Rewards and Fairies Part 34

'I posted up the hill, and broke into Hitheram's field amongst 'em all at prayers.

'"Eureka, good people!" I cried, and cast down a dead mill-rat which I'd found. "Here's your true enemy, revealed at last by the stars."

'"Nay, but I'm praying," says Jack. His face was as white as washed silver.

'"There's a time for everything under the sun," says I. "If you would stay the plague, take and kill your rats."

'"Oh, mad, stark mad!" says he, and wrings his hands.

'A fellow lay in the ditch beside him, who bellows that he'd as soon die mad hunting rats as be preached to death on a cold fallow. They laughed round him at this, but Jack Marget falls on his knees, and very presumptuously pet.i.tions that he may be appointed to die to save the rest of his people. This was enough to thrust 'em back into their melancholy.

'"You are an unfaithful shepherd, Jack," I says. "Take a bat" (which we call a stick in Suss.e.x) "and kill a rat if you die before sunrise.

'Twill save your people."

'"Aye, aye. Take a bat and kill a rat," he says ten times over, like a child, which moved 'em to ungovernable motions of that hysterical pa.s.sion before mentioned, so that they laughed all, and at least warmed their chill bloods at that very hour--one o'clock or a little after--when the fires of life burn lowest. Truly there is a time for everything; and the physician must work with it--ahem!--or miss his cure. To be brief with you, I persuaded 'em, sick or sound, to have at the whole generation of rats throughout the village. And there's a reason for all things too, though the wise physician need not blab 'em all. _Imprimis_, or firstly, the mere sport of it, which lasted ten days, drew 'em most markedly out of their melancholy. I'd defy sorrowful Job himself to lament or scratch while he's routing rats from a rick.

_Secundo_, or secondly, the vehement act and operation of this chase or war opened their skins to generous transpiration--more vulgarly, sweated 'em handsomely; and this further drew off their black bile--the mother of sickness. Thirdly, when we came to burn the bodies of the rats, I sprinkled sulphur on the f.a.ggots, whereby the onlookers were as handsomely suffumigated. This I could not have compa.s.sed if I had made it a mere physician's business; they'd have thought it some conjuration.

Yet more, we cleansed, limed, and burned out a hundred foul poke-holes, sinks, slews, and corners of unvisited filth in and about the houses in the village, and by good fortune (mark here that Mars was in opposition to Venus) burned the corn-chandler's shop to the ground. Mars loves not Venus. Will Noakes the saddler dropped his lantern on a truss of straw while he was rat-hunting there.'

'Had ye given Will any of that gentle cordial of yours, Nick, by any chance?' said Puck.

'A gla.s.s--or two gla.s.ses--not more. But as I would say, in fine, when we had killed the rats, I took ash, slag, and charcoal from the smithy, and burnt earth from the brickyard (I reason that a brickyard belongs to Mars), and rammed it with iron crowbars into the rat-runs and buries, and beneath all the house floors. The Creatures of the Moon hate all that Mars hath used for his own clean ends. For example--rats bite not iron.'

'And how did poor stuttering Jack endure it?' said Puck.

'He sweated out his melancholy through his skin, and catched a loose cough, which I cured with electuaries, according to art. It is noteworthy, were I speaking among my equals, that the venom of the plague translated, or turned itself into, and evaporated, or went away as, a very heavy hoa.r.s.eness and thickness of the head, throat, and chest. (Observe from my books which planets govern these portions of man's body, and your darkness, good people, shall be illuminated--ahem!) None the less, the plague, _qua_ plague, ceased and took off (for we only lost three more, and two of 'em had it already on 'em) from the morning of the day that Mars enlightened me by the Lower Mill.' He coughed--almost trumpeted--triumphantly.

'It is proved,' he jerked out. 'I say I have proved my contention, which is, that by Divine Astrology and humble search into the veritable causes of things--at the proper time--the sons of wisdom may combat even the plague.'

'H'm!' Puck replied. 'For my own part I hold that a simple soul----'

'Mine?--simple, forsooth?' said Mr. Culpeper.

'A very simple soul, a high courage tempered with sound and stubborn conceit, is stronger than all the stars in their courses. So I confess truly that you saved the village, Nick.'

