IN NORFOLK
"No one knows what capacities they have for doing and suffering
till the occasion comes. When water is ice, we have no idea what
latent heat is in it."
* * * * *
"Life--all things here are but beginnings."
I was sixteen years and five months old, when I left home to go to
Downham Market, and take my place among the workers of the world. The
thought pleased me. I was tired of being a mere looker-on at life's
great game, and wanted my share in it. It was on the fourth of
September, A.D. 1847, and my father was to go as far as Hull with me.
There he would see me on board a little steamer sailing down the Wash
to Lynn Regis, from which place a carriage would carry me the few
miles inland to Downham Market.
I had put on long dresses that morning, and coiled my hair in a knot
under my bonnet, and looked quite eighteen; and I think Father was
proud of me. I certainly was very proud of Father's company; not
entirely because of his beautiful countenance, I valued far more, that
air of distinction which never left him, and to which every one
deferred. We had a pleasant journey to Hull, where we arrived soon
after noon. I had wondered why this way to Downham Market had been
chosen for me, but as soon as we reached Hull, I knew why. It was a
large seaport, excepting London and Liverpool, the largest in England;
and Father wanted me to see the ancient town, and its wonderful
docks.
We went to an hotel and had lunch, and then to the Queen's and Humber
docks, and I got my first glimpse of what a great commercial city must
be on its water side. I heard all the languages of Northern Europe on
those great walls. I saw woolpacks from Germany; hides, hemp and
tallow from Russia; corn from Dantzic, and other Baltic ports; and
strange _thin_ bars of iron from Sweden. Father told me this metal
would all go to Sheffield to be made into steel. On the Humber dock I
saw great bales of cotton and woolen cloth from Manchester and the
West Riding of Yorkshire; and other bales of lace and net, from
Nottingham. They were going to France and Germany, and all over
Northern Europe.
After the docks, we went to the famous Trinity House, a very rich and
powerful guild, that supports disabled seamen of the merchant service
and their widows, and has been doing this good work for nearly five
hundred years. For it is not only wealthy in bequeathed property, but
receives a shilling a month from the wages of all seamen leaving the
port. We went through the wonderful old place, and were told there
were nearly one hundred inmates, and nearly one thousand outside
pensioners. The whole place was as clean and neat as the decks of a
man-of-war and every apartment, even the council room, was strewn with
fresh green rushes, after the fashion of the days of its erection.
I noticed in the entrance hall a Greenland kayak hung from the
ceiling. It was picked up at sea with a man in it in A.D. 1613. The
man refused to eat, and died in a few days; but the figure in the
kayak wears his clothes, et cetera. I made some remark to Father
afterwards about Hull sailors being in such a latitude at that date,
and he said "they were commonly there then, and indeed were famous
whalers as early as A.D. 1590."
"Are they whalers now?" I asked.
"They are not extinct as whalers even now, though they are fast
passing away. Why, Milly," he added, "it was the whaler _Isabella_,
Captain Humphries, from the port of Hull, that found and saved Sir
John Ross and his company of Arctic explorers, after they had been
shut up in the ice for four years. He brought them home with him to
Hull, and Hull gave them a grand triumph, opened their hearts and
homes to them, and the whole nation went into rejoicing. You were only
two years old then, Milly, and do not remember, but I do. They had
won nothing; they had lost every thing, but they had _endured
cheerfully_ till their deliverance came; and _endurance_ is _victory_.
Don't forget that, Milly."
We visited the Charter House next, and saw many curious things, but I
have forgotten them. I saw too much, and Hull remains in my memory
like an amazing dream of masts a-rake, intertangled rigging, black
barges, ponderous black hulls floating silently past, as if they had
no weight. Influences from times long past, and places far off, found
their way unerringly to me. The streets and the gray afternoon seemed
unreal--like a dream all floated away.
