A COUNCIL OF DEFENCE
The sun had sunk behind the moors when Peter Askew sat by an open window
in his big, slate-flagged kitchen at Ashness. All was quiet outside,
except for the hoarse turmoil of the force and a distant bleating of
sheep. In front, across a stony pasture, the fellside ran up abruptly;
its summit, edged with purple heath, cut against a belt of yellow sky.
The long, green slope was broken by rocky scars and dotted by small
Herdwick sheep that looked like scattered stones until they moved.
The kitchen was shadowy, because the house was old and built with low,
mullioned windows to keep out snow and storm, and a clump of stunted ash
trees grew outside the courtyard wall. A fire of roots and peat, however,
burned in the deep hearth, and now and then a flickering glow touched old
copper and dark oak with red reflections. Collectors had sometimes
offered to buy the tall clock and ponderous meal chest, but Askew would
not sell. The most part of his furniture had been brought to Ashness by
his great-grandfather.
Peter's face was brown and deeply lined, and his shoulders were bent, for
he had led a life of steady toil. This was rather from choice than stern
necessity, because he owned the farm and had money enough to cultivate it
well. As a rule, he was reserved and thoughtful, but his neighbors
trusted him. They knew he was clever, although he used their homely
dialect and lived as frugally as themselves. In the dale, one worked hard
and spent no more than one need. Yet Peter had broken the latter rule
when he resolved to give his son a wider outlook than he had had.
Kit had gone from the lonely farm to a good school where he had beaten,
by brains and resolution, the sons of professional and business men. His
teachers said he had talent, and although Peter was often lonely since
his wife died, he meant to give the lad his chance. Somewhat to his
relief, Kit decided to return to the soil, and Peter sent him to an
agricultural college. Since Kit meant to farm he should be armed by such
advantages as modern science could give. It was obvious that he would
need them all in the struggle against low prices and the inclement
weather that vexed the dale. Now he had come home, in a sense not much
changed, and Peter was satisfied. Kit and he seldom jarred, and the
dalesfolk, who did not know how like they were under the surface,
sometimes thought it strange.
Four or five of their neighbors sat in the kitchen, for the most part
smoking quietly, but now and then grumbling about the recent heavy rain.
This was not what they had come to talk about, and Peter waited. He knew
their cautious reserve; they were obstinate and slow to move, and if he
tried to hurry them might take alarm. By and by one knocked out his pipe.
"How are you getting forrad with t' peat-cutting?" he asked.
"We have cut enough to last for three or four months."
"You'll need it aw. Coal's a terrible price," another remarked.
"It will be dearer soon," said Peter. "Since Bell has t' lease o' both
coal yards, he can charge what he likes."
"A grasping man! Yan canna get feeding stuff for stock, seed, an' lime,
unless yan pays his price. Noo he has t' traction-engine, kilns, and
mill, he'll own aw t' dale before lang."
"It's very possible, unless you stop him," Kit interposed.
"Landlord ought to stop him," one rejoined.
Kit smiled. "That's too much to expect; it's your business to help
yourselves. Mr. Osborn takes the highest rent that's offered, and you
missed your chance when you let Bell get Allerby mill."
"Neabody else had t' money," another grumbled.
"Two or three of us could have clubbed together and made a profit after
selling feeding stuff at a moderate price."
The others were silent for a minute of two and Kit let them ponder. He
had learned something about the wastefulness of individual effort, and on
his return to Ashness had urged the farmers to join in bidding for a
lease of the mill. They had refused, and would need careful handling now,
for the old cooperative customs that had ruled in the dale before the
railway came had gone.
"Poor folks willunt have much left for groceries when they have paid
Bell's price for coal," said one. "Since he gets his money for hauling in
t' slate, it costs him nowt to tak' a big load back on t' lurry; but,
with Redmire bank to clim', it's a terrible loss o' time carting half a
ton up dale."
"You won't be able to buy the half-ton unless you deal with Bell. I think
you'll find he has a contract for all the coal that comes down the line."
They pondered this and another remarked, "Peat's terrible messy stuff and
bad to dry at back end o' year."
"It can be dried," said an old man. "I mind the time when iver a load o'
coals went past Allerby. Aw t' folk clubbed togedder to cut and haul t'
peat from Malton. Browt it doon on stane-boats by the oad green road.
