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diff --git a/38136-h/38136-h.htm b/38136-h/38136-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a35c5cb --- /dev/null +++ b/38136-h/38136-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8075 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Life of Thomas Wanless, Peasant, + by Alexander Johnstone Wilson. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.tnote { + border: dashed 1px; + margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; + padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Life of Thomas Wanless, Peasant, by +Alexander Johnstone Wilson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Life of Thomas Wanless, Peasant + +Author: Alexander Johnstone Wilson + +Release Date: November 25, 2011 [EBook #38136] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF THOMAS WANLESS *** + + + + +Produced by Moti Ben-Ari and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1>THE LIFE OF THOMAS WANLESS, PEASANT.</h1> + +<div class="center"> +Manchester:<br /> +JOHN DALE, 296 & 298, STRETFORD ROAD.<br /> +ABEL HEYWOOD & SON, 56 & 58, OLDHAM STREET.<br /> +<br /> +London:<br /> +SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO., STATIONERS' HALL COURT. +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<div class="center"> +INDEX.<br /> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="8" cellspacing="1" summary=""> +<tr><td align="right">CHAP.</td><td align="left"> </td><td align="right">PAGE.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"> </td><td align="left">INTRODUCTORY,</td><td align="right">1</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">I.</td><td align="left">A HELOT'S NURTURE,</td><td align="right">11</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">II.</td><td align="left">A PHILANTHROPIC PARSON,</td><td align="right">24</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">III.</td><td align="left">THE "ALLOTMENT" CURE FOR HUNGER,</td><td align="right">31</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IV.</td><td align="left">MANUFACTURING CRIMINALS,</td><td align="right">48</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">V.</td><td align="left">JAIL LIFE,</td><td align="right">69</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VI.</td><td align="left">NATURE OF A SERMON,</td><td align="right">85</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VII.</td><td align="left">MEN FOR A STANDING ARMY,</td><td align="right">96</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VIII.</td><td align="left">VERY ARISTOCRATIC COMPANY,</td><td align="right">115</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IX.</td><td align="left">AN OLD, OLD STORY,</td><td align="right">123</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">X.</td><td align="left">THE PARSONAGE,</td><td align="right">131</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XI.</td><td align="left">A MERE PEASANT MAIDEN,</td><td align="right">139</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XII.</td><td align="left">HIGH AND LOW BREEDING,</td><td align="right">150</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIII.</td><td align="left">PREACHERS OF "WORDS",</td><td align="right">157</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIV.</td><td align="left">"CHRISTIAN" RESPECTABILITY,</td><td align="right">166</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XV.</td><td align="left">TOO BAD FOR DESCRIPTION,</td><td align="right">179</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVI.</td><td align="left">A BETTER QUEST,</td><td align="right">186</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVII.</td><td align="left">NOTHING THAT IS NEW,</td><td align="right">195</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVIII.</td><td align="left">SWEET ARE THE USES OF ADVERSITY,</td><td align="right">209</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIX.</td><td align="left">THE LOST ONE IS FOUND,</td><td align="right">217</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XX.</td><td align="left">THE LAST LONG SLEEP OF ALL,</td><td align="right">226</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXI.</td><td align="left">THE JOURNEY'S END,</td><td align="right">236</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + +<h2> +THE LIFE OF<br /> +THOMAS WANLESS,<br /> +PEASANT.<br /><br /> +</h2> + +<h3>INTRODUCTORY.</h3> + +<p>Some years ago it was my habit to spend the long +vacation in a quiet Warwickshire village, not far from +the fashionable town of Leamington. I chose this spot +for its sweet peace and its withdrawnness; for the opportunities +it gave me of wandering along the beautiful +tree-shaded country lanes; for its nearness to such +historical spots as Warwick, Kenilworth, and Stratford-on-Avon, +to all of which I could either walk or ride in a +morning. But I love a quiet village for its own sake +above most things, and would rather spend my leisure +amongst its simple cottage folk, take my rest on the +bench at the village alehouse door, and walk amid the +smock-frocked peasantry to the grey village church, than +mingle with the fashionable, over-dressed, prurient, +hollow-hearted, and artificial products of civilisation that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>constitute themselves society—yea a thousand-fold +rather. To me the restfulness of a little village, with its +cots nestling among the drowsy trees in a warm summer +day, is a foreshadowing of the rest of heaven. So I +settled myself in little Ashbrook, in a room sweet and +cool, of its little inn, and laughed at the foolish creatures +who, with weary, purposeless steps trode daily the +Leamington Parade with hearts full of all envy and +jealousy at sight of such other descendants of our tattooed +ancestors as fortune might enable to gaud their bodies +more lavishly than they. These droned their idle life +away flirting, reading the skim-milk, often unwholesome, +literature of the fashionable library; jabbering about +dress, and picking characters to pieces; shooting in the +gardens at archery meetings; patronising religious shows +and thinking it refinement. And I? I wander forth +alone, filling my sketch-book with whatsoever takes my +fancy, or, in sociable moods, drink my ale in rustic +company, talking of hard winters and low wages, the +difficulty of living, of rural incidents, and the joys and +sorrows of those toilers by whose hard labour the few are +made rich. They are not faultless, these rustics, but they +are very human, and their vices are unsophisticated +vices—the art of gilding iniquity, of luxuriously tricking +out a frivolous existence in the most subtle conceits of +dress and demeanour, has not yet reached them. When +they sin they do not sublimise their sins into the little +peccadilloes and amusements incident to civilisation. So +I love them; marred and crooked and dull-witted though +they may be, they suit my humour, and fall in with my +tastes for the open air, the free expanse of landscape, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +grand old trees, and the verdure-clothed banks of the +sleepy streams.</p> + +<p>It was in this village that I met my peasant. He was +not a man easy to pick acquaintance with, for he mingled +little among the gossips of the place. Never once did I see +him at the village inn or in church. He lived apart in a little +cottage near the Warwick end of the village, with his +wife and a little lass of ten or eleven summers—his +granddaughter. I often met him in the early morning +going to market with his baskets of vegetables, or in the +cool of the evening, when he would go out with his little +girl skipping and dancing by his side. And the very +first time I saw him he awakened in me a strong interest. +There was something striking in his aspect—a still calm +was on his face, and at the same time a hardness lay +about the mouth, and in the wrinkles around the eyes, +which was almost repellant. His figure had been above +the middle height; and although now bent and gaunt-looking, +had still an aspect of calm energy and decayed +strength. But what struck me most was the grand, +almost majestic outline of his profile, and the keenness of +his yet undimmed eye, which flashed from beneath grey +shaggy eyebrows with a light that entered one's soul. +The face was thoroughly English in type, with features +singularly regular, the forehead broad, the nose aquiline, +the chin large; and still in old age round and clean and +full, though the cheeks had fallen in and the mouth had +become drawn and hard. Had one met this man in +"society," dressed in correct evening costume, surrounded +by courtly dames in half-dress, one would have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +struck by the individuality of that grand, grey face. +Meanly clad, bent, and leaning on a common oaken staff, +the face and figure of this old peasant were such as once +looked at could not be easily forgotten. This also was +a man with a soul in him; ay, and with a heart too; for +does not his eye rest with an inexpressibly sad tenderness +on the slim girl by his side when she interrupts his +reverie with the eager query, "Grand-dad, grand-dad! +Oh look at this poor dead bird in the path; who could +have killed it?"</p> + +<p>My interest in this solitary man was keenly roused; +and, from the inquiries I made, I learned enough of his +history to make me anxious to know him. But that was +not a desire easily gratified. Although always courteous +in returning my "good evening," he did so with an air +that forbade conversation, and gave me back but +monosyllables to any remarks I might make about the +weather, the crops, or the child. He was not rude, only +reserved and dry, and that not with me only. To nearly +all the villagers his manner was the same. Only two +may be said to have been frequenters of his house, the +old schoolmaster and the sexton. Even his wife had +few or no gossips. Yet everyone seemed to respect him, +and many spoke of him with a kind of friendly pity. +Whether or not the respect was partly due to the fact +that the old man was supposed to have means—that is, +that although no longer able to do more than cultivate +his little garden and allotment patch, he was yet not on +the parish—I cannot say, but it was clear that the kindliness +at least was genuine. And so no one intruded on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +him. All saluted him respectfully and left him to +himself, save perhaps when one of the village milk +dealers might give him a lift on his way to market. +Sometimes on a warm evening I have seen him seated +at his cottage door with a newspaper on his knee, +smoking his evening pipe, and answering the greetings +of passers by. But except his two old friends, and +perhaps some village children playing with his little one, +there was no gathering of neighbours; no gossips leant +over his fence to discuss village scandals and local +politics. He was a man apart; and thus it happened +that my first holiday in the village passed away leaving +me still a stranger to old Thomas Wanless.</p> + +<p>But for an accident we might have been strangers still, +and I would not have troubled the world with this old +peasant's history. I was walking home one morning +from Leamington, whither I had gone to buy some fresh +colours and a sketch-book, when I heard in a hollow +behind me a vehicle of some sort coming along the road +at a great pace. Almost immediately a dog-cart driven +tandem overtook and passed me. It contained a stout, +rather blotched-looking man, who might be any age from +thirty-five to fifty, and a groom. Just beyond the road +took rather a sharp turn to the right, dipping into +another hollow, and the dog-cart had hardly disappeared +round the corner when I heard a shrill scream of pain, +followed by oaths, loud and deep, uttered in a harsh, +metallic, but husky voice. I ran forward and immediately +came upon Thomas Wanless's little girl lying +moaning in the road, white and unable to move, grasping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +a bunch of wild flowers in one hand. Half-a-crown lay +amongst the dust near her, and the dog-cart was dashing +over the crest of the further slope, apparently on its way +to the Grange. Without pausing to think, but cursing +the while the heartlessness of those who seemed to think +half-a-crown compensation enough for the injury done to +this little one, I flung my parcel over the hedge, and +gathering the half-fainting child as gently as I could in my +arms, hurried with her to her grandfather's cottage. It +was a good half-mile walk, partly through the village. +The child was heavy, and I arrived hot and out of breath, +followed by several matrons who had caught sight of me +as I passed by, and who stood round the door with anxious +faces. A milkman's cart met me on the way, and I +begged its occupant to drive with all speed to Warwick +for a surgeon, as the child had been run over. The man +answered yes, and went.</p> + +<p>When I burst into Thomas's house he was dozing in +his armchair, but the noise woke him and brought his +wife in from the garden. "Oh, my God," cried Thomas, +as he caught sight of the child; and he tried to rise, but +sank again into his seat pale as death, and trembling all +over. His wife burst into tears, but immediately swept +an old couch clear of some clothes and child's playthings, +and there I laid poor Sally, as the old woman called her, +half unconscious and still moaning. Rapidly Mrs. Wanless +loosened the child's clothes, and as she did so I told +them what had occurred. When I described the man +who had run over the child, I was startled by a sudden +flash of angry scorn, almost of hate, that mantled over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +the old man's face. He clutched the arms of his chair +convulsively, and half rose from his seat as he almost +hissed out the words—"By Heaven, the child has been +killed by its own father." He seemed to regret the +words as soon as uttered, and tried to hide his confusion +by eagerly inquiring of his wife if she had found out +where Sally was hurt. The effort failed him, however, +and he remained visibly embarrassed by my presence. +I would have left, but I too was anxious to see where +Sarah was hurt, so I turned to the couch to give Thomas +time to recover himself. As I did so, Sally screamed. +Her grandmother had attempted to draw down her +loosened dress, and in doing so had disturbed the child's +legs, causing acute pain.</p> + +<p>I judged at once that a leg was either bruised or +broken, and begged Mrs. Wanless to feel gently for the +hurt. Almost immediately the child uttered a scream, +crying, "Oh, my right leg, my right leg;" and a brief examination +proved the fact that it was broken just a +little way below the knee. The sobbing of the child unnerved +Mrs. Wanless, and she seemed about to faint, so +I led her to a seat, gave her a glass of water, and returned +to Sarah, turning her carefully flat on her back, and +kneeling down, gently removed her stocking from the +broken limb, which I then laid straight out on the couch, +propping it on either side with such soft articles as I +could lay hands on. That done, I told Sarah to lie as +still as she could until the doctor came, when he would +soon ease her pain. Soothing the child thus, and hardly +thinking of the old people, I was suddenly interrupted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +by Thomas. He had risen from his chair, and, leaning +on his staff, had approached the couch. He stood there +for a little, looking at his little maiden with an expression +of intense pain and sorrow on his face. Then he turned +to me, and, without speaking, held out his hand. I rose +to my feet, grasped it, and, suddenly bethinking myself for +the first time, uncovered my head. The tears gathered +in my eyes in spite of myself. I knew in my heart that +Thomas Wanless and I were friends.</p> + +<p>And great friends we became in time. At first I went +to the cottage daily to enquire after little Sarah, who +progressed favourably under the Warwick surgeon's care; +and when she was past all danger and pain, I went to +talk with old Thomas. Gradually his heart opened to +me; and bit by bit I gathered up the main incidents of +his history. A commonplace history enough, yet tragic +too; for Thomas was no commonplace man. There was +a depth of passion beneath that still hard face; a wealth +of feeling, a range of thought that to me was utterly +astounding. What had not this village labourer known +and suffered; what sorrow; what baffled hope; yea, what +despair; and, through despair, what peace! As I sat by +his chair on the summer evenings and listened to his +talk with his old friends, or walked with him in the +by-lanes, gathering from his lips the leading events of +his life, my heart often burned within me. Yet, refined +reader, gentle reader, Thomas Wanless was only a +peasant; a man that sold vegetables and flowers from +door to door in little Warwick town to eke out his means +of subsistence. His was the toiler's lot; the lot without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +hope for this world, whose natural end is want, and a +pauper's grave.</p> + +<p>Can I hope to interest you in this man's history? I +confess I have my doubts. There is tragedy in it; it is +mostly tragedy; but then it is the tragedy of the low +born. I shall not be able to introduce you to any arch +plotter; to groups of refined adulteresses clad in robes +of satin and blazoned with jewels and gold, at once the +sign and the fruit of their shame. Nor can I promise to +unweave startling plots, or to deal in mysterious horrors +such as cause the flesh of dainty ladies to creep with +a delicious excitement. No; the incidents of Thomas +Wanless's story are mostly those of a plain English +villager, doomed to suffer and to bear his share of the +load of our national greatness; one above the common +level in his personal qualities to be sure, but nowise +above the common lot. Those who cannot bear to read +of such, had better close the book.</p> + +<p>Read by you or not, Thomas Wanless's story I must +write, for it is a story that all the upper powers of these +realms would do well to ponder—from the serene +defenders of the faith, with their high satellite, lord bishops +in lawn sleeves, downwards. The day is coming, and +coming soon, when the men of Thomas Wanless's stamp +will invite these dignitaries to give an account of +themselves, and to justify the manner of their being +under penalty of summary notice to quit.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>WHEREIN IS SET FORTH THE BLESSEDNESS OF +A HELOT'S NURTURE.</h3> + + +<p>The grandfather of Thomas Wanless had been a small +Warwickshire yeoman, whom the troublous times towards +the latter end of the last century, family misfortunes, +and the pressure of the large landowners, had combined +to reduce in circumstances. His son Jacob had, +therefore, found himself in the position of a day labourer +on the farms around Ashbrook, raised above his fellow +labourers only by the fact that he could sign his name, +and that, through his wife, he owned a small freehold +cottage with about a quarter of an acre of garden in the +village. His unusual literary accomplishments, and his +small possession did little to relieve him from the common +miseries which pressed more or less on all, but most, of +course, on the lowest class, during the years that +succeeded the "glorious" Napoleonic wars. The winter of +1819, therefore, found him wrestling with the bitter energy +of a hungry despair to get bread for a family of six +children. The task proved too much for him, and he +was reluctantly driven to let his oldest boy Thomas go +to work on the Whitbury farm for a shilling a week. +Thomas had been trying to pick up some inkling of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +art of reading at a dame's school in the village, but had +not made much progress—could, when thus launched on +the world, do no more than spell out the Sermon on the +Mount, or the first verses of the 1st chapter in John's +Gospel, and ere a year was well over he had forgotten +even that. There were no demagogues in those days +disturbing peaceful villages with clamours for education; +no laws prohibiting the labour of little children at tasks +beyond their strength.</p> + +<p>The squires, the parsons, and the larger farmers had +the law in their own hands, and combined to keep the +lower orders in ignorance, giving God thanks that they +had the power so to do. The sporting parson of Ashbrook +of that day even thought it superfluous to +teach those d——d labourers' brats the Catechism. He +appeared to think his duty done when he had stumbled +through the prayers once a week in church. That, at +least, was the range of his spiritual duties. For the rest, +he considered it of the highest moment that his tithes +should be promptly paid; that all poaching should be +summarily punished, and that the hunting appointments +of the shire should always be graced by his presence. It was +also a point of duty with him always to vote true blue, +and never to miss a good dinner at any aristocratic table +within his reach. He would say grace with fervour, and +drink the good wines till his face grew purple and his +eyes bloodshot. If he had another mission in life, it +was to do his best to divert in sublime disregard of merit +or human wants, the charity which some reluctantly +contrite sinner of former days had left for the poor of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +the parish, to the use of creatures who had excited his +good feeling by their obsequiousness.</p> + +<p>So it came to pass that little Thomas Wanless was +launched on the world at the early age of eight, at the +age when the well-to-do begin to think of sending their +children to school. Clad in a sort of blue smock and +heavy clog boots; patched, not over-warm breeches and +stockings, Thomas had to face the wintry blasts in the +early morning, for it was a good mile walk to Whitbury +Farm. There, all day long, he either trudged wearily +by the sides of the horses at plough, often nearly frozen +with cold, or did rough jobs about the cattle or pigs in +the muck-littered farmyard. Weary, heavy hearted, and +hungry, the lad came home at night to his meagre supper +of thin oatmeal porridge, or of black bread flavoured +with coarse bacon, washed down sometimes with a little +thin ale or cider. Often he had for dinner only dry +bread and a little watery cheese, and rarely or never any +meat or milk. Supper over the boy crept straight to +bed. For two years this was the life the boy led, and at +the end of these two years his wage was but eighteenpence +a week. No food was given him save, perhaps, an +occasional hunch of bread surreptitiously conveyed to +him beneath the apron of a dairymaid endowed with +fellow feeling. What need to fill up the picture of these +years—who does not know it now? The long autumn +days spent watching the corn, often, weary with watching, +and hungry, falling asleep by the hedge side. The +dreary winters, the hard pallet, and still harder fare, the +scant clothing and chilled blood, the crowded sleeping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +rooms and wan stunted figures; find you not all the history +of lives like this set forth in Parliamentary Blue Books +for legislators to ponder over and mend, if they can or +care. Thomas Wanless suffered no more hardships than +millions that have gone before him, or that follow after +to this day, bearing on their weary, patient shoulders +the burden of our magnificent civilization. He and the +others suspected not that this was their allotted mission in +our immaculate order of society; but the concrete +sufferings of his lot he could feel. For him the harsh +words and cruel blows of the farmer were real enough, +and, in the misery of his present sufferings, his young life +lost its joy and hope. For him the birds that sang in +the sweet spring time brought no melody of heaven, the +autumn with its golden grain no joy. He knew only of +labour, and men's hardness, and was familiar mostly +with hunger and cold and pain. The divine order of the +British Constitution had ordained it—why should he +complain? If my lord and my lady lived in wasteful +luxury, if proud squires and their henchmen trod crops +under foot in their pursuit of sport, totally regardless of +a people's necessities; if vermin, strictly preserved, ate +the bread of the poor in order that the lordly few might +indulge the wild brute passion for slaughter, deemed by +them a mark of high-breeding, what was that to Thomas +and his kind? Had not those people a right to their +pleasure? Was not the land theirs, by theft or fraud it +might be, but still theirs by a power none dared gainsay? +All that was as clear as day, and religion itself was +distinctly on the side of the upper classes. The Church<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +through its tithes shared in their exclusive privileges, and +the parson of the parish was a diligent guardian of +property. On the rare occasions when he preached a +sermon his theme was the duty of the poor to be +contented and obedient. Men who dared to think, he +classed as rioters, who, like poachers and rick-burners, +were an abomination to the Lord. Who so dared to +question the divine order of British society, deserved, in +the parson's view, everlasting death. Wealth, in short, +according to this beautiful gospel, was for them that had +it or could steal it within the lines of the constitution, +and for the poor there was degradation, hunger, rags, +and, by way of hope, a chance of the pauper's heaven.</p> + +<p>It must be all right, of course; but somehow, gradually, +to little Thomas it did not appear so. Very young and +ignorant as he was, strange thoughts began to stir within +him. At home he saw his father sinking more and more +into the hopeless state of a man whose only earthly hope +was the parish workhouse; he saw his mother beaten to +the earth with the weary work of rearing a family of six +children, without the means of giving them enough to +eat. One by one these went out, like himself, from their +little three-roomed cottage to try and earn the bread +they needed. The girls worked in the fields like the +rest. All were, like himself, uneducated, and, in spite of +all, the wolf could hardly be kept from the door when +bread was dear, as it often was in those days. His +father's wages never averaged more than 8s. a-week the +year round. But what did that matter? Had not the +parish provided a poorhouse, and did it not give bread of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +a kind to every miserable groundling whom it could not +drive beyond its bounds? They ought surely to have +been contented. Yet Thomas, who saw and often felt +their hunger, and contrasted it with the coarse profusion +at the farm, and the pampered condition of the squire's +menials at the Grange—he doubted many things.</p> + +<p>The sight of a meeting of fox-hunters, and of the rush +of their horses across the cultivated land, filled him with +wrath even then. The life he saw around him had no unity +in it. Thus it happened that, by the time he was 13, +though still stunted in body, he had begun to assert some +amount of dogged independence, and was driven away +from Whitbury farm because he flew at his drunken +master for striking him with the waggoner's whip.</p> + +<p>With some difficulty he got work after this, at 2s. a +week and his dinner, on a small dairy farm called the +Brooks, which lay a mile further from the village, on the +Stratford Road. There he got better treatment. His +master was a quiet hard-working man, who had himself +a hard struggle to meet his rent, maintain his stock of +nine cows, and get a living. His own troubles had tended +rather to soften than harden his nature. Thomas, though +having to work early and late, at least always got his +warm dinner, and often received a draught of milk from +the motherly housewife. Here, therefore, he began to +grow; his stunted limbs straightened out; his chest +expanded, and, by the time he was seventeen he gave the +promise of becoming a more than usually stalwart labourer.</p> + +<p>While Thomas was still new at this dairy farm, and +while the remembrance of his defiance was still fresh in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +the minds of farmer Pemberton, of Whitbury, and his +family, he was subjected to an outrage which almost +killed him, and left a mark on his mind which was fresh +and vivid to the day of his death. Farmer Pemberton's +sons resolved to have a lark with the "impudent young +devil." Their first idea was to catch Thomas as he came +home at night, and, after trouncing him soundly, +duck him in the stinking pond formed by the farm +sewage. On consulting their friend, the eldest son of +Lawyer Turner, of Warwick, he, however, said that it +would be better to frighten the little beggar into doing +something they might get him clapped into jail for. +Led by this young knave, the farmer's three sons disguised +themselves by blackening their faces and donning +old clothes. Then, armed with bludgeons and knives, +they lay in wait for Thomas as he came home from work +in the gloom of an October evening. Their intention +was to seize him, and amid great demonstrations of +knives and fearful imprecations, order him to take them +to Farmer Pemberton's rickyard. Once there they +intended to force him to set fire to some straw in the +yard, and then seize him for fire-raising. As young +Turner said, they might easily in this way swear him +into jail for a twelvemonth.</p> + +<p>This diabolical plot was actually and literally carried +out upon this poor, ignorant, peasant lad by four young +men, supposed to be educated and civilised; and it might +have had all the disastrous consequences they could have +wished but for an accident. A labourer on the farm +overheard part of the conversation of the plotters as they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +marshalled themselves on the night of the expedition, +and, as soon as the coast was clear, stole off to warn the +boy's father. Jacob Wanless and he at once roused the +neighbours; and, after a delay of perhaps twenty minutes, +half a dozen men started for Whitbury Farm, while as +many took the Stratford Road to try to save the boy +from capture.</p> + +<p>The latter party was too late; Thomas was caught +near a cross-road about a quarter of a mile from the farm. +Two disguised men rushed upon him from opposite sides +of the road with savage growls, their blackened faces half +hid in mufflers. Brandishing clubs and knives, they +demanded his name. Thomas gave one piercing yell of +terror and dashed forward, but was seized and held fast. +Gripping him by the collar of his smock till he was +nearly choked, young Turner again demanded his name, +and, on Thomas gasping it out, roared in his ear, "then +you are the villain we want. You must take us to +farmer Pemberton's rickyard and stables. We are rick-burners, +and will kill you unless you obey." Whereat he +flourished a knife, and drew the back of it across his own +throat, with a significant gurgle. Thomas trembled in +every limb, tried to speak, but his tongue failing him, +burst into a wail of crying instead, and sank to the +ground. The scoundrels laughed hoarsely, and, amid a +volley of oaths, hauled him to his feet. Then forcing +him on his knees, Turner ordered him to swear to lead +them to the place, and keep faith with them. As the +boy hesitated, they stood over him crying, "Swear, +swear, you obstinate pig, or you die," and Turner held<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +the knife to his heart. Thoroughly cowed and terror +stricken, Thomas gasped out, "I swear." A man on each +side then laid hold of him, hauled him to his feet and led +him towards the farm, the other two ruffians acting +guards, muttering foul oaths, and brandishing their +cudgels within an inch of his face in a way that froze his +very heart's blood with terror.</p> + +<p>Arrived at the barn, they produced a tinderbox, and, +lighting a match, ordered Thomas to set fire to a heap +of loose straw that lay near the barn door. Thomas +refused. A dim glimmer of the fact that he was being +hoaxed had risen through his fears. He thought he +knew the voices of at least two of his tormentors, and he +grew bolder. Twice the order was repeated amid +ominous handling of knives, but he sullenly bade them +light the straw themselves, and thrust his hands into his +pockets. After a third refusal one of the Pembertons +struck him in the face a blow that loosened three of his +teeth, and made his nose bleed profusely. Then once +more he was asked to light the straw, but the only reply +was a piercing cry for help. In a moment a gag was +thrust into his bleeding mouth, and he was flung on the +ground, where they proceeded to pinion his hands and +his feet. Before completing the tying, Turner hissed +into his ear, "Hold up your hand to say you yield, you +little devil, or we will beat you to death." But Thomas +lay still, so the whole four of them commenced to push +him about with their feet, and to strike him with their +sticks, amid growls and horrid oaths. Then Thomas +lost consciousness. When he awoke again he was at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +home in his mother's bed. His mother was kneeling by +his side weeping bitterly, and his father stood over him +holding a feeble rushlight, watching for the return of life. +The boy was in great pain, especially about the legs and +abdomen, and could not move his left arm at all. His +face was swollen, his lips and gums lacerated and sore, +and he lay tossing in pain till the grey morning light, +when he dropt off into a fitful sleep. A fortnight +elapsed before he was able to resume work.</p> + +<p>The rescuing party had reached the farm barely in time +to prevent the brutal ruffians from carrying their sport to +perhaps a fatal conclusion. Guided by the curses and +laughter, Jacob and his friends had rushed upon the +savages in the midst of the kicking, and Jacob himself in +a frenzy of rage wrenched a cudgel from the nearest of +them, felled him to the earth with it, and dragged his son +from amongst the others' feet. The man he struck +happened to be Turner; and, seeing him down, the +cowardly young Pembertons took to their heels before the +slower moving labourers could capture them. Turner, all +bleeding as he was, they attempted to take with them in +order to give him into custody, but on the way to the +village he tripped up one of his guards, wrenched himself +free, and bolted. An outrage like this surely could not go +unpunished. Jacob Wanless determined that it should +not, and went to a Warwick lawyer, a rival of old Turner's, +with a view to get redress. This lawyer, Overend by +name, was a sort of pettifogger, who laid himself out for +poor men's work. In his way he was clever enough; but, +unfortunately, he often got drunk; and, even when sober,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +was hardly a match for old Turner. When Thomas's +case came before the justices, Jacob, therefore, fared badly. +Overend had just enough drink to make him violent and +abusive, and the result was that his witnesses were so +bamboozled and browbeaten by both Turner and the +bench that they became confused, and gave incoherent +answers; so it was not very difficult, false swearing +being easy, for Turner and his clients to make Thomas +the criminal. His attack on old Pemberton's person was +raked up in proof of his bad disposition, and his presence +in the farmyard was attributed to motives of revenge. As +a result, instead of obtaining redress, Jacob's case was +dismissed by the magistrates, and he and his son admonished. +The chairman of the day, Squire Polewhele, of +Middlebury, told Jacob he might be thankful that they +did not put his son in jail for assault. There could be +no doubt in his opinion that the young scamp had gone +to farmer Pemberton's rickyard with malicious intent, for +it was clear that he was an ill-conditioned rascal, and if +his father did not take better care of his upbringing he +might live to see him come to a bad end.</p> + +<p>Such was Jacob's consolation. It took him and his +son six months to pay Overend's bill of 30s. The +unlucky labourer who had brought the news of the plot +fared perhaps worse than anybody, for old Pemberton, at +the instigation of his sons, turned him off at a moment's +notice. It was nearly four months before the poor fellow +could get another steady job, and he and his family were +all winter chargeable on the rates.</p> + +<p>As for the boy Thomas, his nervous system had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +received such a shock that it became a positive agony to +him to have to trudge home from his work in the dark +winter nights, and when his father was unable to go to +meet him he always ran at the top of his speed past +Whitbury farm, his heart within him palpitating like to +burst. All his life long, so deep was the impression +that fright made on him, a certain nervous tremor seized +him whenever he found himself alone on a strange road +on a moonless night.</p> + +<p>The rest of the boyhood of Thomas Wanless was +uneventful. He grew in mind and in stature, and suffered +less withal from hunger than many of his order. At the +age of twenty he took a wife, following in that respect +the habits of those around him. 'Tis the fashion nowadays +to inveigh against early marriages, and especially +against the poor who marry early. By such a practice it +is declared miseries are heaped upon them, and our +pauper roll is augmented. This is an easy way to push +aside one of the most perplexing social problems that +this country has ever had to face. With the growth of +wealth marriage has become a luxury even to the rich, +and for the comparatively poor a forbidden indulgence. +As a consequence of this the youth of the present day +avoid marriage with all its hampering ties. A code of +morals has thus grown up which may be said to be +paving the way for a coming negation of all morality.</p> + +<p>A young man may commit almost any crime against a +young woman with impunity so long as he steers clear of +all hints of marriage. The relations of the sexes are +under this modern code utterly unnatural and fruitful of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +corruption. Nor can it be otherwise while a man is +forbidden under penalty of social ostracism to take a +wife. To marry is almost as sure a way to renounce the +world, with all its hopes and advantages, as of old was the +taking of a monastic vow. What the next generation +will be, what licenses it will give itself under the modern +restrictions which outrage all that is best in humanity, I +must not venture to predict. But that corruption is +spreading on all hands, that flippancy, folly, and worse, +dominate the relationships of the young of both sexes is +even now too apparent.</p> + +<p>But I am travelling far from Thomas Wanless's history. +He at all events felt no social restraint save that of +poverty, which he did not fear, and so he married young. +The lad had, indeed, little choice.</p> + +<p>His mother died when he was 19, and one of his sisters, +the youngest of the family, was also dead. The other +had married and gone to a village five miles beyond +Warwick. Of his three brothers, one only remained at +home, a boy of 14. William, the next in age to himself, +had been kidnapped at Gloucester, and carried off to sea +in a Government ship; and the other boy, Jacob, had a +place as stable-boy at Melton Priory, Lord Raven's place, +near which his married sister lived. There was no +woman, therefore, at home to cook food for the three +that were left. His father was too broken down to dream +of marrying again, there were no houses in the miserable +overcrowded village where the three could be taken in to +lodge together, and so, unless they separated, what could +Thomas do but marry? He was willing enough, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +course, being, like all country lads of his years, honestly +in love; and so at twenty he brought home his wife to +take his mother's place in the old freehold cottage, soon +to be his own. Sarah Leigh was a year or two older +than her husband, and had been an under-housemaid at +the Grange, the family seat of Squire Wiseman, who was +the greatest man of the parish, and lord of the manor. +Her experiences there were not, perhaps, such as best +fitted her to be a labourer's wife, and at first she was +inclined to commiserate herself. But at bottom Sarah +was a woman of sense, and by the time her second child +arrived had grown into a staid, affectionate housewife, +ever cheerfully busy in making her home comfortable.</p> + +<p>Prudent or not, Thomas thus found himself in a humble +and modest way happy. He was now acting as under-waggoner +at a farm called Grimscote, near Warwick, and +had as much as 9s. 6d. a week in summer, besides beer +and extra money in harvest. In winter his work was +also regular, though his wages were then only 8s. a week. +His duties often took him considerable distances away +from home. He was frequently at Coventry and Stratford-on-Avon, +and he had once been as far as Worcester, and +as his observant faculties were keen, he took mental notes +of what he saw. Full of pity for the misery that he everywhere +met, the feelings of his boyhood became keener, +and his independence of spirit more out-spoken. Already +this had attracted in a passing way the attention of the +authorities, and some even went so far as to shake their +wiseacre heads over him, and dubiously hint that he +might be dangerous.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>INTRODUCES THE READER TO A PHILANTHROPIC +PARSON AND A GREAT SQUIRE.</h3> + + +<p>In the years that elapsed between the close of the +Napoleonic wars and the passing of the Reform Bill, as +indeed often since, the debasement and misery of the +agricultural poor rose to agony point, and soon after +Thomas Wanless's marriage an outbreak of popular discontent, +based on hunger, stirred a little the smooth +surface of society. It became necessary, for very shame, +to at least appear to do something for the pauperised +masses on whose backs "society" was supported. Accordingly, +a pseudo philanthropic agitation was started in the +rural districts with the object of bettering, or rather of +seeming to better, the peasant's lot. Mass meetings were +held, parsons and even bishops threw themselves into the +movement, patronised it, and sought to guide it to a consummation +safe for themselves and their "dear church," +itself then so great a landowner.</p> + +<p>For rustic miseries these high personages had one main +panacea, and one only. This was not free land, fixity of +tenure for the besotted farmers always so content to lie +at the feet of their earthly lords; it was not disendowment +of the Church and the distribution of its lands among the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +people from whom they had been taken originally by +chicane and greed; nor was it the dismissal, with due +payment, of those inheritors of the ancient marauders and +appropriators of the soil, with all that is on it and under +it, for whom the people have been kept as slaves for many +generations. No; none of these things did the servants +of the British deity, that idealisation of the sacred rights +of feudal property, advocate. Far be such traitor conduct +from them. Their cure for the agricultural distress was +the "allotment system." To these reformers the free +migration of labour, the abolition of that abomination of +the poor law which prevented the poor from leaving their +parishes, was as nothing compared with allotments. +Landlords and parish authorities had but to permit the +labourers to cultivate for themselves little patches of land, +let to them at a good rent, and what opulence would these +serfs not reach.</p> + +<p>In the agitation on this tremendous reform, Thomas +Wanless took a keen interest, and then first felt sorely +his inability to read. He tried to recall the lessons of his +childhood, but could not, and was ashamed to apply for +help. Few, indeed, amongst his neighbours could have +helped him. His wife was as uneducated as himself, so +he had to be contented with gathering the purport of +what was going on from those he met at market or mill. +As far as his mind could comprehend the question it was +very clearly made up. He was convinced that all this +agitation about professed interest in the down-trodden +labourers would do them no good, and he doubted +whether any good was meant.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's not a bit of charity land we want," he always +said. "What I maintain is that you and me an' the +likes of us ought to get 10 acres or more at a fair honest +rent if we can do wi' it, and let's take our chance. Why +shouldn't I be able to keep cows and grow corn as well as +the farmer? He often wastes more than three labourers' +families could live on, and yet pays his rent. I tell ye, +lads, this talk of 'lotments and half acres, and all that, is +just damned nonsense, an' that's what it be."</p> + +<p>Sentiments like these did not make Thomas popular +with the upper powers, and had old Parson Field been +alive he might have smarted for his freedom of speech. +But the old parson had died shortly before the noise about +allotments came to a head, and the new vicar was supposed +to be of a different stamp. He was reputed to be a +favourite of one of those strange fungoid excrescences of +Christianity, the "Lord" Bishop of the diocese, who recommended +him for the vacancy, and as he was young +and ignorant of the world, he began his work with some +moral fervour and a tendency to religious zeal. The Rev. +Josiah Codling, M.A., of Jesus College, Cambridge, was +in fact a young man of liberal, not to say democratic +tendencies. He had been sufficiently impressed by some +of the more glorious precepts of the faith he came to teach +to wish in a general sort of a way to do good. Left to +follow his higher impulses he probably might have led a +life of active philanthropy, and the democratic thoroughness +of the Christian faith might have enabled him to do +something to lift the down-trodden people who formed +the bulk of his flock. It was well, at all events, that Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +Codling began with good intent. He was hardly warm +in the parish before he went into the allotment agitation +with the feverish enthusiasm of inexperience, and he also +had the temerity to start a school. Dismissing the old +parish clerk who had drowsily mumbled the "amens" +and "we beseech Thee's" for nigh forty years, he brought +a young man from Birmingham who knew something of +the three R's, and was rumoured to have even conned a +Latin primer, and constituted him parish clerk and +schoolmaster. The vicarage coach-house was turned into +a schoolroom till better could be provided, and the +vicar and his assistant began, the one to hunt up pupils, +and the other to guide their feet in the way of knowledge.