CHAP. VI. A Transfer.

The increasing weakness of my beloved Mistress, left me at liberty to amuse myself; but idleness was no longer pleasing, my duties had been so moderate, and in themselves so delightful, nothing could be more irksome than my situation when Miss Caroline used to employ me.

I heard something about a journey to Bristol, and such was my ignorance, I actually considered myself included in the arrangement; disappointment was my lot—they departed one morning ere I quitted my shed, and to add to my melancholy Jenkins, whether from forgetfulness or malice I know not, left me a prisoner during the whole day; in vain I kicked and brayed, my efforts were unheeded, and it is probable I should have been nearly famished had not the return of Mr. George, late in the evening, procured my release. “Is the Donkey housed, Mrs. Bennet?” said my young master, addressing the Housekeeper, who was passing near my prison.

“Dear heart! why I’ant seen him to-day,” said she, “poor fellow if he’s been locked up all this time, he must be almost starved.”

“This is Jenkins’s neglect,” replied Mr. George, opening the door; I ran forward overjoyed to behold my kind friend.

“Dear Caroline!” he exclaimed, “your poor favorite is already doomed to neglect,”—and following my footsteps, he seemed lost in his own reflections. I snatched a hasty but plentiful meal; took two or three trots across the paddock, and with due consideration for the fatigue and feelings of my patron, retreated to my shed for the night.

The Doctor was absent nearly a fortnight; his return seemed deeply to affect his son,—my young Mistress was no more, and every individual at Penrose, not excepting Jenkins, evinced the most heart-felt sorrow on this occasion.

I knew not what to think; days stole on, and if the full range of a fertile meadow, gentle treatment, from such of the family as chance threw in my way, if these ought to have made me content, I was a stupid Ass not to prize them,—but my sweet Mistress had said, “comparison, was the medium by which rational animals judge,” and could an Ass err in adopting this mode.

Alas! what a contrast did my inactive life present to that which had marked the days when Miss Morden’s pleasure guided my conduct. I have some reason to believe that the Doctor and his son entertained similar ideas respecting my situation; for, though I occasionally received their kind notice, I observed the name of my Mistress would escape their lips, as if they too were comparing the past with the present.

Whether idleness is really the parent of mischief I know not, it is certain, want of occupation led me into a folly, which fatally injured my future fortune. Tired by the monotony of my existence, I one morning strolled down a shady lane, contiguous to Penrose, and charmed by the fragrance, not less than the flavour of the hazel branches that courted my acceptance, continued my walk; when, turning an angle, I found myself in the high road. The morning was lovely, and though the sun had scarcely risen, there was a chirping amongst the birds, and an appearance of activity in the sons of men, which forcibly claimed my attention. I saw labourers going to their work—waggons creeping up the side of the hill,—while the inhabitants of a small Inn seemed busily preparing to receive their guests. At length a heavy laden stage approached; I stood gazing at the panting animals that drew it, when a smart stroke on my back, caused me to recede a few paces;—it was the coachman, who could not suffer an opportunity of shewing his regard for our species to escape him. As the horses were unloosed from the carriage, and led to the stables, their languid appearance excited my sympathy; comparison here seemed to place my Donkey hardships in the most trivial point of view, nor did it escape me that the four animals led out to supply their place looked jaded, and unfit to bear the fatigue to which they were destined. I was beginning to rejoice that I was not a horse, and I believe had made an apostrophe in the true spirit of an Ass, when a sallow looking man, with an old kettle upon his shoulder, fixed his eyes upon me; accustomed to admiration, I concluded my beauty attracted his notice, and under this impression slowly pursued my way; the man continuing to follow and talk to me in the gentlest language. Descending a hollow, the face of the country assumed another aspect; a large wood lay before me, and I felt it would be imprudent to proceed. But what was my horror and surprise, when this black-eyed gentleman seized me by the mane, and slipping an old leather belt from his waist threw it round my neck and expeditiously mounting my back, began urging me onward! My resistance was prompt, and for some minutes effective; I dismounted him twice, and bore the heaviest blows with determined courage,—till my brutal antagonist in a rage struck me on the head with his kettle, and nearly stunned me. Tortured almost to madness, I darted off at a pace which again unseated my rider; thinking this the moment for escape, I left him in a thicket and endeavoured to strike out a new path. I did so, and ran until nearly exhausted; when hearing the cry of a child and the buz of voices at a little distance, I hastened to the spot, where a group of five or six persons were seated under a tree; my sudden appearance startled them, but they received me with hospitality, and kindly leading me to an adjacent tree secured me from farther fatigue for the present, by fastening the tinker’s belt to one of its strongest branches. As my agitation subsided, I took an opportunity of looking at my neighbours; their features and complexion were unlike all I had ever seen, except those of my recent enemy, and a prophetic tremor shook my frame as I admitted the belief that I had introduced myself into the family of my kettle acquaintance. My suspicion was soon realized. The tinker arrived, and no sooner beheld me, than he broke into an exclamation of joy. “So you are here are you, you rascal!” said he—“you served me a pretty trick, but as I’ve got you at last, I forgive you.”

