Could he animate these stolidities? Could he set their slow minds in operation by any suggestion?
He asked himself, as he again trod water and paddled with one hand, what he should try to do if he were in their place on the bank and others were in peril.
“Get a rope!” he shouted immediately, as the answer to his thought.
“A raup?”
“Yes, a rope—quick!”
The miller’s man looked over his shoulder once or twice, lifted his greasy hat and scratched his head; then he turned and walked slowly away to try and find a rope.
Though it was the height of the summer the water was cold; the rays of the sun never reached it, and Martial felt a distinct loss of heat. It suggested a calculation. How long could he endure?
He crushed down the thought, and addressed himself again to the task of animating the other stolidity on the bank above.
“Miller! throw me something to hold—something that will float!”
“You be Miss Goring’s man,” said Bond, finding speech at last.
“Throw me a plank—a pole—a rail—”
“You be hur man. I knows who you be.”
“Fling me something—a log—a gate—anything!”
“Hur will go mad,” said the miller, to whom Martial’s death by drowning was a foregone and accepted conclusion.
He thought not of Martial, but of Felise—Felise who had once given him three red roses.
The sight of Mary in the pool had upset the balance of his brain, which had hung level like scales not in use so many years. This rude jolt sent his mind oscillating up and down as if the scales had been struck with a fist. Off went his gun—bang! He danced with his feet. He sucked his forefingers.
By degrees the scales settled, and he grasped the terrible meaning Martial’s death would have to the child who had given him the three red roses. Now Miller Bond would gladly have worked day and night for her sake; he would have faced great danger; he would have done anything for her; his heart was still grateful for those flowers. This very anxiety upset the scales again; and, in short. Miller Bond lost his head.
“A gate,” said Martial; “unhinge a gate! Throw me something that will float!”
“Thur,” said the miller with an idiotic grin, plucking off his hat and hurling it into the water, as if Martial could cling to the greasy felt—a straw indeed for a drowning man.
Next came his apron, then a shower of little sticks torn from the fence, then a handful of dock leaves; then he ran to and fro and returned with a heavy iron sheep-trough, which he raised above his head.
“Take care!” shouted Martial, for if the trough struck him it would stun him, perhaps kill him instantly.
Splash came the trough, raising a wave which washed Martial and his burden to and fro; the trough sank immediately.
“Wood!” shouted Martial; “not iron—iron sinks.” Danger made him as patient as a mother explaining the properties of things to a little child. “Get some wood.”
“Hur will go mad,” said the miller, whose brain-scales were settling again. He paused, and gazed down at the pair in the water.
“Thur bean’t no raup,” said the miller’s man, coming back.
XIX
“No rope!” cried Martial; “then get a chain.”
“Gawd!” said the miller’s man. “A chain. To be zure.”
As if the substitution of a chain for a rope was indeed a wonderful idea. He started again for a chain—this time more quickly; Martial had begun to animate him. These slow and stolid minds, while under the immediate influence of a stronger intelligence, can be forced into activity; but once let that stronger intelligence go far enough away for them to escape its personal influence and they sink back into immovability.
The marvellous intellect of the great Julius Caesar exercised the most extraordinary power over the men with whom he was surrounded, insomuch that nothing was too much for them, no danger too great, no fatigue too prolonged, no rapidity of movement too trying. But when once the sea divided him from part of his forces, those very men fell by degrees into stolid immovability, so that neither orders, threats, nor persuasions could for months induce them to sail to his assistance, though they well understood his danger. It is recorded of him that he had his eyes turned day and night towards the sea; still they delayed to send, so dense already had their stolidity become. So, too, when a great genius who has stirred the world and wakened its dull heart ceases to address it, it speedily falls back into stolidity.
The miller’s man started quickly for the chain; but, out of sight of Martial, his feet resumed their accustomed slowness of motion.
“Wood—throw something of wood—timber!” cried Martial again to the miller, whose red head projected over the fence.
“When was you and she going to be married?” said the miller.
“Wood—rails—posts!” reiterated Martial. “Chain,” said the miller’s man, appearing with a set of chain-traces such as are used on wagons. He let the end of the chain down, Martial grasped it. The miller took hold above behind his man, and they began to haul; but Martial was obliged to let the chain slip through his fingers—his wrist was not strong enough. When he and Mary began to rise out of the water their combined weight was too much for his sinews. In endeavouring to get out of the water, as for instance into a boat, the weight of the body seems suddenly increased.
Martial was
