feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/shmoop/Far From the Madding Crowd/section_31_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: Far From the Madding Crowd.chapter 32
feat_summary_id: chapter 32
feat_summary: {"name": "Chapter 32", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201219162644/https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/literature/far-from-the-madding-crowd/summary/chapter-32", "summary": "We're in Bathsheba's house, and it's nighttime. A servant named Maryann is awakened by some noise from down in the coach house, where the horse and carriage is kept. She glances out the window to see someone stealing the carriage. As quickly as she can, she raises the alarm, but the thief is already gone. Jan Coggan and Gabriel Oak are the first to respond. They both grab some horses from Boldwood's farm and chase after the stolen carriage. It takes them a long time, but they eventually catch up. When they finally catch the carriage, though, they realize that the person driving it is none other than Bathsheba. She has tried to drive away without anyone noticing, but now she's been caught, and all she can do is ask the men to leave her alone. It turns out that she wants to get to the town of Bath so she can tell Troy not to come to Weatherbury and run into Boldwood. Oh yeah, and she also wants to tell Troy that the two of them can't be together anymore. We'll see how that works out soon enough.", "analysis": ""}
text: 
  
  NIGHT--HORSES TRAMPING
  
  
  The village of Weatherbury was quiet as the graveyard in its midst,
  and the living were lying well-nigh as still as the dead.  The church
  clock struck eleven.  The air was so empty of other sounds that the
  whirr of the clock-work immediately before the strokes was distinct,
  and so was also the click of the same at their close.  The notes flew
  forth with the usual blind obtuseness of inanimate things--flapping
  and rebounding among walls, undulating against the scattered clouds,
  spreading through their interstices into unexplored miles of space.
  
  Bathsheba's crannied and mouldy halls were to-night occupied only by
  Maryann, Liddy being, as was stated, with her sister, whom Bathsheba
  had set out to visit.  A few minutes after eleven had struck, Maryann
  turned in her bed with a sense of being disturbed.  She was totally
  unconscious of the nature of the interruption to her sleep.  It led
  to a dream, and the dream to an awakening, with an uneasy sensation
  that something had happened.  She left her bed and looked out of the
  window.  The paddock abutted on this end of the building, and in the
  paddock she could just discern by the uncertain gray a moving figure
  approaching the horse that was feeding there.  The figure seized the
  horse by the forelock, and led it to the corner of the field.  Here
  she could see some object which circumstances proved to be a vehicle,
  for after a few minutes spent apparently in harnessing, she heard the
  trot of the horse down the road, mingled with the sound of light
  wheels.
  
  Two varieties only of humanity could have entered the paddock with
  the ghostlike glide of that mysterious figure.  They were a woman and
  a gipsy man.  A woman was out of the question in such an occupation
  at this hour, and the comer could be no less than a thief, who might
  probably have known the weakness of the household on this particular
  night, and have chosen it on that account for his daring attempt.
  Moreover, to raise suspicion to conviction itself, there were gipsies
  in Weatherbury Bottom.
  
  Maryann, who had been afraid to shout in the robber's presence,
  having seen him depart had no fear.  She hastily slipped on her
  clothes, stumped down the disjointed staircase with its hundred
  creaks, ran to Coggan's, the nearest house, and raised an alarm.
  Coggan called Gabriel, who now again lodged in his house as at first,
  and together they went to the paddock.  Beyond all doubt the horse
  was gone.
  
  "Hark!" said Gabriel.
  
  They listened.  Distinct upon the stagnant air came the sounds of a
  trotting horse passing up Longpuddle Lane--just beyond the gipsies'
  encampment in Weatherbury Bottom.
  
  "That's our Dainty--I'll swear to her step," said Jan.
  
  "Mighty me!  Won't mis'ess storm and call us stupids when she comes
  back!" moaned Maryann.  "How I wish it had happened when she was at
  home, and none of us had been answerable!"
  
  "We must ride after," said Gabriel, decisively.  "I'll  be
  responsible to Miss Everdene for what we do.  Yes, we'll follow."
  
  "Faith, I don't see how," said Coggan.  "All our horses are too heavy
  for that trick except little Poppet, and what's she between two of
  us?--If we only had that pair over the hedge we might do something."
  
  "Which pair?"
  
  "Mr. Boldwood's Tidy and Moll."
  
  "Then wait here till I come hither again," said Gabriel.  He ran down
  the hill towards Farmer Boldwood's.
  
  "Farmer Boldwood is not at home," said Maryann.
  