</p> + +<p>The farmers for a time looked on, scarce able to +realise the meaning of this innovation, but the more they +looked the less they liked what they saw. So they +grumbled when they met in the churchyard on Sundays, +and shook their heads portentously over their beer or +brandy punch at market ordinaries, hinting that the +"Squoire" should interfere. In their bovine manner +they soon began to place stumbling-blocks in the vicar's +path. A sudden demand for the services of boys and +girls sprang up. Nearly every farmer in the district +found that he needed a new ploughboy or kitchen +wench, and the universal shilling rose to eighteenpence +a week, from the sheer pressure of this demand. Nothing +daunted, Parson Codling determined to start a night +school, and if possible get the grown lads and young +men to attend. He succeeded in inducing nearly thirty +youths to come to this night class, and among the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +to do so was Thomas Wanless. Here was his chance, he +thought, and he seized it with avidity. Soon the numbers +thinned away. Some left because they could see no +good in learning, but most of them because their masters +on hearing of the class threatened to dismiss them at +once unless they promised to stop "going to play the +fool with that young Varsity ninny o' a parson, as knew +nowt o' plain country folks' wants;" and at the end of a +month the young schoolmaster had only seven pupils. +To these he stuck fast, and they made great progress +that winter, for the poor pale-faced Birmingham lad was +an enthusiast in his way. Thomas and he became close +friends, and the former drank in the current political +ideas which William Brown brought with him from +Birmingham as a sponge drinks up water. Early and +late, at every spare moment, Thomas was busy with his +book, and by the time spring came round again he was +able to read with tolerable ease the small county newspaper +that found its way a week old from the Grange to the +village inn. He had read the Pilgrim's Progress, +Robinson Crusoe, and some other books lent him by the +vicar, who looked upon him as his model scholar, and +took glory to himself over the labourer's success.</p> + +<p>From that winter forth, however, the enthusiasm of the +new vicar for education sensibly died away. Naturally +fitful in disposition, he craved for immediate results, and, +if they came not, his hopes were disappointed, and his +efforts at once relaxed. The pressure of the upper +powers of his parish was also beginning to tell on his +unsophisticated mind. He met with little overt opposition,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +for that might have been both troublesome and +impolitic. But quiet social forces worked on him continually +to bring him round to a proper sense of his +position as local priest of feudalism. When he dined out, +which often happened, his host would chaff him on his +attempts to make scholars of those loafing rascals of +labourers. Squire Wiseman in particular gravely assured +him that he was encouraging dangerous ideas among a +very dissolute and indefinitely corrupt lot of pariahs. +Educate them and they would altogether go to the devil.</p> + +<p>"Tell you what it is, sir," shouted a half-drunk J.P. +one evening as the vicar and some half dozen others sat +over their wine after dinner at Squire Wiseman's: "Tell +you what it is; we must get you a wife; blest if that +wouldn't give you something better to do, my boy, than +trying to make gentlemen of those damn'd skulking +labourers."</p> + +<p>The company ha ha'd with delight, and the parson +blushed to the very root of his hair.</p> + +<p>"Capital idea, 'pon my life!" said the host; "and I +know just the girl for you, Codling—at least my wife +does, for she was remarking only last night what a pity +it was—"</p> + +<p>"Please, sir," said the butler suddenly, after whispering +for a short time with a maid who had entered the room, +"Timms would like to speak wi' you. He says he's +found poacher's snares in the Ashwood coppice, and he +wants two or three fellows to help him watch the +place."</p> + +<p>"Damn the fellow! can't he let a man eat his dinner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +in peace! Tell him to go to the devil, Robins, and—and +I'll see him to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. But, sir, Timms says—"</p> + +<p>"Curse Timms, and you too! Do you hear what I +say?" roared the squire, and Robins vanished.</p> + +<p>The conversation did not get back to the subject of +Codling's marriage; and the host, after playing absently +with his glass for a minute or two, got up hastily, and +muttering, "Excuse me, gentlemen, only I think I had +better see Timms after all," left the room.</p> + +<p>That night three poachers—a Warford villager and two +shoemakers from Warwick—were caught in the coppice, +and lodged in Warwick jail.</p> + +<p>In two days it was all over Ashbrook village that the +vicar was going to get married. The servants at the +Grange had told the news to their friends in confidence.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3> +EXHIBITS MORE PHILANTHROPY, OF A MIXED SORT,<br /> +PLUS A LITTLE FIGHTING—THE "ALLOTMENT"<br /> +CURE FOR HUNGER.<br /> +</h3> + + +<p>The village gossips were right. Lady Harriet Wiseman +did find the vicar a wife, though not just then. The +vicar's young zeal, his vague ideas, had first to be +moderated or abandoned. Bit by bit he was brought +down to the prosaic realities of parish life, which embraced +obligations unheard of in Holy Writ. That says nothing +about the necessity for upholding feudalism. A mere +twelvemonths' labour at reforming the morals and refining +the minds of the rustics by means of the schoolmaster was +not quite enough to bring young Codling to a proper sense +of his position. A few more vagaries, a little further indulgence +in the pleasure of sowing religious wild oats, and +then the vicar would be ready to contract that highly +advantageous marriage, which forms the goal of so many a +parson's ambition.</p> + +<p>That accomplished, Codling might be considered +tamed. The one further aberration of his which we have +to notice was his plunge into the allotment agitation. +As the excitement over teaching the rustics their alphabet +and multiplication table began to die out in his mind,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +this new whim came handily to take its place and +prevent him from feeling like a deserter. Here, he +declared, was the true remedy for the miseries of the +rural poor; he had become convinced that to educate +them first was to begin at the wrong end. The first +thing was to make them comfortable in their homes, and +then they might learn to read with more advantage. +The schoolmaster was by no means to be thrown over, +but meanwhile Codling said the most important thing +was that the labourers should have patches of land to +grow cabbages and potatoes.</p> + +<p>The vicar's new fad, as it was called, did not excite +the same amount of hostility amongst the squirearchy of +the neighbourhood as his effort at education, but the +farmers liked it as ill. Squire Wiseman was indeed +opposed to the experiment, and had there been no other +landed proprietor of influence in the parish, the vicar's +fuss would have left no results. But fortunately, in some +respects, for the labourers, nearly all Ashbrook village, +and a good deal of the rolling meadow land to the south +of it, and that lay between wooded knolls, belonged to +an eccentric old fellow, named Hawthorn. The people +called him Captain Hawthorn, perhaps to distinguish +him from the Squire, but he had never known more of +military life than three months' service as a subaltern in +a militia regiment. This Hawthorn was an oddity. A +dry, withered, rather small man, of between 50 and 60, +slovenly in dress, and full of a sardonic humour, he was +constantly to be met walking in the country lanes, and +as often as not conversing with waggoners, poachers, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +such country people as came in his way. He was therefore +distrusted by the other big people of his neighbourhood; +but the common people loved him. The new +vicar had hardly been a week in the parish ere he was +warned by the gentry to beware of this old man. Old +Polewhele of Middlebury roundly declared that Hawthorn +was an infidel; and the Dowager-Countess of Leigholm, +Lady Harriet Wiseman's mother, felt sure that he was +in league with the Evil One, for he was always muttering +to himself, or else talking to a one-eyed, mangy, tailless +cur, that followed him everywhere, and which had more +than once snarled at her in a very vicious manner. Her +ladyship, however, had a private grudge against him, in +that he had on several occasions been wicked enough to +win money from her at cards, and take it too—a crime +she was never known to forgive.</p> + +<p>Whatever his relationship with, or belief in, the unseen +powers, Hawthorn alone of the landed gentry furthered +Codling's latest project, and made it a success in spite of +the fact that the fitful zealot was at the point of throwing +the whole thing at his heels in disgust. Codling felt that +he had a right to be disheartened when his projects were +not adopted forthwith, and moreover, he was getting +under weigh as a lover, and that made other occupations +irksome. He had done all he could, he said to himself, and +yet nobody was converted. Wiseman laughed at him +good humouredly as usual, and the farmers sent old +Sprigg of Knebesley, as their spokesman, to tell him that +in their opinion "'lotments would be the ruin of all honest +labour. Gi'e the labourers land," he said, "and they'll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +skulk at home instead of doin' an honest day's work for +us. They're the laziest vagabonds in creation, and the +only thing you can do is to keep them dependent on the +rates, and when ye want 'em to work, stop supplies. +Hunger's the only prod for cattle o' that kidney."</p> + +<p>The vicar was rapidly becoming convinced that he had +made a mistake, but he had gone so far that he could +hardly at once back out, so he resolved to make one +final attempt to carry his point, in which he would obtain +the aid of a brother parson. This device would, he +thought, enable him to retreat gracefully from his false +position. The man he summoned to his help was a +Leicestershire rector, whose consuming zeal had induced +him to become a sort of itinerant evangelist of the allotment +system. What could be better than to get such a +brilliant apostle to address a mass meeting at Ashbrook. +With the failure of a prophet to convince landlords and +farmers, Codling felt that his weak-kneedness might be +justified.</p> + +<p>The Rev. Henry Slocome's services were therefore +secured, and notices of the coming meeting were posted on +the church doors and in the neighbourhood for a fortnight +in advance. As there was no building large enough, the +meeting was to be held beneath the old elm on Ashbrook +Green. The news excited great interest amongst the +labourers who, on the Saturday evening in July when the +meeting was held, gathered to the number of about 200 +men and women from all the villages in the neighbourhood. +A strange sight they presented as they stood with upturned +faces around the waggon on which the vicar, the parish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +clerk, and the speaker of the evening were perched. Grey +wizened faces, watery eyes, blueish hungry-like lips these +men and women had—a weird, hopeless-looking, toil-bent +congregation of the have-nots.</p> + +<p>Young men were stunted and shrivelled with labour +and want, and old men were gaunt and twisted with +exposure, overwork, and rheumatism. Verily if allotments +were to do these people good, the work of the self-chosen +missionary, who had come to set the country on +fire, was not to be contemned. But it boded ill for the +success of his efforts that never a landed proprietor in the +district gave the meeting his countenance. Just, however, +as business began the crowd of labourers was recruited by +from 20 to 30 young farmers and farmers' sons. These +stood apart, ranging themselves on the left of the meeting +near the churchyard wall, and rather behind the waggon. +They were too far off to hear well, but near enough for interruptions, +and they accordingly indulged frequently in +groans, ironical laughter, or jeers at the labourers. Two of +the Pembertons were there, the two who had succeeded +their father at Whitbury farm, and there also was hulking +young Turner from Warwick, half drunk as usual.</p> + +<p>The labourers themselves were in high good humour, +and indulged in a great deal of rough chaff at each other's +expense. A noted poacher in particular came in for much +attention, and amongst other things was asked if he +would "haul a cove afore the justices if he caught him +snaring rabbits in his 'lotment?" But all this was hushed +when the vicar and his ally mounted the waggon and +began proceedings. I cannot give you the speech of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +Rev. Henry Slocome, for Thomas had but a dim recollection +of it, his attention being too much occupied watching +the ongoings of the farmers. These for a time contented +themselves with making a noise, but that was far too tame +a kind of fun to satisfy such bright sparks long, and they +soon began to shy small pebbles among the crowd, +aiming at such hats or sticks as were prominent. This +raised a clamour which interrupted the meeting, and +matters were brought to a crisis by one of these stones +hitting Thomas Wanless on the cheek. It was a sharp-edged +bit of flint which cut the cheek open, and made +Thomas furious. Turning his bleeding face, now barely +visible in the gathering dusk, to the crowd, and heedless of +the vicar's shouts for silence, he exclaimed—"Lads, are +you going to stand this stone-throwing any longer; are +these slave-drivers to be allowed to bully us on our own +village green?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, no," shouted the labourers in a chorus.</p> + +<p>"Let us thrash them, then," he replied, "and teach +them that we have the right to live."</p> + +<p>He was answered with a shout and a rush. In vain the +orator parson and the vicar gesticulated and roared; in +vain the parish clerk, at Codlings' suggestion, jumped from +the waggon and tried to hold the people back. The tall +figure of Thomas Wanless, the sight of blood on his face, +his fiery looks and determined attitude, completely carried +the labourers away. More stones too were thrown, and +the jeers that accompanied them hurt almost more than +stones. A conflict was now inevitable.</p> + +<p>Seeing the younger labourers gathering round Wanless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +for an onset, Turner, ever the leader in mischief, hastily +collected his forces, and drew them back against the +churchyard wall. They had hardly time ere the labourers +were upon them.</p> + +<p>"Come on, boys," Wanless shouted, without waiting to +form an array, hardly, indeed, waiting to see who was +following him. Clenching his teeth and drawing himself +together he dashed up the slope, and singling out Turner, +closed with him, and sent his stick flying over the churchyard +wall. A moment after Turner himself was rolling +amongst the feet of those who had hurried after Wanless. +The strife now became general, and for a time all was wild +confusion. Gradually, however, the fight, as it were, gathered +into knots round the leading men on either side. Big Tom +Pemberton had been struck at by a puny little handful +of pluck, whose slender frame and pinched face indicated +an absence of stamina which ill-fitted him for a struggle +with that stalwart bully. He was instantly caught by the +throat and bent backwards. Had Wanless not happened +to look that way Pemberton might have broken his back, +for he proceeded to twist him round and double him over +his knee, but Wanless was passing, and swift as lightning, +his stick came down on Pemberton's head. The blow +staggered him, and made him let go. Pushing him aside, +Thomas seized the pale-faced lad and hurried him out of +the fight. Turning, he skirted along the edge of the +battle to cheer his comrades and help others that might +be in distress, dealing a blow here, and tripping up a foe +there, and dodging many a stroke aimed at himself. +Comparatively scathless, but somewhat blown, he worked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +his way back to the thick of the struggle, and immediately +found himself face to face with the other Pemberton, who +had just ended a tough fight with the blacksmith, and +like Wanless, was a little spent. He, however, made for +Thomas the moment he saw him, and they closed in a +fierce wrestle. They tugged and tore at each other for a +moment or two, and then went down together, falling on +their sides, Wanless, being, if anything, rather undermost. +In the fight that followed for supremacy, Pemberton's +greater weight, for he was fuller, taller, and stouter than +Thomas, seemed to promise him the victory; but with a +violent wrench, Wanless so far freed himself as to get his +knees planted against Pemberton's body, when, with a +final tug, he broke free and sprang to his feet. Bill +Pemberton also scrambled up, and they then began +hitting at each other wildly with their fists. A kind of +ring gathered round them, each side cheering its champion, +but the fight was not an equal one. The young farmer +was too fat and heavy, and Thomas's random blows +punished him fearfully. Blood trickled down his face, +and he was gasping for breath before they had fought +five minutes, and Thomas finished the contest by rushing +at Pemberton and throwing him crashing amongst his +followers' feet. They dragged him out of the melée, and, +their fury redoubled, returned to make a combined onset +on the labourers. Had they been at all equally matched +in numbers, the farmers would now probably have +driven their foes from the field, and, overmatched as +they were, they twice forced the labourers back on the +old folks, and women still huddled round the waggon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +eagerly watching the fight through the gathering +darkness.</p> + +<p>But Wanless and his lieutenant, the young blacksmith, +again and again rallied their forces and advanced to the +attack. At last, edging round to the upper end of the +churchyard, which lay aslant a considerable declivity, +they bore down on the flank of the farmers' party, with a +rush that carried everything before it. Before they +could rally themselves, the farmers were huddled together, +and, amid random blows, kicks, and oaths, driven pell +mell clear off the green, as far as the vicarage gate. +There they tried to make a stand, but the momentum +and numbers of the labourers, now swollen by many of +the women, were too much for them, and they were +finally chased from the village, amid the derisive shouts +of the victors. They retired, cursing and vowing +vengeance as they went.</p> + +<p>The fight over, the people, panting and exhausted, +drew slowly together by the waggon once more, recounting +their exploits and showing their wounds. One man +had got his arm broken, and many had severe cuts, +bruises, and sprains, but, on the whole, the damage done +had been slight.</p> + +<p>It was now almost dark, and the crowd soon began to +ask whether there was to be any more speechifying. The +old people, who had stayed by the waggon, thought the +meeting must be at an end. "The vicar," they said, +"had gone off in a huff, taking t'other parson wi' him, +when he found nary a one mindin' a bit what he said." +So the labourers were in doubts what to do. Some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +wanted to go home, having thrashed the farmers, "a good +nights job enough;" others thought a deputation ought +to go to the vicarage to try and mollify the parson, for +after all allotments might be worth having.</p> + +<p>Just as the dispute was waxing warm, the light of a +lantern shone out from behind the tree, and, coming round +to the waggon, attracted attention. Thinking it was the +parsons come back, the labourers ceased their talk to +listen; but what they heard was the voice of Captain +Hawthorn swearing at his servant for not lighting the +way better. The servant paid no attention to the oaths, +but cast his light over the waggon, and exclaimed: +"Here we are, sir. Here's where the strange cove was +a spouting. But, by the Lord Harry! he's hooked it!" +he added in a disappointed tone.</p> + +<p>"Strange cove! What's that I hear, Francis? Francis, +you scamp, don't you know that's blasphemy? Hooked +it! He! he! D—— the fellow! that comes of picking +up London servants." Then, changing his tone, the +Captain almost shouted, "Help me up, Francis. I +want to see these scoundrels. How the devil is a +man to get into this waggon? Find me a chair, will +you, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Please, sir, can't you manage to mount by the wheel, +sir," answered his servant, and after some trouble the +Captain did get in by the wheel, swearing much, and +followed by his servant with the lantern. The dog then +wanted to mount also, but, being fat and heavy couldn't +manage it, so sat down and began to yelp. This caused +a fresh outburst of swearing, and ultimately Francis had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +to get out again and hoist the dog in, as the brute would +allow none of the people to touch him.</p> + +<p>Quiet and order being restored, Hawthorn stood +forward, took the lantern from his servant's hand, and, +raising it, proceeded very deliberately to survey the +crowd before him. Most of their faces, and many of their +names were well known to him; and he addressed some +of those he knew with some characteristic greeting. The +wounded men appeared to interest him specially, and +it was ludicrous to hear him rate one fellow for being +unable to protect his handsome face, and condole with +another on the coming interview with his wife. He discovered +the countenance of his own groom disfigured by +a cut on the nose and a black eye, and he held the light +over it, chuckling loudly, till the fellow fairly ducked +under. "Ha, Silas, you thief," he said, "I have always +told you that you would get punished some day for your +vanity, and sure enough the dairymaid will marry the +blacksmith in less than a month, if you show that face to +her. Gad, you'll frighten my old mare out of her wits, +too, with that diabolical figure-head of yours. You had +better go home to your mother and get it mended."</p> + +<p>"By heavens," he exclaimed, again casting his light on +another face, "there's poacher Dick. Were you in the +fray, Dick, my boy? No, no, it cannot be; he's been +mauling the gamekeepers, and has taken refuge amongst +you lads, eh?"</p> + +<p>"No, no; he fought with us all square," was the +answer, and the crowd laughed, and the Captain chuckled +again and again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suddenly laying down the lantern he shouted, "Three +cheers for the victors of Ashbrook fight," a call instantly +responded to amid great good humour and much +laughter.</p> + +<p>"Three cheers for the Captain," called a voice in the +crowd, and off went the huzzas again.</p> + +<p>"Drop that nonsense, will you, boys; drop it, I say," +roared the Captain, and added as soon as he could make +himself heard above the din, "what the devil are you +cheering me for? I didn't help you to win the fight, +did I?"</p> + +<p>"No, but you cheered us for it," answered a dozen voices +together.</p> + +<p>"And that's more than any other squire in Warwickshire +would 'a' done," cried young Wanless.</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Tom Wanless?" queried Hawthorn.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then you are a damned fool, Tom, and know nothing +about it. All Englishmen like to see pluck, don't they, +you young rascal?"</p> + +<p>The ironical tone of this query was perceptible to all, +and raised an answering laugh of irony, amid which +Wanless shouted back—</p> + +<p>"We ain't Englishmen, we labourers, except when we +list and let ourselves be shot by the thousand when some +big chap with a handle to his name says, March! An' +even then the big chaps get all the rewards, and such o' +the common lot as escape hardly get leave to beg. No, +no, sir; we ain't Englishmen, we are only Englishmen's +slaves."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Drop that, Tom Wanless," interrupted Hawthorn; +"drop it. Good Lord, man, do you suppose I came here +to listen to a speech from you, when I kept well without +earshot of the parsons. And, Gad, that reminds me—Where +are the parsons? Francis! Francis!"</p> + +<p>"Yes sir, yes sir," answered that staid person, hurriedly +coming forward.</p> + +<p>"Humph, making love to the wenches at my very elbow, +you graceless dog. Go and tell the vicar with my compliments, +that I want to speak to him out here in this old +waggon with the bottom half out. Gad, I'll be through +it, I do believe, before you get back. Could that shouting +fellow have stamped holes in it," he added to himself, as +Francis disappeared. "Shouldn't wonder," and chuckling +again at the idea, he sat down on the side of the waggon, +quite oblivious of the expectant crowd around him. An +impatient hum soon broke on his ear, and he lifted his +head and called out, "Go home to bed, you mutinous +pack; you'll be defrauding your masters of an hour's +work to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>"No fear of that, sir; and we want to hear what you +have got to say to us."</p> + +<p>"Say to you! Ah, yes, to be sure I have something +to say; but we must wait for the parson, boys."</p> + +<p>"Here he comes! Here he comes!" shouted voices +from the edge of the crowd, and after a little bustling the +ruddy face of Codling, and the grey head of his friend +gleamed over the side of the waggon in the dim candle-light.</p> + +<p>"Glad to see you, sir, I'm sure," said Hawthorn to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +vicar graciously; "and you, too, sir," turning to Mr. +Slocome. "Sorry I didn't hear your speech; Gad, you +have put new life into the boys; they've smashed the +farmers. 'Pon my soul, sir, I didn't think they had it in +them. You must be a powerful orator, and I wish I had +been here sooner."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, sir, I have not the advantage," stammered +Slocome. "I did not cause the fight, God forbid. I did +all I could to stop it; my mission is not to stir up sedition, +sir, but to preach peace." This last remark in a tone of +high offence.</p> + +<p>"He, he, he!" laughed the cynical squire. "Well, well, +we shan't dispute the point. The boys did fight, and +well, too, as you must allow. Licked the farmers, by +Jove; and I tell you what, Mr. Vicar," turning again to +Codling, "I mean to show my appreciation of their pluck +by doing something for them. What do you propose it +should be?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid, sir," answered the vicar, pompously, "I +can't abet you in your design, or lend it my countenance. +I am deeply grieved that my humbler parishioners should +have so far forgotten themselves as to create a disturbance +in the village to-night. It has been my wish to do them +good, and for that end I held this meeting, and brought +my esteemed brother here to imbue their minds with the +principles of forethought and thrift. But they interrupted +his address with an unseemly riot, led, I am sorry to say, +by a young man of whom I had hoped better things. +Bitterness between man and man, class and class, has +been created by the conduct of which you have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +guilty to-night, my friends, and you may be sure, though +I wish you well, it will be long before I again make the +mistake of seeking to increase your material comforts." +Turning again to Hawthorn, he added, "I must beg you +to excuse me, sir, but I cannot remain here to behold a +landed proprietor of this parish, the landlord, in fact, of +these villagers, acting as an inflamer of sedition," and +with lofty bow, and a wave of his hand, dimly visible to +his listeners, Codling turned to go.</p> + +<p>"Stay a moment," roared Hawthorn, reaching forth his +stick as if to catch the vicar by the collar of his coat. +"Stop, sir; don't let him go, boys, I also have something +to say." The vicar stood still, looking rather foolish, and +Hawthorn continued—"You have made an accusation +against my tenants, and I, as their representative and +spokesman, must ask you to substantiate those charges. +I don't care a curse what you say about myself, but I'm +not going to stand by and see these men slandered. Tell +me, sir, who began the disturbance?"</p> + +<p>"It was—I believe—I—fancy—some people on the +outskirts of the meeting—people from Warwick I should +imagine."</p> + +<p>"Bah! can't you speak out like a man, instead of +beating about the bush like a fool? Who began the +disturbance?" The old Captain was clearly getting +excited.</p> + +<p>"The—the farmers and—but—" blurted out Codling.</p> + +<p>"Ah! the farmers was it?" interrupted Hawthorn, +"and would you have had these lads stand still like asses +to be thwacked? Do you mean to come out here and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +deliberately blame my tenants for having spirit enough +left to resent insult and abuse? A nice parson you are—a +fine preacher of peace. Suppose it had been the other +way, and the farmers had been taunted and stoned by the +labourers until they turned and thrashed them. What +would you have said then? No doubt that these wretches +deserved their fate. I hate all this snivelling cant about +the obligation of the poor to submit to whatever is put +upon them."</p> + +<p>Hawthorn spoke fast and bitterly, and, as he ended, his +audience broke into ringing cheers much prolonged.</p> + +<p>Codling stood dumb, and looked so cowed and sheepish +that Slocome tried a diversion.</p> + +<p>"Captain Hawthorn—I believe—and good people," +he began, but his voice was drowned amid cries of +"Silence—hold your tongue; we want to hear the +Captain."</p> + +<p>"I have a little more to say, my boys," Hawthorn +answered. "My chief object in coming here, and in asking +the Vicar to come here, was to tell you that I have +decided to assign to you, the men of my own village, +the twenty acre field just by on Warwick road, to be +made into allotment gardens. I admire"—but he got no +further. Shout upon shout, the men cheered, and the +women wept and laughed by turns, as if the speaker had +promised them all fortunes. The announcement was so +unexpected, and the way it was made went so about the +hearts of these poor villagers, that they could have +hugged the old Captain to death for joy had he let +himself within their reach. As it was, they crowded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +round the waggon to shake hands with him, hustling the +Vicar and his friend out of the way, and it was fully five +minutes before order could be restored. During the +hubbub the Vicar and Mr. Slocome managed to slink +away. What Codling may have thought about his own +conduct on that evening no one can say, but he evidently +resented Hawthorn's freedom of speech most bitterly. +He was disgusted also that the people should have got +their allotments so obviously without his help, and from +this time forth he may be said to have abjured +philanthropy. Henceforth he found it safer and much +more pleasant to confine his attention to Church ritual +and the worship of feudalism.</p> + +<p>The labourers never missed the Vicar in their delight +over Hawthorn's announcement. They wanted to escort +him home in a body, but he would not hear of it. He +peremptorily ordered them to go home to bed, and +departed with his servant and his dog. A few of the +younger men followed him to the end of the village, then +sending a parting cheer after him quickly dispersed. +Thus ended the great Ashbrook allotment meeting. It +was a nine days' wonder in the neighbourhood, and the +oddities of Hawthorn were held to be dangerous by the +squires, while farmers cursed him for his liberality. But +these things did not prevent the labourers from obtaining +their allotments, and they were thereby rendered perhaps +a degree less hungry for a time.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>DISCLOSES AN EXCELLENT, INFALLIBLE AND ARISTOCRATIC +PLAN FOR MANUFACTURING CRIMINALS.</h3> + + +<p>Nothing serious came directly of the Ashbrook fight. +There was a talk of bringing certain labourers before the +justices, and the Pembertons in particular uttered loud +threats against Tom Wanless, young Satchwell, the +blacksmith, and one or two others; but old Hawthorn +let it be widely known that if any steps were taken to +prosecute the labourers, he would not only provide means +for their defence, but enable them also to raise counter +actions, in support of which he would compel the Vicar +to enter the witness-box. That did not suit the farmers +or their abettors, still less Codling, so after a little noisy +squabbling the matter dropped.</p> + +<p>Henceforth, however, the feud, if such it may be called, +between the Pembertons and Wanless was renewed, +and became on their part a sleepless desire for petty +vengeances. They never missed the smallest opportunity +of making him feel their ill-will. Thomas had in other +ways enough to bear with in those days, helped though he +was by his freehold cottage and allotment. His intelligence +told against him with most of the farmers, making them +regard him with hatred and suspicion. So he got no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +opportunity of bettering himself, was, indeed, hardly able +to keep his head above water by the severest labour. +Many a time did he see other and less skilled workmen +preferred before him, and often in harvest had he to work +as one of a gang of reapers under another contractor, +instead of himself taking the lead. This, by and by, +caused him to try and find work at greater distances +from home, and he was occasionally away for months at +a time wood-cutting, ditch-cutting, toiling early and late +for what pittance he could pick up, while his wife +struggled at home to make ends meet in spite of her +increasing family. By the time Thomas was 35 years +old, she had borne him eight children, of whom seven +were alive, and it was almost more than mortal could do +to bring these up decently on 9s. or 10s. a-week. How +his neighbours, who had rent to pay, managed, was more +than Thomas could divine, unless they quietly stole what +was not given them; as, indeed, most of them did. Many +also were so demoralised as to look upon poor relief as a +perquisite which they thought it no shame to accept, and +even demand, on all occasions. Nearly all poached game, +when they had a chance, and boasted of it to each other. +In regard to game there was, in fact, no consciousness of +wrong-doing in the mind of any labourer, and Thomas +himself thought nothing of killing a rabbit or leveret when he +had the chance; the only anxiety was not to be caught +doing it. There was a clear distinction in his mind +between slaying wild animals protected by selfish and +abominable laws, and stealing vegetables, fowls, stray +eggs, or fruit, which many of his comrades made a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +practice of doing, pleading in their defence that man +must live.</p> + +<p>Thomas Wanless had a soul above petty thieving of this +kind. Not only was he naturally high-spirited and +jealous of a good conscience, but his mind had become +considerably expanded by diligent cultivation. He did +not again forget his reading, and though his books were +few, he still contrived to read enough on odd Sundays in +summer, and in the winter evenings, to stimulate his +naturally strong thinking powers. His friends, the blacksmith +and the parish clerk, were also often in his company, +and the three discussed matters of Church and State in +the freest possible style over their jugs of thin ale. Poor +Brown, the parish clerk and schoolmaster, had not +improved his prospects by settling in Ashbrook, for the +vicar had long ceased to interest himself in the +education of the poor, and the school emoluments had +become meagre enough. But Brown had married, and +so was, in a measure, rooted to the spot, not knowing +where to better himself.</p> + +<p>He eked out his parish clerkship with odd accountant +jobs for surrounding farmers, and occasionally picked up +a crown or two by acting as clerk at country auctions, +and his greatest earthly blessing was a contested parliamentary +election. Yet life was hard for him withal, +and his Radicalism naturally was bitter, for adversity is +the best nursery of democratic ideas. It is only the +noblest natures that can enjoy prosperity, and yet be just +and considerate towards all men. Too often the man +who when poor was a blatant Radical becomes a hollow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +tin kettle sort of creature when he has struggled up from +the earth where his Radicalism took birth. I say not +that Brown was of this sort, but undeniably poverty and +disappointment put an edge on his wit when he dealt +with the inequalities of life, and under his leadership +Thomas Wanless stood in no danger of becoming an +unquestioning pauper. The three friends solved social +problems in a style that would have amazed their +superiors had they known; nay, that they would have +even startled some of the limp and dilettante friends of +the people who, in these days, haunt London clubs, and +dilate with wondrous volubility on social reform. +Thomas's Radicalism, however, never interfered with his +work, for his family was more to him than the ills of the +State. He viewed these wrongs, perhaps, from too narrow +a standpoint for him to be a great social reformer. He +felt for his little ones, and for his once blooming, patient +wife—now grown brown, gaunt, and hollow-eyed from +incessant care, toil, and privation—and the disjointed +order of society was to him a personal wrong. His life +was, indeed, cheerless; and after his father died and his +brother had been killed by a fall from a rick, he often felt +lonely and sullen at the heart, working against his fate as +a prisoner might in chains. For him this life had no +hope, no prospect of rest but the grave.</p> + +<p>Struggling bravely, though bitter at the heart, Thomas +dragged his family through the terrible years that followed +the passing of the Reform Bill—years during which his +wife and children were almost as familiar with want as +with the light of the sun. How they survived he could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +hardly tell. "My remembrance of that time," he one +day said to me, "is but a kind of confused dream. I +ceased to think or feel. I just worked where and when +I could; and I swallowed my crust like a dumb beast. +But now I thank God that I had health, though then to +commit murder would at times to me have seemed as +nothing."</p> + +<p>In that time Thomas became a strong Chartist, and +was a leader among his fellows; and, feeling as he did, it +says much for his force of character that there were no +outbreaks by the Ashbrook villagers such as occurred in +many parts of Warwickshire at that time. His opinions, +however, were well known, and he was called a rogue +freely enough by his enemies the farmers. More than +once he might have suffered unjust imprisonment for his +freedom of speech at village gatherings and elsewhere, +had not old Squire Hawthorn stood his friend. Ever +since Ashbrook fight, that strange old man had taken +a special interest in Thomas. It only extended, however, +to occasional efforts to keep him out of the grip of +the justices, and could hardly perhaps have gone further, +for Thomas was proud; and, besides, he was a labourer, +and in that lowly lot he was predestined by the laws of +the landed oligarchy to remain. Over the great gulf +fixed by that mighty trades union of the Take-alls he +could never pass.</p> + +<p>So passed the years of my friend's early manhood. +He was familiar with care; poverty was his abiding +portion. A young family gathered round his knee; +which he tried to bring up in less ignorance than had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +been his early lot, but whom he could not always keep less +hungry. Thomas had many times difficulty in providing +his household with a sufficiency of coarse dry bread. +Insufficiently nourished his children were weakly and +stunted; little able to wrestle with disease. His two +eldest boys were sent to work for good at the age of ten; +and the younger of the two died through exposure and +hunger before he was twelve. The girls were kept longer +at home, hard though the fight for life was; but the +third boy (Thomas) was taken on at Squire Hawthorn's +own farm, at 2s. per week, when he was little over nine. +That same year, Thomas himself had had a fine spell of +harvesting; and his wife, having no new baby to provide +for, had saved a few shillings by selling vegetables from +the allotment garden, to people in Warwick town, so +that the winter was faced by the couple in better heart +than they had known almost since the day they were +married. A pound or two in hand after meeting the +bills that the harvest money had to pay! Surely greater +bliss no man could know. The thought of such riches +made Thomas declare that he might yet escape the +workhouse, as, thank God, his father had done. +Already, though not forty years old, the shadow of that +accursed refuge of the English poor had begun to loom +over Thomas's future, grim and horrible as the gate of +Hell. As he thought, in his hours of bitterness, of +whither his endless toil was carrying him, of the sole +"good" that the Take-alls left to him and such as him, +he set his teeth and cursed his country. Nor would he +believe that for this he had been born. His soul was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +bitter within him, and, young as he yet was, hard work and +harder fare were telling on his stalwart frame.</p> + +<p>But this autumn had brought him a gleam of hope; +and the stirring events of the time helped to strengthen +that hope. All things were changing. The great towns +had been roused into political activity by the Reform +Bill, and railways were fast revolutionising the habits of +the people the land through, as well as opening up new +fields of labour. At last, then, and even in sleepy, wealth +worshipping, hide-bound England, democracy might be +considered born. Thomas was sanguine that in the +coming struggles the people would win, and, like all +sanguine believers in the future good, his belief expected +instant fulfilment. The apostles themselves lived in the +belief that the end of the world was at hand. Might not +the way-worn and heart-weary agricultural labourer +therefore hope? Thomas Wanless, at least, did so. The +world was changing for others; for him and his also better +times might be at hand. Hitherto, alas, the changes had +been mostly to his hurt. Railway-making itself had done +his class harm rather than good, for the new iron roads +linked the country more and more closely to the great +centres of industry. Prices of all kinds of agricultural +produce went higher and higher, but without bringing a +corresponding increase in the labourer's pay. The landowner +grabbed all he could of the augmented gains, and +what he left the farmer took. For the hind was there +not still the workhouse? Yet the demand for labour was +increasing fast, and not all the hungry kerns of Ireland +seemed able to meet that demand. For once Thomas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +and his wife had enjoyed a good year. Was not +Leamington Priors growing a big town moreover, and +going to have a college of its own to outshine Rugby +itself? Surely Ashbrook would benefit from the nearness +of so much wealth as this implied. The grounds for +this hope were many and obvious. Thomas might yet +rent his own little farm, and be independent. His +ambition ran no higher, yet the indulgence of it proved +him to be a short-sighted fool.</p> + +<p>At this time Thomas was an odd or day labourer, taking +contract jobs on his own account when he could get them, +and working for a daily wage when these failed. This +winter found him at work grubbing up old hedges, and +helping to lay out anew some land on a farm of Lord +Duckford's beyond Radbury. He had to walk about +four miles each way daily to and from his work, but as +the days were short he lost no time, and the company of +a fellow villager engaged with him at the same job made +the trudge lighter. And the hopes that lay around his +heart helped him more than aught else, as they always +help us poor will-o'-the-wisp-led mortals in this dark +world.</p> + +<p>Alas for these hopes! Thomas Wanless had not been +a month at his new work when an epidemic of scarlet +fever broke out at Ashbrook, and amongst the first to +catch the disease was his youngest child, a girl of two +years. Ere ten days had elapsed five out of his seven +surviving children were down with the treacherous disease. +His eldest boy and girl had had it years before, but the +boy was sent home from the farm where he worked for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +fear of spreading contagion, and the girl was little more +than nine years old, so that she could not do much to +help the overworked mother.</p> + +<p>Crowded together in the long low-roofed attic of the +cottage, three of the five lay helpless and wailing for +many days. After the first week the other two whose +attack had been slight got out of bed, but were kept in the +same room to avoid cold. The food of all was poor, the +medical attendance miserable and infrequent. Thomas's +heart was nearly broken. All his hopes vanished, and the +old bitterness settled down on his spirit. The rage of +helplessness often swept over him as he looked at his +tired and harassed wife, or thought of her left alone, day +in and out, with those sick children. The little savings +would mostly be needed for the doctor's bill; there was +only the 10s. a-week that Thomas happily still earned to +stand between the whole family and want. Can anyone +wonder that Thomas grew moody, and glowered at the +world to which he owed so little?</p> + +<p>One evening, in the middle of the third week of their +affliction, as he and neighbour Robins were trudging +home together through the perplexing obscurity of a grey +November fog, the latter said—</p> + +<p>"Couldn't we get a rabbit or two, Tummas? They'd +make a nice pot for the young ones, poor things; better +nor barley gruel, any way."</p> + +<p>"I don't mind," said Thomas, in an indifferent tone. +"But where can we come at 'em?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's a warren up in Squire Greenaway's fir +coppice to the left here, just off the Banbury road. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +can beat it in five minutes. Come on," he added, seizing +Thomas's arm.</p> + +<p>"All right, let's have some o' the wermin," his friend +answered, and presently they turned off the road, making +for the coppice.</p> + +<p>"You keep up by the fence here, and you'll strike the +edge of the wood in no time," said Robins. "The +burrows lie mostly along to the right. Crouch down by +the holes and be ready. I'll walk round the field and +drive the bunnies in. There's sure to be lots feedin' to-night +in old Claypole's turmuts."</p> + +<p>Thomas obeyed, and the two at once lost sight of each +other. Robins, it is to be feared, had often helped himself +to a rabbit before now, here and elsewhere, but by some +chance Thomas had never yet been a regular poacher. +He could not say why, for certainly he had no respect for +the game laws. Such, however, was the fact, and he said +a queer kind of feeling came over him when he found +himself alone, and realised the errand he was upon. But +his mind was in tone to be tempted now, and he never +thought of turning back. There was, indeed, little time +to think of it, for he was among the rabbit-holes in a +minute, and choosing a handy bush where the holes were +thick he knelt down, grasped his stick and waited. +Presently he heard a low whistle from the field below, but +quite near, and almost as it reached his ears rabbits by +the dozen came hopping up cautiously, and with frequent +pauses of watchfulness. The foremost caught sight of +Thomas and scudded to the left, whither the whole troop +might have followed had not Robins at that instant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +rushed up and sent a batch of the scared creatures right +amongst Thomas's feet. Ere they could get under ground +he managed to knock over three, and Robins himself +maimed but did not succeed in catching a fourth. Two +of the three knocked over were not quite dead, but Robins +at once finished them, and as he did so, said:—</p> + +<p>"Look here Tummas, you takes the two big uns. +You're more in need o' 'em than me," and as he would +take no denial the spoil was so divided.