whilst I went in search of some honest Radicals, to whom Saxton had
given me letters of introduction. They were chiefly working men; some
of them were in pretty good circumstances, being master weavers. I soon
found them, and they took myself and fellow travellers to a decent
inn, where we got refreshments, and spent a very agreeable evening. In
the morning, when our bill was called for, there was no charge against
me, the kind friends who were with us the night before having settled
everything which stood to my account.
[Sidenote: _TO LONDON_]
“We set off from Macclesfield about six o’clock on a lovely morning,
and soon were in a finely variegated and wooded country, as any one
will allow who has travelled betwixt Macclesfield and Leek. After
walking some four or five miles we began to talk about breakfast, and
my male companion said he would have cheese and bread and ale, whilst
I anticipated a good breakfast of tea, with couple of eggs, if they
were to be had. Soon after the man stopped, and his wife said as we
went forward, she was glad I preferred tea for breakfast. I asked her
why, and she said her husband was a very hard-working man, and a good
husband on the whole, but he was a little too greedy, and expected
her to fare as he did on the road, instead of letting her have a few
indulgences, such as tea and coffee. It was not from want of money,
she said, for he had enough with him, nor was it want of kindness to
her—it was over-carefulness alone which made him so. But now, as I was
for having tea, he would hardly for shame deny her having some also.
I promised, if it was necessary, to put a word in for her, and she
thanked me. Having travelled a little further we came to a neat little
tap-house, on the descent of a valley, where the cool shadow of trees
made the air grateful and refreshing, and a tiny wimpling rill ran like
melted pearls over dark gravel, beneath young-leafed hazels, and by
green-swarded margins. Here we agreed to stop and take what the house
afforded. The smart-handed landlady soon placed a nice repast of tea,
bread-and-butter, and a couple of eggs before me, whilst a jug of ale,
with bread and cheese, was presented to my fellow-travellers. The woman
said she could not eat, and I asked her to come and join me at tea,
adding very likely the cost would be little more for tea than for the
breakfast they had before them. On hearing this opinion, her husband
told her to get some tea, and then with great pleasure the woman came
to my table and made a hearty breakfast.
“We rested awhile at this pleasant little hostel; the man and I (I
might as well call him John at once) each smoked our pipe, with the
window thrown up, and the cool breeze wafting around us. It was
delicious to breakfast as we had done, and then to repose after a
fine, health-creating morning’s walk. John, however, I soon found, had
not many conversational matters at his command. He was a plain honest
bricksetter; knew something of the value of work in his line, could
make out an estimate of the expense of buildings and such things,
and those were the most of what he understood. Not so his wife:
she was a sensible, well-informed woman for her station, and it was
evident that on most subjects (except the purse-keeping) she was his
superior, and exercised much influence over him. She had been, as she
afterwards informed me, a servant at an inn at Loughborough, where
the young bricksetter, then on tramp, fell in love with and married
her. They went down to Preston to settle amongst his friends; he was
very wild and reckless, and one day he fell from some scaffolding and
was shockingly maimed, so that he could never be so stout again as he
had been. Latterly he had been more steady, and had saved a trifle of
money, and as they had no children she had prevailed on him to return
with her and live amongst her relations, and that was the cause of
their journey.
“At Leek we rested again during an hour, took some refreshment, and
then resumed our journey towards Ashbourne. In passing through the
streets of Leek we noticed a number of weavers at their looms, and
obtained permission to go into the weaving places to see them. The
rooms where they worked were on the upper floors of the houses;
they were in general very clean; the work was all in the silk
small-ware line, and many of the weavers were young girls—some of them
good-looking, most of them very neatly attired, and many with costly
combs, earrings, and other ornaments of value, showing that they earned
a sufficiency of wages, and had imbibed a taste for the refinements
of dress. The sight of these young females, sitting at their elegant
employment, producing rich borderings and trimmings, in good,
well-aired, and well-finished apartments—some of them approached by
stairs with carpets and oilcloths on them—the girls also being dressed
in a style which two hundred years before would have been deemed rich
for a squire’s daughter, was to me very gratifying; whilst to my
travelling companions it was equally surprising, and they expressed
their feelings by sundry exclamations of astonishment.
“The afternoon was very hot, and we walked slowly—that is, I and the
woman did—for poor John was sadly hobbled with his sore feet, and we
had to keep sitting down and waiting on the road for him to come up.
At length we gave him an hour’s respite by stopping at a public-house
about four miles from Ashbourne. It was almost dark when we entered
that very clean and pleasant little town. At the first inn we went into
we found accommodation, and, after partaking a good warm supper, with
some hearty draughts of old ale and pipes for dessert, we sought that
repose which had now become necessary.
