A Plain, simple man was Miles Halhead, the husbandman of Mountjoy. Ten
years older than Fox was he, and wise withal, so that men wondered to
see him forsake his home and leave wife and child at the call of the
Quaker's preaching, and go forth instead to become a preacher of the
Gospel.
Yet, truth to tell, the change was natural and easily explained. All
his life Miles had had to do with seeds buried in the ground.
Therefore when he heard George Fox preach at his home near Underbarrow
in Westmorland, telling all men to consider 'that as the fallow ground
in their fields must be ploughed up before it would bear seed to them,
so must the fallow ground of their hearts be ploughed up before they
could bear seed to God,' Miles' own past experience as a husbandman
bore witness to the truth of this doctrine. His whole nature sprang
forward to receive it; and thus, in a short while, he was mightily
convinced.
Now at that time there were, as we know, many companies of Seekers
scattered up and down the pleasant Westmorland dales. Miles himself
had been one of such a group, but now, having found that which he had
aforetime been a-seeking, nought was of any value to him, but that his
old companions should likewise cease to be Seekers, and become also in
their turn Finders. Yet Miles wondered often how such an one as he
should be able to convince them. For he was neither skilful nor ready
of tongue, nor of a commanding presence like Friend George Fox, but
only a simple husbandman. Still he was wary in his discourse, from
his long watching of the faces of Earth and Sky--full also he was of a
most convincing silence; and, though as yet he had proved it not,
staunch to suffer for his faith. It was said of him that 'his
Testimony was plaine and powerful, he being a plain simple man.'
Thus Miles Halhead began to preach the Gospel, at first only in the
hamlets and valleys round his home at Underbarrow near to Kendal. But
one day when the daffodils were all abloom, and blowing their golden
trumpets silently beside the sheltered streams, it came to him that he
must take a further journey, and must follow the golden paths of the
daffodils over hill and vale, until at the end of this street of gold
he should come to Swarthmoor Hall; that there he might assist his
friends at their Meeting, and with them be strengthened and have his
soul refreshed.
A walk of seventeen miles or so lay before him, and an easy journey it
should prove in this gay springtime, though in winter, when the snow
lay drifted on the uplands, it would have been another matter. He
could have travelled by the sheltered road that runs through the
valley. It being springtime, however, and a sunny day when Miles set
out from his home, he chose for pure pleasure to go by the fells.
First, he travelled across the Westmorland country till he came to the
lower end of Lake Winandermere, where the hills lie gently round like
giants' children, being not yet full grown into giants themselves with
brows that touch the sky, as they are at the upper end of that same
shining lake. Then, leaving Winandermere, across the Furness fells he
came, keeping ever on his right hand the Old Man of Coniston, who,
with his head for the most part wrapped in clouds, standeth yet, as he
hath stood for ages, the Guardian of all that region.
Thus at length, as Miles journeyed, he came within sight of the
promontory of Furness, that lies encircled by the sea, even as a
babe's head lies in the crook of a woman's elbow. Seeing this, Miles'
heart rejoiced, for he knew that his journey's end was in sight, and
he tramped along blithely and without fear.
Suddenly, on the path at some distance ahead of him, he saw a patch of
brilliant green and purple coming towards him--a gay figure more
likely to be met with in the streets of London than on those lonely
fells. Miles thought to himself as it drew nearer, ''Tis a woman!'
then, 'Nay, it is surely a great Thistle coming towards me; no woman
would wear garments such as those in this lonely place.' As he shaded
his eyes the better to see what might be approaching, his mind ran
back to the first sermon he had ever heard George Fox preach, on his
first visit to Underbarrow, when he said, 'That all people in the Fall
were gone from the image of God, righteousness and holiness, and were
degenerated into the nature of beasts, of serpents, of tall cedars, of
oaks, of bulls and of heifers.' ... 'Some were in the nature of dogs
and swine, biting and rending; some in the nature of briars, thistles
and thorns; some like the owls and dragons in the night; some like the
wild asses and horses snuffing up the wind; and some like the
mountains and rocks, and crooked and rough ways.' 'I was not certain
of his meaning when I first heard him utter these words,' simple Miles
thought to himself, 'but now that I see this fine Thistle coming
towards me, I begin to understand him. Haply it is but a Thistle in
outer seeming, and carries within the nature of a Lily or a Rose.'
