CHAPTER IV
PHILIP HEPBURN
The coast on that part of the island to which this story refers isbordered by rocks and cliffs. The inland country immediatelyadjacent to the coast is level, flat, and bleak; it is only wherethe long stretch of dyke-enclosed fields terminates abruptly in asheer descent, and the stranger sees the ocean creeping up the sandsfar below him, that he is aware on how great an elevation he hasbeen. Here and there, as I have said, a cleft in the level land(thus running out into the sea in steep promontories) occurs--whatthey would call a 'chine' in the Isle of Wight; but instead of thesoft south wind stealing up the woody ravine, as it does there, theeastern breeze comes piping shrill and clear along these northernchasms, keeping the trees that venture to grow on the sides down tothe mere height of scrubby brushwood. The descent to the shorethrough these 'bottoms' is in most cases very abrupt, too much sofor a cartway, or even a bridle-path; but people can pass up anddown without difficulty, by the help of a few rude steps hewn hereand there out of the rock.
Sixty or seventy years ago (not to speak of much later times) thefarmers who owned or hired the land which lay directly on the summitof these cliffs were smugglers to the extent of their power, onlypartially checked by the coast-guard distributed, at pretty nearlyequal interspaces of eight miles, all along the north-easternseaboard. Still sea-wrack was a good manure, and there was no lawagainst carrying it up in great osier baskets for the purpose oftillage, and many a secret thing was lodged in hidden crevices inthe rocks till the farmer sent trusty people down to the shore for agood supply of sand and seaweed for his land.
One of the farms on the cliff had lately been taken by Sylvia'sfather. He was a man who had roamed about a good deal--been sailor,smuggler, horse-dealer, and farmer in turns; a sort of fellowpossessed by a spirit of adventure and love of change, which did himand his own family more harm than anybody else. He was just the kindof man that all his neighbours found fault with, and all hisneighbours liked. Late in life (for such an imprudent man as he, wasone of a class who generally wed, trusting to chance and luck forthe provision for a family), farmer Robson married a woman whoseonly want of practical wisdom consisted in taking him for a husband.She was Philip Hepburn's aunt, and had had the charge of him untilshe married from her widowed brother's house. He it was who had lether know when Haytersbank Farm had been to let; esteeming it alikely piece of land for his uncle to settle down upon, after asomewhat unprosperous career of horse-dealing. The farmhouse lay inthe shelter of a very slight green hollow scarcely scooped out ofthe pasture field by which it was surrounded; the short crisp turfcame creeping up to the very door and windows, without any attemptat a yard or garden, or any nearer enclosure of the buildings thanthe stone dyke that formed the boundary of the field itself. Thebuildings were long and low, in order to avoid the rough violence ofthe winds that swept over that wild, bleak spot, both in winter andsummer. It was well for the inhabitants of that house that coal wasextremely cheap; otherwise a southerner might have imagined thatthey could never have survived the cutting of the bitter gales thatpiped all round, and seemed to seek out every crevice for admissioninto the house.
But the interior was warm enough when once you had mounted the longbleak lane, full of round rough stones, enough to lame any horseunaccustomed to such roads, and had crossed the field by the littledry, hard footpath, which tacked about so as to keep from directlyfacing the prevailing wind. Mrs. Robson was a Cumberland woman, andas such, was a cleaner housewife than the farmers' wives of thatnorth-eastern coast, and was often shocked at their ways, showing itmore by her looks than by her words, for she was not a great talker.This fastidiousness in such matters made her own house extremelycomfortable, but did not tend to render her popular among herneighbours. Indeed, Bell Robson piqued herself on her housekeepinggenerally, and once in-doors in the gray, bare stone house, therewere plenty of comforts to be had besides cleanliness and warmth.The great rack of clap-bread hung overhead, and Bell Robson'spreference of this kind of oat-cake over the leavened and partlysour kind used in Yorkshire was another source of her unpopularity.Flitches of bacon and 'hands' (_i.e._, shoulders of cured pork, thelegs or hams being sold, as fetching a better price) abounded; andfor any visitor who could stay, neither cream nor finest wheatenflour was wanting for 'turf cakes' and 'singing hinnies,' with whichit is the delight of the northern housewives to regale the honouredguest, as he sips their high-priced tea, sweetened with daintysugar.
