audience. His linen blouse blew open as he turned, and below a ragged
shirt thus momentarily visible I saw that which made me suddenly feel
sick. Before I recovered myself he had passed out on a step, humming
his refrain, '_Oh, it makes me very, very lively!_'
Now, what I saw was a tumour which could only mean one thing, and that
was death--an early and painful death probably. 'He's not starving,' I
muttered to myself; 'poor little chap, he's dying!'
I thought I would go out into the fresh air, but as I prepared to rise
my eye caught sight of a chink in the canvas through which the 'green
room' was visible.
The trapeze gentleman was now performing, and the clown was removing
his 'make up.' Now that he was off the stage I could see that he had a
limp. A gust of wind came suddenly, enlarging the opening. He turned,
apparently to close the orifice; his eyes met mine, and in that
startled second I knew him to be the 'Caleb Jay.'
Repressing a cry of surprise, I came out, and went round to the back
to wait for him.
III.
'Now, tell me,' said I, as I led him up to the station, 'why do you do
it? You know you oughtn't to, for it will kill you if you exert
yourself like that.'
'Ay, an' that's why,' replied he, 'for I ken I'm dyin'; I went an'
axed a doctor a while back, iv Oldcastle, an' he says, "I'll gie ye a
year ti live at the ootside," says he.'
'Then, why do it?' I urged. 'Do you love it so, or is it for the sake
of the money?'
'Ay,' he replied, gasping a little, as we mounted the slope to the
station, 'that's it. It's for the brass. Ye ken Tom, my brother? Well,
it's for him i' pairt, an' i' pairt for my mother, who wants a bit
frae me for my keep, ye ken. Noo, Tom's a bonny fellow, ain't
he?--just a joy ti the eye ti look upon; an' he's aye wantin' a bit
mair brass for this, an' that, an' t'ither, an', man, it's a pleasure
ti me ti slave a bit for him. There's nae use o' brass for me--me
that' just the puir "Caleb Jay"--but Tom's like a live lord when he's
plenty of brass; an', man, but he spends it weel!'
I was silent for a while, thinking of the tragedy of it all. Then I
inquired again: 'Well, but how did you know you had this gift of
acting and singing and impersonation? and why did you hide your talent
so carefully from us all?'
'It came ower us first, I think,' he answered, 'when reading
Shakespeare an' tragedies an' sic like. I seemed ti see the vary
actors theirselves before my eyes, an' I fair felt like them, ye ken.
Ye'll think it strange, mevvies, but grandfeythor, he had a bit talent
that way, an' ran awa frae his home, an' made his livin' play-acting
an' piano-playin', an' singin', an' aal. He took ill somewhere aboot
here, an' died, an' feythor, he took ti warkin' at the pits, an'
that's the story of it,' concluded my little companion shyly.
'But with a gift like yours, why didn't you tell _me_ of it, for
example, or the minister, and perhaps we could have got you a proper
start somewhere?'
'Ay, I kenned that,' said he, 'an' thank ye kindlies; but I found, on
tryin' it, that I wesn't strang enow for't iv a reg'lor way; an'
forbye that, I didn't want the laddies ti ken aboot it, lest they
might call us "Hamlet," mevvies, or "clownie," or sic like, an' my
mother divvent like play-actin'; it was she as made my feythor give it
up, sayin' it wes nae bettor than a mugger's[17] life, elwis wanderin'
frae one place tiv anuther, an' nae brass iv it at aal.'
There was no time for further talk, for the train was waiting, and,
arriving at our destination, I found my companion so tired that it was
all he could do to walk home.
The minister and I put our heads together after this, and collected
enough money to send our little friend down to a seaside home for a
few weeks.
On Saturday night, however, a message came from the doctor that he was
rapidly sinking. His mother and brother were both out, as it happened,
but the minister and I arrived just in time to bid farewell to the
poor little 'Caleb Jay.'
As we proceeded silently homeward, an idea came into my head.
