STARTING IN LIFE
AT the tender age of eight I was sent to work on a farm belonging to
Joseph Greenham. For the princely sum of one shilling a week I had to
mind sheep and pull up turnips in all winds and weathers, starting at
six o'clock in the morning. Very often I was out in the pouring rain all
day and would go home very wet, and then my good mother had something to
do to dry, not only my wet clothes, but also those of my four brothers.
And I know it took her half the night to mend and tidy all our clothes.
As soon as I was able I had to go driving plough, for in those days a
man would not think of ploughing without a boy to drive the horses. Now
it was my sad fate to be placed under the hands of the most complete
vagabond that it was possible for the spirit of all evil to beget. I
cannot here tell--and if I could, nobody would credit--the dreadful
usage which I received from his hands.
Although Mr. Greenham was my employer, yet to all intents and purposes
Jim the ploughman was my master. I was completely in his hands and under
his control, and it was in his power to do what he thought fit. There
was a public-house in our village kept by a widow, whose name, curiously
enough, was Temperance Patch. Jim was one of the best customers that
Temperance Patch had. He spent all the money he could earn, beg or
steal, in her house, and when he had no cash, he did not scruple to
steal his employer's hay, corn, straw, eggs, fowls and potatoes; in fact
everything portable was carried away to the _New Inn_. I once thought it
my duty to report to Mr. Greenham that Jim had carried away a large
bundle of hay, and when Mr. Greenham taxed him with theft, he cursed and
swore, and said that I was a wicked young liar. After this, until I was
thirteen years of age, my life was not worth the living; for I was
thrashed and kicked and beaten most unmercifully by this brute. So I
learned that a still tongue makes a wise head, and never once again did
I say anything to any one, not even my mother, about the cruel treatment
which it was my lot to receive. Jim used to make me harness the horses
long before I was tall enough to reach their heads, and beat and kick me
if I could not do it quickly enough for his liking; and I used to wonder
every day and all day, and ask myself, "Why was I born?" Sometimes Jim
would lie down under the hedge and go to sleep, making me plough the
ground the while; and although I was but a child and scarcely tall
enough to reach the plough handles, yet if he woke up and found any bad
ploughing he would beat me to his heart's content. But with it all, he
never could get me to tell the abominable lies that he would put in my
mouth to tell Mr. Greenham so as to save him a scolding when he had been
neglecting his work. I had learnt from Mr. Cornwall and also from my
father that lying lips are an abomination to the Lord, and this feeling
was so strong within me that I could never corrupt my conscience and
degrade myself to repeat Jim's falsehoods, and I came in for many
castigations accordingly.
On one occasion Mr. Greenham took Jim and me to the cellar, to lime some
wheat before it was sown. While we were there Mr. Greenham was called
away, and directly his back was turned Jim caught up a dipper, as if he
had not another moment to live, drew some cider and drank it greedily
down; then he drew some more and offered it to me, but I refused. With
an oath he pressed the edge of the dipper against my lips until they
bled with the pressure; at the same time he held me by my hair, in order
as he thought to pour the stolen liquid down my throat; but Jim did not
succeed in his purpose, so he drank it himself and threatened, using
fearful imprecations, that if I ever said a word about it he would kill
me on the spot. I don't think I should ever have said anything about it,
but thieves are generally great fools. Jim in his greedy haste did not
turn the tap back as it was before, so that there were a few drops on
the pavements. The dipper, also, was wet and smelled of cider. So Mr.
Greenham accused him, but Jim began to call God to witness that he was
as innocent as a dove, and he had the impudence to refer to me to prove
his honesty. The master asked me and I told him the simple truth,
knowing full well that I should catch it soon. As soon as Jim's guilt
was discovered beyond dispute, he began to shed crocodile tears, and to
lament and beg pardon in such a humble and seemingly contrite manner
that the master's eyes were blinded, and he forgave him there and then.
The next day we went into a field to plough, and now my punishment
began. Jim belaboured me with the horsewhip as long as he felt disposed.
