Herne the Hunter

“ In the last act everybody is in the forest, preparing for the festival of Herne the hunter. All are masked, and Sir John Falstaff, being led on by the two merry wives is surprised by Herne (Fluth) , who sends the whole chorus of wasps, flies and mosquitos on to his broad back. They torment and punish him, till he loudly cries for mercy. ”

“ He made his way around a shoulder of the mountain, and aided by the gray light of a cloud-hidden moon, approached the figures of a woman, a boy and a horse, all three dripping and motionless.
“Thank God! we will not die here, after all,” exclaimed the female, as Herne the Hunter grimly regarded them. “Oh, sir, we have missed the way. This boy was guiding me to the survey camp of Captain Renfro, my husband, on the upper Swananoa. He has sprained his foot, and we have been lost for hours. Can you take us to a place of shelter? ”

“ If women were there he would stand aloof until they left; on meeting them in the road he would sternly avert his eyes as though from a distasteful presence. One day the wife of a storekeeper, waiting on him in her husband's absence, ventured to say, while wrapping up his purchases:
“I've all'ays wonnered, Mr. Herne, what makes ye wanter git outen the wimmen folks' way? Mos' men likes ter have 'em eroun'.”
Herne the Hunter frowned heavily, but made no reply. ”

“ There is no satisfactory legend of Herne the Hunter. Vague tradition states that he was a keeper in the forest in Elizabeth’s reign, who, having committed some crime which occasioned his dismissal, hung himself on the tree. This is a view of the case we cannot think of taking. The idea of a discharged flunkey committing suicide on a mere sentimental consideration of wages and perquisites is a [Pg 42] sorry foundation for the magnificent “demon business” indicated by Shakespeare. Our notion is of something far more weird and fiendish,—a story of fearful crimes and unhallowed compacts ”

“ Herne has his French counterpart in the Grand Veneur of Fontainebleau. Mention is made of Herne in The Merry Wives of Windsor and in Harrison Ainsworth’s Windsor Castle. Nothing definite is known of the Herne legend. It is suggested that it originated in the life-story of some keeper of the forest; but more probably it is only a variant of the “Wild Huntsman” myth common to folk-lore, which (E. B. Tylor, Primitive Culture, 4th ed. pp. 361-362) is almost certainly the modern form of a prehistoric storm-myth. ”

“ He appeared in a flash of sulphurous flame, and they knew him to be the Evil One. He told the terrified men that Herne would appear to them soon, and that they must do exactly what he bade them do, otherwise he would seize their souls.
Soon Herne appeared, a ghostly figure with huge antlers, and commanded his fellow-keepers to assemble at the oak the next midnight with horses and hounds equipped for the chase. They had to obey, and night after night, led by the ghostly huntsman, the party swept through the forest. ”

“ The speaker neither stirred nor looked at Herne. He seemed to be gazing into space.
Herne waited for more, but none came.
"I want proof of his death," he said, speaking very deliberately. "I must know beyond all doubt when and how he died."
"The Englishman was burned with the other captives," the slow, indifferent voice went on. "He died in the fire!"
"What?" said Herne, with violence. "You devil! I don't believe it! I thought you did not kill white men!"
"He was not as other white men," came the unmoved reply. "The Wandis feared his magic. Fire alone can destroy magic. ”

“ You don't see any of the trees in his orchard barked through having careless, mad teamsters while harrowing and cultivating. Herne's horses, harness, and machinery look better and last more than twice as long, because the men take great interest in caring for them. It's not all go out of pocket with Herne in what he does for his men. ”

“ Herne said. "If we go back we die, for the water is almost gone. We must press forward now. There will be water in the mountains."
Hassan glanced at him sideways. He looked as if he were minded to defy the mad Englishman, but Herne's revolver was yet in his hand, and he thought better of it. Moreover, he knew, as did Herne, that their water supply was not sufficient to take them back. ”

