It is rather hard for a lad who thinks that he has been behaving
somewhat as a hero to come to the conclusion that he has been making a
fool of himself; but this was the result of Ned Sankey's cogitation over
what Mr. Porson had said to him. Perhaps he arrived more easily at that
conclusion because he was not altogether unwilling to do so. It was very
mortifying to allow that he had been altogether wrong; but, on the other
hand, there was a feeling of deep pleasure at the thought that he could,
in Mr. Porson's deliberate opinion, go into the army and carry out all
his original hopes and plans. His heart had been set upon this as long
as he could remember, and it had been a bitter disappointment to him
when he had arrived at the conclusion that it was his duty to abandon
the idea. He did not now come to the conclusion hastily that Mr.
Porson's view of the case was the correct one; but after a fortnight's
consideration he went down on New Year's Day to the school, and told his
master that he had made up his mind.
“I see, sir,” he said, “now that I have thought it all over, that you
are quite right, and that I have been behaving like an ass, so I shall
set to work again and try and make up the lost time. I have only six
months longer, for Easter is the time when Mr. Simmonds said that I
should be old enough, and he will write to the lord lieutenant, and I
suppose that in three months after that I should get my commission.”
“That is right, Ned. I am exceedingly glad you have been able to take my
view of the matter. I was afraid you were bent upon spoiling your life,
and I am heartily glad that you have been able to see the matter in a
different light.”
A day or two afterward Ned took an opportunity of telling his mother
that he intended at Easter to remind Mr. Simmonds of his promise to
apply for a commission for him; and had he before had any lingering
doubt that the decision was a wise one it would have been dissipated by
the evident satisfaction and relief with which the news was received;
nevertheless, he could not help a feeling of mortification at seeing
in his mother's face the gladness which the prospect of his leaving
occasioned her.
It was some time since Ned had seen his friend Bill Swinton, for Bill
was now regularly at work in Mr. Mulready's factory and was only to be
found at home in the evening, and Ned had been in no humor for going
out. He now, however, felt inclined for a friendly talk again, and the
next Sunday afternoon he started for Varley.
“Well, Maister Ned,” Bill said as he hurried to the door in answer to
his knock, “it be a long time surely sin oi saw thee last--well nigh six
months, I should say.”
“It is a long time, Bill, but I haven't been up to anything, even to
coming up here. Put on your cap and we will go for a walk across the
moors together.”
In a few seconds Bill joined him, and they soon left the village behind.
“Oi thought as how thou didn't feel oop to talking loike, Moister Ned.
Oi heared tell as how thou did'st not get on well wi' Foxey; he be a
roight down bad un, he be; it were the talk of the place as how you
gived him a clout atween t' eyes, and oi laughed rarely to myself when
oi seed him come through t' mill wi' black and blue all round 'em. There
warn't a hand there but would have given a week's pay to have seen it
done.”
“I am afraid I was wrong, Bill,” Ned said, feeling ashamed rather then
triumphant at the thought. “I oughtn't to have done it, but my beastly
temper got the best of it.”
“Doan't say that Maister Ned; he deserves ten toimes worse nor ye gived
him, and he will get it some time if he doan't mind. Oi tell ee there
be lots of talk of him, and Captain Lud's gang be a getting stronger
and stronger. Oi tell ye, t' maisters be agoing to have a bad time on it
afore long, and Foxey be sure to be one of the first served out.”
“Well, don't you have anything to do with it, Bill. You know I have told
you over and over again that no good can come of such bad doings, and
that the men will only make matters much worse for themselves. My father
used to say that no good ever came of mob violence. They may do some
harm for a time, but it is sure to recoil on their own heads.”
“Oi doan't ha' nowt to do wi' it,” Bill replied, “cause oi told yer oi
wouldn't; but oi've some trouble to keep oot o't. Ye see oi am nointeen
now, and most o' t' chaps of moi age they be in 't; they meet at the
'Dog' nigh every noight, and they drills regular out on t' moor here,
and it doan't seem natural for oi not to be in it, especial as moi
brothers be in it. They makes it rough for me in t' village, and says as
how I ain't got no spirit, and even t' girls laughs at me.”
