“William,” said my mother, before my father could conclude, and we could only guess what awful doom my father was about to invoke upon himself. But enough had been said. Whether the mind of our household’s head were the more moved by the picture of his friends and neighbours reduced to want, or by the picture of himself and his working for others, who had always puts out work ourselves, I know not; but from that day forth there was no more thought for many a long day of any change in the ways we had used of old, and, for the new machines, my mother died in the belief that the curse of Scripture was upon them.
CHAPTER II.
IT WAS not often my father missed the Audit Dinner at the Dartmouth Arms, but for some reason I do not remember, he could not go to the November Audit of 1811. So I went in his place, as was but my due, seeing that in the course of time and nature the homestead would be mine, and I tenant to my lord in my father’s stead. So to the dinner I went in great state and no little fluster, having donned my Sunday clothes, and showing as fine a leg (though I say it that should not) as ever passed Slaithwaite Church. I went by the churchyard corner where old Mr. Meeke rested in his grave, and I did not fail to doff my beaver, for was I not taught all I ever knew at the Free School, founded by Mr. Meeke, and I was, too, ever a lover of the Church, though we had joined the Hard–bedders. There had been a wedding that day, and I should have been there, but none were invited save only family friends, owing to times being so bad. Jack o’ Jamie’s had wed Sue Lumb, and I knew Jack o’ Jamie’s and Sue both, as indeed I knew every mother’s son and lass in Slaithwaite; and my mother could tell their pedigree for generations back. Opposite the door of the Dartmouth Arms I came across a crowd different from ordinary, for in the midst was Jack donned in his Sunday best, and a great white rosette at his breast, and there was Sue with a white veil over her head and clinging to Jack’s arm and crying and coaxing, and Jack fuming and swearing and waving his arms and shaking his fist at his own father. Sure a rare sight for a wedding day, and I stayed to hear what might be the meaning of it all. I knew Jack for a decent, hard working lad that kept his father, a drunken neer–do–weel, from the rates. Old Jamie had a hang–dog look to be sure, as he kept away from his son’s reach and cowered behind his new daughter–in–law.
“It’s too bad,” Jack was crying, “It’s too bad; yo’ all know ’at awn kept mi father awmost even sin’ aw could addle a meg, an’ him doing nowt but tidy th’ house up an’ go a rattin’ with th’ dog an’ happen bring a rabbit home betimes—an’ aw never grudged him owt, for he’s mi own father, an’ mi mother ’at’s dead an’ gone left him to me. But, its too bad aw say—gise ’ang, it ud make a worm turn—here its mi wedding day, an’ aw thowt we’d have a bite an’ sup by ordinar. So aw off to Ned o’ Bill’s an’ bowt three p’und o’ good wheat flour, tho’ it’s well known, what price it’s at, an’ ill aw could spare th’ brass. But a felly doesn’t get wed every day. We calc’lated it ud mak ten cakes, an’ that ud be one round apiece an’ two to put bye for Sunday. Mi father baked ’em hissen three days sin’, for we thowt we munnot eit ’em till they were stale, new uns crumble so—an’ aw bowt a piece of th’ skirt o’ beef at lay me in five good shillin’—so when aw set off to take Sue here to th’ chuch aw left mi father to watch th’ beef afore t’ fire, an’ we borrowed some plates an’ knives an’ forks an’ three chairs, for aw thowt we’d all have a feast at ’ud make th’ weddin’ party remember mi weddin’ day as long as they lived. An’ after th’ knot wer’ teed an’ we were walkin’ th’ village so all could see what a lass awd gotten, we just looked in at th’ house door to see if th’ meat were nearly done—an would yo’ believe it, th’ owd glutton ’ud supped welly a gallon o’ th’ weddin’ ale an’ were wipin’ his chops wi t’ back o’ his coat sleeve, ’at weren’t his own, but borrowed o’ mi uncle Ben; an’ ther’ were nobbut four cakes left an’ a good p’und cut off th’ joint an’ th’ pan as bare o’ gravy as if it had been new scoured. Oh! tha’ brussen guts; if tha’ weren’t mi own father!” And here Jack shook his fist over Jamie’s head, and Sue tried to turn aside his wrath and to play the peace–maker, as a good woman ever will.
