Through The Fray: A Tale Of The Luddite Riots

by G. A. Henty

  " Thou ought'st not to talk so much, John," Bill was saying. "Thou know'st the doctor said thou must not excite thyself."

  " It makes no difference, Bill, no difference at all, talk

  or not talk. What does it matter? I am dying, and he

  knows it, and I know it; so do you. That bit of lead in

  my body has done its work. Strange, isn't it, that you

  should be here nursing me when I have thought of Shooter o

  ing you a score of times? A year ago it seemed absurd that Polly Powlett should like a boy like you better than a man like me, and yet I was sure it was because of you she would have nothing to say to me; but she was right, you will make the best husband of the two. I suppose it's because of that I sent for you. I was very fond of Polly, Bill, and when I felt that I was going, and there wasn't any use my being jealous any longer, I seemed to turn to you. I knew you would come, for you have been always ready to do a kindness to a chap who was down. You are different to the other lads here. I do believe you are fond of reading. Whenever you think I am asleep you take up your book."

  "Oi am trying to improve myself," Bill said quietly. " Maister Sankey put me in the roight way. He gives me an hour, and sometimes two, every evening. He has been wonderful kind to me, he has; there ain't nothing oi wouldn't do for him."

  The sick man moved uneasily.

  "THERE AIN'T NOWT WE WOULDN'T DO FOR HIM."

  "No more wouldn't Luke and Polly," Bill went on. " His father gived his loife, you know, for little Jenny. No, there ain't nowt we wouldn't do for him," he continued, glad to turn the subject from that of Stukeley's affection for Polly. " He be one of the best of maisters. Oi would give my life's blood if so be as oi could clear him of that business of Mulready's."

  For a minute or two not a word was said. The wind roared round the building, and in the intervals of the gusts the high clock in the corner of the room ticked steadily and solemnly as if distinctly intimating that its movements were not to be hurried by the commotion without. Stukeley had closed his eyes, and Bill began to hope that he was going to doze off, when he asked suddenly:

  " Bill, do you know who sent that letter that was read at the trial—I mean the one from the chap as said he done it, and was ready to give himself up if the boy was found guilty?"

  Bill did not answer.

  " You can tell me, if you know," Stukeley said impatiently. " You don't suppose as I am going to tell now! Maybe I shan't see anyone to tell this side of the grave, for I doubt as I shall see the morning. Who wrote it?"

  " I wrote it," Bill said; " but it warn't me as was coming forward, it war Luke's idee fust. He made up his moind as to own up as it was he as did it, and to be hung for it to save Maister Ned, acause the captain lost his loife for little Jenny."

  " But he didn't do it," Stukeley said sharply.

  " No, he didn't do it," Bill replied.

  There was a silence again for a long time; then Stukeley opened his eyes suddenly.

  " Bill, I should like to see Polly again. Dost think as she will come and say good-bye?"

  " Oi am sure as she will," Bill said steadily. "Shall oi go and fetch her?"

  " It's a wild night to ask a gal to come out on such an errand," Stukeley said doubtfully.

  " Polly won't mind that," Bill replied confidently. " She will just wrap her shawl round her head and come over. Oi will run across and fetch her. Oi will not be gone three minutes."

  In little more than that time Bill returned with Mary Powlett.

  " I am awfully sorry to hear you are so bad, John," the girl said frankly.

  "I am dying, Polly; I know that, or I wouldn't have sent for ye. It was a good day for you when you said no to what I asked you."

  "Never mind that now, John; that's all past and gone."

  " Ay, that's all past and gone, past and gone. I only wanted to say as I wish you well, Polly, and I hope you will be happy, and I am pretty nigh sure of it. Bill here tells me that you set your heart on having young Sankey cleared of that business as was against him. Is that so?"

  " That is so, John; he has been very kind to us all, to feyther and all of us. He is a good master to his men, and has kept many a mouth full this winter as would have been short of food without him; but why do you ask me?"

