Chapter 29. Early Morning Alarm

30 September, early morning, Diggenhollow, Buckland

Though Merimac Brandybuck affected disdain and disgust for his wife’s small dog, it was an open secret that he was actually quite fond of the little fellow. It was not uncommon for one or another of his family to catch him in the act of quietly, clandestinely petting the winsome creature, and of course they loved to tell the story of the pork pie that went missing from the pantry… and it turned out that Merimac had fed it “to the little fellow, for he looked so hungry…” and the large slice of roast meat that “slipped” and flew across the room from Merimac’s plate on the table to the far corner of the room where the dog was obediently lying during dinnertime.

The dog was not allowed to sleep on the bed with Merimac and his wife, Prisca – at least, not until after Merimac fell asleep, and most days he was not even aware of the dog’s presence, for the little fellow jumped down when the hobbits began to stir. Merimac and Prisca’s feet were never cold in the winter nights, even after the bedwarmers had lost their glow!

Though Merimac growled at the dog oftener than he praised him, and the dog mostly paid him no mind when other family members were around (ah, but when they were alone, he might be found lying next to the hobbit with his head in Merimac’s lap!), and called him a nuisance and a bother with his tendency to bark in loud, shrill yaps, he was secretly glad of the dog’s vigilance, especially as they lived quite close to the Old Forest, though not quite so close as Crickhollow, being a little more than a mile closer to Brandy Hall and the Brandywine River than Frodo's new abode. He felt better for leaving the dog behind to guard his wife, when he went off to Brandy Hall to consult with his brother, the Master, or to the various points in Buckland where he was currently overseeing diggings and construction projects. He knew the little fellow would fight to the death to protect Prisca and their children. He felt much the same himself, which gave them a common ground of understanding.

It was one thing for the dog to launch himself at the door, barking and jumping up to see out of the round window at hobbits’-eye-view, during the daytime, when sometimes no body was there at all – this was a cause of some of Merimac’s grumbles, when he was at home in his study attempting to draw up an architectural plan. It was quite another for the dog to whine, in the night, and try to crawl, trembling, beneath the bedcovers.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ Merimac grumbled, though he was a little alarmed at the dog’s uncharacteristic behaviour.

‘Perhaps he’s ill,’ Prisca said. ‘Come, darling,’ -- she was talking to the dog at this juncture, and patted the coverlet. ‘Come here, little love.’

The dog crept on its belly up the length of the bed, and snuggled close, between the two hobbits, alternating between growls and whines.

Merimac opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it again, and to his wife’s surprise, he stroked the smooth fur on the dog’s head, and fondled one of the sensitive ears.

‘What is it, Biscuit?’ Prisca said, and to her husband added, ‘It’s almost as if he’s trying to tell us something.’

‘Well, whatever it may be, this hobbit hasn’t the wit to hear and understand, not at this time of the night, anyhow,’ Merimac said. ‘If you think he’s about to be sick, put him out, and quickly, too. I don’t want to step in anything when I get up…’ He yawned and turned over, without insisting that the dog get down from the bed without delay.

Prisca was awake for some time after. She wondered if she ought to nudge her husband awake, and ask him to go around to make sure the doors and windows were secure… but she thought she’d listen hard, first, and not waken him because of her imaginings. The night was absolutely silent, however, without a breath of wind in the trees outside, nor the scritch of a mouse in the pantry.

At last she sighed, pulled the bedcovers up over the little dog – he was trembling! – laid her arm protectively over him, and slipped into sleep. The dog huddled close, quiet now, still shivering periodically, eyes wide open and staring into the darkness. He remained on guard through the remainder of the night, though the sleeping hobbits did not know.

Some time in the cold hour before dawn, he launched himself from the bed, barking frantically, and ran out of the bedroom.

‘That’s it!’ Merimac said, erupting from the bedcovers. ‘That little – little –‘ he was too much of a gentlehobbit to swear in front of his wife. ‘He’s sleeping in the stable from here onward!’

A series of regular thumps were coming from the front door as Biscuit threw himself against the door. The high-pitched barking intensified, though Merimac could scarcely credit it.

‘P’rhaps there’s something amiss,’ Prisca ventured, sitting up and pulling the bedcovers to her chin, her nightcap askew.

Merimac snorted at this understatement, but he pulled on his dressing gown over his nightclothes and stalked to the door of the bedroom. Berilac, his eldest, met him in the hall.

‘What is it, Dad?’ he said. ‘The dog’s barking fit to raise the dead!’

‘He’s certainly raising an alarum of some sort or another,’ Merimac answered, having to raise his voice to be heard. He strode to the front door, caught the little dog by the collar, mid-leap, and gave him a gentle shake. ‘Steady, now, Biscuit! What’s all this?’ The dog growled and wriggled in his hold, and when he did not put it down, it reached around and nipped his hand. Surprised, he dropped the dog – something he’d always cautioned the children against, when they held the little creature. He might break one of his legs!