This night farmer Robson was fidgeting in and out of his house-door,climbing the little eminence in the field, and coming downdisappointed in a state of fretful impatience. His quiet, taciturnwife was a little put out by Sylvia's non-appearance too; but sheshowed her anxiety by being shorter than usual in her replies to hisperpetual wonders as to where the lass could have been tarrying, andby knitting away with extra diligence.
'I've a vast o' mind to go down to Monkshaven mysen, and see aftert' child. It's well on for seven.'
'No, Dannel,' said his wife; 'thou'd best not. Thy leg has beenpaining thee this week past, and thou'rt not up to such a walk. I'llrouse Kester, and send him off, if thou think'st there's need onit.'
'A'll noan ha' Kester roused. Who's to go afield betimes after t'sheep in t' morn, if he's ca'ed up to-neet? He'd miss t' lass, andfind a public-house, a reckon,' said Daniel, querulously.
'I'm not afeard o' Kester,' replied Bell. 'He's a good one forknowing folk i' th' dark. But if thou'd rather, I'll put on my hoodand cloak and just go to th' end o' th' lane, if thou'lt have an eyeto th' milk, and see as it does na' boil o'er, for she canna stomachit if it's bishopped e'er so little.'
Before Mrs. Robson, however, had put away her knitting, voices wereheard at a good distance down the lane, but coming nearer everymoment, and once more Daniel climbed the little brow to look and tolisten.
'It's a' reet!' said he, hobbling quickly down. 'Niver fidgettheesel' wi' gettin' ready to go search for her. I'll tak' thee abet it's Philip Hepburn's voice, convoying her home, just as I saidhe would, an hour sin'.'
Bell did not answer, as she might have done, that this probabilityof Philip's bringing Sylvia home had been her own suggestion, setaside by her husband as utterly unlikely. Another minute and thecountenances of both parents imperceptibly and unconsciously relaxedinto pleasure as Sylvia came in.
She looked very rosy from the walk, and the October air, which beganto be frosty in the evenings; there was a little cloud over her faceat first, but it was quickly dispersed as she met the loving eyes ofhome. Philip, who followed her, had an excited, but not altogetherpleased look about him. He received a hearty greeting from Daniel,and a quiet one from his aunt.
'Tak' off thy pan o' milk, missus, and set on t' kettle. Milk may dofor wenches, but Philip and me is for a drop o' good Hollands andwatter this cold night. I'm a'most chilled to t' marrow wi' lookingout for thee, lass, for t' mother was in a peck o' troubles aboutthy none coining home i' t' dayleet, and I'd to keep hearkening outon t' browhead.'
This was entirely untrue, and Bell knew it to be so; but her husbanddid not. He had persuaded himself now, as he had done often before,that what he had in reality done for his own pleasure orsatisfaction, he had done in order to gratify some one else.
'The town was rough with a riot between the press-gang and thewhaling folk; and I thought I'd best see Sylvia home.'
'Ay, ay, lad; always welcome, if it's only as an excuse for t'liquor. But t' whalers, say'st ta? Why, is t' whalers in? There wasnone i' sight yesterday, when I were down on t' shore. It's earlydays for 'em as yet. And t' cursed old press-gang's agate again,doing its devil's work!'
His face changed as he ended his speech, and showed a steady passionof old hatred.
'Ay, missus, yo' may look. I wunnot pick and choose my words,noather for yo' nor for nobody, when I speak o' that daumed gang.I'm none ashamed o' my words. They're true, and I'm ready to prove'em. Where's my forefinger? Ay! and as good a top-joint of a thumbas iver a man had? I wish I'd kept 'em i' sperits, as the
y donethings at t' 'potticary's, just to show t' lass what flesh and boneI made away wi' to get free. I ups wi' a hatchet when I saw as Iwere fast a-board a man-o'-war standing out for sea--it were in t'time o' the war wi' Amerikay, an' I could na stomach the thought o'being murdered i' my own language--so I ups wi' a hatchet, and Isays to Bill Watson, says I, "Now, my lad, if thou'll do me akindness, I'll pay thee back, niver fear, and they'll be glad enoughto get shut on us, and send us to old England again. Just come downwith a will." Now, missus, why can't ye sit still and listen to me,'stead o' pottering after pans and what not?' said he, speakingcrossly to his wife, who had heard the story scores of times, and,it must be confessed, was making some noise in preparing bread andmilk for Sylvia's supper.
