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The Yeoman Adventurer

G >> George W. Gough >> The Yeoman Adventurer




"Run, Kit!" he cried. "Get some wine! The lad's overcome. God bless you,
old Noll, how are you?"

Kate ran off into the parlour, where our wine was stored.

"Jack!"

"Hello, Noll!"

"I thought I'd killed you."

"Was it you?" he asked, all amazed at my self-accusation.

"Yes," I faltered.

"By gom, Noll, you did give me a sock!"

He heard Kate tripping back with the wine, and put his finger on his lips
for a warning. And that was the first and last remark Jack Dobson made on
the subject.



CHAPTER XXVI

THE WAY OF A MAID WITH A MAN


It took me to cure Jack. I administered one dose of medicine and he at
once began to fill out and get strong and chesty in a manner almost
absurd, whereon there was much twitting of our Kate who, in her old way,
rated me soundly in public and crept up to me in private, and kissed me
and wept gladly in the most approved maiden-like style.

This was the way of it. I sent Joe Braggs into Stafford the day after I
got home to fetch out Master Dobson, and had him alone in my room. True he
was as near and grasping as ever, but I saw even this side of him in a new
light now, for he had been near and grasping for Jack. He was rather
uncertain when we met; glad enough, of course, to see an old friend back
again safe and sound, but dubious on the main point.

"Master Dobson," said I, "your Jack desires to wed our Kate."

"So he tells me," said he dolefully, rubbing his thin finger under the
edge of his bob-wig to scratch his perplexed head.

"She is an excellent young woman, and a comely," said I, grinning at him.

"Undoubtedly," he conceded.

"But, as the head of the family, Master Dobson, I offer no objection to
the proposal." Much it would have mattered if I had, but I always take
credit when and while I can.

"It's very kind of you, Ol ... Mr. Wheatman," said he, "but...."

"Yes," said I encouragingly.

"But there's what I may call the material side of the matter to be
considered. My son's bride should be suitable from the business point of
view."

"I've been considering that point, Master Dobson. It is undoubtedly
important. Jack's a careless young dog, and I'm sure our Kate is just the
woman he wants from a business point of view. She'll keep an eye on every
meg in his pockets."

"Tut, tut!" said he, stirred to action, as I knew he would be. "You
mistake me completely. My son will not be wanting in this world's gear and
he must have a wife to match."

"I see," said I. "One with something substantial in her pocket."

"Precisely," said he.

"Well, Master Dobson, if our Kate is willing to marry your Jack, a point
on which I can offer only a conjecture, she will marry him with five
thousand pound in her pocket."

He sat bolt upright and stared at me with his mouth wide open.

We fetched them in, mother coming with them, and the old man there and
then gave them his blessing. Kate ran into mother's arms, while Jack wrung
my hand and danced for joy. Afterwards he ate the most astonishing dinner
imaginable, loudly asseverating that he was as right as nine-pence and
sick of slops.

My coming back made a great noise all over our countryside. Of what I had
actually done there was no knowledge whatsoever. The tale went that I had
been to America and found a goldmine, and come home and bought back the
lost Hanyards. Acute sceptics in barbers' shops and market ordinaries
advanced the opinion that it must have been a very little goldmine, but
they were unable to substitute any other explanation and so fell into
contempt. The tale suited me and I never contradicted it. In a world where
a man who has travelled to London is a person of consideration and renown,
I, who had been to America, was as a god. My first visit to Stafford put
the sleepy old town into commotion.

Every night around the fire in the house-place I told them of my
adventures. Jack, the sly fox, sat among his cushions, which he had not
been fool enough to discard along with his slops, with Kate on a low stool
at his knees. The vicar sat by mother's side on the settle. I drew a chair
close to her, so that her hand could clasp mine as I talked, and very
helpful I found it, for she understood in silence and in silence comforted
me. Jane laid supper, taking a long time over it, for between journeys to
and from the kitchen she would stand behind the settle and listen
wide-eyed to a spell of my talk. Every night the vicar said grace, adding,
in his simple, apostolic way, a special thanksgiving to the good God who
had brought the young lad safe home again, through perils by sea and
perils by land, and out of the very hands of evil men who had compassed
him about to destroy him. Then, after supper, I escorted the good man home
and came back through the moonlit lanes; and every night, without fail, I
went and stood on the very spot where the gaff had slipped out of my
collar, and I had turned round to see Margaret.

The only discontented person in our little circle was Joe Braggs, who had
caught the dace that caught the jack, and so started me out of my jog-trot
yeoman's round into the great world of life and adventure. Joe had done
well while I had been away; our fields had yielded fruitfully under his
care as bailiff; and, having had a favourable harvest, we were much money
in hand on the year's working. I had thanked him heartily, confirmed him
as my bailiff now that I was back, and given him fifty guineas, a sum
which to him was wealth untold. Still the rascal was not satisfied, and
went about with a bear on his back, as Jane had it, so that I was greatly
tempted to clip his ear for him.

