the askin', providin' she had her name an' address clagged up large on
the play-bills, an' was a champion at gettin' up concerts for wor
Mechanic Institute an' such-like entertainments.
'That was hoo she first got a hand upon Jim, for he had a gran'
voice--a perfect champion at harmony he was, an' she just buttered him
up properly. It was "Oh, Mr. Hedley, an' what a fortin ye would have
made in the Opera!" "Sing it again, Mr. Hedley, it's fair ravishin',"
an' so she carried on till she had him awa to practise duetties wiv
her at her hoos, an' made him stay ti supper wi' glasses o' wine tiv
it--yellow shampain wine that'll set your brain iv a froth, I b'lieve,
an' at the finish she has him just drugged wiv her enchantments.
'There was one night I mind I was oot walkin' an' chanst ti pass by
alang that road there that leads past the hoos--the trees wasn't grown
up then, ye ken, an' I could spy a bit in through the windie, which
was open on the night--it bein' summer then, d'ye see.
'She was settin' beside the pianner playin' pretence wiv it, an'
castin' up white eye-glances at Jim soft-like, noo an' again, with a
sort ov insolence, too, as though she kenned her power ower
him--drawin' oot the very marrow an' soul ov him wiv her perfections.
'She was aal clad i' silks an' satins, like a play-actress--her bosom
gleamin' wi' jools, an' Jim was leanin' against the pianner gazin' at
her, fair drunk wiv her blandishments.
'I cuddn't stand by an' just do nowt ava, sae I let fly a yell upon
the night, "Ho-way home ti thy own lawfu' missus, an' leave that
d----d hussy alone."
'He gave a sudden start at that, an' leaps round ti the windie, claps
it ti wiv a smash, an' pulls the curtains ower it.
'Well, I kenned then by that token that it was aal ower wi' Jim. She
had him fast, an' nowt could be done, for interferin' i' them cases is
warse than useless; but I was sair, sair grieved for him an' his wee
quiet bonny-faced wife, an' I walked awa home callin' that woman aal
things I could lay my tongue ti under heaven.
'Things went gradually from warse ti warse; he neglected his work an'
avoided his wife, an' he became tarr'ble violent iv his temper, an'
nigh offered ti fight me yence when I tried ti argy wiv him upon his
foolishness. Well, the crissis comes one night when his wife follows
him ti the Prospect Hoos an' walks straight inti the drorin'-room
where him an' the other woman was. He'd just been threatened by the
viewer, d'ye see, wi' gettin' his notice if he didn't pull hisself
tegither, an' knawin' things were aaltegither wrang wiv him, he just
gans slap off ti the woman oot o' pure recklessness, for he was none
o' yo'r half an' half gentlemen, an' as he was gannin' ti the deevil,
wey, he wud gan wiv a brass band, ye ken.
'His wife comes in upon them like a ghost, an' never heedin' the other
woman, cries tiv him, haudin' oot her arms for him, "Oh, come back,
Jim, come back; divvn't break my heart!"
'Jim says nowt, but glares moodily on the ground, an' there's silence
for a bit. Then the woman begins ti laugh saftly tiv herself, eyein'
Jim's missus scornfu' like frae top ti toe standin' there, small an'
shabby-dressed an' tearfu', an', "Wey doesn't thoo gan?" says she,
"here's yo'r hooskeeper come ti fetch thoo home!" she says.
'Jim gies a start at this an' looks up wi' blazing eyes at his
temptress, then he says tiv his wife, "Gan home, Mary, gan home; this
is no a fit place for thoo," an' sae she gans awa softly, weepin' like
a desolate bairn.
'Soon as the door shuts he turns upon the other woman, an' he says
sternly, "This is the end o't, Susan; I'm gannin' awa' an' ye'll never
see me mair. You've plenty brass, an' can fend for yo'rself. I've
given thoo my life, an' I can do nae mair; sae good-bye, my lass, for
ever an' aye."
'But she rushes tiv him, an' clasps her arms roond aboot his neck an'
sweethearts him an' swears they must get married; but Jim, he puts her
quietly awa', an' wiv a stone-set face gans oot o' the hoos an'
straight for the shore.