“Not Polly Powlett, I am sure, Bill.”
“No, not Polly,” Bill replied. “She be a different sort. A' together it
be a bit hard, and it be well for me as oi 'm main strong and tough,
for oi ha' to fight pretty nigh every Saturday. However, oi ha thrashed
pretty nigh every young chap in Varley, and they be beginning now to
leave oi alone.”
“That's right, Bill; I am sure I have no right to preach to you when I
am always doing wrong myself; still I am quite sure you will be glad in
the long run that you had nothing to do with King Lud. I know the times
are very hard, but burning mills and murdering masters are not the way
to make them better; you take my word for that. And now how are things
going on in Varley?”
“No great change here,” Bill replied. “Polly Powlett bain't made up her
moind yet atween t' chaps as is arter her. They say as she sent John
Stukeley, the smith, to the roight about last Sunday; he ha' been arter
her vor the last year. Some thowt she would have him, some didn't. He
ha' larning, you see, can read and wroite foine, and ha' got a smooth
tongue, and knows how to talk to gals, so some thought she would take
him; oi knew well enough she wouldn't do nowt of the koind, for oi ha'
heard her say he were a mischievous chap, and a cuss to Varley. Thou
know'st, Maister Ned, they do say, but in course oi knows nowt about it,
as he be the head of the Luddites in this part of Yorkshire.
“Luke Marner he be dead against King Lud, he be, and so be many of
the older men here; it's most the young uns as takes to them ways; and
nateral, Polly she thinks as Luke does, or perhaps,” and Bill laughed,
“it's Polly as thowt that way first, and Luke as thinks as she does.
However it be, she be dead set agin them, and she's said to me jest the
same thing as thou'st been a-saying; anyhow, it be sartain as Polly
ha' said no to John Stukeley, not as she said nowt about it, and no one
would ha' known aboot it ef he hadn't gone cussing and swearing down at
the 'Dog.'
“I thinks. Maister Ned, as we shall ha' trouble afore long. The men
ha been drilling four or five years now, and oi know as they ha' been
saying, What be the good of it when nowt is done and the wages gets
lower and lower? They have preachments now out on t' moor on Sunday,
and the men comes from miles round, and they tells me as Stukeley and
others, but him chiefly, goes on awful agin t' maisters, and says,
There's Scripture vor it as they owt to smite 'em, and as how tyrants
owt vor to be hewed in pieces.”
“The hewing would not be all on one side, Bill, you will see, if they
begin it. You know how easily the soldiers have put down riots in other
places.”
“That be true,” Bill said; “but they doan't seem vor to see it. Oi don't
say nowt one way or t' other, and oi have had more nor half a mind to
quit and go away till it's over. What wi' my brothers and all t' other
young chaps here being in it, it makes it moighty hard vor oi to stand
off; only as oi doan't know what else vor to do, oi would go. Oi ha'
been a-thinking that when thou get'st to be an officer oi'll list in
the same regiment and go to the wars wi' thee. Oi am sick of this loife
here.”
“Well, Bill, there will be no difficulty about that if you really make
up your mind to it when the time comes. Of course I should like to
have you very much. I have heard my father say that each officer has
a soldier as his special servant; and if you would like that, you see,
when we were alone together we should be able to talk about Varley and
everything here just as we do now. Then I suppose I could help you on
and get you made first corporal and then a sergeant.”
“Very well, Maister Ned, then we will look on that as being as good as
settled, and as soon as thou gets to be an officer oi will go as one of
your soldiers.”
For an hour they walked across the moor, talking about a soldier's life,
Ned telling of the various parts of the world in which England was at
that time engaged in war, and wondering in which of them they would
first see service. Then they came back to the village and there parted,
and Ned, feeling in better spirits than he had been from the day when he
first heard of his mother's engagement to Mr. Mulready, walked briskly
down to Marsden.
