Chapter Four.
Fire near Mr Strelley’s Warehouse—Jack Deane shows that he is a lad of Courage.
Jack soon again scaled the garden wall, and stood under his bedroom window. He had left it wide open; it was now almost closed. The old pear-tree nailed against the wall enabled him to climb up a considerable distance, so as to reach the window-sill, by which he could haul himself up, and get into his room.
“Probably the wind has blown it to,” he said to himself. “I hope no one has found out my absence.”
Climbing up, he gently pushed back the window. On looking in, what was his dismay to see his father seated in the chair by the table, with a candle now almost burned out, and a book, from which he had evidently been reading, before him! His eyes were however closed, and he was nodding, fast asleep. Jack was a man of action, and always more ready to face a danger than to avoid it. He crawled in, therefore, as noiselessly as he could, and sat himself down on a chest at the farther end of the room, waiting for his father to awake. Jack did not trouble himself much as to what he should say, planning, and inventing, and twisting, and turning the truth in all sorts of ways, or inventing all sorts of falsehoods, but, like an honest man, he determined to tell the whole truth openly and frankly at once, and so brave the worst, and take the consequences of what he had done, whatever they might be. In fact, so little agitated was he at the thoughts of what he had to go through, and being moreover excessively tired, for he had been up and actively engaged all day, that he soon became drowsy, and imitating his respected father, began to nod much in the fashion he was doing. In a short time Jack was fast asleep. He was not very comfortable though, for he had an unpleasant sort of feeling, which was carried into his dreams, that all was not right, and that something very disagreeable was about to occur. How long he had slept he could not tell, but suddenly he was awoke by a bright glare which passed across his face, and starting up he saw flames issuing from the sheds by the side of the river, in which his late companions had proposed to enjoy their supper. He started to his feet, and remembering that Mr Strelley’s great wool warehouse was near the sheds, as well as a number of cottages thatched with straw, belonging to the people employed on the river, he dreaded that a very considerable conflagration might be the consequence. Jack sprang to the window.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he exclaimed in a voice loud enough to awake his father; “I am sorry to rouse you up, but there’s a fire near Mr Strelley’s warehouse, and I must be off to try and get it put out. I hope it has not caught any of the premises yet; but pray call up some of our neighbours, there’s not a moment to be lost!”
“Where! where! what’s the matter?” exclaimed Mr Deane, starting. “Why, Jack, what have you been about?”
Jack repeated what he had just said; and before his father had time to make any answer, he had leaped out of the window and across the garden, and down the lane by which he had previously gone. As he ran through the narrow streets, he every now and then shouted, “Fire! fire!” By the time he had reached the sheds, they were blazing furiously. The wind had also carried some sparks to an outhouse nearer the cottages, and already the people were running to and fro; women with babies in their arms, roused out of their sleep, rushing from the doors, and boys hallooing and men shouting, and yet none doing any thing to stop the progress of the flames. Jack, seeing that unless some one took the lead all the neighbouring buildings might catch fire, shouted out, “Form a line, my lads, down to the river, and you women bring your ‘pancheons,’ pails, kettles, any thing that will hold water; and now, lads, pass them along, and we will soon put out this fire. Now, you lads, tear away the burning dry thatch from the tops of those cottages; never mind a little singeing. You won’t have a house standing in the place if you don’t look sharp about it!”
Jack, as he spoke, set an example, by doing himself as he directed others to do. As soon as the people saw what was necessary to be done to stop the progress of the flames, they worked willingly enough. Jack leaped up to the top of a wall, and having buckets passed to him, threw the water over the burning roof. Several of the most active of the men did the same, while the women and children passed the buckets along with considerable rapidity. It was very doubtful, however, whether their efforts would avail in checking the progress of the fire. Jack continued to encourage them with shouts and cheers, and by this time many more people having arrived with buckets, he began to hope that his efforts would not be without success. The shed in which the fire had originated, and two or three hovels, had already been burned down, while the outbuilding which communicated with the warehouse was already in flames: on this, therefore, Jack now directed the people to bestow all their efforts. A loud cheer at length announced to those who were arriving on the spot, the owner of the warehouse among them, that Jack’s efforts had been crowned with success, and that the fire was extinguished. Jack, with his hands blackened and burned, and his clothes and hair singed, was now called for by the crowd, and before he was well aware what they were about to do, he found himself seated in a chair, and carried home in triumph, just at the break of the early summer morning. Jack, however, was more burned and injured than he had at first supposed; so much so, that his father forbore making any remark on his absence during the night. On awaking a few hours afterwards—for he had been immediately put into his bed, and doctored by the careful hands of his mother and sister Kate—he found Dr Nathaniel Deane seated by his side. The latter having felt his pulse, and complimented him on his achievements, “No, no, Cousin Nat,” he answered; “if you knew all, you would not praise me. I have acted like an idiot, or worse than an idiot.”
“I am glad to find that no great harm has been done except to your poor hands, my lad. It will be a fortnight, or nearly so, before you will be able to use them,” answered the doctor. “You will have time to stay quiet and get wisdom, if that is what you want.”
