CHAPTER I.
THE DARK FOUNDLING.
Hugh Brontë’s grandfather, the great-great-grandfather of the English novelist, formerly lived upon a farm on the banks of the Boyne, above Drogheda. He was a cattle-dealer, and often crossed to Liverpool to dispose of his stock. Once, when he was returning therefrom, a strange child was found in a bundle in the hold of the vessel. It was very young, very black, very dirty, and almost destitute of clothing. No one knew whence it had come, nor cared what became of it. There was no doctor in the ship, and no woman save Mrs. Brontë, who had accompanied her husband. The child was thrown on deck. Some one said, “Toss it overboard,” but nobody would touch it, and its cries were distressing. From sheer pity Mrs. Brontë was obliged to succor the abandoned infant.
On reaching Drogheda, it was taken ashore for food and clothing, with the intention of returning it to Liverpool; but the captain refused to allow it to be brought aboard of his ship again. As no one in Drogheda had an interest in the child, it was left in Mrs. Brontë’s hands. To be sure, there was a vestry tax at that time for the removal of illegitimate children, but Mrs. Brontë found it much easier to take the child home than to Dublin, where it might possibly be refused admission amongst the authorized foundlings—there being no hospital nearer than that point.
When the infant was carried up out of the hold of the vessel, it was declared to be a Welsh child on account of its color. It might, doubtless, have laid claim to a more Oriental descent, but, when it became a Brontë, it was called “Welsh.” The Brontës, who were all golden-haired, exceedingly disliked the swarthy infant, but “pity melts the heart to love,” and Mrs. Brontë brought it up amongst her own children. Little Welsh was a weak, delicate, and fretful thing, and being generally despised and pushed aside by the vigorous young Brontës, he grew up morose, envious, and cunning. He used secretly to play many spiteful tricks upon the children, so that they were continually chastising him. On his part, he maintained a moody, sullen silence, except when Mr. Brontë was present to protect him. With Mr. Brontë he became a favorite, because he always ran to meet him on his return home, as if glad to see him, and anxious to render him any possible assistance. He followed his master about, while at home, with dog-like fidelity, telling him everything he knew to the other children’s disadvantage, 279 and thus succeeded in securing a permanent place between them and their father.
Old Brontë took Welsh with him to fairs and markets, instead of his own sons, as soon as he was able to go, and found him of the greatest service. His very insignificance added to his usefulness. He would mingle with the people from whom Brontë wished to purchase cattle, and find out from their conversation the lowest price they would be willing to take, and then report to his master. Brontë would then offer the dealers a little less than he knew they wanted, and secure the cattle without the usual weary process of bargaining. The same course was repeated in Liverpool, and in the end Brontë became a rich and prosperous dealer. Welsh was now indispensable to him, and followed him like a shadow; but the more Brontë became attached to Welsh, the more the children hated the interloper. As time went on, Brontë’s affairs passed more and more into his assistant’s hands, until at last he had the entire management. They were returning from Liverpool once, after selling the largest drove of cattle that had ever crossed the channel, when suddenly Brontë died in mid-ocean. Welsh, who was with him at the time of his death, professed ignorance of his master’s money; and, as all books and accounts had disappeared, no one could tell what had become of the cash received for the cattle.
The young Brontës, who were now almost men and women, had been brought up in comparative luxury. They were well educated, but they understood neither farming nor dealing, and the land had been so neglected that it could not support a family, even if the requisite capital for its cultivation had not been lost. In this emergency Welsh requested an interview with the whole family. He declared that he had a proposal to make which would restore their fallen fortunes. He had been forbidden the house, but, as it was supposed that he was going to give back the money which he must have stolen, his request was reluctantly granted.
Welsh appeared at the interview dressed up in broadcloth, black and shiny as his well-greased hair, and in fine linen, white and glistening as his prominent teeth. The effect was ludicrous to those who had always known the man. His sinister expression was intensified by a smile of satisfaction which gave emphasis to the cast in both eyes, and to his jackal-like mouth.
He began at once, in the grand cattle-dealer style, to express sympathy with the family, and to declare that upon one condition only would he continue the dealing and supply their wants. This condition was that Mary, the youngest sister, should become his wife—a proposal which was rejected with indignant scorn. Many hot and bitter words were exchanged, but as Welsh was leaving the house, he turned and said, “Mary shall yet be my wife, and I will scatter the rest of you like chaff from this house, which shall be mine also.” With these words he passed out into the darkness.
