A Memoir of Thomas Bewick / Written by himself

by Thomas Bewick

As soon as the bushes and trees began to put forth their buds, and make the face of nature look gay—this was the signal for the angler to prepare his fishing tackle. In doing this I was not behind hand. Fishing rods, set gads, and night lines were all soon made fit for use, and with them, late and early, I had a busy time of it, during the summer months, until the frosts of autumn forbid me to proceed. The uneasiness which my late evening wadings by the waterside gave to my father and mother, I have often since reflected upon with regret. They could not go to bed with the hopes of getting to sleep, while haunted with the apprehension of my being drowned; and well do I remember to this day my father’s well-known whistle, which called me home. He went to a little distance from the house, where nothing obstructed the sound, and whistled so loud, through his finger and thumb, that in the still hours of evening it might be heard echoing up the vale of the Tyne, to a very great distance. This whistle I learned to imitate, and answered it as well as I could, and then posted home.

From early in the morning till night, I was scarcely ever out of an action either good or bad; or, when not kept close at school, or in doing jobs such as those I have described, I was almost constantly engaged in some mischievous prank or other; but with a detail of these it would be wearisome to load my narrative: they were occasioned by the overflowings of an active, wild disposition. At one time, in imitation of the savages described in “Robinson Crusoe,”—or some other savages,—I often, in a morning, set off stark naked across the fell, where I was joined by some associates, who, in like manner, ran about like mad things, or like Bedlamites who had escaped. Climbing the tall trees at Eltringham for rook nests, at the hazard of breaking our necks or our bones, was another piece of business which employed our attention. I was also engaged in another equally dangerous. Having formed the resolution of curing a vicious, “runaway” horse belonging to my father, which no one durst mount, I, however, took the opportunity, when out of sight of any of the family, to do so. With my hand entwined in his mane, and bare-backed, I set him a-going, and let him run over “sykes” and burns, up hill and down hill, until he was quite spent. In a short time I discovered that, to make him run at all, he must be whipt to it. At other times I swam him in the river. This, and such like treatment, made him look ill, and quite tamed him.

I have often since shuddered at the thoughts of doing these and such like desperate acts, and wondered how I escaped; but neither caution nor fear had at that time taken a place in the mind; on the contrary, any uncommon or frightful exploit had charms in it that I could not resist. One of these pranks, however, attracted the attention of the neighbourhood, brought me into a great dilemma, and occasioned me a severe beating. I engaged a constant associate, who was ever ready at my command to help me, as soon as I communicated any design to him. I had discovered two oxen in a little savannah, or bit of grazing ground, surrounded with hazel and other bushes, near the brink of the river. Thither we went in order to enjoy so tempting a sight as to see them plunge overhead into the flood. When all was ready, we suddenly, with long branches in our hands, sprang upon them from the bushes overhanging the precipice, the danger of which they did not see; and they were plunged, with such a delightful dash, overhead into the river! They, however, happened to be no worse for it; for they were driven down by the rapid current of the flood, and landed safely at a distance below. This exploit, happening on a Sunday forenoon, was an aggravation of the crime.

After this my father mostly took me with him to church, where I frequently employed myself in drawing figures upon the soft, painted book-board with a pin. In doing this, no one noticed me, especially as I held down my head; and, having got the church service off, I repeated it the same as the congregation. This apparently regular behaviour was not, however, of long duration, and was broken in upon at last. Sunday after Sunday a clownish fellow had obtruded himself into our pew. I did not think this quite right, and wished to put an end to it; and this happened in a very rude way in the end. A dumb man (“Dummy, of Wylam”), a constant church-goer, had a seat in a pew before ours, where, regularly during the service, he fell fast asleep. When in that state, and sitting right before our obtruder, I reached aside, and gave “Dummy” a smart blow on the head, and instantly, as if I knew nothing of the matter, I seemed to be quite grave, and intent on looking on my prayer book, while the obtruder was putting on a broad grin. At this poor Dummy was enraged, and with a distorted countenance, he kept thumping the man on the face and head, at the same time making a hideous noise, which was heightened by the fellow’s shouting, and calling him “fool,” at the same time assuring him that it was I who gave the blow, and not he. To the deaf man this was a waste of words. It need not be added that the congregation was greatly disturbed, while perhaps none knew or suspected the cause except my father and my preceptor in the pulpit.

