Crockers Hole

Crocker's Hole, by R. D.
Blackmore

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Title: Crocker's Hole From "Slain By The Doones" By R. D.
Blackmore
Author: R. D. Blackmore
Release Date: August 14, 2007 [EBook #22318]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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CROCKER'S HOLE ***

Produced by David Widger

CROCKER'S HOLE
By R. D. Blackmore

From "SLAIN BY THE DOONES" by R. D. Blackmore Copyright:
Dodd, Mead And Company, 1895
CHAPTER I.
The Culm, which rises in Somersetshire, and hastening into a fairer
land (as the border waters wisely do) falls into the Exe near Killerton,
formerly was a lovely trout stream, such as perverts the Devonshire
angler from due respect toward Father Thames and the other canals
round London. In the Devonshire valleys it is sweet to see how soon a
spring becomes a rill, and a rill runs on into a rivulet, and a rivulet
swells into a brook; and before one has time to say, "What are you
at?"--before the first tree it ever spoke to is a dummy, or the first hill it
ever ran down has turned blue, here we have all the airs and graces,
demands and assertions of a full-grown river.
But what is the test of a river? Who shall say? "The power to drown a
man," replies the river darkly. But rudeness is not argument. Rather
shall we say that the power to work a good undershot wheel, without
being dammed up all night in a pond, and leaving a tidy back-stream to
spare at the bottom of the orchard, is a fair certificate of riverhood. If so,
many Devonshire streams attain that rank within five miles of their
spring; aye, and rapidly add to it. At every turn they gather aid, from
ash-clad dingle and aldered meadow, mossy rock and ferny wall,
hedge-trough roofed with bramble netting, where the baby water lurks,
and lanes that coming down to ford bring suicidal tribute. Arrogant,
all-engrossing river, now it has claimed a great valley of its own; and
whatever falls within the hill scoop, sooner or later belongs to itself.
Even the crystal "shutt" that crosses the farmyard by the woodrick, and
glides down an aqueduct of last year's bark for Mary to fill the kettle
from; and even the tricklets that have no organs for telling or knowing
their business, but only get into unwary oozings in and among the
water-grass, and there make moss and forget themselves among it--one
and all, they come to the same thing at last, and that is the river.
The Culm used to be a good river at Culmstock, tormented already by a
factory, but not strangled as yet by a railroad. How it is now the present

writer does not know, and is afraid to ask, having heard of a vile "Culm
Valley Line." But Culm-stock bridge was a very pretty place to stand
and contemplate the ways of trout; which is easier work than to catch
them. When I was just big enough to peep above the rim, or to lie upon
it with one leg inside for fear of tumbling over, what a mighty river it
used to seem, for it takes a treat there and spreads itself. Above the
bridge the factory stream falls in again, having done its business, and
washing its hands in the innocent half that has strayed down the
meadows. Then under the arches they both rejoice and come to a slide
of about two feet, and make a short, wide pool below, and indulge
themselves in perhaps two islands, through which a little river always
magnifies itself, and maintains a mysterious middle. But after that, all
of it used to come together, and make off in one body for the meadows,
intent upon nurturing trout with rapid stickles, and buttercuppy corners
where fat flies may tumble in. And here you may find in the very first
meadow, or at any rate you might have found, forty years ago, the
celebrated "Crocker's Hole."
The story of Crocker is unknown to me, and interesting as it doubtless
was, I do not deal with him, but with his Hole. Tradition said that he
was a baker's boy who, during his basket-rounds, fell in love with a
maiden who received the cottage-loaf, or perhaps good "Households,"
for her master's use. No doubt she was charming, as a girl should be,
but whether she encouraged the youthful baker and then betrayed him
with false rôle,