Wind and Tide Against.
When Sally gave her hand to Abe, we have said it was "for better, for
worse," but she soon found there was a good deal of "worse" in it.
What a sad thing it seems that nearly all the pretty castles which
young people build for themselves in the air, should so soon fall to
pieces! What a wonderful contribution it would be to the science of
architecture if the ideas of these erections could only be realized in
substance! Ah, but such is the nature of things, that castles without
foundations can only be built in the air, and commonplace men are
unable to do that. It has been a great disappointment to the
constructors of these buildings, that they have never been permitted to
spend a single hour in them; so very attractive as they looked, too,
covered all over with gilt and flowers, and furnished in a style that
out-rivalled the pictures of the "Arabian Nights."
A real prince might be happy if he could only get in. Some of them
have taken years to bring to such a state of perfection; now, a little
addition is made here, and then a slight alteration there, until it is
finished, and the happy pair set off to take possession of the fairy
palace. But they never enter it: the more eager they are to get in,
the more confused they become as to the position of the doorway; one
thinks it is at the front, the other fancies it must be at the side,
and every time they go around the house seeking the entrance, by some
mysterious means the house seems further from them, and another effort
is necessary to reach it. How tiresome! but they must be in, for
storms begin to gather, and they are not prepared for them; the wind
blows and whistles as if calling up other evil forces for mischief;
night, like a dismal monster in a black cloak, and barefooted, is
coming on; the pretty castle is fading out of view among the darkening
objects around,--quick! quick! we must be in, for the hour is wild. On
they hurry, and in their haste, they find an open door and enter; there
is shelter and rest for them, but when daylight comes they open their
eyes, and lo, the lovely castle is gone, and the home is a weaver's
cottage!
There is no doubt that Abe and his young wife played their part at
castle-building, like most others in their position, and like others
they found it a great deal easier to erect than inhabit. However,
there is this to be said for them, which cannot be said for all, they
had fortitude to endure their lot without complaint; and though their
castle was but a very little cot, it was commodious enough to hold
them, and left room for a variety of joys and sorrows as well.
At the time when they were married, Abe was working as a cloth-finisher
in a mill near Almondbury common, but not long afterwards, the work at
this place failed, and he, with a number of others, was thrown out of
employment. This was a sore reverse, for which they were ill-prepared.
If trade had been good in the neighbourhood, he could easily have
obtained work under some other master, but alas! the reasons which
induced his employer to discharge his men, operated with others in the
same way, and consequently left no opening for Abe.
What was to be done? Ah! that was the inquiry which often passed
between Abe and Sally in their little home. The bread-winner was
stopped, then the bread must soon stop, and then would come a dark
_period_, that is, a full stop.
In their day of trouble they carried their case to the Lord, and asked
His fatherly aid; many a time did they go together to vent their burden
of trouble in His ear, and obtain strength to endure their trial. One
day, after Abe had been in this way asking help and counsel of the
Lord, he came and sat in a chair at one end of the table, while his
wife sat near him, quietly stitching away at an old garment she was
mending. For a few minutes neither of them spoke; by-and-by Sally
looked up from her work to thread her needle, and their eyes met. She
had a very sad look upon her face, for her heart was full of trouble,
and she was just ready for what she called "a good cry;" but the moment
she saw his face, which was covered all over with a comical smile, she
caught the infection, and burst into a laugh,--a kind of hysterical
laugh that had more sorrow than mirth in it. She laughed and he
laughed, one at the other, till tears came from the eyes of both, and
their poor sorrow-sick hearts seemed as if they would rise into their
throats and choke them.
"Naa, lass, what's matter with the'?" at length exclaimed Abe.
"Why, it's thee made me laugh soa."
"Me, what did I do?"
"Ay, thaa may weel ask," said Sally, wiping her eyes with her apron.
"Why, thaa looked a'most queer enough to mak' a besom-shank laugh;
thaa's made my soides ache."
"Well, it 'll do thee gooid; thaa wants a bit of a change, for thaa's
had heartache lang enough," responded her husband.
Sally resumed her work, but said nothing; her only response was a
deep-drawn sigh. A few moments of silence again ensued, which Abe
broke by saying, "Sally, haa would the' loike to see me wi' a black
face?"
"What's 'ta say?"
"Haa w'd th' loike to see me wi' a black face?" repeated Abe.
"What art ta going to blacken thee face forr doesn't th' like thee own
colour? what does ta mean?" inquired Sally looking at him.
"I mean," replied Abe with great earnestness, "that I'm gooin to turn
collier."
"Nay, niver, lad!" cried his wife in dismay.
"Why, it's only for a bit till things brighten up in aar loine, and
then thaa knows I can get wark at th' mill agean."
Poor Sally wept in earnest now; it was a shock to her feelings that she
was not prepared for. At length she said, "I niver thought of thee
goin daan a coil-pit, thaa isn't used to it, and thaa 'll happen break
thee neck."
"Nay, not soa; I've warked mony a day in a coil-pit," said Abe. "Bless
thee, my lass, when I were nowt but a bairn I used to wark i' th' pits;
niver fear, I'm an owd hand, I can do a bit o' hewing wi' ony on um."
And then when Abe saw the first burst of feeling on his wife's part was
giving way, he went on to make good his position: "Thaa knows I mun do
some'at, and there is nowt else I can see to turn to, and it 'll keep
us going till I can get back to my own wark; we mu'nt be praad in these
times, thaa knows. I'll promise to wesh th' black dust off my face
every day," said he, laughing, and trying to get her to do the same.
"Cheer up, my lass, we mun look th' rock i' th' face."
"Ah, th' Lord help us," responded Sally.
"Naa I like to year thee say that," said Abe, "because I believe it was
the Lord that put it into my yead, for I niver thowt abaat such a thing
till I were telling Him my troubles just naa, and then it came to me
all in a moment, like as if someone spake to me, and I says, I'll goa."
And he did go, and he got employment in one of the coal-pits in the
neighbourhood, where he received so much per week as wages, and a lump
of coal every day as large as he could carry home, as a perquisite. Of
course he took as big a lump as he could manage, and sometimes he was
tempted to overtax his strength. Many a time poor Abe had to stop on
the way home, lift the coal down from his head, where he usually
carried it, and rub the sore place; and many an expedient, in the way
of padding, had he to resort to, in order to compensate for the soft
place which nature, so prodigal in her gifts to some, had denied him.
However, day after day he struggled along under his dark and heavy
load, each day finding himself oppressed by another weight--of coals.
The new work was hard and trying to him, but he kept toiling on, and
patiently waiting for the time when his heavenly Father would open up
another sphere for him; meanwhile there was this consolation, that his
toils kept fire in the hearth, and bread in the cupboard at home, and
knowing this he was happy. He didn't envy any man his wealth, or his
ease; he many a time on his way home, with the lump of coal on his
head, was happier than the rich employer who passed him in his
carriage; he had no ambitious schemes with which to harass his mind,
his highest object was to glorify God in a consistent Christian life,
and try to lead others to do the same. When his day's work was ended,
he could lift his burden on his head, and journey homeward with a light
heart; the only weight he felt was upon his head; many a day he came
over the ground singing, certainly _under a difficulty_, but no matter,
he did sing. Abe was an alto singer in the chapel choir, but in these
homeward songs one would almost fancy he would have to take another
part, as the lump on his head would render it rather inconvenient for
him to reach the higher notes; ground-bass would be more in keeping
with his circumstances, and probably he himself was more inclined to
sink than soar; be that as it may, he sang and trudged along home, and
any one that met him, might know he was happy as a king, aye, and
happier than many.