Bell did not say a word in reply, but Sylvia tapped his shoulderwith a pretty little authoritative air.
'It's for me, feyther. I'm just keen-set for my supper. Once let meget quickly set down to it, and Philip there to his glass o' grog,and you'll never have such listeners in your life, and mother's mindwill be at ease too.'
'Eh! thou's a wilfu' wench,' said the proud father, giving her agreat slap on her back. 'Well! set thee down to thy victual, and bequiet wi' thee, for I want to finish my tale to Philip. But,perhaps, I've telled it yo' afore?' said he, turning round toquestion Hepburn.
Hepburn could not say that he had not heard it, for he piquedhimself on his truthfulness. But instead of frankly and directlyowning this, he tried to frame a formal little speech, which wouldsoothe Daniel's mortified vanity; and, of course, it had thedirectly opposite effect. Daniel resented being treated like achild, and yet turned his back on Philip with all the wilfulness ofone. Sylvia did not care for her cousin, but hated the discomfort ofhaving her father displeased; so she took up her tale of adventure,and told her father and mother of her afternoon's proceedings.Daniel pretended not to listen at first, and made ostentatiousnoises with his spoon and glass; but by-and-by he got quite warm andexcited about the doings of the press-gang, and scolded both Philipand Sylvia for not having learnt more particulars as to what was thetermination of the riot.
'I've been whaling mysel',' said he; 'and I've heerd tell as whalerswear knives, and I'd ha' gi'en t' gang a taste o' my whittle, if I'dbeen cotched up just as I'd set my foot a-shore.'
'I don't know,' said Philip; 'we're at war wi' the French, and weshouldn't like to be beaten; and yet if our numbers are not equal totheirs, we stand a strong chance of it.'
'Not a bit on't--so be d--d!' said Daniel Robson, bringing down hisfist with such violence on the round deal table, that the glassesand earthenware shook again. 'Yo'd not strike a child or a woman,for sure! yet it 'ud be like it, if we did na' give the Frenchiessome 'vantages--if we took 'em wi' equal numbers. It's not fairplay, and that's one place where t' shoe pinches. It's not fair playtwo ways. It's not fair play to cotch up men as has no call forfightin' at another man's biddin', though they've no objection tofight a bit on their own account and who are just landed, all keenafter bread i'stead o' biscuit, and flesh-meat i'stead o' junk, andbeds i'stead o' hammocks. (I make naught o' t' sentiment side, for Iwere niver gi'en up to such carnal-mindedness and poesies.) It'snoane fair to cotch 'em up and put 'em in a stifling hole, all linedwith metal for fear they should whittle their way out, and send 'emoff to sea for years an' years to come. And again it's no fair playto t' French. Four o' them is rightly matched wi' one o' us; and ifwe go an' fight 'em four to four it's like as if yo' fell to beatin'Sylvie there, or little Billy Croxton, as isn't breeched. And that'smy mind. Missus, where's t' pipe?'
Philip did not smoke, so took his turn at talking, a chance heseldom had with Daniel, unless the latter had his pipe between hislips. So after Daniel had filled it, and used Sylvia's little fingeras a stopper to ram down the tobacco--a habit of his to which shewas so accustomed that she laid her hand on the table by him, asnaturally as she would have fetched him his spittoon when he beganto smoke--Philip arranged his arguments, and began--
'I'm for fair play wi' the French as much as any man, as long as wecan be sure o' beating them; but, I say, make sure o' that, and thengive them ivery advantage. Now I reckon Government is not sure asyet, for i' the papers it said as half th' ships i' th' Channelhadn't got their proper complement o' men; and all as I say is, letGovernment judge a bit for us; and if they say they're hampered forwant o' men, why we must make it up somehow. John and JeremiahFoster pay in taxes, and Militiaman pays in person; and if sailorscannot pay in taxes, and will not pay in person, why they must bemade to pay; and that's what th' press-gang is for, I reckon. For mypart, when I read o' the way those French chaps are going on, I'mthankful to be governed by King George and a British Constitution.'