One of Jack’s first visitors was Mr Strelley.
“I have come to thank you, Mr John Deane, for saving my property,” he said, as he took his seat by his side. “You have not only benefited me very greatly, but I can scarcely tell you how many poor families would have been thrown out of work if my factory had been destroyed.”
Jack of course made a suitable answer.
“I just did what I saw ought to be done,” said Jack. “Really, Mr Strelley, I do not think you have anything to thank me for.”
“There may be two opinions even on a matter of that sort,” answered the manufacturer; “and, at all events, I wish you would tell me how I can best serve you. I wish to do it for your father’s sake, as well as for your own. We are old friends, you know; so do not stand on ceremony, at all events.”
The occurrence of the night had made Jack more than ever anxious to leave home for a time; for he felt that even should his father not question him as to the cause of his absence during it, he was bound to tell him. He therefore explained fully to Mr Strelley what were his wishes with regard to becoming a cattle-dealer and drover.
“If you really have made up your mind on the subject, I will most gladly forward your views,” said Mr Strelley. “You know my trusty old head drover, Will Brinsmead, as you took an excursion with him last year, I rather think. He will start in a few days in charge of a large drove now grazing in Colwick Park and adjoining meadows, and dispose of them at Stourbridge Fair. With the price he obtains he is to buy Scotch cattle at Saint Faith’s, near Norwich; for, as you know, the Highland drovers bring their lean beasts to that place. I have a correspondent at Norwich, my old friend Mr Gournay, the manufacturer, and several merchants; and Brinsmead will have to transact some business with them. Now you could not do better than serve your apprenticeship under him, and act as his clerk. You will learn in that way how to do business on a large scale, and that, I take it, will be your aim as a young man of spirit. You would not be long content to follow at the tails of oxen, and keep them moving on the straight road.”
“The very thing above all things I should like,” exclaimed Jack. “I hope my Cousin Nat will get my hands all to rights in a few days; and however my father might have objected to my starting with strangers, I am nearly sure he will agree to the plan you so kindly propose.”
Mr Strelley’s offer was duly placed before Mr Deane.
“If Jack remains much longer idle at home, he will be getting into mischief, if he has not got into it already,” he thought to himself. “I have no reason to be ashamed of my boy, and perhaps it will be my own fault if I have cause to be at any future time. Cousin Nat is a man of judgment, and he asserts always that there is more in Jack than any of us suppose; and that if we allow him to follow the bent of his own inclinations, he will be sure to work his way up in the world, even though we let him begin at the bottom of the ladder. Some people want help, and don’t get on well without it; others are all the better for being left alone, and help only makes them idle.”
The assurance which Jack received that he would be allowed at length to carry out his much-cherished plan, contributed not a little to his restoration, and the burns on his hands and legs healed more rapidly than Cousin Nat had predicted.
Squire Harwood and his daughter had returned to the Grange the day after the occurrence which has been narrated; and as soon as Jack was able to leave the house, although not fit for a journey, he expressed his intention of riding over to pay a farewell visit to his friends. Often when left in solitude he had conjured up a vision of the sweet countenance of Alethea, and he could not help longing once more to see the reality. His proposal met with every encouragement from his family.
“If any body can civilise our boy Jack, Miss Harwood can,” observed Mrs Deane to her husband.
“I doubt whether she will think it worth while to make the attempt,” observed Mr Deane. “Jack is in no way suited to her, whatever he may flatter himself is the case. However, let the lad go; he can come to no harm, at all events; and Mistress Alethea may give him a taste for better society than he seems to have a fancy for.”
Chapter Five.
Jack’s Visit to Harwood Grange—Is urged to assist in the Jacobite Plot.
Jack accordingly donned his best suit, and his sister Polly put his hair, which had been considerably singed by the fire, in as good order as it was capable of. His left hand was still in a sling, but he had no difficulty in mounting his horse with the aid of his right, and managing him as well as most people could with two hands at liberty. With a note from his father on business, and numerous messages from his mother and sisters, he set out on his expedition. He rode merrily along through the green wood, often indulging in daydreams, which, had he known more of the world, he might have suspected that there was little probability of being realised. The fair Alethea formed a prominent feature in most of them. Cousin Nat had charged him not to heat his blood by galloping, lest it might retard his recovery; but when he came to the commencement of a fine open glade, it was hard to restrain either the horse or his own feelings, and more than once he found himself flying over the ground as fast as he would have done had a pack of hounds been before him in full chase of a deer. In a shorter time than he had calculated on, therefore, he arrived at the front of Harwood Grange. It was a mansion built in the time of Elizabeth, with high roof and pointed gables, richly ornamented with the arms of the family, deeply carved in stone, over the principal entrance. It had no moat nor other means of defence having originally been a hunting-lodge. It was also out of the highway, and had thus escaped being turned into a fortress, and suffering the fate of many mansions throughout England during the wars between the “Cavaliers” and the “Roundheads.” It was of considerable size, the outbuildings affording ample accommodation for horses and dogs.