Thankfully, though, Biscuit landed on his feet and sprang again at the door, barking again.

Careful not to step on the dancing, jumping dog, Merimac went to the door and looked out into the darkness. ‘I don’t see anything,’ he said at last, after peering intently. Of course, he could hardly hear his own thoughts with the tumult the dog was making.

He put his hand to the bolt, only to have his wife cry out from the hallway – she had emerged from the bedroom and stood hesitating, half-way to the door – ‘No! Don’t open it!’

‘Now lass,’ he shouted over the uproar. ‘It’s likely naught!’

She stumbled forward a few paces, and then turned to address the children, peeking from their rooms, sleepily blinking in wonder at this unexpected awakening. ‘Go back to your beds!’ she scolded. ‘All of you! And close your doors!’ Her fear was infectious, and there was a general slamming of bedroom doors and scrambling back into bed – as if that might be enough to keep them safe, in the event of an intrusion from the Old Forest…

Still, the windows had shutters with strong locks, and the doors were bolted at night, and though they might lose a lamb or chicken or two on occasion, they’d never been bothered in the house before, when everything was secure.

The dog stopped barking, to whine and sniff under the door, and in the nearly deafening pause a muffled voice was heard on the other side. ‘That’s a hobbit!’ Merimac said. ‘What if one of them’s ill, over by Crickhollow, and sent for help? We’re the nearest neighbours…’ He shot back the bolt and swung the door wide, and found a figure collapsed in a heap on the doorstep, crying and shuddering violently.

The dog darted forward, and barked in the prostrated hobbit’s face, and then danced back to Merimac, looking up and wagging his tail as if to say, Didn’t I do my duty well? Didn’t I?

As Merimac leaned over the unfortunate fellow, he heard him cry out as if in great fear. ‘No, no, no!’

‘It’s all right, lad,’ he said. ‘We’re here to help.’

The answer was baffling. ‘No!’ The hobbit cried out again, and then, ‘Not me! I haven’t got it!’

‘Come, let us get him inside,’ Prisca was there, at his side, as he attempted to lift the stricken hobbit; she moved around to the fellow’s other side and took him by the arm and shoulder. ‘Why, his hand is as cold as ice! Come now, lad, all’s well… A cup of tea…’

But their visitor huddled together, hiding his face in his arms. ‘No!’ he sobbed. ‘I haven’t got it! Not me! Don’t take me!’

Between them, husband and wife lifted the poor fellow to his feet, though he hardly seemed able to stand. Between cries he panted and gasped for air, as if he’d run a long way and was at the end of his strength. ‘Come, lad,’ Prisca said over and over, as they urged him into the house.

In the meantime, Merimac bellowed for his sons, and Berilac and Redelac, the two eldest, came from their room and quickly followed his order to light the lamps, build up the fires in kitchen and parlour and put the teakettle on. ‘A good, strong cup of tea is what’s wanted, I warrant.’

The little dog, his duty done now that his hobbits were awake and doing, trotted happily to the kitchen to await developments.

Though the visitor resisted their pull, his screams had subsided to whimpers. He was still protesting to someone or other with every breath he took, that he hadn’t got it – whatever it might be – and pleaded not to be seized and taken away. At last they managed to sit him down in the parlour, and by main force Merimac pried his arms from his face.

‘Fatty Bolger!’ he said in surprise, and to Prisca, hovering close at hand with her smelling salts, in case the fellow should faint, he added, ‘Didn’t I tell you I thought there might be some trouble at Crickhollow?’

Fatty cried out, shaking all over, babbling again. ‘No, no!’

‘Something’s dreadfully wrong,’ Merimac said, standing decisively to his full height. ‘I’m going over to see.’

‘No!’ Fatty said, erupting from his chair to seize the older hobbit. ‘No! They… they’re there! Don’t go to them! Run, or perish!’

‘Who’s this they he’s talking about?’ Berilac said, coming from the kitchen to report that the fire was bright and the teakettle would soon be boiling.

‘Frodo?’

‘No!’ Fatty screamed, whipped to further frenzy at the mention of the name. ‘No! Not me! I'm not–’

‘Have they all gone mad, over to…’ and Merimac remembered Fatty’s reaction to the name of Frodo’s new abode, and simply inclined his head instead of saying Crickhollow aloud.

‘I don’t believe it!’ Berilac said stoutly. ‘Mad? Cousin Merry of all people?’

And Redelac, kneeling on the parlour hearthrug, looked up from the fire he was kindling, tongues of reassuring flame rising in several places from the wood, and laughed, though it seemed to be no laughing matter. He said, with the confidence that comes from several years seniority, though he was still a tween himself, ‘And Pip's too young and foolish to do much harm...’

Fatty had subsided, suffering obvious exhaustion and scarcely hanging on to his senses; and he now sank down in the chair once more, buried his face in his hands, and sobbed wildly.

***

A/N: Some turns of phrase taken from “A Knife in the Dark” in Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.