'In an age of public testimonials and memorials,' I said, 'humble
self-sacrifice goes unrewarded. Our little friend ought to have a
statue at the least; but, of course, it is no good doing anything.
You, therefore, should bring him into your sermon to-morrow evening,
and give a few people a hint of it beforehand.'
The idea seemed to strike my companion, and he said he would gladly do
so.
I had not seen Tom, but as I walked to my lodgings I passed him
standing at the street corner amidst a knot of companions.
I heard one of them mention the 'Caleb Jay,' and I stayed my steps a
moment to hear the reply.
'Ay,' said Tom, 'he was a plucky little beggor iv his way, an' useful
tae, an' I was often sorry for him, _he wes sae tarr'ble ugly_! But,
ho-way, I's plenty brass on me, and I'll treat ye aal tiv anuthor
beor!'
FOOTNOTES:
[14] It is said that at the time of the Napoleonic wars some French
prisoners were detained in custody in the pit country not far from
Durham City. It would appear that some intercourse between the
inhabitants of the place and the foreigners sprang up, which resulted
in the addition of one expressive phrase, at least, to the local
dialect, that, namely, of 'Caleb Jay' for 'Quel objêt!' due to their
strange garb, probably, or tattered appearance. The phrase is now
wholly obsolete, the writer believes, but it is said it was once
actually in use.
[15] Wood-pigeon.
[16] The Northumbrian for 'encore.'
[17] 'Mugger' = beggar; literally, one who sells mugs.
GEORDIE ARMSTRONG, 'THE JESU-YTE'
I.
Geordie Armstrong, after a somewhat stormy past, had become a steady
hewer, and a local preacher of some repute. Never a Sunday but he was
'planned' to speak at this or that village, and frequently, as he
found opportunity, would 'pit in a bit overtime' at a 'class-meeting'
or 'knife-an'-fork tea,' when the 'asking a blessing' or a returning
of thanks might furnish occasion for a 'bit extemporizin'.' He was in
receipt of excellent wages down the pit; his worldly goods comprised,
as he often proclaimed, a 'bonny, an' what's o' far mair importance, a
godly missus, three canny bairns, a cosy hoos, a fine little
librairee, an' a tarr'ble fertile garden.'
As he thought upon the sum of his blessings one Saturday night when,
after having 'weshed hissel' an' had his tea,' he proceeded to light
his pipe, he felt he could only properly describe himself as a
'varitable corn-u-cop-ye-ar ov happiness.'
Yet even then, even in that depth of felicity, an uneasy feeling would
intrude: the memory of Scotty would float to the surface of his mind,
and the thought of the 'parlous state' in which his old 'marrow'
(mate) stood would ruffle its calm placidity.
This was 'the little rift within the lute'; here was the caterpillar
in the 'corn-u-cop-ye-ar,' and, like the Apostle Paul of old, he was
fain to accept his trial, in the spirit of true humility, as a
judgment upon him for the failings of his past life.
It was not for lack of trying that Scotty refused to come to chapel;
indeed, Geordie had so vexed him with his importunity that Scotty had
refused to work with him any longer, and was now employed further
'in-by' with another mate. But for all that, Geordie felt certain that
the cause of failure lay with himself, due probably to his weakness in
faith, to lack of some essential or other, and that the blame of
Scotty's not being 'brought to the Lord' lay at his door.
It had been evident to him for some time that he must try other means,
and, being a great reader, he had latterly come across, and been much
attracted by, a remarkable account of some ancient methods of the
'Jesu-ytes' in cases of this sort.
Sometimes the sinner in question had been unwittingly tempted into the
'narrow path' by the gratification of his ambitions on some point or
other, conversion resulting, as in the case of Tom Appleby--once a
fire-hot Socialist, now a sleek Conservative--from unexpected
prosperity.
At other times the same end had been attained by a crafty flattery.
Suppose a man ambitious of eminence and State distinction: he might be
diverted from politics to the Church, and many were the instances
given of bold and ambitious men who had done great work and attained
high place as the servants of St. Peter.