Both the Squire and his daughter were at home, and had seen him approach as he rode up the avenue. He received a cordial welcome from the Squire in the old hall, into which the entrance-door opened. It was hung round with the usual trophies of the chase, hunting-poles, boar-spears, deer-horns, old cross-bows, and modern fire-arms, as well as curious pieces of ancient armour, which had done good service when worn by his father and his retainers in the time of the first Charles, under whose banner the family had ranged themselves. In the corner stood whole suits of armour, placed on lay figures, while on a table at the farther end lay hawk’s jesses, and hoods, and bells, and other apparatus of the gentle sport of heronry. A long massive oak table, with a side board of the same wood and style of construction, and numerous high-backed chairs, completed the furniture of the room, while at the inner end was a huge fire-place, with a mantel-piece high above it, and carved oak seats on either side. The hall was used generally for banquets and other entertainments; smaller rooms leading off it were more usually occupied by the family.
Alethea had followed her father into the hall to welcome Jack, which she did in as cordial a manner as he could have desired, though the perfect self-possession she exhibited, and the total want of timidity, might have created some uncomfortable doubts in the mind of a person better acquainted with the female heart than Jack could have been. The Squire insisted on Jack’s remaining to dine with them at the usual hour of noon, telling him that he had a good deal to talk about, and if he still proposed setting off on the journey he had spoken of, he would entrust him with several letters to be delivered on the road.
While the Squire went to write his letters—a task which, although they were not very long, took him a considerable time—Jack was left to the society of Alethea. He was more inclined to be sentimental than he had ever been before in his life; but she seemed in such good spirits, and laughed so heartily at some of the remarks he made, that he very soon returned to his natural manners. She seemed, indeed, more anxious to persuade him that the Jacobite cause was the right one, than to attempt to induce him to give up his proposed journey. Now she praised the late king, and his energy, and the numerous good qualities which she declared he possessed; and now she did her best to lower William in Jack’s opinion.
“Such a king as he is!” she exclaimed: “his manners are positively repulsive, and he has no love for the fine arts: why they say that he hates ‘bainting and boetry,’ as he calls them; and when they have brought him poor diseased children to be touched for the king’s evil, as used to be done by the royal Stuarts, he absolutely refused to put his hand upon them. Now, you know, if he really had been a king, his touch would most certainly have cured them.”
“That never struck me before,” answered Jack; “but I know when I have read accounts of his various actions, I have often thought that he was like a great hero: I am sure he was at the battle of the Boyne. Have you never read an account of it? I found one only the other day in an old ‘News-letter,’ I think it was, or it might have been in the ‘post-boy,’ or the ‘Flying Post’ The tide was running fast in the river, and the king’s charger had been forced to swim, and then was almost lost in the mud. As soon, however, as the king reached firm ground, taking his sword in his left hand—for his right arm was still stiff with a wound and the bandage round it—he led his men to the spot where the fight was the hottest. The Irish horse retired, fighting obstinately. In the midst of the tumult of pistols flashing and swords cutting in all directions, William rode up to the gallant Enniskilleners.
“‘What will you do for me?’ he cried out; but not being immediately recognised, a trooper, taking him for an enemy, was about to fire.
“‘What!’ said he, ‘do you not know your friends?’
“‘It’s his Majesty!’ exclaimed the colonel of the regiment.
“On hearing this, a loud shout of joy burst from the men, who were all Protestant yeomen.
“‘Gentlemen!’ said William, ‘you shall be my guards to-day. I have heard much of you; let us now see something of each other, and what we can do.’
“With this he led them forward against the enemy, who at length took to flight, and in a short time there was no doubt that the battle was won.
“Since I have read that account, I have always looked upon the king as a real hero.”
“As a mere fighter or a leader of men in battle, he may not be contemptible,” answered the young lady, not quite liking Jack’s remarks; “but, for my part, I should prefer acknowledging the sovereign ‘who is every inch a king,’ as William Shakspeare says.”
“I have never read any of Shakspeare’s plays, or seen them acted either; but of one thing I am very sure, that King William would not allow such doings as have been long taking place in France, and which James Stuart would ere long have imitated. Just think, Miss Harwood, of the way the poor Protestants are treated there. If they refuse to turn Romanists, they are persecuted in every possible manner. The roughest soldiers are quartered in their houses, and allowed to treat them as they think fit. The ministers are driven from the country, and if any Huguenot gentlemen are captured attempting to make their escape, they are sent to the galleys, and have there to row on board those vessels, chained to the oar like slaves. Had King James remained in the country, there is no saying whether he might not have treated us Protestants in the same way.”
Alethea was a little disconcerted at Jack’s matter-of-fact view of the Stuart cause.
“But then, you know,” she exclaimed, “James was the rightful sovereign; you cannot deny that.”
“My father says that both his father, King Charles the First, and he broke their vows; and that, had they proved faithful to the people, the people would have proved faithful to them. We none of us believe it was right to cut off King Charles’s head; but when it was very evident that James wished to make himself a despot, and to introduce the Romish faith again, we all think it was quite right that he should have been dismissed from the country.”