</p> + +<p>Thomas thanked his friend, and stowing the rabbits +inside their coats as best they could, the two carefully +made their way out of the coppice, and again took the +road for home.</p> + +<p>By this time it was very dark, and the fog thicker than +ever, so that they had never a thought of danger. Yet +they had not been unobserved. Tom Pemberton, as ill-luck +would have it, had been passing the coppice while +the two labourers were after the rabbits, and had either +heard their voices or the whistling, made more audible +by the fog. Suspecting that poachers were at work, and +always eager to do his fellow man an ill turn, Pemberton +stopped his walk, and stole along the edge of the field till +he reached the gate, where he crouched for his prey. In +a few minutes the voices of the approaching labourers +reached his ears, and being a coward he crawled along the +ground, and lay down in the frozen ditch lest he should be +seen, but still kept well within earshot. To his intense satisfaction +he recognised one at least of the men by his voice, +as they passed him, unconscious of his presence. Robins +he could not be sure of, but he had only too good cause to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +recollect the voice of Wanless. The two were talking of +the pleasure their families would have in eating stewed +rabbit, and doubtless Pemberton chuckled to himself as +he heard. But he had the prudence to keep quite still +until the labourers got well beyond hearing. Then he +arose and went on his mission of evil. The unsuspecting +labourers trudged home in peace. Thomas with even a +flicker of gladness at his heart, a flicker that deepened to +a glow of thankfulness, when he reached his cottage and +learned that the doctor had pronounced the child who had +suffered most out of danger. She was the youngest but +one, a little girl of four. Before her illness she had been +a fair-haired, delicate-looking, but healthy child, with +bright, engaging ways, and a sweet merry voice, a great +favourite of her father's. Now she was thin and worn, +and her lips had become dry and cracked with the fire that +had burned and burned in her little body, till all its flesh +was consumed. Night after night Thomas had come +home, and, changing his wet clothes, had, after a hasty +supper, gone up beside his little ones to watch and tend +them in the early night, while the mother tried to snatch +an hour or two's sleep. Through these weary weeks +nothing had wrung his heart so keenly as the sore battle +for life made by wee Sally. Hour after hour her little +transparent feverish hands would clutch his nervously, as +she lay panting in his arms, or wander pitifully about his +weather-worn face, her burning touch causing him to +shiver to the very marrow of his bones.</p> + +<p>"I'se so ill, daddy; I'se so ill," she would keep moaning, +and sometimes she would start screaming from an uneasy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +slumber that gave no rest. Then she grew too ill to speak, +and lay gasping and delirious in the close, ill-ventilated +attic beside her two sisters, who were themselves part of +the time too ill to raise their heads. Thomas thought +that death had come for his little girl the night before he +brought the rabbits home, and the nearer death seemed to +come the more agonising grew the pain at his heart. His +wife and he together had watched by Sally's cot till +towards morning, fearing that each moment she would +choke. But about half-past two the breath began to be +more free; she swallowed a little weak tea, and gradually +fell into the quietest sleep she had had for more than ten +days.</p> + +<p>When Thomas left for his day's work she was asleep +still, and he had held the hope that she would yet get +better to his heart all day. So mixed are the motives +that sway men that this very hope made him the more +ready to go after the rabbits. The savoury broth might +help his little ones—and Sally.</p> + +<p>So they were glad that night in the little Ashbrook +Cottage. Sally had slept till daylight, and woke quiet, +cooler-skinned and hungry. The doctor said she would +live yet. Thomas went up as usual beside his little ones, +and told them about the rabbits that Robins and he had +caught, making them laugh at the thought of to-morrow's +treat. He had not waited for supper, and his wife brought +it up stairs, spreading it out at the foot of the bed where +"baby" and "bludder" Jack lay, and then the whole +family enjoyed the luxury of a cup of tea in honour of +Sally's improvement. How little the labourer suspected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +then that the hand of vengeance was already stretched +forth to blast him and his joys, it might be, for ever. Yet +so it was, and thus does life ever mock us, especially if we +be poor. And had not Thomas sinned against the English +Baal. The sacred laws of property had been violated by +him; he had entered its holy of holies—a game preserve—and +must bear the penalty.</p> + +<p>The thought did not quite thus shape itself in Tom +Pemberton's mind as he crept from his lair and made off +as fast as the thick gloom would permit him, to Squire +Greenaway's gamekeeper's cottage; but his heart exulted +at the thought of the vengeance it was now in his power +to wreak. That very night he hoped to see the hated +Wanless locked up. In this hope, however, he was +disappointed. The gamekeeper was not at home, nor +could his wife say exactly where he was. Probably she +knew well enough; and certain gamedealers in Leamington +also were likely to know, for, like most of his class, +this fellow was only a licensed poacher; but Pemberton +had to be content with his answer. He told the keeper's +wife that he wanted some poachers apprehended, and +that he would return to-morrow.</p> + +<p>Sure enough he came, and came early, but the keeper +was again out, setting his gins probably, and had left +word that he would not be back till dinner-time. +Ultimately, Pemberton met his man, and the two decided +to go and seize Wanless at night in his own cottage. +Accordingly, that same evening as Thomas and his +family were enjoying their supper together in the attic, +they were disturbed by a rude thumping at the door<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +and before Thomas himself could get down to see who +was there, the latch was lifted, and in walked Tom +Pemberton with the gamekeeper at his heels. The +latter was a squat, ill-favoured, heavy man, with small +piercing eyes that were never at rest. He sniffed noisily +as he entered, and gave vent to a gleeful chuckle as he +caught sight of Wanless. Dull Pemberton had grown +fat and bloated-looking since the days of the allotment +agitation, but his usually stolid, sodden-looking features, +were to-night almost animated by the leer of triumph +which had displaced the customary sullen vacuity. Yet +he was not at his ease; and when Thomas, divining the +men's purpose, drew himself up, and holding up his +rushlight the better to see the faces of his visitors, +flashed a look of scornful defiance at the farmer, that +worthy drew back involuntarily.</p> + +<p>But the keeper had no feelings, and at once struck in +with—</p> + +<p>"Sorry to hinterrup' yer feast, my man; but we want +ye, d'ye see. God! what a prime smell! Kerruberatin' +evidence, eh, farmer? Ye've been poachin', Wanless, +that's evident; an' the Squire'll be glad to speak wi' ye +about it. Ha! ha!"</p> + +<p>For a moment Thomas felt disposed to fight. A thrill +of fury swept through him, and he wished he could tear +keeper and farmer in pieces with his hands. But that +soon passed, and he stood dumbfounded. Hearing the +strange voices, his wife stole down the stair, followed by +the three children who were able to be about the house, +and two of these latter, catching a vague fear of danger,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +began to cry. Young Tom did not weep, but stole +softly up to his father's side. But a minute before all +had been happiness, such happiness as a family of +miserable groundlings might dare to feel, and now——</p> + +<p>Bah! Why give a thought to such wretches. They +can have no feelings like my lord and the squire, or his +scented and sanctified parsonship. And yet the cold +night wind made these sick children shiver as you or I +might; and the stricken wife, who had caught the +purport of the keeper's speech, was just as ready to faint +with grief and terror, as if she had had your feelings or +mine. Her first act was to protect the children from +harm by trying to shut the door; but Pemberton, with +a growl, pushed her back, and she then gathered them in +her arms, and sat down on an old box by the fire, +weeping silently.</p> + +<p>Still Thomas stood, silent but not cowed, and the +keeper's wrath began to blaze up.</p> + +<p>"Come along, man," he growled, "none of yer +hobstinincy, now. We don't want no scenes here; none +o' yer blubberin' wife and family kick-ups. Come along."</p> + +<p>Then Pemberton plucked up heart to laugh. With a +mocking hee! hee! hee! he said—</p> + +<p>"We've got you now, Wanless, and no mistake, you +d——d old blackguard, an' we'll tame that devilish +spirit of yours afore we're done wi' ye. Roast me if we +don't."</p> + +<p>His voice roused the spirit of Wanless once more. +Clenching his hands he stepped forward, moving the +keeper aside, and putting his fist in Pemberton's face,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +said, in a voice that quivered with concentrated +passion—</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongue, you black-hearted scoundrel, and +leave my house this instant, or I'll throw you out at the +door. What right have you to enter my door? Be off!"</p> + +<p>Pemberton shrank back and looked as if he thought it +might be best for him to obey; but the keeper grasped +Thomas by the collar from behind and swung him round, +at the same time saying—</p> + +<p>"Come, come, none o' this nonsense now, Wanless. I'll +have no fightin' here, or, by God, if you do I'll transport you, +sure's my name's Crabb. You must go with us quietly."</p> + +<p>At the threat of transporting him, Thomas's wife uttered +a shrill cry of horror, and Thomas himself grew pale, but +he was now too much stirred to yield at once. Instead, +he shook off the keeper's hand; and demanded fiercely +what right he had to arrest him.</p> + +<p>The keeper laughed mockingly.</p> + +<p>"Well now, that is a good un'. Why, damme, you've +been poaching."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that? And what is it to you if I +have?"</p> + +<p>"How do I know? Why, bless my life, I can smell it, +you fool. But I beant here to hargify the p'int. I harrest +ye on a criminal charge, Wanless, that's all; and I've +brought the bracelets, my boy. Just the correct horneyments +for chaps like you, he, he," croaked the keeper, with +malign glee.</p> + +<p>"But where's your warrant?" urged Thomas. "You +have no right to enter a man's own house in this way, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +haul him wherever you like when it suits you to put out +your spites on him. Poachers, faith; who's a poacher, +I'd like to know, if you ain't? Leave my house, both of +you, or, by God, I'll rouse the village. Tom, Tom," he +added, turning to his son, who had again crept to his side, +"go and find Sutchwell, and Pease, and——"</p> + +<p>"Hold hard there, you —— fool," roared the keeper. +"Curse you, d'ye suppose we came here to stand your +insolence."</p> + +<p>Pemberton closed the door and put his back to it.</p> + +<p>"Look ye here, my fine haristocrat," continued the +keeper in the boundless wrath of fear, "look ye here, if +you don't go quietly, devil take me if I don't get ye a trip +to Botany Bay for this job. I'm a sworn constable, and +I've got the justices' warrant, surely that's 'nuff for thieves +like you. Come, farmer Pemberton," he added more +quietly, "help me to hornament this gent," and in a very +brief space the two mastered and handcuffed the labourer.</p> + +<p>He, indeed, made little resistance, for he began to see +that he was at the mercy of these scoundrels. His wife +clung to him, but they tore her roughly away. The +children wailed in chorus, and "bludder Jack" crept +downstairs in his thin nightgown to see what was causing +the hubbub, howling like the rest without knowing why. +But it was soon all over. Thomas barely got time to kiss +his wife, and to whisper to her to tell Hawthorn, ere he +was out of the cottage and away with his captors. All +down the little village street the shrieks of his family rung +in his ears, and his heart within him was like to burst with +grief, humiliation, and impotent wrath.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>That night he was formally committed by Squire +Greenaway himself to be tried for poaching, before the +justices at Leamington Priors, on Tuesday next. This +was Friday.</p> + +<p>In due course Thomas Wanless appeared before the +"Justices"—God save them! and, after a very brief trial, +was "let off," as one phrased it, with six months' hard +labour in Warwick Jail. The only evidence against him +was that of Tom Pemberton, but he made no attempt to +deny the charge, and as the squires already considered +him a "dangerous" fellow, they thought their sentence a +model of clemency. So did Pemberton and Keeper +Crabb. His judges were Wiseman, Greenaway, the man +whose vermin he had helped to thin by just three rabbits, +Parson Codling, of Ashbrook, and a bibulous old +creature who lived in Leamington Priors, a retired +Birmingham merchant, who had been made J.P. for his +subservience to the Tories. Greenaway was violent, and +rather disposed to give an "exemplary" sentence; Wiseman +was contemptuously indifferent, as became a big +acred man and the husband of a woman with a handle to +her name; and Parson Codling was unctuously severe.</p> + +<p>An attempt was made to get Wanless to tell the name +of his co-offender, but that he refused, so he was told that +his obstinacy had prevented a more lenient sentence, +which was false. But something is due to appearances +at times, and even from such divine personages as justices +of the peace. So careful was the "bench" of proprieties +on this occasion, that Codling, on a hint from the chairman, +gave Wanless the benefit of a short exhortation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +before consigning him to the salutary and eminently +Christian discipline of the jailer. In the course of this +homily, Codling took occasion to observe that he had +once hoped better things of the prisoner, but had long +ago been forced to give him up. "With grief and +sorrow," said the parson, "I have again and again +watched his obduracy, and his tendency to consort with +agitators, or worse. His fate will, I trust, be a warning +to others."</p> + +<p>This Parson Codling you will perceive had become +tame. Once on a time he had been almost given over to +agitation himself; but that danger soon passed, and he +was now a proper ornament to and supporter of the +British hierarchy. Its morals were his morals. He knew +no god but the god of the landed gentry. In his youth +the functions of the priestly office had been misunderstood +by him; but he had married soon after we last +met him a gentlewoman of Worcestershire with £2,000 a +year, and that cured him of many weaknesses—amongst +others of the foolish craze he once had that the religion +of Christ was a religion to be practised. He now knew +that it was nothing of the kind. Certain tenets of it had +been made up into a creed "to be said or sung," and a +singularly complex institution called the Church had +been elaborated for the good of public morals, and the +support of the English aristocracy—that was all. Therefore +could he now wag his head pompously at poor Tom +Wanless standing dumb before him; therefore could he +now raise his fat soft hands, and thrust from his sight +with sanctimonious horror that criminal guilty of rabbit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +murder. A stranger, unfamiliar with the usages of rural +England—that country whose liberties, we are told, all +nations admire and envy—might have supposed that +Wanless was some foul manslayer, some midnight +assassin meeting his just doom. Unhappy stranger, woe +on thy ignorance. Know thou that in England no crime +is so heinous as the least approach to rebellion against +the sacred rights of the Have-alls? "Touch not the +land nor anything that is thereon," is to the English +landholder all the law and the prophets. So Codling +cursed Wanless for his crime, and the doom-stricken +labourer passed from his sight.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>MAKES KNOWN THE EXCELLENT QUALITIES OF JAIL +LIFE.</h3> + + +<p>Captain Hawthorn had been duly apprised of Thomas's +misfortune, but was unable to do anything directly to +help him. Because of his obnoxious opinions Hawthorn +was not a justice of the peace; and he felt that any +attempt on his part to appear as the labourer's champion +might only end in making the poor fellow's sentence all +the heavier. Since the Reform Bill and the Chartist +agitations had alarmed the landholders, they had shown +less disposition than ever to admit such a nondescript +radical as Hawthorn into their society; and his interference +in local affairs was so prominently resented on +several occasions that he had almost ceased to attempt +any. He had even some difficulty in obtaining access to +Wanless in jail; but ultimately succeeded, by the help +of a little judicious bribery, and the friendly assistance +of a mountebank drunken parson, who was in jail for +debt during six days of the week, but got bailed out on +Sundays, so that he might edify his flock and keep +down expenses.</p> + +<p>The old man's first greeting to Wanless was in his +customary rough form.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, Tom, a nice ass you have made of yourself. +Why the devil hadn't you more sense, man? Eh? +D—n it, you might have taken some of my rabbits, +my boy, and never a keeper would have said you +nay."</p> + +<p>This was true enough, for Hawthorn had now no +keeper, and, for that matter, little game. He allowed his +tenants to do as they pleased, and one of the deepest +grievances his neighbours had against him, was that +these tenants thinned their game wherever their lands +marched with his.</p> + +<p>To this sally Thomas, however, made no answer +beyond a smothered groan. The man's spirit was too +much broken to bear rough comfort of this kind, as his +visitor instantly perceived. Changing his tone at once, +the Captain bent over the bench where the prisoner sat +hanging his head, and laying his hand on Thomas's +shoulder, added—</p> + +<p>"Come, come, Tom, my boy; bless my life! don't lose +heart because you've been a fool. I'll see that the chicks +don't starve, and you'll soon be out of this, and a man +again."</p> + +<p>The kind tones of Hawthorn's voice affected Tom +more even than the promise. He tried to speak, but his +voice broke in sobs.</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut. 'Pon my life, don't, Tom, d—n it, man, +don't," spluttered the Captain; but, as Tom did not +stop, he grasped his hand suddenly and gave it a hearty +grip. Then he turned and fled, afraid probably of +himself betraying his feelings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<p>His visit did Thomas much good, and he bore his +trials more patiently henceforth, though the bitterness +of his heart at times nearly maddened him. I can never +forget the description which he gave me in after days of +the agonies suffered by him during those horrible six +months. We were seated together in his little garden +one September evening, the sun was far down in the west, +the ruddy glow of a calm, bright autumn evening fell +athwart Wanless's grey, worn face, lighting it with a sober +brilliance that fitted well the fixed look of sadness that sat +on it as he then told me of that dark time. His voice was +calm for the most part, although full of subdued passion; +and the impression his narrative made on me was so deep +that I can almost give you his very words.</p> + +<p>"At first," said he, "I felt like a caged wild beast, and +could do nothing but chafe. The night in the keeper's +out-house, where the villain kept me to save himself trouble, +with both hands and feet cruelly tied, had been bad enough; +and the nights and days in Leamington lock-up were hard +to bear, but a kind of hope sustained me, and I did not +fully comprehend what loss of liberty was till I lay in +Warwick Jail. For three nights after I entered that hell +upon earth I did not sleep a wink. The very air I breathed +seemed to choke me. Sometimes I felt so mad that I +could hardly keep from dashing my head against the walls +of the cell. Had I been alone perhaps I might have done +it, but there were five beside myself cooped up in a den +not much bigger than my kitchen, and in the darkness I +was for a time horribly afraid lest one or other of these +men should do me an injury. Though in one sense<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +eager for death, I did not like being killed; and when not +raging I was trembling with fear. It was nervousness, no +doubt, but you can hardly wonder when I tell you what +my neighbours were. One was a burglar from Birmingham, +sentenced to transportation for stealing a coat from +somebody's hall; two were miners from Dudley way, +"doing" sixty days for kicking a chum and breaking his +leg, another was a wild, brutish-like day labourer, who +had got six months at last Assizes for cutting his wife's +throat, not quite to the death, and the last was a poor, +hungry youth of a tailor's apprentice, who had got the +same sentence for stealing some cloth. We were a strange +lot, and I feared these men in the darkness. If one moved, +my heart leapt to my mouth; and the horrible language +in which some of them indulged, made my flesh creep. +That wild labourer especially terrified me. What if the +murderous frenzy was to come upon him, and he should +try to throttle me in the dark.</p> + +<p>"After a few nights, exhausted nature asserted herself, +and I slept. Then other thoughts arose in my heart that +were still worse to bear—thoughts about my wife and +family. Sarah had been allowed to speak to me for a minute +or two before I was removed from the Leamington Courthouse +to jail, and she then told me that Jack and Fanny +caught cold <i>that</i> night, and threatened dropsy. Lucy, also, +had had a relapse of the fever. Poor woman, she looked +so broken-hearted and worn-out like, and I could say +nothing, still less do anything now. 'Oh, Tummas, +Tummas, that it should a' coom to this' she cried, and +wept bitterly behind her thin old shawl. It was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +shawl I married her in, sir; and I thought on the past and +the future till I, too, broke down and cried like a child. +But what good was that to her; to either of us? Well; I +couldn't help it.</p> + +<p>"Then she picked up a bit, and tried to cheer me, as +women will when the worst comes. She told me that Mrs. +Robins was very kind, and had come to look after +the children for her that day, having none of her own, and +no fear of the infection, and she was sure that the neighbours +would never see her want. That was some comfort +at the time; but once I came to myself in jail the thought +that I was now helpless, that my family might be dying +and I unable to reach them, raised anew the agony in +my mind. I saw them gathered round our Sally's bed +weeping for their absent father. My wife's weary looks +and thin white face haunted me in the night seasons far +worse than the wife mutilator. What could neighbours do +for her in such a strait; what could I do now? The +thought of my helplessness came over me with waves +of agonising self-abasement and disgust, till my nerves +seemed to crack and my brain spin round. Often did I +stuff my sleeve into my mouth to stop myself from crying +out as I lay tossing on the floor of the den. I would beat +my head with my clenched hands till the sparks danced +in my eyes, and groan till my neighbours muttered curses +through their sleep. Oh, I thought, if I could but get an +hour with my little ones, to see wee Sally and the baby in +their bed, to watch poor Jack and Fan, and help the worn out +mother. An hour! nay, half an hour, only five minutes! +God, it was unbearable; it was hell to be caged like this!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And what had I done to be thus torn from my wife +and children, and made to consort with brutal criminals? +What had I done? Killed three rabbits, vermin that +curse God's earth and devour the bread of the poor. They +belonged to nobody any more'n rats or mice or weasels, +and did nobody good in this world. Why, the man that +had nearly killed his wife was not harder treated than me. +What then was my crime? Was I indeed a criminal? +I asked myself again and again, and the answer came—'No, +Tom Wanless, but you were worse; you were a fool. +You knew the power of the landlords; you knew that to +them the rabbit was a sacred animal, and that they could +punish you if they caught you. You were a fool ever to put +yourself in their clutches.' Ah yes, there was the sting of +it. How could I hope to escape doom when all the world +except the labourers were on one side.</p> + +<p>"But though I saw I had been a fool; that made me no +better in my mind; rather worse; for, as I tossed and +raved in my heart, I took to cursing squire and parson: +I cursed, too, the land of my birth, and ended by cursing +the God who made me. Ay, that did I. In the darkness +I mocked at Him, I swore at Him, and told Him that I +wouldn't believe there was a God at all. Why, if He +lived, did he suffer scoundrels to call themselves His +chosen people, and mock Him by their chattering prayers +and mumblings all the time that they lived only to +oppress the poor. Life was a curse if that was +right.</p> + +<p>"Well," Thomas continued, after a short pause, during +which he leant back and watched the changing tints of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +gold flitting across the western sky, "well, that mood also +passed, and after the old captain had been to see me I +got a little quieter. But the jailers did not make life easy +for me, I can tell you. Because I was silent, speaking +little, eating little, and hardly fit for the task they set me +upon that weary treadmill, they gave me a taste of the +whip many a time, and abused me for a sullen gallows +bird, but I paid no heed.</p> + +<p>"Within a fortnight after my punishment began, little +Tom brought me word that two of my children, Jack and +Lucy, were dead, and that Fanny was not expected to +live. When I heard this news I laughed a bitter laugh, +and said, 'Thank God, some good has been done. The +squires won't imprison them, anyway!' My boy looked +terrified for a moment, and then fell a-weeping bitterly. +The sight of him crouching at my feet, and quivering in +passionate grief, brought me a bit to. A vision of my +dear little ones, of my dying wee Fan, swept over me; +my heart yearned for them, and I mingled my tears with +my son's. I charged him to be kind to mother, and tried +to comfort him. Poor lad, poor lad! He is in Australia +now, and has a farm of his own. The sorrow of that +time is past for him long ago."</p> + +<p>Here my old friend paused, wiping the tears from his +eyes furtively, and sighing softly to himself. The dying +glow of the sunset was now on his face, gleaming in his +silvery hair, and making his sad but animated features +shine with a soft glory. I sat still and gazed at him with +feelings too strong for speech. After a little he turned to +me with a smile, and said:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"Yes, my friend, that's all passed, and many sorrows +beside, nor do I now curse God as I look back upon them. +But I cannot tell you more to-night. I didn't think that +I should have been moved so much by recalling that old +story. Let us go indoors, the night is growing chilly."</p> + +<p>Future conversations gave me most of the particulars +of that time, but I cannot harrow the reader's feelings +with a full recital of all that Thomas Wanless felt and +suffered in these six months of misery. Three of his +children died while he chafed and toiled in Warwick Jail. +The heart-stricken mother alone received their dying +words, heard their last farewell. Kind neighbours tried +to comfort her. The parson's wife even called, and said, +"Poor woman, I'm afraid you've had too many children +to bring up. I'll see if the vicar can spare you a few +shillings from the poor box;" but the shillings never +came, much to Thomas's satisfaction in after days. +Perhaps Codling thought the family altogether too reprobate +for his charity.</p> + +<p>It would have gone hard indeed with Mrs. Wanless +and the little ones spared to her but for old Captain +Hawthorn. Though verging on seventy, and by no means +strong, no single week elapsed all that winter when his +cheery voice was not heard in the cottage. Often he +came twice a week, but never with any ostentation of +charity. On the contrary, he went so far the other way +as to pretend to take a bond over the cottage for money, +professedly lent to the family, and without which they +must have gone into the workhouse. He never, perhaps, +felt so like a hypocrite in his life as he did when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +took this bond to the jail for Thomas to sign. Young +Tom was put back to his work on the home farm, +and his wages raised on some pretence or other to +six shillings a week. The dry, old man, so hard and +repellant, had, after all, a human heart in him that my +Lord Bishop of Worcester might have envied had he +ever experienced any desire for such an organ. More +true sympathy with distress was shown by this hardened +old Voltarian since this family had attracted his notice +than by all the squires of the district and the parsons to +boot. It had not yet become fashionable for the latter +to rehearse deeds of philanthropy in pedantic garments. +Hawthorn's fault was not want of heart or of sympathy, +but a self-centredness which prevented him from seeing +his duty, except when, as in this instance, it was forced +upon him. Yet, after all, what could he have done to +help the poor around him that would not in some way +have redounded to their hurt? Charity doles would have +demoralised them more than their hard lot did; and any +opening of the door for them to help themselves would +have brought hatred, contumely, and perhaps real +injury to them and him. He could not raise wages by +his fiat, nor could he break up his land and distribute it +to the people. All the laws of the country, as well as +the prejudices of "society," were against him, if he had +ever thought of so wild a project; which I do not suppose +he ever did. He sat apart and mocked at a world with +which he had no sympathy; whose hollowness, self-seeking, +and cruelty, hid beneath infinite hypocrisies, he +thoroughly understood.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + +<p>And this good, at least, has to be recorded of him, +that he saved the family of Thomas Wanless from want, +by consequence, also, in all probability, saving Thomas +himself from becoming an abandoned Ishmaelite. The +sight of his family beggared, homeless, and in the +workhouse, either would have driven him reckless or broken +his heart. From that sight, at least, he was saved; and +Thomas has often told me that the conduct of the old +squire during these six months did more to revive hope +in his heart and keep him from losing all faith in God or +man, than any other single event of his life. Yet had +his heart bitterness enough.</p> + +<p>"I remember," he said, one night as we conversed +together; "I remember the morning I left jail. It was +a warm, May morning, and the air was so fresh and +sweet that the first breath of it made me feel quite giddy +with joy. 'Free! free! I am free!' I whispered softly +to myself, and with difficulty refrained from capering +about the road like a madman, as the joyous thought +surged through my heart. It lasted only for a few +moments. Pain took hold of the heels of my joy as +usual. I was a man disgraced. Why should I be glad +to get out of jail? Were not its forbidding, gloomy +walls the best shelter left for one like me? Why should +I be glad? The law of the land had branded me a +criminal; let the law makers enjoy paying for their work.</p> + +<p>"Ah, no; disgraced as I was, filled with bitter +passionate hate of those above me as my heart might be, +I was not yet ready to stoop to deliberate crime as a +mode of revenge. The memory of my lost children and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +my lonely, heart-broken wife stole into my heart and +brought the tears to my eyes. The four that were left +to me would be waiting on this May morning for my +home coming. I would go home.</p> + +<p>"So I started; but when I reached the castle bridge +my heart again failed me. I was weak through long +confinement, ill-usage, and want of food, for the messes +served to us in that jail were often worse than I would +have given to my pig. The very thought of meeting a +village neighbour terrified me. My limbs shook, and I +crept through a gap in the fence, resolved to hide till +night and steal home in the darkness. For a little while +I sat behind a bush at the water's edge, feeling a coward, +but wholly unable to scold myself for it. Then I crept +along the bank of the Avon towards Grimscote, till I +reached a clump of osiers, into which I plunged. The +ground was very damp, and here and there almost swampy; +but presently I found a dry mound, and there I lay +down, buried from all eyes. How long I lay I cannot +tell, for I paid no heed to time, though I gradually +became calmer. Once again I was in contact with +nature. The air was full of the music of birds, and the +chirp of insects among the grass sounded almost like the +movement of life in the very ground itself. A sweet +smell of hawthorn blossom came to me from some old +trees close by, and now and then I heard the plash of +oars on the river, and voices came to me sweet and clear +off the water. Gradually I became more hopeful. Life +was all around me; the bushes themselves seemed moved +by it as I lay beneath their shade. Behind me the traffic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +of the high road made a constant rattle, and beyond the +river I heard the bleating of lambs. And life somehow +came back to me also. I arose with new hopes in my +breast. All could not yet be lost to me, I somehow felt; +and, at any rate, I would go home, for I began to be very +hungry.</p> + +<p>"I often stopped on the way with weariness and faint-heartedness, +but did not again turn back, and by two +o'clock in the afternoon I reached my own cottage. My +wife welcomed me with a burst of crying. I learnt from +her that she had begun to dread that I had done something +rash. She and the little ones had gone to meet me +in the morning as far as the castle bridge, which they +must have reached soon after I lay down among the +willows. There they sat for a while hoping that I would +come, but seeing nothing of me they crept back again +with hearts sad enough, you may be sure. I was not long +behind them, and my wife soon brightened enough to be +able to eat some dinner with me; but my heart smote me +for being so selfish and unkind as to go and hide as if no +one had to be considered but myself."</p> + +<p>Such in faint outline was Thomas's account of his +release from prison. His meeting with his family was +sad beyond description. In the short six months of his +absence three of his little ones had been put under the +sod. Out of a family of eight in all he had now but four +left. A great mercy that it was so, some will say; and +possibly they may be right. The world's goods are so +ill distributed that death is for many the only blessing +left. Nevertheless, I question if the sorrow of the labourer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +at the loss of his children was not keener than that of +many who need not fear a want of bread for their offspring. +He had toiled and suffered for all the eight, and +the love that grows up in the heart through such discipline +as his is akin to the deepest and holiest passion known to +man. Thomas and his wife mourned for their dead to +their own life's end, because the little ones had been part +of their life. Is it so with you, pert censor of the miserable +poor?</p> + +<p>Though sorrowing, Thomas had yet no time to nurse +his sorrow. The world had to be faced again, and work +to be found. For sentimental griefs and morbid wailings +in the world's ear the Wanlesses had no time. At first +Thomas got some jobs from Mr. Hawthorn, but he soon +saw that they were jobs mostly created on purpose for +him, and he could not bear the thought of living on charity, +no matter how disguised. Therefore, he began to hunt +about for odd work in the neighbourhood, and found much +difficulty in getting it. His recent imprisonment told +against him everywhere, if not in keeping work from his +hands, at all events in low pay for the work. The farmers +had now got their feet on his neck, and took it out of him, +as they alone knew how; for the brutalised slave is always +the cruellest of slave-drivers. But Thomas fought on, +and for the best part of a year contrived to exist with the +help that young Tom's wages gave. He did no more; nay, +not always so much; for he and his wife sometimes wanted +their own dinners that their children might have enough. +Still he existed; lived through the year somehow and was +thankful, notwithstanding the fact that he had made no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +progress in paying off his debt to the old Captain. "He +can take the cottage, Thomas," said his wife. "Someone +will pay him rent enough for it, though we can't; but we +can get a hovel somewhere."</p> + +<p>He was spared this last sacrifice, for about this time +old Hawthorn died, and a sealed packet addressed to +Thomas Wanless was found among his papers. When +the labourer came to open this, he found that it contained +his bond with the signature torn off, a receipt in full for +the money advanced, and a £20 note. On a slip of paper +was written in the Captain's scraggy, trembling hand, +"Don't mention this to a living soul, Tom Wanless, or by +God I'll haunt you.—E.H." Thus the scorned infidel was +soft-hearted and characteristic to the last. His estate +passed to a cousin, who soon gave the tenants cause to +remember how good the old Captain had been. And +once more he had kept the labourer's heart from breaking. +The deliverance from debt which this packet brought, and +the prodigious wealth a £20 note appeared to be to +Thomas, renewed his courage and made him resolve to +strike further afield in search of better paid labour. +Railway making was at its height all over the country, +and he had often thought of becoming a navvy. Now +he decided to be one if he could get work on the line +down Worcester way. A bit of that line came within +fifteen miles of Ashbrook, and he might therefore see his +family now and then at least Young Tom was to stay +at home, and the 5s. a-week, to which his wages was +reduced after old Hawthorn's death, would help to keep +house till work was found by his father. The £20 was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +not to be touched till the very last extremity, and in the +meantime Thomas put it in as a deposit in a savings +bank at Stratford-on-Avon. He would not deposit it in +Warwick lest questions might be asked, and the Captain's +dying command be in consequence disobeyed.</p> + +<p>The new plans succeeded better almost than Thomas +had hoped. He got work on the railway; it was very +hard work, but the wages were good; at first he only got +18s. per week, and he began by stinting himself in order +to send 10s. of this home; but he soon found that to be a +mistake. His work demanded full vigour of body, +and to be in full vigour he must be well fed. The other +men had meat of some kind three times a day, and Thomas +followed their example, with the best results. Not only +did he stand by his work with the rest, but he displayed +such energy and intelligence that within a few weeks he +obtained charge of the work in a deep cutting at 28s. per +week. Of this he saved from 12s. to 14s. a-week, after +paying for clothes, lodgings, and food. It seemed very +little, and he grudged much the cost of his own living; +but there was no help for it. Besides, what he saved now +was more than all he earned in Ashbrook, except for a +few weeks during harvest. Much reason had he to thank +the dairyman's wife for feeding him in his youth so as to +fit him now for a navvy's toil.</p> + +<p>Truly the life was rough, and little to Wanless' liking, +yet he worked with a heart and hope rarely his before. +Altogether this job lasted for two years, and regularly all +that time Thomas went home once a month with his +savings. Sometimes he had more than 20 miles to walk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +each way, but he had health, and never failed. Starting on +Saturday evenings, in wet weather and dry, summer and +winter, he would reach home early on Sunday morning, +when after a good sleep, he passed a few happy hours, +and then started on the Sunday afternoon for his work +again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>IS OF THE NATURE OF A SERMON.</h3> + + +<p>During these two years the attitude of Thomas's mind +changed much towards society and its institutions. He +may be said for the first time to have become a religious +man, and his religion was of the simpler and more unsophisticated +type which comes to a man who knows little +of dogma, but much of the contents of the Bible. That +book was studied by him as something fresh and altogether +new on the lonely Sundays he passed amongst the navvies. +He took to it at first more because he had no other book +to read, but it laid hold of his imagination after a time, +and he began to test the world around him by the lofty +morality of the New Testament. In due course the +thoughts that burned within him found utterance and +infected some of his fellow workmen. Almost before he +was aware a certain following gathered round him. +They drew together in the parlour of the inn, which most +of the navvies frequented, and discussed things political +and religious on the Saturday and Sunday nights.</p> + +<p>The wilder spirits soon nicknamed Thomas and his +friends the Saints, and he himself went by the sobriquet of +Methody Tom; but, though jeered at and sometimes +cursed by the wilder sort, their influence spread, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +radical views of society were canvassed among these +navvies with a freedom that would have made parson and +squire alike shiver with horror had they known. But +they did not know. How could they? Such creatures +as navvies were not, strictly speaking, human at all. +They lived beyond the pale, like the Irish ancestors of +many among them, and were essentially of the nature of +wild beasts, for whom the policeman's baton or the soldier's +musket was the only available moral force.</p> + +<p>No parson ever looked near that community of busy +workers, whose strong backed labour was swiftly altering +the physical conditions of modern civilisation, and calling +a new world into being for squire and trader alike. Nay, +I am wrong. Thomas informed me that a parson did +go astray among the workmen in the cutting of which he +had charge. A poor, deluded young curate came round +once distributing tracts. The fervour of a yesterday's ordination +was upon him, and shone in the rigorous cut of his +garments. He thought he might do the navvies good by the +sight of him, and bless them with his tracts. But his visit +was a failure, and his reception rough. Thomas declared +that he felt sorry for the poor fellow, and yet +could not refrain from joining in the laugh at his expense. +One sturdy northerner, to whom he handed a tract, protested +loudly that he "hadn't done nothing to be +summonsed for," and when the curate blandly explained +that it was a tract, he blessed his stars, and swore that +he "took the chap for one of the new peelers." Another +was of an opinion that "the parson had a mighty easy +job of it," and suggested his taking a turn at the pick;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +while one more blasphemous than the rest, declared that +he didn't know who the Lord Jesus might be, and didn't +care; but, in his opinion, it was d——d impudent of him +to send any of his flunkeys down their way "a spyin' +and a pryin'." They chaffed the poor man about his +clothes; begged a yard or two of the tail of his coat to +mend their Sunday breeches with; explained how much +better he could walk in a short jacket; wanted to know +why he wore a white choker—and altogether made such +a fool of the poor wretch that he soon turned and fled, +amid their jeers and laughter.</p> + +<p>That was the only time they ever saw a parson of +the Church during these two years; and no doubt this +poor curate felt that they were a reprobate crew whom +the Church did quite right to abandon to their fate. It +is so much pleasanter and easier to play at pietism +amongst well-bred, comfortable people "of good society" +than to save souls. The sweet order of a gorgeous +ritual, the vanities of richly-embroidered garments, +squabbles about archaic rites as worthless as an Egyptian +mummy—these things are more valuable to the modern +parson, and more pleasing in the sight of his God, than +the lives of such men as Wanless and his fellow-labourers. +For the parson's God is the God of the rich, to whom +gorgeous ritual and sensuous music are necessary as +foretastes of the blessedness of an æsthetic paradise.</p> + +<p>So be it: far be it from me to question the taste of +parson or parson's following. They can go their own +way, only it may be permitted to one to point out that +outside their charmed circle there are forces at work, before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +the power of which their fair fabric may yet crumble and +disappear like sand heaps before the rushing tide. +Thomas Wanless and his friends were rude and unlettered, +but they had definite ideas enough, and a wild sense of +justice. In their dim way they tried to fit together the +various parts of the human life that lay around them, +and failing to do so, as better than they have failed, they +came to the conclusion that they and their class were +cheated by the rest. Democracy, communism, subversive +ideas of all kinds, therefore, found currency among them, +as in ever-growing volume they find currency now. +Imagine if you can these men trying to evolve the +prototype of a modern Lord Bishop, in lawn sleeves and +pompous state, from the simple records of the New +Testament. Can you wonder at their failure in that +instance, or in many such like? Where could they find +church or chapel that was no respecter of persons? in +which the possession of money and power was not the +ultimate test of true godliness? Is it astonishing that in +placing the ideal and actual side by side, these men +should have come to the conclusion that the actual was +a fraud: that the whole basis of modern society was +corrupt?