CHAPTER V The Passing of a Public School Man
A day or two later Paul found himself next to Grimes in the quarry. When the warder was out of earshot Grimes said: 'Old boy, I can't stand this much longer. It just ain't good enough.
'I don't see any way out, said Paul. 'Anyway, it's quite bearable. I'd as soon be here as at Llanabba.
'Not so Grimes, said Grimes. 'He just languishes in captivity, like the lark. It's all right for you ‑ you like reading and thinking and all that. Well, I'm different, you know. I like drink and a bit of fun, and chatting now and then to my pals. I'm a sociable chap. It's turning me into a giddy machine, this life, and there's an awful chaplain, who gives me the pip, who keeps butting in in a breezy kind of way and asking if I feel I'm "right with God". Of course I'm not, and I tell him so. I can stand most sorts of misfortune, old boy, but I can't stand repression. That was what broke me up at Llanabba, and it's what going to break me up here, if I don't look out for myself. It seems to me it's time Grimes flitted off to another clime.
'No one has ever succeeded in escaping from this prison, said Paul.
'Well, just you watch next time there's a fog!
As luck would have it, there was a fog next day, a heavy impenetrable white mist which came up quite suddenly while they were at work, enveloping men and quarry in the way that mists do on Egdon Heath.
'Close up there, said the warder in charge. 'Stop work and close up. Look out there, you idiot! for Grimes had stumbled over the field‑telephone. 'If you've broken it you'll come up before the Governor to‑morrow.
'Hold this horse, said the other warder, handing the reins to Grimes.
He stooped and began to collect the chains on which the men were strung for their march home. Grimes seemed to be having some difficulty with the horse, which was plunging and rearing farther away from the squad. 'Can't you even hold a horse, said the warder. Suddenly Grimes, with remarkable agility considering his leg, was seen to be in the saddle riding away into the heath.
'Come back, roared the warder, 'come back, or I'll fire. He put his rifle to his shoulder and fired into the fog. 'He'll come back all right, he said. 'No one ever gets away for long. He'll get solitary confinement and No. 1 diet for this, poor fish.
No one seemed to be much disturbed by the incident, even when it was found that the field‑telephone was disconnected.
'He hasn't a hope, said the warder. 'They often do that, just put down their tools sudden and cut and run. But they can't get away in those clothes and with no money. We shall warn all the farms to‑night. Sometimes they stays out hiding for several days, but back they comes when they're hungry, or else they get arrested the moment they shows up in a village. I reckon it's just nerves makes them try it.
That evening the horse came back, but there was no sign of Grimes. Special patrols were sent out with bloodhounds straining at their leashes; the farms and villages on the heath were warned, and the anxious inhabitants barred their doors closely and more pertinently forbade their children to leave the house on any pretext whatever; the roads were watched for miles, and all cars were stopped and searched, to the intense annoyance of many law‑abiding citizens. But Grimes did not turn up. Bets were slyly made among the prisoners as to the day of his recovery; but days passed, and the rations of bread changed hands, but still there was no Grimes.
A week later at morning‑service the Chaplain prayed for his souclass="underline" the Governor crossed his name off the Body Receipt Book and notified the Home Secretary, the Right Honourable Sir Humphrey Maltravers, that Grimes was dead.
'I'm afraid it was a terrible end, said the Chaplain to Paul.
'Did they find the body?
'No, that is the worst thing about it. The hounds followed his scent as far as Egdon Mire; there it ended. A shepherd who knows the paths through the bog found his hat floating on the surface at the most treacherous part. I'm afraid there is no doubt that he died a wry horrible death.
'Poor old Grimes! said Paul. 'And he was an old Harrovian, too.
But later, thinking things over as he ate peacefully, one by one, the oysters that had been provided as a 'relish' for his supper, Paul knew that Grimes was not dead. Lord Tangent was dead; Mr Prendergast was dead; the time would even come for Paul Pennyfeather; but Grimes, Paul at last realized, was of the immortals. He was a life force. Sentenced to death in Flanders, he popped up in Wales; drowned in Wales, he emerged in South America; engulfed in the dark mystery of Egdon Mire, he would rise again somewhere at some time, shaking from his limbs the musty integuments of the tomb. Surely he had followed in the Bacchic train of distant Arcady, and played on the reeds of myth by forgotten streams, and taught the childish satyrs the art of love? Had he not suffered unscathed the fearful dooms of all the offended gods, of all the histories, fire, brimstone, and yawning earthquakes, plague, and pestilence? Had he not stood, like the Pompeian sentry, while the Citadels of the Plain fell to ruin about his ears? Had he not, like some grease-caked Channel‑swimmer, breasted the waves of the Deluge? Had he not moved unseen when the darkness covered the waters?
'I often wonder whether I am blameless in the matter, said the Chaplain. 'It is awful to think of someone under my care having come to so terrible an end. I tried to console him and reconcile him with his life, but things are so difficult; there are so many men to see. Poor fellow! To think of him alone out there in the bog, with no one to help him!
CHAPTER VI The Passing of Paul Pennyfeather
A few days later Paul was summoned to the Governor's room.
'I have an order here from the Home Secretary granting leave for you to go into a private nursing‑home for the removal of your appendix. You will start under escort, in plain clothes, this morning.
'But, sir, said Paul, 'I don't want to have my appendix removed. In fact, it was done years ago when I was still at school.
'Nonsense! said the Governor. 'I've got an order here from the Home Secretary especially requiring that it shall be done. Officer, take this man away and give him his clothes for the journey.
Paul was led away. The clothes in which he had been tried had been sent with him from Blackstone. The warder took them out of a locker, unfolded them and handed them to Paul. 'Shoes, socks, trousers, waistcoat, coat, shirt, collar, tie, and hat, he said. 'Will you sign for them? The jewellery stays here. He collected the watch, links, tie‑pin, note‑case, and the other odds and ends that had been in Paul's pockets and put them back in the locker. 'We can't do anything about your hair, said the warder, 'but you're allowed a shave.
Half an hour later Paul emerged from his cell, looking for all the world like a normal civilized man, such as you might see daily in any tube‑railway.
'Feels funny, don't it? said the warder who let him out. 'Here's your escort.
Another normal civilized man, such as you might see daily in any tube‑railway, confronted Paul.
'Time we started, if you're quite ready, he said. Robbed of their uniforms, it seemed natural that they should treat each other with normal consideration. Indeed, Paul thought he detected a certain deference in the man's tone.
'It's very odd, said Paul in the van that took them to the station; 'it's no good arguing with the Governor, but he's made some ridiculous mistake. I've had my appendix out already.
'Not half, said the warder with a wink, 'but don't go talking about it so loud. The driver's not in on this.
A first‑class carriage had been reserved for them in the train. As they drew out of Egdon Station the warder said; 'Well, that's the last you'll see of the old place for some time. Solemn thought, death, ain't it? And he gave another shattering wink.