  " Just a fancy of mine, gal, such a fancy as comes into the head of a man at the last. When you get back send Luke here. It is late and maybe he has gone to bed, but tell him I must speak to him. And now, good-bye, Polly, God bless you! I don't know as I hasn't been wrong about all this business, but it didn't seem so to me afore. Just try and think that, will you, when you hear about it. I thought as I was a-acting for the good of the men."

  " I will always remember that," Polly said gently.

  Then she took the thin hand of the man in hers, glanced at Bill as if she would ask his approval, and reading acquiescence in his eyes she stooped over the bed and kissed Stukeley's forehead. Then without a word she left the cottage and hurried away through the darkness.

  A few minutes later Luke Marner came in, and to Bill's surprise Stukeley asked him to leave the room. In five minutes Luke came out again.

  "Go in to him, Bill," he said hoarsely. "Oi think he be a-sinking. For God's sake keep him up. Give him that wine and broath stuff as often as thou canst. Keep him going till oi coom back again; thou doan't know what depends on it."

  Hurrying back to his cottage Luke threw on a thick coat, and to the astonishment of Polly announced that he was going down into Marsden.

  " What! on such a night as this, feyther?"

  " Ay, lass, and would if it were ten toimes wurse. Get ye into thy room, and go down on thy knees, and pray God to keep John Stukeley alive and clear-headed till oi coomes back ao-ain."

  It was many years since Luke Marner's legs had carried him so fast as they now did into Marsden. The driving rain and hail which beat against him seemed unheeded as he ran down the hill at the top of his speed. He stopped at the doctor's and went in. Two or three minutes after the arrival of this late visitor Dr. Green's housekeeper was astonished at hearing the bell ring violently. On answering the bell she was ordered to arouse John, who had already gone to bed, and to tell him to put the horse into the gig instantly.

  "Not on such a night as this, doctor! sureley you are not agoing out on such a nio-ht as this!"

  " Hold your tongue, woman, and do as you are told instantly," the doctor said with far greater spirit than usual, for his housekeeper was, as a general thing, mistress of the establishment.

  With an air of greatly offended dignity she retired to carry out his orders. Three minutes later the doctor ran out of his room as he heard the man-servant descending the stairs.

  " John," he said, " I am going on at once to Mr. Thompson's; bring the gig round there. I sha'n't want you to go further with me. Hurry up, man, and don't lose a moment, it is a matter of life and death."

  A quarter of an hour later Dr. Green, with Mr. Thompson by his side, drove off through the tempest towards Varley.

  The next morning, as Ned was at breakfast, the doctor was announced.

  " What a pestilently early hour you breakfast at, Ned! I was not in bed till three o'clock, and I scarcely seemed to have been asleep an hour when I was obliged to get up to be in time to catch you before you were off."

  " That is hard on you indeed, doctor," Ned said smiling; "but why this haste? Have you got some patient for whom you want my help. You need not have got up so early for that, you know. You could have ordered anything you wanted for him in my name. You might have been sure I should have honoured the bill. But what made you so late last night? You were surely never out in such a gale!"

  " I was, Ned, and strange as it seems I never went in answer to a call which gave me so much satisfaction. My dear lad, I hardly know how to tell you. I have a piece of news for you; the greatest, the best news that man could have to tell you."

  Ned drew a long breath and the colour left his cheeks. "You don't mean, doctor, you ca
n't mean"—and he paused.

  " That you are cleared, my boy. Yes; that is my news. Thank God, Ned, your innocence is proved."

  Ned could not speak. For a minute he sat silent and motionless. Then he bent forward and covered his face with his hands, and his lips moved as he murmured a deep thanksgiving to God for this mercy, while Lucy and Charlie, with cries of surprise and delight, leapt from the table, and when Ned rose to his feet, threw their arms round his neck with enthusiastic delight; while the doctor wrung his hand, and then, taking out his pocket-handkerchief, wiped his eyes, violently declaring, as he did so, that he was an old fool.

  " Tell me all about it, doctor. How has it happened ? What has brought it about?"