This leniency was wholly unexpected, and my spirits rose in proportion. But alas! this tranquillity was transient. To an Ass of my education, nothing could be more uncongenial than my new mode of life. The mysterious manner of my owners excited my surprise and curiosity; we rarely travelled in daylight, and our lodgings were uniformly fixed in the most unfrequented parts. There was a constant trepidation and alarm amongst them on the appearance of a passenger; if the wind rustled through the trees they hid their property of whatever description: and though we mutually fed on excellent food, I do not remember to have seen them enjoy a single meal.

These facts were incomprehensible to me for some days; till, on our arrival at Maidstone, in Kent, Dan, my unfeeling purloiner, returning from a morning ramble, imparted his fears to his companions. “We must be off,” said he, “there’s a notice for all vagrants to quit the town, and I only axed for a job at one house, and they told me if a gipsy made his appearance he should be sent to jail.” This intelligence produced the utmost confusion in our party; and my back was destined to feel its immediate effect. Two panniers were slung across me; our remaining stock of provender, with the few cooking utensils that belonged to these wanderers, seemed too light a load in their estimation, and a squalling child was added to my burthen. My legs tottered under this enormous load, but it would have been useless to contend at such a moment. Only one of the women with Dan accompanied me: I heard something of arrangements for the night, but was too much oppressed by my own sufferings to attend to them. What self accusations were mine during this day! Penrose, and its quiet enjoyments, were continually rising in my memory; and how often did I wish that the ignorance of my guides might lead them into its beloved neighbourhood. I misunderstood the character of my new owners; even though the fear of justice had not taught them caution, their natural sagacity cannot be questioned.

That we performed a long journey on this memorable day, my almost sinking frame could have attested; and the circuitous route we were compelled to make in order to avoid towns and villages added greatly to its length. It was ten o’clock, when, after wading through a sandy soil, similar as I should imagine to those countries⁠[1] in which we formerly made a conspicuous figure, that Dan, with evident satisfaction, pointed to a light and expressed his belief that our friends were at hand. This intimation gave me new vigour: his conjecture proved just: a large fire kindled beneath a shelving rock concealed the gipsies, and a plentiful supper regaled them after their fatigue. I must in justice declare, I never lived better than during this period; but whether to attribute this to their humanity, or that profusion is the attendant of profligacy, is not for me to determine. I certainly availed myself of their liberality with no disposition (at that time) to judge their conduct.

Footnote:

The assembled group now related the events of the day, which seemed to give universal satisfaction: till one of the women added, that she had heard a Donkey cried in the town of Tunbridge, and she was sure from the description it was me. I was instantly on the alert. Hope took possession of my bosom. Ah! and shall I again return to Penrose! sighed I. The next moment damped my joy. “We must sell him then,” said Dan; “I will set off in the morning and see what I can do.” Even this decision bore something of promise:—I should be released from my present ignominious mode of life, should no longer be the companion of thieves, and perhaps at Tunbridge I might meet my old Mentor Balaam. I will own there were other considerations which had their weight at that moment.

Tunbridge was a fashionable place: it was, therefore, natural to suppose some attention would be paid to the exterior of a Donkey, whose services were required by persons of fashion.

Surely, surely, vanity is the most formidable enemy to improvement! viz. with Asses: for I conclude no other class of animals are so foolishly blind. Could any thing be more ridiculous than my again fixing my thoughts on fine trappings, when I had so lately murmured at my fate, though in the possession of these things? But I believe it is necessary to our true enjoyment of life that we should experience some of its disappointments.