Howiver, I reckon it cost them summat, counting their time"
Kit gave him a paper. "This is what our peat has cost us; I've charged
our labor and what the horses would have earned if we had been paid
for plowing."
They studied the figures, passing the paper around, and then one said,
"But peat costs you nowt. Malton moor is yours and I ken nea ither peat
worth cutting. Mayhappen yan could find some soft trash on the back moor,
but I doot if Osborn would let yan bring it doon."
"Osborn does what his agent says, and it's weel kent Hayes is a friend o'
Bell's," another agreed.
Peter smiled and gave Kit a warning glance. He suspected the agent had a
private understanding that was not to his employer's benefit with Bell;
but this was another matter. Peter had taught his son to concentrate on
the business in hand.
"Weel," he said, "you can have aw t' peat you want and we willunt fratch
if you pay me nowt. There's acres o' good stuff on Malton moor, and the
value o' peat t' labor it costs to cut. Aw t' same, it willunt pay to
send a man or two noo and then. You must work in a gang; ivery man at his
proper job."
"It was done like that in oad days," said one.
Peter looked at Kit, who did not speak, for both knew when enough was
said. Indeed, although he was hardly conscious of it yet, Kit had
something of a leader's talent. For a few minutes the others smoked and
thought. They were independent and suspicious about new plans, but it
was obvious that the best defense against a monopoly was a combine. In
fact, they began to see it was the only defense they had. Then one
turned to Peter.
"If you're for stopping Bell robbing us and starving poor folk at
Allerby, I'm with you."
One after another promised his support, a plan was agreed upon, and Peter
was satisfied when his neighbors went away. They were patient, cautious,
and hard to move; but he knew their obstinacy when they were roused. Now
they had started, they would go on, stubbornly taking a road that was new
to them. Bell, of course, would make a cunning fight, but Peter doubted
if he would win.
"I reckon your plan will work," he said to Kit, with a nod of
satisfaction.
Kit nodded and picking up his hat and some letters went out. As he walked
down the dale the moon rose above a shadowy fell, touching the opposite
hillside with silver light that reached the fields at the bottom farther
on. Tall pikes of wet hay threw dark shadows across a meadow, and he
heard the roar of a swollen beck. There was too much water in the dale,
but Kit knew something might be done to make farming pay in spite of the
weather. Land that had gone sour might be recovered by draining, and a
bank could be built where the river now and then washed away the crops.
Osborn, however, was poor and extravagant, and his agent's talents were
rather applied to raising rents than improving the soil.
Kit stopped when he got near Allerby, where the dale widens and a cluster
of low white houses stands among old trees. The village glimmered in the
moonlight and beyond it rolling country, dotted by dark woods, ran back
to the sea. A beck plunged down the hillside with a muffled roar, and a
building, half in light and half in shadow, occupied the hollow of the
ghyll. Kit, leaning on the bridge, watched the glistening thread of water
that trickled over the new iron wheel, and noted the raw slate slabs that
had been recently built into the mossy wall. A big traction engine,
neatly covered by a tarpaulin, and a trailer lurry stood in front of the
sliding door.
Osborn had spent some money here, for Allerby mill, with its seed and
chemical manure stores, paid him a higher rent than the best of his small
farms. It was obviously well managed by the tenant, and Kit approved.
Modern machines and methods, although expensive, were good and were
needed in the dale. The trouble was, they sometimes gave the man who
could use them power to rob his poorer neighbors. Kit saw that
concentrated power was often dangerous, and since unorganized, individual
effort was no longer profitable, he knew no cure but cooperation.
Although young, he was seldom rash. Enthusiasm is not common in the bleak
northern dales, whose inhabitants are, for the most part, conservative
and slow. Wind and rain had hardened him and he had inherited a reserved
strength and quietness from ancestors who had braved the storms that
raged about Ashness. Yet the north is not always stern, for now and then
the gray sky breaks, and fell and dale shine in dazzling light and melt
with mystic beauty into passing shade. Kit, like his country, varied in
his moods; sometimes he forgot to be practical and his caution vanished,
leaving him romantic and imaginative.
He went on, and as he reached the first of the white houses a girl came
out of a gate and stopped where the moonlight fell across the road. She
had some beauty and her pose was graceful.
