Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor

by R. D. Blackmore

  CHAPTER XXIX

  REAPING LEADS TO REVELLING

  Although I was under interdict for two months from my darling--'one foryour sake, one for mine,' she had whispered, with her head withdrawn,yet not so very far from me--lighter heart was not on Exmoor than I borefor half the time, and even for three quarters. For she was safe; I knewthat daily by a mode of signals well-contrived between us now, on thestrength of our experience. 'I have nothing now to fear, John,' she hadsaid to me, as we parted; 'it is true that I am spied and watched, butGwenny is too keen for them. While I have my grandfather to prevent allviolence; and little Gwenny to keep watch on those who try to watch me;and you, above all others, John, ready at a moment, if the worst comesto the worst--this neglected Lorna Doone was never in such case before.Therefore do not squeeze my hand, John; I am safe without it, and you donot know your strength.'

  Ah, I knew my strength right well. Hill and valley scarcely seemed to bestep and landing for me; fiercest cattle I would play with, making themgo backward, and afraid of hurting them, like John Fry with his terrier;even rooted trees seemed to me but as sticks I could smite down, exceptfor my love of everything. The love of all things was upon me, and asoftness to them all, and a sense of having something even such as theyhad.

  Then the golden harvest came, waving on the broad hill-side, andnestling in the quiet nooks scooped from out the fringe of wood. Awealth of harvest such as never gladdened all our country-side since myfather ceased to reap, and his sickle hung to rust. There had not beena man on Exmoor fit to work that reaping-hook since the time its ownerfell, in the prime of life and strength, before a sterner reaper. Butnow I took it from the wall, where mother proudly stored it, while shewatched me, hardly knowing whether she should smile or cry.

  All the parish was assembled in our upper courtyard; for we were to openthe harvest that year, as had been settled with Farmer Nicholas, andwith Jasper Kebby, who held the third or little farm. We started inproper order, therefore, as our practice is: first, the parson JosiahBowden, wearing his gown and cassock, with the parish Bible in his hand,and a sickle strapped behind him. As he strode along well and stoutly,being a man of substance, all our family came next, I leading motherwith one hand, in the other bearing my father's hook, and with a loafof our own bread and a keg of cider upon my back. Behind us Annie andLizzie walked, wearing wreaths of corn-flowers, set out very prettily,such as mother would have worn if she had been a farmer's wife, insteadof a farmer's widow. Being as she was, she had no adornment, except thather widow's hood was off, and her hair allowed to flow, as if she hadbeen a maiden; and very rich bright hair it was, in spite of all hertroubles.

  After us, the maidens came, milkmaids and the rest of them, with BettyMuxworthy at their head, scolding even now, because they would not walkfitly. But they only laughed at her; and she knew it was no good toscold, with all the men behind them.

  Then the Snowes came trooping forward; Farmer Nicholas in the middle,walking as if he would rather walk to a wheatfield of his own, yetcontent to follow lead, because he knew himself the leader; and signingevery now and then to the people here and there, as if I were nobody.But to see his three great daughters, strong and handsome wenches,making upon either side, as if somebody would run off with them--thiswas the very thing that taught me how to value Lorna, and her puresimplicity.

  After the Snowes came Jasper Kebby, with his wife, new-married; and avery honest pair they were, upon only a hundred acres, and a right ofcommon. After these the men came hotly, without decent order, trying tospy the girls in front, and make good jokes about them, at which theirwives laughed heartily, being jealous when alone perhaps. And afterthese men and their wives came all the children toddling, pickingflowers by the way, and chattering and asking questions, as the childrenwill. There must have been threescore of us, take one with another, andthe lane was full of people. When we were come to the big field-gate,where the first sickle was to be, Parson Bowden heaved up the rail withthe sleeves of his gown done green with it; and he said that everybodymight hear him, though his breath was short, 'In the name of the Lord,Amen!'

  'Amen! So be it!' cried the clerk, who was far behind, being only ashoemaker.

  Then Parson Bowden read some verses from the parish Bible, telling us tolift up our eyes, and look upon the fields already white to harvest;and then he laid the Bible down on the square head of the gate-post,and despite his gown and cassock, three good swipes he cut off corn,and laid them right end onwards. All this time the rest were huddlingoutside the gate, and along the lane, not daring to interfere withparson, but whispering how well he did it.

  When he had stowed the corn like that, mother entered, leaning on me,and we both said, 'Thank the Lord for all His mercies, and these thefirst-fruits of His hand!' And then the clerk gave out a psalm verse byverse, done very well; although he sneezed in the midst of it, from abeard of wheat thrust up his nose by the rival cobbler at Brendon. Andwhen the psalm was sung, so strongly that the foxgloves on the bank wereshaking, like a chime of bells, at it, Parson took a stoop of cider, andwe all fell to at reaping.