  "All the better," said Coggan.  "I know what he's gone for."
  
  Less than five minutes brought up Oak again, running at the same
  pace, with two halters dangling from his hand.
  
  "Where did you find 'em?" said Coggan, turning round and leaping upon
  the hedge without waiting for an answer.
  
  "Under the eaves.  I knew where they were kept," said Gabriel,
  following him.  "Coggan, you can ride bare-backed? there's no time to
  look for saddles."
  
  "Like a hero!" said Jan.
  
  "Maryann, you go to bed," Gabriel shouted to her from the top of the
  hedge.
  
  Springing down into Boldwood's pastures, each pocketed his halter to
  hide it from the horses, who, seeing the men empty-handed, docilely
  allowed themselves to be seized by the mane, when the halters were
  dexterously slipped on.  Having neither bit nor bridle, Oak and
  Coggan extemporized the former by passing the rope in each case
  through the animal's mouth and looping it on the other side.  Oak
  vaulted astride, and Coggan clambered up by aid of the bank, when
  they ascended to the gate and galloped off in the direction taken by
  Bathsheba's horse and the robber.  Whose vehicle the horse had been
  harnessed to was a matter of some uncertainty.
  
  Weatherbury Bottom was reached in three or four minutes.  They
  scanned the shady green patch by the roadside.  The gipsies were
  gone.
  
  "The villains!" said Gabriel.  "Which way have they gone, I wonder?"
  
  "Straight on, as sure as God made little apples," said Jan.
  
  "Very well; we are better mounted, and must overtake em", said Oak.
  "Now on at full speed!"
  
  No sound of the rider in their van could now be discovered.  The
  road-metal grew softer and more clayey as Weatherbury was left
  behind, and the late rain had wetted its surface to a somewhat
  plastic, but not muddy state.  They came to cross-roads.  Coggan
  suddenly pulled up Moll and slipped off.
  
  "What's the matter?" said Gabriel.
  
  "We must try to track 'em, since we can't hear 'em," said Jan,
  fumbling in his pockets.  He struck a light, and held the match to
  the ground.  The rain had been heavier here, and all foot and horse
  tracks made previous to the storm had been abraded and blurred by
  the drops, and they were now so many little scoops of water, which
  reflected the flame of the match like eyes.  One set of tracks was
  fresh and had no water in them; one pair of ruts was also empty,
  and not small canals, like the others.  The footprints forming this
  recent impression were full of information as to pace; they were in
  equidistant pairs, three or four feet apart, the right and left foot
  of each pair being exactly opposite one another.
  
  "Straight on!" Jan exclaimed.  "Tracks like that mean a stiff gallop.
  No wonder we don't hear him.  And the horse is harnessed--look at the
  ruts.  Ay, that's our mare sure enough!"
  
  "How do you know?"
  
  "Old Jimmy Harris only shoed her last week, and I'd swear to his make
  among ten thousand."
  
  "The rest of the gipsies must ha' gone on earlier, or some other
  way," said Oak.  "You saw there were no other tracks?"
  
  "True." They rode along silently for a long weary time. Coggan
  carried an old pinchbeck repeater which he had inherited from some
  genius in his family; and it now struck one.  He lighted another
  match, and examined the ground again.
  
  "'Tis a canter now," he said, throwing away the light.  "A twisty,
  rickety pace for a gig.  The fact is, they over-drove her at
  starting; we shall catch 'em yet."
  
  Again they hastened on, and entered Blackmore Vale.  Coggan's watch
  struck one.  When they looked again the hoof-marks were so spaced as
  to form a sort of zigzag if united, like the lamps along a street.
  
  "That's a trot, I know," said Gabriel.
  
  "Only a trot now," said Coggan, cheerfully.  "We shall overtake him
  in time."
  
  They pushed rapidly on for yet two or three miles.  "Ah! a moment,"
  said Jan.  "Let's see how she was driven up this hill.  'Twill help
  us."  A light was promptly struck upon his gaiters as before, and the
  examination made.
  
  "Hurrah!" said Coggan.  "She walked up here--and well she might.  We
  shall get them in two miles, for a crown."
  
  They rode three, and listened.  No sound was to be heard save a
  millpond trickling hoarsely through a hatch, and suggesting gloomy
  possibilities of drowning by jumping in.  Gabriel dismounted when
  they came to a turning.  The tracks were absolutely the only guide as
  to the direction that they now had, and great caution was necessary
  to avoid confusing them with some others which had made their
  appearance lately.
  