'Tossin' his cap on ti the ground, he walks right inti the waters an'
begins swimmin' oot, right oot inti the sea, there ti droon hissel'
an' his troubles straight awa.
'Well, mevvies he was ower strong ti be easy ti droon; mevvies the
cold water cleared his mind a bit, an' he thought shame on hissel' ti
leave wife an' bairns ti shift for theirsels; anyhoo, as he said
efter, when he saw the red light of a little schooner ridin' waitin'
for the tide off the harbour, a thought cam intiv his brain, "Wey not
gan right awa an' make a fresh start iv a fresh place?"
'The thought grows on him, an' he swims oot ti the schooner just as
she was standin' awa for London town, an' he hails her an' is taken on
board i' the nick o' time. Another minute an' she would have been oot
o' sight an' hearin', an' Jim would have been a corpse in another ten
minutes, I's warn'd.
'Well, nowt is heard ov him for months an' months. "The Heckler"
carves an "In memoriov'm" on that headstone; his missus gans inti
"blacks," an' the other woman leaves the Prospect Hoos an' gans right
awa from these parts.
'One day though, Jim's missus comes alang tiv us cryin' an' laughin'
aal at yence, haudin' up a letter and kissin' it between whiles. "It's
from Jim! Jim!" she cries, "an' Jim, sweet Jim, he kept hissel' alive
for me an' Jackie an' Sal! Oh, he loves me yet, my Jim!"
'Well, it seems as hoo he had gan oot tiv Australia, an' efter a bit
wanderin' had gettened hisself a very canny sitivation at a gold mine,
an' he sends aff at yence for his missus an' bairns, an' a week later
awa they starts.
'They finds Jim doin' first-class when they gets there, an' he went
ahead like a hoos-o'-fire as soon as he gets his missus an' bairns
back tiv hissel', an' the past wiv its clartiness was just clean wiped
out between them.
'An' noo he's the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor o' Ballarat, or some
such place, an' cannot mak' enough ov his missus and bairns, they say.
'There's some women mevvies,' added 'the Heckler' in conclusion, 'who
wouldn't have pardoned their man, but she was one o' the sort that are
just faithfu' ti death--nowt can tarr'fy them aff, an' it's fair
providential that it should be so, for there's many men noo livin' who
wud just have been iv hell lang syne else.'
FOOTNOTE:
[11] Manager.
'THE HECKLER' UPON WOMENFOLK
'Men are kittle cattle enough,' replied 'the Heckler' oracularly, from
his position of vantage on the top of a gate, to some question of mine
concerning an indignation meeting held recently to protest against
some matter about which no two people could give a like account; 'but
they're nowt ti what womenfolk is. Ye can get roond most men easy
enough if ye've a bit tax.'
'Tax?' I queried aloud, somewhat mystified. 'What tax? not rates an'
tax----'
'Gan on wi' thoo--rates an' taxes be d----!' retorted the oracle
swiftly. 'No, nowt ti do wi' them things; just tax, or tacts, mevvies
it is, meanin' a pleasant way wi' ye, a bit touch o' the cap when the
manager's vext wi' ye, a turn o' management when a drunken man wants
ti fight ye for nowt at aal, ye ken, an' sae forth. Wow, but ye can
fettle most things amangst men wiv a little o' that social lubricant,
but wi' women it's different aaltigether; tax is nae use wi' them;
it's just throwin' pearls before swine.'
'Holloa!' I interrupted again. 'What would the missus say to that?'
'Not hevin' heard it, she'll say nowt,' retorted 'the Heckler'
severely.
'Well, as I was aboot to say when thoo forgot theeself, and disturbed
the meetin' wi' yor interruptions, most men has foibles--some's
dog-men like myself, some's book-men, some's gard'ners, some's
beer-barrils, an' sae forth, an' if ye mind this ye can get what ye
want usuallies oot o' them. But women's a different breed aaltigether.