“Oh, you are a dreadful Roundhead!” answered Alethea, in a half-vexed tone, though she laughed at the same time. “I am afraid we shall never convert you to our principles; and yet, if you come to view the matter in the light we do, you may see that King James has right on his side.”
Alethea then entered into arguments in favour of King James, more fully than is necessary here, and which it might weary the reader to repeat. Sometimes, indeed, so well did she argue her cause, that Jack was inclined to agree with her. Then again remembering the opinions which he had heard his father and Cousin Nat express, he thought the present state of things was satisfactory. However, in the end Alethea contrived to leave him very much in doubt about the matter, and certainly at that moment, if she had put a sword in his hand, and told him that King James was coming back, and that he must go and fight under his banner, he would very probably have obeyed her orders.
The dinner hour at length arrived, when Mr Harwood returned with several letters in his hand. The Squire treated him with every kindness and attention, as the son of an old friend, and did not in any way allude to the subject on which his daughter had been so energetically expatiating. A stranger coming in would not have heard any thing to make him suppose that the owner of Harwood Grange was one of the greatest Jacobites in that part of the country.
“Remember,” said Alethea, as Jack’s horse was brought round to the front door, and he was about to mount, “I shall expect to hear that my arguments have had due effect, and that you will be ready to drink the health of the king over the water, whenever you hear it proposed.”
He gallantly kissed the fair hand held out to him; and receiving a hearty shake from that of the Squire, he mounted his horse and took his way towards Nottingham. He returned at a much slower pace than he had come. A variety of thoughts and feelings troubled his head and his heart. He thought Alethea the most beautiful creature he had ever set eyes on. He wished to please her in every way in his power. If she had desired him to give up his intention of accompanying Will Brinsmead, he would have done so, or he would even have gone to college, and tried to study like his brother, if she had desired it; but she had not intimated a wish on either of these subjects, and seemed perfectly content that he should follow out his own inclinations. And yet she evidently desired to influence him in some way, and that was what most puzzled him. He had always heard William spoken of as the best king for England, and James as a man likely to prove an opponent of religious liberty and of the advancement and prosperity of the country.
He was even more than usually silent when he reached home, and Polly had to stir him up before he would give any account of his visit to the Grange. He, however, said nothing on the subject which Alethea had discussed with him.
A few days after this, having been declared perfectly convalescent, Jack set off to pay his respects to Mr Strelley, and to receive that gentleman’s last orders. As he approached the door, he saw Cousin Nat’s scarlet cloak a little ahead of him. He soon overtook the worthy doctor.
“Well, Jack, I am glad to find you,” said his cousin: “I want to have a few words with you before you start, and there’s no opportunity like the present. Let me advise you, as you have entered into this business, to stick to it, and you will find it as lucrative, at all events, as any you could well engage in. You will pass in your journeys many a fine park and noble palace going to decay through the fines and alienations which have fallen upon them, and you will thus see for yourself how truly it has been lately written, that ‘an estate is but a pond, but trade a spring;’ for you will also come upon fair houses, whose owners’ names were unknown before the late Civil Wars, and you will find them flourishing by means of trade, honourably carried on from father to son, whereby not only wealth, but titles too have been won for this generation, and which promise to last for many yet to come.”
Mr Strelley received Jack pleasantly, not the less so, perhaps, that he was accompanied by the doctor, who told him of the advice he had been giving his young kinsman.
“Ah, indeed!” observed the worthy manufacturer, “the wool trade is the great staple, and next to it I place the cattle trade. I will not detain you now to give you an account of these two great sources of wealth; you shall see them another time in my study: and take heart, my young friend; you have your foot on the ladder, and will climb some day to the top, if you gain all the knowledge your honoured kinsman is ready to give you, and are guided by his advice.”
“And by your own good sense, Jack,” added Cousin Nat. “Don’t wish to be master before you have learned to be man, and don’t trust every one you may meet, however civil they may be and pleasant in their manners; and above all things, my boy, do not forget that there is a God in heaven who watches over you, and sees and knows every thing you do. Do not fear to displease man, but dread greatly displeasing God. Remember that He is your friend, and that you can go to Him on all occasions. If you go boldly and frankly, as He has told you to do, trusting in His Son who died for you, He will never turn aside from your petitions.”
Mr Strelley enforced what Cousin Nat had said with further arguments, and then having given Jack various directions for his conduct on the road, and for the commissions he was to perform for him, shook him cordially by the hand, and wished him every prosperity on the journey which was to commence the following morning.
Chapter Six.
Pearson’s Visit to Squire Harwood—Plan to entrap Jack.
On the day Jack had paid his visit to Harwood Grange, while the Squire was walking up and down the terrace, enjoying the cool of the evening, he saw a horseman riding along the avenue towards him. He was a strongly-built, active-looking man, with somewhat coarse features and a bold expression of countenance. He dismounted as he approached Mr Harwood, and presented a letter which he drew from his bosom.
“That will tell you who I am,” said the horseman, as the Squire opened the epistle and glanced at its contents.
“Ah, yes!” he said, looking up at the stranger, “we have met before. I remember you now. Come along here, down this walk; we shall be out of ear-shot. Well, what success have you had?”