“For shame o’ thissen,” said one; “It ’ud sarve thi reight to put thee i’ th’ stocks,” said another; “Let’s stang him,” a woman cried. “Many a decent body’s been cucked for less,” said Moll o’ Stuarts, who knew what the cucking stool meant full well. And all felt that Jamie Thewlis had done as scurvy a trick as ever he had done in a scurvy life. Even those that drank with him, the loafers and vagabonds of the village, got to the outskirts of the crowd, and left him alone to his defence.
“Yo’ see it were this way,” said Thewlis, when he could get a hearing. “Th’ table’ wor set all ready for th’ weddin’ party. Aw’d laid a clean cloth on th’ table. There were a plate an’ a knife an’ fork for every one that were comin’. Th’ house were tidied up an’ as clean yo’ could had etten yor dinner off th’ floor. Then Jack started off to fetch Susan. Th’ cakes were on th’ table, one bi each plate. Aw put th’ joint on th’ jack afore th’ fire just as he’d told me bi th’ clock. Then aw set me dahn to watch it. It wor a grand joint. Aw could ha’ fair hugged it when aw took it up, so plump an’ red and firm, wi’ streaks o’ fat runnin’ in an’ among th’ lean like rivers o’ cream in a bank o’ strawberries. Th’ fire were just reight, banked down an’ hot, an’ aw ca–ered me dahn first o’ one side o’ th’ hearth an’ then on t’ other, an’ began to watch th’ hands o’ t’ clock an’ wish it wor dinner time. Dinner time it were bi reights, but we’d put th’ dinner back so’s Jim an’ his frien’s could walk through th’ village. Then th’ skin o’ th’ joint began to crack, an’ th’ fat to fizzle an’ ooze ‘aat an spit. Aw looked at th’ clock. Aw’ll swear th’ han’s hedn’t moved for half–an–hour, an’ yet it were tickin’ reg’lar—aw nivver felt hauf as hungry i’ mi life afore. Aw’d had no breakfas’, for awd said to mi sen it ’ud nivver do to shame yar Jack’s weddin’ dinner bi not doin’ reight bi it. Then all at once th’ jack gay’ a click an’ summut splurted aat, an’ all at once there wer’ a smell at fair made mi belly leap inside me. But aw’d promised yar Jack at aw’d do fair—so aw went to th’ cellar–head to see if ther’ wer’ happen a crust or owt to stay mi innards, but ther’ wer’ nowt. Then ther’ wer’ another click, an’ another spurt, an’ th’ room wer’ fair full o’ th’ smell. It awmost turned me dizzy. Aw looked at th’ clock agen, an’ guise ’ang me, if th’ hand had stirred aboon an inch, an’ dinner seemed as far off as ivver. Then aw thowt awd fetch th’ ale. So aw got th’ jug an’ a milkin’ can an’ started off to th’ Globe. Aw tried hard to strap a gill, but th’ owd skin–flint wouldn’t trust me. Aw’d awmost talked her into it when t’ thowt cam’ into mi head at happen one o’ th’ naybors ’at hedn’t bin axed to th’ weddin’ might be after th’ joint; an’ aw span home as fast as aw could for fear o’ spillin’. Then when aw oppened th’ door ther’ war’ a fair blast o’ th’ smell o’ gravy right i’ mi face. It just took mi breath away, an’ aw had to tak’ a pull at th’ jug to steady misen. That heartened me up a bit, an’ aw just took one o’ th’ cakes, mi own at wer’ to be an’ set i’ my own place at th’ table, so it were no robbery,—an aw put it i’ th’ pan under th’ meat; an’, by gow, it wer’ a sop an’ gradely. Aw think aw mun ha’ put too much salt on it, for aw felt as dry as a lime–kiln. Then aw had another swig at th’ jug, an’ looked aat for th’ weddin’, but aw could see no’ signs on ’em. Then aw bethowt me at th’ fiddler were’ nobbut a little un, an’ could mak’ hauf a cake do, so aw made hauf a sop. Then th’ gravy began to run red an’ brown into th’ pan, an’ ow knew th’ meat wer’ near enuff—an’ still ther’ wer’ no signs o’ anybody. Howsomever, aw thought my share shouldn’t be spoiled for any tomfoolery such as walkin’ th’ village wi’ a lass o’ my arm, as if yo’ couldn’t do that ony time. So aw just cut a slice aat an’ put it on a shive an et it o’ mi knee, an’ had a swallow out o’ th’ piggin’ to make it equal wi’ th’ jug. Then aw thowt aw meight as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, an’ aw ate mi fill. Tha’ ma’ poise me, Jack, if tha’ likes, but tha’ll noan poise th’ meat out o’ me, that’s one comfort. It’s th’ first time for six months ’at mi back an’ mi belly ha’ not shakken hands, an’ aw’ll ta’ thi poisin’, an’ thank yo’ for it.”