“The next morning we were up again early and continued my plan of
travelling—namely, to walk a good stretch before breakfast. We sat
down after walking about six miles: our meal was as good as we could
wish—coffee and eggs for the woman and myself, and ale, cheese,
and bread for friend John. We were now in a right farming country
where large stacks, barns, and cattle-sheds were quite common on the
roadsides. The roads were broad and in good condition, and there were
very often wide slips of good land on each side, apparently much
trodden by cattle. Occasionally we came to a neat, homely-looking
cottage, with perhaps a large garden and a potato-ground attached,
and with rose shrubs and honey-bine clustering around the door. These
were specimens of our real English homes; there was no mistaking them;
in no other country do such exist, and he or she who leaves this land
expecting to meet with like homes in foreign ones, will be miserably
disappointed. In England alone is the term ‘home,’ with all its
domestic comforts and associations, properly understood. May it long
continue the home of the brave, and eventually become the home of the
really free!
[Sidenote: “_ENGLAND, MY ENGLAND_”]
“We stopped but a short time at Derby; I visited, however, the grave
of Jeremiah Brandreth, in St. Werburgh’s churchyard, and paid to the
remains of that deluded victim a tribute of heartfelt emotion. I then
joined my comrades and we hastened on, as well as John’s feet would
allow him, towards Shardlow. There he got into a cart, and the female
and I walked on, promising to wait at Kegworth till the cart arrived.
Some rain had fallen a few days before; the Trent had been flooded, and
of all the verdant pastures I had ever beheld, none have surpassed the
rich, vivid green of the meadows between Shardlow and Kegworth. It was
refreshing to look upon them, and as the sweet air came across them,
cooling one’s dewy brows, one almost felt tempted to stop and seek an
abiding-place in the delicious valley.
“During our walk we had a very agreeable chat; I entered into some
particulars of my early life and into matters always interesting to
females, namely, the histories of some tender attachments which I had
formed, but which had lapsed, either through my own indifference,
or, as I was pleased to suppose, the faithlessness of the objects I
loved. This seemed to touch a tender chord in my companion, she was
all attention, and when I paused, she put questions which compelled
me to resume my narrative. I spoke of the noble and exalted pleasures
of true affection, and pictured the sickening pangs of love betrayed,
and the unhappiness which must eventually haunt the betrayer, whether
man or woman. I repeated some verses of poetry, which heightened
the picture, and at last, on looking aside, I found that her cheeks
were glistening with tears. She now became more communicative, and
informed me that she had somewhat to accuse herself of with respect
to a young man, the first indeed whose addresses she had encouraged:
that she now often thought she behaved coldly towards him without any
just cause, and that, in consequence, the lad enlisted and joined his
regiment before his friends knew what had become of him; that she soon
afterwards was married, and he was killed in battle. Weeping freely,
she added that at times she accused herself of having been the cause
of his death. I consoled her as well as I could by the reflection that
her conduct appeared to have risen more from youthful carelessness than
want of feeling. She said he was an only child, and his mother was
still living, and she thought if she could get settled down beside the
old woman it would afford her some consolation to assist her and be
a child to her in her old age. I approved of this with all my heart;
and now, being at Kegworth, we stepped into a public-house and awaited
the arrival of the cart, which soon came up, and after a cup or two of
ale betwixt John and myself, and a whiff of tobacco, we set forward,
and a short journey through a pleasant neighbourhood brought us to
Loughborough.
[Sidenote: _SENTIMENT_]
“Nothing would satisfy my fellow travellers but my accompanying them to
the house of the old folks, as they called them. I was not much averse
to going with them, especially as I knew that I must stop somewhere
in the town all night. I accordingly accompanied them along several
streets and turnings, until we were in a humble, but decent-looking
thoroughfare, when, knocking at the door, the woman in a whisper told
me her parents lived there. A tall, venerable-looking dame opened the
door, and in a moment our female traveller was locked in her arms. A
cheerful, clear-complexioned old man at the same time got up from his
chair and shook John heartily by the hand, and on John mentioning me
as a follow traveller, he gave me a like frank reception. He then
embraced his daughter, and when the first emotions of tenderness were
over, we sat down to a very comfortable but homely refection, and the
family party became quite cheerful and communicative. Meantime the news
had got abroad amongst the neighbours, several came in, and in a short
time we were joined by a fine-looking girl, a younger daughter of the
old folks, who had been at work in one of the manufactories. In short,
we had a joyful family and neighbourly meeting; liquor was sent for, a
young fellow tuned up his fiddle, and the old couple led off a dance,
which was followed by others; liquor was brought in abundance, and the
hours flew uncounted.