At an early hour next morning, Mr. Dan took leave of his companions, promising to retain me if it could be done with safety. To my great surprise the complexion of this gentleman was at least twenty shades fairer on this morning; and I found from the jocose remarks of his associates that he was not a gipsy, but one of those criminal beings who prefer a life of fraud to the not more laborious, though respectable, calling of a mechanic. This change in the appearance of Dan was adopted as favourable to his expected sale of your humble servant; but even the adroitness of the ci-devant gipsy was to be foiled. We were in the environs of Tunbridge Wells, near what are called the Bell Rocks: my ignorance in geography had led me to think the Wells must be contiguous to the town of Tunbridge—I was consequently surprised when Dan asked a waggoner if he thought there was any chance of his selling me if he crossed the hill.

“It’s like enough, master, the place is very full,” replied the waggoner. “But mayhap you found this Donkey!” continued the man, “eh! if that’s the case you’d better make your market that way, there’s one been cried yesterday at Tunbridge Town.”

Dan muttered between his teeth, and coolly declaring I was his own property, we pursued our way, but at a slackened pace. We had just reached Mount Sion, and I was looking with delight on the fertile valleys below, when a voice vociferated,

“Holla, mister! I say, where did you get that Donkey?”

Dan dropped from my back and approaching the window of a public house, asked who called him.

“Where did you find that Donkey, I say?” resumed the man, whom I now discovered to be Jenkins, my surly insulter at Penrose.

“Did you say you had lost a Donkey, Sir?” said Dan with the utmost humility.

“Yes, we have lost one sure enough, and I’ve been a wild goose chase after it too,” continued Jenkins advancing, “but I should like to know where you found it, tell me that?”

“In —— forest Sir, two days ago.”

“That’s a likely story truly; and now I look at your face, you rogue, I remember you well; you stole a saucepan under pretence of mending it; give me the Donkey and think yourself well off I dont send you to jail.”

Dan wholly denied having stolen me, declaring he never mended a saucepan in his life, (which was perhaps true) and positively insisted that he was taking me to Tunbridge, where he learned I had been cried, and hoped to get the reward offered for me, as he was very poor, and had a wife and seven children to support.

“You get no reward from me!” resumed Jenkins, seizing me from the reluctant Dan, “make the best of your way out of this place, or you may meet a reward you dont expect.”

The mortified Dan was forced to yield, the few persons who witnessed the altercation being decidedly in favour of Jenkins. What incomprehensible animals we Donkeys are! I, who had blushed for my degradation as the servant of a gipsy, knew not how to rejoice at falling into the hands of Jenkins: yet I trusted his power would be temporary, and looked forward to resuming my gambols in the luxuriant paddocks of Penrose.

Jenkins seemed in no hurry to depart; a rope procured from the landlord, and fastened to the sign post just without the door, secured me from straying, while it left me at liberty to observe my old enemy. I saw Jenkins and his companions drinking, and afterwards playing with spotted pieces of paper, I have since learned were cards; though the party were at first cheerful, loud words ensued, yet they continued to be amused with these things; at last the words,

“I’ll bet the Donkey on this hand,” reached my tired ears; I could not comprehend what I had to do with their employment; a short time decided my fate. It seems Jenkins lost and I, in consequence, became the property of his opponent. I thought Jenkins looked sad, as my new master (a short coarse featured man) with an exulting smile, declared I was a very fine Donkey, and would bring him in six shillings a day at the least. These men whom I had seen so boisterous and apparently friendly, parted in the most ungracious manner. I was led to a poor hovel of a shed, in which I found two Donkeys reposing after the fatigues of the day; while I, who had fasted since the morning, was left to my own reflections.

The unprincipled conduct of Dan, increased by the wilful falsehoods he had uttered, left a serious impression on my mind; yet, upon contrasting Jenkins’s unjust transfer of his master’s property, he appeared infinitely more reprehensible. He was a confidential servant, considered worthy of trust, and, though I would not defend the lawless depredations of my gipsy acquaintance, one does not expect the same correctness from those who exclude themselves from the influence of good example.

Now Jenkins lived in the bosom of a family eminent for their virtues, while Dan, by long association with the vicious, had become in a manner a stranger to those obligations by which man is bound to man and forbidden to do that to another he would consider unjust if applied to himself. But I must not expatiate on this subject; it is infinitely above my capacity, and you are no doubt impatient to hear how I was received amongst the fashionable Donkeys at Tunbridge.