For a time matters went on quietly. Few words were exchanged between
Ned and Mr. Mulready; and although the latter could not but have noticed
that Ned was brighter and more cheerful in his talk, he was brooding
over his own trouble, and paid but little heed to it.
The time was fast approaching when he could no longer go on as at
present. The competition with the mills using the new machinery was
gradually crushing him, and it was necessary for him to come to a
determination either to pluck up heart and to use his new machines, or
to close his mill.
At last he determined to take the former course and to defy King Lud.
Other manufacturers used steam, and why should not he? It was annoying
to him in the extreme that his friends and acquaintances, knowing that
he had fitted the mill with the new plant, were always asking him why he
did not use it.
A sort of uneasy consciousness that he was regarded by his townsmen as a
coward was constantly haunting him. He knew in his heart that his danger
was greater than that of others, because he could not rely on his men.
Other masters had armed their hands, and had turned their factories into
strong places, some of them even getting down cannon for their defense:
for, as a rule, the hands employed with the new machinery had no
objection to it, for they were able to earn larger wages with less
bodily toil than before.
The hostility was among the hands thrown out of employment, or who found
that they could now no longer make a living by the looms which they
worked in their own homes. Hitherto Mr. Mulready had cared nothing for
the goodwill of his hands. He had simply regarded them as machines
from whom the greatest amount of work was to be obtained at the lowest
possible price. They might grumble and curse him beneath their breaths;
they might call him a tyrant behind his back, for this he cared nothing:
but he felt now that it would have been better had their relations
been different: for then he could have trusted them to do their best in
defense of the mill.
Having once determined upon defying King Lud, Mr. Mulready went before
the magistrates, and laying before them the threatening letters he had
received, for the first had been followed by many others, he asked them
to send for a company of infantry, as he was going to set his mill to
work. The magistrates after some deliberation agreed to do so, and wrote
to the commanding officer of the troops at Huddersfield asking him to
station a detachment at Marsden for a time.
The request was complied with. A company of infantry marched in and were
billeted upon the town. A room was fitted up at the mill, and ten of
them were quartered here, and upon the day after their arrival the new
machinery started.
Now that the step was taken, Mr. Mulready's spirits rose. He believed
that the presence of the soldiers was ample protection for the mill,
and he hoped that ere they left the town the first excitement would
have cooled down, and the Luddites have turned their attention to other
quarters.
Ned met Bill on the following Sunday.
“I suppose, Bill,” he said, “there is a rare stir about Foxey using his
new machinery?”
“Ay, that there be, and no wonder,” Bill said angrily, “there be twenty
hands turned adrift. Oi bee one of them myself.”
“You, Bill! I had no idea you had been discharged.”
“Ay; oi have got the sack, and so ha' my brother and young Jarge Marner,
and most o' t' young chaps in the mill. Oi suppose as how Foxey thinks
as the old hands will stick to t' place, and is more afeerd as the young
uns might belong to King Lud, and do him a bad turn with the machinery.
Oi tell ye, Maister Ned, that the sooner as you goes as an officer the
better, vor oi caan't bide here now and hold off from the others, Oi
have had a dog's loife for some time, and it ull be worse now. It would
look as if oi hadn't no spirit in the world, to stand being put upon
and not join the others. T' other chaps scarce speak to me, and the gals
turn their backs as oi pass them. Oi be willing vor to be guided by you
as far as oi can; but it bain't in nature to stand this. Oi'd as lief go
and hang myself. Oi would go and list tomorrow, only oi don't know what
regiment you are going to.”
“Well, Bill, it is hard,” Ned said, “and I am not surprised that you
feel that you cannot stand it; but it won't be for long now. Easter will
be here in a fortnight, and then I shall see Mr. Simmonds and get him
to apply at once. I met him in the street only last week, and he was
talking about it then. He thinks that it will not be long after he
sends in an application before I get my commission. He says he has got
interest in London at the Horse Guards, and will get the application
of the lord lieutenant backed up there; so I hope that in a couple of
months at latest it will all be settled.”