</p> + +<p>Do not, I beseech you, pass lightly by the doings of +these men, most sublime Lord Bishops, most serene +peers of the realm, smug buyers of county votes. These +ideas are spreading all around you. Few possessed them +fifty years ago among the agricultural poor; but there, +as elsewhere, democracy is getting educated, is awaking +to the reality of things, and will make its feelings known<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +to you in a manner you little dream of one of these days. +Your Olympus will prove but a molehill when the earth +shakes with the onset of the millions on whose necks +you have sat all these ages. Titles are a mockery, +hereditary dignities a contempt, in the eyes of men who +live face to face with the hard realities of existence. A +new life is abroad in the world. The image-breaker is +exalted above my Lord Bishop in all his glory of lawn +sleeves and piety in uniform by men like Wanless and his +friends. They want to know, not what part "my lord" +professes to act, what creed this or that snug Church dignitary +chants or drones; but what his life is worth? What +are you? in short, is the question, not what you give yourself +out to be; and, depend upon it, if the answer is +unsatisfactory, you and your hypocrisies will disappear +together.</p> + +<p>Nothing struck me so forcibly in my intercourse with +Wanless as the extraordinary bitterness with which he +spoke of the English Church. To it he seemed in his +later life to have transferred the greater part of his +hatred of the landed gentry. He viewed it as an +organised blasphemy, and worse than that, as the jailor, +so to say, by whom the chains of a miserable captivity +had been rivetted for ages on the limbs of the toiling poor. +The ground for this attitude of mind on the part of the +labourer was easily discovered. He read his Bible much, and +endeavoured to fit its precepts and the example of its greatest +characters to the life around him, and of course he failed. +The more he tried to bring together the presentment of +Christianity afforded by the modern Church and teaching of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +the New Testament, the more he saw their divergencies. +This set him pondering, and he soon came to the conclusion +that this modern institution was not Christian at all, but +Pagan. It was a department of State, paid by the State, +and employed by it for the purpose of deluding the people +into the belief that the existing order of life was divinely +appointed. How effectively it had done this work, he said, +let history show. The clergy had aided and abetted the +gentry in all their robberies of the people; it had been the +instrument of many flagrant thefts of endowments left for +the education of the poor; there never had been a reform +proposed calculated to benefit the people that had not been +ardently opposed by this organised band of hypocrites, +and no class of the community was so habitually, so +flagrantly selfish as preachers. Take them all in all, +Thomas Wanless declared, the people who preached for a +trade, be they dissenters or Anglican, gave him a lower +idea of human nature than any navvy he ever met. "Their +trade makes them bad," he often declared; "and I suppose +I ought to pity the miserable wretches, but they do so much +mischief that I really cannot."</p> + +<p>Once I recollect urging the commonplace argument +that there were many good men among them, but he +caught me up short with—</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I admit all that; but that proves nothing in +favour of either the Church or the parson's trade. These +men would have been good anywhere, as Papists, +Mohamedans, or Hindus, just as certainly as in church or +chapel. It is their nature to, and they cannot help it. +But their very goodness is a curse to people, sir—yes, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +curse, for they prop up fabrics and institutions that but +for them would long ago have been too rotten to stand."</p> + +<p>Thus it will be seen that Wanless, though in his way a +profoundly religious man, was in no sense a sectary. He +was in fact ranged among the iconoclasts. He sighed for +a living faith, not a dead creed; and were he living to-day +he would certainly give his hearty support to that band +of men who wage war on the shams of modern creeds, +who mock unceasingly at the disgusting spectacle of men +who call themselves disciples of Christ wrangling over the +cut and embroidery of garments, and trying to make themselves +martyrs for the sake of a candle or two. The tractarian +movement attracted Thomas's attention in a dim way, +and he was amused at the frightful din made by the conversions +to Romanism which accompanied that curious +upheaval of mediævalism. Not that he understood much +of the meaning of what was going on. It was not worth +discovering, he said; but he was amused over it, and +roundly declared that for this and all other ills of the +Church there was but one cure—to take away its money. +"Let these parsons try living by faith," he would often +exclaim. "If they believe in God as they say, why do they +not trust him for a living? Their proud stomachs would +come down a bit if they are just turned adrift in a body +and let shift for themselves. But Lord, what a howl they'll +make if the people get up and say we'll have no more of +your mummeries, we want our money for a better purpose. +They won't think much about God then, I can tell you. +It will be every man for himself, and who can grab the +most. I never have any patience with parsons, never. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +are bad from the beginning, bad all through, self-deluders +and misleaders of others at the best, and at the worst—well, +not much more except in degree."</p> + +<p>"These are the mere ravings of an ignorant peasant," +most readers will exclaim. I do not deny that in a certain +sense they may seem only that. Yet look around and +consider the signs of the times before you dismiss these +things as of no significance. What means the spread of +secularism amongst the working classes of the present day, +the contempt for religion and parsons which most of them +display? Is it not a most ominous indication of future +trouble for serene lord bishops and their brood when events +bring them face to face with the people? I do not admire +Charles Bradlaugh's teaching on many points; but I cannot +deny the power that he and such as he wield on the +common people. It is a power that increases with the +spread of education; and what does it betoken? Only this; +that in time, for one man among the peasantry who now +thinks like Thomas Wanless there will be tens of thousands. +The churches and chapels themselves, with their exceedingly +worldly respectability, produce these men more +certainly than all the teachings of the Bradlaughs; nay, +Bradlaugh himself is directly the product of a corrupt, +time-serving and utterly blasphemous church organisation. +Therefore be not too contemptuous of sentiments like +those of this peasant. They are significant of many +things—of a coming democracy that will at least try to +burn up the rottenness of our modern ultra Pagan-civilization.</p> + +<p>On other questions than those of Church and State the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +opinions of Thomas Wanless were equally uncompromising, +and, perhaps, equally impracticable. His intelligence +was far deeper than his reading, and much of his political +economy, as well as of his code of social morals, was +taken from the Bible. To my thinking he could have +gone to no better book, but I am also free to admit that +his too exclusive study of it gave a quaint and sometimes +impracticable turn to his conceptions that may lead many +to have a poor opinion of his wisdom.</p> + +<p>On the land question, for example, he grew to be a +kind of disciple of Moses. He would have had the whole +country parcelled out amongst the people—each family +enjoying the inalienable right to a certain bit of the soil. +The year of jubilee was also, in his eyes, a most merciful +and just provision for freeing the unfortunate, or the +children of the spendthrift, from the grasp of the usurer—always +the most relentless of men—and he often +exclaimed—"How much better my lot would have been +to-day had a jubilee year brought back to me and mine +the land my grandfathers sacrificed in the stress of hard +times." And not to land only would he have applied this +principle, but to all kinds of indebtedness. "A limit of +time should be fixed," he said, "beyond which the debtor +should be free from his debt, unless he had committed +a crime." The national debt itself he would have treated +on this principle; and few things excited his wrath more +quickly than any mention of the heavy burden which the +consolidated debt continued to be to the English people. +In national matters he would have had no debt remaining +beyond 30 years, on the principle that it was a crime to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +cast the burdens of the present on posterity. Freedom +to borrow indefinitely was in his eyes, moreover, the cause +of much abominable robbery and crime. Next to the +Church, however, the object of his deepest hatred and +strongest contempt was modern kingship; and here again +his inspiration was drawn from the Bible. He told me +that he often read Samuel's description of the curse of +kingship to his children on Sunday evenings, with a view +to make them proper Republicans; and his greatest +interest in modern history consisted in tracing the working +of this curse in England for the last 200 years. To +this evil principle he declared that we owed most of our +social miseries, all our wars of aggression, our national +debt, our social corruptions, our bad land laws, our +standing army, and perhaps even our Established Church, +with all its crop of spiritual, moral, and social perversions.</p> + +<p>It is easy to understand how a man holding opinions +like these should exercise a tremendous influence on the +better class of his fellow-workmen. To those who +gathered about him in the evenings he was never weary +of enlarging on topics like these; and had the nature of +the work in hand kept the men permanently together, +Thomas must in time have appeared as the leader of a +formidable school of democrats. But the navvy is here +to-day and gone to-morrow, and the seed which Thomas +sowed was scattered far and wide ere two years were +over. The good he did is therefore untraceable, yet +doubtless his work bore fruit in ways and places unseen, +and in after days may have increased the receptivity of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +the labouring poor after a fashion that the modern +agitator thought due wholly to his own exertions.</p> + +<p>Over the wild Irishmen who formed the majority of the +gangs on the line Thomas never obtained any influence; +and, in his opinion, they were either a race of men bad +from its very beginning, or whose nature had been warped +and debased by a long course of shameful tyranny and +deep-rooted habits of submission to degrading superstitions. +However produced, the Irish, in his esteem, +were wretched creatures. They lacked honesty and +independence, and would beg like pariahs one hour from +a man whom they would treacherously murder the next +in their drunken furies. More than once he had the +greatest difficulty in keeping clear of the devastating +fights with which these wild men of the west were in the +habit of finishing up their drunken revels, and once he, +and the more respectable men who followed him, had to +arm themselves and help to protect some villages in the +neighbourhood of the line from being stormed and sacked +by a squad of Irishmen out for a spree. Life surrounded +by such elements was dreary at the best, and, good though +the wages might be, Thomas was not sorry when the job +was finished, and the way open for him to return once +more to his own little cottage in Ashbrook.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>MAY INDICATE TO THE READER, AMONGST OTHER +THINGS, SOME OF THE ADMIRABLE ARRANGEMENTS +WHEREBY ENGLAND OBTAINS MEN FOR A STANDING +ARMY.</h3> + + +<p>Had Thomas Wanless known what was in store for him +in the future he might have elected to leave Ashbrook +for ever, and continue the life of a railway navvy. As +such his pay was good, and by thrift he might save +enough money either to venture on small contracts for +himself, or start some kind of business in one of the +growing midland towns. But Thomas did not consider +these possibilities. The life he led grew more and more +repulsive to him as time went on; and he yearned unceasingly +for the quietude of his native village, and for +his own fireside peace. Besides, he hungered to get +back to work on the land. If he could not get fields of +his own to till, at least he might hope to again help to +till the fields of others, and to watch the corn bloom and +ripen as of yore.</p> + +<p>So when the local bit of railway was made, Thomas +came home to Ashbrook, and once more went abroad +among his neighbours; once more he accepted the +labourer's lot, with its hard fare and starvation pay. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +returned late in autumn when work was scarce; but his +wife and he had saved money in the past two years, and +he managed to live with the help of what odd jobs he +could get, and without much trenching on his store till +spring came round. Fortunately his son Thomas had +been able to cultivate the allotment patch in his father's +absence, and in spite of the fact that the new owner of +the soil had doubled their rent, it had paid for its cultivation +very well. The growing importance of Leamington +provided all surrounding villages with an improving +vegetable and fruit market, of which Thomas's wife and +family had taken full advantage in his absence. So +well indeed had they done, that he himself indulged +for a short time in dreams of becoming a market +gardener; but he soon found that there was no chance +for him in that direction. He might get work from the +farmers around, but no landlord would rent him the few +necessary acres. A broken man when he left Ashbrook +to become a navvy; his absence had not improved his +position. On the contrary, the parish magnates rather +looked upon him as a greater black sheep than ever. +The old ideas about the rights of landowners to the +labour of the hind, as well as to the lion's share of the +products of that labour, had by no means died out, and it +was still a moral crime in the eyes of the landlord +for a labourer to have enough daring and independence +of spirit, to enable him to seek work in another part of +the country. In some respects Wanless was therefore a +greater pariah when he came home than when he went away, +and the summit of offence was reached when the report<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +got abroad that he had actually made some money, and +wanted to rent a little farm. Squire Wiseman had condescended +to mention this report to Parson Codling, and +they both agreed that this kind of thing must be discountenanced, +else the country would not be fit for +respectable persons to live in. "The idea," Wiseman +had exclaimed, "of this d——d poacher-thief wanting to +become a farmer! why bless my life, we shall have our +butlers wanting to be members of parliament next." +And this seemed to be the general opinion, so that the +only practical outcome of Thomas's ambition was a +greater difficulty in procuring work, and a further advance +in the rent of his allotment. The successor of old Captain +Hawthorn took this mode of expressing his concurrence +in the general opinion, rather than that of a +summary ejectment, he being a practical man, and wise +in his generation. It was better policy to take the +profits of Thomas's labours than to turn him adrift, and +have to pay rates for the maintenance of him and his +family.</p> + +<p>Against the odds and prejudices thus at work, Wanless +fought manfully for more than two years. When he +could get work he laboured at it early and late, and when, +as often happened, work was denied him, he tended his +little garden and his allotment patch with the closeness +of a Chinese farmer. His flowers were the pride of the +village, and his care coaxed the old trees in his garden +into a degree of fruit-bearing that almost put to shame +the vigour of their youth. Yet he could not always +make ends meet; and when he began to see his little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +hoard melting away, his heart once more failed him. +If the farmers would not have him he must once +more try elsewhere, and again a local railway afforded him +a refuge. He became a "ganger" on the Stratford line at +14s. a-week, and for more than four years made his daily +journey backwards and forwards on his "beat," winter and +summer, in cold and heat, well or ill. In one sense, this +work was not so hard as a farm labourer's or a navvy's is, +but it told on the health as much. Exposure, thin +clothing, and poor food did their work rapidly enough, +and Thomas's limbs began to stiffen, and his back to grow +bent before his time. Like his fellows, he promised to +become an old man at 50, but he would have stuck to his +work had not a sharp attack of pleurisy laid him up in the +winter of 1855, and once more compelled him to seek +to live by farm labour. He could not face the bleak unsheltered +railway track again, and even if he could, there +was no room for him. His place had been filled up. +With a weary heart and a spirit well-nigh crushed, +Thomas once more looked for work on the farms around +Ashbrook. "Is there no hope for us, Sally, lass?" he +would often cry. "Must we go to the workhouse at last?" +"Ay, the workhouse, the workhouse!" he would exclaim. +"The parsons promise us a deal in the other world, but +that's the best they think we deserve here. Well, perhaps +they mean to give us a better relish for the other world +when it comes."</p> + +<p>Thomas had one thing to cheer him, though, and no +doubt that gave him more courage to face the world again +than he otherwise would have had. His precious son,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +young Tom, had emigrated to Australia about a year +before this terrible illness had enfeebled his father. He had +gone as an assisted emigrant, but the old man had given +him £10 of old Hawthorn's £20 to begin the New World +upon. The parting had cost the family much, and the +father most of all; but they felt it to be for the best. +There was no room to grow in the old land; in the new +there was a great freedom. The lad dreamt of gold +nuggets; but the wiser father bade him stick to the land +as soon as he could get a bit to stick to.</p> + +<p>This departure was a loss to the family purse, for the +youth had obtained pretty steady work, and generously +gave all into the keeping of his mother. But Jane and +Jacob were now also out into the world, winning such +bread as they could get, and the family burden was therefore +lighter. Jane was general servant to a dissenting +draper in Leamington, and Jacob enjoyed the proud distinction +of being waggoner's boy at Whitbury farm, now +tenanted by a go-ahead Scotch ex-bailiff, who had succeeded +the Pembertons when they went to the dogs with +drink and horse-dealing. This hard-fisted, ferret-eyed +agriculturist worked his men and boys as they had never +been worked before, but he did not make the hours of +labour so long, and he paid them a trifle better than his +neighbours, whose jealousy and dislike he thereby increased. +Probably he rather liked to be contemned by his +fellows. It increased the self-sufficiency of his righteousness, +and made him the more proud of being a strict +Calvinistic Presbyterian, endowed with a conscience as +inelastic as his creed. Be that as it may, this man gave<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +Jacob Wanless 10s. a week and made the lad work for it. +Jacob was not then 17, and at his previous place had only +obtained half that sum with a grudge. But then his work +had been a long day's drawl too often, while now his duty +as under waggoner was practically a good 10 to 12 hours' +toil as stable assistant, feeder of stalled cattle, and general +labourer about the farm.</p> + +<p>From these causes Wanless had some ground for hope, +although work was difficult for him to get, and his power +to do it when got less than it had been. And when he +looked round him his causes for thankfulness multiplied. +Was not his neighbour Hewens, the under gardener at the +Grange, worse off than he, with a younger family of seven, +one of whom was an object, and a weekly income averaging +about 9s. a week all the year round. Thomas's old +and tried friend Satchwell, the blacksmith, too, with his +three children living and a wife dying in decline, had +surely a harder lot than he, for all the coldness of farmers +and contumely of parish deities.</p> + +<p>As spring warmed into summer, indeed, Wanless's +strength and heart came back to him in a measure. His +hopes were chastened, but they were there still, and +asserted their life. Good news came from his far-away +son, too. Young Tom had taken his father's advice, and, +avoiding the charms of gold digging, had gone to work at +high pay on a sheep run. Already he spoke of buying a +farm of his own, and getting father and mother and all the +rest to join him in the colony. Surely any man's +heart would warm at prospects like these, and Thomas so +far entertained the project as to talk it over with his friends,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +Brown, Satchwell, and Robins, who agreed in thinking it +"mighty fine," and in wishing that they could mount and go +along. "A vain wish, friends," Brown would say, +"vain so far as I am concerned, for I cannot herd sheep +or hold a plough, and they want neither parish clerks +nor schoolmasters in the bush." Robins felt that he was +too old and too poor to think of the change, and +Satchwell sighed often as he thought on what a sea +voyage might yet do for his wife. But as for Thomas, +of course he could go when his son sent him the money, +they said; and he, remembering that he had still a few +pounds of his hoard unspent, almost thought that he could. +His family should have the first chance, though. Jane +and Jacob might both be able in another year to get +away to the new country so full of hope; and it was best +that the old hulk should stay at home, perhaps. So ran +his thoughts for these two, but he always stopped when +he reached Sally, his youngest living child, and precious +to him as the apple of his eye. She was the fairest of +the family, and her father's darling above all the others. +Her, at all events, he felt he could not part with. If she +went away at all her mother and he must go too.</p> + +<p>As yet "wee Sal," as she was called, though by this +time nigh fourteen years old, had not been suffered to go +out to service. She had got more schooling than the +others, thanks to the better means that her father had +during part of her childish years; thanks likewise to his +partiality for her. In this you will say he was weak; but +let him who is strong on such a point fling stones. I +cannot blame Thomas much for committing so common<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +a sin as to love most yearningly his youngest child; but +I admit that his fondness was perhaps to her hurt. Not +that she was taught to love idleness or things above her +station. Far from that. Kept at home though she was, +she had to work. In the summer season she helped her +mother to tend the garden, and to carry flowers, vegetables, +and fruit to Leamington for sale. Under her +mother's eye she at other times learned something of +laundry work. But her schooling; what could she do +with that? Did it not tend to give her vain thoughts +above her lot; for her lot was fixed more even than that +of her brothers. The peasant maid could never hope to +advance to aught beyond some kind of upper service in +a rich man's family; a service often increasingly degrading +in proportion as it is nominally high. She +might become a ladies' maid, perhaps, and marry a +butler in time, or she might fill her head with vanities, +and in apeing those above her sink to the gutter. The +love of Thomas for his child exposed her to many risks, +when it took the form of getting old Brown to teach her all +he knew. If she could only get to the new country at the +other end of the world all that might be changed. She +might be happy and prosperous as an Australian +farmer's wife. Yes, that would be best; but they must +all go. Neither Thomas nor his wife, who shared his +partiality, could think of parting with Sally. Jacob +might go first to help Tom to gather means to take out +the rest; and Jane might even go with him could a way +be found; but not Sally: that sacrifice would be too +much.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> + +<p>In all probability the emigration plan might have been +carried out in this sense that very winter, if an emigration +agent could have been got to take Jacob and Jane, had +not misfortune once more found the labourer and smitten +his hopes. Jacob enlisted. He was by no means a bad +boy, but like all youths, enjoyed what is called a bit of +fun; and, in fun, he had betaken himself to a kind of +hiring fair held in Warwick, in November, and called the +"Mop." There was no need for him to go, as he was not +out of work, but the day was a kind of prescriptive +holiday, and others were going, so why not Jacob? +Idle, careless, and brisk as a lark, the lad followed where +others led; drank for the sake of good companionship +more than his unaccustomed head could carry; and when +in a wild, devil-may-care mood was picked up by a recruiting +sergeant, who soon joked and argued him into taking +the shilling. A neighbour saw the boy, half-tipsy, following +the sergeant and his party through the fair with recruit's +ribbons fluttering round his head, and rushed home to +tell Thomas as fast as his legs could carry him. The +old man was horror-struck; and the boy's mother +broke into bitter wailing. Thomas, however, wasted +no time in useless grief, but took the road for Warwick, +within three minutes of hearing the news, in the +hope of being in time to buy his boy off. He had an +idea that if he managed to pay the smart-money before +Jacob was sworn in, the lad might escape with little +difficulty. But he was too late. The sergeant was too +well up to his work to wait in Warwick all night, in order +that parents might come in the morning and beleaguer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +him for their betrayed children. Long before Thomas +reached the town and began his search for his son the +sergeant had gone off with his entire netful to Birmingham.</p> + +<p>As soon as Thomas found this to be the case he made +for the railway station, intending to follow his boy without +asking himself whether it would do any good. But there +again he was baulked. The cheap train to Birmingham +had passed long before, a porter told him, and there was +nothing that night but the late and dear express. For +this Thomas had not enough money in addition to what +would be required to buy off Jacob, so he had no help for +it but to go home. This he did with a heart heavy +enough. Well did he know that ere he could reach +Birmingham to-morrow he would be too late. Recruiting +sergeants do not linger at their work, especially after the +army had been reduced by war and disease as it then had +been in the Crimea. Before ten o'clock next morning +Jacob, still dazed with yesterday's unwonted debauch, +was sworn in before a Birmingham J.P., and not all the +money his father possessed could then release him. +Henceforth, till his years of service were out, he must go +and kill or be killed at the bidding of these "sovereigns +and statesmen," whose business it still, alas, is to make +strife in the world.</p> + +<p>This untoward event was in many ways a knock-down +blow to the old labourer and his wife. She, however, +sorrowed mostly on personal grounds, and dwelt on +gloomy prospects of wounds and violent deaths as the +only lot now open for her son—bone of her bone, and +flesh of her flesh—whom she had nursed and tended from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +the womb only for this. Like a good housewife, she +mourned also the loss of Jacob's wages, which not only +helped to keep the wolf from the door, but also served to +nourish the hope that one day all might yet see the new +land of promise. If any savings could be pointed to they +were always in the mother's eyes due to those wonderful +earnings of her boy's.</p> + +<p>Thomas shared these feelings with his wife, but he had +others into which she did not enter. The emigration +scheme had, perforce, to be given up, and that was to him +a far more bitter thought than to his wife, who declared +that she did not mind if they all went, but hung back at +the thought of "putting one after another of her children +into a living tomb," as she phrased it. But the deepest +pain of all to Thomas probably lay in the humiliation he +felt in having a son a soldier. The trade of murder, as +he called it, was to his mind the most degrading to which +a man's hands could be set. He firmly believed that +standing armies were a mockery of the Almighty, and +that the nations which fostered them would sooner or +later sink to perdition beneath the blows of divine +vengeance. Armies led to wars, and wars were the curse +of the world, he averred, and when contradicted was +ready to prove to his antagonist that all the wars in which +England had been engaged since the revolution of 1688, +were dictated by the worst passions of mankind. Either, +he said, they were undertaken to consolidate the power +of a rapacious faction over the lives, liberties, and means +of the people at large, or they were actuated by mere +bestial greed, by inordinate vanity and love of power, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +by mulish obstinacy and hatred or fear of liberty, and it +was amazing to hear what arrays of facts he brought forth +in support of his thesis. As a general conclusion he, of +course, urged that, but for kings and priests, most of the +wars of the modern world would never have come about. +He did not know which cause was most effective, but +inclined to think it was the priests. Certainly the sight +of ministers of Christ so-called, unctuously blessing red-handed +and red-coated murderers by wholesale, and +training their children to go and do likewise, was in his +opinion one of the most revolting things under God's sky.</p> + +<p>You can, therefore, well understand with what bitterness +of heart he thought of the fate of his boy. He brooded +over it; it became more terrible in his sight than an actual +crime. If Jacob had stolen and been transported for +breaking the law, Thomas could not have felt more shame +and humiliation than now haunted him. He almost +cursed his son, and he did unstintedly curse the system +under which the lad had been caught up by the agent of +the State and spirited away from his labour. How it was +done he knew but too well; and when afterwards Jacob +himself told the story, it only confirmed what he had +all along felt to be true. The boy had never intended +to enlist; but the drink, imprudently taken, had gone +to his head. The sergeant first cajoled him, and then, +when he had taken the fatal shilling, terrified him with +threats of what would befall if he broke faith with the +Queen. So he took the oaths and went away to practice +the goose step, and moralise on the oddness of things in +the world. An officer, he now learnt, could sell out at a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +high price and retire; but the common soldier belonged +to the State, and had to be bought back therefrom if he +wished to be free. For Jacob there came no such redress.</p> + +<p>Gloom settled on the heart of his father, and on the +little home in Ashbrook after this great blow, and, but +for the spur of hard necessity, Thomas thought he should +have laid down his burden altogether. Happily, duty +called him to work for others, if not for himself; and work +brought its usual blessing—a healing of the wounds and +a revival of life in the heart. All was not yet lost, +though the buffets of adversity were frequent and sore.</p> + +<p>Indeed, in one sense Jacob's enlistment brought good +to the family, for it gave Thomas work at Whitbury +Farm. Once more, after so many vicissitudes, he came +back to the old place. A changed place it proved to be, +but, on the whole, the change was for the better. The +work was hard, but the farmer was not brutal like the +Pembertons, who had ruined themselves by wild living, +been sold up, and had disappeared none knew whither.</p> + +<p>Jacob himself had plenty of time to rue his folly, and +he did rue it bitterly. At first in Chatham, and afterwards +in various Irish barracks, he spent seven dreary +years, wishing many a time he were dead, and regretting +that his fate did not lead him to India, where a mutineer's +bullet might have ended his career. Possessing much of his +father's energy of nature and many of his father's habits of +thought, the idle and seemingly purposeless life of a barrack +became at times almost more than the young man could +endure. Had he fallen into the loose ways of many +among his comrades, it is probable that he would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +capped the folly of enlisting by the military crime of +desertion. Fortunately he kept his soul clean, and +managed to utilise some portion of his time in improving +his mind. The mental wants of the soldier were not +cared for in his time, as they have begun to be since; +but there were a few books available in most barracks, +and in Ireland a kindly old adjutant, who had himself +risen from the ranks, discovered Jacob's thirst in time to +afford him some assistance. Save for "providences" +like these, and for the stout heart that grew within him +as he developed into full manhood, Jacob's life as a +soldier would have represented only wasted years.</p> + +<p>Three more years in this way passed over Thomas +Wanless and his family—years marked by no incident of +great importance. The dull uniformity of their struggles +with the ills of life has no dramatic interest. Under it +characters may be shaped and twisted like trees by the +east wind; but the graduations of change are mostly +imperceptible to those that endure the daily buffetings, +and are beyond the scope of the chronicler. Some day +in the lapse of years, a man wakes up suddenly to find +himself changed, and looks back upon a former self with +wonder and astonishment, with thankfulness, it may be, +for the drastic cleansing he has endured, or with that +flash of horror at the sudden vision of the pit into which +he has all the time been slowly sinking. In these years, +while a father labours for his children's bread, and thanks +God that the bread comes to him for his labour, his +children grow up, develop characters, assume attitudes in +the world he never suspects, bringing him joy or sorrow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +as the fruit is bitter or sweet. All is changing ever; life +moves onward, and the one generation perceives not the +path that the next shall follow. Ah! the mystery of +life. What does it all mean? The wrong triumphs +often; the high hopes are dashed; weariness and pain +haunt us wherever we go; the fruit of the sweet blossom +is ashes and exceeding great bitterness; yet we hope on, +plod on, battle till the end comes—and the judgment: +then perhaps we shall know.</p> + +<p>As yet, however, the unkindly blows of a hard fate had +not broken Thomas Wanless's spirit: far otherwise. +His heart might fail him beneath the greater of his misfortunes, +but when the storm had overpassed, his head +rose again, his eye yet brightened, and the laughter of +hope broke forth once more: so was it now. Steady work +soothed the pain of Jacob's disgrace, and in time the boy's +own cheerfulness and manifest improvement made his +father begin to think good might be brought forth out of +evil in this case also. His daughter Jane continued to do +well, and was looking towards promotion in her sphere—such +promotion as consists in being one among many +fellows, instead of the solitary drudge in the family of a +small retail merchant. With the higher wages that followed +elevation, Jane hoped also to be able to help her parents +more. That was Jane's ambition, so far as confessed, and +it did her credit. There might be something behind that, +which was her own; but for the present her father and +mother stood first.</p> + +<p>Then the news from Tom was ever good. He prospered +with the colony of Victoria, where he had settled, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +might in time be a rich man, though as yet his means +were, for the most part, hid in the land he had bought.</p> + +<p>Life, therefore, was not at all dark in those years of quiet +toil, either for Thomas or his family; and yet a cloud was +gathering on the horizon; a little cloud that might grow +till all the life became wrapped in its darkness.</p> + +<p>The enlistment of Jacob had compelled Sally to go to +service like her sister. Thomas yielded to this necessity +most reluctantly, and his friends, even his wife, said he +was foolishly fond of the girl. He would not admit that +it was over-fondness; it was solicitude, he said. An undefined +feeling of dread haunted him about the last and best +loved that was left. She was fairer than any girl of the +village, and without being exactly giddy, she was thoughtless +and merry-hearted; too easily led away; too guilelessly +trustful of others. How could he let this tender, unprotected +maiden go out into the world, and fight her life-battle +alone among strangers? Many a prayer had he +prayed in secret that this sacrifice might be spared; but +in this also the heavens were as brass. The time had +come when she must either go or starve, and with a heavy +heart he gave his consent. It was hardly given when his +wife in her turn woke up to the danger of the step. She +then sought to bring Thomas to revoke the decision, and +try one more year; but it was too late. Sally herself was +now eager to go. Her pride was touched. She would no +longer be a burden to her parents, and must take a place +like her sister.</p> + +<p>"But in another year, Sally, we may all be able to go +to Australia," the mother pleaded.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, I can work for money to help us to go there," +was the answer; and the mother had to yield.</p> + +<p>Sally found a place as drudge to a newly-married couple +in Warwick—a young surgeon and his wife. They had +imprudently married on his "prospects," and had to use +many shifts to hide their poverty, lest the world, which +can only measure men's worth by the length of their +purses, should pass him by. It was thus a poor place, +especially for one like Sally, who had been better educated +than probably any one else of her class in the whole shire; +and the wages were poor. At first they gave her 1s. 6d. +a-week with her food, but after six months they gave her +2s., partly to prevent neighbours from gossiping about +their want of means.</p> + +<p>Here the girl remained for two years, not because she +liked the place, but because her parents told her that it was +good to be able to say that she had been so long in one +family. Then she removed to the household of a lawyer +as housemaid, where two servants were kept, and had been +in that place over a year when her father met with an +accident which laid him up for many weeks. It seems +that in building a rick he had somehow been knocked off +by a sheaf flung up at him thoughtlessly before he had adjusted +the previous one. He raised his one hand mechanically +to catch it, and his other slipped from under him. +Being near the edge, he rolled off heavily, striking the +wheel of the waggon as he fell. The rick was high, and +the fall so severe, that, when picked up and examined, +Thomas was found to have badly bruised his shoulder and +fractured two of his ribs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + +<p>A long and tedious illness followed, during which +Thomas was unable to earn anything. Until young Tom +could know and send money the old folks were therefore +likely again to feel the pinch of want, and it would take +many months to bring help from Australia. Some of the +old hoard was still left, but doctors' bills and necessary +dainties soon made a hole in that. In nursing her husband, +too, Mrs. Wanless was prevented from earning anything +herself. There was no one to go to market with the +little garden produce that might be to spare. Neighbours +were helpful, but they could do little where all alike lived +in daily converse with want. Thomas's master was kindly, +and declared that he would not see them starve, but +Thomas liked to be independent, and took umbrage at the +tone in which the charity was offered.</p> + +<p>Talking of these things, and of the difficulties of the +future, one Sunday evening, when Sally was down from +Warwick, the girl suddenly asked why she could not go +to a better place where her wages might be of more use. +She had only 3s. a week where she was, and felt sure she +could earn more.</p> + +<p>Her parents were for letting well alone. "All the extra +money you can get, Sally, won't amount to much," +her mother said, and her father urged her to wait for +Tom's letter. Who knew that Tom might not be sending +money to take them all away to the new country? +But Sally was positive, according to her impulsive nature. +She was now nearly 18, she said, and was sure she could +earn more. "Besides, mother," she added, "I want to +better myself. I am learning nothing where I am, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +never will, and I hate messing about with so many +children. They ought to keep a nurse, but they can't +afford it, missis says; and I'm sure I'm nothing but a +slave. Why should you object?"</p> + +<p>Why, indeed. There were no good grounds for it in +her eyes, and none tangible to her parents. The result, +therefore, was that Sally sought and found a new place.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>INTRODUCES THE READER TO VERY ARISTOCRATIC +COMPANY.</h3> + + +<p>It so happened that what servants call "a good place" +was not so difficult to find when Sally went to seek it, as +it had been some years before. The growing wealth of +a portion of the nation was telling every year with +increased force on the demand for domestic servants; +and at the same time manufacturers were everywhere +drawing more and more of the female population into employments +in the great industrial centres of the Midlands. +In any case, therefore, Sally Wanless would probably +soon have found a place of some kind in a gentleman's +family; but, unknown to herself, her good looks had +already been working in her behalf. She had attracted +the attention of the housekeeper at the Grange one day +that the two had chanced to meet in a grocer's shop in +Warwick. When Sally went out the housekeeper asked +after her, and told the grocer that she was just in want +of "a still-room maid," whatever that may be. The +grocer gave Sally a good character as far as he knew her, +and said further that he believed the girl wanted a new +place. What the housekeeper heard elsewhere also +pleased her; and in due time Sally was engaged at the,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +to her, fabulous wages of £10 per annum. Perhaps, had +Lady Harriet Wiseman known that the pretty girl who +thus entered her house in the humble capacity of still-room +maid, was the daughter of "that seditious old +poaching scamp, Wanless," as the squires called Sally's +father, she might have vetoed her housekeeper's action. +But that finely-distilled aristocrat did not condescend to +notice such trivial matters as the coming and going of +menials. She barely knew the names of some of the +oldest servants about the place, and when she had +occasion to speak to any of them—a thing she avoided +as much as possible—gave all alike the name of Jane. +She viewed her domestic world from afar. She was of +the gods, and her menials were of the sons and daughters +of men. To her their lives were unknown; of their hopes +and feelings she knew less than she did of the varied dispositions +of her dogs. They were there to minister to her +every want and whim, to bend the knee, bate the breath, +and lower the eye before her when she crossed their path, +and if they did these things silently as machinery, it was +well. Her sole duty was to find them food and wages, and +she kept her contract. But if they failed in one iota they +were dismissed.</p> + +<p>It would be unfair to suppose that Lady Harriet was +an exceptionally hard woman, because this was her +relationship with her household. She was indeed +nothing of the kind. On the contrary, in some respects +she was a kind-hearted person enough, and would for +example have turned away her housekeeper on the spot, +had she been made aware that the servants were badly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +fed or uncomfortable in their bedrooms, or anything of +that sort. Sins of that kind affected the reputation of +her mansion, and jarred, moreover, on her sense of comfortableness. +To have life flow easily, to see and feel +none of the roughnesses of existence—this was Lady +Harriet's ideal. For the rest—how could she help it if +menials were low creatures? They were born so, and it +was for her comfort probably that Providence thus +ordered the gradations of society. She had been heard, +moreover, to plume herself upon the exceptionally good +treatment her servants got, and to declare that she knew +it to be much better than that of her sister, who was the +wife of a lord bishop of a neighbouring diocese, and a +woman of fashion.</p> + +<p>Lady Harriet was, in short, an average sample of the +modern English aristocrat. Nay, in some respects she +was better than the average woman of her class, for she +was gifted with some touch of the shrewd brains that had +lifted her grandfather, the London clothier, to great +wealth and an Irish peerage. In another sphere, as the +parsons say, she might have distinguished herself as a +woman of affairs, but she loved ease, disliked trouble, and +wrapped her mind up in the refinements proper to high +birth and breeding. First amongst these she placed +exemption from all the cares and duties of maternity, +and from the worries of household management. Her +aim was not lofty, and even her ladyship had begun to +fear that somehow her life had been a failure. A weary +look was often seen on her face—visible to the meanest +domestic—telling all who saw it that luxury could not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +insure any poor mortal from care any more than from +disease and death. But cannot one trace the hideous +grinning skull beneath the skin of the fairest and loftiest +in the land? Care comes to all, and sorrow, and pain, +and for years before Sally went to the Grange, the +mistress thereof had felt the worm gnawing at her heart.</p> + +<p>For one thing, her husband, now a man beyond sixty, +was rapidly losing the little wits he had possessed. His +life was to all appearance most prosperous. To the +envy of many, he had made much money through the +railway speculations of the preceding decade; and by +material standard of the time should have been supremely +happy. But he drank and over-ate himself, and his +self-indulgences in these and other ways made him gouty +and diseasedly fat. His life had thus become a misery +to himself and to all around him, even before he had +become really old; and now his memory was failing him, +a sottish stupidity was stealing over his brain, so that it +was with much difficulty that his wife could rouse him to +attend to the most necessary affairs of his estates. +Peevish and ill-conditioned when in pain, stupified with +wine when well, and at all times of a dreary vacuity of +mind, this pillar of the State, wielder of men's votes, +arbiter of parish fates and men's fortunes, was not a +lovable man to live with. To outsiders he might be an +object of pity or scorn; but to his wife! Ah, well, the +servants said she looked worried. Let it pass.