  Of course I mean the men, not women; although I know that up thecountry, women are allowed to reap; and right well they reap it, keepingrow for row with men, comely, and in due order, yet, meseems, the menmust ill attend to their own reaping-hooks, in fear lest the other cutthemselves, being the weaker vessel. But in our part, women do whatseems their proper business, following well behind the men, out of harmof the swinging hook, and stooping with their breasts and arms up theycatch the swathes of corn, where the reapers cast them, and tucking themtogether tightly with a wisp laid under them, this they fetch around andtwist, with a knee to keep it close; and lo, there is a goodly sheaf,ready to set up in stooks! After these the children come, gathering eachfor his little self, if the farmer be right-minded; until each hath abundle made as big as himself and longer, and tumbles now and again withit, in the deeper part of the stubble.

  We, the men, kept marching onwards down the flank of the yellow wall,with knees bent wide, and left arm bowed and right arm flashing steel.Each man in his several place, keeping down the rig or chine, on theright side of the reaper in front, and the left of the man that followedhim, each making farther sweep and inroad into the golden breadth anddepth, each casting leftwards his rich clearance on his foregoer'sdouble track.

  So like half a wedge of wildfowl, to and fro we swept the field; andwhen to either hedge we came, sickles wanted whetting, and throatsrequired moistening, and backs were in need of easing, and every man hadmuch to say, and women wanted praising. Then all returned to the otherend, with reaping-hooks beneath our arms, and dogs left to mind jackets.

  But now, will you believe me well, or will you only laugh at me? Foreven in the world of wheat, when deep among the varnished crispness ofthe jointed stalks, and below the feathered yielding of the gracefulheads, even as I gripped the swathes and swept the sickle round them,even as I flung them by to rest on brother stubble, through the whirlingyellow world, and eagerness of reaping, came the vision of my love, aswith downcast eyes she wondered at my power of passion. And then thesweet remembrance glowed brighter than the sun through wheat, through myvery depth of heart, of how she raised those beaming eyes, and ripenedin my breast rich hope. Even now I could descry, like high waves in thedistance, the rounded heads and folded shadows of the wood of Bagworthy.Perhaps she was walking in the valley, and softly gazing up at them. Oh,to be a bird just there! I could see a bright mist hanging just abovethe Doone Glen. Perhaps it was shedding its drizzle upon her. Oh, tobe a drop of rain! The very breeze which bowed the harvest to my bosomgently, might have come direct from Lorna, with her sweet voice laden.Ah, the flaws of air that wander where they will around her, fan herbright cheek, play with lashes, even revel in her hair and reveal herbeauties--man is but a breath, we know, would I were such breath asthat!

  But confound it, while I ponder, with delicious dreams suspended, withmy right arm hanging frustrate and the giant sickle drooped,
with myleft arm bowed for clasping something more germane than wheat, and myeyes not minding business, but intent on distant woods--confound it,what are the men about, and why am I left vapouring? They have takenadvantage of me, the rogues! They are gone to the hedge for thecider-jars; they have had up the sledd of bread and meat, quite softlyover the stubble, and if I can believe my eyes (so dazed with Lorna'simage), they are sitting down to an excellent dinner, before the churchclock has gone eleven!

  'John Fry, you big villain!' I cried, with John hanging up in the air bythe scruff of his neck-cloth, but holding still by his knife and fork,and a goose-leg in between his lips, 'John Fry, what mean you by this,sir?'

  'Latt me dowun, or I can't tell 'e,' John answered with some difficulty.So I let him come down, and I must confess that he had reason on hisside. 'Plaise your worship'--John called me so, ever since I returnedfrom London, firmly believing that the King had made me a magistrate atleast; though I was to keep it secret--'us zeed as how your worship weretook with thinkin' of King's business, in the middle of the whate-rigg:and so uz zed, "Latt un coom to his zell, us had better zave taime, bytakking our dinner"; and here us be, praise your worship, and hopps nooffence with thick iron spoon full of vried taties.'

  I was glad enough to accept the ladle full of fried batatas, and to makethe best of things, which is generally done by letting men have theirown way. Therefore I managed to dine with them, although it was soearly.

  For according to all that I can find, in a long life and a varied one,twelve o'clock is the real time for a man to have his dinner. Then thesun is at his noon, calling halt to look around, and then the plants andleaves are turning, each with a little leisure time, before the work ofthe afternoon. Then is the balance of east and west, and then the rightand left side of a man are in due proportion, and contribute fairlywith harmonious fluids. And the health of this mode of life, and itsreclaiming virtue are well set forth in our ancient rhyme,--

  Sunrise, breakfast; sun high, dinner; Sundown, sup; makes a saint of asinner.

  Whish, the wheat falls! Whirl again; ye have had good dinners; give yourmaster and mistress plenty to supply another year. And in truth we didreap well and fairly, through the whole of that afternoon, I not onlykeeping lead, but keeping the men up to it. We got through a matter often acres, ere the sun between the shocks broke his light on wheatenplumes, then hung his red cloak on the clouds, and fell into greyslumber.

  Seeing this we wiped our sickles, and our breasts and foreheads, andsoon were on the homeward road, looking forward to good supper.