“Not so much as I should have expected,” answered the stranger. “There’s no spirit in the young men now-a-days; they all seem to be finding employment either at home, or at sea, or in the plantations, and there are few worth having, or who can be trusted at all events, who seem disposed to draw a sword for King James.”
“I am afraid you are right,” answered the Squire. “Most of those I have spoken to seem perfectly contented with this Dutch William we have got over us, and do not show any wish to have back their rightful king. But still we must not despair, Master Pearson.”
“I am the last man to do that either,” answered the stranger; “and if we cannot find them on this side of the border, there will be no lack on the other. It will not cost much labour to arouse the Highlanders, while some of the best soldiers in the country, though they refuse to join us, will stand neutral, not for love of the Stuarts, just the contrary, but because William did not treat King James as Cromwell and his party treated his father.”
“What say you, Master Pearson? Do you think you could arouse the people in the fen-country? You might raise and drill an army in those wilds without the Government knowing any thing about the matter.”
“If the people had any spirit, it could be done,” said Master Pearson; “but they are too dull and stupid, I fear, to be aroused by any motive, and I suspect they care little what king sits on the throne.”
“I am afraid, then, we must be content with small beginnings,” said the Squire. “A good time will come if we wait for it; and if William dies, though I would have no hand in hastening his death, there would be no doubt that the people would be glad enough to get King James back again.”
“As to that, his life is as good as James’s,” observed Pearson; “and if we have not a strong party in readiness to take advantage of any thing that may occur, I fear the Puritan Nonconformists generally will still be too powerful in the country to allow the return of a Catholic sovereign. We must go on recruiting, Squire, and work away among gentles and simples till we have increased the strength of our party, and then will be the time to strike a blow, which may set things to rights again.”
“Perhaps it may be so,” observed the Squire musingly; “but we must be cautious, Master Pearson; too many honest men have lost their heads for want of that quality, and I have no desire to lose mine or my estate either, which a plot of this sort, if discovered, would seriously imperil. Mind, all I say is, that we must be cautious, and wait patiently till we can gain strength; and by-the-bye there is a young man I wish to win over, a fine, spirited lad, and I’m sure if we can gain him he will prove valuable to the cause. Should you fall in with him, Master Pearson, I must commend him to your care. We have pressed him here pretty hard, and though he seemed stubborn, I think if right arguments coming from another source were to be used, he might yet be gained over. He is the younger son of Mr Jasper Deane of Nottingham. You are very likely in your rambles to come across him.”
“I have done so already,” answered Master Pearson, “and formed the same opinion of the youth as you have expressed. I hoped, indeed, to have gained him over by this time; but though he promised to meet me again, I missed him. Having, however, now received your further recommendation, I will be on the watch for him, and I dare say I shall come across him before long.”
“Do so, good Master Pearson. I wish we could find a few hundreds such as he is, and the king would not long be kept out of his own. And now come into the house: we will send your horse round to the stable, and probably you and he will not be the worse for some refreshment.”
“As to that, Squire, I have not ridden far to-day, but I know not how many leagues I may have to cover before to-morrow morning, and I make it a rule to keep my horse and myself in readiness for a gallop north or south, as I find necessary.”
“Well, come in, Master Pearson; you can rest here as long as you like. My people are faithful, so that even if they suspected any thing, you need have no fear of their betraying you.”
At a summons from the Squire the groom appeared, and was about to take Master Pearson’s horse round to the stable, when he interposed.
“Stay,” he said; “my beast is a sorry-looking jade, but I have a regard for the animal, and always make a rule of seeing her fed; so you will excuse me, Squire, while I go round, and I will join you presently. Take care of her heels, lad,” he added, as the groom led the mare into the stable: “she has a trick of kicking, if she is not handled as she is accustomed to, for I always look after her myself. I will not unsaddle her, but just loosen the girths. There, that will do. There’s as much corn there as she will require, and a few handfuls of hay will serve her for supper besides. You understand me now? You will be wise not to come into the stall unless I am here.”
As he spoke, he crossed the groom’s hand with a piece of silver, and having removed from the holsters a brace of pistols, which he deposited in the ample pockets of his riding-coat, he left the stable.
“You will keep an eye on the stables, and let me know if any one comes near them in my absence,” he said, in a tone which made the groom feel that he was not a man to be trifled with.
With an unconstrained, independent air, Master Pearson entered the house, where the Squire stood ready to receive him. Alethea came into the supper-room for a few moments, but not liking the manner or appearance of their guest, asked leave of her father to withdraw, guessing indeed that the Squire would not require her presence during the meal.
About the hour at which the family generally retired to rest, Master Pearson rose from his seat, declaring it was time for him to take his departure.
“I must be twenty miles from hence before midnight,” he observed, laughing. “I make it a rule if possible to put about that distance between the place where I am last seen, and the spot I sleep at, on most nights of the week. It is seldom I should thus fail to prove an alibi if necessary, while it would be difficult for any one, however sharp, to catch me.”
The Squire accompanied his guest to the stable, where Master Pearson carefully examined his horse’s hoofs, as well as the girths of his saddle, threw himself into it, and shaking hands with his host, started off at a quick trot down the avenue.
