Alice Lorraine: A Tale of the South DownsBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
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Alice Lorraine: A Tale of the South Downs
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Peninsular War, 1807-1814 -- Fiction; South Downs (England) -- Fiction
The whole of that country is full of fleas. The natives may say what
they like; but they only damage their credit by denying it, or prove
to a charitable mind their own insensibility. The older the deposit or
the stratum is, the greater is the number of these active insects; and
this old bridge, whether Moorish, or Gothic, or even Roman (as some
contended), had an antiquarian stock of them.
Therefore poor Hilary, coming to himself--as he was bound to do
by-and-by--grew very uneasy, but obtained no relief through the natural
solace of scratching. He was strapped so tightly that he could only
roll; and if he should be induced to roll a little injudiciously
through a gap of the parapet he must go to the bottom of the lashing
water. Considering these things, he lay and listened; and though he
heard many things which he disliked (and which bore a ruinous meaning
to him for the rest of his young life, and all who loved him) he called
his high courage to his help; and being unable to talk to himself (from
the thickness of the wool between his teeth, which was a most dreadful
denial to him), he thought in his inner parts--“Now, if I die, there
will be no harm to say of me.” He laid this to his conscience, and in
contempt of all insects rolled off to sleep.
The uncontrollable outbreak of day, in the land where the sun is
paramount, came like a cataract over the mountains, and scattered all
darkness with leaps of light. The winding valley and the wooded slope,
the white track of water, and the sombre cliffs, all sprang out of
their vaporous mantle; and even the bridge of echoes looked a cheerful
place to lounge on.
“A bad job surely!” said Corporal Nickles, marching with his footsteps
counted, as if he were a pedometer. “Bones, us haven’t searched this
here ramshackle thing of a Spanish bridge. Wherever young Cap’en can
be, the Lord knows. At the bottom of the river, I dessay.”
“Better if he never was born,” replied Bones; “or leastwise now to be
a dead one. Fifty thousand guineas in a sweep! All cometh of trusting
them beggarly Dons. Corporal, what did I say to you?”
“Like a horacle, you had foreseen it, sergeant. But we’m all right,
howsomever it be. In our favour we has the hallerby.”
Hilary, waking, heard all this, and he managed to sputter so through
the wool, that the faithful non-commissioned officers ran to look for a
wild sheep coughing.
“Is it all gone?” he asked pretty calmly, when they had cut him free at
last, but he could not stand from stiffness. “Do you mean to say that
the whole is gone?”
“Captain,” said Bones, with a solemn salute, which Nickles repeated as
junior, “every guinea are gone, as clean as a whistle; and the Lord
knows where ’em be gone to.”
“Yes, your honour, every blessed guinea,” said Nickles, in
confirmation. “To my mind it goes against the will of the Lord to have
such a damned lot of money.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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