  Of course all the reapers came at night to the harvest-supper, andParson Bowden to say the grace as well as to help to carve for us. Andsome help was needed there, I can well assure you; for the reapers hadbrave appetites, and most of their wives having babies were forced toeat as a duty. Neither failed they of this duty; cut and come again wasthe order of the evening, as it had been of the day; and I had no timeto ask questions, but help meat and ladle gravy. All the while ourdarling Annie, with her sleeves tucked up, and her comely figurepanting, was running about with a bucket of taties mashed with lard andcabbage. Even Lizzie had left her books, and was serving out beer andcider; while mother helped plum-pudding largely on pewter-plates withthe mutton. And all the time, Betty Muxworthy was grunting in and outeverywhere, not having space to scold even, but changing the dishes,serving the meat, poking the fire, and cooking more. But John Fry wouldnot stir a peg, except with his knife and fork, having all the airs of avisitor, and his wife to keep him eating, till I thought there would beno end of it.

  Then having eaten all they could, they prepared themselves, with oneaccord, for the business now of drinking. But first they lifted the neckof corn, dressed with ribbons gaily, and set it upon the mantelpiece,each man with his horn a-froth; and then they sang a song about it,every one shouting in the chorus louder than harvest thunderstorm. Somewere in the middle of one verse, and some at the end of the next one;yet somehow all managed to get together in the mighty roar of theburden. And if any farmer up the country would like to know Exmoorharvest-song as sung in my time and will be sung long after I amgarnered home, lo, here I set it down for him, omitting only thedialect, which perchance might puzzle him.

  EXMOOR HARVEST-SONG

  1

  The corn, oh the corn, 'tis the ripening of the corn! Go unto the door, my lad, and look beneath the moon, Thou canst see, beyond the woodrick, how it is yelloon: 'Tis the harvesting of wheat, and the barley must be shorn.

  (Chorus)

  The corn, oh the corn, and the yellow, mellow corn! Here's to the corn, with the cups upon the board! We've been reaping all the day, and we'll reap again the morn And fetch it home to mow-yard, and then we'll thank the Lord.

  2

  The wheat, oh the wheat, 'tis the ripening of the wheat! All the day it has been hanging down its heavy head, Bowing over on our bosoms with a beard of red: 'Tis the harvest, and the value makes the labour sweet.

  (Chorus)

  The wheat, oh the wheat, and the golden, golden wheat! Here's to the wheat, with the loaves upon the board! We've been reaping all the day, and we never will be beat, But fetch it all to mow-yard, and then we'll thank the Lord.

  3

  The barley, oh the barley, and the barley is in prime! All the day it has been rustling, with its bristles brown, Waiting with its beard abowing, till it can be mown! 'Tis the harvest and the barley must abide its time.

  (Chorus)

  The barley, oh the barley, and the barley ruddy brown! Here's to the barley, with the beer upon the board! We'll go amowing, soon as ever all the wheat is down; When all is in the mow-yard, we'll stop, and thank the Lord.

  4

  The oats, oh the oats, 'tis the ripening of the oats! All the day they have been dancing with their flakes of white, Waiting for the girding-hook, to be the nags' delight: 'Tis the harvest, let them dangle in their skirted coats.

  (Chorus)

  The oats, oh the oats, and the silver, silver oats! Here's to the oats with the blackstone on the board! We'll go among them, when the barley has been laid in rotes: When all is home to mow-yard, we'll kneel and thank the Lord.

  5

  The corn, oh the corn, and the blessing of the corn! Come unto the door, my lads, and look beneath the moon, We can see, on hill and valley, how it is yelloon, With a breadth of glory, as when our Lord was born.

  (Chorus)

  The corn, oh the corn, and the yellow, mellow corn! Thanks for the corn, with our bread upon the board! So shall we acknowledge it, before we reap the morn, With our hands to heaven, and our knees unto the Lord.

  Now we sang this song very well the first time, having the parish choirto lead us, and the clarionet, and the parson to give us the time withhis cup; and we sang it again the second time, not so but what you mightpraise it (if you had been with us all the evening), although the parsonwas gone then, and the clerk not fit to compare with him in the matterof keeping time. But when that song was in its third singing, I defy anyman (however sober) to have made out one verse from the other, or eventhe burden from the verses, inasmuch as every man present, ay, and womantoo, sang as became convenient to them, in utterance both of words andtune.

  And in truth, there was much excuse for them; because it was a nobleharvest, fit to thank the Lord for, without His thinking us hypocrites.For we had more land in wheat, that year, than ever we had before,and twice the crop to the acre; and I could not help now and thenremembering, in the midst of the merriment, how my father in thechurchyard yonder would have gloried to behold it. And my mother, whohad left us now, happening to return just then, being called to have herhealth drunk (for the twentieth time at least), I knew by the sadnessin her eyes that she was thinking just as I was. Presently, therefore,I slipped away from
the noise, and mirth, and smoking (although of thatlast there was not much, except from Farmer Nicholas), and crossing thecourtyard in the moonlight, I went, just to cool myself, as far as myfather's tombstone.