The Dragon of Wantley: His Tale Read online

  CHAPTER I

  How _Sir Godfrey_ came to lose his Temper

  THE BVTLER HIS BOY GODFREY DISSEISIN]

  There was something wrong in the cellar at Wantley Manor. LittleWhelpdale knew it, for he was Buttons, and Buttons always knows whatis being done with the wine, though he may look as if he did not. Andold Popham knew it, too. He was Butler, and responsible to Sir Godfreyfor all the brandy, and ale, and cider, and mead, and canary, andother strong waters there were in the house.

  Now, Sir Godfrey Disseisin, fourth Baron of Wantley, and immediatetenant by knight-service to His Majesty King John of England, wasparticular about his dogs, and particular about his horses, and abouthis only daughter and his boy Roland, and had been very particularindeed about his wife, who, I am sorry to say, did not live long. Butall this was nothing to the fuss he made about his wine. When theclaret was not warm enough, or the Moselle wine was not cool enough,you could hear him roaring all over the house; for, though generous inheart and a staunch Churchman, he was immoderately choleric. Veryoften, when Sir Godfrey fell into one of his rages at dinner, oldPopham, standing behind his chair, trembled so violently that hiscalves would shake loose, thus obliging him to hasten behind the tallleathern screen at the head of the banquet-hall and readjust them.

  Twice in each year the Baron sailed over to France, where he visitedthe wine-merchants, and tasted samples of all new vintages,--thoughthey frequently gave him unmentionable aches. Then, when he wassatisfied that he had selected the soundest and richest, he returnedto Wantley Manor, bringing home wooden casks that were as big ashay-stacks, and so full they could not gurgle when you tipped them.Upon arriving, he sent for Mrs. Mistletoe, the family governess and(for economy's sake) housekeeper, who knew how to write,--somethingthe Baron's father and mother had never taught him when he was alittle boy, because they didn't know how themselves, and despisedpeople who did,--and when Mrs. Mistletoe had cut neat pieces ofcard-board for labels and got ready her goose-quill, Sir Godfrey wouldsay, "Write, Chateau Lafitte, 1187;" or, "Write, Chambertin, 1203."(Those, you know, were the names and dates of the vintages.) "Yes, mylord," Mistletoe always piped up; on which Sir Godfrey would peer overher shoulder at the writing, and mutter, "Hum; yes, that's correct,"just as if he knew how to read, the old humbug! Then Mistletoe, whowas a silly girl and had lost her husband early, would go "Tee-hee,Sir Godfrey!" as the gallant gentleman gave her a kiss. Of course,this was not just what he should have done; but he was a widower, youmust remember, and besides that, as the years went on this littleceremony ceased to be kept up. When it was "Chateau Lafitte, 1187,"kissing Mistletoe was one thing; but when it came to "Chambertin,1203," the lady weighed two hundred and twenty-five pounds, and wore awig.

  But, wig and all, Mistletoe had a high position in Wantley Manor. Thehousehold was conducted on strictly feudal principles. Nobody, exceptthe members of the family, received higher consideration than did theold Governess. She and the Chaplain were on a level, socially, andthey sat at the same table with the Baron. That drew the line. OldPopham the Butler might tell little Whelpdale as often as he pleasedthat he was just as good as Mistletoe; but he had to pour outMistletoe's wine for her, notwithstanding. If she scolded him (whichshe always did if Sir Godfrey had been scolding her), do you supposehe dared to answer back? Gracious, no! He merely kicked the twohead-footmen, Meeson and Welsby, and spoke severely to the ninehouse-maids. Meeson and Welsby then made life a painful thing for thefive under-footmen and the grooms, while the nine house-maids boxedthe ears of Whelpdale the Buttons, and Whelpdale the Buttons punchedthe scullion's eye. As for the scullion, he was bottom of the list;but he could always relieve his feelings by secretly pulling the tailsof Sir Godfrey's two tame ravens, whose names were Croak James andCroak Elizabeth. I never knew what these birds did at that; butsomething, you may be sure. So you see that I was right when I saidthe household was conducted on strictly feudal principles. The Cookhad a special jurisdiction of her own, and everybody was more or lessafraid of her.