“John and I and the old man were seated in a corner smoking and
conversing, when I observed the younger sister come in somewhat
fluttered. She took the old mother and her sister aside, and by the
expression of their countenances and the motion of her hands, I
perceived that something troublesome and mysterious had occurred. In
fact, she was explaining to them, as I afterwards learned, that in
going to the public-house for more liquor she had to pass a stage-coach
which was stopped, and that on looking up she saw a young soldier
getting off the coach, with his knapsack slung on one shoulder and a
foraging-cap pulled over his face, but she saw enough to convince her
that he was Robert—the same who once courted her sister and who they
had heard was killed in battle. This news, as may be imagined, was soon
known in the house, and caused a great sensation, especially amongst
the women. We had just learned the cause of their whisperings, when the
door opened and a young fellow, pale, slender, and well formed, wearing
regimentals and an undress cap, and with a knapsack properly adjusted,
stepped respectfully into the room and, seeing the old woman, he put
out his hand and took hers and spoke to her affectionately, calling her
mother. She gazed a moment on his face, as if incredulous of what she
beheld. The company had drawn in a half circle at a distance around
them; John, myself and the old man kept our seats, the younger sister
stood beside her mother, and the married one was on a low seat behind
her.
[Sidenote: _A DRAMATIC SITUATION_]
“‘I scarcely know what to say to you, Robert,’ said the old woman. ‘I
am glad to see you have escaped death, for your mother’s sake, but I
almost wish you had not called here to-night.’
“‘And why not, mother? my _other_ mother,’ he said, trying to force
a smile. ‘Why not call at a house where I left friends, and mayhap a
little of something more than friendship?’
“‘Nothing beyond friendship now, Robert,’ said the mother, endeavouring
to appear cool.
“‘Why, where is Margaret?’ he said; ‘I hope nothing has befallen her?’
“‘Margaret is your friend,’ said the old woman, ‘but she is nothing
more now. Yonder sits her husband,’ pointing to John.
“John advanced towards the young man and took his hand, and, looking
towards Margaret, said he believed she had been his wife about two
years.
“The soldier trembled, and staggered to a seat.
“Margaret got up and gave her hand to the young soldier, saying she
welcomed him home with all the regard of a sister. She was now married,
as he had heard, and was about to settle in Loughborough, and if he
had never returned, his old mother should not have wanted the tender
offices of a child whilst she lived.
“‘Thank you, Margaret,’ he said; ‘that is some consolation; you
wouldn’t neglect my old mother, I know.’ He put his hand over his eyes
and burst into tears.
“‘I would not, Robert,’ she said, ‘and if in former times I did not
value you as perhaps you deserved, I was willing to make the only
atonement I could by cheering the drooping years of your supposed
childless parent.’
“‘That is very good!’ ‘very fair on both sides!’ ‘very handsome!’ said
a number of voices. Neither of the interested parties spoke, they were
both deeply affected.
“The old woman and youngest daughter then conducted Margaret into
another room. The old man shook hands with the soldier and endeavoured
to cheer him. Meantime, information had been conveyed to Robert’s
mother, and she now entered the room, shaking and leaning on a stick.
The meeting was most tender; it was such as could only take place
betwixt a parent and child equally affectionate. The dancing had at
first been given up; a warm, substantial supper was in a short time
spread on the board; Robert and his mother took some of the refreshment
and then went home. Margaret did not make her appearance. Shortly after
supper I was conducted to lodgings at an inn, and spent most of the
night in confused dreams of the strange scenes which, like those of a
romance, had passed before me.
[Sidenote: _MARGARET WANTED BOTH_]
“The following morning I breakfasted at the old folks’, according to
promise. I asked not any question, nor did I hear anything further.
Margaret’s eyes appeared as if she had been weeping. John was attentive
to her, and she seemed as if she valued his attentions, but could not
entirely cast the weight from her heart. I left the family, to pursue
my way, and John accompanied me as far as Quorn, where we parted, and I
never saw him afterwards.
“I merely walked through Mountsorrel, and leaving Rothley on my right,
where many Knights Templars lie interred, I pushed on to Leicester,
where, having spent the remainder of the day in looking at various
antiquities, particularly the chamber in which Richard III. slept on
the night previous to the battle of Bosworth, and the bridge over
which his dead body was thrown on its return, I took up my abode for
the night at a respectable-looking little pot-house. Here I met with
excellent accommodation, and enjoyed the lively conversation of some
stocking-weavers, who, when they learned from whence I came and the
share I had borne in Lancashire politics, would almost have carried me
in their arms.
“The following morning I pursued my journey, and passing through a
fine country, consisting of sheep pastures and arable land, I dined at
Market Harborough, and in the afternoon went on to Northampton.