Could Scotty not be caught hold of in some such fashion? queried
Geordie to himself, as he sat by his fireside that night, deeply
pondering the records he had just been studying. 'I divvn't think he's
ambitious, for he cares nowt aboot politics, an' he never even thought
o' stannin' for election on wor Parish Cooncil. Aal he cares for is
his beer, an' his quoits, an' bettin', an'--an'--his pansies; an' I
doot I cannot catch haud ov him in any one of those partic'lors, for
it wouldn't be fittin' for us that's a local preacher to gan an' send
him a barril o' beer, or back him at a quoitin' match. But
stay--there's the pansies; he's pansy champion, dootless; but then I's
leek champion, an' if I can grow leeks, I's warn'd but I can grow
pansies, for flooers is easier grown nor vegetables.'
Geordie puffed at his pipe vigorously for a minute or two in silence
as he turned the matter over in his mind.
A light kindled slowly in the back of his deep-set eye, a smile showed
upon his lips, then he cuffed himself vigorously upon the knee.
'Ho-way, gan on, Geordie!' he encouraged himself aloud; 'thoo's
turnin' a fair Jesu-yte, I's warn'd!'
* * * * *
As the day appointed for the annual meeting of the Flower Show drew
near, Geordie had been heard to drop hints of the 'wonnerfu' new
specie' of pansies he had become possessed of--'seedlin's' he had
obtained 'doon the south-country way,' and it was not long before the
rumour reached the ears of Scotty.
Nothing could exceed the contempt of the latter when he heard of
Geordie's trying to grow pansies--'him that's just a vegetable man, a
tormut (turnip) grower, a sort o' ha'penny farmer,' and as for
anything good in the way of seedlings coming out of the south-country,
it was just 'bang ridi'klous, for a' folk kenned that a' the best
growers lived in auld Scotland.'
By-and-by some mischievous individual told Scotty that Geordie was
'full' set upon being pansy champion, and was so cock-sure about it
that he was willing to back himself to win.
Scotty was so annoyed at this that the next time he came across
Geordie he could not refrain from jeering at his attempt at pansy
growing. 'Wey, it'll be as muckle as ye can do to tell a pansy frae a
vi'let!' he cried.
Geordie looked at him seriously from under his bushy eyebrows as he
replied, 'I's gannin' to show--an' I's gannin' to win--_wi' pansies,
not vi'lets_.'
'Will ye back yorsel', then?' retorted his opponent sneeringly.
'Well, ye knaa,' replied the other slowly, with evident embarrassment,
'I's not a bettin' man, but if thoo thinks I's not in earnest, I's
willin' to gie a proof that I is. What d'ye say to yor takin'--if ye
beat us, that is--anythin' oot o' my hoos thoo has a fancy for;
an'--an'--if I beat thoo, wey, aal I axes is that thoo should come to
chapel--noo an' again, ye knaa--ov an evenin',' he hastily added, as
his companion's face assumed a look of infinite scorn.
'Ha' ye got that auld double-barrelled shot-gun yet?' queried Scotty,
after a pause in which he had arrived at the conclusion that the odds
were 'aboot a thoosand to one' in his favour.
'Yes,' replied Geordie. 'I still have her; she's there hangin' up
above the mantelshelf.'
'Well, I'll tak' up wi' yor proposal,' was Scotty's reply.
'Shake hands on't, then,' said Geordie slowly, unsuccessfully
endeavouring to instil an apprehensive tremor into his voice.
His companion shook hands carelessly, and swung away whistling
barefacedly, 'And it's up wi' the bonnets o' Bonnie Dundee.'
Geordie, on his part, walked away swiftly homewards, fearing lest his
exultation might betray itself too openly. 'Wow!' he thought to
himself, 'but I's fair a-feard o' mysel'. I's growin' intiv a proper
Jesu-yte!'