The day before Christmas, he was busy all morning under Jane's garrulous
command, getting in bunches of holly and other evergreens from the
hedgerows. His last journey had been to one of the farms on the Upper
Hanyards in quest of mistletoe, which grew abundantly there in an ancient
orchard. On getting back he had held a sprig over Jane's head for a
certain familiar and laudable purpose, and had been rewarded with a smack
that sounded like the dropping of an empty milk-pail. A little later I
found him glowering in a cowhouse, and had it out with him.

"Look here, Joe, my lad," said I, "tell me straight what's the matter
with you or I'll break your head."

"What d'ye want to come back 'ere for, upsettin' Jin like this'n?" he
blurted.

"What the blazes have I done to upset Jin?" I asked.

"Why didna y' bring 'er back wi' ye, then?"

"Who's her, you jolt-head?" I demanded angrily.

"That leddy o' yourn. Jin's that upset 'er wunna luk at me, an' we wor
gettin' on fine."

It was no use talking to Joe. I explained that she was a great lady and
was to marry a marquess, that is a much more important person than an
earl. He knew what an earl was, for of course he had heard of the 'Yurl,'
meaning that old rascal Ridgeley. A marquess, however, was outside his
ken, and the information was wasted.

"Why didna y' marry 'er y'rsel', Master Noll, and bring 'er back 'ere,
then Jin wud 'a' bin all rate?"

"I couldn't," said I.

"Did y' ask 'er?"

"No."

"More fule yow," said he bitterly. "She'd 'a' 'ad y', rate enough. Jin
says so, an' 'er knows."

What could be done with such a silly fellow? I left off discussing and
took him indoors with me. In front of Jane I pledged him in a mug of ale
and told him he was one of the best lads breathing, and I was greatly
beholden to him. In front of him I kissed Jane under the mistletoe and
told her that, bonny lass as she was, she was lucky to have the best lad
in Staffordshire. I left them in the kitchen, and heard no more crashes.
Later on, Joe whistled his three tunes with admirable skill and
intolerable persistency while, under Jane's orders, he took in charge the
boiling of the Christmas puddings in a vast iron pot hung over the kitchen
fire.

It was growing dark. Everybody was happy. Mother was out and round the
village with her Christmas gifts, attended by one of our men and a cart
packed with good things. Nothing could have made her happier. Jack and
Kate were in the house-place busy with all sorts of housewiferies, in
which he was as interested as she. Joe and Jane were in the kitchen, as
merry as grigs. I went into my own room, across the passage from the
parlour, sacrosanct to me, my books and my belongings.

There, too, was the great jack, set up to the very life by the skilful
hand of Master Whatcot. He appeared to be cleaving a bunch of reeds to
pounce on a dace, just as he had done once too often on that memorable
day. Brothers of the angle had made pilgrimages to see him from thirty
miles round, and it was an added charm to fancy that the monster had been
caught in a spot where Izaak Walton had fished as a boy, he having been
born and bred in these parts. My jack is a famous jack, for the curious
reader will find an account of him, with his dimensions and catching
weight exactly given, in Master Joshua Spindler's folio volume entitled
"Rudimenta Piscatoria, or the Whole Art of Angling set forth in a Series
of Letters from a Nobleman to his Son," London, 1751. No one who has yet
seen him has seen a bigger, though most of them have heard of one.

I lit my candles, got my pipe going, and drew my chair near the fire to
read and smoke. It was, however, early days yet for me to read for long.
Moreover, by habit I had picked up my Virgil, and it was as yet impossible
for me to feel the tips of my fingers in the teeth-marks without thinking
of the poor wretch who had made them. I could see in exactest detail his
dead body lying in the road and Swift Nicks beside it, pitching the bag of
guineas up and down in the air, and smiling gleefully and yet wistfully at
me. From that grim event, whether my mind travelled backwards or forwards,
it traversed scenes such as few men are privileged, or fated, to pass
through.

It was, again, too soon for me to realize the full effect of my
experiences on myself. I was not moody, as in the days aforetime. I
neither loathed my lot nor cursed my destiny. I had seen warfare and
bloodshed, I had had my heart wrung and my nerves racked, and now the
peaceful meadows winding along the river and stretching up to the purple
hills were dear to eyes from which the scales had fallen. This was the
life and labour on which the world was based, and it was worthy of any
man. I had seen Death the Harvester at work, and he was a less alluring
figure than Joe Braggs with a flashing sickle in his hand and a swathe of
golden grain under his arm.