“Oi hope so, oi am sure, vor oi be main sick of this. However, oi can
hold on for another couple of months; they know anyhow as it ain't from
cowardice as I doan't join them. I fowt Jack Standfort yesterday and
licked un; though, as you see, oi 'ave got a rare pair of black eyes
today. If oi takes one every Saturday it's only eight more to lick, and
oi reckon oi can do that.”
“I wish I could help you, Bill,” Ned said: “if father had been alive I
am sure he would have let you have a little money to take you away from
here and keep you somewhere until it is time for you to enlist; but you
see I can do nothing now.”
“Doan't you go vor to trouble yourself aboot me, Maister Ned. Oi shall
hold on roight enow. The thought as it is for two months longer will
keep me up. Oi can spend moi evenings in at Luke's. He goes off to the
'Coo,' but Polly doan't moind moi sitting there and smoking moi pipe,
though it bain't every one as she would let do that.”
Ned laughed. “It's a pity, Bill, you are not two or three years older,
then perhaps Polly mightn't give you the same answer she gave to the
smith.”
“Lor' bless ee,” Bill said seriously, “Polly wouldn't think nowt of oi,
not if oi was ten years older. Oi bee about the same age as she; but she
treats me as if I was no older nor her Jarge. No, when Polly marries it
won't be in Varley. She be a good many cuts above us, she be. Oi looks
upon her jest as an elder sister, and oi doan't moind how much she blows
me up--and she does it pretty hot sometimes, oi can tell ee; but oi
should just loike to hear any one say a word agin her; but there be no
one in Varley would do that. Every one has a good word for Polly; for
when there's sickness in the house, or owt be wrong, Polly's always
ready to help. Oi do believe that there never was such a gal. If it
hadn't been for her oi would ha' cut it long ago. Oi wouldn't go agin
what ye said, Maister Ned; but oi am danged if oi could ha' stood it ef
it hadn't been for Polly.”
“I suppose,” Ned said, “that now they have got the soldiers down in
Marsden it will be all right about the mill.”
“Oi caan't say,” Bill replied; “nateral they doan't say nowt to me; but
oi be sure that some'ats oop. They be a-drilling every night, and there
will be trouble avore long. Oi doan't believe as they will venture to
attack the mill as long as the sojers be in Marsden; but oi wouldn't
give the price of a pint of ale for Foxey's loife ef they could lay
their hands on him. He'd best not come up this way arter dark.”
“He's not likely to do that,” Ned said. “I am sure he is a coward or he
would have put the mill to work weeks ago.”
Secure in the protection of the troops, and proud of the new machinery
which was at work in his mill, Mr. Mulready was now himself again. His
smile had returned. He carried himself jauntily, and talked lightly and
contemptuously of the threats of King Lud. Ned disliked him more in this
mood than in the state of depression and irritation which had preceded
it. The tones of hatred and contempt in which he spoke of the starving
workmen jarred upon him greatly, and it needed all his determination and
self command to keep him from expressing his feelings. Mr. Mulready was
quick in perceiving, from the expression of Ned's face, the annoyance
which his remarks caused him, and reverted to the subject all the more
frequently. With this exception the home life was more pleasant than it
had been before.
Mr. Mulready, in his satisfaction at the prospect of a new prosperity,
was far more tolerant with his wife, and her spirits naturally rose with
his. She had fully shared his fears as to the threats by the Luddites,
and now agreed cordially with his diatribes against the workpeople,
adopting all his opinions as her own.
Ned's acquaintance with Bill Swinton had long been a grievance to her,
and her constant complainings as to his love for low company had been
one of the afflictions to which Ned had long been accustomed. Now,
having her husband by her side, it was a subject to which she frequently
reverted.
“Why can't you leave me alone, mother?” Ned burst out one day when
Mr. Mulready had left the room. “Can't you leave me in quiet as to my
friends, when in two or three months I shall be going away? Bill Swinton
is going to enlist in the same regiment in which I am, so as to follow
me all over the world.