They divvn't care for the same things as men, an' ye cannet get roond
them, I's warn'd, for they elwis gets roond ye instead. A man has no
ambitions till he's married, Maistor John. Mevvies he's keen aboot
this, an' that, an' 'tother thing, but that's nowt. Noo, woman's just
chockfull ov ambitions aal her life long, an's nivvor, no, nivvor,
satisfied from her cradle tiv her grave, an' even then she's wantin'
fower horses tiv her hearse. Tak' a wee girlie for an instance: she's
elwis wantin' new claes; then she's wantin' a man, then bairns, then a
hoos ov her own, then a better cloak than Mariarann nex' door; an'
when she gets them aal she's not satisfied, not one little bit, but's
warse than ivvor.
'Noo I'll gie ye an instance o't.
'Ye'll dootless mind havin' seen or heard tell ov Tom Archbold, yence
fore overman here i' the aad pit, a great, big, buirdly man, champion
hewer o' the colliery at one time, who aye took the lead i' the
village at every bit sport, an' carry-on, an' jollification that might
be gannin' on at any time.
'Well, there was a little wee bit lassie ov aboot twenty-five years ov
age, who had been married yence, but had lost her man iv an accident
doon the pit--a fall o' stone, ye ken--an' nae sooner has she buried
him than she's on the look-oot for anither mate.
'Well, bein' the littlest woman i' the village, she natorally--such
bein' woman's human nature--tak's a fancy for the biggest man iv it,
meanin' Tom Archbold, an' she gans for him straight awa.
'Ye'll hev seen a setter dog workin' for a partridge or a rabbit iv a
rough grass field, mevvies. Weel, it was just the same method o'
procedure wiv her. She gets a scent o' what she was wantin'; she draws
upon him up wind; then she gets a tip-toe, steals tiv him till her
breath's fair upon him, an' the man's done--fair done--clean copped,
and it's "for better an' warse till death do us part."
'So it was wi' Lizzie an' Tom.
'Tom was a weeda (widower), an' on the look-out for anither missus,
an' havin' had a great big woman for his first--a proper marrow ov
himself i' size an' shape--an' not havin' been ower well satisfied wiv
his venture, he thinks he'll try a smaller article for his second
lott'ry.
'Well, Tom was elwis very free an' open wiv his conversation, an'
mevvies Lizzie, she gets ti hear ov it; but she pretends ti tak' no
notice o' Tom when she passes along the Raa,[12] or meets Tom i' the
street. She just sails past him, noo wiv head i' the air, again wiv
her eyes upon the ground, mournfu' like for the loss of her man, an'
Tom becomes quite bewitched by her manners, for she was a fair
contrast wiv Bella, who had ti tarrify him wiv a summons from the
pollis at the finish before she could get him ti marry her i' chorch.
'Well, she bags him clivvor at the finish, an' they gets theyselves
married wivoot more ado.
'A week efter comes "pay-Friday,"[13] an', natorally, quite apart from
the "celebration of his nuptials," as the newspaper cheps say, he gets
hissel' as boosy as can be, what wi' standin' treat, an' bein' treat
an' aal, an' efter closin' time it was wi' some difficulty that me an'
my marrer gets him along home.
'We knocks on the door, an' we assists him in, an' he staggers up tiv
his missus, who was sittin' iv her armchair knittin', an' tries ti gie
her a bit chuck under the chin. "Ho--way----," he stutters, "Lizzie,
maa lass, an' put us ti bed!" an' stoopin' down iv a staggerin' way ti
kiss her loses his balance, an' flops doon unexpected on the floor.
"Ye needn't wait," Lizzie says tiv us, haughty-like, takin' no notice
o' Tom, an' sae oot we gans, an' leaves them. But we just stops a
minute ootside ti hear Lizzie gie him his gruel; an', wow! but she let
him have it, an' no mistake! "Thoo great flamin' drunken lubbert!"
says she, "comin' home ti my hoos at this time o' night, drunk as a
lord, an' only been married a week!" she cries. "Thoo mun just get
used wiv it, maa lass," says he solemnly from the floor; "for aa elwis
gets drunk reg'lor on a pay-Friday; an' it'sh maa hoos thoo ----, for
aa's maistor," he says, thinkin', mevvies, he mun assert hissel' even
if he has had his gills.