I should never be really alone again. I had company of which I should
never tire as I sat here with my memories. Margaret was rarely absent from
my mind, and every memory of her was a blessing and an inspiration. I did
not regret my love, foolish and vain as it had been. The thing that really
mattered was that Jack was alive. I could now look back on everything
without bitterness. If Margaret came for me now, to call me forth to
another hard round of struggle and adventure, I should be off with her
like a shot. She had made a splendid companion. She would make a splendid
marchioness. Some day, when the pain would not be unendurable, I would go
to London and steal another peep at those matchless eyes and that tower of
golden, gleaming hair.

I did not hear the door open, but I heard mother's calm voice, gently
reproving Jane for an unseemly giggle. A pair of arms crept round my neck,
and slim white fingers cupped my chin. Kate did not know that it was I who
had so nearly sent her sweetheart to an untimely grave, for Jack had
sternly forbidden me to mention the subject to anyone, and, as I have
said, it might never have happened so far as he was concerned. Therefore
Kate, always a loving and attentive sister, was now more loving and
attentive than ever because she knew in her heart that, though I had
gained much in my wanderings, I had lost the one thing she had found in
the quiet sickroom where, during long weary months, she had lured Jack
back to life. It was always her task to fetch me from my books and my
thoughts to the beloved circle in the house-place, when, as now, she had
prepared a dish of tea for us.

The soft resolute hands raised my chin, and I gasped as I looked into
Margaret's eyes.

She lightly held me down, and, as if we had only parted five minutes
before in the house-place, began to speak, quietly but rapidly.

"Oliver, do you remember waking me in the barn?"

I nodded. I was too amazed to speak, and there was that in her eyes which
made me tremble.

"I was dreaming," she said, and I nodded again and remembered how she had
flushed like the dawn.

"Because you are the greatest goose of a man that ever lived, I am going
to tell you my dream. I dreamed that you were carrying me across the Pearl
Brook, and as you carried me the brook got wider and wider--you had made
it as wide as you could, you know--until it seemed as if we should never
get across it. And you would not put me down, though I begged you to do
so, but carried me on and on. You grew tired and weary, and your face went
white and drawn, as I find it now, but you would not let me go. Was it not
a curious dream, Oliver?"

Again I nodded.

"Why can't you speak, Oliver? Anything would make it less hard. Then,
because you were so weary, and so good to me, and so faithful, and
long-enduring, I did in my dream ... in my dream, you mark ... something
very un-maidenly ... and immediately we were both on the other side; and I
awoke as you put me down at last and found you by my side, having, in your
knightly unselfishness, ruined your hat to give me a drink of milk. And
because you are the best man on earth, and also a blind silly goose,
Oliver, and I must take some risk or lose my all, I am going ... to do the
unmaidenly thing I did in my dream ... and ... you ... must not misjudge
me, Oliver."

She stopped, smiled as only Margaret can, and bent her head until a loose
coil of amber hair fell on my face Then she brushed it aside and, after a
little gasping cry, kissed me on the lips.



EPILOGUE

THE LITTLE JACK


AT THE HANYARDS STAFFORDSHIRE _August 9th, 1757_

Margaret and I had a hot dispute this morning. True she went away,
singing happily, to rebuild the masses of yellow hair that had fallen all
over her shoulders and mine, for the dreadful stuff seems to tumble down
if I look at it, but still we had disputed, and vigorously, too. The plain
fact is she had sniffed at Aristotle.

The trouble arose out of this story of mine which I have been busy
writing for the last twenty months. It has been hard work, for I was new
to the business, and had to learn how to do it, but it has been a pleasant
task and a labour of love. Now we disputed about it. I said it was
finished. She said it wasn't. I said I ought to know. She replied not
necessarily, since I was such a great goose. Then I loaded my big gun and
thought to blow her clean out of the water.

"My dear Margaret," said I, "Aristotle lays it down that every work of
art has a beginning, a middle, and an end. The beginning of our story was
the catching of the great jack, the middle of it was the fight at the 'Red
Bull,' and the end of it was the kiss you gave me. You see, dear, how
exactly I have done what Aristotle says I ought to do."

"Bother Aristotle! What does he know about us?" It was here that she
sniffed, not figuratively but actually. That is to say she held up her
nose, on pretence of looking at me, and audibly ... well, sniffed. There's
no other word for it. Then she cried triumphantly, "What is the use, Noll,
of telling our story and not saying a single word about the most important
people in it?"

To this question I made no reply. I was beaten. Aristotle, had he been in
my place, would have been beaten too. If we had been in town I would have
run round to Mr. Johnson's and asked him to assist me, but I feel sure he
would have been as helpless as I was. There was no reply, so I contented
myself with playing with her gorgeous hair till it was all a-tumble to the
floor.