“ The weird figure standing upright against the door-flap seemed to take on a deeper mystery, a silence more unfathomable.
Herne began to feel as if he were in a dream. If the man had not spoken he would have wondered if his very presence were but hallucination.
He gathered his wits for another effort.
"Tell me," he said, "do you never use white men as slaves?"
Still that uncompromising silence.
Herne persevered.
"Three years ago, before the Wandis conquered the Zambas, there was a white man, an Englishman, who placed himself at their head, and taught them to fight. I am here to seek him. ”

“ The iron grip showed no sign of relaxing, and to Herne, lying at his mercy, there came a fierce impatience at the man's delay.
"Curse you!" he flung upwards from between his teeth. "Why can't you strike and have done?" ”

“ As the legend is generally told Herne was a royal keeper whose unusual skill at the chase caused him to become a great favourite of his royal master, and at the same time made his fellow foresters mighty jealous of him. So they combined together to try to plot his undoing.
To one of their secret councils, held beneath great oaks in the heart of the forest, there came one day a mysterious dark man of unusual stature and strength, whose face seemed familiar yet whom none could place. ”

“ Even you couldn't kill a dead man. Feel that, if you don't believe me!" Suddenly one of the shrivelled, mummy hands came down to his own. "How much life is there in that?"
Herne gripped the hand. It was cold and clammy; he could feel every separate bone under the skin. He could almost hear them grind together in his hold. He repressed another shudder; and even as he did it, he heard again the bitter cry of a woman's wrung heart, "Bobby is still alive and wanting me." ”

“ Monty!"
Again the gulf of years was bridged; again the voice he knew came down to him. Herne wrestled with himself, and opened his eyes.
The man in Arab dress was still kneeling by his side, the skeleton hands still supported him, but the face was veiled again.
He suppressed another violent shudder.
"In Heaven's name," he said, "what are you?"
"I am a dead man," came the answer. "Don't move! I will call your man in a moment, but I must speak to you first. Do you feel all right?"
"Bobby!" Herne said.
"No, I am not Bobby. He died, you know, ages ago. They cut him up and burned him. Don't move. ”

“ Their wild doings naturally quickly reached the ears of the King, and he summoned the keepers, demanding an explanation. In terror they confessed how they had plotted Herne’s ruin, and the King, furious at their impious action, caused all of them to be hanged upon Herne’s oak.
But the ghostly chase still went on, they say, and even to this day in the dark midnight hours some [Pg 39] people believe you may hear, far away in the Great Park, the distant sound of a huntsman’s horn, and see flashing through the trees the ghostly chase led by an antlered man on a huge black horse. ”

“ The roar of the volley was like the peal of an earthquake; and, right and left, as eighteen horizontal columns of fire darted from the engines, the lake boiled up with a new fury, fragments of canoes and the bodies of men were seen flung up into the air, and yells of agony which chilled the blood, bore witness to the dreadfulness of the slaughter.
"Quick, and again!" cried Don Hernan, eagerly. "Shoot fast, and shoot well; and know that I will shortly be back with ye.—Ho, Sandoval! why dost thou loiter? plunge into the ditch, and swim. ”

“ Ho! to your lances, and back upon the wolves that are behind us!" cried the trumpet-voice of Don Hernan. The neophyte turned, and clapping spurs to Fogoso, charged, with the cavaliers, upon those squadrons which had pursued them;—but, like his companions, he checked his horse with surprise, and no little consternation, when he beheld in what manner the infidels were prepared to receive them. The street was packed with their bodies, as far as the eye could see; and darts and swords of obsidian were seen flashing above the heads of the most distant multitude ”

“ Opening wide his fearful jaws, Fenris uttered such terrible howls that the gods, to silence him, thrust a sword into his mouth, the hilt resting upon his lower jaw and the point against his palate. The blood then began to pour out in such streams that it formed a great river, called Von. The wolf was destined to remain thus chained fast until the last day, when he would burst his bonds and would be free to avenge his wrongs.
"The wolf Fenrir, Freed from the chain, Shall range the earth." ”

“ He saw the buffaloes trampling down the grass, and heard the shout of his enemies in the forest combat.
"I'm thinking, Heno," said Henry sincerely, "that you're yet a good deal of a young hunter and warrior."
"You not only make good warrior, but you make good chief, too. You know how to talk," said Heno. ”