He knocked me down and tried to jerk the breath out of my body. Then he
wrenched my mouth open with a large nail and filled it with dirt. He
allowed me to get on my legs again and resume ploughing for a time, but
he soon began on me again. He struck me down and kicked me, and danced
upon me, till I felt very faint and ill with loss of blood. I really
thought my end had come, and I felt very glad. It may seem rather
paradoxical, but that moment was the happiest moment of my life. I
thought of dear Miss Brown, and her teachings: "Blessed are they that
mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the pure in heart, for
they shall see God. Blessed are they which are persecuted for
righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven." All these and
other precepts flashed into my mind, for I knew it was out of envy that
I was so cruelly used. But somehow I refused to die at his bidding, so
Jim waited for another time to try and send me out of the world as if by
accident.
One of the horses was exceedingly ticklish when touched in a certain way
upon its backbone, and could not bear to be touched on this particular
spot with a curry comb, and sometimes when so irritated would let fly
with both heels at once. So on the morning following the last punishment
Jim set me to clean some portion of the harness, and made me stand in a
certain position directly behind the ticklish horse. There I worked away
without any idea that mischief was brewing. Jim, however, had laid all
his plans, and if they had succeeded and I had been killed, he would
have been found blameless. There was an open window to the stable
exactly opposite and close to the ticklish horse, so that a man outside,
by standing on a ledge of the wall, could put his hand through and touch
the horse's back. I heard the horse make a noise, and on looking up saw
Jim's head outside the window, and his hand upon the horse's back. At
the same moment the horse let fly, and one of his heels came against my
left side and sent me dashing against the wall. I knew no more until I
found myself in bed with my mother crying and washing the blood from my
hair and face, and felt a great pain in my hip, where the horse's hoof
struck. There was also a big scar on my head where I was knocked against
the wall. I can only account for not having been finished off that time
by the fact that the horse did not kick when it was first touched, but
began to prance about, which arrested my attention and I moved close to
his heels. If I had been a little further off his heels would have
struck my head or the upper part of my body and I should not have been
here to write.
After lying in bed about a week, where I cogitated and wondered for what
earthly purpose I was born, I had to go back under this fiend again.
Every other place in the parish was filled and my parents could not
afford to keep me in idleness, so there was nothing for it, but to go
back to work again as soon as possible.
A few days after this the very same horse got restive in a field where
we were and turned over a cartload of manure upon poor Jim. I thought he
was killed, in fact for a moment I hoped he was killed. But immediately
I would have given worlds to have called back the thought. Miss Brown's
words came upon me, quick as a lightning flash, "Create in me a clean
heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me." Other of her precepts
came strongly into my mind, and I shook with fear, for I had learned
that to wish a man dead amounted to the same thing as killing him.
Therefore, I felt that I had committed a most grievous sin, and I cannot
express the joy I felt when I saw Jim crawl out from under the cart
unhurt. He began to curse and swear at the horse and me, saying it was
all my fault, whereas it was his own fault, as in harnessing the horse
he had negligently left the buckle of a strap under the cartsaddle, so
that the buckle rested exactly upon the backbone of the horse and caused
him to be restive.
I was under Jim's control for five years--years of my childhood, which I
ought to be able to say were the happiest of my life. But they were just
the reverse, and if I stated all that I suffered at his hands, no sane
person would believe that such things could have been done with
impunity.
Not many years ago Mrs. Beecher Stowe shocked the refined feelings of
the civilized world with her graphic account of the sufferings of the
negro slaves in the United States of America. I cannot write my history
in the shape and manner of a novel, with its parts and counter-parts,
but what I have written are some of the main facts and features of my
boyhood life. Some people, those who have passed smoothly through their
childhood, and have scarcely known sorrow, may ask whether it is
possible that such things could have been done in England? My answer to
this is, yes. It was not the parents, but the age that was to blame, as
may be learnt from some of the works of Charles Dickens, and other
writers who have given pictures of the period. I know that my brothers
could write a parallel history, and they were not under the hands of so
complete a blackguard as it fell to my lot to be under.