Bother Aristotle! I must do as Margaret bids.

* * * * *

The Colonel and Master Freake were in the house-place when, at last, that
memorable Christmas Eve, I proudly took my Margaret there.

"Sir," said I to the former, before he had ceased his hearty handshake,
"I love Margaret dearly and Margaret loves me. May we be married?"

"You young dog! What d'ye say to that, John?" he said.

"Nothing is nearer to my heart," said the great merchant of London,
giving me his hand in turn.

"Nor to mine, so that settles it," cried the Colonel, fishing out his
snuff-box, while I led Margaret up to mother.

We spent a happy Christmas as lovers, and were married on New Year's Day
by the vicar.

Jack and Kate were married in the spring, by which time he was as well
and strong as ever. For years I feared lest his severe wound should have
left some permanent source of weakness, but happily my fears were
ill-founded. Jack, having had enough of soldiering, took to business at
Master Freake's suggestion. He has developed all his father's shrewdness
while retaining all his own boyish charm. He is now Master Freake's right
hand, in the great London house of Freake & Dobson. Kate is Kate still,
ardent, busy, level-headed, and loving, and the happy mother of three
girls and a boy. Jack and I are as twins to one another.

In the summer after our wedding, Margaret and I went our journey over
again. We saw Cherry-Cheeks, and made sure that Sim should have not only a
good wife but a good business of his own to keep her on. We found out
sweet Nance Lousely, and filled her pinner full of guineas after all, and
left her tearful and happy. We knelt together by a simple grave in the
Catholic burial-ground at Leek, and on the top of Shap we stood, with
tears in our eyes, beside the great stone that marked the resting-place of
Donald and his chief.

I did become a Parliament man, as Master Faneuil had said I should, and
am a strong supporter of Mr. Pitt. We spend part of each year in London,
where the Marquess is our great friend. He married the nabobess after all,
and she loved him well enough to make it her business to reform him. He
vows she is the finest woman in England, with a head on her shoulders as
good as Mr. Freake's. She makes a good marchioness, too, for she always
had sense, and has developed dignity.

But most of our time we spend at the Hanyards, which I have made into a
fine house by careful changes. Master Joe Braggs and Mistress Jane Braggs
are our loyal, willing servants and our friends, and are as happy as
sandboys together. They have now quite a large family.

To-day we are all together again for a long stay at the Hanyards. The
Archdeacon of Lichfield, once our beloved vicar, is with us, simple,
fatherly, and learned as of old. I can see his white head when I lift mine
up from my writing. He is sunning himself in the garden and talking with
mother, who turns her eyes now and again to look at the road, for Kate and
Jack are coming in from Stafford with their children.

All these are familiar names, but it is fit that the record should be
given before I go back to Margaret's sniff at Aristotle. For while I was
busying myself with her hair, who should come in sight, walking through
the orchard from the river, but the Colonel and Master Freake. They
stopped to join mother and the Archdeacon in their talk, and we, looking
at them, were proud and happy in the knowledge of their love for us.

Then there was a great clatter and chattering and excited shouting
without. Margaret had left the door of my study open, and in raced the
most important people in our story. They had a tale too big for coherent
talk, and they gabbled away, one after the other or both together, to tell
us all about it.

It was Oliver who had done it. He held up with a pride that made him
splutter a little jack about fourteen inches long, which he had just
caught. They say he is his father over again. At any rate, he will fish
morning, noon, and night, if he can coax one of us elders to go with him
to take care of him.

There he stood, the fish dangling at arm's length, telling his mother
exactly how he had done it. I do not pretend to be impartial, but a finer
boy than mine is not to be found. He drops the fish to the floor to rush
into his mother's arms to be kissed and praised.

I am busy, too; busy as I love best of all to be. For on my knee, her
arms round my neck and her great mane of glorious wheat-coloured hair
tickling my face, is the dearest little creature on God's earth, my other
Margaret. If you want to see me when I am intensely proud and happy, you
must see me with her at my side walking in the Park or down the Green Gate
at Stafford, with all eyes turning on her because of her surpassing
childish beauty.

"I helped him catch it, daddy," she says, lifting up her face to be kissed.

So does history repeat itself, and it is settled at once that Noll's jack
is to be put by Master Whatcot in the same case as dad's, for all the
world to know that he is as good a fisherman as his father before him. Joe
is to send it to Stafford at once, and the two rush off eagerly to give it
to him, leaving us alone.

To the glowing beauty of her maidenhood Margaret has added the serene
beauty of motherhood. That is all the change I can see in her, as I put my
arms round her and draw her to me.

When she could speak she said happily, "Well done fisherman!"

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