The Gates of Dawn

The caravan rolled slowly along the dusty road with creakings and groanings and jingling of horse-bells. It was painted a dark-green colour, with white-curtained windows picked out in rose pink, and bright red shafts and wheels. The corrugated iron roof showed no signs of exposure to wind, rain, or sun, while the brasswork on door and harness glittered like fine gold. Evidently it was quite new, and this was its first journey into rural England. The sleek black animal that drew the gaily tinted structure picked his steps leisurely; his driver strolled alongside with sauntering step and whistling lip. A complacent fox-terrier followed at his master's heels with an observant eye for stray rabbits. Man, and horse, and dog, and house on wheels looked fitter for play than for work. There was something exasperating in their idle looks and lazy meanderings. A holiday company in holiday humour. It was very pleasant creeping across the broad heath in the twilight. Overhead, the sky, a dome of opal tints, showed here and there a twinkling star; underfoot, the grass, dry with summer heat, revealed moorland flowers. Between heaven and earth blew cool winds laden with many odours. In vague immensity the plain spread on every side towards the luminous horizon, and the caravan with its attendant life was but a speck on its vast bosom. Bird and beast and insect had retired to rest, and over all this large empty world brooded a dead silence. It was less like a moor in crowded England than a trackless wilderness in some unexplored country. For over an hour man and animals pursued their way. With their backs to the sunset, they pressed steadily onward, as if in search of some unseen goal. Then the fox-terrier grew weary, and jumped up on the doorstep behind, where he whimpered angrily for his victuals. His master merely laughed at such doggish impatience, and kept a keen look-out for the sign whereby to determine his halting-place for the night. Shortly a mighty ridge topped by stunted pines heaved up like a wave on the plain. The horse stopped at a signal from his driver.


Genre: Literary Fiction