'"Put thoo ti bed?" cries she. "Wey, I'll not touch thoo, nor let thoo
touch me nowther till thoo's sober again, an's begged maa pardon."
'"Pardon-sh?" says Tom, an' laughs, fair amused by her impittence.
"Wey, if maa legs wesn't sae wambly the night, I'd larn thoo a lesson,
thoo ----"
'"Get up, an' try, thoo sponge o' beer," she says, an' snaps her
fingers iv his face. "Get up, an' try," cries she again. "I daur thoo
ti;" an' she actually has the impittence ti stir him wiv her foot.
Just fancy that! A yard an' a half o' petticoat, fair insultin' upon a
proper mountain ov a man like Tom! The door was a bit open, d'ye see,
an' my marrer an' me could see them two comics quite plain.
'Well, Tom, he thinks things is comin' tiv a pretty pass if his missis
is gannin' ti clean her boots on him efter a week's marryin'; so, much
against his will, he pulls hissel' tegither, an' by the help o' the
bedpost gets on his feet.
'"Wey," cries Lizzie again, lookin' him ower mair scornfu' than ever,
"thoo's as unsteady on thy feet as a horse wi' the staggers!" she
says. "I could knock thoo doon wi' one finger!"
'"I bet-sh a sovereign thoo cannet; ay, an' anither that I'll drive
yo'r lugs reet intiv yo'r heid wi' one bat o' my fist," says he; an'
he puffs hissel' oot as he searches for the coin, an' spits on his
hands iv a preliminary sort o' way.
'Then, sudden, she comes up tiv him, gies him a tap wiv her
forefinger, unexpected like, straight on the breast, an' Tom, taken
unawares, lurches backward, catches his foot iv a bracket, crashes
intiv a chair, an' falls wiv a tarr'ble thump an' a racket of
furniture straight on ti the flaggin'. He gies a little lift ov his
head as he looks up in a dazed way for a moment from the floor. Then
he says, sinkin' back again, "There's been a fall o' stone; gan an'
fetch the depity," he says, then sort o' dwams (swoons) awa.
'Lizzie, she looks him ower for awhile, cool as a policeman wiv a
lantern, then lifts a pillow off the bed, an' puts it under his head
as he lies stretched upon the floor. Next, she takes the boots off her
man, an' sae leaves him ti bide where he lies, whilst she gans ti bed
her lane.
'Next mornin' Tom feels hissel' as sick as a bad bat o' the head an' a
wambly stomach can make a man, an' "lies in" while his missus gies him
warm things ti drink, an' tends him like a bairn.
'Well, she has him properly caught, for he has ti lie there idle the
best part ov a week, an' cannet work for another week efter that, the
skelp he'd got frae the fall bein' a serious affair, as it seemed.
'When he gets up again he was sae savage at the chaff he gets aboot
bein' knocked doon biv his missus that he gans back tiv his hoos iv a
hurry, tak's off his belt, an' is gannin' ti strap her within an inch
ov her life, when she says, "Tom, an' who was it that's been nursin'
thoo this last fortnight?" An' she axes it quietly, facin' him wivoot
a tremor, her eyes fixed upon his.
'Tom stands there wiv his arm uplifted; but though he was hot ti
strike her, somehoo or ither, as he said efter, he was fair bested if
he could manage it.
'Well, that was aboot the beginnin' an' the end o't, for she'd
conquered him properly, an' Mister Six-Foot-Two soon found oot he'd
got a proper taskmaster for his missus, even though she was but a yard
an' a half high, an' looked as though ye could have snapt her across
yor arm. She didn't knock him doon again, but she was elwis surprisin'
him inti startin' things, an' when he tired ov it she would scorn him a
bit, an' ask, "An' what's the good o' bein' a strong man if ye cannet
show yor strength? Any fool can get drunk," says she, "an' lose his
brass bettin'; but thoo's a strong man, Tom, I's warn'd, an' I've bet
Ned Lee's wife a dollar that thoo can walk past the Pitman's Arms on
pay-Friday night wivvoot ever lookin' inside!"