  Whenever Sir Godfrey had come home with new wine, and after the labelshad been pasted on the casks, then Popham, with Whelpdale beside him,had these carefully set down in the cellar, which was a vast dim room,the ceilings supported by heavy arches; the barrels, bins, kegs,hogsheads, tuns, and demijohns of every size and shape standing likeforests and piled to the ceiling. And now something was wrong there.

  "This 'ere's a hawful succumstence, sir," observed Whelpdale theButtons to his superior, respectfully.

  "It is, indeed, a himbroglio," replied Popham, who had a wide commandof words, and knew it.

  Neither domestic spoke again for some time. They were seated in thebuttery. The Butler crossed his right leg over his left, and wavedthe suspended foot up and down,--something he seldom did unless verygrievously perturbed. As for poor little Whelpdale, he mopped his browwith the napkins that were in a basket waiting for the wash.

  Then the bell rang.

  "His ludship's study-bell," said Popham. "Don't keep him waiting."

  "Hadn't you better apprise his ludship of the facks?" asked Whelpdale,in a weak voice.

  Popham made no reply. He arose and briefly kicked Buttons out of thebuttery. Then he mounted a chair to listen better. "He has henteredhis ludship's apawtment," he remarked, hearing the sound of voicescome faintly down the little private staircase that led from SirGodfrey's study to the buttery: the Baron was in the habit of comingdown at night for crackers and cheese before he went to bed. Presentlyone voice grew much louder than the other. It questioned. There came asort of whining in answer. Then came a terrific stamp on the ceilingand a loud "Go on, sir!"

  "Now, now, now!" thought Popham.

  Do you want to hear at once, without waiting any longer, what littleWhelpdale is telling Sir Godfrey? Well, you must know that for thepast thirteen years, ever since 1190, the neighbourhood had beenscourged by a terrible Dragon. The monster was covered with scales,and had a long tail and huge unnatural wings, beside fearful jaws thatpoured out smoke and flame whenever they opened. He always came atdead of night, roaring, bellowing, and sparkling and flaming over thehills, and horrid claps of thunder were very likely to attend hisprogress. Concerning the nature and quality of his roaring, the honestcopyholders of Wantley could never agree, although every human beinghad heard him hundreds of times. Some said it was like a mad bull,only much louder and worse. Old Gaffer Piers the ploughman swore thatif his tomcat weighed a thousand pounds it would make a noise almostas bad as that on summer nights, with the moon at the full and othercats handy. But farmer Stiles said, "Nay, 'tis like none of your bullsnor cats. But when I have come home too near the next morning, mywife can make me think of this Dragon as soon as ever her mouth beopen."

  Popham awaiteth the Result with Dignity]

  This shows you that there were divers opinions. If you were not afraidto look out of the window about midnight, you could see the sky beginto look red in the quarter from which he was approaching, just as itglares when some distant house is on fire. But you must shut thewindow and hide before he came over the hill; for very few that hadlooked upon the Dragon ever lived to that day twelvemonth. Thismonster devoured the substance of the tenantry and yeomen. When theirfields of grain were golden for the harvest, in a single night he cutthem down and left their acres blasted by his deadly fire. He ate thecows, the sheep, the poultry, and at times even sucked eggs. Manypious saints had visited the district, but not one had been able byhis virtue to expel the Dragon; and the farmers and country folk usedto repeat a legend that said the Dragon was a punishment for the greatwickedness of the Baron's ancestor, the original Sir GodfreyDisseisin, who, when summoned on the first Crusade to Palestine, hadentirely refused to go and help his cousin Godfrey de Bouillon wrestthe Holy Sepulchre from the Paynim. The Baron's ancestor, when a stoutyoung lad, had come over with William the Conqueror; and you must knowthat to have an ancestor who had come over with William the Conquerorwas in those old days a much rarer th
ing than it is now, and any onewho could boast of it was held in high esteem by his neighbours, whoasked him to dinner and left their cards upon him continually. But thefirst Sir Godfrey thought one conquest was enough for any man; and inreply to his cousin's invitation to try a second, answered in hisblunt Norman French, "Nul tiel verte dedans ceot oyle," whichdispleased the Church, and ended forever all relations between thefamilies. The Dragon did not come at once, for this gentleman's son,the grandfather of our Sir Godfrey, as soon as he was twenty-one, wentoff to the Holy Land himself, fought very valiantly, and was killed,leaving behind him at Wantley an inconsolable little wife and an heirsix months old. This somewhat appeased the Pope; but the present SirGodfrey, when asked to accompany King Richard Lion Heart on hiscampaign against the Infidel, did not avail himself of the opportunityto set the family right in the matter of Crusades. This hereditaryimpiety, which the Pope did not consider at all mended by the Baron'smost regular attendance at the parish church on all Sundays, feastdays, fast days, high days, low days, saints' days, vigils, andoctaves, nor by his paying his tithes punctually to Father Anselm,Abbot of Oyster-le-Main (a wonderful person, of whom I shall have agreat deal to tell you presently), this impiety, I say, finished thegood standing of the House of Wantley. Rome frowned, the earthtrembled, and the Dragon came. And (the legend went on to say) thiscurse would not be removed until a female lineal descendant of thefirst Sir Godfrey, a young lady who had never been married, and hadnever loved anybody except her father and mother and her sisters andbrothers, should go out in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve,all by herself, and encounter the Dragon single handed.