“Would any of the fine friends you would like me to make do that? I
like all the fellows at school well enough, but there is not one of them
would do a fiftieth part as much for me as Bill would. Even you, mother,
with all your prejudices; must allow that it will be a good thing for me
to have some one with me who will really care for me, who will nurse
me if I am sick or wounded, who would lay down his life for mine if
necessary. I tell you there isn't a finer fellow than Bill living. Of
course he's rough, and he's had no education, I know that; but it's not
his fault. But a truer or warmer hearted fellow never lived. He is a
grand fellow. I wish I was only half as true and as honest and manly as
he is. I am proud to have Bill as a friend. It won't be long before I
have gone, mother. I have been fighting hard with myself so that there
shall be peace and quietness in the house for the little time I have got
to be here, and you make it harder for me.”
“It's ridiculous your talking so,” Mrs. Mulready said peevishly, “and
about a common young fellow like this. I don't pretend to understand
you, Ned. I never have and never shall do. But I am sure the house will
be much more comfortable when you have gone. Whatever trouble there is
with my husband is entirely your making. I only wonder that he puts up
with your ways as he does. If his temper was not as good as yours is bad
he would not be able to do so.”
“All right, mother,” Ned said. “He is an angel, he is, we all know,
and I am the other thing. Well, if you are contented, that's the great
thing, isn't it? I only hope you will always be so; but there,” he said,
calming himself with a great effort as his father's last words again
came into his mind, “don't let's quarrel, mother. I am sorry for what I
have said. It's quite right that you should stick up for your husband,
and I do hope that when I go you will, as you say, be more comfortable
and happy. Perhaps you will. I am sure I hope so. Well, I know I am
not nice with him. I can't help it. It's my beastly temper, I suppose.
That's an old story. Come, mother, I have only a short time to be at
home now. Let us both try and make it as pleasant as we can, so that
when I am thousands of miles away, perhaps in India, we may have it to
look back upon. You try and leave my friends alone and I will try and be
as pleasant as I can with your husband.”
Mrs. Mulready was crying now.
“You know, Ned, I would love you if you would let me, only you are so
set against my husband. I am sure he always means kindly. Look how he
takes to little Lucy, who is getting quite fond of him.”
“Yes, I am very glad to think that he is, mother,” Ned said earnestly.
“You see Lucy is much younger, and naturally remembers comparatively
little about her father, and has been able to take to Mr. Mulready
without our prejudices. I am very glad to see that he really does like
her--in fact I do think he is getting quite fond of her. I shall go away
feeling quite easy about her. I wish I could say as much about Charlie.
He is not strong, like other boys, and feels unkindness very sharply.
I can see him shrink and shiver when your husband speaks to him, and am
afraid he will have a very bad time of it when I am gone.”
“I am sure, Ned, he will get on very well,” Mrs. Mulready said. “I have
no doubt that when he gets rid of the example you set him--I don't want
to begin to quarrel again--but of the example you set him of dislike
and disrespect to Mr. Mulready, that he will soon be quite different.
He will naturally turn to me again instead of looking to you for all his
opinions, and things will go on smoothly and well.”
“I am sure I hope so, mother. Perhaps I have done wrong in helping to
set Charlie against Mulready. Perhaps when I have gone, too, things
will be easier for him. If I could only think so I should go away with a
lighter heart. Well, anyhow, mother, I am glad we have had this talk. It
is not often we get a quiet talk together now.”
“I am sure it is not my fault,” Mrs. Mulready said in a slightly injured
tone.
“Perhaps not, mother,” Ned said kindly. “With the best intentions, I
know I am always doing things wrong. It's my way, I suppose. Anyhow,
mother, I really have meant well, and I hope you will think of me kindly
after I have gone.”
“You may be sure I shall do that, Ned,” his mother said, weeping again.
“I have no doubt the fault has been partly mine too, but you see women
don't understand boys, and can't make allowances for them.”
And so Ned kissed his mother for the first time since the day when she
had returned home from her wedding tour, and mother and son parted on
better terms than they had done for very many months, and Ned went with
a lightened heart to prepare his lessons for the next day.