'I stubborn? I stiff-necked? I ascribed all my poor success, under G.o.d's good providence, to Divine Astrology. Not to me the glory! You talk as that dear weeping a.s.s Jack Marget preached before I went back to my work in Red Lion House, Spitalfields.

'Oh! Stammering Jack preached, did he? They say he loses his stammer in the pulpit.'

'And his wits with it. He delivered a most idolatrous discourse when the plague was stayed. He took for his text: "The wise man that delivered the city." I could have given him a better, such as: "There is a time for----"'

'But what made you go to church to hear him?' Puck interrupted. 'Wail Attersole was your lawfully appointed preacher, and a dull dog he was!'

Mr. Culpeper wriggled uneasily.

'The vulgar,' said he, 'the old crones and--ahem--the children, Alison and the others, they dragged me to the House of Rimmon by the hand. I was in two minds to inform on Jack for maintaining the mummeries of the falsely called Church, which, I'll prove to you, are founded merely on ancient fables----'

'Stick to your herbs and planets,' said Puck, laughing. 'You should have told the magistrates, Nick, and had Jack fined. Again, why did you neglect your plain duty?'

'Because--because I was kneeling, and praying, and weeping with the rest of 'em at the altar rails. In medicine this is called the Hysterical Pa.s.sion. It may be--it may be.'

'That's as may be,' said Puck. They heard him turn the hay. 'Why, your hay is half hedge-bris.h.i.+ngs,' he said. 'You don't expect a horse to thrive on oak and ash and thorn leaves, do you?'

_Ping-ping-ping_ went the bicycle bell round the corner. Nurse was coming back from the Mill.

'Is it all right?' Una called.

'All quite right,' Nurse called back. 'They're to be christened next Sunday.'

'What? What?' They both leaned forward across the half-door. It could not have been properly fastened, for it opened, and tilted them out with hay and leaves sticking all over them.

'Come on! We must get those two twins' names,' said Una, and they charged up-hill shouting over the hedge, till Nurse slowed up and told them.

When they returned, old Middenboro had got out of his stall, and they spent a lively ten minutes chasing him in again by starlight.

'OUR FATHERS OF OLD'

Excellent herbs had our fathers of old-- Excellent herbs to ease their pain-- Alexanders and Marigold, Eyebright, Orris, and Elecampane, Basil, Rocket, Valerian, Rue, (Almost singing themselves they run) Vervain, Dittany, Call-me-to-you-- Cowslip, Melilot, Rose of the Sun.

Anything green that grew out of the mould Was an excellent herb to our fathers of old.

Wonderful tales had our fathers of old-- Wonderful tales of the herbs and the stars-- The Sun was Lord of the Marigold, Basil and Rocket belonged to Mars.

Pat as a sum in division it goes-- (Every plant had a star bespoke)-- Who but Venus should govern the Rose?

Who but Jupiter own the Oak?

Simply and gravely the facts are told In the wonderful books of our fathers of old.

Wonderful little, when all is said, Wonderful little our fathers knew.

Half their remedies cured you dead-- Most of their teaching was quite untrue-- 'Look at the stars when a patient is ill, (Dirt has nothing to do with disease,) Bleed and blister as much as you will, Blister and bleed him as oft as you please.'

Whence enormous and manifold Errors were made by our fathers of old.

Yet when the sickness was sore in the land, And neither planet nor herb a.s.suaged, They took their lives in their lancet-hand And, oh, what a wonderful war they waged!

Yes, when the crosses were chalked on the door-- Yes, when the terrible dead-cart rolled, Excellent courage our fathers bore-- Excellent heart had our fathers of old.

None too learned, but n.o.bly bold Into the fight went our fathers of old.

If it be certain, as Galen says, And sage Hippocrates holds as much-- 'That those afflicted by doubts and dismays Are mightily helped by a dead man's touch,'

Then, be good to us, stars above!

Then, be good to us, herbs below!

We are afflicted by what we can prove; We are distracted by what we know-- So--ah so!

Down from your heaven or up from your mould, Send us the hearts of our fathers of old!

Simple Simon