The interview had two immediate results. It revealed the threatened dangers, and roused the brothers to an earnest effort to save their home. Welsh had robbed them, but he must not be permitted to ruin and disgrace them. They had many friends, and in a short time the three brothers were employed in remunerative occupations, two of them in England and one in Ireland. They were thus able to send home enough to pay the rent of the farm, and to maintain the family in comfort.
The landlord of Brontë’s farm was an “absentee,” the estate being administered by an agent. He was the great man of the district, local magistrate, grand juror, and “Pasha” in general. A parliament of landlords had given him despotic powers in the collection of rent, and in all matters of property, limb, and life. The agent of those days was served by attorneys, bailiffs and sub-agents. Welsh was appointed to a vacancy as sub-agent, in return for a large bribe paid to the agent.
The sub-agent’s business was to act as buffer between the tenant and the “Squire,” as the agent was called. He was generally a man without heart, 280 conscience, or bowels. Selected from the basest of the people, he had nominal wages, never paid and never demanded; but he managed to squeeze a large amount out of the tenants, first by alarming them, and then by promising to stand their friend with the rapacious agent. He cringed and grovelled before the “Squire,” but at the same time was the chief medium of information concerning the condition of the tenants, and their ability to pay their rents. One of his duties was to mix in their festivities, when whiskey had opened their hearts and loosened their tongues, and discover their ability to pay an increased rent.
Welsh was the very man for this post. He had lived by cunning and treachery, and in his new occupation had great scope for serving both himself and his master. He seldom saw his tenants without letting drop the fatal word, “eviction.” But, while serving the “Squire,” and recouping himself from the tenants for the bribe he had paid him, he never forgot for a moment his double purpose of securing his late master’s farm, and with it, the person of Mary Brontë. He straightway drew the agent’s attention to the derelict condition of the farm, and to the likelihood of the rent falling into arrears, and declared himself willing to undertake the burden of his late master’s desolate homestead. The agent promised Welsh that the farm should be transferred to him, on payment of a certain sum, in case the Brontës were not able to pay the rent; but the rent did not fall into arrears. The agent’s demands were punctually met, and besides this, considerable sums of money were spent in improving the house and the land. In consequence of this the rent was raised, but the increased rent was paid the day it fell due, and again raised.
Finding himself foiled, Welsh changed his tactics, and turned his attention to the other object of his quest, Mary Brontë.
In the neighborhood there lived a female sub-agent called Meg, as base and unprincipled as himself. Her services were utilized in many ways; in conveying bottles of whiskey to farmers’ wives who were getting into drinking habits, and in aiding farmers’ sons and daughters to dispose of eggs and apples and meal purloined from their parents in return for trinkets which they wished to possess. She had also great skill in furthering the wicked designs of rich but immoral men. She was the “spey-woman” who told fortunes to servant-girls, and lured them to their destruction. Like the male sub-agents, such women were supposed to have the black art, and to have sold themselves to the devil.
Meg came often to tell the servants’ fortunes, and had many opportunities of assuring Mary of Welsh’s love and goodness. She told how he had restrained the agent for several years from evicting them, by the payment of large sums. All of this seemed incredible to the simple-minded girl, but the harpy was able to show receipts for the money thus expended.
After a time, Mary listened to the vile woman’s tale. Welsh could not be so bad as they believed him to be. Flowers taken from tenants’ gardens found their way to Mary’s room, and trinkets wrung from the anguish-stricken, in fear of eviction, were laid on her dressing-table. At length, she consented to meet Welsh in a lonely part of the farm, in company with the harpy, that she might express to him her gratitude for protecting the dear old home.
That meeting sealed Mary’s fate, and she was forced to consent to marry Welsh. The marriage was secretly performed by one of the “buckle-beggars” of the time, and then publicly proclaimed. Welsh was now the husband of one of the ladies on the farm, and, for a substantial bribe, the agent accepted him as tenant.
The brothers on hearing the news hurried back to the old home, but arrived too late. The agent received them with great courtesy. They reminded him that their ancestors had reclaimed the place from mere bog and wilderness; that their father had expended large sums in building the houses and draining the land; that they themselves had paid exorbitant rents without demur; and that now 281 their old home with all of these improvements had been confiscated, without cause or notice, by the man who had robbed and degraded the family.
The agent seemed greatly pained, but of course he was only an agent, and obliged to do whatever the landlord desired. Failing to get redress from the agent, the brothers unfortunately took the law into their own hands, and were arrested for trespass and assault. They were tried before the agent, and sent to prison and hard labor.
Thus the man Welsh, who afterward assumed the name Brontë, carried out his purpose. His threat of vengeance was also fulfilled. Mother, sisters, were scattered abroad, and so effectively that I have not been able, after much searching, to find a single trace of any of them save Hugh and his descendants.