I have a far clearer memory of the dinner we had on our return to the
hotel. In my long life, I am sure there are not a dozen dinners I
recollect as accurately as this one. Yet it was a very simple
meal--just hare soup, and roast duck, and green peas. My father also
had celery and cheese, and a glass of port wine, and I had two small
raspberry tartlets. But I have that dinner over again today as I
write, have it in the same little dingy parlor, with its two open
windows. I hear the noise of the streets; I see the picture of
Victoria above the chimney piece, and the colored, fancifully cut
tissue papers, screening the empty grate; I am sitting at the neatly
set table, with its daisy pattern damask cloth and napkins, its
old-fashioned knives and forks, and queer-shaped drinking-glasses,
and cruet stand. I have never happened to taste hare soup since
that day, but I can taste it now. It was a well-cooked meal, eaten
with smiles and pleasant conversation and little happy glances at each
other. It is dinner number one in my book of memory, though there
were neither flowers nor finger bowls on the table. Indeed I do not
remember having ever seen a finger bowl at this time and I am not
sure, but what I should have considered them as an unpleasant,
unmannerly introduction.
Presently we heard a church clock strike, and Father took out his
watch and looked at me. "It is time we were going, Milly," he said
cheerfully and I rose and put on my bonnet and gloves. At the wharf we
found all in confusion, and _The Queen of the Wash_ ready to sail.
There was only time for Father to see me safely on board; then with a
few cheerful words and a smiling face he put me in God's care, and
bid me good-bye. I watched him as long as I could see his tall,
straight figure among the moving crowd, but he never looked back. I
should have been astonished if he had. It was always onward and upward
and forward with Father; there was no looking back in his nature, and
his physical attitude generally illustrated the feelings and desires
of the inner man.
I went at once to my cabin, and being thoroughly weary with my day's
travel and sightseeing I fell asleep, and did not awaken until a woman
roused me with the information, that we were near Lynn Regis. It was
barely light when I stepped on to the pier, and the ancient place
seemed to be fast asleep. No one was in sight, and I asked the captain
to send a boy to bring me a carriage. He did so, and I was shortly at
The Cross Keys, a hotel standing in the Tuesday Market Place; but
feeling still tired and only half-awake I asked for a bedroom, and
slept until ten o'clock. This day I had a sense of the most absolute
freedom. I could do as I liked; there was no one to obey, and no one
to please but myself, and sleep appeared to me at that hour, the most
desirable of luxuries. But when I awoke at ten, I was satisfied and
fully refreshed, and I dressed myself prettily, and went down stairs
and ordered breakfast. After it, I made inquiries about reaching
Downham Market, and found there was a kind of stage running between
Lynn Regis and Downham Market. The next would leave at noon, which
would hurry me, and the last one at three o'clock, and this I resolved
to take. For it seemed a great waste of opportunity, not to see
something of the old town, when I had the day at my disposal.
I was tired of ships and of water, and wandered up the High Street
looking at the shops, and when I came upon a church in Black Goose
Street with the door standing open, I went inside. It contained
nothing attractive and I was about to leave the building, when an old
gentleman led me back to make me notice its three aisles, and the rich
and peculiar tracery of the windows and clerestory, and many other
things of that kind. But I was not much interested, until he showed me
a slab in the pavement, "In memoriam of Thomas Hollingsworth, an
eminent bookseller, a man of strictest integrity in his dealings, and
much esteemed by gentlemen of taste, for the neatness and elegance of
his bindings."
At this point I remember asking my guide if that inscription was good
grammar, adding it does not sound right to me, but then I do not
understand grammar.
"Do you know what it means?" he asked sharply.
"Oh, yes!" I answered.
"Then it's good grammar," he said decisively.
This remark about grammar, however, brought on me a little lecture
concerning a Dominican friar called Galfridus Grammaticus, who lived
in Lynn Regis, and compiled and printed the first English and Latin
dictionary; and this learned monk introduced another, who may have a
rather general interest at this date--Nicholas of Lynn, a Carmelite
monk, who in A.D. 1330 sailed to the most northern land in the
world--the first Polar expedition on record. Friar Nicholas says, that
at the Pole he discovered four indraughts of the ocean, from the four
opposite quarters of the world; and I have had good reason during the
last three years to retell this story of the first Polar visitor, and
to point out that he discovered more than the two latest visitors, and
that his narrative is better authenticated.