But long before Jamie had done his story he was out of danger of a hiding. There was not one there that did not feel hungry with the very story, and the party trudged homewards with a laugh and a cheer to make out as best they could on what was left—Jamie, forgiven and impenitent, not last in the joking throng.
The partition of the upper story of the Dartmouth Arms had been removed, and thereby room was made for the poorer tenantry who came this year in great numbers, many there being who came to plead the hard times and escape their remit, but joined in the rude scramble for the thick slices of meat and bread and the brimming pewters that were their yearly gift from the lord. But in the long room, on the top floor, was more decent seeming and good manners; for the tenants of the larger holdings at that time paid to the host of the inn each man eighteenpence that there might be a well–spread board. Mr. Joseph Scott, who lived at Woodsome (none of my lord’s family being then in residence), did sit at the head of the table, and gave us the health of the king, which we drank with a good will, for there was none that did not grieve for the old man so sore stricken in his latter days. Then did Mr. Scott call upon us to toast His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, and many did drink the health with a hip, hip, hurrah but for my part, though I hate to waste good liquor, I poured my ale into the spitoon, for stories not a few had come to our ears of the wild doings of the Prince and of his cruel treatment of his consort. Mr. Fox, to be sure, and other leaders of the Whigs in Parliament, did excuse the wildness of the Prince, and some did even bear a railing tongue against the hapless princess; but for me, who am perhaps too little learned to judge of princes and courts, I deemed such naughtiness should not be in high places more than in men of less degree, and my loyalty went into the sawdust. But I took a double draughty to the health of my lord and his lady.
There was no lack of subjects for our tongues to wag upon when the ale had loosed them, and a well–lined waist set the oil of gladness on our faces. There was, for one, the never failing theme of Lord Wellington’s doings among the Dons. But a few days previous, General Marmont had raised the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo, and our spirits had been greatly stirred by the discovery of one of his dispatches, in which he boasted that he would have pursued the British forces to the lines of Lisbon “if the moment designed for the catastrophe of England had arrived.” That put our English up, and was as good as a score of recruiting sergeants to our army. Catastrophe, we knew well, might come to us as it has done to other nations; but never, we vowed, should or could it come through a frog–eating Frenchman. We gladly turned from that topic to news nearer home. There was the great fight at Thissleton Gap, for instance, which showed what British grit and muscle and pluck could do; and we were all ready to wager all we had that if you searched France from north to south you could find no champion like Crib, who had near been the death of Molineux in a fight near Grantham, breaking his jaw, and leaving him senseless on the field. There had not been a bed to be had for love or money for twenty miles round Thissleton Gap the night before the fight, said the “Leeds Mercury,” and all the nobility and gentry of the county had been there; and after his great victory Crib, carrying away a purse of £400, had driven to London in a carriage and four, the postillions decked with blue ribands and streamers, and the whole populace in every town and hamlet by the way turning out to cheer the wearer of the belt. Then, too, there was much talk of the progress making with the cutting of the new canal that was to tie the eastern and the western seas; and we had not yet done marvelling at the boring of the waterway under Stanedge. Then, again, we must gossip to one another anent that strange portent of the skies, the wondrous comet, that still made our early morns so beautiful and yet so fraught with dread. The wise men said its tail was over twenty million miles long, as it streamed away from Charles’s Wain across the distant sky, and Mr. Mellor, the schoolmaster, did try to show me how the calculation had been made; whilst Mr. Varley, of the corn mill, who had a merry wit, did say that coals would soon be cheaper, for the Welsh were counting on the comet coming so near, they might toast their cheese by it. Mr. Mellor was somewhat ruffled that his serious discourse should be turned to levity, and said that as perchance Mr. Varley could not be expected to understand the deep subtleties of astronomy, he would try him on a subject nearer his heart.
“I will, to–morrow,” said Mr. Mellor, “bring to your house twenty golden guineas, and in return you shall give me your written bond to give me therefor, one grain of good wheat, two grains and no more on the day following, four on the next, and so on each day thereafter for six months by the calendar, every day doubling the number of the day before.”