Daniel took his pipe out of his mouth at this.
'And when did I say a word again King George and the Constitution? Ionly ax 'em to govern me as I judge best, and that's what I callrepresentation. When I gived my vote to Measter Cholmley to go up tot' Parliament House, I as good as said, 'Now yo' go up theer, sir,and tell 'em what I, Dannel Robson, think right, and what I, DannelRobson, wish to have done.' Else I'd be darned if I'd ha' gi'en myvote to him or any other man. And div yo' think I want Seth Robson (as is my own brother's son, and mate to a collier) to be cotched upby a press-gang, and ten to one his wages all unpaid? Div yo' thinkI'd send up Measter Cholmley to speak up for that piece o' work? NotI.' He took up his pipe again, shook out the ashes, puffed it into aspark, and shut his eyes, preparatory to listening.
'But, asking pardon, laws is made for the good of the nation, notfor your good or mine.'
Daniel could not stand this. He laid down his pipe, opened his eyes,stared straight at Philip before speaking, in order to enforce hiswords, and then said slowly--
'Nation here! nation theere! I'm a man and yo're another, butnation's nowheere. If Measter Cholmley talked to me i' that fashion,he'd look long for another vote frae me. I can make out King George,and Measter Pitt, and yo' and me, but nation! nation, go hang!'
Philip, who sometimes pursued an argument longer than was politicfor himself, especially when he felt sure of being on the conqueringside, did not see that Daniel Robson was passing out of theindifference of conscious wisdom into that state of anger whichensues when a question becomes personal in some unspoken way. Robsonhad contested this subject once or twice before, and had theremembrance of former disputes to add to his present vehemence. Soit was well for the harmony of the evening that Bell and Sylviareturned from the kitchen to sit in the house-place. They had beento wash up the pans and basins used for supper; Sylvia had privatelyshown off her cloak, and got over her mother's shake of the head atits colour with a coaxing kiss, at the end of which her mother hadadjusted her cap with a 'There! there! ha' done wi' thee,' but hadno more heart to show her disapprobation; and now they came back totheir usual occupations until it should please their visitor to go;then they would rake the fire and be off to bed; for neitherSylvia's spinning nor Bell's knitting was worth candle-light, andmorning hours are precious in a dairy.
People speak of the way in which harp-playing sets off a gracefulfigure; spinning is almost as becoming an employment. A woman standsat the great wool-wheel, one arm extended, the other holding thethread, her head thrown back to take in all the scope of heroccupation; or if it is the lesser spinning-wheel for flax--and itwas this that Sylvia moved forwards to-night--the pretty sound ofthe buzzing, whirring motion, the attitude of the spinner, foot andhand alike engaged in the business--the bunch of gay colouredribbon that ties the bundle of flax on the rock--all make it into apicturesque piece of domestic business that may rival harp-playingany day for the amount of softness and grace which it calls out.
Sylvia's cheeks were rather flushed by the warmth of the room afterthe frosty air. The blue ribbon with which she had thought itnecessary to tie back her hair before putting on her hat to go tomarket had got rather loose, and allowed her disarranged curls tostray in a manner which would have annoyed her extremely, if she hadbeen upstairs to look at herself in the g
lass; but although theywere not set in the exact fashion which Sylvia esteemed as correct,they looked very pretty and luxuriant. Her little foot, placed onthe 'traddle', was still encased in its smartly buckled shoe--notslightly to her discomfort, as she was unaccustomed to be shod inwalking far; only as Philip had accompanied them home, neither shenor Molly had liked to go barefoot. Her round mottled arm and ruddytaper hand drew out the flax with nimble, agile motion, keeping timeto the movement of the wheel. All this Philip could see; the greaterpart of her face was lost to him as she half averted it, with a shydislike to the way in which she knew from past experience thatcousin Philip always stared at her. And avert it as she would sheheard with silent petulance the harsh screech of Philip's chair ashe heavily dragged it on the stone floor, sitting on it all thewhile, and felt that he was moving round so as to look at her asmuch as was in his power, without absolutely turning his back oneither her father or mother. She got herself ready for the firstopportunity of contradiction or opposition.
