar, the road is " Like a silver zone, Flung about carelessly, it shines afar, Catching the eye in many a broken link, In many a turn and traverse as it glides ; And oft above and oft below appears, Seen o'er the wall by one who journeys up As though it were another, through the wild, Leading along, he knows not whence or whither. Yet through its fairy course, go where it will, The torrent stops it not, the rugged rock Opens and lets it iu, and on it runs, Winning its easy way from clime to clime, Through glens locked up before.

" In plain prose, the Furca road, like other alpine roads, is a zig-zag, and however picturesque zig-zags of this sort, when THE BELLS. seen from a distance, may be, they are terribly roundabout; and pedestrians who want to save their legs, and dislike heat and dust, do not disdain to take short cuts through the woods or meadows that border the way, varied by an occasional scramble over a promontory of rock. This expedient Randle Ryvington often adopted, all the more willingly as the trees with their heavy foliage offered an agreeable shade, and the footpaths were free from the dust that rendered the high road well-nigh unbearable. After making one of these short cuts, whereby he saved several miles of road walking, he threw himself down on a mossy bank at the foot of a tall pine-tree, near which flowed a tiny stream of crystal water.

Then, drawing from his pocket a case of sand wiches, he proceeded to eat with good appetite, as indeed he might, for it was well-nigh noon, and he had been afoot since early morning, washing down his repast with an occasional draught from the rill. He next lit a pipe, and, after solacing himself with a smoke, lay down at full length, his head pillowed on a piece of velvety turf, and looked up at the patches of blue sky that showed through the verdant fretwork of the tree tops. The attitude, the hour, the place seemed favourable to meditation, and Randle set himself to meditate accordingly; but the circumstances were still more favourable for repose, and after several vain efforts to collect his ideas, and resume the thread of thought which he had begun with his pipe, he fell into a deep sleep, well earned by the fatigues of the day.

He had slept, he knew not how long, when he awoke with a start and the sound of bells in his ears, his first thought being that he was in his own bed at home, and that the White brook factories were ringing in the hands to their work. A single glance at the blue sky overhead showed him his mistake, and the continued tinkling of bells and the crackings of whips in the distance roused him to full consciousness. Rising to his feet, and looking upward through the trees, he perceived that his " knocker-up " was one of those huge vehicles known in German Switzerland as a post wagon, and in the Swiss Romande as a diligence — a sort of Noah's ark on wheels, carrying a ton of luggage and a score of passengers, and strong enough and heavy enough to have outlasted the life of an antediluvian patriarch.

The ponderous concern was dragged by six horses, three abreast, to each of whose collars were attached two or three bells, the ringing of which had wakened Randle from his sleep. The diligence, driven at a tremendous speed in a cloud of dust, descended the hill. After waiting until the dust had somewhat subsided, our traveller went down into the road ; for the footpath, which for some time had been little more than a faint track, now ceased altogether, and the hillside was fast becoming too steep and rocky to afford even foothold for goats or vantage ground for fir-trees. Randle Ryvington resumed his walk, little thinking that the tinkling of those diligence bells, which he could still hear faintly in the distance, marked a turning point in his destiny, or that they had summoned him to save a human life.

He was think ing rather of Whitebrook and its factory bells ; that his holiday was nearly over ; that he must soon make for home, and won dering what news the letters he expected to find at Ouchy would bring him. He had walked briskly for the greater part of an hour, neither the geological features of the country nor its botanical productions seeming to attract much of his attention, and reached the bottom of a steep incline where the way diverged abruptly to his right, when he heard again the sound of bells, this time behind him. Looking round, he perceived an open travelling carriage descending the incline at a fast trot. To keep as much out of the dust as possible, Randle drew aside into the angle formed by the turn in the road, and there waited for the vehicle to pass by. The point at which he stood overhung the Rhone, whose white swirling waters, as they dashed them selves against the rocky sides of the gorge, he had only to turn his head to see.