  "What does this mean?--though I guess," said Gabriel, looking up
  at Coggan as he moved the match over the ground about the turning.
  Coggan, who, no less than the panting horses, had latterly shown
  signs of weariness, again scrutinized the mystic characters.  This
  time only three were of the regular horseshoe shape.  Every fourth
  was a dot.
  
  He screwed up his face and emitted a long "Whew-w-w!"
  
  "Lame," said Oak.
  
  "Yes.  Dainty is lamed; the near-foot-afore," said Coggan slowly,
  staring still at the footprints.
  
  "We'll push on," said Gabriel, remounting his humid steed.
  
  Although the road along its greater part had been as good as any
  turnpike-road in the country, it was nominally only a byway.  The
  last turning had brought them into the high road leading to Bath.
  Coggan recollected himself.
  
  "We shall have him now!" he exclaimed.
  
  "Where?"
  
  "Sherton Turnpike.  The keeper of that gate is the sleepiest man
  between here and London--Dan Randall, that's his name--knowed en for
  years, when he was at Casterbridge gate. Between the lameness and the
  gate 'tis a done job."
  
  They now advanced with extreme caution.  Nothing was said until,
  against a shady background of foliage, five white bars were visible,
  crossing their route a little way ahead.
  
  "Hush--we are almost close!" said Gabriel.
  
  "Amble on upon the grass," said Coggan.
  
  The white bars were blotted out in the midst by a dark shape in
  front of them.  The silence of this lonely time was pierced by an
  exclamation from that quarter.
  
  "Hoy-a-hoy!  Gate!"
  
  It appeared that there had been a previous call which they had not
  noticed, for on their close approach the door of the turnpike-house
  opened, and the keeper came out half-dressed, with a candle in his
  hand.  The rays illumined the whole group.
  
  "Keep the gate close!" shouted Gabriel.  "He has stolen the horse!"
  
  "Who?" said the turnpike-man.
  
  Gabriel looked at the driver of the gig, and saw a woman--Bathsheba,
  his mistress.
  
  On hearing his voice she had turned her face away from the light.
  Coggan had, however, caught sight of her in the meanwhile.
  
  "Why, 'tis mistress--I'll take my oath!" he said, amazed.
  
  Bathsheba it certainly was, and she had by this time done the trick
  she could do so well in crises not of love, namely, mask a surprise
  by coolness of manner.
  
  "Well, Gabriel," she inquired quietly, "where are you going?"
  
  "We thought--" began Gabriel.
  
  "I am driving to Bath," she said, taking for her own use the
  assurance that Gabriel lacked.  "An important matter made it
  necessary for me to give up my visit to Liddy, and go off at once.
  What, then, were you following me?"
  
  "We thought the horse was stole."
  
  "Well--what a thing!  How very foolish of you not to know that I had
  taken the trap and horse.  I could neither wake Maryann nor get into
  the house, though I hammered for ten minutes against her window-sill.
  Fortunately, I could get the key of the coach-house, so I troubled no
  one further. Didn't you think it might be me?"
  
  "Why should we, miss?"
  
  "Perhaps not.  Why, those are never Farmer Boldwood's horses!
  Goodness mercy! what have you been doing--bringing trouble upon me in
  this way?  What! mustn't a lady move an inch from her door without
  being dogged like a thief?"
  
  "But how was we to know, if you left no account of your doings?"
  expostulated Coggan, "and ladies don't drive at these hours, miss,
  as a jineral rule of society."
  
  "I did leave an account--and you would have seen it in the morning.
  I wrote in chalk on the coach-house doors that I had come back for
  the horse and gig, and driven off; that I could arouse nobody, and
  should return soon."
  
  "But you'll consider, ma'am, that we couldn't see that till it got
  daylight."
  
  "True," she said, and though vexed at first she had too much sense
  to blame them long or seriously for a devotion to her that was as
  valuable as it was rare.  She added with a very pretty grace, "Well,
  I really thank you heartily for taking all this trouble; but I wish
  you had borrowed anybody's horses but Mr. Boldwood's."
  
  "Dainty is lame, miss," said Coggan.  "Can ye go on?"
  
  "It was only a stone in her shoe.  I got down and pulled it out a
  hundred yards back.  I can manage very well, thank you.  I shall be
  in Bath by daylight.  Will you now return, please?"
  
  She turned her head--the gateman's candle shimmering upon her quick,
  clear eyes as she did so--passed through the gate, and was soon
  wrapped in the embowering shades of mysterious summer boughs.  Coggan
  and Gabriel put about their horses, and, fanned by the velvety air of
  this July night, retraced the road by which they had come.
  
