Chapter 16

His locks behind,Illustrious on his shoulders,fledgewith wings,Lay waving round.

His locks behind,

Illustrious on his shoulders,fledgewith wings,

Lay waving round.

The fletcher, or fledger as I had well-nigh called him, spent his time, in fact, in feathering arrows.

Skelton in ‘The Maner of the World’ says:—

So proude and so gaye,So riche in arraye,And so skant of mon-eySaw I never:So many bowyers,So many fletchers,And so few good archersSaw I never.

So proude and so gaye,

So riche in arraye,

And so skant of mon-ey

Saw I never:

So many bowyers,

So many fletchers,

And so few good archers

Saw I never.

While all these names, however, speak for specific workmanship, our ‘Flowers’ represent a more general term. We are told of Phœbus in the ‘Manciples Tale,’ that

His bowe he bent, and set therein a flo.

‘Flo,’ was a once familiar term for an arrow. ‘John le Floer,’ or ‘Nicholas le Flouer,’ therefore, would seem to be but synonymous with ‘Arrowsmith’ or ‘Fletcher.’ ‘Stringer’ and ‘Stringfellow’ are self-explanatory, and are common surnames still. What a list of sobriquets is here! What a change in English social life do they declare. Time was when to be a sure marksman was the object of every English boy’s ambition. The bow was his chosen companion. Evening saw him on the village green, beneath the shade of the old yew tree, and as he practised his accustomed sport, his breath would come thick and fast, as he bethought him of the coming wake, and his chance of bringing down the popinjay, and presenting the ribbon to his chosen queen of the May. Yes, times are altered. Teeming cities cover the once rustic sward, broadcloth has eclipsed the Lincoln green, the clothyard, the arrow; but still amid the crowd that rushes to and fro in our streets the name of an ‘Archer,’ or a ‘Bowman,’ or a ‘Butts,’ or a ‘Popgay’ spoken in our ears will hush the hubbub ofthe city, and, forgotten for a brief moment the greed for money, will carry us, like a pleasant dream recalled, into the fresher and purer atmosphere of England’s past.

In the poem from which I have but recently quoted we have the record of ‘gonnes,’ or ‘guns,’ as we should now term them. It would be quite possible for our nomenclature to be represented by memorials of the powder magazine, and I should be far from asserting that such is not the case.[224]In the household of Edward III. there are enumerated, among others, ‘Ingyners lvij; Artellers vj; Gonners vj.’ Here there is a clear distinction between the ‘gun’ and the ‘engine;’ between missiles hurled by powder and those by the catapult. Fifty years even earlier than this Chaucer had used the following sentence:—‘They dradde no assaut of gynne, gonne, nor skaffaut.’ In his ‘Romance,’ too, as I have just shown, he places in juxtaposition ‘grete engines’ and ‘gonnes.’ Of one, if not both of these, we have undoubted memorials in our nomenclature. The Hundred Rolls furnish us with a ‘William le Engynur’ and a ‘Walter le Ginnur;’ the Inquisitiones with a ‘Richard le Enginer,’ and the Writs with a ‘William le Genour.’ The descendants of such as these are, of course, our ‘Gunners,’ ‘Ginners,’ ‘Jenour,’ and ‘Jenners,’[225]the last of which are now represented by one who is as renowned for recovering as his ancestor in days goneby would be for destroying life. Our ‘Gunns’ and ‘Ginns’ also must be referred to the same source. In one of the records just alluded to a ‘Warin Engaine’ is to be met with. If we elide the first syllable, as in the previous instances, the modern form at once appears.

But if in the deadly tournament the baron and his retainers found an ample pastime, nevertheless the chase was of all diversions the most popular. In this the prince and the peasant alike found recreation, while with regard to the latter, as we shall see, it was also combined with service. The woody wastelands, so extended in these earlier days of a sparse population, afforded sport enough for the most ardent huntsman. According to the extent of privilege or the divisions into which they were separated, these tracts were styled by the various terms of ‘forest,’ ‘chase,’ ‘park,’ and ‘warren.’ To any one at all conversant with old English law these several words will be familiar enough. To keep the wilder beasts within their prescribed limits, to prevent them injuring the tilled lands, and in general to guard the common interests of lord and tenant, keepers were appointed. The names of these officers, the chief of whom are entitled by appellations whose root is of a local character, are well-nigh all found to this day in our directories. Indeed there is no class of names more firmly imbedded there. In the order of division I have just alluded to, we have ‘Forester,’ with its corrupted ‘Forster’ and ‘Foster,’ relics of such registered folk as ‘Ivo le Forester,’ ‘Henry le Forster,’ or ‘Walter le Foster;’ ‘Chaser,’ now obsolete, I believe, but lingering on for a considerable period as theoffspring of ‘William’ or ‘Simon le Chasur;’ ‘Parker,’ or ‘Parkman,’ or ‘Park,’ descended from ‘Adam le Parkere,’ or ‘Hamo le Parkere,’ or ‘Roger atte Parke,’ or ‘John del Parc,’ and ‘Warener’ or ‘Warner,’ or ‘Warren,’ lineally sprung from men of the stamp of ‘Thomas le Warrener,’ ‘Jacke le Warner,’ or ‘Richard de Waren.’ The curtailed forms of these several terms seem to have been all but consequent with the rise of the officership itself. ‘Love’ in the ‘Romance’ says:—

Now am I knight, now chastelaine,Now prelate, and now chaplaine,Now priest, now clerke, now forstere.