'Well, that was the way o't i' Lizzie's case. She soon had her
Samson's locks clipped short, an' iv a few years' time he becomes a
depity, a back overman, an' finally fore overman, has a hoos ov his
own, an' a whole raa (row) o' cottages.
'Some has different ways from others,' reflected my companion,
further, 'but aal womenfolk's ambitious.'
'Noo, tak' my own case--"the Heckler's"--when I got married on the aad
lady there was no nonsense aboot the business. "Ho-way," I says, "will
ye tak' us, Betty?" for I kenned nicely beforehand she was the right
sort for us, havin' obsarved her previous, an' walked oot wiv her a
Sunday night or two. "Ay, an' I will, Geordie," she says thankfully,
an' as meek as skim milk; but for aal that I've been got the best o'
lots o' time biv her ambition, an' noo, here I is, wiv a fam'ly o'
seven, an' the missus insistin' upon Harry's--that's the eldest boy,
ye ken--gannin' ti the Grammar School ti parfect hissel' as a scholar.
Ay, wor Harry's a proper scholar, I's warn'd, but schoolin's tarr'ble
expensive.
'An' noo, I'll just gie ye this bit advice, Maistor John. Divvn't thoo
get married unless thoo marries a heiress, for, I tell thoo, aal
women's ambitious, an' ambition's a tarr'ble expensive hobby.
'Gox! yes, just fearful, Maistor John.'
FOOTNOTES:
[12] Row.
[13] Pitmen are paid fortnightly on the Friday: the following day is
'pay-Saturday.' Non-pay-Saturday is known as 'baff-Saturday,' the
derivation of which no man knows to this day.
THE 'CALEB JAY'
(THE 'QUEL OBJÊT')
I.
The 'Caleb Jay'[14] was not, as his nickname of itself might testify,
popular in our pit village of Black Winning. His appearance was
against him in the first instance, and he continued to be shy and
reserved even after you might be said to have made his acquaintance.
Reserve is unpopular in any society, but in the lower social grades,
where life is of a freer and more hearty character than in the
propriety-loving circles of the well-to-do, it may be said to be one
of the 'seven deadly sins.'
There was no reserve about Tom, his elder brother, who was a
good-looking, idle, somewhat dissolute youth of twenty-three years of
age.
Tom was always ready to 'stand in' for a 'ha'penny loo,' never
flinched from a 'bout at the beer,' could throw a quoit well, when his
eye was clear and his hand steady, and was never at a loss with the
lasses.
Tom, therefore, was a general favourite, being 'well ta'en up wi'' by
all save a few of the more serious-minded people; and 'Caleb Jay'
suffered, I think, partly through contrast with his brother.
'Caleb Jay' had been injured when working as a putter down the pit,
and consequently was 'game of one leg.' He wore the cast-off finery of
his brother, the coloured scarves and embroidered waistcoats of his
festive occasions--out of economy, no doubt, but some said 'oot o'
foolishness.'
Certainly they did not suit well with his sallow complexion and thin,
peaked countenance, and with the big and weary eyes.
He worked now at any odd job he could find. He had the care of the
viewer's strip of kitchen garden, and went round with papers, etc.;
but it was not much that he earned, apparently, for his mother, who
doted on her handsome son Tom, was often heard to complain that he
wasn't worth his keep.
He had a strange way of mysteriously disappearing for some days on
occasion, sometimes even for a week at a stretch, and sundry persons,
annoyed perhaps by his reticence, hinted at secret dissipation.
If closely questioned, he would admit having had a 'job i' the toon,'
or 'ower away yonder,' pointing vaguely this way or that; and gossip
had at least this confirmation for its uncharitable suspicion, that he
always returned pale, tired and haggard-looking.