Even as he thought of this, the Thistle came yet nearer, and when he
could see it more plainly he feared that neither Lily nor Rose was
there, but a Thistle full of prickles in very truth. It was indeed a
woman, but clad in more gorgeous raiment than Miles had ever seen.
Green satin was her robe, slashed with pale yellow silk, marvellous to
behold. But it was the hat that drew Miles' gaze, for though newly
come to be a Quaker preacher, he had been a husbandman long enough to
be swift to notice the garb of all growing, living things, whether
they were flowers or dames. Truly the hat was marvellous, of a bright
purple satin, and crowned with such a tuft of tall feathers that the
wearer's face could scarcely be seen beneath its shade. Dressed all in
gaudy style was this fine Madam; and, as she passed Miles, she tilted
up her head and drew her skirts disdainfully together, lest they
should be soiled by his approach. Although the lady appeared to see
him not, but to be gazing at the sky, she was in truth well aware of
his presence, and awaited even hungrily a lowly obeisance from him,
that should assure her in her own sight of her own importance. For of
no high-born lineage was this flaunting dame, no earl's or duke's
daughter, else perhaps she had been too well aware of her own dignity
and worth to insist upon others acknowledging it. She was but the
young wife of the old Justice, Thomas Preston, and a plain Mistress,
like Miles' own simple wife at home, in spite of her gay garments and
flaunting airs. But the fact that she had newly come to live at Holker
Hall, the finest mansion in all that country-side, had uplifted her
in her own sight, and puffed her out with pride, sending her forth at
all hours into unseasonable places to show off her fine new London
clothes.
Therefore she paused a little as she passed Miles, waiting for him to
doff his hat and bend his knee, and declare himself in all lowliness
her servant. But Miles had never a thought of doing this. Though he
was but newly turned Quaker, right well he remembered hearing George
Fox say--
'Moreover, when the Lord sent me forth into the world, He forbade me
to put off my hat to any--high or low--and I was required to "thee"
and "thou" all men and women, without any respect to rich or poor,
great or small. And as I travelled up and down, I was not to bid
people "Good-morrow," or "Good-evening," neither might I bow or scrape
with the leg to anyone, and this made the sects and the professors to
rage.'
Miles, too, having learnt this lesson and made it his own, passed by
the lady in all soberness and quietness, taking no more notice of her
than if she had been one of those dames painted on canvas by the late
King's painter, Sir Anthony Van Dyck, which, truth to tell, she
mightily resembled. The haughty fair one seeing this, as soon as he
had fully passed and she could no longer delude herself with the hope
that the longed-for salute was coming, was vastly and mightily
incensed. It was not her hat alone that was thistle colour then: her
face, her forehead, her neck all blazed and burned in one purple flush
of rage. Only her cheeks stayed a changeless crimson, and that for a
very excellent reason, easy to guess. Violently she turned herself to
a serving-man who was following in her train, following so humbly, and
being so much hidden by Madam's fallals and furbelows, that until that
moment Miles had not even seen that he was there.
'Back, sirrah!' she said in a loud, angry voice, speaking to the man
as if he had been a dog or a horse, 'back with thy staff and beat that
unmannerly knave till thou hast taught him 'twere well he should learn
to salute his betters.'
The servant was tired of following his lady like a lap-dog, and
attending to all her whims and whimsies. Scenting sport more nearly to
his liking, he obeyed, nothing loath. He fell upon Miles and beat him
lustily and stoutly, expecting every moment that he would resist or
beg for mercy.