  " Luke Marner came down to me at ten o'clock last night to tell me that John Stukeley was dying, which I knew very well, for when I saw him in the afternoon I saw he was sinking fast; but he told me, too, that the man was anxious to sign a declaration before a magistrate to the effect that it was he who killed your stepfather. I had my gig got out and hurried away to Thompson's. The old fellow was rather crusty at being called out on such a night, but to do him justice, I must say he went readily enough when he found what he was required for, though it must have given him a twinge of conscience, for you know he has never been one of your partisans. However, off we drove, and got there in time.

  " Stukeley made a full confession. It all happened just as we thought. It had been determined by the Luddites to kill Mulready, and Stukeley determined to carry out the business himself, convinced, as he says, that the man

  was a tyrant and an oppressor, and that his death was not only richly deserved, but that such a blow was necessary to encourage the Luddites. He did not care, however, to run the risk of taking any of the others into his confidence, and therefore carried it out alone, and to this day, although some of the others may have their suspicions, no one knows for certain that he was the perpetrator of the act.

  " He had armed himself with a pistol and went down to the mill, intending to shoot Mulready as he came out at night, but, stumbling upon the rope, thought that it was a safer and more certain means. After fastening it across the road he sat down and waited, intending to shoot your stepfather if the accident didn't turn out fatal. After the crash, finding that Mulready's neck was broken and that he was dead, he made off home. He wished it specially to be placed on his deposition that he made this confession not from any regret at having killed Mulready, but simply to oblige Mary Powlett, whose heart was bent upon your innocence being proved. He signed the deposition in the presence of Thompson, myself, and Bill Swinton."

  " And you think it is true, doctor, you really think it is true? It is not like Luke's attempt to save me?"

  " I am certain it is true, Ned. The man was dying, and there was no mistake about his earnestness. There is not a shadow of doubt. I sent Swinton back in the gig with Thompson and stayed with the man till half-past two. He was unconscious then. He may linger a few hours, but will not live out the day, and there is little chance

  of his again recovering consciousness. Thompson will to-day send a copy of the deposition to the Home Secretary, with a request that it may be made public through the newspapers. It will appear in all the Yorkshire papers next Saturday, and all the world will know that you are innocent."

  "What will my mother say?" Ned exclaimed, turning pale again.

  " I don't know what she will say, my lad, but I know what she ought to say. I am going round to Thompson's now for a copy of the deposition, and will bring it for her to see. Thompson will read it aloud at the meeting of the court to-day, so by this afternoon every one will know that yoi; are cleared."

  Abijah's joy when she heard that Ned's innocence was proved was no less than that of his brother and sister. She would have rushed upstairs at once to tell the news to her mistress, but Ned persuaded her not to do so until the doctor's return.

  " Then he will have to be quick," Abijah said, " for if the mistress's bell rings, and I have to go up before he comes, I shall never be able to keep it to myself. She will see it in my face that something has happened. If the bell rings, Miss Lucy, you must go up, and if she asks for me, say that I am particular busy, and will be up in a few minutes."

  The bell, however, did not ring before the doctor's return. After a short consultation between him and Ned, Abijah was called in.

  " Mr. Sankey agrees with me, Abijah, that you had better break the news. Your mistress is more accustomed to you than to anyone else, and you understand her ways. Here is the deposition. I shall wait below here till you come down. There is no saying how she will take it. Be sure you break the news gently."

  Abijah went upstairs with a hesitating step, strongly in contrast with her usual quick bustling walk. She had before felt rather aggrieved that the doctor should be the first to break the news; but she now felt the difficulty of the task, and would gladly have been spared the responsibility.

  " I have been expecting you for the last quarter of an hour, Abijah," Mrs. Mulready said querulously. "You know how I hate to have the room untidy after I have dressed. Why, what's the matter?" she broke off sharply as she noticed Abijah's face! "Why, you have been crying!"

  "Yes, ma'am, I have been crying," Abijah said unsteadily, "but I don't know as ever I shall cry again, for I have heard such good news as will last me the rest of my whole life."

  "What news, Abijah?" Mrs. Mulready asked quickly. " What are you making a mystery about, and what is that paper in your hand?"