After leaving St. Nicholas' Church I sauntered up a street leading me
back to the hotel and in doing so passed a jeweler's shop. My eyes
fell upon a bracelet--an old-fashioned bracelet very wide and
illuminated by a large stone. I had never possessed a piece of jewelry
in all my life, but now I had some money, and I longed for this
bracelet. Many times I left the tempting window, but always returned,
and finally I went into the shop and asked its price. It was five
shillings, and I had twenty shillings. Why not buy it? I hesitated,
but at last paid the five shillings and went proudly out of the shop,
with the bauble in my pocket. When I reached the hotel, I put it on my
arm and felt just a little disappointed at the result. However, I
fancied myself wearing it with my silk dress, and thought it would
give me an air of great gentility. Then the stage was ready, and I and
my silly bracelet went together to Downham Market.
It was perhaps well, that I saw nothing but St. Nicholas' Church for
the mental notes I made there were so few, and so individual, that
they settled themselves persistently in my memory. Also, as I had
adopted the profession of a teacher, it was creditable to know who
made our first dictionary. The Polar expedition lay dormant in my
remembrance, until the disputing of the last three years made me
recall the information given me so many years ago. Then I came to the
conclusion, that any one of the three claims would be just as good as
the other, so that if England should stand by her monk's discovery, it
would be hard to disprove her claim; but--
"The fault of the English is the fault of the Dutch,
They never know when they are claiming too much."
It was about half-past four when I reached Downham Market. The ride
was interesting, for the country was quite different from any that I
had ever seen. Such green, such deep, living green of the pastures!
Such tall strong trees, garlanded at this time of the year with hop
vines, twining from branch to branch, and dropping down from their
tips, so that the hand could reach them. I saw two fine old manor
houses and many lovely cottages. A small, sweet, purple grape climbed
over the front, and over the thatched roofs of most of them, and this
astonished me, for I had never before known that grapes would grow in
the open air in any part of England.
When we approached Miss Berners', I knew the place. I had dreamed of
it when I was a child--a large double-Georgian house, standing amid
lawns and trees, and surrounded by a hedge higher than a man. As we
came closer I saw from my point of vantage on the top of the coach,
about twenty girls of varying ages, scattered about the grounds; some
were playing battledore and shuttlecock, others reading, others
walking about in pairs, and a couple of nearly grown girls, were
taking riding lessons in a paddock, at the side of the house. It was a
pretty scene, and the whole party struck me as freely and genuinely
happy. I felt a little nervous at the prospect of walking through
this bevy of scrutinizing girls, but I saw Miss Berners come to the
front door, and I went forward with as much confidence as I could
assume; and as soon as I clasped her hand, and looked into her smiling
face, I was quite at ease.
After a cup of tea I was taken to my room. My trunk was already there,
and Miss Stromberg, my room-mate, was sitting at the open window
darning her stockings. She was an odd-looking woman, small and very
thin, with slant black eyes, and a great quantity of very coarse black
hair. Her face had a flat look, but was full of fire; and her
complexion was bad and dark beyond belief.
But if one notices the circumstances, people of nearly the same age
readily fraternize with each other. Two old men will sit down in a car
and in a few minutes open a conversation, but an old man and young man
sitting together, have no courtesies or conversation for each other.
It is much the same with women; two mothers will talk of their
children, two girls of their lovers, two old women of their past, but
an old woman and a young girl sit far apart, no matter how close they
may be together.
So when Miss Berners left Miss Stromberg and I alone, we had plenty to
say to each other. I asked her if she liked the school and she
answered, "I have been here one week, but that is long enough for an
opinion. Yes, I like it."
"What is it that you teach?" I continued.
"I teach the elegant French language to these slow, stupid English
girls. It is incredible, but it is the truth, that they can not
understand that French is to be spoken with the eyes, the shoulders,
and the hands, as well as the tongue. One impertinent little girl as
fat as an ox, told me it was not decent to talk in such a way, and
that people would call her a mountebank, if she did so. I wish to
swear a little, when I think of such stupidity."
"French!" I ejaculated. "Is that all?"
"That is all. Many other things I could teach, but I keep quiet about
them. I have seen that it is wise _to do_, but a very great folly to
_overdo_. Maria Stromberg has learned many things since she began to
teach. Will you not dress a little for the evening? Put on a white
dress if you have one. White is your color."
"Will you not dress first?" I asked. "In this small room, two cannot
dress together."
"Dress, while I finish my stockings. I wish that the Strombergs of
Riga and Uleaborg could take notice that their daughter is compelled
to darn her stockings. Is there any more plebeian occupation? And my
feet abhor a darned stocking. They will pinch me all the time I wear
them."