He watched the carriage curiously ; for both pace and place were eminently suggestive of the possibility of accident, — what sort of accident Randle shuddered to think. But when he saw that one of the wheels was firmly locked with a shoe and a chain, another held in check by a strong brake, and that, as the carriage neared the bend, the driver pulled his horses into a jog-trot, lie felt reassured. "These fellows know their business," he muttered; "why should I feel concerned P Besides, the penalty of a mistake woidd be so terrible that they dare not be reckless." The carriage, he noticed, contained two ladies and a gentle man, besides a fourth passenger on the box. They also noticed him. '* That young fellow looks very like an Englishman," observed the gentleman, " pedestrianising, I suppose."

"I have no doubt he is," said one of the ladies. "See how stolidly he stands there, bolt upright, his alpenstock firmly planted and his countenance unmoved." " Yes, he looks more like a sentinel on duty than a youth on pleasure bent. But young men now-a-days do take their pleasure sadly ; not as they used to do when I was young." Meanwhile the object of these remarks was just about to leave his post and continue his walk, when lie heard another THE BELLS + jingling of bells, and saw, rather to his annoyance, a second carriage coming full trot down the incline ; and no sooner had it shot round the corner, and disappeared in a cloud of dust, than a third hove in sight. Not wanting to be choked, he decided to wait until this, too, had gone by. He was watching its progress with some impatience, when, as the carriage reached the middle of the brow, he was surprised to perceive that its speed, instead of slackening, suddenly in creased.

Then he heard a snap ; the horses broke into a canter, which almost instantly became a gallop ; and the driver, after a vain attempt to pull them up, threw down the reins and leaped into the road, leaving his passengers — who, as Randlo Ryvington now saw, were two ladies — to their fate. His first impulse was to seize the horses' heads and try to stop them by main force before they reached the precipice ; for turn ing the corner at the pace they were going was out of the question, even if there had been anyone to guide them. But this expedient was conceived only to be abandoned. To attempt it would be to sacrifice his life to no purpose, for a single glance sufficed to show him that the horses, even with the best will in the world, could not stop. If he tried to withstand them, he must of necessity be thrown down and trampled to death, or hurled over the precipice.

As it seemed, nothing short of a miracle could save them and the inmates of the carriage from destruction. So Randle. despite his burning desire to do something, had to stand helplessly by, and with white face and sternly com pressed lips await the issue. Another minute, and— — The horses are now almost abreast of him ; they are making straight for the abyss. One of the ladies, half rising from her seat, her lips blanched and terror-parted, utters a piercing scream and looks at Randle with appealing eyes. " Now or never ! " he says to himself, and as the carriage flashes past he leans forward, seizes the lady in his arms, and, exerting all his strength, lifts her clean over the wheels, and lands her safely beside him. The next moment the carriage is on the narrow ledge below the road. For a second it seems to dwell there, and then, with a wild cry of fear, the horses with their living freight plunge into the boiling Rhone.

Then Randle Ryvington turned and looked at his companion whom he still held in his arms. She was deadly pale and half fainting, but, as her rescuer thought, very beautiful. Her hat had come off, and her long golden hair, loosened by the descent B from the carriage, fell over her shoulders like a veil. She seemed young — not more than eighteen, Randle thought, and tall for her age. He asked her if she felt better, if she was hurt at all. She answered him with a half-dazed, inquiring look, as if she had heard his question without understanding it. " Is it a dream or is it real ? " she murmured, pointing to the precipice. " Has the carriage gone down there P Where is Miss Joyce P " " The carriage has gone down there," said Randle, solemnly, " and Miss Joyce, if she be the lady who was with you, has gone too.

You will never see her alive again." " And I am saved — you have saved me from a terrible death. Oh, sir, I know not who you are, but I owe you my life." '' You owe it not to me, but to God. I was called to save you. If it had not been for the ringing of the bells But we are forgetting the driver. See, he is up yonder, writhing in the dust. He did not act a very noble part, it is true, but we must try to help him for all that." "Do you think it was his fault that the horses ran away ?" " I am not sure that the horses did run away, but in any case he ought not to have left his post without making more of an effort to stop his horses. I think the shoe must have slipped oft' the wheel, or the chain snapped — perhaps it was never properly secured — and, the man not having his horses well in hand, they were pushed into a gallop.