  " Well, ma'am, God has been very good to us all. I knew as he would be sooner or later, though sometimes I began to doubt whether it would be in my time, and it did break my heart to see Maister Ned going about so pale and unnatural loike for a lad like him, and to know as there was people as thought that he was a murderer. And now, thank God, it is all over."

  "All over! what do you mean, Abijah?" Mrs. Mulready exclaimed, rising suddenly from her invalid chair. "What do you mean by saying that it is all over ?" and she seized the old nurse's arm with an eager grasp.

  "Don't excite yourself so, mistress. You have been sore tried, but it is over now, and to-day all the world will know as Maister Ned is proved to be innocent. This here paper is a copy of the confession of the man as did it, and who is, they say, dead by this time. It was taken all right and proper afore a magistrate."

  "Innocent!" Mrs. Mulready gasped in a voice scarcely above a whisper. " Did you tell me, Abijah, that my boy, ray boy Ned, is innocent?"

  " I never doubted as he was innocent, ma'am; but now, thank God, all the world will know it. There, ma'am, sit yourself down. Don't look like that. I know as how you must feel, but for mercy sake don't look like that."

  Mrs. Mulready did not seem to hear her, did not seem to notice, as she passively permitted herself to be seated in the chair, while Abijah poured out a glass of wine. Her face was pale and rigid, her eyes wide open, her expression one of horror rather than relief.

  "Innocent! Proved innocent!" she murmured. "What must he think of me—me, his mother!"

  For some time she sat looking straight before her, taking no notice to the efforts of Abijah to call her attention, and unheeding the glass of wine which she in vain pressed her to drink.

  " I must go away," she said at last, rising suddenly. " I must go away at once. Has he gone yet?"

  " Go away, ma'am! Why, what should you go away for, and where are you going?"

  "It does not matter; it makes no difference," Mrs. Mulready said feverishly, " so that I get away. Put some of my things together, Abijah. What are you staring-there for? Don't you hear what I say? I must go away directly he has started for the mill."

  And with trembling ringers she began to open her drawers and pull out her clothes.

  " But you can't go away like that, mistress. You can't, indeed," Abijah said aghast.

  " I must go, Abijah. There is nothing else for me to do. Do you think I could see him after treating him as I have done? I should fall dead at his feet for shame."


  "But where are you going, ma'am?" Abijah said, thinking it better not to attempt to argue with her in her present state.

  " I don't know, I don't know. Yes, I do. Do you know whether that cottage you were telling me about, where you lived while you were away from here, is to let? That will do nicely, for there I should be away from every one. Get me a box from the lumber-room, and tell Harriet to go out and get me a post-chaise from the ' Red Lion' as soon as my son has gone to the mill."

  " Very well," Abijah said. " I will do as you want

  me, 'm, if you will sit down quiet and not excite yourself. You know you have not been out of your room for a year, and if you go a-tiring yourself like this you will never be able to stand the journey. You sit down in the chair and I will do the packing for you. You can tell me what things you will take with you. I will get the box down."

  So saying, Abijah left the room, and, running hastily down-stairs, told Ned and the doctor the manner in which Mrs. Mulready had received the news. Ned would have run up at once to his mother, but Dr. Green would not hear of it.

  " It would not do, Ned. In your mother's present state the shock of seeing vou might have the worst effect. Run up, Abijah, and get the box down to her. I will go out and come back and knock at the door in two or three minutes, and will go up and see her, and, if necessary, I will give her a strong soothing draught. You had better tell her that from what you hear you believe Mr. Sankey is not going to the mill to-day. That will make her delay her preparation for moving until to-morrow, and will give us time to see what is best to be done."

  " I have brought the box, mistress," Abijah said as she entered Mrs. Mulready's room; "but I don't think as you will want to pack to-day, for I hear as Mr. Ned ain't agoing to the mill. You see all the town will be coming to see him to shake hands with him and tell him how glad they is that he is cleared."

  " And onlv I can't!" Mrs. Mulreadv wailed. " To think

  of it, only I, his mother, can't see him! And I must stop in the house for another day! Oh! it is too hard! But I deserve it, and everything else."

  " There is Dr. Green's knock," Abijah said.