</p> + +<p>And yet had this been all she might have been in a +fashion happy, for she could turn off much of the +ill-humour of her husband on his servants by simply<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +avoiding him. Other troubles, however, were coming +thick upon her, and making her look as old as the Squire, +although she was nigh ten years younger. Three children +of the five she had borne were alive—two daughters and +a son. Of course the son, being also the heir, was made +much of, fawned on by mother and menial alike, and +equally, of course, he grew up a remarkable creature. +Who has not known such without longing for a whip of +scorpions, and a strong arm to wield it? One daughter +had married a soldier—a showy man of good family but +small fortune, who sold out, became stock-gambler, and +bankrupt in the brief space of eighteen months; and then +bolted to Australia to try sheep-farming with a few +hundreds given him by his friends to get rid of him. +He had left his wife and three children to the care of his +mother-in-law. The eldest daughter—eldest also of the +family—was slightly deformed, and had never left home, +though some poor curates had cast longing looks at her, +hoping perhaps, that the money and influence she would +have might be the means of bringing them preferment. +But they were not men of family, and Lady Harriet +would have none of them. The deformed daughter was left +otherwise to her own devices; and was probably the +happiest in the house, as she certainly was the gentlest. +These were small troubles too, and Lady Harriet could +not afford to make herself long unhappy over them; but +it was otherwise with those of her son.</p> + +<p>This pampered darling of his mother, this remarkable +youth whose leading idea was that the world and all that +was therein had been created expressly for him—if, indeed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +he had ever stopped in his career of selfish lust to form +an idea so definite—this youth of many privileges, +before whom the path of life was rolled smooth and +carpeted, on whom the sun dare not shine too freely nor +any wintry storm beat untempered, was now causing his +mother more agony than she ever imagined she could +bear and live. She felt she was wronged somehow in +having so much sorrow by one she so deeply loved. Had +she not done everything for him all his life, given him all +he asked, made the whole household his slaves, forbidden +his masters to task his brain with too many studies, +poured handfuls of pocket-money into his lap, and in all +ways treated him like a demi-god? Yes, yes; she knew +that no mother could have done more, felt it in her heart +as she reviewed the past, and yet had not this precious boy +been stabbing her to the heart every day of his life? +Lady Harriet felt that the world was out of joint.</p> + +<p>Others, less blind, will say that this nurture would have +destroyed the noblest of natures. On a commonplace +mind like Cecil Wiseman's its effect was disastrous. The +young man was, about the time of Sally Wanless's entry +on service at the Grange, some twenty-four years of age, +and handsome enough to look upon. When he liked +his manners were engaging, and his conversation not +without shrewdness. But its range was limited to matters +of the stable. He had no acquaintance with literature +outside the sporting papers and some filthy English novels. +French he had never learned to read. He shone more in +the stable than in drawing-rooms, and understood the +philosophy of horse jockeys, or racing touts, better than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +the difference between right and wrong. If he had a pet +ambition it was to "make a pot of money" on a horse, +and if he had not been the heir to a great estate he might +have distinguished himself as a horse-dealer, that is, had +he not come to the treadmill before he got the chance.</p> + +<p>The social position to which he was born saved him the +trouble of choosing a profession, and from the grasp of the +law, but it did not prevent him from being a criminal +worse than many a poor wretch in the dock. A commission +had been bought for him some years before in a +regiment of dragoons, and by means of money he was now +a captain, but there was little about him of the soldier. +When not bawling on a race course he was lounging about +the clubs of Pall Mall, playing billiard matches for high +stakes, or losing money at cards with the freehandedness +of a gentleman of fashion. What leisure these high +occupations left him was devoted to the society of loose +women, by whom his purse was just as freely emptied.</p> + +<p>Naturally a career of this kind cost much, and soon +Lady Harriet was driven to her wits' end to find her son +the means he demanded, and at the same time to hide his +extravagance from his father. The old man was growing +stupid, but not on the side of lavishness. On the contrary, +he clung to his money the more tenaciously, the more he +felt that, and all other earthly goods slipping from him, +and woke to snappish inquisitiveness when his name was +wanted at the bottom of a cheque.</p> + +<p>For a time Cecil's mother smuggled considerable sums +for her boy through the household accounts, and by +pinching herself in the matter of new clothes and jewels,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +managed to keep him afloat. But soon his wastefulness +went far beyond the range of such petty expedients. From +hundreds his losses grew to thousands, and she was in +despair. Again and again did she beseech her darling +to be careful, to restrain himself, to have pity on her grey +hairs. She might as well have prayed to the church +steeple. Cecil abused her, and told her that he would +have money, get it how he might; if she did not give it +him the Jews would, and it would be the worse for her. +Sometimes she thought she must tell his father, but the +courage and truth of heart were alike wanting for a course +so open. Once she threatened Cecil with this dreaded +alternative, and he wrote back that he did not see why +she could not put his father's name to a cheque, and be +done with it. And he spoke of the old man's grasping +tendencies in terms unfit for transcription.</p> + +<p>Verily, Nemesis was overtaking this poor woman, and +bitter care had become her familiar friend, though she +knew hardly the fringe of her son's iniquity. He weltered +in a pool of corruption, caring for nobody, loving no one +but himself, despising natural affection, trampling it under +his feet with the unconsciousness of a demon, and crying +for money, money, as a horse leech seeks for blood. Such +are some of the characteristics of the family under whose +roof the daughter of Thomas Wanless now found herself, +a stranger, bewildered with the splendour around her, +and the signs of a wealth greater than her imagination had +ever conceived.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>TELLS AN OLD, OLD STORY.</h3> + + +<p>Sarah Wanless did not quite suit the housekeeper, Mrs. +Weaver, as still-room maid. She was not sufficiently +acquainted with the work, and got flurried when the +deputy tyrant of the household scolded her, which, after +the first few days, was many times a-day. So, after a +month of this purgatory, she was transferred to the +nursery as under-nurse to the children of Lady Harriet's +daughter, Mrs. Morgan. There her position was in some +respects improved, though the head nurse was a woman +of vulgar instincts, and given to nagging, as women +verging on forty, face to face with old maidhood, often +are. Doubtless she had had her sorrows and disappointments, +and felt that the world had been unkind to her—a +feeling which justifies much unloveliness here below in +other folks than old maids.</p> + +<p>However, Sally endured her lot in hope, and soon +began to find a certain pleasure in her work, for she liked +children. There were two boys and a girl, the girl being +youngest, and at this time two years old. The drudgery +was, therefore, less severe than if there had been babies +in arms, and, as the children were not naturally ill +disposed, though imperious as became their birth, they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +and the new nurse soon got on very well together. Part +of every fine day was spent out of doors, and that also +helped to make petty troubles bearable. It is only bitter +care and sorrow that seem heavier under God's sky than +within four walls. At first the upper nurse always formed +one of the party, and was rather a nuisance in her persistent +endeavours to check what she called "ungenteel +beayvour." Her voice was a chorus ever intruding with +"Master Morgan, you mustn't do this," or, "Miss Ethel, +you shocking girl, don't beayve so," and the key did not +conduce to harmony, but, like every other discord in the +world, it deafened the ears that heard, and the young +ones enjoyed themselves in spite of it.</p> + +<p>Nor did this drawback last long, for, some three months +after Sarah entered the nursery, fate, or the spirit of +mischief, ordered things so that the head nurse once +more fell in love. The object of her mature affection +was the new farm bailiff, a gigantic Welshman some few +years her junior, and the prosecution of their courtship +made the presence of Sarah inconvenient. As a stroke +of policy, therefore, she was often sent off with the two +elder children to wander through the park and gardens, +or into the woods, as the whims of the children or her +own might dictate, while the "baby," as the youngster +was still called, went with the other nurse in quest of Mr. +Peacock. Then Sarah was in bliss. She danced along +with the little ones, singing as she went, romped around +the old park trees or through thickets, and often brought +her charges home splashed and dirty, with their clothes +all torn, but in a state of delight not to be described.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +And the scoldings that ensued did not somehow hurt +Sarah's feelings much. Life was strong within her, and +her heart was light.</p> + +<p>All this time, in fact, Sally Wanless was developing into +a lovely woman. Her slim, rather lanky figure grew +rounder and increased in gracefulness. Her face, ah! +how many a lordly dame would have envied her, would +have thanked Heaven for a daughter with such a face! +It was impossible to look on it and not be struck with its +beauty. Her complexion was fair like her mother's, but +her features resembled her father's. The face was a fine +soft oval, the nose aquiline, the brow perhaps narrower +than strong intellect demanded, but high and open, and +the eyes of greyish blue were large and full of dancing +mirth. A certain sensuousness lay hid in the lines +of the mouth, but it betokened rather an unformed +character than a bent of disposition. Under the right +guidance, Sally's mouth might yet grow as firm in its +lines as her father's. Poor lass, would she get that +guidance?</p> + +<p>Well, well, think not of evil now. Try rather to picture +this fair peasant maiden in your mind. Behold her all +innocent as she is, romping through the park with the +children, dressed in her clean, neat, print gown, with her +rich brown hair perhaps broken loose and tossing about +her shoulders as she runs hither and thither, chased by +the shouting little ones. And as you look, remember +that this fair lass was but a peasant's child, born to +serfdom at the best. Between her and those children +there was hardly a human bond.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> + +<p>Think not of evil, I have said; and yet at this very +time much evil was at hand for poor Sally. Just as I +have set her before you, all rosy and bright with exercise, +she ran full tilt one day almost into the arms of Captain +Cecil Wiseman. The captain was lounging along with +his gun under his arm, smoking a pipe of wonderful +device, and with a couple of setters at his heels, who +barked half in surprise at the sudden apparition. Sarah +came rushing from behind a clump of rhododendrons, +and almost fell at the Captain's feet, through the violent +wrench she gave herself to avoid a collision. Cecil +Wiseman opened his heavy eyes, stared in impudent +wonder for a moment, and then, as if moved to involuntary +respect by what he saw, doffed his hat, and +mumbled something or other, Sally did not wait +to hear what. Blushing all over her already flushed +face, she darted off to hide her confusion, followed by the +shouting children, from whom she had been fleeing.</p> + +<p>After that meeting the captain suddenly found his +nephews and niece interesting. He condescended to +play with them so often, that his mother began to take +heart. Her son was going to turn out a fine fellow, after +all, and, poor boy, she had perhaps been too hard on him +for his wild oat sowing. It was part of the education of +gentlemen in his position, and, no doubt, contributed to +endow them with that contempt for the feelings of the +common people proper to aristocrats. So Lady Harriet +was happier. Her son found means to come home +oftener, and stayed longer when he did come. He even +took some interest in the affairs of the estate, went to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +church occasionally, and asked some of the farmers' +names.</p> + +<p>Never for a moment did Cecil's mother imagine that +he was merely engaged in stalking down the under nurse +of his sister's children, and that the greater the difficulty +he experienced in doing so, the more his passion incited +him to acts of apparent self-denial. He grew an adept +in hypocrisy in order to put the girl, his mother, everyone, +off the scent, and it became positively astonishing to +see how his habits changed, and his wits sharpened, under +the stimulus of this now exciting hunt. He displayed +cunning and ingenuity of device worthy of a better cause.</p> + +<p>In early summer, for example, he spent whole +mornings teaching the two elder children to ride, walking +or trotting with them all round the park, and to all +appearance heedless of the nurse girl, who was left alone +with the youngest, when her superior chose to be elsewhere. +At other times, if he met her with the children, +which was often enough,—it seemed to be always by +chance,—he would be busy discussing horticulture with +the gardener, fishing, or going for a row on the pond, off +to the warren to shoot, always occupied, and always +ready to express noisy surprise at finding the "pups" +there, as he called the little ones. When he went on wet +days to play in the children's room, it was always in +company with his sister, who, however, was usually driven +off within a few minutes of her entrance, by the row that +"Uncle" systematically started.</p> + +<p>All this and much more, Captain Cecil Wiseman, the +nobly born aristocrat, put himself to the trouble to do,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +and suffer, in order that he might work the ruin of an +innocent, unsuspecting, country maiden. For long, he +had no apparent success, for Sally Wanless was shielded +by her very innocence, and she was also very shy, so that +it was most difficult to get near her. By degrees, however, +she became familiar with the Captain's face and +figure, and his presence ceased to be either repulsive to +her or to frighten her. Not very tall, heavy in make, +and, with fluffy, sodden features, and a skin already over +red from dissipation, Captain Cecil was by no means an +attractive person. His voice, too, was harsh, and his eye +evil. For all that, patience and cunning carried the day. +Labouring incessantly to throw the girl off her guard, he +succeeded, and as soon as he had done so, he knew the +game to be in his own hands. It is a terrible mystery +this power which evil-minded men gain over women. +They fascinate them, as snakes are said to fascinate birds, +till they become powerless, and fall helpless and abandoned +into the jaws of destruction.</p> + +<p>By slow degrees then the captain drew Sally into his +power, and seduced her. He had stalked his game, with +more than a hunter's patience, but he triumphed. Bewildered, +surprised, horrified, the poor girl scarcely knew what +had befallen her, felt only a vague dread and consciousness +that somehow, for her, the world was all altered, that +where joy and hope had been, there was now the ashes of +a burnt-out fire. Ah, poor young lass, this squire's son, +this noble captain of Her Majesty's Dragoon Guards, had +done his best to destroy you, body and soul, and boasted +of the deed. In proportion, as the task was hard, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +exulted at his success. To destroy the life of a virtuous +girl was almost a greater triumph to him than to be +first in at the death of a fox. To win this triumph he had +stooped to lies black as hell, and cared not. His end +gained, his interest in his victim at once sank, and soon +he hated the sight of her sad, tear-swollen face. Ah, +God! that these things should be, and men have no +shame for the shameless seducer, no horror of his blasting +career.</p> + +<p>But had this maiden no guilt, then? Yes, she had +guilt of a kind. She was inclined to be vain of her +beauty, and her betrayer fastened on that weakness. +His flattery pleased her, till she grew, half unconsciously, +proud that so fine a gentleman as this captain creature +should notice her. This pride begat conceit and a foolish +confidence in herself that made her betrayal easy. After +what her parents had taught her, she ought to have +known better. True pride, a jealous care for her womanhood, +should have possessed her. Instead of that she +grew giddy, and so was allured to her destruction, like the +moth to the candle. Thus far she was guilty; but wilt +thou condemn her, O censor? And if so, what of the +man? Is it not strange that he, so much more guilty, +should go scatheless; that to "society," as the froth at +the top insolently calls itself, this base creature, this +loathsome seducer, should be as good as ever? For +him the lofty mothers of the aristocracy would have no +censure, in him their daughters, should whispers of his +deeds reach their ears, would have a livelier interest. +Amongst most people he would bear repute as a "man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +of gallantry," a "dreadful lady-killer;" at worst, a +"rake" of the dirt-heroic kind that heightened rather +than otherwise his eligibility as a match for the fairest of +the daughters exhibited for sale in the markets of +Belgravia and Mayfair. A man that could ruin a +country maiden and then fling her from him, all heedless +of her broken heart, with no more thought of her than if +she had been a dead dog, must, in the view of society, be +a man of spirit. As for the ruined one—faugh! speak +not of a thing so repulsive. Let her die in the street.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>BRINGS THE READER BACK TO THE RESPECTABILITIES +OF THE PARSONAGE.</h3> + + +<p>After the high-born Captain Cecil Wiseman had accomplished +his purpose, Sarah Wanless lost her attraction +for him. With a fiendish guile he had tracked her +down, and now that the chase was over, the victory won, +why should he bother himself further? Sarah's beauty +was not less; nay, was rather enhanced by the new +sadness that shaded her face; but the Captain hardly +looked at her again. These confounded wenches were +so given to whimpering, and this serene aristocrat hated +"scenes." Had Sally been bold and of brazen iniquity, +like many of the stained ones he knew in the greenrooms +of London theatres, she might possibly have held +this lust-consumed reptile a little longer in her power, +but being only a simple village maiden slowly awakening +to the horror of the fate that had befallen her, the sight +of her tearful face made him avoid her. What had he +to do with the consequences of sin and folly? Was not +the world bound to make his vices pleasant to him?</p> + +<p>This thoroughbred captain in Her Majesty's Dragoon +Guards left Sally then, and sought other attractions, his +appetite whetted by his success. Even as he snared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +Sarah Wanless his roving eye had sighted other +game.</p> + +<p>The vicar's wife, Mrs. Codling, had several daughters +whom, like a judicious mother, she was anxious to +marry well. These the Captain had deigned to +notice somewhat in the course of his long visits at the +Grange while Sally's destruction was in progress. At +church more than once his greedy eye had rested on the +vicar's pew with a hard gaze of admiration, and on week +days his footsteps had begun to stray towards the vicarage +often enough to set Mrs. Codling's brain a-scheming. +It would be indeed a triumph, she felt, if the heir of +Squire Wiseman could be got to marry one of her +daughters. But that was a job which needed the most +delicate handling, for if Lady Harriet got wind of her +designs, the consequences would be more than Mrs. +Codling felt able to face. At the best the parson's +daughter would have been considered no fit match for so +great a personage as this ill-doing guardsman, but, as +things were, the very idea of such a marriage would +have been received at the Grange with unutterable scorn.</p> + +<p>Times were in many ways changed with the vicar since +that day now long past, when his soft, fat hands were +uplifted in holy repulsion of the horrible rabbit-slaying +criminal who stood before him doomed. For one thing +he had gathered a family around him, and for another he +had been overtaken by poverty—a poverty that came of +greed. The living of Ashbrook was worth in money +about £250 a year, and there was a good vicarage with a +large garden and paddock, so that altogether Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +Codling was as well off in the country as he would have +been with £500 a year in town. To this income, itself +above starvation point many degrees, Mrs. Codling +had added an income of nearly £2,000, which made the +home more than comfortable. A contented man would +have been very happy with such a provision, judged even +by the standard of the <i>Spectator</i>, which admires +Christianity with a well filled purse, but Mr. Codling wanted +more, like most parsons. One would think from the +eagerness shown by such to possess themselves either +of rich wives or of large incomes made out of nothing, +that somehow Christianity and poverty are things that +cannot exist together. Luxury is certainly essential to +the true faith of the majority of modern parsons. Without +it they shrivel up, grow morose, full of evil thoughts, +such as envy and malice, and instead of an example are +a warning.</p> + +<p>Parson Codling, then, took the common clerical fever. +During the railway mania he saw men spring suddenly +from poverty to great wealth, and very soon came to the +conclusion that nothing would be easier than for him to +do as they did. Entirely ignorant of the game of speculation, +Codling took to speculating with the fearlessness of +a master in the art, and following a common rut of fortune, +he for a time succeeded. One land speculation in which +he joined, and where the shareholders of a new line of +railway were fleeced of fabulous thousands, cleared him, +it was said, about £1800, and he did well with sundry +purchases of shares. Naturally, success made him bolder. +He bought anything and everything, became an expert<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +user of stock exchange slang, and deeply versed in the +"rigs" and dodges of the share market. Some of the +squires around began to envy him, others cursed him for +a nuisance, but still he made money, and no doubt would +have gone on making it indefinitely had somebody always +been found ready to buy when he wanted to sell. Unluckily +for him, the day came when he could not sell at +any price, and as he had been lifted clean off his feet by +the elation of his early speculative successes, he only +came back to the hard earth to find himself ruined. The +crisis of 1847 did not break out without much foreshadowing +to prudent men, but to the Rev. Josiah Codling it came +like the trumpet of doom. Till the very last he clung to +the hope that a rise in the share markets would set him +free. That fatal October therefore passed like a whirlwind, +leaving Codling stripped of all he had previously made +and some £40,000 in debt. To save him from public +exposure and disgrace, his wife had to part with nearly +all her property in Worcester, and they were glad, +ultimately, to escape with as much as yielded about £200 +a-year beyond the value of the living. Had all the +creditors been fairly paid they would not have retained a +penny, but Codling struggled and wheedled, and, it is said, +shed copious floods of tears over his hard fate, until +pitying people let him go.</p> + +<p>Such an untoward end of the glorious visions in which +the vicar had indulged naturally embittered his home +circle. Mrs. Codling could not forgive her lord for ruining +her, and took to reviling the poor wretch early and +late. The miserable fellow would have borne his misfortunes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +ill enough even if sympathised with. Being reviled, +he bore them not at all. He drowned them in drink. +At first he stupified himself with brandy; but that +proving too dear for his means, he relapsed to gin, and +led a sodden existence.</p> + +<p>All too late his wife saw the blunder she had made, +and tried to wean him back to sobriety. Failing in that, +her pride and cunning came to the rescue. She smothered +her tears and veiled her sorrows before the world, hiding +at the same time her husband's infirmity as much as +possible from the public eye. The lot was hard, her +punishment severe, but she braced herself to it with a +woman's patient courage, and straightway opened her +heart to new hopes and dreams of better days to come. +Henceforth the aim of her life must be to get her four +daughters settled in life. Alas! the settlements would +need to be humbler now than those she had once dreamed +of. The tables of the great ones of the parish were not +now open to them as they had been before her money had +gone, and before Codling took to drink. There was not +even a barrack in the neighbourhood, with its successive +bevies of foolish young officers to prey upon—only +Leamington with its dawdling crowds of nobodies. Ah, +well, the most had to be made of the opportunities that +offered.</p> + +<p>These being the circumstances of the family at the +vicarage, this the mental attitude of Mrs. Codling, who +could wonder that her soured spirit rose once more within +her with a feeling akin to gratitude towards a merciful +providence, when Captain Wiseman came in her way?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +Despair had sometimes nearly marked her down for his +prey, and lo! here was the Prince of the fairy tale. +Dresses were forthwith obtained for the girls such as they +had not worn for years, for happily their mother had still +a few jewels left which she could pawn or sell. And +being handsome girls—two of them particularly so—they +soon attracted a good deal of the roving guardsman's +attention. At first a little flirtation with them gave a +pleasant variety to his existence, rendered just a little +monotonous by the labour of stalking down Sally Wanless. +The shrewd mother contrived that his opportunities should +be frequent. The old pony chaise was furbished up anew +and the girls took to driving the fat, wheezy, old pony +about the country in a manner new and far from agreeable +to it. In this way they managed to cross the Captain's +trail much after his own style with Sally. During that +winter he hunted a good deal, and the Codling girls +developed an enthusiasm for the sport which made them +haunt meets far and near. Months before the Captain +flung Sarah from him he had thus become familiar with +the sight of these girls, and no sooner was she well destroyed +than he began to develop a preference for the +youngest but one—Adelaide or Adela Codling. Miss +Adela was a buxom, roystering, kind of girl, of handsome +features, light brains, and abundant animal spirits. +Already, though but nineteen, she had a reputation +amongst her acquaintances of being what the pump-room +gossip of Leamington styled "fastish." She affected +<i>outré</i> fashion in dress, and was always ready to lead a +revolt against established proprieties. To play the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +boisterous hoyden at a harvest home or farmer's Christmas +dance, where she could scandalise all the sober domestic +virtue of the parish and make every buxom farmer's lass +wild with jealousy by her extravagant flirtations with +the young men, delighted Miss Adelaide beyond measure.</p> + +<p>This free young lady was most to the Captain's taste +of all the four, but her mother felt disappointed at the +preference. It not only left the eldest girl out in the cold, +but made Mrs. Codling's task more dangerous. Adela +had no prudence, and unripe plans might become known +to Lady Harriet through her folly. Besides, her ladyship +would probably be harder to persuade into accepting +Adela as a daughter-in-law than any of the other three.</p> + +<p>So thought the prudent, anxious mother; but she was +too wise to interfere. A risk must be taken in any case, +and she resolved to let the captain have his way, bracing +herself to greater vigilance and higher flights of matrimonial +diplomacy than ever. And she found a much +more efficient ally in the Captain than she had expected. +Men, in her opinion, were never prudent in love matters, +but this man was as cautious as a diplomat on a secret +mission. It did not suit him any more than Mrs. Codling +that his mother should scent danger in his visits to the +vicarage. In such a place as Ashbrook and in ordinary +circumstances all their care would have gone for nothing; +but, happily for their plans, her ladyship did not go out +much now, and called seldom on any of her neighbours. +Her husband, the estate, her miserable son, any one of +them would have given her grief or work enough to keep +her well at home. When she went abroad, therefore,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +it was generally for an hour's drive out and home, or to +Leamington or Warwick on business.</p> + +<p>Just now she was struggling hard not to lose the dream +of hope that had for a short time gladdened her heart about +her boy, and was failing in the effort. Notwithstanding +his long visits to the Grange, his demands for money +continued to be insatiable. He always put his necessities +down to the bad conduct of the Jews. They had got him +fast, he said, and would give him no peace. But as bill +after bill got paid, only to be succeeded by a new crop, +Lady Harriet began to doubt the truth of this tale, and +in her unhappiness shut herself up more than ever. The +Captain had only to spend a little of the money wrung +from his mother in bribing her maid, and he was free to +destroy all the women of the parish if he chose.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>REVEALS THE SORROWS OF A MERE PEASANT MAIDEN.</h3> + + +<p>Lady Harriet did not even hear of her son's ongoings +with Sally Wanless, though to the menials of her household +and the gossips of the village they had furnished for +months back one of the most delightful and engrossing +topics of conversation that the oldest among them had +ever been permitted to share in. It was better than the +most sensational romance of the <i>London Journal</i>; for was +not this drama being acted out before their very eyes? +They took the same delight in it, though keener and +deeper, that they would have taken in any sport involving +the death of the weaker creature, and few among them +cared in the least for the girl whose danger they failed not +to see. Among the young her beauty excited envy, and +they virtuously rejoiced that her pride would yet bring +her sorrow. All, young and old, loved an intrigue for +itself; and would not have spoiled their sport for the +world. The servants at the Grange carried their tales to +the village, and the village gossips drew together in the +fields, on the road, by the pump, at cottage doors, to roll +the sweet morsel of scandal under their tongues.</p> + +<p>All this time Sarah's parents were kept in ignorance +of what was afoot. Neither dreamt of danger to their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +daughter, because neither was aware of the fiend who +pursued her. As for Sarah herself, she behaved better +after she had begun to feel the spell of the Captain's +fascination upon her than before; was more demure and +obedient. This she was half unconsciously, half from a +wish to propitiate her father and mother in view of she +knew not what.</p> + +<p>Pausing not to think, heedless of the smiles and +whispers, the nods and winks that greeted her wherever +she went, all of them signs full of warning to one disposed +to alarm, free, happy-hearted Sally Wanless plunged into +the abyss.</p> + +<p>Ruined and forsaken, she came to herself only to find +that she had entered a new world. Sorrow and darkness +dwelt within where light had been; and around her all +was changed. The silent hints of her fellow servants +gave place to open taunts and scorn. None pity a fallen +woman so little as her fellow women, and Sally's +fellow servants were not long in making her life an +unrelieved agony. The bloom forsook her cheek, her +step became listless, her eyes dull and sunken. She +literally withered before her tormentors, and they pitied +her not.</p> + +<p>A change so great soon attracted the attention of her +parents, especially as for a little time her manner in her +visits to them became suddenly dashed with recklessness. +The wretched girl, in trying to be her old self, was, like +a bad actor, overdoing her part. Her parents grew +uneasy, and the uneasiness gave place to alarm when +Sally grew pale and silent. Afraid to speak, hoping it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +might be some cross in love matters, which most young +lasses experience, both her father and mother yearned +after their daughter. At length the accidental discovery +of some trumpery trinket of the Captain's, which Sally +wore round her neck, led to the revelation of all their +daughter's peril and loss, although the knowledge came +too late.</p> + +<p>The ribbon by which the trinket hung had become +loose, and it fell on the floor. Before Sally could pick it +up, her mother's hand was on it. Holding it to the light, +she found that it was a gaudy looking locket, and +instantly demanded where Sally had got this. Taken +by surprise Sally answered at once,</p> + +<p>"From Captain Wiseman."</p> + +<p>"From Captain Wiseman! Oh, Sally!" That was +all she said; but the tone and the look went to the girl's +heart and tore it with a new misery. Her father turned +in his chair and looked at her for a minute or two without +speaking. She took his gaze to mean rebuke, and +mechanically tried to escape from the house. Then her +father spoke.</p> + +<p>"Stay, Sarah," he said. "Go with your mother to the +boys' room. We must know what this means."</p> + +<p>Equally mechanically she obeyed, suffering her mother +to lead her away.</p> + +<p>Left alone, Thomas said that he did not think of anything +particular for some time. He just sat still as if +animation was suspended, a dull feeling of pain, a sense of +stunnedness possessing his whole being. The fate of his +pretty daughter was before his inward eye all the time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +He gazed at it and realized it, but it did not move him. +His emotions were frozen up.</p> + +<p>It was some time before the mother and daughter came +back, and the girl would not face her father. He rose to +bid her good night. She hesitated a moment and then +muttering, "I shall be late," turned and fled from the +house.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wanless told her husband that she could make +nothing of the girl.</p> + +<p>"I plead with her," she said; "I scolded her and tried +to work on her feelings, but she just hid her face in her +hands, and rolled and moaned like to break her heart."</p> + +<p>Poor, lone lass, her tale needed no words to make it +plain. Already it was known to all the village, and this +Sunday night the hideous reality entered the minds of +her parents, breeding there a sorrow the keenest they +had ever known.</p> + +<p>At the Grange, too, who was there knew not? That +Sunday night Sally was actually late as she had said, +and the scolding, seasoned with brutal taunts, which she +had to endure from her superior, might have stung the +girl to retaliation had not a deeper pain laid hold of her +spirit. She paid no heed to the taunts and broad +allusions of her neighbour, whose heart was perhaps the +bitterer from the recent failure of her own last effort at +husband-catching. A fire raged in Sally's heart that +seemed to be consuming her very life. Her one hope +now was to die. That would be best. As soon as +possible she crept silently away to bed. How blessed is +the darkness to the soul that is ashamed! Sally's grief,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +deep and bitter though it might be, was little to the +sorrow and pain she had left that night in the home of +her childhood. The deathly calm in her father's mind +was succeeded by a storm before which Sally's sobs were +as the wailings of an infant. His spirit had been stirred +to its depths by many storms in the past, and needed +much to rouse it now, but what he had learned to-night +was surely enough. In the darkness of the night the +full horror of what had befallen his daughter and himself +was pressed in upon his thoughts till his heart rose +in bitterness unspeakable. Was it true, then, he asked +himself again and again, that his child, the darling of his +old age, had been ruined by this cub of the oppressor? +Had this blackest of all wrongs been added to all the +rest? There was but one answer, and as he brooded +over the shame and misery that would fall upon his +daughter and on all the family, as he thought of this +heartless seducer going through the world scathless, +passion swelled within him. An impulse to vengeance +swept over him. Had the Captain been within reach of +Thomas's hands then, the old man might have slain him. +Yes, he felt he could die cheerfully for his daughter's +sake, were her wrongs fully avenged. Ah, if he could +thus bring back her good name! But would not mere +vengeance be sweet? To take the scoundrel's life-blood! +He set his teeth, his frame shook under the gust of his +terrible agony of grief, hatred, and shame, and he longed +for the daylight that he might go and find the seducer +of his precious one. The desire for revenge was strong +upon him with the strength of a great temptation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then his mood changed. The fierce fires burnt themselves +low. Weary and exhausted he lay still, and for +the first time became aware that his wife was silently +weeping by his side. He had thought she slept. A +softer mood stole into his heart, but he could not speak +of the grief that consumed them both. In the morning +he rose, weary and sad, to go about his day's work. +Days passed before he made up his mind what to do, +and during these days, his wife waited with anxious +patience, too wise to worry her husband. At last, he +resolved to bring her home. Anger and revenge were +conquered thus far, and love and pity for his child were +victorious.</p> + +<p>"We must take Sally's shame to ourselves, mother," +he said to his wife, when his mind was made up. "I +know it will be hard for you, harder than you think; +but she is our flesh and blood, and we must stand by +her. What say ye, wife?"</p> + +<p>"An' what can I say, Thomas? I've been wishin' her +home ever since Sunday, for I'm sure she'll die where she +is. Oh! my poor darling; God pity her. The sin is +surely not hers;" and Mrs. Wanless wept, but her heart +was glad that the father was ready to shield and forgive. +Sometimes, as she watched the hard stern lines of his +face, or his fixed gaze of wrath, she had dreaded a +sterner decision. But now again Thomas's better nature +had triumphed, and his faith in the everlasting justice +inclined him to mercy.</p> + +<p>As this talk took place on the Thursday evening, it was +thought best to wait for Sally's return on Sunday, rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +than to excite comment by going at once in quest of her. +Her mother had stolen to the Grange on the previous +Monday morning, to find out whether Sally had gone +back, and had then seen and heard enough to make her +dread another visit.</p> + +<p>But they waited in vain for Sally that Sunday. She +never came near her father's house, but spent her hours +of liberty alone in the woods, afraid to face her father, +and vaguely wishing she were dead. Her mother must +go and tell her what had been decided on, after all.</p> + +<p>So on the Monday morning, Mrs. Wanless again set +out for the Grange. With sickening heart and trembling +steps, she crept along the sweeping avenue like a thief in +dread of being seen. The day was grey and cold, as the +latter days of April often are, and the leaden clouds +threatened rain. It was one of those days when spring +has, as it were, turned back to give a farewell hand-shake +to winter. A chilly blast swept along the ground in +gusts, and made one shiver; the world looked dreary +and forbidding; birds were silent; and as one looked +abroad on the cheerless world, and mournful sky, one +grew unconsciously to have a shut-in kind of feeling. If +only a rift would appear in that grey canopy, then one +might breathe and have hope. Who has not come under +the spell of such days? To whom have they not seemed +to increase the bitterness of sorrow, to add weight to the +burden of disappointment?</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wanless was probably all the sadder this morning +that the day was sad, though her thoughts were too fixed +on Sally to be overborne by any idle impressions from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +leaden aspect of the landscape. Or perhaps she felt that +the day and her feelings were in wonderful unison. A +beautiful spring morning might have jarred on her spirit. +Spring sunshine is so gladsome, so full of hope, and Mrs. +Wanless had no hope, only a longing to bring her +daughter home and hide her away out of the world's sight.</p> + +<p>Intent on her errand, she approached the house—a +large, square building, with innumerable staring windows +and a bare lawn in front, where a poor woman could find +no hiding place—but as she neared the servants' door +round in the east end of the mansion she paused irresolute. +She remembered the reception of a week ago, the whispers +and nods and innuendos of the wenches who came and +went with a wonderful bustle of extemporized activity as +she stood speaking to her daughter just by the door. If +Sally would but come out, she thought, as once and again +she turned back unable to muster courage, and cowered +by the garden wall, which approached that end of the +house, wherein lay the servants' quarters, with her old +shepherd's plaid shawl gathered tightly round her. But +no one came save menials, out of whose sight the +poor bruised mother would fain have kept herself. The +children of the gentlefolks would not be out of doors that +day. It was too cold.</p> + +<p>At last Mrs. Wanless nerved herself to a desperate +effort, left the shelter of the garden wall, and walked as +firmly as she could up to the kitchen door, and feebly +knocked. She waited a long time as it seemed to her +palpitating heart, but no answer came. Her knock had +not been heard, so she tried again, this time a little less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +feebly. It was no use—nobody minded her. Would she +go away? Nay, she dared not do that. She would wait, +somebody was sure to turn up presently. The resolution +was hardly formed when the door opened, and her daughter +and she stood face to face. A scared look came into the +girl's eyes as she exclaimed, "You here again, mother;" +the blood mantled to her forehead, and she half stepped +back. But her mother caught her by the arm feverishly, +and led her away from the house, saying—</p> + +<p>"Oh, Sally, I do so want to see you, but I didn't like to +come in again. Why didn't you coom home last +night?"</p> + +<p>Sally tried to frame some excuse, but her voice failed +her; she turned pale as death, and hung her head.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you, dear;" her mother repeated, in a +dull, mechanical sort of way. Sally's feelings overcame +her. She burst into tears, and through her sobs gasped +out—</p> + +<p>"I thought you—father—wouldn't let me come back."</p> + +<p>Her mother did not at once reply, she was too pained, +and also too keenly alive to the eyes that were at many a +window gloating over her daughter's misery. Almost +roughly she tightened her grasp on the girl's arm, and +hurried her round the corner of the garden wall, never +halting till safely behind a clump of evergreens. Then +she released her daughter, turned, and clasped her to her +breast. Both wept now, and, as she wept, the poor, +stricken mother cried—</p> + +<p>"Ah, Sally, Sally, my pet, my pet, you mustn't think on +us like that," in tones that expressed reproach and love<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +and pity and misery all in one. But no word of reproach +did she utter.</p> + +<p>It was some time before the two were composed enough +to say much about anything. Sally roused herself +first, for she suddenly recollected that she had orders to +be quick back. She had been sent out for milk for the +nursery.</p> + +<p>"I must run, mother," she said hurriedly, "or Mary +Crane will nag at me;" and she made as if to go.</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment, Sally dear," her mother answered. +"I had nearly forgotten what I came for; A-dear! +a-dear! you mustn't stand no more of Mary Crane's +naggings, Sally; an' if she begins to-day, you're to give +up the place and coom home. Now, mind, Sally," she +added, eagerly, "that will be best, give up your place;" +for Sally seemed to shrink from the idea of coming home.</p> + +<p>"But father——he"——</p> + +<p>"It was father as said it, Sally dear. Father says you +must coom home. He can't a-bear to see you suffering +and abused in this big house as you've been so wronged +in; an' ye'll do what father wishes, won't you, my +pet?"</p> + +<p>"Is it really true, mother. Are you sure that father +will let me coom home?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, he sent me to tell ye. Oh, say ye'll coom +home, Sally?"</p> + +<p>"But father'll be angry with me and scold me, mother, +and I can't abide that—oh, I can't, I can't," and Sally +shook her head despairingly, the gleam of hope vanishing +from her eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, Sally, your father wonnot scold ye. Surely you +know him better nor that. He is too heart-broke about +ye a' ready to have any scoldings left, an' he was never +hard to ye. Coom, now; say you'll give up the place, +and it will be all right."