When the season for ploughing was over I used to get a few weeks' relief
from the hands of my tormentor. During such times I was sent into the
fields minding sheep. These were days of pleasure and happiness. I had
to work hard, but toil was a pleasure as long as I had no one to abuse
and ill-use me. I was the happy possessor of a tattered Testament, and I
used to read from its torn pages. It began at the words, "Let not your
heart be troubled," and ended with the twenty-seventh chapter of the
Acts. I read the first and last chapters more than all the rest, and
really knew them all, every word.
Now dear old Mr. Cornwall used to come out in the fields and find me out
and ask me questions about Scripture history, and I believe I used to
answer him to his satisfaction for he called me a good boy. As far as I
know it was the first time I had been called a good boy except by my
mother, and I fancy I grew an inch taller all at once and that his
calling me a good boy had a very strong influence in making me try to
be good; but whenever he talked to me my conscience pricked me relative
to old George Pant's wig. I never could forgive myself for stealing it,
and would have confessed to Mr. Cornwall concerning it, but I thought he
would tell my father, and I did not want an extra thrashing.
I used to leave work at six o'clock, and Mr. Cornwall told me that if I
would come to the parsonage and pull up the weeds in his garden path he
would give me a shilling. The idea of having a whole shilling, all in a
lump, frightened me. I had never possessed a coin of the realm above the
value of a halfpenny, and such halfpennies were, like angels' visits,
few and far between, for the wages which I earned had to go for my
maintainance. So I went every evening to accomplish the work, and was
very particular to do it well, so that nothing should prevent the free
and unconditional receipt of the shilling. I had been to Crewkerne a few
weeks previously and had seen a book in the printseller's window; it was
_Pinnock's Catechism on Astronomy_. My heart had been aching to obtain
that book, but the price was ninepence, and I knew that if I saved up
those very scarce halfpennies it would be years before I got ninepence,
and so I thought I should never get the book. But now a new light had
unexpectedly fallen upon the subject. My dream of possessing "Pinnock"
would now be realized, and that much sooner than I ever had imagined. I
should now be able to run over to Crewkerne and buy the book and have
threepence change. Therefore I finished my task, and swept and cleaned
up all the weeds, and with a joyous heart I presented myself at the
parsonage door for my promised shilling. "Put not thy trust in Princes"
is a trite saying, but oh, how deeply and grievously I realized its
truth, for I never received that shilling. Mr. Cornwall was laid up with
a fit of gout, and what with the twinges of the malady and the business
of his curacy, I suppose he had forgotten me.
When Mr. Cornwall was upon his feet again I was too shy to ask him for
the shilling and so it was passed by, and I was compelled to go without
the pleasure of reading "Pinnock" for several years. About two years
after this Mr. Cornwall came out to see me in the fields. I had gone to
another field a mile away, but had left my jacket and some tools and my
fragment of a Testament, all rolled up together in a corner of the hedge
which I had been in the habit of using as a dining-room. So the parson
thought he would be inquisitive. He opened my jacket and found an
assortment of things that I had cut out of sticks and turnips. There
were ships, soldiers, sailors, anything and everything, and I afterwards
heard him tell father that he had fairly roared with laughter on finding
them.
A few days after this I saw the dear old face coming up the side of the
hill where I was with the sheep. He was approaching very slowly; he
never could walk very fast across the fields, because Miss Brown always
would insist on his wearing a pair of her old clogs that he shouldn't
catch cold, "bless your heart." When he came up to me he began to ask me
questions and whether I found time to read the Bible. So by degrees he
got me to show him my fragment of a Testament. He turned over the
leaves and returned it to me. Then he pulled out from his pocket a brand
new Bible. It was a reference Bible, such a book as could not be bought
at that time for less than seven or eight shillings. Mr. Cornwall gave
it to me and told me to read, mark, learn, etc. In the fly leaf he had
written:--"Presented to Roger Langdon, for his good conduct at the
Sunday school, by the Rev. P. M. S. Cornwall."
I cannot describe my feelings on that occasion. I believe I laughed and
cried. I kept that Bible, and carried it about with me wherever I went;
until, a few days before I was married, it was stolen from my lodgings
in Bristol.