The morning of the show-day came, and Geordie, having finished packing
his exhibits with extraordinary care, had just returned with the small
cart the grocer had lent him to convey his treasures to the
show-field, about a mile and a half distant, when up came Maggie,
Scotty's wife, who, notwithstanding the little difference between
their respective men, had always kept up her friendship with Geordie's
wife. Her arms bore a large green case, tied round with a many-knotted
cord. This she hastily set down beside the cart, then turned
breathlessly to Geordie, who, with his son, was just about to drive
off.
'Eh noo, canny man,' she cried, as she wiped her hot face with the
tail of her gown, 'do us a favour. Will thoo carry my man's pansy-case
up to the show wi' yors? Wor Jimmy was to have taken it up first thing
this mornin', but he went aff for his school treat an' left it--an' my
man's awa playin' hissel' at quoits--an' he'll aboot kill Jimmy when
he gans up to the show an' finds his pansies isn't there.'
Geordie willingly acceded, and the green case was carefully deposited
alongside of his own at the bottom of the cart.
His nine-year-old son squatted on the seat opposite, his legs up to
his chin, so as to be out of the way as much as possible in the
crowded cart. The pony started off gallantly enough, and all went well
till within about two or three hundred yards of the field. At that
point, however, the pony suddenly shied at some stray paper on the
road, and Tommy fell with a crash upon the green case below.
'Eh, Tommy, lad!' cried his father in dismay; 'what hast thoo done?
Wow! but thoo's gan an' smashed Scotty's case right thro' an' thro'!'
His succeeding feeling was one of joy; for, the accident having
irreparably damaged a third at least of his rival's pansies, it was
evident that Scotty was now 'catched,' and Geordie, with an inward
acknowledgment to Providence, saw, as in a vision, Scotty sitting
devoutly 'under' himself in chapel.
A few moments later, however, doubt and dismay entered his soul. What
if Scotty should say Tommy had done it 'o' purpose'--at his
instigation? Further reflection convinced him that this was exactly
what Scotty would say, and doubtless there would be some folk unkind
enough to back him up in it.
Scotty would likelies claim the gun. Well, he'd not mind parting with
that, but he could not give up the prospect of saving Scotty's soul
alive without a groan.
'Eh, Tommy, lad! Eh, Tommy! But thoo divvn't knaa what thoo's done;
thoo's put us in a fine quandary,' he murmured, gazing sadly now at
Tommy, who was rubbing his knee ruefully, and again at the splintered
case. The problem was a 'puzzlor;' even a Jesu-yte might have found
solution difficult; for Scotty, he knew, would not believe him if he
told the simple story of the accident, and winning the prize would be
useless in the face of Scotty's insinuations of foul play.
The only way out of the difficulty, he determined sadly, was to
exhibit his own pansies under Scotty's name, and withdraw from the
contest himself. The contents of the two cases were sufficiently alike
for his purpose, though his own were superior in size and depth of
colour. It was a 'sair trial,' for his pansies were bound to win; but
his character as an honest, religious man was at stake, and Scotty's
triumph would be easier to endure than his sneers, if defeated, at a
'chap who caa's hissel' releegious, an' swindles ye like a Jew
pedlar.'
With a groan he undid the label, and tied it on to his own beloved
specimens, casting aside, as a temptation of the evil one, a
disturbing suggestion that he was guilty of deception in passing off
his own as Scotty's pansies.
* * * * *
The judges had been round, and Scotty's pansies easily gained the
place of pride; pansies so perfectly developed, so dark and deep in
colour, had never been shown before.
A crowd of admirers stood round. Scotty came lurching up, having
evidently held a preliminary carouse in certain expectation of the
championship, and, with a careless glance at his exhibits and the red
card attached, cried triumphantly:
'Ay! an' whaur's that Geordie body noo, wi' his brags an' a'? Wey, I'm
tauld he daurna even exhibit his ain puir specimens by the side o'
mine! Look at thae pansies, an' think o' him wi' his yaller sheep's
tormuts tryin' to vie wi' me that's the auld established pansy
champion! Ay, I'm that ower an' ower again; an' what's mair, I've win
his gun. Wey, I'll gang an' fetch her awa at aince!'