  Now, of course, this is not what little Whelpdale is trying to tellthe Baron up in the study; for everybody in Wantley knew all about thelegend except one person, and that was Miss Elaine, Sir Godfrey's onlydaughter, eighteen years old at the last Court of Piepoudre, when herfather (after paying all the farmers for all the cows and sheep theytold him had been eaten by the Dragon since the last Court) had madehis customary proclamation, to wit: his good-will and protection toall his tenantry; and if any man, woman, child, or other person,caused his daughter, Miss Elaine, to hear anything about the legend,such tale-bearer should be chained to a tree, and kept fat until theDragon found him and ate him. So everybody obligingly kept the Baron'ssecret.

  Sir Godfrey is just this day returned from France with some famoustuns of wine, and presents for Elaine and Mrs. Mistletoe. His humouris (or was, till Whelpdale, poor wretch! answered the bell) of thebest possible. And now, this moment, he is being told by the lucklessButtons that the Dragon of Wantley has taken to drinking, as well aseating, what does not belong to him; has for the last three nightsburst the big gates of the wine-cellar that open on the hillside theManor stands upon; that a hogshead of the Baron's best Burgundy isgoing; and that two hogsheads of his choicest Malvoisie are gone!

  One hundred and twenty-eight gallons in three nights' work! But Isuppose a fire-breathing Dragon must be very thirsty.

  There was a dead silence in the study overhead, and old Popham'scalves were shaking loose as he waited.

  "And so you stood by and let this black, sneaking, prowling, thieving"(here the Baron used some shocking expressions which I shall not setdown) "Dragon swill my wine?"

  "St--st--stood by, your ludship?" said little Whelpdale. "No, sir; noone didn't do any standing by, sir. He roared that terrible, sir, wewas all under the bed."

  "Now, by my coat of mail and great right leg!" shouted Sir Godfrey.The quaking Popham heard no more. The door of the private staircaseflew open with a loud noise, and down came little Whelpdale head overheels into the buttery. After him strode Sir Godfrey in full mailarmour, clashing his steel fists against the banisters. The nose-pieceof his helmet was pushed up to allow him to speak plainly,--and mostplainly did he speak, I can assure you, all the way down stairs,keeping his right eye glaring upon Popham in one corner of thebuttery, and at the same time petrifying Whelpdale with his left. Fromfather to son, the Disseisins had always been famous for the manner inwhich they could straddle their eyes; and in Sir Godfrey the familytrait was very strongly marked.

  The Baron pursueth Whelpdale into the Buttery]

  Arrived at the bottom, he stopped for a moment to throw a ham throughthe stained-glass window, and then made straight for Popham. But thehead Butler was an old family servant, and had learned to know hisplace.

  With surprising agility he hopped on a table, so that Sir Godfrey'sfoot flew past its destined goal and caught a shelf that was loadedwith a good deal of his wedding china. The Baron was far too dignifieda person to take any notice of this mishap, and he simply strode on,out of the buttery, and so through the halls of the Manor, where allwho caught even the most distant sight of his coming, promptlywithdrew into the privacy of their apartments.