Daphne du Maurier - Hungry Hill

Doonhaven had suddenly become a place of whispers, of figures peering round doorways and then withdrawing, and Jane, who had a place in her heart for all comers and loved the people of Doonhaven, returned home with a heavy feeling of foreboding.

"I don't like it," she said to Henry. "I believe my father takes this business of the mine not seriously enough. All he thinks about is to catch the few miners and to punish them for taking the copper. He does not realise that his mine is hated by every one of the people in Doonhaven."

"The trouble is that they are jealous," said Henry.

"They would like all the benefits of the copper, and none of the trouble in getting it. Father knows what he is talking about. If you were not firm with the people in the country nothing would ever be done, and no progress would be made."

"We were happy enough without progress."

"That is just sentimentality, and you have been listening to John."

Jane threw another cone on to the fire. It spat and hissed, and became still. Soon there was no sound but the scratching of Henry's nib at the desk, and the occasional rustle of a page as John turned the leaves of his book. Suddenly the dog pricked his ears and looked towards the door, and the door itself opened, and their father, Copper John, stood upon the threshold. His coat was buttoned to his chin, his hat was pulled low over his brow, so that little of him could be seen but the long nose and the thin lips above the square jaw, while in his hand he carried his favourite stick, short and nobbled, with a head on it like a club. Behind him, in the hall, stood the agent, Ned Brodrick, his lean, mournful face a contrast to the forceful determination of his more fortunate brother.

"I want you two boys to accompany me immediately," said Copper John. "We are starting for the mine in five minutes. Outside in the drive I have some dozen of the tenants waiting, also Parsons, the customs officer, Sullivan from the Post Office, Doctor Beamish, and one or two others that have mustered. There is no time to lose."

The three young Brodricks had risen to their feet, Henry tense and alert, John a little bewildered, awoken too rudely from his dream, and Jane pale and anxious, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Is anything wrong, sir?" asked Henry.

Copper John smiled grimly.

"Word has come that there are some thirty men or more marching out from Doonhaven to Hungry Hill, and leading them are the half-dozen miners suspected by Captain Nicholson. They are out to do mischief, of course, and I propose to stop them."

Jane followed her father and uncle into the hall, where her two brothers were fastening their coats, their faces pale and excited in the dim candle-light.

The door was open on to the drive, and she could see the small huddled group of men waiting for her father, shuffling their feet on the gravel, talking amongst themselves in whispers. One or two of them swung lanterns in their hands, and all carried heavy sticks.

There was still no rain, but the wind came in gusts, and the clouds raced one another across the sky. It was about half-past eight, and the night was dark. No moon shone, and the stars were mere pin-pricks of light that came and vanished.

Copper John and his two sons joined the others on the drive, and Jane, standing by the open door, watched them disappear, heard the stolid clump-clump of their boots as they crunched the gravel. while round the corner from the stable came Casey and Tim with the horses, and in a moment the whole party were hidden by the bend in the drive, and so up through the park and away to Hungry Hill.

Doonhaven was quiet and still, a village asleep. The doors were closed, and the windows showed no light. No person walked the street or lingered in the square, and the only sound to be heard was the sea breaking on the beach below the harbour wall.

Once clear of the village, Copper John called a halt, and the party divided. One half, led by Copper John and Henry, continued up the road towards the mine; the rest, with John amongst them, struck across country to the outlet in the hill.

Here on the high ground they were exposed to the full force of the wind, which drove them onward blindly, causing them to stumble amongst the loose stones and the heather, and the younger Brodrick, now that he was alone, without either his father or his brother, was aware of a new sense of excitement, almost of exultation, not connected in any way with the mine or the angry men of Doonhaven, but because this was something that he loved and understood, this fighting with the wind on Hungry Hill. Away below him was the sea, sweeping the long length of Mundy Bay, rolling on towards Castle Andriff, where maybe Fanny-Rosa could hear it from her window, and the sound of the sea came to him now, borne on the wind, not a sullen, angry sound, but loud and insistent, a chant of triumph. The men behind him were cursing at the rough ground, their coats bellying around them in the tearing wind. John looked up, and watched the black clouds racing across the sky, felt the first stinging drop of rain upon his cheek, heralding the storm that was to come, and, laughing, climbed yet faster than before, gaining a foothold amongst the stones and the wet, clinging moss, while the wild, sweet scent of heather filled the air. They came at last to the outlet in the hill, so well concealed by the tangle of gorse that in the darkness and the spitting rain it was well-nigh impossible to find, and there they waited, gaining what shelter they could from the weather by the shoulder of the hill, and the wind went on blowing and the night grew darker yet. Ned Brodrick was of the company; he crouched beside his nephew in the heather, his face lugubrious and long, and now and again he would bite his fingers to restore the circulation.

"Your father should have come to terms with Morty Donovan, Master John," he said. "Many is the time I have come to arbitration with the family myself, in a friendly fashion, over a glass of whisky maybe. But your father is a proud man, and high-handed, and Morty Donovan is proud too. I tell you no good will come of this night, and had I my way I would be sitting now in my cottage in Oakmount, with the curtains drawn, knowing nothing of the business."

"I have no doubt you would, Ned," said John, "but here we are on Hungry Hill, with no choice in the matter, and must make the best of it."

"It's a spice of discretion that is needed, Master John," continued Ned. "I have made it a practice this long while, since acting as agent to your father, to agree with him when in his company, and to agree with the tenants when in theirs. Therefore I have pleased both parties and offended none. Never in my life have I held a quarrel with any man."

"And how do you manage, Ned, when the tenants are in arrears with their rent, and you have to drive them for the money?"

"Why, between you and me, Master John, I so work the figures on the rent-roll as to have the appearance that the money is paid, when oftentimes I have not seen a penny of it. But will you take a small drop of something, to keep up your spirits?" And glancing furtively over his shoulder, the agent produced a bottle from the deep pocket of his coat, and, kneeling, with hunched shoulders, in the heather, tipped it to his mouth with a sigh of satisfaction. "I tell you, Master John," he said, wiping his lips with the sleeve of his coat, "but I am devoted to your family, and Morty Donovan would have to walk across my dead body rather than harm should come to any of them.

As for yourself, you're the best of the bunch, and that's meaning no disrespect to Master Henry."

John laughed, knowing full well that the agent would have said exactly the same thing to his brother had he been there instead, and when he had taken his "small drop," which must have been some hell-brew of Ned Brodrick's own creation, for it tasted of liquid fire, he handed the bottle back, only just in time, for one of the men, who had been watching a little distance away, came running through the heather towards them.