Chapter the Seventh. In which Bilbo proves his Skill at Driving a Waggon with a little Help here and there
The trickiest part of the journey to Buckland turned out to be descending the Hill. Despite his long life and rich trove of experience, Bilbo, unused to driving a waggon, had little idea of the potential danger. His parents had hired a coach and driver when they travelled, or they’d ridden ponies across the fields to Tuckborough on visits to the Great Smials.
He had kept a pony since his return from the Lonely Mountain, but when that pony died, Bilbo saw no need to replace it. O he’d kept up the little stable that belonged to Bag End and maintained a supply of fresh hay and feed for visitors’ beasts – he was fond of visitors, after all. But in between visitors, the stalls remained empty.
Paladin’s ponies had enjoyed a fine rest whilst the little Took family had stopped with Bilbo, making it possible to drive straight through from Hobbiton to Brandy Hall at a relatively slow pace, or so the good farmer had told the old hobbit when Bilbo sought his advice. They’d stop at inns along the way to give the ponies a little water; at the same time, the travellers could refresh themselves and warm up with a mug of tea (cambric tea for the children, of course).
Farmer Cotton had put the ponies away upon the Tooks’ arrival, and Hamfast Gamgee had cared for the beasts and hitched them to the waggon when Mr Bilbo had finished his arrangements. Now that the moment of departure was at hand, the gardener took a firm hand. ‘I’ll drive you all down the Hill, Mr Bilbo,’ he said.
‘Now Master Gamgee,’ Bilbo began, but at seeing the gardener’s stern look and set jaw, he desisted. From his nearly fifty years of acquaintance with the fellow, he knew he’d be wasting his breath to argue. Though he was nominally the master in the relationship, he’d followed his father’s example in dealing with any hobbits who worked for him: invariably polite and carefully respectful of the workers’ special knowledge of their area of expertise.
Thus, Bilbo thought it best to begin again. ‘Thank you, Master Gamgee,’ he said. ‘I’d be most obliged for your assistance.’
He was rewarded by Ham Gamgee’s gratified look as the gardener climbed up onto the waggon seat and took the reins from Bilbo. ‘You take the brake,’ Hamfast directed his employer. ‘Pull hard when I tell you to.’
...which turned out to span the entire time it took to descend the Hill from the moment Hamfast turned the ponies’ heads downhill until they reached the bottom of the slope. Driving down the steep Hill turned out to be much more difficult than Bilbo had anticipated. At the bottom, when he released his white-knuckled hold on the waggon brake, his arm trembled and the muscles ached from the effort to control the waggon’s descent.
‘Whoa!’ Hamfast called, pulling the ponies to a stop. He turned and passed the reins to Bilbo. ‘Job well done, Mr. Bilbo,’ he said. ‘Twas a tricky bit of driving, but we managed.’ Bilbo saw the gardener’s lips twitch in an almost-smile as Hamfast added, ‘T’ tell the truth, I’d druther walk down that Hill, any road.’
He climbed down off the waggon and lifted his cap in farewell. ‘Tho’ I’ve never seen the need to go further than Frogmorton, it’s to my understandin’ that you’ll find no such hills between here and that-there stony Bridge of the Brandybucks’.’ His gaze sharpened, commanding Bilbo’s attention as he added, ‘But e’en on the smaller hills, you’ll be well advised to use the brake on the downsides.’
‘I am indeed well advised, Master Hamfast,’ Bilbo said, bowing to the gardener from his seat. ‘Thank you for your invaluable assistance!’
And such was his tone, which clearly conveyed the sincerity of his feelings, that the gardener found it necessary to suppress a delighted grin, at least until he’d turned his back and was part-way up the hill, in response to his master’s heart-felt appreciation.
Driving the waggon slowly along the East Road was child’s play by comparison, even with the unusual amount of snow that had fallen. Traffic from coaches and waggons had beaten down the snow on the road to manageable proportions, but to either side, drifts stood knee-deep – and deeper.