  "A strange vagary, this of hers, isn't it, Oak?" said Coggan,
  curiously.
  
  "Yes," said Gabriel, shortly.
  
  "She won't be in Bath by no daylight!"
  
  "Coggan, suppose we keep this night's work as quiet as we can?"
  
  "I am of one and the same mind."
  
  "Very well.  We shall be home by three o'clock or so, and can creep
  into the parish like lambs."
  
  
  Bathsheba's perturbed meditations by the roadside had ultimately
  evolved a conclusion that there were only two remedies for the
  present desperate state of affairs.  The first was merely to
  keep Troy away from Weatherbury till Boldwood's indignation had
  cooled; the second to listen to Oak's entreaties, and Boldwood's
  denunciations, and give up Troy altogether.
  
  Alas!  Could she give up this new love--induce him to renounce her
  by saying she did not like him--could no more speak to him, and beg
  him, for her good, to end his furlough in Bath, and see her and
  Weatherbury no more?
  
  It was a picture full of misery, but for a while she contemplated it
  firmly, allowing herself, nevertheless, as girls will, to dwell upon
  the happy life she would have enjoyed had Troy been Boldwood, and the
  path of love the path of duty--inflicting upon herself gratuitous
  tortures by imagining him the lover of another woman after forgetting
  her; for she had penetrated Troy's nature so far as to estimate his
  tendencies pretty accurately, but unfortunately loved him no less in
  thinking that he might soon cease to love her--indeed, considerably
  more.
  
  She jumped to her feet.  She would see him at once.  Yes, she would
  implore him by word of mouth to assist her in this dilemma.  A letter
  to keep him away could not reach him in time, even if he should be
  disposed to listen to it.
  
  Was Bathsheba altogether blind to the obvious fact that the support
  of a lover's arms is not of a kind best calculated to assist a
  resolve to renounce him?  Or was she sophistically sensible, with a
  thrill of pleasure, that by adopting this course for getting rid of
  him she was ensuring a meeting with him, at any rate, once more?
  
  It was now dark, and the hour must have been nearly ten.  The only
  way to accomplish her purpose was to give up her idea of visiting
  Liddy at Yalbury, return to Weatherbury Farm, put the horse into
  the gig, and drive at once to Bath.  The scheme seemed at first
  impossible: the journey was a fearfully heavy one, even for a strong
  horse, at her own estimate; and she much underrated the distance.
  It was most venturesome for a woman, at night, and alone.
  
  But could she go on to Liddy's and leave things to take their course?
  No, no; anything but that.  Bathsheba was full of a stimulating
  turbulence, beside which caution vainly prayed for a hearing.  She
  turned back towards the village.
  
  Her walk was slow, for she wished not to enter Weatherbury till the
  cottagers were in bed, and, particularly, till Boldwood was secure.
  Her plan was now to drive to Bath during the night, see Sergeant Troy
  in the morning before he set out to come to her, bid him farewell,
  and dismiss him: then to rest the horse thoroughly (herself to weep
  the while, she thought), starting early the next morning on her
  return journey.  By this arrangement she could trot Dainty gently
  all the day, reach Liddy at Yalbury in the evening, and come home to
  Weatherbury with her whenever they chose--so nobody would know she
  had been to Bath at all.  Such was Bathsheba's scheme.  But in her
  topographical ignorance as a late comer to the place, she misreckoned
  the distance of her journey as not much more than half what it really
  was.
  
  This idea she proceeded to carry out, with what initial success we
  have already seen.
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Chapter 32
target: We're in Bathsheba's house, and it's nighttime. A servant named Maryann is awakened by some noise from down in the coach house, where the horse and carriage is kept. She glances out the window to see someone stealing the carriage. As quickly as she can, she raises the alarm, but the thief is already gone. Jan Coggan and Gabriel Oak are the first to respond. They both grab some horses from Boldwood's farm and chase after the stolen carriage. It takes them a long time, but they eventually catch up. When they finally catch the carriage, though, they realize that the person driving it is none other than Bathsheba. She has tried to drive away without anyone noticing, but now she's been caught, and all she can do is ask the men to leave her alone. It turns out that she wants to get to the town of Bath so she can tell Troy not to come to Weatherbury and run into Boldwood. Oh yeah, and she also wants to tell Troy that the two of them can't be together anymore. We'll see how that works out soon enough.