“A hard life he must have of it,” thought the Squire, who was beginning to be fonder of his ease than of physical exertion. “I hope that he is trustworthy, for he has my life, and that of a good many other worthy gentlemen, in his power.”
Chapter Seven.
Jack’s Journey to Stourbridge, and Adventures on the Road.
Jack, when he placed his head on his pillow the last night before leaving home, fully expected to awake of his own accord the following morning; but for several hours sleep did not visit his eyelids; and when at length he opened them, he saw his eldest sister Kate leaning over him. She had been watching for some time his youthful face, which even in sleep bore so determined an expression, while the brown, strong hand outside the counterpane looked well fitted for any work he might undertake.
“Jack,” she said, “you did not answer, dear brother, when I knocked at the door, and I was afraid you would over-sleep yourself: besides, I want to have a few words with you which I had no opportunity of speaking last night. Brother, you are going into a world where, although there is some good, I am afraid there is a great deal of evil, and treachery, and deceit. Though you have done wild and thoughtless things, still you know what is right, and I am sure you wish to follow it. But, dear Jack, I know you better than perhaps you know yourself. Do not trust to your own good intentions. You may think now that nothing will tempt you to do what is wrong, but remember that Satan is always going about to lead us away from the right course; therefore, Jack, I want you to look to your Bible to learn how you ought to walk, and then to pray to God that He will, by His Holy Spirit, enable you to walk aright. Here is a Bible, Jack, and I hope you will take it with you; but I must not preach more. I see you have a letter from Mr Strelley to Mr Gournay at Norwich. You know that our friend Giles Dainsforth is staying with him, and I must tell you, Jack, what I have never told you before, that I have promised to become his wife, if our father and mother will give their consent. He has not as yet much worldly wealth, but he is steady and industrious, and that will come in good time; only I want you to speak to him, and hear what he has got to say to you. It will not be time lost to you: of that I am sure. You will tell him all about us, and should he not be at home, you will make a point of trying to find him, will you not, Jack?”
As she spoke, she imprinted a kiss on her brother’s brow.
“And now I will go down-stairs and get your breakfast ready. May God ever be with you, my dear brother!”
While Jack was dressing, he received a visit from his brother Jasper, who had some kind words and good advice also to give him. Although the brothers were on the best of terms, they associated very little with each other, their habits and amusements being very different. Still, Jack admired and respected Jasper for his talents, his amiable disposition, and his refined manners, though he felt little disposed to imitate the latter. Jasper had been away at the time Jack paid his farewell visit to Harwood Grange, and whether he admired Alethea or not, he at all events showed no jealousy of his brother, or annoyance at his having been there without him.
Polly’s farewell was even more hearty than that of her brother and sister. Her parting salute was a slap on the back, in return for some words which he whispered in her ear, and a glance of pride, perhaps, as she saw the good figure he cut, equipped in his horseman’s suit and thoroughly prepared for the road.
His parents gave him their blessing, but the manner of his father especially was somewhat cold, and showed him that the old gentleman had not altogether got over his dislike to the calling he had resolved to follow.
In a few minutes more, mounted on a stout cob, with a serviceable pair of pistols in his holsters, he was jogging along the road to Cambridge by the side of Master Brinsmead, accompanied by an ample number of drovers in charge of one of the largest droves of cattle which had for some time past left the Trent valley. It may easily be imagined that such a journey, begun in summer time, continued at short stages, with frequent delays at towns, and lonely inns, and farm-houses, was full of interest to Jack, who had only made one short trip of the sort before. The long droves of cattle went slowly along the roads, which in most places were little better than causeways roughly raised from the mud that lay on either side in bad weather. Even the best highways were allowed to fall into a miserable condition, so that carriages could with difficulty traverse them, except in the immediate neighbourhood of London and some of the larger cities. The hedge-rows every where afforded ample shade, and the wide green margins of the lanes gave space for the herd to lie down during the heat of the day. At such times Jack would pursue his beloved sport of angling—for he was never willing to be idle—and many a delicious repast of trout, and chub, and barbel did he broil over the drovers’ gipsy fire. On such occasions Will Brinsmead seldom failed to bring forth his well-worn Bible, or his beloved Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress,” from which, lying down with his elbow on the grass, he would read half aloud to himself, raising his voice if he saw any one approaching near enough to listen. Jack was frequently among Brinsmead’s auditors.
These quiet rests were generally succeeded by the bustle which was to be found in the various towns and markets through which they passed; but though for the moment the impressions received appear to have worn off, in after-years Jack remembered his old friend’s quaint remarks with no small amount of satisfaction and profit.
Brinsmead’s droves were often joined by others belonging to different masters. They usually travelled as far as possible in the earliest morning hours, to secure the freedom of the roads. On all occasions the drovers were armed with various weapons to defend their charge from the cattle-stealers who were too often apt to hang upon their skirts, ready to carry off any stray beast they could find, though the gibbet was the penalty if they were captured. Trains of pack-horses also would bear them company as they approached Cambridge, carrying all kinds of stores and goods for Stourbridge Fair.