[Sidenote: _GOOD COMPANY_]
“I scarcely knew where to apply for lodgings; there were so many
snug-looking public-houses that I was spoiled with choice. At length I
entered one of the said neat-looking places and asked a decent elderly
woman if I could have lodgings there. She frankly said at once that
I could not, they were full of soldiers; and, in fact, I had seen a
large number on parade as I came through the town. I asked if she
could direct me to a place, and she pointed to a respectable-looking
house a little higher in the street. I went there, but received the
same reply; they were ‘full of soldiers,’ and I learned that the
latter were but just come into the town and were on their march to
Liverpool, for Ireland. I now was directed to a public-house where
coachmen and guards stopped, and where many travellers were in the
habit of resting. It was getting late and almost dark, and I determined
not to be shuffled out of this next place by any pretence. I entered
a rather handsome bar parlour, where a numerous company was sitting,
apparently farmers, who were taking their pipes and glass, after the
fair or market. I asked the landlady, a smart but unassuming woman,
if I could have a bed for the night. From the moment I entered she had
been eyeing me over, and seeing, as I suppose, my shoes all dust, and
myself, a brown, and not a very polished-looking customer, she said
she was very sorry, but there was not a bed to spare in the house,
so many soldiers had brought billets, they were quite full. I drew
my hand across my brows, looked at my feet, rather feelingly, and
requesting she would serve me with a pint of ale, I sat down. The ale
was brought, and I gave it a hearty pull, and then asked for a pipe and
tobacco, which were placed before me. My next order was for something
to eat, intimating that a chop or a steak, with a hot potato, would be
preferred. Meantime, I drank up my ale and called for another pint,
and sat smoking and chatting with the farmers quite in a comfortable
way. When they heard I came from Lancashire they made many inquiries
as to late events and present prospects, and I told them all they
required so far as my information went, and as candidly and fairly as
my judgment enabled me, and we became very agreeable company. When my
supper was brought in I dispatched it with a hearty relish, and then,
having ordered some brandy and water, I called the landlady to receive
my shot, observing that it was time I should look out for lodgings—for
I wished to try what fair means would do first. ‘Oh!’ she said, ‘make
yourself comfortable, young man; you seem to be very good company, and
we’ll make you a bed somehow or other, you shall see.’ ‘Another glass,
sir, did you say?’ asked the maid, who stood at her mistress’s elbow.
I nodded assent, and thus got installed for the night, and had a most
excellent lodging.
“I have been the more circumstantial in narrating this transaction,
inasmuch as it contains a useful intimation to foot travellers. I have
never since, save on two occasions, tried the experiment of getting
lodgings at a public-house in the way I put the question on this night,
and on those occasions I took the plan more from curiosity than any
other motive. A foot traveller, if he is really desirous to obtain
lodgings, should never stand asking about them. He should walk into
a good room—never into the common tap-room—put his dusty feet under
a table, ring the bell pretty smartly, and order something to eat
and drink, and not speak in the humblest of tones. He will be served
quickly and respectfully—that is, if those two things happen to be
understood at the house. After his repast he should take his pipe or
cigar if he be a smoker, and whether he be or not, he should drink,
chat, and make himself quite at ease until bed-time, when all he has
to do will be to call the chambermaid and ask her to light him to
bed. That will be done as a matter of course, and he will probably
have saved himself a tramp round the town in search of lodgings, and
probably, after all, the making of his own bed under a manger or in a
hay-loft.
“At six o’clock the following morning, the weather still delightful,
I left Northampton. With feelings of veneration I stopped to admire
the fine old cross, as it is called, erected on the spot where the
body of Eleanor, Queen of Edward I., rested on its way to London. Near
this place, as I was informed by a finger-post, the road to Needwood
Forest diverged, and I longed for an opportunity to range through these
interesting haunts of our English yeomen of old, but my imaginative
wanderings were soon checked by the information which a countryman gave
me, that the forest lands were nearly all enclosed.
[Sidenote: _REMINISCENCE_]
“At a little quiet, retired public-house on the Northampton side of
Stoke Goldington I stopped for breakfast. I chose to halt here for two
reasons: the first, because I wished to pay my respects to a worthy old
couple, if they were still living, and the second, because I had walked
about eleven miles, and was hungry. When, in my nineteenth year, I was
absconding from a ship at London, weary, exhausted, and anxious lest
I should be pressed, I called at nightfall at this public-house, then
kept by a decent elderly man and his wife with several children. I was
in my sailor’s dress, with but little money in my pocket, and I told
the good folks my situation. They could not find me a bed in the house,
but they took pity on me, and shook me down some good clean straw in an
out-building, where, with the ducks for my companions in one corner,
and the fowls in the other, I spent a night of sleep that might have
blessed a king. The kind people also gave me a breakfast of milk and
bread in the morning, and when very gratefully and willingly I offered
payment, they refused to receive anything. I could not therefore pass
their door without calling to thank them, but I found them not there;
they were both, I believe, dead, and the people now at the house knew
nothing about the circumstance which had made me a debtor to their
predecessors.