So boasting, the proud champion reeled off in triumph, inadvertently
knocking up against a silent looker-on, who was standing in melancholy
guise against a tent-pole some little distance away.
One morning, a day or so after the flower-show, it chanced that Tommy
was late for school, and, rounding a corner hurriedly, ran up against
a big boy, who was sporting a pansy in his buttonhole. The big boy,
who was Scotty's son, immediately proceeded to cuff him for his
carelessness, and Tommy retorted by "calling"[18] his opponent and his
family connections with a ready profuseness.
'Wey, even that pansy thoo's sportin' divvn't belong thoo, nor thy
feythor nowther, it's my dad's growin'; he showed his ain pansies as
Scotty's, 'cos Scotty's happened an accident i' the cart. Feythor took
them up for yor mither, 'cos thoo had forgottened them, an' to save
thoo a strappin'; an' feythor's pansy champion, and Scotty's nowt but
a beer-barril!'
'Liar!' responded the other boy, with a punch of his fist.
'Ax yor mither, then,' shouted Tommy, as he ducked and broke away from
his captor's clutch.
A night or two after this encounter Geordie was surprised by a visit
from Scotty.
'Whatten a tale's this ye're spreadin' aboot o' yor showin' yoor
pansies as mine, I'd like to ken?' demanded the intruder wrathfully.
Geordie looked up quietly from his book, and: 'I've spread no tales
aboot thoo or thy pansies,' he replied.
'Weel, it's either thoo or that wee, impittent son o' yoors, Tommy.
Noo, I've been axin' my missus aboot it, an' she says she did gie ye
my pansies to tak' up to the show wi' yoors; an' what I want to be at
is what i' the deil's name ye did to them.'
Geordie, in reply, exactly related what had occurred.
'Then, wey didn't ye tell us aboot it?' demanded Scotty, still
dissatisfied.
'Because thoo has a tarr'ble sharp tongue i' thy mouth, an' I divvn't
want to be scandalized aboot the village as one who would sharp
another for the sake o' winnin' a floo'er prize.'
'Hum!' ejaculated Scotty, 'it's an extraordinar' thing this! But hoo
can ye explain aboot the pansies, then? I'm pansy champion, an'
therefore thae pansies that win the prize mun ha' been mine, yet here
ye are sayin' that they were yoors.'
Geordie got up from his seat, and, without immediately replying, went
into the room at the back, and came forth again bearing in his arms a
shattered green case.
'Dis thoo recognise this?' he asked quietly, as he set it down on the
table in front of his visitor.
'Ay,' replied Scotty, after a minute inspection; 'it's mine dootless.
But what then?'
'Wey, then, thoo has my case, an' my pansies inside ov it; an' here's
yors still left i' their holes, just as they were on show-day.'
Scotty bent over the broken lid incredulously, lifted a faded specimen
out, and regarded it contemptuously.
'Na, na,' he asserted shortly, 'that's no my pansies; mine were
champions, an' these is weeny things. Na, na, there's been a bit queer
play about this. Maybe Tommy changed them frae the one case to the
ither.'
'Tommy did nowt o' the sort,' retaliated Geordie quickly. 'Aal that
was done was to untie the label an' clagg (stick) it on to my case
instead o' yors.'
'Weel, it's a dommed queer thing aaltegither,' replied Scotty, pushing
his cap from his brow, 'and beyont me; for I'm champion, nobody can
deny that, an' a proper professor at floo'er growin', an' ye're but an
ammytoor, d'ye see? An' it's just surprising to me that ye could e'er
imagine ye could compete wi' me. But I divvn't wish to be ower hard on
ye, an' I'll e'en gie ye the benefit o' the doot, as the saying is;
sae I'll just send ye back yoor gun--that is,' he continued slowly,
eyeing Geordie wistfully, 'if ye're wishfu' to ha' her back.'
