“I’m with yo’ George, in an open fight, tho’ I seem to feel a rope round my neck as I say it. But, for heaven’s sake, George, get into th’ open as soon as tha’ can. For aw’ve forgotten how to hold up mi head an’ look th’ market in th’ face even sin’ aw first put on a mask an’ dodged behind a hedge at the sound of a trooper’s horse. Tha’s cozened mi again, George. Aw came to get out o’ a conspiracy an’ tha’s nobbut pledged me to rebellion. I’m out o’ th’ frying pan into th’ fire, wi’ a vengeance. But at least I’st have mi own self respect, an’ that’s summot gained.”
“Spoken like thi own self, Ben, an’ now lets talk o’ Saturday neet, an’ no more looking back, an’ yo’ love me, lad.”
CHAPTER VIII.
IT WAS nigh ten o’clock of the Saturday night when I slipped on my clothes, went on tiptoe across the bedroom floor into the little room where ’Siah slept—how the rafters creaked!—and roused him from his deep sleep. ’Siah sat up with a yawn that would have awakened any but those who slept the heavy slumbers born of honest toil and pure air, rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, yawned again, thrust, a stockinged leg from under the blankets, muttered something that did not sound like a blessing, donned his trousers and his smock, and followed me, with a clumsy attempt at care, down the stairs. In the kitchen we shod our feet, ’Siah in clogs, over which he drew a pair of socks, myself with thick hob–nailed boots. The dog rose from the hearth, stretched himself with a yawn, arched his back, and then lay down again with his jaw upon his fore–paw and eyes watchful from under shaggy brows. My mother had not kept her threat to lock me in o’ nights, in fact I am not sure she could have done, had her will been ever so good. ’Siah opened the door, motioned the dog back to its place, and we turned out into the yard, doubled the house side, and strode off down the hill. We met not a soul nor spoke a word till we came to Kitchen Fold, and here, by the Black Bull, we came upon Soldier Jack. He gave us a quiet greeting, almost in a whisper. He handed an axe to ’Siah, and a huge sledge–hammer to myself. He showed us a pistol that he himself was to handle, and a small canvass bag of powder and ball. He fondled the weapon lovingly, and as we walked briskly along towards Huddersfield, kept on cocking it at the startled birds that sprung twittering from the hedges. Of Watch and Ward we saw no sign. There was half a moon in the sky, which was o’ercast by scudding clouds behind which she sailed, diving down as into troughs of ink, then showing a horn and riding triumphantly to the clear again, like a ship of fire in the billows of the sea. There was no rain, but the wind moaned, and save for its moan and the fall of our feet and the bark of a cur as we passed the scattered houses, and now and then a word from Jack, all was very still. We did not dally in the town, for the order was that each man should make his own way to the Dumb Steeple, a sign well known to all of us, hard by the Three Nuns, on the road side, near the old Convent of Kirklees. As we neared the spot we saw other figures moving furtively and quickly in the same direction. Some were dressed in smocks, and all had their faces part concealed, either by a mask or by a ’kerchief drawn across the lower face. One gaunt being strode on before us dressed in woman’s skirts; but a pair of men’s trousers, that showed at every step, and a manly stride were in ill keeping with the skirt. When we got near the Steeple I put on my mask and ’Siah and Jack theirs. From all sides, across fields, down bye–ways, from Roberttown, from Hightown, men, singly and in small groups, were gathering. Some were even coming out of the Three Nuns, where lights were showing through the lower windows. But all were curiously still. So still I gave a start when a slim form moved by my side, sprung from I know not where, and John Booth’s voice whispered:
“I knew you by your height, Ben, and the swing of your gait, and Soldier Jack is noan hard to tell by his limp. But here we are by th’ Steeple, and here should be our leader.”
We had not long to wait for George. He singled me out easily enough by my height, for I was a good three inches above any man there.
“Well in time, George. That’s right, and ’Siah too. Give Martha a buzz fra me, ’Si, when tha’ gets back to Holme. What! Soldier Jack! Ah! now we shall make a brave show, an’ those Leeds lads will know what it means to have a soldier to smarten us up.” And he was here and there and in and among and seemed to have just the right word for every one, and Soldier Jack began at once to busy himself in seeing how each one was armed. ’Siah slunk off towards the Three Nuns, muttering that if he had to die that night he should like to die with t’ taste o’ honest ale in his mouth.
“Come aside with me, Ben,” said John, when none was bye to note him. “We’ve a good half–hour to wait here before we start. There are not above a hundred of us here all told; and we counted on five times that number. The Leeds men will meet us, or should meet us, nigher Rawfolds. But Bradford and Dewsbury have sent a mere handful of those that should have come. George is putting a brave face on, but he’s sore vexed all the same.”
“We’ve enough for th’ job,” I said. “If a hundred men cannot force Rawfolds a thousand cannot. We’d do well to start and know our luck.”
“We must not start before I say my say, Ben. We shall see the ranks forming from here, and I may have no other chance.”