As I dressed we chattered, yet when I had finished my toilet, I was
rather pleased with the result. But Miss Stromberg rose impetuously,
threw down her darning, and pushing me into a chair, uncoiled the hair
I had so carefully arranged.
"_Mon Dieu!_" she cried. "It is impossible. Look here!" and in a
few minutes she had it raised in puffs, and knots, that added two
inches or more to my height, and imparted to me an air of great
intellectuality.
"How can it be?" I cried. "I do not look like the same girl."
"No, but you look as you ought to look. You were masquerading in a
madonna front, and a Grecian knot at the nape of your neck. Do you not
know that throwing back the hair from the brow, reveals whatever is
good in you?"
Then I lifted my bracelet and asked her to fasten it. An expression of
pity, or contempt, flashed over her face, but she said kindly, "Ah!
but you can not wear it here. Jewelry is forbidden. Put it at the
bottom of your trunk; it will be safe there."
She did not resume her darning, but slipped into a silver gray dress
of lustrous silk. A pair of gray slippers stood on a table, and I was
sure no full grown human foot could get its toes into them, but she
stepped into them with the greatest ease. Then we went down stairs,
and Miss Berners introduced me to the girls, and after tea we had a
pleasant evening together.
I shall not detain my readers with any account of this school. It was
the usual boarding school of its date, under very delightful
surroundings and conditions. I remained until the following June in
Downham Market, working hard, but willingly, and forming many
agreeable acquaintances, but not one among them, that had any
influence or bearing upon my future life. I remember their names, and
their personalities, and can go all through their simple or splendid
homes, but that is all. Doubtless we were merely introduced to each
other for our next reincarnation. Then we may have a more fortunate
meeting.
I liked all the people I was brought into constant contact with, but
if I had not liked them, Miss Stromberg would have been sufficient. I
really loved the clever little woman. She spoke five languages; she
played with the magical tang and touch of a gypsy with a violin; she
danced like a fairy; and when she sang her North Russian songs, you
wept with pity for the lonely souls, on the great snow plains, who out
of their own deep sadness, caused their very music to weep. She made
all her dresses, and we envied their cut and style, and she knew
perfectly all the feminine arts of the toilet.
It was not her fault that I did not become a creditable French
scholar. She did her best with me but I had no aptitude for languages;
and like the other "stupid English girls" I found it silly to talk
with four of my members at once; my eyes at that time had not learned
speech, my shoulders I had been told from my childhood, to keep down
and well back, and my hands had a hundred duties of their own. But for
many, many other things, I thank her even to this day. I kissed her
good-bye in June. I was sure we would meet in September, but I never
saw her again--never, never, even heard from her. But I remember yet,
how patiently she rubbed off the crudities of my insular education,
and how day by day her kind tactful ways, led me to a far lower
estimate of my own attainments; for measuring myself by Maria
Stromberg, I could not but see how little I knew, how unpolished I
really was, and especially how far behind the mark in that control of
temper and sweetness of thought and intention, that made all Maria
Stromberg said and did, agreeable and welcome. I have never forgotten
her; I wonder if she still lives! Wherever in God's universe she now
dwells, I hope she is happy, and still remembers me.
On the last evening of my stay in Downham Market, Miss Berners asked
me to walk with her in the garden, and while doing so, she told me she
intended to remove her school to some London suburb. She thought
probably to Richmond. I was glad to hear this. The thought of London
was an enchantment, and I promised to come to her as soon as I could
in any way help the settlement of the new home. We parted mutually
pleased and hopeful, and the next morning I took a train for London,
and from thence one direct to Kendal.
I had twenty pounds in my pocket book, and I felt that my ten months'
faithful work had given me a right to turn homeward, and then as soon
as I did so, I was impatient of any delay. I found the whole family at
tea, and how happily I joined the party, any one can imagine. I had so
much to tell about the school, and was so proud that we were going to
remove it to London. Downham Market had become almost contemptible,
and I spoke of it as a dull, country village, where nothing ever
happened but a horse or a cattle fair. After tea, Father went to his
study, and I followed and laid the twenty sovereigns beside him.