Sometimes the lads in the same class I belonged to, when we had been doing amiss, were sent to cut birch rods to whip us with. At other times we were locked into the belfry, where we often amused ourselves by drawing each other up by the bell ropes to the first floor; but one of our comrades having (by the rope slipping through the hands of those who held it), been precipitated to the ground, by which he was a good deal hurt, that mode of punishment was altogether dropped. The parson, poor man, had a troublesome time of it with one or other of us; and I remember, once in particular, of putting him into very great pain and distress of mind. After a great flood, a large piece of ice, about the size of the floor of a room, had been left in a place called “Ned’s Hole,” by the side of the river. This I got upon, and persuaded several others to do the same, and we then set to work with a “boat stower” to push it off shore; and, in this manner, we got some distance up the river, opposite to the parsonage garden, where our master happened to be, and saw us. I could see by his agitated motions, and his uplifted hands, that he was put into a state much easier to be felt than described. After having been guilty of misdemeanors of this kind, I did not go back to school for the remainder of the day; but waded, or otherwise crossed, the river, and sat down or amused myself among the bushes, on the water banks, until the rest of the scholars left school, when I joined them and went home. But as it would not have been safe for me to go to bed (if conscious of guilt, or if otherwise betrayed) for fear of a visit from my father, I always took up my abode for the night in the byer loft, among the hay or straw, knowing well that, when his passion subsided, I should escape a beating from his hands.

The first cause of my preceptor beginning a severe system of flogging (beside the quantum I received for mischievous acts), was for not getting off my Latin tasks. When this was not done to his mind, he, by way of punishment, gave me another still worse to do, and still longer, till at length I gave up even attempting to get through them at all, and began to stand a flogging without being much put about by it. I think (at this day) my very worthy preceptor, in following this rather indiscriminate system of severe punishments, was wrong. He often beat his own son,[^[4]] a youth of an uncommonly mild, kind, and cheerful disposition, whom I felt more distressed at seeing punished than if it had been myself; for I mostly considered that I richly deserved the stripes inflicted upon me, and that he did not.

There was a misdemeanor for which, above all the rest, I was more severely punished, both at school and at home, than for any other fault; and that was for fighting with other boys. To put a stop to this practice, was the particular request of my mother. To her it was odious in the extreme. Her reasons I do not forget. She quoted Scripture in support of them. Therein, she said, we were directed “if we were struck on one cheek, to turn the other also,” (I forget the exact words): it is a portion of Scripture I did not obey. She also maintained that the business of fighting was degrading to human nature, and put a man that practised it on a level with dogs. I am conscious that I never sought a quarrel with any one; but I found an insult very bad to bear, and generally in the most secret manner contrived “to fight it out.”

When the floggings inflicted upon me had in a great measure begun to lose their effect, another mode of punishment was fallen upon; and that was, after the school hours were over, to lock me into the church, where I was kept till the dusk of the evening. This solitary confinement was very irksome to me; as I had not at that time got over a belief in ghosts and boggles, for the sight of which I was constantly upon the look out. Oppressed with fear, I peeped here and there into every corner, in dread of seeing some terrible spirit. In time, however, this abated, and I amused myself, as well as I could, in surveying the surrounding objects, and in climbing up the pillars, with the help of a rope or a handkerchief, as I used to do in getting up large trees. It happened one evening, when my master, as usual, came to let me out, that I was sitting astride upon the capital of one of the pillars, where he did not see me. He called on me, but I made no answer, and he then posted off to see if the door was fast, and having ascertained that it was, he marched along the aisles in great perturbation of mind, frequently exclaiming “God bless me!” &c. When he was gone, I slipped down, and found the choir door only bolted on the inside, so I waded the river and posted home, and slept in my old asylum the hay loft. I have frequently bitterly repented of having given a man I afterwards so highly respected through life so much pain and trouble.

I have before noticed that the first time I felt compassion for a dumb animal, was upon my having caught a hare in my arms. The next occurrence of the kind happened with a bird. I had no doubt knocked many down with stones before, but they had escaped being taken. This time, however, the little victim dropped from the tree, and I picked it up. It was alive, and looked me piteously in the face; and, as I thought, could it have spoken, it would have asked me why I had taken away its life. I felt greatly hurt at what I had done, and did not quit it all the afternoon. I turned it over and over, admiring its plumage, its feet, its bill, and every part of it. It was a bullfinch. I did not then know its name, but I was told it was a “little Matthew Martin.” This was the last bird I killed; but many, indeed, have been killed since on my account.

I had been at man-fights, dog-fights, and cock-fights, without feeling much compassion. Indeed, with the last of these exhibitions, I was more entertained at seeing the wry faces, contortions, and agitations of the clowns who surrounded the cock-pit, or circle, than I was with the cocks fighting. It was long before I felt disgusted at seeing men fight. This, however, happened at last. A travelling merchant, or respectable pedlar,—a slim-made, genteel-looking man,—had perhaps forgotten himself over a glass, and not minded what company he was in. He could not, however, be long in such society without being insulted; but, be that as it might, a fight ensued, in which the stranger was over-matched. I saw only the concluding part, and was extremely shocked; for the stranger was sitting propped up with his arms behind him, quite spent and speechless, and looked like a corpse. After sitting a short time in this helpless state, his opponent walked coolly up to him, and with a blow on the face or head laid him flat on the ground. I thought he was killed, at which I became so frantic with rage and indignation, that I believe, at the moment, if I had had a pistol at hand, I would have shot the sturdy barbarian.