After turning in at the first inn, halfway to Frogmorton, Bilbo called to the stable hobbit who came out to take the ponies, ‘Just a little water and a few oats in a nosebag for each! We’ll be driving on...’
The fellow nodded and stared. Likely he’d never seen a pavilion on wheels before. Likely enough he might never see one again, either, considering Shire-folks’ resistance to change.
When he moved to the back of the waggon and lifted the flap aside just enough to speak to the occupants. ‘Are you all well back there?’
‘All is well,’ Paladin answered. His hands appeared, pushing the opening wide enough for him to exit, and he jumped down into snow that nearly reached his knees. ‘Fair bit of snow, e’en tho’ we’re no longer in the high hills...’ The farmer turned back to the waggon and pulled out some pony rugs, and Bilbo jumped to help him spread them over the ponies, that the beasts might not take a chill in the snowy courtyard during their brief rest.
‘Would everyone like to get out and stretch your legs whilst the ponies rest and drink?’ Bilbo asked. ‘I thought we might share a pot of tea before we go on.’
‘I do hope you’re keeping warm on the waggon seat!’ Eglantine said, following her husband out of the shelter of the blankets and tarps.
Bilbo and Paladin laughed together at her feminine concern. ‘Quite warm!’ Bilbo said. ‘No worries! I’ve been much colder than this!’
Each of the grown hobbits picked up a child from the waggon bed and carried her to the inn entrance. The common room was almost shockingly warm in contrast to the chill air outside, and it was not long before they were all sipping tea from steaming mugs. ‘My treat,’ Bilbo said, forestalling the farmer. ‘You may buy the next pot, at Frogmorton.’
‘You’re on,’ Paladin said, tucking his coin-purse away once more.
‘Da, may I ride on the waggon seat?’ Pimpernel said, breaking into the adults’ conversation about the weather and the state of the road and the anticipated duration of their journey.
‘It’s so cold!’ Eglantine protested.
‘She can wrap up in blankets,’ Paladin said with a shrewd glance at Bilbo. ‘I imagine it’s tiresome, driving mile upon mile... Aggie always shares the seat with me when I’m driving, helps to keep me awake on the long stretches, but you’re all alone there...’
‘I’d be glad of the company,’ Bilbo responded, and to his surprise, he found that he was not merely being polite.
‘I won’t let you fall asleep!’ little Nell promised.
‘I will hold you to that, young hobbit,’ Bilbo said in his most affable tone. ‘D’you know any stories or songs to while away the hours?’
‘Ever so many!’ the child said with glee. ‘And if I run out, there’s always the stories and songs that you know, Uncle Bilbo!’
The adults laughed together, and Paladin ruffled his daughter’s curls. ‘She does love stories, she does indeed. She’s learnt her letters already,’ the farmer added proudly.
‘Already!’ Bilbo said in astonishment. Why, the child couldn’t be much more than eight or nine years old!
Apologetically, Eglantine said, ‘She loves the stories so... When I’d read to the girls, or their da would, she’d always beg for more. But, of course, there’s more to do on the farm than reading to younglings. I’m afraid she learned to read simply because of her impatience (though it pains me to admit such) to know more o’ the story than we had time to read aloud, once teatime ended and the day’s reading was done...’
Meanwhile, Bilbo noticed Pearl, whom he had earlier heard quoting a tale of errantry, biting her lip, and Pimpernel’s face fell, while a deep blush rose in her cheeks. He had a feeling that the parents often chided this child for her impulsiveness and impatience. In point of fact, the old hobbit valued such qualities, though he was more inclined to label them in terms of curiosity and eagerness.
‘No need to apologise,’ he said, and he reached out and cupped the child’s face in a gentle hand, raising her tear-filled eyes to meet his. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I was much the same at your age...’
‘You are too kind,’ Eglantine said.
‘Not at all,’ Bilbo replied, and meant it.
***