'Thoo can keep her,' replied Geordie, 'for it's nae use to me
nowadays; but I would like--I would be tarr'ble pleased if thoo would
come----' Here he halted abruptly, on a sudden fear lest Scotty's
suspicions of some underhand play in regard to the pansies might be
again roused if he too openly requested him to come to chapel.
The other hesitated a little. 'Weel,' he said finally, 'it's a canny
wee gun, an' I would gey like to keep her. An' as for chapel
gangin'--for I suppose that's what ye're after--if ye divvn't blab
aboot us, wey, I'll just tak' a look in noo an' again.'
'That's right, noo,' responded Geordie gratefully, and his deep-set
eyes glowed with a warmer light. 'Shake hands on't.'
Scotty shook hands without demur and swiftly departed, fearful lest
Geordie might regret the arrangement.
Geordie leant back in his chair and heaved a sigh of relief as he
offered up a silent thanksgiving to Providence for having softened
Scotty's heart.
'It's aal right noo,' he murmured. 'Wi' the help I've had from above
I've catched him at the finish, an' chapel will do the rest.'
Thus for some time he reflected devoutly. Then of a sudden a smile
broke upon his lips and he clapped his hand vigorously upon his thigh.
'By!' he exclaimed aloud, 'but I's a proper Jesu-yte efter aal!'
FOOTNOTE:
[18] Abusing.
'GEORDIE RIDE-THE-STANG'
The custom of 'riding the stang' is now obsolete, so that the date
of this story must be put back a number of years, though Mr.
Brockett,[19] writing in his glossary of Northumbrian words, in the
early part of this century, says, 'I have myself been witness to
processions of this kind. Offenders of this description are mounted
a-straddle on a long pole, or stang, supported upon the shoulders
of their companions. On this painful and fickle seat they are borne
about the neighbourhood backwards, attended by a swarm of children
huzzaing and throwing all manner of filth. It is considered a mark
of the highest reproach, and the person who has been thus treated
seldom recovers his character in the opinion of his neighbours.'
The method of divination by the puddings has been practised within
living memory, and even yet may be resorted to by way of a jest
upon occasion.
Since writing the above the author has come across in Mr. R.
Blakeborough's interesting book, 'Yorkshire Wit, Character and
Customs,' a different version of 'riding the stang,' to which he
is indebted for the first four lines of the 'furrinor's' song. In
a footnote Mr. Blakeborough adds that the 'stang' was ridden at
Thoralby, Wensleydale, as recently as October, 1896.
There was French blood in Geordie Robertson's wife, Mary, and it may
perhaps have been owing to her origin that she was so eager for
revenge when she found herself deceived by her husband.
She had begun to suspect him of infidelity even before a neighbour had
given her a hint that he had a 'fancy' wife away in Bridgeton, for her
husband brought home less and less with his 'pack' after his weekly
tramp was over, and when she asked for explanations he 'called' her
with most abusive virulence.
For her further satisfaction she determined to make trial, now that
the pig was to be killed, of the ancient method of divination
practised by the pit-wives, of which the following is the ritual:
When the animal has been slaughtered and the blood duly made into
puddings, these puddings are 'set away' to boil by the inquirer of the
oracle. Then, just before they are taken out of the 'pot,' the
officiating priestess must say aloud that she 'gives them' to him who
is suspected of infidelity. Should the puddings emerge whole, gossip
is dumfoundered; should they come forth broken, the man is proved to
have a 'fancy' wife.
Mary, indeed, found she could scarcely control her impatience when the
fatal day came, and, the pig duly slaughtered, she 'gave' the puddings
to her husband, Geordie.
She waited another minute to give the spell the lawful grace, then
with a trembling hand plucked forth the puddings.
'Ah--ah!' she gasped, tremulous but triumphant, 'then it is so; he has
a fancy wife,' and her quick brain fell to pondering a plan for
discovery and revenge.