Some of the boys had tried to 'nab' him either coming or going on one
of these expeditions of his, but he was 'cuter nor a cushat'[15] as I
overheard a sporting youth lament who had followed him in early
morning all the way to Oldcastle, and there in the suburbs had
suddenly lost him just on the brink of discovering the secret.
Gradually we became accustomed to his flittings, and he was spied upon
no more; but for my own part I thought I had, by a comparison of the
times and seasons of his absences, at least discovered this much--that
he was usually away at the incidence of fairs and festivals.
I think I knew him more intimately than any other person in the
village, except, perhaps, our Methodist minister, who never rested
till he had succoured any who might be in 'sickness, sorrow, or
distress'; but to neither of us, I found, on comparing notes, had he
ever vouchsafed any confidences.
The only way in which I eventually discovered I could be of any use to
him was by lending him books. He was extremely fond of reading, and
had a special taste for dramatic poetry, which he occasionally
gratified by coming to my lodgings, and there devouring the historical
plays and tragedies of Shakespeare.
I had once or twice on these occasions endeavoured to extort from him
the secret of his absences, but the only result had been an increased
reserve on his part, followed by an almost immediate departure from my
presence, so that I had soon desisted from further questioning him on
the point.
At the same time, I confess I entertained a lingering hope that I
might one day be able to penetrate the mystery; for mystery of some
sort I was convinced it was, though not of a vulgar kind.
II.
It so chanced that I was detained in Bridgeton on the day of the
annual fair and hiring, and having two hours to wait for my train, I
determined to pass the time away by noting the humours of the
festival. Farmers' wives, laden with 'remnants' and cheap bargains in
the hardware line, were slowly surging through the throng, towards the
various publics, in search of their 'men' and the 'trap.' Hinds, male
and female, having now 'bound their bargains' with their masters, were
coasting round the booths and stalls, 'putting in' at all the
ale-houses they passed in their uncertain voyaging.
The men were somewhat sheepish still, not having taken sufficient beer
on board as yet to lose the shyness of the countryman in town. They
confined themselves to chaffing one another, to casting stray glances
at their sweethearts, who tittered in their wake, and to offering,
when moved to gallantry, 'anuther glass o' yel.'
A squad of pitmen here and there, their customary rivalries heated
with liquor, were challenging each other noisily at the various
'try-your-strengths' and 'prove-your-powers' that were anchored in the
corners of the market-place.
My attention was next attracted by the clash of cymbals and flamboyant
drum-drubbings. ''Ere y'are, ladies and gents, 'ere y'are! Yo'r friend
an' acquaintance Bob Stevens, wiv his high-class dancin', trapezin',
Shakespearian an' variety entertainment!'
The great flaring gas-brackets, with their smoky tongues stabbing the
darkness fitfully, lit up a most delectable advertisement. I produced
'tuppence,' 'walked up,' as invited, to the tent, and found myself in
the 'hall of amusement and instruction combined.' It was already
crowded, but I eventually discovered a seat in the far corner.
Cries of 'Back! back!'[16] were still ringing in the air, and after a
moment or two a most cadaverous-looking clown reappeared and advanced
to the footlights.
His haggard, melancholy mien was in admirable artistic contrast to his
garb and the burlesque humour of his song. '_And oh_,' sang he, at the
end of each verse relating some contretemps of the bashful lover, '_it
makes me very, very lively! Very, very lively!_' he repeated, as he
step-danced up and down the tiny stage amidst the guffaws of his
audience.
It was no great thing to do, perhaps; but it was admirably done. There
was no extravagance in his accompanying actions, nor exaggeration of
emphasis anywhere. In short, there was something of the genuine artist
in him, and it was evident that he held his quaintly assorted
'tuppeny' audience in his grasp.
I grew strangely interested in the queer little figure before me.
Something about him appealed strongly to the imagination.
He was encored again, and as I watched him more narrowly his aspect
became more and more pathetic. I grew convinced that he was suffering
physical pain; the blot of vermilion on his nose glowed brighter;
beneath his mask of white I could see ashen-coloured lines streaking a
colourless face.
'Poor little chap,' thought I; 'he's starving!'