</p> + +<p>This and much more the mother said, pleading as for +her daughter's life, and she won her point. Once Sally's +dread of her father was somewhat removed, she caught +eagerly at the prospect of escape from the Grange. Any +change would be like going from Hell to Heaven that +would take her away from that place of torment. So +anxious was she to get away, once her mind became +fixed, that she never once thought of the burden she +would be to her parents. But for the inexorable month's +warning, she would have taken flight that night.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>WHEREIN WE SEE BREEDING—HIGH AND LOW.</h3> + + +<p>Mother and daughter parted almost the moment that +the former was assured of Sally's readiness to come home, +and Sally, nearly half-an-hour late, sped on her errand. +It was with a glow on her face and a light in her eye +that had been absent for many a day, that she ultimately +reappeared in the nursery. Her bright looks seemed to +add fuel to the wrath of the upper nurse, who burst out +on Sally before she was well in at the door.</p> + +<p>"I shan't stand this no longer, miss, depend on't," the +soured, elderly maiden wound up. "I'm a decent woman, +I ham, and don't mean to be disgraced by the likes o' +you, not if I knows it. I've stood a lot too much from +you a'ready, shameless gipsy that ye are. Your hongoin's +is just past bearin', and I mean to tell Mrs. Morgan +this very day as 'ow she must get another nurse an she +means to keep you."</p> + +<p>Nearly if not quite as much as this had been said to +Sarah Wanless before now, and she had borne it silently +with a bitter heart, because she found herself alone in +the world. But to-day she was bolder from the consciousness +within her that she was not yet wholly forsaken. +Driven to bay by this woman's tongue, she turned upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +her, and with flashing eyes, a voice trembling with +passion, cried—</p> + +<p>"And I have stood too much from you, Mary Crane. +You have behaved to me worse than if I had been a dog, +and you're a hard-hearted, selfish woman. What right +have you to trample upon me, as if you was a saint and +more? You've a black enough mind any way, and +mebbe you've done worse nor me before now, for all +your spiteful pride and down-looking on a poor, heart-stricken +girl, as never did you no harm. Shame on you, +Mary Crane, I would not exchange my lot for yours yet, +if it was to give me a heart like yours. And you need +not trouble Mrs. Morgan with your tales. I've made up +my mind to stand your insolence no longer. I'll go to +Mrs. Morgan myself and give up my place, and tell her +how you've used me."</p> + +<p>This unexpected outburst fairly took the nurse's breath +away. She stuttered with inarticulate passion, and +danced again in the agony of rage. A torrent of abuse +was on her tongue, but she only managed to hiss out an +opprobrious epithet at the girl, at the sound of which +Sally faced her like one transformed. Drawing her form +up to its full height, and holding her clenched hands close +by her sides, she marched straight at nurse Crane, and fairly +stood over her with her face a-flame and lips set, every +feature rigid with scorn and wrath. Crane's heart died +within her. She cowered and hid her face in her hands.</p> + +<p>"Say that word again, Mary Crane," Sally demanded +in a low, passion-thrilled voice, but Mary Crane uttered +never a sound.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Say it again, will you!" Sally repeated in low tones. +"Dare to call me that name again, and I'll——" But +Sarah had no threat big enough for her wrath. She +caught her breath sharp, and came closer to her enemy, +suddenly bent down and laid hold of Mary Crane's head +with both her hands, forcing her to turn up her face.</p> + +<p>But Crane would not look at her. With a half wail, +half shriek, her knees gave way under her, and she sank +on the floor wriggling as if about to take a fit.</p> + +<p>Sarah looked at her for a moment contemptuously, +and then turned away, while the heroic mood was upon +her, to seek an interview with Mrs. Morgan.</p> + +<p>That lady received the announcement of her under-nurse +with her usual high-bred indifference, merely +saying, "Oh, very well, you can go." But, as the girl +turned away, something in her manner made Mrs. +Morgan scrutinise her keenly. The girl seemed changed +even to the eyes of the aristocratic lady, and, perhaps, +she, too, began to suspect her, for Sally thought that +she saw an expression of mingled contempt and annoyance +on Mrs. Morgan's face, of which she caught a last +glimpse on turning to shut the door behind her. It +might have been only her own heated fancy, but, all the +same, Sally's brief spell of courage was over from that +moment. Happily Mary Crane vexed her no more +openly, but she took her revenge in secret.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Morgan's suspicions had been in reality so far +excited as to cause her to make further inquiries. She +called Mary Crane into her room one day and questioned +her about "this girl, Sarah—What's her name?" Mary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +Crane for a little time would tell nothing. She now both +hated and feared Sally Wanless, and until she could +discover exactly where the girl stood with her mistress, +she was not going to commit herself. Her remarks were +therefore cautiously shaped at first, with a view to draw +her mistress out. She prevaricated, dropped hints, and +tried to measure the extent of Mrs. Morgan's knowledge +before revealing her own. There was not only the girl +to consider, but also the Captain. It might be more than +her own place was worth to "blab on the Capting."</p> + +<p>Either Mrs. Morgan was obtuse or ignorant, for she +gave no response for some time to Mary's stream of +words. "You see, 'm, as Sarah's a light sort of girl, 'm, +as is allus a-runnin' after the men, 'm. She mayn't be +bad, 'm, but she don't beayve proper for one in her station. +I'm sure, 'm, I've told her times enough as no good id +come of her upsittin' ways, and her ongoin' with the +gentlemens—<i>a</i> gentleman in particler—'as hoften shocked +me, 'm."</p> + +<p>Thus she ran on, till Mrs. Morgan, quite bewildered, +exclaimed—</p> + +<p>"But what has the girl done, then, Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Laws, 'm, 'ow should I know, 'm. Hax herself, +'m, hax the—<i>a</i> gentleman as you knows, 'm, knows +hintimate, 'm."</p> + +<p>"A gentleman I know intimately—what do you +mean? I know no gentleman. Surely you don't mean +Captain Wiseman?"</p> + +<p>"Well, 'm, I don't know, 'm. You see, 'm, I thought +the family mightn't like it——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That will do, Mary, that will do. I want no more +beating about the bush. Tell me, yea or nay, has +Captain Wiseman been noticing this girl?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, 'm, he 'as, 'm; but I don't think——"</p> + +<p>"Never mind what you think, you are sure of that +fact?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, 'm, quite."</p> + +<p>"Ah, thank you; then that'll do for the present," and +she motioned to Crane to leave the room.</p> + +<p>That worthy departed not quite satisfied. She had +doubts as to whether her mistress liked to know the +truth, doubted also if she had done Sarah as much harm +as she wished to. But she showed none of these mental +clouds in the servants' hall. There, in Sally's absence, +she was triumphant, and the "said she's" and "said I's" +with which the tale was embellished, served to emphasise +the triumph which she indicated that the interview had +been to her diplomatic skill. She only confessed to one +regret. Mrs. Morgan had somehow cut the interview +short, "just when I was a-goin' to tell her all about +it."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Morgan, however, did not need to be told all +about it. She knew the habits of her brother, and, her +interest once aroused, managed to put this and that +together so well as to arrive before many minutes at a +tolerably shrewd conclusion. "This, then," she said to +herself, "is the secret of Captain Cecil's wonderful reform." +That reflection at once brought her face to face with the +question—Shall I or shall I not tell my mother? It was +not a question so easily answered as it seemed. Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +Morgan was inclined to do it from her dislike of the +Captain, who had always absorbed too much of his +mother's attention—ought I to have said love?—for the +good feelings of the rest of the family. But, then, this +very preference made it difficult to decide. She might +enrage her mother, and there were family money matters +yet to settle, in the disposition of which a mother's +displeasure might cause permanent changes. For these +and other reasons, "too numerous to mention," Mrs. +Morgan hesitated. She would wait on events, on +her mother's moods and her own; so avoiding a +decision.</p> + +<p>That seemed easiest, and yet it proved the hardest +course to Mrs. Morgan, who had quite a vulgar woman's +delight in retailing scandal. Before a week was out she +found it expedient to tell all. Her mother and she held +a long conference in secret on the Friday after Sally had +given up her place. What they said to each other will +never be known; but one decision came of it that was at +once acted upon. Sarah Wanless was dismissed that +night by the orders of Lady Harriet, who sent her own +maid with the message. "Jane," as she was called, +delivered it with curt insolence, and at the same time +flung a month's wages, which Lady Harriet had likewise +sent, on the table, with a significant gesture, as if to say, +"You are too unclean, Sally Wanless, to be touched by +a superior person like me."</p> + +<p>When Sarah went home, which she did as soon as her +small box was packed up, and told her parents that she +was dismissed, her father was so indignant that he wanted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +to send the extra weeks' wages back. His wife, however, +persuaded him that it was better to let things alone. +"The money," she said, "is her right, and can do us no +harm; and Sally is well out of <i>that</i> den anyway." And +Mrs. Wanless was right.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>THROWS A LITTLE LIGHT ON A SUBJECT SOMETIMES +UNCTUOUSLY CONDESCENDED UPON BY PREACHERS +OF "WORDS."</h3> + + +<p>I wonder where Christians find authority for our modern +treatment of illegitimacy? Preachers of all sects are +never tired of telling us that they preach peace and goodwill +among men. Their religion is to redeem all wrongs, +to make mankind better, to lift the fallen, and cheer the +broken-hearted. So at least they say, but when we look +for deeds, we do not find many in this lower world. The +fulfilment of the Christian ideal is prudently (?) adjourned +to the next, above or below. Wherever one turns in +contemplation of modern Christianity, one finds a ghastly +divergence between its professions and its practice, and at +no point is this more visible than in the behaviour of the +Churches towards women who have sinned. Taking their +tone from a corrupt society, which desires to enjoy its +vices, and to prey upon its women without taking upon +itself responsibilities which the poor besotted Turk even +never dreams of shirking, the dispensers of the gospel of +peace lead the chorus of reprobation which is heaped upon +the woman, who, like the virgin mother so many of them +profess to worship, bears the burden of maternity in shame<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +and loneliness. No distinction is drawn between woman +and woman—rarely or ever is the guilt of the man +considered; the duties of fatherhood can be neglected by +the seducer with tacit, nay, often with the full approbation +of society and the Churches. But on the woman a +penalty falls that is worse than death. She has yielded +to the seducer, and henceforth she must be pressed down +and cast out, unless—and the distinction is important—she +be a sinner of the highest caste in society, when the +sin may be covered with lies as with an embroidered +garment; or, unless she belong to the lowest, where the +difference between morality and immorality is too often +nearly indistinguishable—thirteen centuries of more or less +well-paid-for priestly instruction notwithstanding. Speaking +broadly, however, the law of social life condemns the +"unattached" woman and her offspring to obloquy and +degradation, and it does this not merely without the protest +of the Churches, but by their full sanction. For ages priests +of all hues have arrogated to themselves the power of +regulating the union of the sexes; without their rites and +blessings no two human beings could become man and wife. +When two were thus united the universal cry was "What +God hath joined together let no man put asunder." The +priest, in fact, arrogated to himself the power of the Deity. +His "joining" was God's, and none but his held on Earth +or in Heaven. Greater blasphemy has hardly ever been +committed even by priests. By this abominable fraud—this +false assumption of authority—deeper social wrongs +have come upon the world than from any other priestly +assumption whatsoever. The priest has habituated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +society to disregard all ties formed in what is called an +illegitimate manner. It has sanctioned the desertion of +women by their seducers, and what is even worse, the +desertion of children by their fathers and mothers, for, of +course, if the parents were not priest-joined, the offspring +must be of the devil. A man may, according to this +dogma, have lived the life of a fiend, ruining women, +bringing children into the world to live or die as the poor +law or hunger should order; but this is no hindrance to +his obtaining the blessing of "the Church" should he one +day take it into his head to submit to be married to one +woman—for gain, for any reason, or none.</p> + +<p>Scoundrel and saint are alike welcome to the priest's +services and blessings if the marriage fees be paid; and +with the full concurrence and blessing of any sectary in +the world, a man may disjoin himself from a woman or +women he has lived with for years in order to take another, +if there was no marriage uniting him to these he deserted. +God, of course, could not be expected to "join" those who +never sought a priest's help. The whole basis of this +treatment of the sexes is grossly and blasphemously +immoral, and the fruits of it are visible on every side. +To it we owe the highly nourishing character of the "social +evil" quite as much as to man's inherent depravity, and +we shall never really begin to overcome that evil until the +whole of the teachings and assumptions of the sects, as +applied to marriage and divorce, are swept clean out of the +public mind.</p> + +<p>Who is there to whom the history of some poor woman +betrayed and deserted is not known—a woman, it may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +be, tender-hearted and true, as worthy of wifehood as any +of her sex? Did society pity that woman? Have you +pitied her? Perhaps, but would you not also gather up +your garments and pass by on the other side, if you met +her in public? Habit is so strong, you will say in excuse; +yes, yes, habit is strong, and the woman is weak. Why +should one heed her? She brought her fate on herself. +Leave her to perish. The man she loved has left her, +and the world treats her no worse than he. If her own +sex spits upon her and hisses at her, what can man do? +These be the thoughts of most men over broken lives, +and most readers may therefore feel impatient that I +should linger over the ruin and fall of a poor peasant +lass. Yet what can I do? my task is to write the history +of this family; its sorrows and failings, its burdens and +tears, are all that it has wherewith to claim the world's +attention. And to my thinking, they mean much. +Their lives were real to them, as yours, reader, is to you, +and they had a part in making up the pitiful social life +of this decrepit old England possibly just as high as +yours.</p> + +<p>Therefore must I ask you to turn aside with me for a +moment to look again on Sally Wanless, when she +reappears from her seclusion—a shame mother, with a +babe born to sorrow and shame in her arms. I have +said reappears, but she has not yet ventured to meet the, +to her, scathing gaze of the people in the village street. +She steals into the little garden behind her father's +cottage, and there, in the soft September afternoons, you +would find her seated beneath the shade of an old apple<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +tree, face to face with her doom, and looking at it as one +who has no hope.</p> + +<p>In some people the soul wakes late; some, indeed, +appear to pass through the world without its ever +awakening. They may be bright-hearted people, full of +animal life and spirits, capable of much work and a few +sacrifices, yet they have never risen up to full consciousness +of the meaning of life, to its higher impulses, and +its terrible risks and obligations. No great inward +commotion has ever visited them; they vegetate tamely +on till they reach the grave. Others, like Thomas +Wanless, awake early to consciousness of the mystery +and burden of existence, and battle with hopes and fears +their lives long.</p> + +<p>Would that his daughter had also found the realities +of living ere the curse of life had come upon her! But +she did not. Her awakening came too late. While it +was possible she hid from herself the meaning of her fall, +and refused to look at the awful questions which for the +first time surged in upon her soul. It was not possible +for long. When the wail of her infant first broke on +her ear she awoke and was stricken with the full +consciousness of what she had lost. Her past life stood +out before her as something apart; its hopes belonged to +another state of existence, to a life in which her future +could have no part. All lonely at the heart she had +borne the pains of motherhood, and a feeble infant lay +by her side bearing witness against her now and evermore. +No father welcomed it. The sound of its feeble +cry brought a forsakenness about the mother's heart<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +nothing could remove. In vain her mother soothed her. +In vain her true-hearted father, bravely hiding away his +shame and grief, took the little one in his arms and +fondled it with a fatherhood that assumed all the sin and +all the responsibilities of his child. Sarah could not be +comforted. Blank despair took possession of her. Why +was she not dead? Why did the child live? Surely +they would be both better dead and buried out of sight +for ever? This was the under tone of her thoughts now, +save when at times, and as she grew strong again, gusts +of passion like her father's would sweep over her soul. +Then she felt for moments as if she could compel the world +to stop and witness her revenge. Should a fit like this +master her, what might one so desperate not do? Hers +was a soul awake and in prison, but if it burst its bonds?</p> + +<p>Let the gay and frivolous, the light talkers, the young +and giddy, the tempter and the tempted, stop to look +upon this ruin. Is it a small thing, do you think, for a +man to have the undoing of this woman and child laid to +his charge. He passes in the world unharmed, nay, +admired, probably, the very women in secret whispering +admiringly of his prowess. But does that make his guilt +the less? Is there no retributive justice dogging his +heels, from which all the glories and adulations of earth +cannot shield him? Look at the history of such men, +and be they kings or carters, you will find that they +become degraded wretches, moral abortions, repulsive ruins +of humanity, as the result of their crimes against woman. +Yea, the woman is avenged, though only after death +comes the judgment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Sally Wanless thought not of revenge, that calm +September evening, on which my memory pictures her +through the mirror of other eyes, seated, half in shadow, +half in sunlight, beneath the old apple tree. Her baby +lies asleep on her lap, the sunlight glints through the +leaves on her hair, and flickers now and then across the +infant's face—but she heeds neither child nor light. A +far-away look is in her eyes—a look that tells of longing, +for what will never be hers again on earth. The evening +sun-glow throws into relief the pale, pinched face with +its unresigned hungry look, for in that face there is no +welcome to the sober autumn warmth. The dull fire of +Sally's eyes is the fire of an unquenchable pain. Where +is there room in her life for joy any more? Her eye +does not trace heaven's battlemented walls, in those +grand masses of white clouds—the blue expanse beyond +is not eloquent of the near world unseen. No; her +thoughts are self-centred; she never looks upward. Day +after day she sits here, still and silent, as one stunned. +Her spirit seems at such times as if beaten to the earth, +never to rise again. The child sometimes fails to interest +or rouse her. When its wails demand attention, she will +fondle and kiss it much, as if it were made of wood.</p> + +<p>Alas; poor Sally, winsome lass. How many such as +you go aching through the world, broken-hearted, and +forsaken,—waiting for the judgment to come, when, as +they still, perhaps, lingeringly hope, the wrong shall be +righted for evermore.</p> + +<p>Her parents yearned after their daughter, and yet feared +to break in rudely upon her brooding spirit. Neighbours<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +came too, full of kindly promises and curiosity, ready to +speak volumes of comforting words; but Sally shrank +from contact with them,—preferred the garden seat, or +her own garret window.</p> + +<p>Thomas became broken-hearted about his child. He +could not get her to so much as look at him. Often +times he laid his hands softly on her bent head, and +whispered—"Sally, my lass, cheer up a bit. Don't break +mother's heart and mine, by taking on so." But Sally +merely wept, and bent still lower over her babe. They +could not get her to go out during the day—only at night +would she creep along by the hedge-rows, in the most +unfrequented paths, accompanied by her mother, and +hiding the child as much as possible, beneath her shawl, +when it was not asleep at home. Her morbid fancy +made her think that everyone knew her shame. She +could not see people talking together without a rush of +blood to her face, as if she felt the talk must be of her.</p> + +<p>And how fared it all this time with her seducer? As +the world elects, it shall always fare. From it he had +neither frown nor word of rebuke. Those that knew his +sin thought as little about it as he did, and that was +apparently never at all. He took no more notice of +Sarah Wanless and the infant girl she had borne to him, +than if they had been dogs. Nay, far less, for they were +hateful to his selfish, ease-loving nature, and therefore he +rigorously banished them from his sight and thoughts. +Just as before, he took his "pleasure" coming and going +to town, and living the life of sottish ease, as became a +man of fashion and a court soldier. At the Vicarage his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +welcome was just as warm as ever, although every soul +within its walls was quite aware of the ruin he had +brought on the poor peasant's daughter. Mrs. Codling's +verdict naturally was, that it served the gipsy right, and +and her father too. He was always an insolent fellow, +who never showed proper respect for the Olympians, and +this would perhaps take down his pride a bit. This was +the view of the matter insinuated to Adelaide, who had +become "skittish" when the news first reached her ears, +thereby, however, increasing the ardour with which the +captain followed her. Mrs. Codling had quite made up +her mind, that through Adelaide she would succeed in +catching the Captain as a son-in-law, and therefore took +occasion to put "matters in their proper light."</p> + +<p>"Of course, my dear," she would say, "we shall have to +get rid of the girl and her brat, for it might be unpleasant +to have them in the parish; but the Captain can manage +all that, never fear, and if the whole nest of them remove +to another part of the country, the parish will have a +good riddance. I daresay a few pounds will do it, for +all that old rascal's pride."</p> + +<p>Adelaide was soon satisfied, and soon, also, her flippant +tongue had disseminated this view of the case all over the +parish; for Adelaide would talk to the housemaid when +no better listener was to be had.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3>BRINGS THE DOUBTLESS RELUCTANT READER ONCE +MORE INTO CONTACT WITH A "GALLANT" WOOER, +AND GIVES FURTHER PROOF OF THE DIFFICULTY +WHICH BESETS ALL ATTEMPTS TO HARMONISE +TRUTH AND FASHIONABLE "CHRISTIAN" RESPECTABILITY.</h3> + + +<p>Thus was the Captain's way made smooth to him, and +the country side soon became as full of his ongoings with +"the parson's girl" as ever it had been about his intrigue +with Sally Wanless.</p> + +<p>Thomas Wanless himself saw and heard much, for his +cottage was not very far from the Vicarage road, and the +Captain sometimes forgot himself, and passed his very door, +instead of taking up the back street. Doubtless it never +entered the Captain's head that any peasant would accost +him about such a trifle as the ruin of his daughter. He +ought rather to feel honoured thereat. What he did fear +was the girl herself—he having a fine gentlemanly dread +of "scenes."</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Thomas's wrath was awakened anew at +the sight of this "cool blackguard," as he most irreverently +styled the Captain, and soon the feeling extended to them +that "harboured him." It was borne in upon his spirit,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +as the Methodists say, that he must denounce the +"ruffian." Yes, yes, he thought, this must be done; till +it was done there would be no relief in his mind. He had +borne too much in silence, but that this harbouring of +criminals should go on before his face was more than he +could stand.</p> + +<p>"It will do no good," his wife said, as he declared his +purpose to her.</p> + +<p>"Good!" he answered, "who wants or expects good +to come to them or us? I expect none, but I must and +shall tell the blackguard what I think of him."</p> + +<p>Yet this was easier said than done. He could not well +stop the Captain in the street, for he nearly always drove +or rode, and never once passed Thomas's cottage door on +foot. It was utterly useless to call at the Grange, for no one +would see him. Obsequious menials might even set the +dogs at him, or trump up a charge against him and put +him in jail. Besides, Thomas had no time except on +Sundays to go in quest of his enemy, and on Sundays the +Captain was usually at the Vicarage. In the bitterness +of spirit which these thoughts brought him to, Thomas +might have, perhaps, done something rash, but happily +necessity prevented him. He had now to work, if possible, +harder than ever—early and late at the farm, on his +allotment, in the little garden at his cottage, he laboured +for the means of life—and did but poorly, though the +work kept him up and helped him to control the fire that +burned within him.</p> + +<p>At last the chance he longed for came suddenly, and +without his seeking it. He was passing the Vicarage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +garden one beautiful Sunday afternoon in October, and +heard voices on the little lawn which lay between the +hedge and the house. Laughter and the chatter of merry +tongues fell on his ear, and one hard man's voice he +instantly guessed must be that of Captain Wiseman. To +reach that conclusion and the resolve to face his daughter's +seducer then and there may be said to have constituted +one mental effort. A rush of strong emotion swept over +him and made him feel, as he opened the Vicarage gate +and slipped within, as if God had laid a mission upon +him to lay bare the iniquity of this man and of those who +countenanced him. Under the influence of this feeling +he straightened himself and strode across the grass direct +to the place where he heard the voices.</p> + +<p>The scene that burst upon his view if possible +heightened his courage, and I can well imagine that the +rough, toil-gnarled, weather-buffeted old man looked like +an avenging fate to those whose privacy he had thus +invaded. Always dignified and noble in aspect, the +anger at his heart now doubtless made him heroic.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Codling and her four daughters were seated in a +group on chairs in front of a sort of arbour that stood at +the further end of the lawn, and a little behind the western +end of the house, not far from the churchyard, from which +it was hidden by a clump of evergreens and a wall. +Behind Adelaide Codling, leaning over her chair, and +apparently teasing her in a familiar <i>nonchalant</i> way, stood +Captain Wiseman. As he faced the gate he was the first +to catch sight of Thomas Wanless, and although he hardly +knew Sally's father by sight, he appeared to guess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +intuitively that a "scene" was at hand. His red face +grew redder still, his talk suddenly ceased, and an ugly +scowl gathered on his fleshly brow. Mrs. Codling's back +was towards the approaching peasant, but the Captain's +sudden silence and the look he gave made her turn round +just as Thomas came up. She also divined that trouble +was at hand, and, bridling up at the idea of that +"disgusting creature" parading his girl's shameless +conduct before her pure-minded daughters, prepared at +once for action.</p> + +<p>"See if the Vicar can come out, my dear," she said to +the girl nearest to her, and then addressing Thomas, +cried in tones meant to be frigidly severe, but which only +succeeded in being savagely spiteful—</p> + +<p>"If you want the Vicar, my good man, go to the house. +You have no right to enter this garden."</p> + +<p>She might just as well have addressed the nearest tree. +Thomas paid no attention to her, but stalking up to the +Captain, glared at him till that wretched being shivered +with fear in spite of himself. Perhaps this "gallant" +soldier thought Wanless would knock him down, and +that may have been the peasant's first impulse. However, +he did not, but instead turned after a minute or so +to Mrs. Codling, and asked, with stern abruptness—</p> + +<p>"Madam, do you know who this man is?"</p> + +<p>For a brief space the woman seemed scared and cowed +by the tones and at the face she saw looming above her. +"Good gracious me!" she exclaimed, half to herself. +"What does the man mean?" Then, recovering courage, +added, "I do believe the creature is crazy. I'm very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +sorry, Captain Wiseman, but really I fear you will have +to come to the rescue of us weak women. Do speak to +him and order him off."</p> + +<p>At this two of the girls began to scream, but Adelaide +giggled.</p> + +<p>"Since you give me no answer, madam," Thomas +struck in, "I shall tell you who this man is," and he +stepped round and backed a little, so as to be able +to look at both the Captain and the Vicar's wife. +"This man is the seducer of my daughter," he continued. +"He has committed a crime against her and against me +which is worse than murder in the sight of God. He is +the father of a helpless child that, for all he cares, might +be flung into a roadside ditch to die. For his cold-blooded +villainy that child and my child must suffer all +their days. This man, I tell you," and here his voice +rang all over the place, "this man has broken an innocent +girl's heart, and you know it, madam, and you harbour +him. Shame on you!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Codling grew pale with rage, and tried to speak; +but before she got a word out Thomas had turned +to the Captain, who took a step forward as if to collar +him.</p> + +<p>"Captain Wiseman," he said; and at the sudden, sharp +address that wretch paused, grew mottled in the face, +and dropped the raised hand by his side. "What!" +cried the labourer, "would you dare to touch me, you +low, libertine scoundrel? Stand back, lest I have to +sully my hands by choking the life out of you, reptile +that you are!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + +<p>How much further Thomas might have gone I know +not, but by this time Mrs. Codling had got her voice and +charged in turn. She ordered Thomas to leave the place, +and in shrill tones threatened him with the police, with +the Captain's vengeance, with the Vicar's wrath, called +him a hoary old sinner, and well-nigh swore at him for +polluting the ears of her precious daughters with the +story of his own girl's immorality. It was a fearful +torrent, Thomas afterwards confessed. Until then he +had never known the length of a woman's tongue. But +it came to an end at last, for Mrs. Codling lost her breath. +With a parting shot to the effect that Thomas had only +got what he deserved, and it was like father like child—low +wretches all—the ruffled woman relapsed into a +fuming silence. Somehow the tirade brought relief to +Thomas's overcharged heart. It had an amusing and +grotesque side that struck him forcibly in spite of himself, +and it was therefore with a certain sense as of +laughter welling up through his heart of sorrow—a feeling +for which he would fain have reproached himself—that +he answered in a voice that bore down all attempts at +interruption—</p> + +<p>"Poor lady, I did not come here to quarrel with you, +far from it. God forgive you for having such ill feelings, +and you a parson's wife too. But what could one expect +when you harbour scamps like this fine military seducer +here? That's enough to make your heart the abode of +all that is wicked. I bear you no malice though, far +from it. I would warn you to mend your steps in time. +You call me names, and accuse me of bringing my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +corrupt affairs before the pure ears of your daughters. +Take care, woman, take care. The serpent that destroyed +my precious lass has not lost his fangs, and your turn to +mourn as I mourn may be nearer than you think. +Because you have fine clothes and luxuries, and live in a +grand house, you think that the ills of the poor cannot +reach you. Take care, I say, or the day may come +when I can return your taunt, and tell you that if you +had set a better example to your children, if you had +guarded them against evil company, you might have been +spared much sorrow and humiliation." With this, +Thomas turned to go, but the cries of Mrs. Codling +arrested him.</p> + +<p>"The wretch," she shrieked. "Josiah, do, for heaven's +sake, speak to this low fellow. His foul abuse is +positively sickening." And as the Vicar shuffled up in +obedience to the summons, his wife, turning to the +gallant rake, added, "I'm so sorry, Captain, that you +should have been insulted here. This must be very +disagreeable to you."</p> + +<p>The Captain found voice to assure her that it did not +matter. He didn't "care a hang, you know," and gave it +as his opinion that a strategic movement towards the +house might be the best end of the affair.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," cried Adelaide, "let us go indoors and +leave that fellow to speak to the trees. He'll soon tire of +that;" and she proceeded to gather up the stray +wraps.</p> + +<p>But before this noble plan of out-manœuvring an enemy +could be carried out, the Vicar and Thomas had encountered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +each other, and Mrs. Codling had to rush to the +defence of her husband.</p> + +<p>"My good man," the Vicar had begun. "Eh, Thomas +Wanless is it? Dear me! You forget yourself, sir. You +mustn't behave in this way in my garden, and before +ladies, too. Go away, go away, and come to me to-morrow +if you have anything to complain of. I'll see +you in my study."</p> + +<p>"Come to you!" answered the peasant in tones of +amazement and scorn. "Come to you! what could you +do, you whited sepulchre? You God-forsaken, poor, +tippling creature. Mind your own affairs," and he +laughed a bitter laugh, as once more he turned to go.</p> + +<p>The Vicar also turned and slunk away with a scared +guilty look, but his wife's wrath found outlet anew.</p> + +<p>"This is too bad," she screamed after Wanless, "the +low scoundrel. Oh, Captain Wiseman, I do wish you +would thrash the fellow to within an inch of his life. Oh +dear! oh dear! will nobody pity me," and she fairly wept +with rage.</p> + +<p>The last that Thomas heard of them was the Captain +explaining in his most persuasive words that "By Jove, +you know, it would hardly be the thing for me to take to +fisticuffs with a low labourer-ruffian, else, by Gad, nothing +would have delighted me more than to beat him to a +pulp, you know."</p> + +<p>Thomas turned and gazed in the direction of the +speaker as if to invite him to come and try, but the +Captain was busy hurrying the ladies into the house, and +though near enough to see well the look on Thomas's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +face, he showed no sign of accepting the implied +challenge.</p> + +<p>It was Mrs. Codling who, brave to the last, and +woman-like, gave the parting shot.</p> + +<p>"Be off, you low blackguard," she screamed, and then +disappeared within the house. It afterwards transpired +that she caught sight of some of the servants watching +the encounter with Wanless from a window, and had +much comfort from the blowing up she gave them. Her +superfluous temper was thereby wholesomely expended.</p> + +<p>Thomas Wanless went home that afternoon struggling +with a feeling of disappointment in which there mingled +a certain degree of shame. He had never entered the +Vicar's grounds with the intention of either wrangling +with the Vicar or his wife. A desire to expose a +scoundrel was his sole motive, and he had felt a sense of +the heroic as he proceeded to seek his daughter's betrayer. +Had that man abused him, or struck him, or in any way +given him the opportunity of letting loose his wrath, he +would have, perhaps, felt that a duty had been discharged. +Instead of that, Thomas had merely fallen out with a +sharp-tongued, not over-sensitive woman, and abused a +poor parson who, whatever his failings, had not at the +moment the least intention to act otherwise than as a +peace-maker. The heroics had all vanished, and in their +place was something grotesque and ludicrous. The more +Thomas thought of it the more he felt that he had that +day vindicated neither his own honour nor his daughter's, +and he resolved that henceforth he should bear his +sorrows in silence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> + +<p>Perhaps this self-condemnation was not quite reasonable, +for Mrs. Codling provoked Wanless most unjustifiably. +She, at all events, got no more than she deserved. But +the labourer was sensitive and proud, and these feelings +made him prefer silent endurance to the loss of self-respect. +Could he have foreseen the consequences which seemed +at least to flow from his one effort at bringing home to +the sinner his sin, he might have had still greater doubts +about the wisdom of the course he pursued on that calm +October Sunday afternoon.</p> + +<p>For one thing, the noise of the row between the +Captain and Thomas was soon heard all over Ashbrook. +The Vicarage servants retailed it with many embellishments +to their friends—as a secret, of course—and +Adelaide Codling herself let out some episodes to her +then bosom friend. Presently, and in due course, the +tale reached the Grange, where it took the circumstantial +and easily comprehended form of an account of a great +fight between the Captain and the labourer, in which the +latter had got two black eyes, a broken nose, cut lips, a +thumb out of joint, and some said three, some five teeth +knocked down his throat by the scientific handling of the +gallant guardsman. It was nothing to the purpose to +say that the labourer had been seen going about his work +as usual, for people of his sort thought nothing of +maulings that would have nearly been the death of +superior persons—like flunkeys and valets.</p> + +<p>In some such guise, the story ultimately reached the +ears of Mrs. Morgan, who was so much shocked at the +idea of a fight between her brother and a low labouring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +fellow that she felt constrained to tell her mother, +especially as the fight was alleged to have taken place on +the Vicarage lawn, in presence of the Vicar's family. +Mrs. Morgan, keener sighted than her mother now was, +had for some time been aware of the ambitions of Mrs. +Codling, so far at any rate as to disapprove of the +constant intercourse which the Captain had with the +Vicarage. In telling her story, therefore, it was possible +for her also to lay emphasis upon the Captain's relationship +with the Codlings, which she took care to do, and +as she flattered herself much that she succeeded admirably.</p> + +<p>At first it seemed as if she had done nothing of the +kind. The Juno of the parish, Lady Harriet Wiseman, +forgot everything for a time in her wrath at the abominable +presumption of a labourer in fighting with her +blue-blooded son, and was eager to have him arrested +and punished. In vain Mrs. Morgan pleaded the scandal +such a step would cause; her wrathful ladyship would +hear never a word. Nothing pacified her till she had +spoken to her son on the subject, and she had so set her +heart upon making an example of that vagabond fellow, +who had troubled the parish ever since she could remember, +that she was positively more angry than before when +her son told her that what she wished could not be done +for the best of all reasons—there had been no fight. +Then her wrath fell partly on her son, and they quarrelled. +She asked him what he was doing at the Vicarage. He +replied that it was none of her business, and left her +with the seeds of jealous suspicion in her heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> + +<p>Next time the Captain met his sister, he rounded upon +her, and, according to common report, called her "a +damned meddlesome fool" for interfering in his affairs. +Thus matters were likely to become ravelled at the +Grange. Perhaps it was to lull suspicion and allow the +heated atmosphere to cool that the Captain soon after +this betook himself to Newmarket, and thence to London. +Before he went he gave a private hint to the head gamekeeper +that he would not be inconsolable if that questionable +functionary could manage to make out a case of night-poaching +against Thomas Wanless. An underling heard +of the plot and warned Thomas to take care, and though +Thomas never poached, the warning was probably +needful enough.</p> + +<p>The row at the Grange was the least significant of the +consequences that flowed from Thomas Wanless's visit +to the Vicarage Gardens. Mrs. Morgan had apparently +indicated to her mother the suspicions she entertained as +to the aims of Mrs. Codling, and Lady Harriet, afraid to +tackle her son about his amours, attacked Mrs. Codling +instead. It was plainly enough intimated to that scheming +woman that Lady Harriet disapproved of the constant +visits of the Captain to the Vicarage, and Mrs. Codling +was asked to discourage them.</p> + +<p>A sensible person would have deferred to the wishes +of the greatest lady in the parish on a point so delicate, +but Mrs. Codling proved to be anything but sensible. +Afraid of exciting the wrath of Lady Harriet by open +hostility, she took refuge in underhand plots. The intercourse +between the Captain and her daughter, which had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +hitherto been carried on, in a manner, openly, was now +changed, with the mother's connivance, into a secret +intrigue. By this change the whole moral attitude of the +family became debased. Captain Wiseman was astute +enough to see through the would-be mother-in-law's +motives, and cunning enough to egg her on in a course +of duplicity and folly. His mother need know nothing, +he represented, till all was over. No doubt she would at +first resent a secret marriage, but when she saw she could +no longer help it, her wrath would soon cool down.</p> + +<p>With talks like these it may be supposed that Adelaide +Codling, apt pupil as she was, soon came to look upon a +secret marriage as just the one thing desirable and +necessary to secure her happiness; and, from this conclusion, +it was but a step to destruction. Probably +enough Captain Wiseman had never any intention of +marrying the girl, but whether or not, he certainly had +abandoned it, when, after a few weeks of secret meetings +and clandestine letter writing, he succeeded in persuading +her to join him in London. She left home just after +Christmas, in secret to all appearance, though the village +gossips would have it that her mother knew of her flight +beforehand, and nobody doubted that she had run away +after the Captain. In vain did Mrs. Codling give out +that her daughter had been called away suddenly to visit +a sick aunt. Nobody believed her. Secret intrigues cannot +be successfully carried out in a quiet country village, +and what was declared to be the true version of the flight +was current in all the country side within a week of +Adelaide's departure.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3>IS TOO BAD FOR DESCRIPTION.</h3> + + +<p>Unthinkingly, Mrs. Robins repeated this story to Mrs. +Wanless one day in Sally's hearing, and immediately +repented of her folly, for Sally uttered a low moan and +fainted. From that day the gloom of her life seemed +deeper. With unceasing tenderness and watchfulness her +parents had sought to bring back hope to their lost one's +heart, and until this ugly bit of gossip reached her they +had hopes of succeeding. Sally had began to talk a +little more freely, and, recognising the burden she was to +her parents, was becoming anxious to get a situation of +some kind—provided always that it might be far away, +where no one would know her. But from the time she +came back to consciousness on this unhappy day, darkness +again settled down on her spirit. She sat apart +brooding, as when first her babe lay on her lap. That +babe itself appeared to grow almost hateful in her sight, +and was left to the care of her mother, weary though the +old woman was with work and sorrow. With mouth +hard set and eyes looking wistfully sometimes, as if in +terror, into a world far away from the home nest, Sally +heeded no one. Her father again grew deeply concerned +about her, and tried casually to draw her out of the trance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +that seemed to chain her soul. It was useless. She +answered him in monosyllables or never at all. At times +too, and when he spoke to her, a strange, resolute look +would gather on her face. It was not exactly obstinacy, +though she certainly was unyielding. Rather was it a +look as of one who had made up her mind to a great +sacrifice, and feared that she might be betrayed into +abandoning a duty. At that look her father always somehow +grew afraid. It was evident to him that his daughter +in some way connected Adelaide Codling's flight with her +own life, but how he could not guess.