Now am I knight, now chastelaine,

Now prelate, and now chaplaine,

Now priest, now clerke, now forstere.

In his description of the Yoman, too, Chaucer adds—

An horne he bere, the baudrick was of grene,A fostere was he sothely as I guesse.

An horne he bere, the baudrick was of grene,

A fostere was he sothely as I guesse.

Thus, again, Langland, in setting forth Glutton’s encounter with the frequenters of the tavern, speaks familiarly of—

Watte the Warner.

But these are not all. It is with them we must associate our ancestral ‘Woodwards’ or ‘Woodards,’ and still more common ‘Woodreefs,’ ‘Woodrows,’ ‘Woodroffs,’ and ‘Woodruffs,’ all more or less perverted forms of the original wood-reeve.[226]A song representing the husbandmen as complaining of the burdens in Edward II.’s reign says—

The hayward heteth us harm to habben of hisThe bailif beckneth us bale, and weneth wel do;The wodeward waiteth us wo.

The hayward heteth us harm to habben of his

The bailif beckneth us bale, and weneth wel do;

The wodeward waiteth us wo.

All these officers were more or less of legal capacity, men whose duty it was, bill in hand, to guard the vert and venison under their charge,[227]to act as agents for their lord in regard to the pannage of hogs, to look carefully to the lawing of dogs, and in case of offences to present them to the verderer at the forest assize. The ‘Moorward,’ found in our early records as ‘German le Morward’ or ‘Henry le Morward,’ guarded the wilder and bleaker districts. ‘The Rider,’ commonly found as ‘Roger le Rydere’ or ‘Ralph le Ryder,’ in virtue of having a larger extent of jurisdiction, was mounted, though his office was essentially the same. Mr. Lower, remarking upon this word, has a quotation from the ballad of ‘William of Cloudesley,’ where the king, rewarding the brave archer, says:—

I give thee eightene pence a day,And my bowe thou shalt bere,And over all the north countrèI make thee chyfe rydere.

I give thee eightene pence a day,

And my bowe thou shalt bere,

And over all the north countrè

I make thee chyfe rydere.

With him we must associate our ‘Rangers’ and ‘Keepers,’ who, acting doubtless under him, assisted also in the work of patrolling the woodland and recovering strayed beasts, and presenting trespassers to the swainmote just referred to.

The bailiff, shortened as a surname into ‘Bailey,’ ‘Baillie’ (‘German le Bailif,’ J., ‘Henry le Baillie,’ M.), like the reve, seems to have been both oflegal and private capacity; in either case acting as deputy.[228]This word ‘reve’ did a large amount of duty formerly, but seems now to be fast getting into its dotage. In composition, however, it is far from being obsolete. The ‘Reeve’ (‘John le Reve,’ M., ‘Sager le Reve,’ H.), who figured so conspicuously among the Canterbury Pilgrims, would be the best representative of the term in his day, I imagine—

His lordes shepe, his nete, and his deirie,His swine, his hors, his store, and his pultrie,Were wholly in this reves governing.

His lordes shepe, his nete, and his deirie,

His swine, his hors, his store, and his pultrie,

Were wholly in this reves governing.

Our ‘Grieves’ (‘Thomas le Greyve,’ A.), who are but the fuller ‘Gerefa,’ fulfilled, and I believe in some parts of Scotland still fulfil, the capacity here described, being but manorial bailiffs, in fact. ‘The Boke of Curtasye’ says—

Grayvis, and baylys, and parkerShall come to accountes every yereByfore the auditours of the lorde.

Grayvis, and baylys, and parker

Shall come to accountes every yere

Byfore the auditours of the lorde.

Thus, too, our ‘Portreeves’ (‘William le Portreve,’ A., ‘Augustin le Portreve,’ A.), who in our coast towns fulfilled the capacity of our more general mayor, are oftentimes in our earlier records enrolled as Portgreve.’ ‘Hythereve’ (‘John le Huthereve,’ O.), from hithe, a haven, would seem to denote the same office, while our obsolete ‘Fenreves’ (‘Adam le Fenreve,’ A.), like the ‘Moorward’ mentioned above,had charge, I doubt not, of the wilder and more sparsely populated tracts of land. Many other compounds of this word we have already recorded; some we shall refer to by-and-by, and with them and these the reeve, after all, is not likely to be soon forgotten.