Mistress Preston meanwhile, having turned full round, watched the
thwacking blows, and counted each one as it fell, with a smile of
pleasure. But her smile speedily became an angry frown, for Miles,
well knowing to whom his chastisement was due, paid no heed to the
serving-man, let him lay on never so soundly, but turned himself round
under the blows, and cried out in a loud voice to her: 'Oh, thou
Jezebel, thou proud Jezebel, canst thou not permit and suffer the
servant of the Lord to pass by thee quietly?'
Now at that word 'Jezebel,' Mistress Preston's anger was yet more
mightily inflamed against Miles, for she knew that he had discovered
the reason why her cheeks had remained pink, and flushed not thistle
purple like the rest of her countenance. Even the serving-man smiled
to himself, a mocking smile, and hummed in a low voice, as he
continued to lay the blows thickly on Miles, a ditty having this
refrain--
'Jezebel, the proud Queen,
Painted her face,'
He did not suppose that his mistress would recognise the tune; but
recognise it she did, and it increased her anger yet more, if that
were possible. She flung out both hands in a fury, as if she would
herself have struck at Miles, then, thinking him not fit for her
touch, she changed her mind, and spat full in his face. Oh, what a
savage Thistle was that woman, and worse far than any Thistle in her
behaviour! Loudly, too, she exclaimed, 'I scorn to fall down at thy
words!' Her meaning in saying this is not fully clear, but it may be,
as Miles had called her Jezebel, she meant that no one should ever
cast her down from her high estate, as Jezebel was cast down from the
window in the Palace, whence she mocked at Jehu. This made Miles
testify yet once more--'Thou proud Jezebel,' said he, 'thou that
hardenest thine heart and brazenest thy face against the Lord and His
servant, the Lord will plead with thee in His own time and set in
order before thee the things thou hast this day done to His servant.'
By this time the lady's lackey had at length stopped his beating, not
out of mercy to Miles, but simply because his arm was weary. Yet he
still kept humming under his breath another verse of the same ditty,
ending--
'Jezebel, the proud Queen,
'Tired her hair!'
Miles, therefore, being loosed from his hands, parted from both
mistress and man, and left them standing without more words and
himself passed on, bruised and buffeted, to continue his journey in
sore discomfort of body until he came to Swarthmoor.
Arrived at that gracious home, his friends comforted him and bound up
his aching limbs, as indeed they were well accustomed to do in those
days, when the guests who arrived at Swarthmoor had too often been
sorely mishandled. Even to this day, in all the lanes around, may be
seen the walls composed of sharp, grey, jagged stones, over which is
creeping a covering of soft golden moss. So in those old days of which
I write, men, aye and women too, often came to Swarthmoor torn and
bleeding, perhaps sometimes with anger in their hearts (though Miles
Halhead was not of these), and all alike found their inward and
outward wounds staunched and assuaged by the never-failing sympathy of
kindly hearts, and hands more soft than the softest golden moss.
Thus Miles Halhead was comforted of his friends at Swarthmoor, and
inwardly refreshed. Yet the matter of his encounter with the haughty
lady, and of her prickly thistle nature, rested on his mind, and he
could not be content without giving her yet one more chance to doff
her prickles and become a sweet and fragrant flower in the garden of
the Lord. Therefore, three months later, being continually urged
thereunto by 'the true Teacher which is within,' he determined to take
yet another journey and come himself to Holker Hall, and ask to speak
with its mistress and endeavour to bring her to a better mind. Thither
then in due course he came. Now a mansion surpassing grand is Holker
Hall, the goodliest in all that country-side. And a plain man and a
simple, as has been said, was Miles Halhead the husbandman of
Mountjoy, even among the Quakers--who were none of them gay gallants.
Nevertheless, being full of a great courage though small in stature,
all weary and travel-stained as he was, to Holker Hall Miles Halhead
came. He would not go to any back door or side door, seeing that his
errand was to the mistress of the stately building. He walked
therefore right up the broad avenue till he came to the front
entrance, with its grand portico, where a king had been welcomed
before now.