</p> + +<p>But his fears were only too well grounded, for one day, +Sally, too, disappeared. Watching her opportunity when +the babe was asleep, her mother busy washing, and her +father away at the farm, she dressed herself as if for a walk, +went out, and did not return. All day her mother had +endured the keenest anxiety in the hope that Sally would +come back. She was unwilling to send for her husband, +and could only make one or two cautious inquiries through +her nearest neighbours. They knew nothing; Sally had +been seen, of course, but she looked and walked as usual, +with hasty steps and eyes bent on the ground. Though +startled at the news, Thomas was not surprised. The +flight only fulfilled his own forebodings. Swallowing a +morsel of food he started for Warwick, and soon learnt +there that a girl answering to Sally's description had left +by the slow London train at eleven o'clock. On his way +home he bitterly reproached himself that he had not +taken means to make such a step impossible. The two +or three pounds that Sally had brought home with her he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +had scrupulously left untouched, and these she had taken +with her, as also the few trinkets given to her by the +Captain. Thomas had no doubt whatever that Sally had +fled to London.</p> + +<p>For a time this blow positively dazed Thomas and his +wife. Once more their nights were nights of sorrow and +tears, and for them the mornings brought no joy. Only +the little one that lay sleeping in its wee cot was all +unconscious of trouble, or that its presence added +poignancy to the bitterness with which the labourer and +his wife mourned for their lost one.</p> + +<p>Thomas Wanless, however, was not a man to abandon +himself long to useless grief. The more keen the pain +the more certain was his nature to rise and fight for +deliverance, and before long he had made up his mind +that, while he had life, his child should not be abandoned. +Cost what it would, he must follow her to that dreadful +city whose horrors darkened his imagination. The lost +one should be found, and, if God would but help him, saved. +So he resolved, although as yet he knew not how his +resolution could be carried out.</p> + +<p>For a day or two he brooded over it, afraid almost to +tell his wife. The fear was weak. No sooner did Mrs. +Wanless know what her husband meant to do than she +became almost cheerful, and brought her ready wit to bear +on all possible plans for enabling him to go. Full of a +true woman's self-sacrificing spirit, she at first proposed +to go out charring, and so make a living, but the child +made that impossible. The utmost she could do was to +continue to take in washing, and even that would be a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +severe strain upon her, with a babe to tend. At best, too, +it would afford her only a precarious living, and nothing +possible could be left to help her husband in London.</p> + +<p>Unable to decide on ways and means, but yet +determined to carry out their one great plan, they ended +by casting their trust on Providence, leaving the future to +take care of itself. As a first step, Thomas went to +Stratford, and withdrew the few pounds left in the bank +there,—some £10 or £12. That done, he next went to +consult his daughter Jane, as to what help she could give. +Jane had little, and was saving that little to get married +and to emigrate; but when the whole matter was laid +before her, she, too, fell in with her father's plans, and +offered him her money.</p> + +<p>"No, no, I cannot take that," he answered. "I hope to +get work in London, and cash enough to keep soul and +body together. I only ask you to help your mother with +it, should she be in need—to help her all you can, in +fact."</p> + +<p>Jane promised all the more cheerfully, perhaps, that +her little all was not immediately to be taken from her +to help in this hunt after Sarah.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wanless also wanted her husband to write to Tom, +telling him the circumstances, and asking for help, but to +this he would in nowise consent.</p> + +<p>"Tom," he said, "needs all his money just now, and +what he sends must come of his own goodwill. Besides +we shall get Sally back again, and then the best thing +will be to send her out to Tom. She wouldn't go if she +thought Tom knew what had befallen her. Jacob does<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +not yet know, Jane will keep silence, and there is no need +for Tom to be enlightened."</p> + +<p>This reasoning was unanswerable, and Mrs. Wanless +had to acquiesce with what heart she could. Nay, more +than that, sore against her will, she had to submit to see +her husband start for London with only £5 in his pocket. +The rest he insisted leaving with her, on the same +grounds as he had refused Jane's savings. "I shall get +work, my dear," he said; "never mind me," and she had +to yield.</p> + +<p>Possibly Thomas would have been less confident had +he known what going to London, and work in London, +meant; but in spite of his dread of the great city, his +conceptions were so hazy, that in his heart, as he afterwards +confessed, he never contemplated needing to work +there at all. He hoped to find Sarah in a day or two, or +at most within a week, and once found, was sure that +she would come home. His wife, it turned out, formed +a truer conception of the task before him, although she +had never seen a bigger town than Leamington or +Warwick. But her fears did not abate her husband's +confidence. Without fixing dates, he told his master and +all whom it concerned, that he expected to be back soon. +Struck, perhaps, by the generous purpose of the man, +Thomas's master thrust a couple of sovereigns into his +hand as they parted, but Thomas would not accept them. +In spite of all the farmer could say, Thomas stoutly +maintained that he had enough. "My own means are +sufficient," he said.</p> + +<p>"Your own means sufficient," laughed the shrewd<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +Scot. "Well, I like that! Man, how much hae ye +got?"</p> + +<p>"Five pounds," said Thomas.</p> + +<p>"Five pounds! Five pounds to go to London, and look +for a runaway girl with! Good heavens, man, that'll no +keep ye a week. Ye'll starve, Wanless, lang afore you +find the lassie, if ye ever find her. God, man, if that's a' +you can scrape for the job, you'd better bide where ye +are?"</p> + +<p>"That I cannot do," Thomas answered. "Starve or +not, I must go and seek my child."</p> + +<p>The farmer looked at him for a moment, gave a grunt of +amazement, and turned on his heel, with the remark—</p> + +<p>"Well, well, Wanless, a wilful man must hae his way, +they say, and you must have yours, I suppose, but, faith, +I doubt you'll rue your folly."</p> + +<p>And with that consolatory observation, Thomas parted +from a master whom he had learnt to respect, for the +rough outside hid a not unkindly nature.</p> + +<p>The liking was mutual, and was not on Robson's part +lessened by the refusal of his man to take the two +sovereigns. The sturdy independence of his hind was a +thing so uncommon, that it excited his admiration, and +stirred his somewhat dulled natural feelings of generosity. +Many a time during the absence of her husband, Mrs. +Wanless had cause to bless the "Missus o' Whitbury +Farm" for acts of unostentatious kindness which that +motherly Scotchwoman needed, it must be said, little +prompting to perform. On her husband's suggestion, she +called one day at the cottage, and at once took an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +interest in the pale, sad woman, and the little child. +Thereafter, many little presents of milk, and of butter and +cheese, found their way to the cottage from Whitbury +Farm. And what Mrs. Wanless felt most grateful of all +for, was that these things were never sent to her by +servants, but were brought either by Mrs. Robson herself, +or by one of her daughters. The farmer's wife did not try +to make Mrs. Wanless feel that she was a miserable +dependent upon her bounty. She had not in that respect, +as yet, acquired English manners. In the Lowlands of +Scotland, I am told, there is no abject class like the +English agricultural labourer, and these hard Scotch +farmer folks had still to learn that their hinds were not +human beings of like passions and feelings with +themselves.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3>TELLS OF A BETTER QUEST THAN THAT OF THE +HOLY GRAIL.</h3> + + +<p>Thomas Wanless set out for London, within a week +after his daughter's disappearance, on a dull, cold, January +morning. His farewells were cheerful, but his heart was +downcast enough, and the further the slow, crawling train +took him from home the heavier his heart became. It +was dark long before he reached Paddington, to be there +turned out upon the murky bewilderment of London +streets, knowing not where to turn his footsteps.</p> + +<p>Mechanically he followed the string of people and cabs +flowing out of the station into Praed Street, the lamps of +which showed faintly through damp, smoke-charged air. +Then he paused irresolute. A sense of loneliness and +hopelessness stole over him, intensified probably by +hunger, for he had eaten nothing save a crust of bread +and cheese since early morning. He was as one lost, as +helpless in the crush of whirling humanity as a wind-driven +clot of foam on a storm-tossed sea. Amid all this +hurry and bustle of human life, where could he go? how +find lodgings? Fairly overwhelmed by the sense of +desolation, he leant against a wall to try and collect his +thoughts, and mentally prayed for courage and guidance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>For some minutes he stood thus self-absorbed, when a +rather kindly voice, speaking almost in his ear, roused +him with a</p> + +<p>"Good evening, mate. Be you a stranger?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Thomas answered, looking up. "Yes, I came up +from Warwick to-day, and never was in London before."</p> + +<p>"Be ye in want o' work then, or not?" the voice +demanded.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, if I can get work I'll be glad of it; but it +wasn't that exactly as brought me here. You see——." +But Thomas checked himself, and turned a scrutinising +gaze on his interlocutor. He saw a rather grimy, ill-clad, +thick-set man, whose face seemed as kindly as his voice, +though its expression was barely discernible, except by +the eyes, which shone brightly in the dull, yellow light of +the neighbouring lamp. By the sack-like covering which +the man wore on his back, and by his be-smudged +appearance generally, Thomas judged that he must be a +labourer among coals. He was poor at any rate, and he +looked kindly; so after a brief inspection, to which the +stranger submitted in silence, and as a matter of course, +Thomas resumed—</p> + +<p>"You see, I'm come up to look for a lass of mine as +has runned away."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" ejaculated the stranger. "Ah!" and then he +stopt with his mouth open, as if embarrassed by this +sudden confidence. But he soon recovered himself, and +after relieving his feelings with a "Well, I never! Who'd +a thowt it?" came back to practical business, by asking +Thomas if he knew of a bed anywhere.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + +<p>Thomas said "No."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," answered the man, "you just come along +with me. You ain't likely to find the gal to-night, and +you can't stand there till mornin'! Perhaps my missus +can give you a shake-down in the corner somewhere."</p> + +<p>Thomas was only too glad to accept the stranger's +offer, and, hoisting his bundle of clothes over his shoulder, +with his stick through the knot, he at once assented, and +followed wheresoever the other led. They trudged along +for a good half-hour, mostly in silence, for Thomas was +in no mood for talking, and his companion appeared to +have no gifts in that direction. At length they reached the +door of a dingy, tumble-down house in that now happily +abolished slum, Agar Town, and into this the coal-heaver +turned, saying—</p> + +<p>"Mind the steps, friend. The stairs is rather out of +repair." In this rickety, filthy, old tenement the coal-heaver +rented two rooms on the third floor. He had a +wife and three poor sallow-looking children, who were +frightened when they saw a strange man enter with their +father. The man introduced his wife as Mrs. Godbehere, +and said his own name was William. They invited +Thomas, who in turn had given his name, to share their +supper, and he contributed to the feast the remainder +of his bread and cheese. Consulted about a bed, Mrs. +Godbehere declared that it was impossible for her to give +Thomas one, and he agreed with her. She knew, however, +a neighbour who had a lodging to let; 2s. 6d. a-week +she charged for a small room with a bed in it—the lodger +to find and cook his own food. In this room Thomas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +was ultimately installed, and right thankful he was to +find a roof above his head in that appalling city. The +walk along Marylebone and Euston Roads had impressed +him more profoundly than ever with a sense of the vastness +of London. It was like a first lesson in the meaning +of infinity, and it struck him with a feeling of dread. +Oft times did he ask himself that night whether he was +not, indeed, mad in attempting to trace Sarah in such a +sea of human beings. But mad or not, he resolved that +his task should not be lightly abandoned.</p> + +<p>Thus occupied he passed a restless night, and got up +weary next morning. His bed, he found to his cost, was +not over clean, and it was with a depressing sense of +comfortlessness that he went to seek the Godbeheres. +The coal-heaver had already gone to his work, but Mrs. +Godbehere directed him to an eating-house near by, +where he went and had some breakfast. Refreshed a +little, he forthwith started on his quest. He would +wander the myriad streets of London till he found his +lost one, he had said to himself.</p> + +<p>And day after day, night after night, he did wander +hither and thither through the most frequented thoroughfares +of London, returning late and worn-out to his +miserable lodging. A growing hopelessness lay at his +heart, and made him sometimes almost unable to drag +his limbs past each other, but he held on with a dogged +persistence that was almost sullen. Through Godbehere's +friendliness, and the pressure of his own heart agony, he +had scraped acquaintance with sundry policemen, but +they could give him no effective help. One would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +suggest that he ought to keep a close watch about the +Strand, another mentioned Oxford Street and the Circus, +or the Haymarket. All agreed, in their callous sort of +way, that "if she had followed a man to London, she was +a'most sure to find her way to the streets before long." +Thomas did not doubt it. He knew the pride of his +daughter too well to doubt it. Rather than bear among +her kindred the brand which her unfallen sisterhood +would put upon her, she would face a life of open shame, +where none could cast stones at her. So Thomas held +on his way, but never got a glimpse of his lost one. His +means were nearly exhausted, for, pinch as he might, it +costs money to live in London. Yet he would not +surrender. No, he would work. But how could he get +work—he, a mere street loafer, and as lonely in London +as if it had been a desert. London with its hurrying +crowds, its rush of vehicles, its roar and bustle, and +flowing lights, fairly broke down his imagination. He +felt himself a helpless atom amid a mass of atoms that +knew nothing of his misery, and grew too weak-hearted +almost to seek for work. But for his quest, he felt—sometimes +even said to himself—that he could lie down +in the gutter and die. Possibly his wretched lodging +and the sleepless nights he had passed in his pain had +much to do with this utter collapse of mind. I cannot +decide, but he has told me that never till that time did +he realise the sustaining power of a fixed idea. "I came +to find Sally," he said, "and I held to that." For that +he braved not only hunger and cold, but the horrors of +the night in the most abandoned thoroughfares of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +London. For that he mingled in the crowds of educated +and other roughs that frequented theatre doors, and the +doors of the coffee-houses and prostitute dens in the +Haymarket and Gardens. For that he endured cursing +and foul language inconceivable, stood to see men and +women hurrying themselves into worse than a fiend's +condition by their self-indulgence and sin. Into low +dancing rooms he penetrated, often to be bundled out +neck and crop as a spy, or at best to be horrified by +filthy jokes or still more filthy exhibitions of obscenity. +That very Agar Town, in which he lived, he again and +again explored, facing its stenches and miseries, its +wantonness and riot, and worst of all, its terrible crowds +of weary, sin-rotting, broken-hearted, down-beaten, and +unfortunate humanity. Often did he see women there +peering out of their dingy, rag-stuffed windows, that bore +traces of having once been as fair as rash Sally. Nay, +the very rag-pickers who lodged in its garrets, Godbehere +assured him, had many of them once been "flaunting +women of the town." Women of the town, indeed, and +was not the town doomed? Thomas thought that it +was. To him London was already hell. The fumes of +abominations choked his mental senses, and made him +long to escape.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, his mind was fixed. He could not go +without his child, and in order to carry out his purpose +he must work. By the friendly help of Godbehere he +ultimately obtained employment in the coal yard at +Paddington-wages 2s. 6d. per day. He felt rich and +strong for his task henceforth, and as soon as he could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +he removed to a rather better lodging near his work. At +a waste, as he considered it, of several evenings' lodging-seeking, +he found a small clean room in the neighbourhood +of Lindengrove, for which, including a plain breakfast, +he paid 5s. 6d. a-week. His landlady was an elderly +widow who kept three lodgers, and she rather demurred to +Thomas's demand for a latch-key, so that he might go in +and out at nights as he pleased, but his sad, earnest face, +and his remark that he was looking for a lost daughter, +conquered her fears. Thomas had his key, and felt a +kind of thankfulness that if he did find Sally he could +now bring her to a better refuge than the vermin-filled +hole in Agar Town.</p> + +<p>Five weeks had well-nigh passed, and Thomas was no +nearer his object, to all appearance, than the day he +arrived in London. But now that he had work he felt +more assured of his purpose, and therefore less sad. So +he sent home cheery letters to his wife, bidding her hope +yet for Sally, telling her he felt that God would not forsake +her or them. All his letters his wife got read to her by +the schoolmaster, and then passed them on to Jane. +Money he would have sent, but could not. All that was +left after paying his food and the clothes he needed for +his work he spent in his quest. For work did not cause +him to abate his vigilance, nor did it much reduce his +wanderings. As soon as the yard closed he hurried home, +changed his clothes, swallowed a cup of tea, and, sometimes +on foot, sometimes on the top of an omnibus, he made +his way to the usual haunts of vice. There he would +wander, haunting theatre doors, peering into refreshment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +bars, and sometimes spending sixpence to get inside a +low music hall. The sights he saw froze his very heart's +blood with horror, and he often asked himself—Is all this +vice, then, the product of our civilisation? Where is the +Christianity in the habits of a people who permit tens of +thousands of their fellow beings to rot and perish as a +matter of course, and prate about the social evil in their sleek +respectable way as if it was a dispensation of heaven? How +many of these poor girls, whose lives had been blasted, +who now brazenly mocked "society," and laid snares for +the destruction of its darlings, had mothers, perhaps, even +now weeping for them in secret? As he thought of these +things he felt as if he could wander, like Jonah, through +the streets, preaching the doom of this city of Sodom, +whose streets already savoured of the bottomless pit.</p> + +<p>Thoughts of this kind were brought home to him with +terrible force one night that he saw Adelaide Codling. +He was standing watching the play-goers leaving Drury +Lane, when his eye suddenly caught the face of that girl +amid a group of women and "swells," amongst the latter +of whom was Captain Wiseman. She was showily dressed, +and had a profusion of glaring jewellery scattered about her +person, and she was talking fast, and laughing in a loud, +defiant sort of way. But Wanless could see that she was +not happy. As she drew near where he stood he could mark +the restlessness of her eye, and the nervous boldness of her +manner, and he pitied her. Is this what she has come +to already? he thought to himself, and involuntarily +shivered. Ah! if his own sweet lass was now like this, +could he reclaim her? Would it not be too late?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +Adelaide Codling passed on, unconscious of the presence +of her fellow-villager, saw not the pleading look that +crossed his face, the eager step forward he took as if to +speak with her. She entered a cab with Wiseman and +two others, and disappeared from sight.</p> + +<p>The eagerness of Thomas to find his lost one was +intensified after that night. Hardly a night-watchman in +all the district escaped his importunities, and from most +of them the old man met with a rough kindness that +soothed him even in his absorbing grief. One old sergeant +he met in the Strand, and who had more than once listened +to his descriptions and his queries, advised him to alter +his beat. "There are a great many haunts of streetwalkers," +he said, "besides the Strand and the Haymarket. +Why not try the south side of the river, or up Islington +way? There is the East-end, too, and Oxford Street and +Holborn. Yes, none knew where a girl may get to, once +she cuts adrift in London. Such heaps of them takes to +the streets nowadays, that you can find some in every +thoroughfare in London."</p> + +<p>Wanless felt the observation true, alas! too true, but +what could he do? His means would not allow him to +search the whole city. He took a wider range, however, +going by turns to one part of the town, now another, sometimes +as far as the Angel and Upper Street, Islington, +sometimes south to the Elephant and Castle, and the vice +haunts of Walworth and the Borough. Occasionally, too, +he searched the bridges across the river, but always with +a sort of dread that his doing so was a confession that +he believed his girl capable of drowning herself.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h3>HAS IN IT, ALAS! NOTHING THAT IS NEW.</h3> + + +<p>The winter was moving away thus, and Thomas Wanless +was rapidly losing his vigour. Hard work and constant +vigils, coupled with a sore heart, and a weak appetite, +pulled the man down, and by February he had to confess +that the long walks were too much for his strength. +Mercifully, the weather often made it impossible for him +to go out at night, and when it did clear up, he contented +himself with going somewhere to watch the stream of +people passing by. "I will wait," he said to himself, "for +my darling to come to me." He could not even stand +very long, but usually sought the rest of a friendly doorstep, +and at times a recess on a bridge, watching, with +tender wistfulness, the stream of life hurrying on around +him. Strange to say, he had more than once seen +Adelaide Codling since that night at the theatre, and +somehow that always gave him hope. Her face seemed +to say to him, "Your daughter cannot be far away."</p> + +<p>Often the "unfortunates" came and talked to him, not +rudely in their wantonness—alas! poor, forsaken waifs—forsaken +by all save God—but soberly, as if moved to +speak to this still, sad-eyed, grey-faced old man, who +looked out on the world so keenly, and withal, with such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +tenderness in his look. They would tell him fragments +of their stories—sad enough all, and wonderfully alike—tales +of seduction, and heartless desertion, varied only +by the degree of turpitude usually exhibited in the man. +At one time it would be the tale of a light-headed girl, +seduced by her master—a married man—who huddled +her out of sight, to hide his shame. Many came from +garrison towns, the seduced of the officers there; quiet +country parsonages gave their quota of girls educated to +feel, and therefore hurrying the faster to their doom, +when once cut off from their families by the devices of +their betrayers. One woman excited Thomas's pity +deeply. Though wasted and fast dying, she still had +traces of great beauty when he first met her, leaning +wearily on the parapet of Waterloo Bridge, looking out +on the water below. She flashed defiance—the defiance +of a hunted being—at him when he first spoke to her, +but he soon won her heart, and got her story. A fair blonde, +oval-faced English girl, she had been comely to look +upon, and was wholesome at the heart even yet, for all her +misery. She was the victim of a parson, now high in +the counsels of the church. The villain was but a curate +when he seduced her—the only child of her mother, and +she a widow. He promised to marry her, of course, and +wiled his way to her heart. Then when he had got all +he wanted, and found that she was with child, he cast her +off, daring her to lay the babe to his paternity, and +spreading a story to the effect that he had found other +lovers at her heels. Broken hearted, she buried her head +and obeyed, but the shame killed her mother. "I could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +not die," the daughter said to Wanless; "I have often +tried to kill myself, but fear keeps me back now, after all +that's past, and it kept me back then. My child died, +thank Heaven! I was alone in the world. I drifted to +London seeking work, and found it hard to get. When +I offered myself for a servant's place, people said I was +too well educated, and suspected that something must be +wrong. I could have taught in a school, perhaps, but +had no one to recommend me. I was hungry; I hated +mankind, and cursed them. I said I would betray and +destroy men for revenge! and the way was easy! oh, so +easy. It has led me here; and now if I could but jump +over and be done with it all!"</p> + +<p>Involuntarily Thomas put forth his hand to hold her +back; but he needed not to do so. The poor woman sank +fainting at his feet. He tried to rouse her, but could not; +and finally put her in a cab and took her to the hospital. +Within a week she died there of brain fever. The +doctors said her strength had been too much reduced by +privation before the disease seized her for her to be able +to survive it. And she was only one among tens of +thousands all pressed down the same loathsome course +by our "Christian civilisation." Nay, forgive the epithet, +there is nothing Christian about it. It is only the civilisation +of a priest-born respectableness. The droning +hypocrites that we are!</p> + +<p>At times Wanless stood by the doors of low music +halls and of theatres, but the door-keepers usually ordered +him off. He looked too like a detective for their taste. +Then he would watch the doors of confectioners' shops,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +too—those shops which cloak brothels of the vilest type—staring +there in the face of day, unheeded by the +authorities, who must wink at some kind of outlet for +the suppressed brutal passions of polished society. More +than once Adelaide Codling had crossed his path at +such times, and still in the company of Wiseman; but +each succeeding time he saw her, Wanless thought the boldness +of her manner had an increased dash of despair in it. +The fate that she had come after was eating into even her +light, giddy heart. The last time he spied her was one +night when he stood close by the door of a café near +Regent Street. The light fell full on her face as the +Captain and she passed in from their cab, and her face +was painted. Already, then, the bloom of youth has +vanished, Thomas thought. Her hard but not unmusical +laugh had given place to a grating cackle, and a leer of +affected gaiety had replaced the merry eye. Poor, erring +wanderer, and had a few months brought you to this? +Already was the shadow of society's ruthless judgment +upon you; could you even now see the blight of your +life, the dreary street, the hard world's scorn, the early +grave? Ah! yes, and who shall describe the devouring +agony that gnawed at that girl's heart? Did she not +see day by day the ebbing away of Wiseman's love? +Love? God forgive me for defiling that sacred word. +It was only his brutish passion that was dying. He was +becoming tired of this toy his handling had smudged, +and she saw it all—prepared herself for the hour when he +would turn his back upon her and go to hunt down other +prey. And only six months ago! Ah, parson, parson,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +has the iron not entered your soul? What is this that +your Christian civilisation has done to your daughter? +Has it made you ashamed even to look for her? Poor, +hide-bound, "respectable" sinner that you are, you shall +behold her again, though you sought her not—though her +mother bade you close your heart and home against her +for ever, because she had with that mother's help allowed +herself to be betrayed.</p> + +<p>One cold March night Thomas Wanless had strayed +on to Waterloo Bridge in his coal-begrimed dress. Something, +he could not have said what, had impelled him to +go there that night. He had taken a hasty supper at a +coffee-house near the coal yard to save time. He felt he +was "superstitious," yet he went, whispering to his heart +"who knows but I may see my child to-night," and +trying to be cheerful.</p> + +<p>Paying the toll at the north side, he wandered backwards +and forwards till the chill from the river began to +enter his bones. The one he looked for came not to +him—still he could not drag himself away. He sat +down in a recess and cowered below the parapet for +shelter, waiting for he knew not what. It might have +been ten o'clock. He had sat quite an hour, and was +nearly going to sleep with weariness, inaction, and cold, +when a rustle of a woman's dress near him spurred his +faculties into active watchfulness. Peering into the +darkness, made visible by the feeble shimmer of the +lamp on the parapet, he discovered a woman approach +him, crouching down in the recess on the other side of the +bridge, weeping bitterly, though almost in silence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +Raising himself on his elbow, he was about to speak to +her when she started up with a wild despairing gesture, +and, jumping on the seat, flung away her shawl.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he heard her say to herself, with a wailing +resoluteness, "I'll do it; I'll die," and with one look of +farewell to the world, where no hope was left for her, a +look of despair and horror that gleamed through the darkness, +she clutched the parapet and drew herself on to it.</p> + +<p>It was all the work of a moment, a flash of time, but +Wanless had sprung to his feet at the sound of her voice, +and was half across the bridge by the time the woman +got upon the parapet. Then he saw her last look, and the +gleam of a neighbouring lamp revealed her features. She +was Adelaide Codling, and the recognition so startled Wanless +that he staggered and for a moment stopped short. In +that moment she was lost. Even as the cry burst from his +lips, "Adelaide Codling, Adelaide, Adelaide," she threw +herself over, as if the sight of a man approaching her had +given the last spur to her despair. He reached the +parapet but in time to hear the dull splash of her body in +the dark tide rolling beneath. As she felt the water +close round her, a cry—weird, unearthly, terrible,—broke +from the girl's lips, and then all was silent, till the waves +threw her up again on the other side of the bridge, when +a hollow, dying wail wandered over the river—the last +farewell of this poor waif of humanity, sacrificed to the +pleasures of the scoundrels who "bear rule" among us, +and call themselves refined.</p> + +<p>Wanless was already at the toll-house, panting and +hardly able to speak. But his look was enough, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +presently there arose a shouting to lightermen and bargemen. +Boats were put off by those who had heard the +splash and the cry. A crowd gathered to see. In little +more than a quarter of an hour a shout rose from the +water far down towards Blackfriars, for the tide was +running out, and the girl had gone rapidly down stream. +"Saved! saved!" was the cry, and they had, indeed, +found the body of Adelaide Codling. She herself had +gone. The cold had killed her rather than the length of +time she had been in the water—the cold and the shock.</p> + +<p>Thomas waited to hear the result of the doctor's efforts +at the police office, and then saw the body deposited in +a neighbouring deadhouse. No clue to her identification +was found upon the body, the poor girl had taken care of +that, more mindful of her friends in death than they of +her living. But Thomas felt bound to tell the police +sergeant what he knew. He gave his own address and +that of the Rev. Josiah Codling, but could not tell where +the girl lived, or what had been the immediate cause of +her suicide. The police, seeing that the upper classes +were in question, decided to keep names quiet for the +present—but communicated with the girl's father, and +arranged that the inquest should be delayed for two days +to permit him to attend. Thomas himself was told that +he would be summoned as a witness, and then went his +way.</p> + +<p>He hardly knew how he got home to his lodgings that +night.</p> + +<p>The inquest on the body of Adelaide Codling was held +in the upper room of a low-class public house in Upper<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +Thames Street. Thomas Wanless obtained liberty to +absent himself from work that day, at his own charges, of +course, and punctually at three in the afternoon—the +appointed hour—he entered the parlour of the inn. He +was carefully dressed in the now threadbare and shiny +suit of black, which had been his Sunday costume for +many years.</p> + +<p>A small knot of men had gathered in the room, and a +desultory kind of chat was going on when Thomas +entered. Two or three were grumbling at the nuisance +of these "coroner's 'quests," which took men away from +their business, the majority were "having something to +drink," and all were utterly indifferent to the business +that had brought them there.</p> + +<p>Presently the coroner bustled into the room with his +clerk. The latter hurriedly called over some names, +which were answered, and then produced a greasy-looking +volume in leather which he called "the book." This +talisman he put into the hands of the man nearest him, +to whom he mumbled some cabalistic words, at the end +of which the book was passed along and kissed in a +foolish sort of way by the chosen twelve. Having in this +manner "constituted the jury," proceedings commenced +with a procession to "view the body," led by the coroner. +It lay in a rough wooden shell coffin, in a dark hole +attached to an old city church, and used as a mortuary. +Wanless followed the little crowd in a stunned sort of +way. To his simple, rustic mind it was a dreadful thing +that men should be able to go so carelessly about such a +solemn duty. At the mortuary he was surprised to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +the Vicar. The old man stood by his child's head, gazing +at it in a helpless, dazed way, as if hardly conscious +of what it all meant. No emotion was visible on his face, +no tears broke from his eyes when a policeman, softened +by the sight, led him gently away to the inn parlour out of +the way of coroner and jury.</p> + +<p>The "viewing" over, the Court returned to the inn to +take evidence. Of that there was very little, beyond the +personal testimony of the police, until Thomas Wanless +was called. When his name was mentioned, Thomas saw +the old Vicar start, and for the first time look up with +something like intelligence in his glance, then a scared, +shrinking sort of expression stole across his features, as if +he had suddenly thought of home and cruel village +tongues. But he listened quietly to all the old labourer +had to say. It was not much, for a proper-minded coroner +would not have suffered "family secrets" to be too freely +exposed, nor had Wanless himself any desire to tell more +than was absolutely needful.</p> + +<p>"I saw the deceased," he said, "climb upon the parapet +of Waterloo Bridge opposite where I sat, and I ran +towards her, but before I could reach her she had gone +over. As she prepared to spring she gave one last look +behind her, and I knew her to be our Vicar's daughter. +I called her by name, but it was too late."</p> + +<p>The sad cadence of Thomas's voice, and his obvious +superiority of mien, did not prevent one of the jury from +asking him in a brutal tone—</p> + +<p>"And what were <i>you</i> doing there, my man?"</p> + +<p>"I was looking for my own child," answered the old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +labourer. "At first I thought I had found her, till I saw +the face."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" ejaculated the coroner. "Had you then——?" +but his better impulse stopped him, and he did +not finish the question. Thomas, however, understood it, +and replied at once, almost under his breath—</p> + +<p>"Yes, your Honour, I have lost a daughter, and Captain +Wiseman, the same ruffian destroyed her that enticed +away the Vicar's poor lass now lying yonder."</p> + +<p>His words sent a shudder through the room, and +Thomas was vexed he had spoken them ere they were +well out of his mouth, for they seemed to goad the Vicar +into a state of active terror which gave him energetic +utterance. The more vulgar of the jury pricked up their +ears at the sound of scandal, and one of them said—"Can +you give us a clue then as to how this poor girl came to +drown herself?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, for God's sake don't," the Vicar interposed, starting +to his feet, and stretching forth his hand beseechingly +towards the labourer; "for God's sake don't expose it, +Wanless." Then he collapsed again, and began to weep +violently, so that Wanless felt sorry for him, and was relieved +when the loud voice of the coroner was heard again +ruling that "it was quite unnecessary to rake up disagreeables." +He saw the "aristocracy in the business," in short, +and it pleased him to be strict. Thomas, therefore, was +asked a number of venture questions, whether he knew +where the deceased lived, or whether he was aware of her +circumstances, &c., questions to which he had mostly to +answer "No." His examination was, therefore, soon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +ended, and the coroner was beginning to tell the jury that +it was a common case, requiring the usual verdict, +"Suicide while in a state," merely, when, to everybody's +surprise, the Vicar intimated that he had a statement to +make.</p> + +<p>He rose, trembling visibly, and looked round with a +vacant eye till he caught sight of Wanless, who had fallen +back, and was standing near the door. Then his look +changed, and, with something like energy, he exclaimed—"I +wish to ask you, gentlemen, not to believe what that man +says. He has a spite against my family, and against the +family at——" Here he stopped suddenly, afraid to +mention the name of his child's destroyer, and the solemn +voice of the peasant was heard saying—"God forgive you, +Josiah Codling," softly, as if to himself. But the Vicar +heard, and his trembling increased so much that when a +blunt juryman interposed with—"How do you account +for your daughter's suicide then?" he could only stammer +a feeble—"I'm sure I cannot say."</p> + +<p>"But surely you knew her whereabouts—what she was +doing?"</p> + +<p>"N-n-no, I cannot say I did quite. My wife—that is +her mother—told me that she was visiting an aunt in +Kent, and I believed it was so."</p> + +<p>"But were there no letters, then? Didn't your +daughter write to you at times?" persisted the juryman, +though the coroner began to fidget and look black.</p> + +<p>"Letters!" repeated the Vicar, as if struck with a new +idea; "no, I believe not. Yes, I think she did write to +her mother—to my wife that is to say. At least I saw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +the envelope of one letter. I picked it out of the coal +scuttle in the breakfast room, but Adelaide—that is my +daughter—did not write to me—not that I recollect."</p> + +<p>"Humph! I see, 'grey mare the better horse,'" +muttered the juryman—a bluff, not unkindly-looking man, +and then there fell a moment of deep silence on the +Court. The Vicar stood, bearing himself up with his +hands on the table before him, and seemed to have more +to say. But when after a brief pause, the impatient +Coroner ejaculated—"Well, sir! have you done?" the +Vicar answered—"Y-yes, I think so. I only wished you +not to judge my child hastily," and sat down.</p> + +<p>A few moments more and the jury had given their +verdict—"the usual one" as the coroner described it—a +verdict permitting the corpse to have Christian burial, +and all was over. The majority of the jury adjourned to +the bar to refresh themselves, and interchange opinions +on, what one of them called, "this jolly queer case." +The bar-keeper himself joined in the conversation, and +Wanless heard him enlarging upon the corruptions of the +"Hupper classes," as he followed the Vicar down stairs. +But there was no danger that comments of this kind +would get into the newspapers. A paragraph about the +suicide did, indeed, appear in several morning journals, +but there was no mention of the seducer's name. Such +a thing as an adjournment to obtain Wiseman's evidence +was not even hinted. The coroner, jury, press, and all +might have been bought up by the Wiseman family, so +discreet was the silence—and, perhaps, some of them +were. The press, at all events, was well gagged by an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +infamous law of libel; and as there had been no sensational +or melodramatic incidents connected with the +girl's end, it was easy to bury all the story in oblivion—for +<i>time</i>. The "gallant" Captain might roll serenely on +his way. Nothing could disturb him here except disease +and the moral leprosy bred of his crimes. "After death +comes the judgment."</p> + +<p>When the little gathering had dispersed, the Vicar +and Thomas Wanless found themselves alone together. +Both had waited to let the unfamiliar faces disappear. +Neither had thought at the moment that this shyness +would bring them face to face. The peasant was the +first to realise the situation, and as he looked at the +broken-down old man before him, he was stirred with +pity. On the impulse of the moment he went to where +Codling stood, and laying his hand on his arm, said—</p> + +<p>"Can I be of any use to you, sir?"</p> + +<p>The Vicar started and turned hastily away, shaking +Thomas's hand from his arm, at the same time answering—"No, +no, Thomas Wanless, I have nothing to say +to you. You have done me enough mischief for one +day!"</p> + +<p>"I have done you no mischief, sir. God forbid that I +should harm you. Had it been possible I would have +saved you this pain,—I would have rescued your +daughter."</p> + +<p>"Rescued my daughter, would you?" and Codling +laughed a low, bitter laugh. "Rescued my daughter! +Why cannot you look after your own, Thomas Wanless? +I do not want your help."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I watch for my child night and day," said the peasant +solemnly. "It was in seeking her that I met yours—too +late. There is ever a prayer in my heart that when I +find my Sally I may not be too late for her also. Ah! +poor Sally!" he sighed, and the Vicar, taking no more +notice of him, he presently added—"Come out of this +place, sir. It is not wise for you to stop here when there +is so much yet to be done."</p> + +<p>The Vicar took Wanless's words as insinuating that he +wanted to drink, which was far enough from what Thomas +intended. But the guilty are ever prone to think themselves +in danger, and it was with more heat and energy +of manner than he had yet shown that the Vicar turned +and faced his fellow-villager.</p> + +<p>"Go away, you loafing, good-for-nothing fellow," he +almost shouted, "surely you have gratified your revenge +sufficiently for one day, without standing there to mock +at my sorrow, as you have already done your best to +make my name a by-word." With that he moved +towards the door. But Thomas stood dumbfounded +between him and it, and the Vicar, too impatient now to +wait for the peasant's slow motions, actually gave him a +shove on one side, and hurried outside, muttering to +himself as he went.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h3>POINTS ONCE MORE TO THE MORAL OF THE POET'S +SAYING,—"SWEET ARE THE USES OF ADVERSITY."</h3> + + +<p>When Wanless crept out a minute or two later, still +feeling heart-sore at the Vicar's treatment, he caught +sight of that poor wretch through the adjoining door of +the private bar, which opened to let some one out as he +passed by. Codling was standing, and with trembling +hand stirring a large tumbler of hot brandy and +water.</p> + +<p>Wanless stopped involuntarily, and then turning back +to the bar he had just left, asked for a glass of ale. It +would give him a pretext for waiting to see what became +of the poor parson. In a very short time he heard +Codling's voice beyond the partition ordering another +double glass, and the sound shocked him so much that +he put down his glass of ale half consumed, and, acting +on the impulse of the moment, burst in upon the Vicar +through the swing door of the compartment, crying, as +he did so—</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, don't, Mr. Codling. Leave that, and +come away with me. It's a shame to see a minister of +the Gospel drowning his grief in liquor. Come away at +once." And he again laid hold of Codling's arm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> + +<p>The drink he had already swallowed had raised the +Vicar's courage, and he turned on Wanless with a look of +scornful bitterness that boded a storm. But Wanless +was also wrought to a high pitch, and there was a +commanding sternness in his eye that served to cow the +drunkard, whose wrath seemed to die within him. He +looked hesitatingly around, and at sight of some +bystanders grinning, a flush of shame spread over his face.</p> + +<p>"For shame, I say," Wanless continued in a low tone, +paying as little heed to the angry looks as he had done +to the former taunts. "Will you stand here besotting +yourself, and allow your child to be flung into a pauper's +grave?"</p> + +<p>"What business is that of yours?" the Vicar replied +sullenly, but in a low voice. "Mind your own paupers, +and let me and my affairs alone."</p> + +<p>"That I will not—cannot do—Mr. Codling," Wanless +answered. "Consider, sir, she was your child. You +fondled her on your knee but the other day, and were +proud to hear her lisp the name of father. Come away, +sir, for God's sake, the body may be gone if we waste +more time here;" and giving the Vicar no further chance +to remonstrate, Thomas seized his arm, and dragged +him out of the place away to the deadhouse.</p> + +<p>They were indeed barely in time. Some men were +about to nail up the remains of Adelaide in the rough +shell where it lay, whether preparatory to burial, or in +order to convey it to some hospital dissecting room, I +would not venture to say. At any rate, a small bribe +made them desist, and one of them even directed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +Vicar to find an undertaker if he wished to give his child +Christian burial in other than a pauper's trench.