“ His eye was indeed fixed on Don Hernan, but yet fixed as on vacancy; and the lip, fallen in a ghastly contortion, the rigid features, the abstracted stare, the right hand pressed upon his knee, while the left lay powerless and dead over the cushions of his chair, as he bent a little forward, as if wholly unconscious of the presence of his people and his foes, made it manifest to all, that his thoughts were absorbed in the contemplation of his own abasement. ”

“ He exalted his voice, while crying for assistance, until it was heard far back upon the causeway; yet he reached the place of Don Hernan's mischance alone. The scene was dreadful: the nobles had flung themselves into the flood, and were dragging the stunned and strangling hero from the steed, which lay upon its side on the rugged and shelving edge of the dike, unable to arise, and perishing with the most fearful struggles; while, all the time, the elated infidels expressed their triumph with shouts of frantic joy. ”

“ For a moment they looked eyes into eyes—in the glory of that moon as strange a picture as the wood gods ever beheld. Once more the wolf call sounded. Fenris whimpered softly.
"Go ahead if you like," Ben told him. "God knows it's your destiny."
The wolf seemed to understand. With a glad bark he sped away and almost instantly vanished into the gloom.
But Fenris had not broken all ties with the cave. The chain was too strong for that, the hold on his wild heart too firm. If there is one trait, far and near in the wilds, that distinguishes the woods children, it is their inability to forget. ”

“ Charles E. Hurd, literary editor of the "Boston Transcript," gave me two theater-tickets and asked if I had ever seen Jim Herne play. I told him I had not.
"Do so at once," said he; "for he is a realist after your own heart."
I accepted the tickets with pleasure, and that night witnessed the performance of "Drifting Apart," by James A. and Katharine Herne. ”

“ Game of all kinds sped across the meadow lands, hares, rabbits, grouse, hazel-hens, snipe. Neither Ernest nor Jack had been allowed to bring a gun, and it seemed as if the winged tribe knew this.
Before they had started Mme. Zermatt, seconded by Hannah, had urged the point.
"I beg," she said, "I beg that to-day all these unoffending creatures may be spared."
Ernest had agreed with good grace. He had no burning desire to shine as a hunter. But Jack had protested. To go out without his gun, if he were to be believed, was like being deprived of an arm or a leg. ”

“ For instance, there was a curious adventure with a lion.
Fernie had been out shooting most of the day: shooting for the pot, as the party had been without meat for some time. Black, as usual, remained in camp writing up his diary. He also mended a boot.
He concluded that Fernie was having very good sport because of the number of shots he fired during the afternoon. With an inexperienced man like Fernie, armed with a rifle such as his, it was not wise to jump at conclusions. ”

“ Then they fell apart, and one of them, at any rate—the brown one—ran away in the shape of a water-vole—water-"rat," if you will—the heron making spear-lunges at him with his bill as he ungainlily skipped at the other's tail all the way up the bank. The other fighter, the black one, could not rightly be said to have turned into anything very much—at least, not anything that any one could swear to. It just seemed as if a dark blur whizzed about—more bird-like than beast-like—around the astonished and prancing heron, and then into nowhere. ”

“ Hernando turned his eyes away from this loathsome sight. "That spot," continued the savage, still pointing toward it—"that spot was to have been my white brother's grave."
"What!" exclaimed Hernando, recoiling; "what you say can not be true—who could make that spot my grave? Is this a time for trifling with me, chief?"
"It is not, my white brother! I did not bring you here to play with your feelings, but to save your life; you look at me,—you would inquire what interest I have in saving your life. ”

“ Meanwhile Katharine had bought a handsome house on Convent Avenue, Harlem, and my brother and I often were there of a Sunday, and when we all came together in those days the walls resounded with our clamor. Herne was a great wag and story-teller, one of the most marvelous masters of dialect I have ever known. He could imitate almost any nationality, and could dramatize at a moment's notice any scene or dialogue his wife demanded of him. He was also in deadly earnest as a reformer, and was always ready to speak on the George theory or the modern drama. ”