But the poorer villeins were not without those who should guard their interests also. In a day of fewer landmarks and scantier barriers trespasses would be inevitable. An interesting relic of primitive precaution against the straying of animals is found in the officership of the ‘Hayward’ (or ‘Adam le Heyward,’ as the Hundred Rolls have it), whose duty it was to guard the cattle that grazed on the village common. He was so styled from the Saxon ‘hay’ or ‘hedge,’ already spoken of in our previous chapter. An old poem has it—

In tyme of hervest mery it is ynough;Peres and apples hongeth on bough,The hayward bloweth mery his horne;In every felde ripe is corne.

In tyme of hervest mery it is ynough;

Peres and apples hongeth on bough,

The hayward bloweth mery his horne;

In every felde ripe is corne.

In ‘Piers Plowman,’ too, we have the word—

I have an horne, and be a hayward,And liggen out a nyghtesAnd kepe my corne and my croftFrom pykers and theves.

I have an horne, and be a hayward,

And liggen out a nyghtes

And kepe my corne and my croft

From pykers and theves.

It will be seen from these two references that the officership was of a somewhat general character. The cattle might be his chief care, but the common village interests were also under his supervision. The term has left many surnames to maintain its now decayed and primitive character; ‘Hayward’ and ‘Haward’ are, however, the most familiar. ‘Hayman,’ doubtless,is of similar origin. If, in spite of the hayward’s care, it came to pass that any trespass occurred, the village ‘pounder’ was ready at hand to impound the animal till its owner claimed it, and paid the customary fine—

In Wakefield there lives a jolly pinder,In Wakefield, all on a green.

In Wakefield there lives a jolly pinder,

In Wakefield, all on a green.

So we are told in ‘Robin Hood.’ I need not add that our many ‘Pounders,’ ‘Pinders,’ and still more classic ‘Pindars,’ are but the descendants of him or one of hisconfrères. I do not doubt myself, too, that our ‘Penders’ (‘William le Pendere’ in the Parliamentary Writs) will be found to be of a similar origin.

While, however, these especial officers superintended the general interests of lord and tenant, there were those also whose peculiar function it was to guard the particular quarry his master loved to chase; to see them unmolested and undisturbed during such time as the hunt itself was in abeyance, and then, when the chase came on, to overlook and conduct its course. These, too, are not without descendants. Such names as ‘Stagman’ and ‘Buckmaster,’[229]‘Hindman’ and ‘Hartman,’ ‘Deerman’ and its more amatory ‘Dearman,’ by their comparative frequency, remind us how important would be their office in the eye of their lord.

Nor are those who assisted in the lordly hunt itself left unrepresented in our nomenclature. The old ‘Elyas le Hunderd,’ or ‘hund-herd,’ has left in our ‘Hunnards’ an abiding memorial of the ‘houndsman.’Similarly the ‘vaultrier’ was he who unleashed them. It has been a matter of doubt whether or no the more modern ‘feuterer’ owes his origin to this term, but the gradations found in such registrations as ‘John le Veutrer,’ ‘Geoffrey le Veuterer,’ and ‘Walter le Feuterer,’ to be met with in the rolls of this period, set all question, I should imagine, at rest. An old poem, describing the various duties of these officers and their charges, says—

A halpeny the hunte takes on the dayFor every hounde the sothe to say;The vewtrer, two cast of brede he tase,Two lesshe of greyhounds if that he has.

A halpeny the hunte takes on the day

For every hounde the sothe to say;

The vewtrer, two cast of brede he tase,

Two lesshe of greyhounds if that he has.

‘Fewter’ and ‘Futter,’[230]however, seem to be the only relics we now possess of this once important care. Such names as ‘John le Berner’ or ‘Thomas le Berner,’ common enough in old rolls, must be distinguished from our more aristocratic ‘Berners.’ Thebernerwas a special houndsman who stood with fresh relays of dogs ready to unleash them if the chase grew heated and long. In the Parliamentary Rolls he is termed a ‘yeoman-berner.’ Our ‘Hornblows,’ curtailed from ‘Hornblower,’ and simpler ‘Blowers,’ would seem to be closely related to the last, for the horn figured as no mean addition by its jubilant sounds to the excitement of the chase. He who used it held an office that required all the attention he could bring to bear upon it. The dogs were not unleashed until he had sounded the blast, and if at any time from his elevated station he caught sight of the quarry, he was by the manner of winding his instrument to certify to the huntsman the peculiar class to which it belonged. In the Hundred Rolls we findhim inscribed as ‘Blowhorn,’ a mere reversal of syllables. Of a more general and professional character probably would be our ‘Hunters,’ ‘Huntsmans,’ and ‘Hunts,’ not to mention the more Norman ‘John le Venner’ or ‘Richard Fenner.’ It may not be known to all our ‘Hunts’ that theirs, the shorter form, was the most familiar term in use at that time; hence the number that at present exist. We are told in the ‘Knight’s Tale’ of the—

Hunte and horne, and houndes him beside;

while but a little further on he speaks of—

The hunte ystrangled with the wilde beres.