</p> + +<p>The sight of his daughter's body, when the lid of the +case was removed, and the Vicar saw it again, moved +him more than it had done at first. The men withdrew, +and Thomas and he were left alone with it. Adelaide's +features had settled down to the calm stillness of death, +and wore a faint semblance of a smile. Sweet and pure +she looked, in spite of the soiled garments and tangled +hair; but the figure indicated only too clearly what had +sent her to a watery grave. She had been about to +become a mother.</p> + +<p>As he looked old memories rose in the Vicar's +imagination, and tears gathered in his dull, sodden eyes. +He stooped tremulously and kissed the cold brow. "Poor +Addy, poor Addy," he murmured, "to think that you +should have come to this," and he sobbed outright—weeping +like a child. Like a child too, when the passion +was over, he surrendered himself to the guidance of Wanless, +without further resistance, who hurried him off to the +undertaker. He would like, he said, to have <i>her</i> buried +that evening; but that the people said they could not +manage; so it was at last arranged to take her to +Highgate Cemetery next morning. Thomas had then +to find a place where the Vicar could pass the night, for +the old man had intended to go home that evening, and +ultimately he deposited him at the Tavistock Hotel.</p> + +<p>"Will you have something to drink before you go?" +said the Vicar, when he had arranged for his bedroom, +evidently wanting a pretext for drinking himself, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +Thomas said "No," and went away to eat a frugal +supper in a humble coffee-shop in Drury Lane.</p> + +<p>They buried Adelaide next morning, Thomas again, +though with difficulty, obtaining leave of absence. As +soon as he saw Codling, Thomas knew that he had been +drinking hard the previous night. The poor man's +hands shook as with the palsy, his step was unsteady, +his eye dull and bloodshot. A low fever seemed to +consume him; yet he obviously felt keenly that morning +the errand he and the labourer were upon, and though +he hardly spoke a word all the way to the grave, he no +longer looked at his companion with sullen anger. +Rather he seemed to cling to Thomas as a woman clings +to her natural protector. And when the earth fell on the +coffin lid as the last words of the solemn burial service of +the Church of England were uttered—solemn even when +gabbled over by the unhappy creatures who have to +repeat it every day, and all day long—he broke down +again, sobbing and weeping like a child. They waited +till the last sod had been placed over the lost Adelaide, +and ere he went away the Vicar knelt on the damp +earth, praying and weeping bitterly. Then he rose and +stretched out his hand to Wanless, whose cheeks were +also wet with tears, as if seeking one to lead him. +Thomas grasped it, and pressed it, with "God bless and +have mercy on you, sir, and on her as lies here."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Thomas"—it was the first time the Vicar had +called him kindly as of old by his Christian name—"ah! +Thomas, my friend, and may God bless you for +what you have done this day. But for you I would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +deserted my child in death, as I did in life. God forgive +me for it."</p> + +<p>These words seemed to open his heart, so that he +talked to Wanless, all the way back to town, in an eager +way, like one who had a confession to make, and could +taste no peace till it was done. A sad history enough it +was of domestic bitterness, of an enfeebled will, knowing +what was right, and doing it not. His impulse was to +seek his daughter, just as Thomas's had been, but Mrs. +Codling would not hear of it. Her pride did not even +allow her to admit that the girl had gone away after her +betrayer. She talked of a visit to a relative at a distance, +who was her own step-sister, and of Adelaide herself being +ill in Kent, poor thing—not in any danger, but not strong +enough to return yet—with many lies of a like kind, +which the Vicar was weak enough to endorse by his +silence.</p> + +<p>Wanless also spoke of his quest and his sorrow, and +the Vicar listened with sympathy; but when the peasant +ventured to urge that it was his duty to denounce, and +expose the ravenous wolf, who had destroyed the peace +of so many families, Codling shook his head and +answered—"No, no, Thomas, I cannot; I dare not. It +is too late."</p> + +<p>"Why too late, sir? Are you not a minister of Christ, +and bound by the office you hold to denounce the sinner +and his sin?"</p> + +<p>The Vicar shuddered, and sat still for more than a +minute without answering. Then he bent forward and +took Thomas's hand—they sat on opposite sides of the cab.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thomas," he said sadly, "you remember that day of +the row in my garden, between you and—and that fiend +in human shape. You called me a poor tippling creature +that day, and it was true."</p> + +<p>"No, no, and I was very sorry," Wanless began—</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it was," the Vicar interrupted, "I hated you +for exposing me thus; but I felt and knew it was true. +I am not a drunkard, Thomas, as the world measures +drunkenness, but I tipple. I keep myself alive by +stimulants, and bury thus my hopes and aspirations of +other days. And I feel that I can do nothing. Who +would listen to me or heed my words? Men would say +I spoke from spite, and perhaps some even might aver +that I was myself the cause of my daughter's ruin. +Which also," he added, in a reflective kind of way, "which +also might be true. No, no, Thomas, I must bear my +burden. My—oh, my daughter, my child, my pet, when +I think of you and the past, I have no hope—I can do +nothing but tipple."</p> + +<p>"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Wanless; but the Vicar +relapsed into silence. All the rest of the way to +Paddington, to which he had ordered himself to be driven, +he lay back in the corner of the cab, silent, with his eyes +closed; but Thomas could see him ever and anon +furtively wipe away the tears from his cheeks.</p> + +<p>At Paddington, the two men, now friends again, after +so many years of divergent ways and worldly fortunes, +bade each other a sad farewell. Thomas went back to +his coals, and the Vicar went home to his wife and his +gin and water. Yet he was not quite as he had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +before. More than he himself thought the death of his +once loved child stirred the human soul in him, and he +was not able again to fall back into sottishness. Though +he bore his domestic woes silently, and still drank to dull +the gnawing at his heart, he became more tender towards +the poor among his flock, more attentive to their wants, +more accessible, and softer in manner towards all men. +He even preached with sad pathos that woke responsive +sympathy in the hearts of his flock, though he did not +denounce the ravisher.</p> + +<p>But the best proof of all that he had changed much +for the better, is found in his conduct to Mrs. Wanless. +The memory of the help and sympathy he had received +from the old, despised labourer in London, lay warm in +his heart, and found frequent expression in visits to the +labourer's wife while she was alone, or to both husband +and wife, when Wanless came back. The very day after +he returned from London, he called and told Mrs. +Wanless that he had seen her husband, and that he was +well. He made no allusion to other matters, but he +patted the head of Sally's child, and sighed as he went +away. Perhaps the kindly warmth with which these +simple people always greeted him, helped to soothe +his later years. In giving he received more than he +gave.</p> + +<p>In the village the end of his daughter was never +rightly known. Wiseman naturally never breathed a +word. Rarely was his face seen in Ashbrook, and never +in the church while the old Vicar lived. Mrs. Codling +gave out that the poor child had been suddenly cut off<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +by fever, and went the length of donning mourning, +bemoaning the loss to her friends, braving the scorn of +all true hearts, and vainly imagining she was believed, +But the people guessed that Adelaide had not died so, +and they suspected that Wiseman was at the bottom of +her disappearance, though the story of her having +committed suicide never got general credence in the +village—was only a faint rumour there. So all pitied the +poor Vicar, despised his uppish, false-hearted wife, and +most hated the young squire. Riches and high station +cannot shut men out from the moral results of their deeds, +any more than they can ward off death. Nay, Mrs. +Codling herself, high as she held her head, well as she +acted the part of a sorrowing mother who had been heart-broken +by the unexpected news of her dear daughter's +sudden death, so prostrated as to be unable to go and see +her laid in her grave—even Mrs. Codling felt in some +sense that this was true. She grew harder in her ways, +and more and more haggard in her looks, like one even at +war with herself, and ever losing in the fight—till within +three years God took her, and she knew her folly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h3>OPENS TO THE INWARD EYE THE CHASTENED JOY THAT +GLOWS, WHEN THE LOST ONE IS FOUND, IN THE +SOUL OF HIM "WHOSE GRIEF WAS CALM, WHOSE +HOPE WAS DEAD."</h3> + + +<p>A great additional strain had been put upon the spirit +of Thomas Wanless, by the death of Adelaide Codling, +and he was becoming too weak in body to hold to his +purpose. There were nights when he returned to his +lonely lodging wishing that he might die, so great was his +physical and mental exhaustion. At other times he felt +an impulse strong upon him to go home—to "abandon +his search for a time," as his inward tempter whispered. +But his will was strong, if strength of body or hope +might be weak, and he only prayed the more and clung +the more to his purpose, the more he felt tempted to turn +aside. "How could I face her mother again," he would +answer himself, "if I had not found her."</p> + +<p>In this conflict of mind, though not of purpose, another +month rolled by, and Thomas was threatened with want +of work. Fewer men were required in the coal yards as +summer came on, and already several had been discharged. +It was a dreary prospect enough, but what made it more +so to Thomas, were the unbidden flashes of almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +gladness that rose in his breast now and then, as the +voice of the tempter then said—"Thomas, you will +be forced to go home." He felt himself a traitor, and +inexpressibly wicked at such moments, and would clench +his hand and mutter—"Not yet anyhow, not yet," as he +strode mechanically through the streets.</p> + +<p>At last he found her. "When hope was calm, and +grief was dead" almost, he lighted on his lost child +unexpectedly, in a place where he would never have +dreamed of looking for her, had it not been for the +friendly advice of the police.</p> + +<p>All over London there are coffee-houses, tobacco-shops, +and confectioner-looking shops, whose real use is to be +haunts of vice. Thomas had learned to know this, and +his eye was always upon such as he wandered through +the streets. Perchance he might see his Sally in one of +them some night. He was crawling rather than walking +along one of the dingy lanes behind Leicester Square +one evening, about eleven o'clock, when, through the open +door of a low eating-house, he heard the voice of a woman +singing. His heart gave a leap within him. Surely that +was Sally's voice. She had been a great singer in her +girlhood, and the song he heard the notes of had once +been a great favourite with her. What was it, think you? +None other than that sweet sentimental ditty, "Be kind +to the loved ones at home." Strange melody to be heard +in such a place.</p> + +<p>The leap of hope in Thomas's heart was followed by a +thrill of anguish as he drew near to listen, more assured +each moment that here, indeed, he had found his daughter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +And was she thinking of home then—here, at the gate of +hell. He would go and see. No one was in the outer +shop, and the door of the back room stood ajar, so +that Thomas walked straight through unchallenged. Pushing +open the half-closed inner door, he paused in amazement +at the scene disclosed to him. There might have been a +score of people in that low-roofed, dingy, smoke-filled +room—men and women seated at small tables, and on one +or two dilapidated benches against the wall, some were +busy eating, all had drink before them—ale, spirits, and +even wine—stuff labelled "champagne." Through the +haze of tobacco smoke, he saw several of the women with +cigarettes in their mouths. All had a reckless, more or +less debauched air, and the women in particular struck +Thomas—a transitory flash though his glance was—as +wearing a look of defiance towards all that the world +deemed propriety. Men had women on their knees, or +sat on the knees of women, and none seemed to heed the +song. One poor outcast woman lay huddled up on the +floor by the fire, too drunk to sit, but not too drunk to +blaspheme. No one heeded her either.</p> + +<p>All these things Thomas saw in the first moment of +vision, but he hardly noted them then. His thoughts and +his eyes were for his lost child alone. The song did not +stop at his entrance, for the singer's face was not towards +the door. So the voice guided his eye and—yes, it was +she. There she sat in the middle of the room, nearer the +fire than a youthful debauchee who sat by her with his +arm round her waist. Thomas gazed a moment, and +then his whole soul went out in a cry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"Sally, Sally, oh my pet, my child, I've found you at +last," and he advanced towards her, holding out his hands.</p> + +<p>The song died instantly, but in its place rose a Babel +of tongues. Thomas's cry drew all eyes upon him. +Involuntarily some of the less hardened assumed airs of +propriety, but the majority of the men started in anger, +and a few of the women began to laugh and jeer.</p> + +<p>"Damn your impudence, what do you want here?" +shouted a copper-faced little wretch, who had been lying +half asleep in a woman's lap near the door.</p> + +<p>"Get out of this," roared another, and as Thomas +made no sign the abuse grew general. The wits of the +party cracked jokes over the "heavy father doing the +pathetic business," and so on, but amid the din the peasant +got close to the table, where his child sat. The instant +his call reached her ears, Sally turned a terror-struck gaze +upon him, and then buried her face in her hands. He +could see she wept, for the sobs shook her, but to his +further entreaty to come away she made no response, and +he was trying to pull the table aside so as to reach her, +when he was roughly seized by the brothel keeper, who +had rushed up from the kitchen to see what the noise +was about. With an oath he pulled Thomas back.</p> + +<p>"What the devil do you want here?" he screeched. +"Clear out, or d—n you, I'll give you in custody." +The peasant's garb and appearance had enabled the +experienced scoundrel to guess at once what was up.</p> + +<p>Thomas turned sharp on his assailant, who was a fat, +flabby-looking wretch, whose face indicated a vicious +career in every line and pimple. At the moment it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +lit up by an expression of elfish rage. But when in his +turn the peasant seized him with a grip of iron and flung +him away as if he had been a street cur barking at his +heels, the man's face grew nearly pale with an expression +of mingled wrath and fear. The fear kept him near the +door, where he stood yelling for help, calling on "Jim" +to come and turn this intruder out, volleying oaths and +blasphemies, and finally beseeching the intruder not to +ruin him, but taking good care all the while not to summon +the police.</p> + +<p>"Jim" came at last—the "waiter" or bully of the place. +He was of stronger build than his master, and at once +grabbed Thomas by the collar, purposing to turn him out. +But Thomas was endowed with heroic strength in that +hour, and three such men would not have driven him from +the place. Wrenching himself round, he took his new +assailant by the throat, and dashed him back against his +master with such force that they both rolled over in the +narrow doorway. This feat tickled the company +immensely, and they fell to clattering with pewter pots +and glasses, and to shouting in derision as encouragement.</p> + +<p>Probably Thomas in the end might have been badly +beaten by the fiends among whom he had fallen, but from +that his daughter saved him. Roused, perhaps, at the +sight of the unholy hands laid upon her father, and +sickened by the foul jibes of men and women around her, +she sprang to her feet, and, pushing round the end of the table +where she sat, rushed between the combatants, and flung +herself on her father's bosom, in a passion of weeping.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do not get yourself hurt for me," she sobbed, "go +away and leave me. I'm not worth caring for any more."</p> + +<p>Thomas answered by clasping her closer to his bosom, +and then putting his arm in hers, he led her from the +house, none daring to say him nay. Oaths, shrieks of +hysterical laughter, and obscenities followed them as they +went, but the look on the peasant's face, and the +remembrance of his strength of arm, were enough to +protect his daughter and him from further ill-usage.</p> + +<p>"Thanks be to God I've found ye, my lass; found ye, +never to let ye out o' my sight again in this world," +Thomas murmured when he found himself alone in the +street with his long-lost one, and there welled up in him +a holy joy which was unutterable.</p> + +<p>His daughter hung her head, and answered not, but +she suffered him to lead her to his lodging. A 'bus took +them to the head of Portland Road, and thence they +walked. It was past midnight before they got home, +and all the house was silent; but Thomas gave his +daughter his bedroom, and groped his way to the parlour, +where he hoped to get a sleep in an easy chair—first +prudently turning the key in Sarah's door, to give her no +room for untimely repentance.</p> + +<p>There was no sleep for his eyelids that night. The +cold alone might have kept him awake in any case; but +he was too excited to feel it as other than a stimulus to +his thoughts. Past and future rolled before him—his +daughter lost, joy at her discovery, pain at the life she +had led. The grey dawn found him fevered with his +thoughts, shivering in body, burning at the heart. Nevertheless,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +he had resolved to go home that day by the +early train; and with that view he roused the landlady +to beg an early breakfast for himself and his child. "I have +found my lass," was all he ventured to explain, and the +woman answered she was glad to hear it. In his eagerness +to go home he forgot to tell the coal agent for whom +he worked, and forgot also to draw four days' wages due +to him—did not remember till the day after he and his +daughter reached Ashbrook.</p> + +<p>When Sarah, in answer to her father's summons, came +down to breakfast in the front kitchen, it was easy to see +that she also had slept little. Her eyes were swollen +and red, and she could not eat anything. A cup of hot +tea she swallowed, and that was all. Her father spoke +to her in the old familiar Warwickshire dialect, and urged +her to "eat summat, as she had a long day's journey +afoore her," but Sally could not, and to all he spoke +answered only in monosyllables. Not until he began to +talk directly of going "home" did she wake to anything +like animation. The very sound of the word made her +weep, and her father led her away to his own room to +reason with her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't ask me to go back," she cried; "I cannot, +I cannot; I'm fit only to die."</p> + +<p>But her father soothed her, talked to her of her lonely +mother watching for her coming, praying to see her child's +face again before she died; and when that did not move +her, he bade her think of her little babe she had left last +year. "How could ye like her to grow up a-lookin' for a +mother, Sally, lass, an' not findin' one?" That seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +to touch her more than all his assurances that no one +would ever reproach her or cry shame upon her in her own +father's house. Still she yielded not, but cried out that +she was lost to them all, to every good in this world. +"You might not blame me openly," she said, "but I +would have the feelin' in my heart all the time that I was +a shame an' disgrace to you, and that pity alone kept you +from telling me so. No, no, no, I will not go back to +Ashbrook."</p> + +<p>"Look here, then, Sally," said her father at last, "if +you wonnot go back, I'll stay by you. My mind's made +up. I'll never lose sight of ye again, not while I'm alive; +and if you wonnot go home wi' me, I must bide wi' you. +There is no other way. It will kill your mother, and it will +kill me, an' leave your child an outcast orphan, but ye are +determined, an' it must e'en be so."</p> + +<p>This staggered her, but still she yielded not, thinking, +doubtless, that her father meant not what he said, till at +last, in despair, he told her the story of Adelaide Codling. +He spoke of her despairing looks, her rapid descent from +wild gaiety to death, of her last farewell to this world, +of her lonely grave, and her poor, old, broken-hearted +father, and wound up by asking—"Will you face an end +like that, Sally? Dare you do it, my child? When I +saw her jump on the bridge I thought it was you," he +added, with a look that went straight to his daughter's +heart. The story had at first been listened to in dogged +silence. Then the girl's tears began to flow, at first +silently, at last with convulsive sobs. Her father held +out his hand as he ceased speaking, and she, moved so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +deeply as to be lifted out of herself, laid both her hands in +his, and said—</p> + +<p>"Father, I'll do as ye wish. I'll go home wi' ye." +He drew her down on her knees beside him, and prayed +fervently for mercy and forgiveness for them both. "But +my heart was too full to beg," he afterwards said to me. +"I could only give God thanks for his infinite mercy in +restoring my lost child."</p> + +<p>They missed the morning train, and had to wait till the +evening. In the interval Sarah had stripped off the tawdry +ornaments she wore, and plucked a gaudy feather from +her hat—pleasant incidents which her father noted. In the +middle of the night almost they reached the old cottage +in Ashbrook, and both were glad that the darkness hid +them from every eye save God's.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<h3>MAINTAINS THAT FOR THE WRONG SIN-BURDENED +MORTAL NO SLEEP IS SO SWEET AS THE LAST +LONG SLEEP OF ALL.</h3> + + +<p>There was deep joy in Mrs. Thomas Wanless's cottage that +night—joy all the deeper for the pain that lay beneath it. +Mrs. Wanless was not a demonstrative woman at any +time, but that night she embraced her daughter again +and again, and held her to her heart with passionate +eagerness. Sarah was sad, and after the first momentary +flash of delight, shrank back within herself. She went +and looked at her child sleeping quietly in its grandmother's +bed, but did not kiss or caress it. The joy of +the parents was dimmed at sight of this indifference, but +when Sarah had retired to rest, Thomas did his best to +encourage his wife to hope. "It will soon be all right +between mother and child," he prophesied, and this no +doubt was their hope. It was long, however, ere they +saw any fulfilment of it. In truth, shame took so deep a +hold on Sarah's mind that she became a sort of terror to +herself. She was so crushed by the past, so utterly +incapable of rising out of the darkness that shrouded her +mind, that it is probable she would again have fled from +her father's roof had she not been prevented by illness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +The life of false excitement she had led in London had +sapped her constitution, and she had not long returned +when her health began to give way. Fits of shivering +seized her, then a hacking, dry cough, which could not be +dislodged. Her complexion grew transparent, her eye +preternaturally bright. She was, in a word, falling into +consumption, and in all probability would not live long +to endure her misery. This was doubtless the kindest +fate that could now befall her, but it was a new grief to +her parents when they awoke to consciousness of the +fact that this lost one, so lately found again, was slowly +vanishing from their sight for ever.</p> + +<p>She herself grew happier in the prospect of early death, +and from being silent and cold became gentle, opener in +her manner, and more kindly to all around her, as if striving +by her tender care of her child and her grateful affection +for her parents to make the last days of her life on earth +a sweet memory. After a time, too, as she became +weaker, her heart moved her to talk of the past, and she +bit by bit told her mother the story of her flight and her +life in the great city. The sum of it all was misery, an +agony of soul unspeakable, from which she ultimately +found no escape save in drink. Her own motive in running +away after Adelaide Codling was not very clear even to +herself. Some vague idea of finding that other victim, +and of rescuing her from the doom that she herself was +stricken by, she had, but the governing motives were +shame and pride. Once in the gate of Hell, which +London is to tens of thousands every year, she tried to +get access to Captain Wiseman, and haunted the entrance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +of his barracks for a week, but he came not. She did see +him at a distance two or three times afterwards, but +women such as she was now dared not approach so great +a person in the open streets by day. With more persistence +she sought for Adelaide Codling, but with no +better success. The only occasion when she got near +enough to speak to that poor girl was one day that they +met by a shop door in Regent Street. Adelaide came +forth gorgeously dressed, and carrying her head high just +as Sarah passed. They recognised each other, and +Sarah stopped to speak, but the other turned away her +head with a toss like her mother's, and hurried off.</p> + +<p>Soon the peasant's daughter had to abandon all +thoughts of others, and face hunger for herself. Her +money and trinkets found her in food and lodgings but +for a few short days, and then she, having obtained no +situation, had to leave the servants' home where she had +at first found refuge, and—either starve or take to the +streets. Her sin had branded her; she had no "references," +and no hope. Had courage only been given her she +would have died, but she dared not. It seemed easier to +go forth to the streets. The raging "social evil" that +mocks in every thoroughfare Christianity and the serene, +tithe-sustained worshipping machinery of the State, +offered her a refuge. There she could welter and rot if +she pleased, fulfilling the excellent economy of life +provided for us in these islands. The army composing +this evil only musters some 100,000 in London, and is +something altogether outside the pale of established and +other Christian institutions.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> + +<p>That summer and winter when the lost Sarah faded +away and died was a hard time for Thomas Wanless and +his wife. Work was precarious, and thus, added to the +pain of seeing their child fade away, was the bitter sense +of inability to do all that was possible to prolong her life. +Nearly all the labourer's savings had disappeared during +Thomas's long quest. But they struggled on, complaining +to none but God, nor did their trials break their trust in +His help. They felt that the kindness with which all +friends and neighbours treated them in their sorrow was +a proof that the Divine Father of all had not forgotten +them. And their daughter herself became a consolation +to their grief-worn spirits. A sweet resignation took +possession of her mind as she neared the end. The +passions of life died away, and the clouds that had hidden +her soul for the most part disappeared. Her parents +might dream for moments, when her cheeks looked +brighter than usual, that she would recover, but she herself +knew that death was near, and thanked God.</p> + +<p>During this time the Vicar—poor old man—came +oftener than ever to the labourer's cottage. He could +not be said to assert himself against his wife in doing so, +for he came as if by a power stronger than his own +wrecked will. When he was seated by the labourer's +fireside, he seemed to be at peace. Often for an hour at +a time he hardly spoke, but just sat still and looked with +a sad kindliness, pathetic to behold, on the wasting form +before him, and either stroked her hand held in his own, +or gently patting the golden head of the little lass that +now began to toddle to his knee. And when the visit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +was over, the cloud settled down upon him again. He +went forth dejected, a hopeless-looking being, and crawled +helplessly back to the Vicarage. He called on the +morning of Sarah's death. She sank gently to rest on +a raw February morning nearly eight months after her +return, and within a week of her twenty-first birthday. +When Mr. Codling was told, he stood for a moment as if +dazed, and then asked to be led to Sarah's bedside. +There he stood, gazing long, with bent head, till the +tears rose and blinded him. With them the higher +emotions of his soul welled up within him, and he turned +and took the hand of Wanless, who stood by his side.</p> + +<p>"Thomas, my friend," he said, "I envy your daughter +that rest. I, too, long to be as she is. Life has become +all a waste desert to me; oh, so dreary, dreary." Then, +after a pause, he went on—"And I envy you, Thomas, +for have you not cause to rejoice that Sarah has died in +her father's house forgiven? Had it been but so with my +Adelaide; oh, had it been but so, I think—I—hope +would not have been lost to me. But I wish I were +dead—yes, dead and forgotten," and, letting go the hand +he had held, he knelt down by the bedside, buried his +face, and wept as he had wept only by his daughter's +grave.</p> + +<p>Unhappy old man. Who shall judge him; who say +that the All-pitying had not forgiven? Calming himself +presently, the aged Vicar rose to his feet, and looked +again on the dead face, so different in its white purity +and smile of peace from the one he had looked on in +London. He bent and kissed it, and then suffered the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +grief-worn but calm old labourer to lead him quietly +away. "God bless you and comfort you, sir, and give +you His peace," was all that Thomas trusted himself to +utter; but sorrow had made these men brothers indeed.</p> + +<p>Although Thomas and his wife knew in their hearts +that Heaven had been merciful to their child and to +themselves in taking her away, their sorrow was nevertheless +keen. Nay, in some senses it was keener, because +the "might have been" rose before the mind. Here was +in truth a waif—a lost one—mercifully removed from +further sorrow, but had there been no wreck, how short +would her life have seemed, how sad its early close. In +Wanless's life, therefore, few days were darker than the +day on which he laid Sarah to rest beside the long-lost +little ones in the old churchyard. It was little consolation +to him that half the village gathered reverently to the +funeral, and yet as he thought of the other grave by which +he had stood not many months before, his spirit was +somehow soothed. The contrast must have struck the +Vicar likewise, but he made no sign. He insisted, however, +on reading the burial service himself, in spite of the +remonstrances of his young curate, who usually did this +work. Bareheaded and trembling, pale, and feeble looking, +with his white thin hair fluttering in the icy breeze, the +sight of their old pastor that day drew tears to many eyes. +His tremulous voice seemed more solemn to the listeners +that day than ever before, and they loved and pitied the +frail old man. More than one villager remarked to his +neighbour as they left the grave that he "did not think +Mr. Codling would be long in following Sally Wanless."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was in truth to be so. The Vicar did not live long +after, but his was not the next burial. Before he went—months +before—old Squire Wiseman died and was buried +in the family vault, with the pomp and circumstance that +became his station. No one sorrowed at his death, but +the lack of grief was hidden by the abundance of display. +All the army of underlings were put in mourning at the +new squire's expense. Cecil was now lord of the Grange, +and one of his first steps was to make it too hot a place +for his mother, by filling it with debased men and women—titled +fledglings and their harpies, horsey men, and +sharpers. The wealthy marriage his mother had sought +for him never came off. An Irish peer, needy as Wiseman, +but with a more marketable commodity in the shape of +his title, had swooped down and carried off the prize. +The carpet or "turf" soldier consequently came to his +inheritance buried in debt, but that seemed to make him +only the more extravagant. His true place was the gutter, +but the land was entailed, tenants were squeezable, and +though hard up, the new squire floundered on, cursing and +a curse.</p> + +<p>His debts should have ruined him, but they merely +ruined his tenants, impoverished the land, and made those +driven to depend on him as beggarly as their master. The +weight of this rottenness lay heaviest of all on the +labouring poor, who stood undermost in the social scale. +Poor farmers meant less labour, badly tilled soil, reduced +wages, and the hinds became a picture of misery. All +Ashbrook parish suffered for the sins of this sprig of the +aristocracy. What of that! Are the sacred, priest-sanctioned,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +bishop-blessed rights of property to be +interfered with because the people want bread? That +would be contrary to all law and order, as established by +these delicate perverters of the Hebrew Scriptures.</p> + +<p>No; better far let the people starve; let the mortgages +squeeze those who do not own; make the fair earth +bestowed on man—to be cultivated, tended, and rendered +fruitful—a waste howling desert, peopled by wild animals, +for whose shooting, wealthy pelf-rakers from the centres +of trade are ready to pay high rents. Next to our +heaven-bestowed Poor Law, the Law of Entail, which +binds the land to a name or a family, has been the greatest +factor for evil in the national life of England. It has +preserved our "institutions;" gives continuity to our +history, men assert. Perish the people then, but hold fast +to this sheet anchor. "It preserves scoundrels from +justice, and the fate they have earned," by reformers. +What of that? These men have the right to be +abominable—you and I, the workers and the sweaters, +the privilege only to bear their abominations.</p> + +<p>It has always struck me, though, that the fetish +machinery of the English Establishment is imperfect in +one particular. While in actual fact all "lord" bishops, +and most preachers therein, determinedly oppose whatsoever +would emancipate the people from their bondage, +the best of them never daring to strike boldly at the root +of the evils that threaten England with extinction, that +fill the land with misery, that huddle the bulk of our +population into the fever dens of her cities—it has struck +me, I say, that their liturgy is incomplete, almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +hypocritical. A prayer like this should be inserted among +the collects of the day, instead, say, of the collect for +peace, which comes so ill from the lips of men whose +ambition is usually to train some of their children as +licensed men-slayers. Let the lawn-sleeved "lord" +bishops look to it, then, and take this hint:—</p> + +<p>"Sanctify might, O Lord, against right, and make it +stronger and stronger. Bless iniquities in high places, +and cause the hypocrisy of princes to be exalted in the +eyes of the people. Protect the nobility and gentry in +their harlotry, and let holiness be measured by the +fineness of the garments. Grind the poor in their poverty, +and cause them to pay that they owe not. And O Lord, +we beseech Thee, suffer not the oppressed to have justice, +lest they rise up against us and refuse to give us the tithes +we have filched from the indignant. These things do, +O Lord, and our lips shall praise Thee."</p> + +<p>If you will honestly pray thus, serene "lord" bishops, +much-wrangling, gorgeously-embroidered deans, vicars, +and incumbents, you will earn the respect of honest men. +Whatever you do, I beseech you go not on as you do now, +lest the people should one day <i>act</i>. They think not a +little even now.</p> + +<p>Fare ye well, then, Cecil Wiseman, sham soldier, horse +racer, blasphemer, drunkard, seducer, sot, farewell! The +upper world "society" protects you, the Church shields +you, nay, the priest must e'en bow when you abduct his +daughter, and the very Jews themselves, wholesome +scourge of your class though they be, cannot utterly ruin +you—here. Go your ways—I leave you to God. What<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +witness, think you, will that diseased body, that bloated +face and hang-dog look of yours, bear against you in the +judgment? In that day your very victims may pity +you.</p> + +<p>And has not the judgment already come on your +mother—cast out, despised, lonely, poor as she is? +Alone, she lives in her little jointure house at Kenilworth, +white-haired, feeble, full of bitterness of spirit. All the +glory of her life has gone. The meanest servant in +Warwickshire may look down on her with commiseration. +Your sins have torn what heart she had, and she begins +to awake to the fact that the law of compensation, the +dim foretaste of divine justice, can reach even such as she. +To her likewise let us bid adieu.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<h3>BRINGS US ALL TO THE JOURNEY'S END.</h3> + + +<p>The closing years of Thomas Wanless's life were years +of peace. His strength never came back to him after his +daughter's death. Indeed, all the summer that followed +it he was beaten down by his old complaint rheumatism, +but there was no dread of the workhouse and the pauper's +grave upon him now. His boy, Thomas the younger, +was prospering in the New World, where landlordism +had not yet grown a curse, and insisted on sharing his +modest wealth with his parents. Had the old man been +well he would probably have sturdily refused this help, +but as things were he bowed his head and took what +God had given, thankful to his son, thankful to Heaven, +and rejoicing above all things that his boy—his three +children that remained—were delivered from the life that +he himself had led. But what would his end have been +save for this assistance? Assuredly a pauper's. Nothing +could have saved him from that fate. The doom of the +labourer is written. It is part of the recognised glory of +the English constitution that he shall die in misery as he +lives; that if he becomes disabled, his shall be the +pauper's dole.</p> + +<p>The prosperity of young Thomas rendered Thomas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +and his wife less reluctant to let their other children go +to Australia. They clung to them, of course, and would +have fain kept them, as it were, within sight.</p> + +<p>Old Mrs. Wanless was heart-broken at the thought of +losing Jane, but she bore her sorrow and made no +complaint, when her husband, his own heart torn with +grief, said—"Let the lass go. There is hope for her and +her husband yonder. Here there is none." Jane therefore +married her young gardener in the autumn of the +year of Sarah's death, and went away to join young +Thomas in Victoria. And the soldier-boy, Jacob, went +with them. His time of soldiering was not ended, but his +brother Thomas bought him off, and assisted them all to go +to the new country. Jacob was the labourer's prodigal son, +and was loved accordingly. While he soldiered his +parents hardly ever saw him, but he spent a couple of +weeks at home before setting sail for Australia; and then +the strength of his nature, its likeness to that of his +father, and the trials he had endured, brought the old +man and him very near to each other. Thus the wrench +of parting was keenest for old Thomas in his case, because +the joy had been but a flash of light in a dark existence.</p> + +<p>"I will never see your face again," the old man said to +his children the last Sunday evening they passed together. +"To your mother and me this parting will be bitterer than +death, because you will live, and we will never hear your +voices nor see you more in this world."</p> + +<p>"Oh, father, do not say that," sobbed Jane; "you and +mother will come out to Australia to us, and we'll all live +together and be so happy."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, my dear, that will never be. Mother and me are +too old to move now. We will stay behind and pray for +you. The time will not be long, and we have hope. Be +brave, my children, and be God-fearing, and, I doubt not, +we shall meet in a better world than this."</p> + +<p>In this spirit they parted, and henceforth old Thomas +Wanless and his wife were left alone with only the little +child that Sarah had bequeathed to them—alone, but not +miserable. As the keen edge of sorrow blunted, the old +people went about the daily avocations as before, serene +in appearance, if often sad in spirit. Thomas never +worked again as he had been doing before he went to +London, but he became strong enough to tend his garden +and his allotment carefully, and to do frequent light jobs +for the Scotch tenant of Whitbury farm, whose friend he +became. He was thus living almost up to the time when +I first made his acquaintance.</p> + +<p>Then, as his strength of body failed, his mind, as it +seemed to me, grew keener, broader, and more penetrating. +He read much, and watched with close interest the ebb +and flow of home politics, looking ever for the dawn of a +better day for the tillers of the soil. When the Warwickshire +labourers broke out in assertion of their right to live, +he hailed the event as an omen of better times. Too +wise a man to be carried away by the notion that single-handed +the unlettered, miserable poor could turn the +world upside down, he nevertheless viewed these stirrings +among the dry bones as the beginning of great changes. +"I shall not live to see the land in the hands of those who +till it," he would say, "but I can die in hope now. England<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> +will after all be free, and the people will have their own +again. Thank God."</p> + +<p>This belief cheered his last years, and added to the joy +of his death. He died in peace with all men, long indeed, +ere his hopes for his fellow-men had seen fruition, but to +the last he declared that it was coming, that blessed +revolution when State Churches should be no more, and +squires, and fox-hunters, and game preservers, and all the +social abominations that ground the poor to the dust +would be shaken off and left far behind in the progress of +the nation.</p> + +<p>Three years have come and gone since I stood by the +side of Thomas Wanless's eldest son at his death-bed, and +by his grave. He almost died of the joy he felt at seeing +that son once more, when he had given him to God as +one gives the dead. A paralytic stroke seized him within +a few hours of young Thomas's arrival, and he never fully +recovered his faculties. Within a fortnight a second +stroke carried him off, and all the village mourned. His +son and I, surrounded by many mourners, laid him to +rest in the old churchyard beside his children, among his +forgotten forefathers. There now, to be equally forgotten, +lay squire, and parson, and parson's wife, all peacefully +sleeping, life's fever over, its jealousies and petty dignities +laid aside for evermore.</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Wanless waits still, attended by her grandchild, +young Sarah, now a bright, intelligent, well-educated +young woman. When her grandmother joins Thomas in +the last rest of all, she will be taken across the ocean to +these warm-hearted friends far away, and then the old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +land will never more see aught of this sturdy peasant +stock. But our statesmen think it a blessing they +should go.</p> + + +<div class="center"><br /><br />THE END.<br /></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="tnote"> +<div class="center">Transcriber's Notes</div> + +<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p> + +<p>Hyphen added: "ditch[-]cutting" (p. 49), "broken[-]hearted" (p. 72), "well[-]nigh" (p. 171).</p> + +<p>Hyphen removed: "house[-]wife" (p. 15), +"ear[-]shot" (p. 58), "dumb[-]founded" (p. 62), "common[-]place" (p. 120), +"now[-]a[-]days" (p. 194), +"man[-]kind" (p. 197), "dead[-]house" (p. 210), +"out[-]cast" (p. 219).</p> + +<p>p. 2: "tatooed" changed to "tattooed" (our tattooed +ancestors)></p> + +<p>p. 27: "enthusiam" changed to "enthusiasm" (the feverish enthusiasm of inexperience).</p> + +<p>p. 27: "portentiously" changed to "portentously" (shook their heads portentously).</p> + +<p>p. 34: "meeeting" changed to "meeting" (the meeting was to be held).</p> + +<p>p. 35: "wizzened" changed to "wizened" (Grey +wizened faces).</p> + +<p>p. 41: "diarymaid" changed to "dairymaid" (the dairymaid will marry).</p> + +<p>p. 59: "famalies" changed to "families" (the pleasure their families would have).</p> + +<p>p. 85: "of of" changed to "of" (sobriquet of Methody Tom).</p> + +<p>p. 91: "upheavel" changed to "upheaval" (that curious +upheaval).</p> + +<p>p. 96: "possibilites" changed to "possibilities" (did not consider +these possibilities).</p> + +<p>p. 100: "Calvanistic" changed to "Calvinistic".</p> + +<p>p. 136: "opportunites" changed to "opportunities" (contrived that his opportunities).</p> + +<p>p. 139: "exited" changed to "excited" (her beauty excited envy).</p> + +<p>p. 144: "Mrs. Wanlass" changed to "Mrs. Wanless".</p> + +<p>p. 179: "thought" changed to "though" (weary though the +old woman was).</p> + +<p>p. 181: "charing" changed to "charring" (to go out charring).</p> + +<p>p. 188: "ricketty" changed to "rickety" (rickety, filthy, old tenement).</p> + +<p>p. 193: "Dury Lane" changed to "Drury Lane".</p> + +<p>p. 203: "Waterleo Bridge" changed to "Waterloo Bridge".</p> + +<p>p. 203: "mein" changed to "mien" (his obvious +superiority of mien).</p> + +<p>p. 220: "deil" changed to "devil" and +"screached" changed to "screeched" ("What the devil do you want here?" he screeched).</p> + +<p>p. 224: "desparing" changed to "despairing" (her despairing looks).</p> + +<p>p. 237: "Jone" changed to "Jane".</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Life of Thomas Wanless, Peasant, by +Alexander Johnstone Wilson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF THOMAS WANLESS *** + +***** This file should be named 38136-h.htm or 38136-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/1/3/38136/ + +Produced by Moti Ben-Ari and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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