When he left his seat all chance of stopping them was, of course, gone. A little pluck and presence of mind, and all might have been well; but the fellow thought of nothing but saving his own wretched life." "Ton must not be too severe on him. You know 'all that a man hath will he give for his life.' " "And quite right, too — all that he hath. But you see this man risked two lives and lost one that he might keep his own." By this time they had reached the spot where the driver lay, apparently unable to rise. Randle submitted him to a rapid examination, and asked him a few questions, in which he was assisted by the young girl, whose knowledge of German was much superior to his own. The man was less hurt than they had expected. The blood on his face came from a superficial wound on the head, which was easily staunched by a pocket handker chief.

His other injuries consisted of a few contusions and a severely sprained ankle. Randle, after giving him a drink from his pocket-flask, helped him to the roadside, and made him as comfortable as was possible in the circumstances. His account of the accident was that the horses, startled by the snapping of the chain, and feeling the carriage almost on their haunchesj TALK BY THE WAY. rushed madly dow*n tho hill. When ho found it impossible to stop them he jumped into the road. He did not appear conscious of having in any way failed in his duty, and Randle could not command enough German to tell him what he thought of his conduct. He did not object to be left. A vehicle of some sort was sure to pass before long, he said, that would give him a lift as far as Viesch.

Chapter II. Talk By The Way

The next question with Randle was, what to do with the fair girl whom he had rescued, and who was evidently so overcome with agitation and distress as to be in no condition to judge for herself. He could not ask her what she proposed to do, so he inquired what he could do for her, and whither she would like to go. H she would remain there, he said, with the post-boy, he would hurry on to the nearest village and fetch a carriage, so that she might continue her journey. " Oh, no," she replied, " I would not like to remain here. If you will let me " (timidly) " I would rather walk on with you. When the others find that our carriage does not come they will wait, and we can overtake them." " The others ? You belong to the party in the two carriages that have just passed, then ? " " Yes ; my father and mother and the courier are in the first, my sisters and the maids in the second.

We are on our way from Chur to Zermatt. Miss Joyce — the lady — the lady who was with me, was our governess. She has been with us ever since I was a little girl. She was so good and kind, and we all loved her — oh ! we loved her." Here the poor girl's lip quivered, and a sob choked her utter* ance. " Are you quite sure, sir," she exclaimed, when she was again able to speak, " I mean, do you think she is surely killed— that there is no possibility she may have escaped P " " I fear, none. No creature could fall down that precipice and live. It is a sheer descent of nearly a thousand feet. But before we go I will look ; though the gorge hereabouts is so deep, and the river so rough, that I do not expect to see any trace either of the carriage or horses." As Randle spoke he let himself down from the road to the narrow ledge bordering the precipice five or six feet below, and lying full length on the ground, gazed long and intently dowu the face of the rock and into the seething water.

Then he rose and rejoined his companion, who had been anxiously watching him. " I can see nothing whatever of the carriage and horses," he said ; " but on a piece of jutting rock, out of which grows a bush, about a hundred yards down, I thought I saw the fluttering of a robe. It may be part of the poor lady's dress, or even her body." " Alive ? " Randle shook his head. " The concussion alone, the slightest touch against the side of the gorge, after so tremendous a fall, would be enough to cause instant death, even if the flight through the air had not caused it already. But it would be well for somebody to go down and see. And if it is the poor lady's body it must bo brought up and receive Christian burial. And now, if you feel sufficiently recovered, we had perhaps better go on. The other carriages will be a long way ahead of us by this time."

The young lady, who, as Randle perceived, could not trust herself to speak, bowed, in token of acquiescence, and they set out on their walk. He began by adapting his pace to hers, but he soon found that she was almost as good a pedestrian as him self; and having the advantage of falling ground they made rapid progress, doing four miles in little more than an hour. " Oh, how thoughtless and selfish I am," exclaimed the girl suddenly, breaking silence for the first time since they had left the scene of the disaster. " I hope I am not taking you out of your way. Am I, or were you going in this direction ? " " Yes ; I was on my way to Viesch and Brigue." " I am so glad. It would be really too bad, after all you have done, to make further demands on your kindness. But I should like you to see my father and mother, that they mav thank you for having saved their daughter's life at the peril of your own."