Jack, following the advice of his friend, resolved to obtain as much information as he could, and therefore often fell out from his own party, and jogged along by the side of the merchant or pedlar who seemed most ready for his society. Jack had also occasionally to ride on before the drovers, to make arrangements for the feeding and rest of the cattle with some farmer or grazier a little off the high-road. In most instances the worthy farmer was so well pleased with his honest countenance and pleasant manners, that he invited him with Master Brinsmead, who was well-known all along the road, to partake of his family supper. If good old Will found a fitting opportunity, he would on such occasions suggest reading a chapter in the Bible, which he expounded in his own peculiar phraseology, in a clear and edifying manner, never failing to offer up a fervent prayer that a blessing might rest on the house of his entertainers, that his honoured master might prosper, and that he and his companions might be preserved from the dangers of the road, and obtain a satisfactory price for their cattle. Seldom indeed did his hosts refuse his offer, or fail to be sensible that besides his fair payment for keep of man and beast, he had left a blessing behind him.
At many of these midland farms great bargaining took place, for Mr Strelley’s droves supplied them with store cattle, as agriculture was beginning to be better understood than it had ever before been in England. Whole carcases were still salted down for winter consumption at the great country-houses. At these also Brinsmead and John Deane were welcome visitors, and chaffering in the steward’s room, or with his honour the squire, or even with my lord or my lady herself, would frequently take up many hours of the day. They had also to buy as well as to sell, for the larger the supply they could take to Stourbridge Fair, the better would it be for their speculation.
One day Jack had been riding by the side of a travelling merchant, the owner of a train of pack-horses, when, as he was dropping behind to join his own party, he felt a hand pressed on his shoulder, and heard a voice which he thought he recognised exclaiming, “What cheer, lad? Glad to see that thou hast kept to thy intention, and taken up the honest calling of a drover. Better than cutting weasands any day for the sake of keeping a Dutch usurper on the throne,” he added in a lower tone.
Jack looked at the speaker once or twice, unable to recognise him. At length it occurred to him that he was the very man who had joined him on their poaching expedition.
“I think I know you,” he said, looking at him again.
“You ought to do so, for we have met before; and it was not my fault that we did not meet again,” answered the stranger.
“What! Master Pearson?” said Jack, examining his countenance more narrowly, and looking down on the somewhat clumsy, ill-groomed horse which the speaker bestrode.
The animal was, however, he saw at a second glance, not destitute of bone and muscle; while the rider’s expression of countenance and general appearance made it difficult to believe that he was of the pacific character his words would imply. A pair of substantial saddle-bags hung across the saddle, and Jack observed that the butts of two pistols projected from the holsters on either side.
“Why, Master Pearson, you have made good despatch with your business in the north,” said Jack; “for I think I am not wrong in calling you by that name. I hope that it has been successful.”
“As things generally go with me,” answered Pearson carelessly. “I am now on my way south again to Cambridge and other places; for I also have some interest in the wool trade, and hope to be at Stourbridge Fair: that beats every other mart in the world, in my opinion.”
“I have heard that it was far above our Goose Fair,” said Jack, “though we are not ashamed of that either.”
“That is a right curious name you give your fair, Master Deane,” observed Pearson. “There must be a great sight of geese sold there, I’m thinking.”
“Not exactly,” answered Jack. “I do not know that more geese are sold then than at any other time.”
“Then come, tell me why it is called Goose Fair: there must be a reason for it,” said Pearson. “If you know it, out with the truth, lad.”
“The reason why our Nottingham Fair is called Goose Fair? Well, if you needs must know the story, I’ll out with it,” said Jack, thus pressed by his companion. “Of course, having been born and bred in Nottingham, I believe all about it. You must know that some time, since bold Robin Hood ranged through Sherwood Forest, at all events between his days and ours, there dwelt within it, some ten miles away, a worthy knight and his dame. The better half of the knight was a shrew, and led him a wretched life. He had a son, on whom he bestowed all the affection which his wife might have shared. At length death relieved him of his tormentor. The dame died and was buried. He had a wonderfully heavy stone put on the top of her grave, lest she should come to life again; and then he gave all his thoughts to the education of his son. He resolved, moreover, that he should not make the mistake of which he had been guilty by marrying too early. He therefore kept the boy closely confined within the precincts of his own domain, within which not a female of any age, old or young, was allowed to enter. They were all alike, he declared. The oldest might inveigle his boy as well as the youngest. At length the lad having approached the age of twenty-one, and being perfectly contented with his lot, his father thought that he might with safety take him to Nottingham Fair where he had business. Scarcely had they dismounted from their steeds than a damsel with black eyes and rosy cheeks came tripping by. The lad regarded her with eyes of astonishment and admiration.
“‘Oh, father, father, what is that curious animal?’ he asked, seeming about to run after her.
“‘Why, my boy, that is but a goose—a silly, weak, worthless goose,’ answered the knight, greatly alarmed at the effect the sight of the damsel had had on his son. Nevertheless they entered the fair, where not one but hundreds of damsels presented themselves to the astonished gaze of the young man.