"They are yours, dear Father," I said. "I do not need them, and they
will help Mary's and Alethia's school bills."
He looked at them, and at me, and his eyes filled. "Milly! Milly!" he
answered, "you are a good child, and I thank God for you, but you must
keep your money; Father does not need it. You know about your Uncle
Bell, do you not?"
"I know nothing of Uncle Bell, Father. I wrote to him once, but he
never answered my letter."
"Then I must tell you, that on the fifth of last February, your
mother's birthday, he called on Mother and gave her the row of
cottages standing on Tenter Fell. Now, Milly, the income from there,
just about balances the loss I made through that villain, Blackpool.
So, my dear, we have enough, and even a little to spare; what more
does a child of God want?" and as he spoke, he gently pushed the
sovereigns towards me.
"No one told me about Uncle Bell," I said. "I wish I had known."
"I remember, we thought it best not to name it. You would not have
saved twenty pounds if you had known of the gift, and you might have
missed some fine lessons, that only a sense of poverty teaches."
I soon went back to Mother. I found her sitting quiet in the gloaming.
I told her about the twenty pounds, and said, "Dear Mother, you and I
will divide it. Will you take half?"
"I will take it gladly," she answered. "There are so many little
things a woman wants, that I do not like to ask Father for."
"I know that, Mother," I answered. "Have I not seen you alter the
dressing of your hair, because you broke one of your side combs, and
did not wish to trouble Father about a new pair. I can recall twenty
things, that were a distress to you to want, and which you did without
rather than----"
"Milly, that ten pounds puts all right. I shall get what I want out of
it."
"Did not Uncle Bell leave you some money, Mother?"
"Did Father tell you so?"
"Yes, he said it covered the loss he made. Now you will have a small
income, Mother. Will it begin soon?"
"It began at once. The cottages were a gift. Father went the next
morning and drew February's rents."
"How much did they amount to, Mother?"
"I do not know, Milly. He never told me. He has drawn them now for
five months, but I have never seen a farthing of the money. I have
felt sometimes, as if it would be pleasant--just to see it, and have
it in my hands," and the tears welled slowly into her soft brown
eyes.
"But I do not understand," I continued. "Father would not touch my
money, yet he takes all of yours without leave or license. What does
it mean?"
"It means that I am a wife. All I had, or might have, became your
father's as soon as I was his wife. You are yet a spinster, and have
some rights in your own earnings."
"But suppose you have no legal rights, all the more Father ought to
give your every right. It is unkind, unjust, utterly contemptible!" I
cried in something of a passion. "I am ashamed of Father!"
"No! No! All men do as he does, and many do a great deal worse. Father
has never seen, or heard of wives treated any differently. If he
_knew_ better, he would do better."
"Then, Mother," I said, "he ought to know better for he will not
escape punishment on the plea of ignorance. I have often wondered why
John Bunyan makes _Ignorance_ go into hell by the back door. He is
right. Such ignorance as you make an excuse for Father is a sneaking
sin. It suits back doors. I would rather be a brazen thief, and go in
swearing by the main entrance. Father ought to be told the truth, and
you ought to ask for your money."
"It is too late, Milly. Say no more. I have got so far through life
without money. Until I was married, I had to go to my father for every
shilling--since then, I have gone to your father. But I have ten
pounds now. I never had as much money before, to spend as I liked. I
feel quite rich."
This conversation sunk into my soul. A great pity for this sweet,
patient, penniless mother, suffering so unnoticed and uncomplaining
the need of many womanly trifles, made me childishly angry. The next
day I went to Father with "Pilgrim's Progress" in my hand, and asked
him what Bunyan meant "by putting _Ignorance_ into hell in such an
ignominious manner?" I followed this question with others, which made
him look at me with a queer, thoughtful expression, and then relapse
into a silence so marked, as to be virtually a dismissal.
It is a joy to me this day to remember that on this visit, I was able
to do many little things for Mother which made life pleasanter to her;
for Father was certainly much worse, and it appeared almost wrong to
permit him to preach. Yet I could see that in the pulpit the spiritual
man had not lost control; for the same lucid, telling sentences
followed each other with a fiery eloquence, as in the past years. "Mr.
Huddleston isn't sick in the pulpit," people would say as they walked
thoughtfully home, from one of those last passionate exhortations.