" No, no ; you mistake ; I risked nothing. There is no danger in lifting a young lady from a carriage." '* Not when the horses are going full gallop and the carriage is on the edge of a precipice ! It was a feat that required great courage and presence of mind, and you might easily have been crushed under the wheels, or thrown into the gorge. Suppose your foot had slipped at the moment you leaned forward to lift me out ! I shall always consider that you saved my life at the risk of your own. You have placed me and my family under an obligation that we can never repay ; and I am sure my father and mother will say the same." " Less than you think for. As I said a little while ago — but TALK BY THE WAY. 21 you were probably too much agitated to hear me — I was called to save you." " Called to save me P " said the girl, wonderiugly.

" How P " " By the ringing of the bells. I was fast asleep up there in the wood, and if it had not been for the ringing of those bells I might have been there yet ; and if the diligence had passed by five minutes sooner or later, I should certainly not have been at the turn of the road when your carriage went into the Rhone " " And I should have gone with it," interposed the young lady, the returning colour again deserting her cheeks. " I am afraid so," returned Randle, whom the incident seemed to have deeply impressed. " But you see it was not to be ; it had been ordered otherwise." " Poor Miss Joyce ! " " Yes ; one is taken and another left. Life is full of mysteries. It is only a question of a few years with the youngest and the strongest of us. There is an appointed time for all men, and when our time comes we must shuffle off this mortal coil as those have done who have gone before us."

"Do you belong to our Church P " said the other, somewhat timidly, for she had not been used to this sort of talk, and scarcely knew what to say. " I think so. At least, if you mean the Church of England, I do — in a fashion." " Are you High or Low P " " That is a difficult question to answer. If I wanted to be very precise I should say a little of both and not very much of either," said Randle, inwardly amused at the turn the conversation was taking. " Perhaps you are Broad P " " In some things I am — very. In others people say I am very narrow. But is not that a carriage crawling up the next zig-zag P It seems empty, too." " Yes ; I do not see anybody but the driver." " H it is empty, do you not think it w*ould be well to get the driver to turn round and take you to Viesch ? Your parents will be there by this time, and may be anxious about you."

" You will go with me ? " " Certainly, if you wish it." "Oh yes, I do wish it. Papa and mamma would be very sorry if they were not to see you and thank you." " I shall be very glad to make their acquaintance, I am sure ; but if it were possible I should be glad to be spared the thanks. "I mean," added Randle, fearing that the remark might appear somewhat rude, whereas, in fact, it was attributable m about equal measure to bashfulness and modesty — " I mean that you have already thanked me quite as much as I deserve, and you know in what a strange manner I happened to be near when the accident befell." " Yes, I know. It was God's doing, and it is our duty to thank Him. But it was your doing also, and we should fail in our duty if we were not to thank you, and I am sure my father and mother will say the same.

I shall never forget it as long as I live — never." "Here comes the carriage," said Randle, glad of an oppor tunity to turn the conversation. " The man seems to have no passengers. I do not suppose he is likely to make any difficulty about taking us to Viesch." Nor did he — at least none that did not yield to an offer of full fare and double Trinkgeld — and in half an hour they were at Viesch. As the carriage drove up to the hall door, a stout, middle aged gentleman, of commonplace though pleasant countenance, destitute of beard or whisker, came forward, looking very much surprised. " How is this, Mnriel P What have you being doing so long ? Where is Miss Joyce P And — and — who is this gentle man ? " " I do not know who he is, papa, but he has saved my life, and Miss Joyce is — is " And here Muriel burst into tears.

" What has happened P Has there been an accident ? Why, this is not the same carriage. There has been an accident." " There has, indeed. The driver lost command of his horses, and the poor lady who was with your daughter was carried down into the Rhone." " And Muriel ? " " This gentleman saved me, papa — dragged me out of the carriage only one second before the horses rushed over the preci pice, at the peril of his life." " Thank God ! thank God ! and " (turning to Randle) " may God bless you, sir, for your courage and devotion. You have made us your debtors for life. Might I ask to whom we are beholden tor this great service ? " " My name is Randle Ryvington. But you make too much of what I did, sir ; you do, indeed ; and when you know all the circumstances " " It is sufficient for me to know that by an act of courage and devotion you saved my child from a frightful danger.