“‘Ah, this must be Goose Fair!’ he kept saying to himself; but being well brought up, he kept steadily by his father’s side. This so well pleased the knight, that he promised to give him any fairing he might ask for.
“‘Oh, thank you, dear father!’ he exclaimed instantly. ‘Oh, buy me a goose—by all means buy me a goose!’
“From that day to this our fair has been called Goose Fair; and really, Master Pearson, I think you’ll allow that there are some very pretty geese to be seen there.”
Master Pearson laughed at Jack’s account, and at his notion of its importance.
“Well, there are some fairs abroad which I have visited almost on as grand a scale. There is Leipsic in Saxony, Neuremberg, and Augsburg, all great in their way, but not to be compared to Stourbridge as to the value and amount of property sold.”
“What! have you ever been to those places?” asked Jack with surprise, glancing at the rough-looking drover, “or do you only speak from having heard of them?”
“Oh, I have attended the fairs held there myself!” answered Master Pearson. “I have been to many others too, such as that of Frankfort-on-the-Maine; and I tell you, my lad, the great corn-field near Casterton shows a more wonderful sight than any of them. You are lucky in having to make your first business trip there, instead of northward.”
“I do not care greatly which way I ride,” answered Jack cheerily; “all the world is new to me, and I want to see as much of it as I can.”
“You will see a specimen of a good deal of what I call the world in a few days,” said Master Pearson. “We have had such splendid weather, that the corn has been got off the fields, otherwise it would be a bad look out for the farmers. The fair-keepers have a right, you must know, to trample it under foot, and to lay out their streets, and set up their booths on the ground, whether it is standing or not. However, you’ll know all about the fair when you have been there. You’ll have extensive dealings in one way or another for your employer, I doubt not.”
“Yes, probably,” observed Jack. “We shall have a good sum to lay out, I know; for we have done very well with beasts. They say that the drovers from the north have had great losses from the attacks of Ben Nevis and his gang, who have been bolder than ever this year. It is a pity a fellow of that sort cannot be caught and hung. I have no fancy for allowing rogues to disturb honest men in their proper trade. For my part, I should like to organise a bold band of fellows and hunt down the robber. I have learned one thing—that black is black, and white is white; and though, maybe, he is a bold fellow, that is no reason he is not a rogue, and richly deserves hanging.”
Master Pearson laughed as Jack spoke.
“You must catch your hare before you cook him; remember that, lad,” he observed.
“There is the difficulty,” answered Jack. “They say that no one has caught sight of him except at a great distance; and I am told his horse flies like a meteor, and is as light as the wind. He can follow his master up-stairs as easily as a cat, and up a tree for that matter, I verily believe, and will leap down precipices high enough to break the bones of any ordinary man or horse. Thus there is scarcely a chance of coming up with him, although the country has been scoured again and again, and even some of his rogues have been caught and hung.”
“A valuable animal that you speak of,” observed Master Pearson coolly. “I dare say his master is as proud of him as I am of my poor beast, who, though he has no great speed, is a trusty friend on the road, and has carried me many a long mile. ‘Slow and sure’ is his motto.”
“I do not fancy that you always ride at a slow pace though, Master Pearson,” observed Jack, laughing carelessly. “Your legs cling too tightly to your horse’s sides, and you have too easy a seat in your saddle to care much for a slow beast, sure as he may be.”
“I was bred in Yorkshire, Master Jack Deane,” answered Pearson with a peculiar glance at Jack. “Every boy there knows how to bestride a horse as soon as he can run; though, to be sure, I won’t deny that I have taken a gallop now and then in my day. And now I think we understand each other. You remember our meeting down by the river-side: I took a fancy to you on that night, and I told you I had something to talk to you about. Are you willing to hear it now? But I have no fancy that any passer should hear the chance words we may let drop: so speak low when you reply my ears are sharp enough; and you will give me your word of honour that you will not repeat what you hear of me, unless I give you leave.”
Jack, whose curiosity had been aroused by what Master Pearson had said, gave the required promise, and without further circumlocution his companion proposed to him a scheme which Jack would have been the wiser had he at the first refused to listen to.
Master Pearson showed himself to be an able diplomatist, and Mr Harwood would have been thoroughly satisfied had he heard the way in which his wishes were carried out.
“Think of what I have been saying, my lad,” he continued. “You have got the right qualities in you, depend upon that, and it’s your own fault if you don’t rise in the world in the way I have pointed out. And now, farewell; we shall meet again before long, I doubt not; but I have some business to settle a short distance off the road, and I must get free of this crowd.”
Saying this, Pearson shook Jack by the hand, and trotted past him at a quick rate. A wide ditch and hedge divided the road from a large field, along which the way was free and open. A few drovers only were in sight, urging on their cattle. Jack, who had kept his eye on his late companion, was somewhat surprised to see his seemingly sorry jade take a spring which cleared both hedge and ditch, and then to observe him cantering along the field at a rate which would have distanced many horses at a gallop.
“He is a strange person,” thought Jack, “but he seems good-natured and well-intentioned. I cannot make him out, but as to doing what he advises, I must take time to consider about that.”