As luck would have it, the door stood open as the Quaker approached,
and the mistress of Holker Hall herself happened to be passing through
the hall behind. She paused a moment to look through the open door,
intending most likely to mock at the odd figure she saw approaching.
But on that instant she recognised Miles as the man who had called her
Jezebel. Now Miles at first sight did not recognise her, and was
doubtful if this could be the haughty Thistle lady he sought, or if it
were not a Lily in very truth. For Mistress Preston was clad this hot
day in a lily-like frock of white clear muslin, all open at the neck
and short enough to show her ankles and little feet, and tied with a
blue ribbon round the waist, a garb most innocent to look upon, and
more suited to a girl in her teens than to the Justice's wife, the
buxom mistress of Holker Hall.
Therefore Miles, not recognising her, did ask her if she were in truth
the woman of the house. To which she, seeing his uncertainty, answered
lyingly: 'No, that I am not, but if you would speak with Mistress
Preston, I will entreat her to come to you.'
Even as the words left her lips, Miles was sensible that she was
speaking falsely, seeing how, even under the paint, her cheeks took on
a deeper hue. And she, ever mindful that it was that same man who had
called her Jezebel, went into the house and returning presently with
another woman, declared that here was Mistress Preston, and demanded
what was his will with her. No sooner had she spoken a second time
than it was manifested to Miles with perfect clearness that she
herself and none other was the woman he sought. Wherefore, in spite of
her different dress and girlish mien, he said to her, 'Woman, how
darest thou lie before the Lord and His servant?'
And she, being silent, not speaking a word, he proceeded, 'Woman, hear
thou what the Lord's servant hath to say unto thee,--O woman, harden
not thy heart against the Lord, for if thou dost, He will cut thee off
in His sore displeasure; therefore take warning in time, and fear the
Lord God of Heaven and Earth, that thou mayest end thy days in peace.'
Having thus spoken he went his way; she, how proud soever, not seeking
to stay him nor doing him any harm, but standing there silent and dumb
under the tall pillars of the door, being withheld and stilled by
something, she knew not what.
Yet her thistle nature was not changed, though, for that time, her
prickles were blunted. It chanced that several years later, when
George Fox was a prisoner at Lancaster, this same gay madam came to
him and 'belched out many railing words,' saying among the rest that
'his tongue should be cut off, and he be hanged.' Instead of which, it
was she herself that was cut off and died not long after in a
miserable condition.
Thus did Mistress Preston of Holker Hall refuse to bow her haughty
spirit, yet the matter betwixt her and Miles ended not altogether
there. For it happened that another April day, some three springs
after Miles Halhead had encountered her the first time, as he was
again riding from Swarthmoor towards his home near Underbarrow, and
again being come near to Holker Hall, he met a man unknown to him by
sight. This person, as Miles was crossing a meadow full of daffodils
that grew beside a stream, would not let him pass, as he intended, but
stopped and accosted him. 'Friend,' said he to Miles, 'I have
something to say to you which hath lain upon me this long time. I am
the man that about three years ago, at the command of my mistress, did
beat you very sore; for which I have been very troubled, more than for
anything which ever I did in all my life: for truly night and day it
hath been in my heart that I did not well in beating an innocent man
that never did me any hurt or harm. I pray you forgive me and desire
the Lord to forgive me, that I may be at peace and rest in my mind.'
To whom Miles answered, 'Truly, friend, from that time to this day I
have never had anything in my heart towards either thee or thy
mistress but love. May God forgive you both. As for me, I desire that
it may not be laid to your charge, for you knew not what you did.'
Here Miles stopped and gave the man his hand and forthwith went on his
way; and the serving-man went on his way; both of them with a glow of
brotherhood and fellowship within their hearts. While the daffodils
beside the stream looked up with sunlit faces to the sun, as they blew
on their golden trumpets a blast of silent music, for joy that ancient
injury was ended, and that in its stead goodwill had come.