'Well, wench! and has ta bought this grand new cloak?'
'Yes, feyther. It's a scarlet one.'
'Ay, ay! and what does mother say?'
'Oh, mother's content,' said Sylvia, a little doubting in her heart,but determined to defy Philip at all hazards.
'Mother 'll put up with it if it does na spot would be nearer fact,I'm thinking,' said Bell, quietly.
'I wanted Sylvia to take the gray,' said Philip.
'And I chose the red; it's so much gayer, and folk can see me thefarther off. Feyther likes to see me at first turn o' t' lane, don'tyo', feyther? and I'll niver turn out when it's boun' for to rain,so it shall niver get a spot near it, mammy.'
'I reckoned it were to wear i' bad weather,' said Bell. 'Leastwaysthat were the pretext for coaxing feyther out o' it.'
She said it in a kindly tone, though the words became a prudentrather than a fond mother. But Sylvia understood her better thanDaniel did as it appeared.
'Hou'd thy tongue, mother. She niver spoke a pretext at all.'
He did not rightly know what a 'pretext' was: Bell was a touchbetter educated than her husband, but he did not acknowledge this,and made a particular point of differing from her whenever she useda word beyond his comprehension.
'She's a good lass at times; and if she liked to wear ayellow-orange cloak she should have it. Here's Philip here, asstands up for laws and press-gangs, I'll set him to find us a lawagain pleasing our lass; and she our only one. Thou dostn't think onthat, mother!
Bell did think of that often; oftener than her husband, perhaps, forshe remembered every day, and many times a day, the little one thathad been born and had died while its father was away on some longvoyage. But it was not her way to make replies.
Sylvia, who had more insight into her mother's heart than Daniel,broke in with a new subject.
'Oh! as for Philip, he's been preaching up laws all t' way home. Isaid naught, but let Molly hold her own; or else I could ha' told atale about silks an' lace an' things.'
Philip's face flushed. Not because of the smuggling; every one didthat, only it was considered polite to ignore it; but he was annoyedto perceive how quickly his little cousin had discovered that hispractice did not agree with his preaching, and vexed, too, to seehow delighted she was to bring out the fact. He had some littleidea, too, that his uncle might make use of his practice as anargument against the preaching he had lately been indulging in, inopposition to Daniel; but Daniel was too far gone in hisHollands-and-water to do more than enunciate his own opinions, whichhe did with hesitating and laboured distinctness in the followingsentence:
'What I think and say is this. Laws is made for to keep some folksfra' harming others. Press-gangs and coast-guards harm me i' mybusiness, and keep me fra' getting what I want. Theerefore, what Ithink and say is this: Measter Cholmley should put down press-gangsand coast-guards. If that theere isn't reason I ax yo' to tell mewhat is? an' if Measter Cholmley don't do what I ax him, he may gowhistle for my vote, he may.'
At this period in his conversation, Bell Robson interfered; not inthe least from any feeling of disgust or annoyance, or dread of whathe might say or do if he went on drinking, but simply as a matter ofhealth. Sylvia, too, was in no way annoyed; not only with herfather, but with every man whom she knew, excepting her cousinPhilip, was it a matter of course to drink till their ideas becameconfused. So she simply put her wheel aside, as preparatory to goingto bed, when her mother said, in a more decided tone than that whichshe had used on any other occasion but this, and similar ones--
'Come, measter, you've had as much as is good for you.'
'Let a' be! Let a' be,' said he, clutching at the bottle of spirits,but perhaps rather more good-humoured with what he had drunk than hewas before; he jerked a little more into his glass before his wifecarried it off, and locked it up in the cupboard, putting the key inher pocket, and then he said, winking at Philip--
'Eh! my man. Niver gie a woman t' whip hand o'er yo'! Yo' seen whatit brings a man to; but for a' that I'll vote for Cholmley, an'd----t' press-gang!'
He had to shout out the last after Philip, for Hepburn, reallyanxious to please his aunt, and disliking drinking habits himself byconstitution, was already at the door, and setting out on his returnhome, thinking, it must be confessed, far more of the character ofSylvia's shake of the hand than of the parting words of either hisuncle or aunt.
Sylvia's Lovers — Complete Page 4