"Oh," she exclaimed, with rather exaggerated surprise, "it's Kit! I
suppose you'll take this letter? I was going to the post."
Kit did not know much about young women, but hesitated, because he
doubted if she wanted him to post the letter.
"If you like," he said. "I expect the causeway at the water-splash
will be wet."
She gave him a curious smile. "Oh, well; here's the letter. Jim Nixon had
to help me across the water when I went last night, and I don't suppose
you're afraid of wetting your feet. You are used to it at Ashness."
"Yes," said Kit. "My boots are stronger than yours."
"Canny lad!" she answered, with a mocking laugh. Kit felt
embarrassed, for he thought he saw what she meant. Janet Bell was
something of a coquette.
"I heard people coming down the road not long since," she resumed. "Have
you had a supper party? Tell your father I think he's shabby because he
left me out."
"It wasn't a supper party and there were no women. Three or four
neighbors came in."
"To grumble about the weather or argue about the sheep?"
"They did grumble about the weather," Kit replied.
Janet looked amused. "You're very cautious, my lad; but you needn't take
it for granted I'm always on father's side. Do you think I don't know why
your neighbors came?"
"You don't know altogether."
The moonlight was clear enough to show that Janet colored. "And you think
I stopped you to find out?"
"I don't," said Kit, rather awkwardly. "Still, perhaps it's better that
you shouldn't know."
"Oh," said she, with some emotion, "I can't tell if you mean to be nice
or not. It's the lazy, feckless people who dislike father, because
they're jealous; and they try to make things hard for me. Why should I
suffer because he's cleverer than them?"
"You oughn't to suffer. I really don't think people blame you."
"They do blame me," Janet insisted. "You doubted if you could trust me
just now."
This was true enough to embarrass Kit, but he said, "I didn't see why I
should talk to you about our business; that was all. In fact, I don't
mean to talk about it to anybody."
"Now you're nicer. I didn't like to feel you were taking particular
care not to let me know. Well, of course, father's no friend of
yours and perhaps he'll like you worse by and by. But, after all,
does that matter?"
"Not in a way," said Kit, pretending to be dull. "You have nothing to do
with the dispute and we don't want to quarrel with your father, although
we mean to carry out our plans."
Janet looked rather hard at him and there was some color in her face, but
she forced a smile.
"Oh, well! Good-night! I've stopped you, and expect you want to
get home."
She went back through the gate and Kit resumed his walk, struggling with
an annoyance he felt was illogical. He knew something about Bell's
household and imagined that Janet's life was not smooth. He was sorry for
her, and it was, of course, unjust to blame her for her father's deeds.
All the same, the favor she had sometimes shown him was embarrassing. He
was not a philanderer, but he was young and she had made him feel that he
had played an ungallant part. Jane was a flirt, but, after all, it would
not have cost him much, so to speak, to play up to her. Perhaps he had
acted like a prig. This made him angry, although he knew he had taken the
proper line.
By and by he came to the water-splash, where a beck crossed the road. Its
channel was paved, so that one could drive across, and at the side a
stone causeway had been made for foot passengers. Sometimes, when the
beck was unusually swollen, shallow water covered the stones, and Kit saw
the significance of a statement of Janet's as he noted the width of the
submerged spot. It looked as if Jim Nixon had carried her across. Then
his annoyance vanished and he laughed. Gallant or not, he was satisfied
to carry Janet's letter.
As he went on in the moonlight he began to see that there were some
grounds for his reluctance to indulge the girl. He had thought about
Miss Osborn often since he helped her across the stepping stones. He had
not hesitated then, and although the things were different, to dwell
upon the incident was perhaps rasher than indulging Janet. Miss Osborn
had, no doubt, forgotten, but he had not. The trouble was, he could not
forget; his imagination pictured her vividly, sitting beneath the alders
talking to him.
With something of an effort Kit pulled himself up. He was a small
farmer's son and the Osborns were important people. He knew Osborn's
family pride, which he thought his daughter had inherited. In Osborn, it
was marked by arrogance; in the girl by a gracious, half-stately calm.
For all that, the pride was there, and Kit, resolving that he would not
be a fool, went to the post office and put Janet's letter in the box.