Forms like ‘Walter le Hunte’ or ‘Nicholas le Hunte’ are very common to the old records. As another proof of the general use of this word we may cite its compounds. ‘Borehunte’ carries us back to the day when the wild boar ranged the forest’s deeper gloom. ‘Wolfhunt,’ represented in the Inquisitiones by such a sobriquet as ‘Walter le Wolfhunte,’ reminds us that Edgar did not utterly exterminate that savage beast of prey, as is oftentimes asserted. A family of this name held lands in the Peak of Derbyshire at this period by the service of keeping the forest clear of wolves. In the forty-third year of Edward III. one Thomas Engeine held lands in Pitchley, in the county of Northampton, by service of finding at his own cost certain dogs for the destruction of wolves, foxes, &c., in the counties of Northampton, Rutland, Oxford, Essex, and Buckingham; nay, as late as the eleventh year of Henry VI. Sir Robert Plumpton held one borate of land in Nottinghamshire, by service of winding a horn, and chasing or frighteningthe wolves in Sherwood Forest.[231]Doubtless, however, as in these recorded instances, it would be in the more hilly and bleaker districts, or in the deeper forests, he found his safest and last retreat. It seems well-nigh literally to be coming down from a mountain to a mole-hill to speak of our ‘Mole-hunts,’ the other compound of this word. But small as he was in comparison with the other, he was scarcely less obnoxious on account of his burrowing propensities, for which the husbandman gave him the longer name of mouldwarp. His numbers, too, made him formidable, and it is no wonder that people found occupation enough in his destruction, or that the name of ‘Molehunt’ should have found its way into our early rolls. So late, indeed, as 1641, we find in a farming book the statement that 12d.was the usual price paid by the farmer for every dozen old moles secured, and 6d.for the same number of young ones. This speaks at least for their plentifulness. An old provincialism for mole, and one not yet extinct, was ‘wont’ or ‘want.’ This explains the name of ‘Henry le Wantur,’ which may be met with in the Hundred Rolls. In the Sloane MS. is a method given ‘for to take wontes.’ It would be in the deeper underwood our ‘Todmans’ and ‘Todhunters,’ the chasers of the fox, or ‘tod,’ as he was popularly called, found diversion enough. It would be here our ‘Brockmans’ secured the badger. I doubt not these were bothalso of professional character—aids and helps to the farmer. Indeed, he had many upon whose services he could rely for a trifle of reward in the shape of a silver penny, or a warm mess of potage on the kitchen settle. Our ‘Burders’ and ‘Fowlers,’ by their craft, whether of falconry or netting, or in the use of the cross-bow bolt, aided to clear the air of the more savage birds of prey, or of the lesser ones that would molest the bursting seed. I need scarcely remark that the distinction between ‘bird’ and ‘fowl’ is modern. The ‘fowls of the air’ with our Saxon Bible, and up to very recent days, embraced every winged creature, large and small. In our very expression ‘barndoor-fowl’ we are only using a phrase which served to mark the distinction between the wilder and the more domesticated bird. The training and sale of bullfinches seem to have given special employment then, as now, to such as would undertake the care thereof. A ‘Robert le Fincher’ occurs at an early period, and I see his descendants are yet in being. As we shall see in a later chapter, this bird has set his mark deeply upon our sobriquet nomenclature. Our ‘Trappers,’ whether for bird or beast, confined their operations to the soil, capturing their spoil by net or gin.

We owe several names, or rather several forms of the same name, to the once favourite pursuit of falconry. Of all sports in the open air this was the one most entirely aristocratic. In it the lord and his lady alike found pleasure. It had become popular so early as the ninth century, and, as Mr. Lower says, in such estimation was the office of State falconer held in Norman times that Domesday shows us, apart fromothers, four different tenants-in-chief, who are described each as ‘accipitrarius,’ or falconer. Until John’s reign it was not lawful for any but those of the highest rank to keep hawks, but in the ‘Forest Charter’ a special clause was introduced which gave power to every free man to have an aerie. So valuable was a good falcon that it even stood chief among royal gifts, and up to the beginning of the seventeenth century it brought as much as 100 marks in the market.[232]Royal edicts were even passed for the preservation of their eggs. From all this, and much more that might be adduced, it is easy to understand how important was the office of falconer, nor need we wonder that it is one of the most familiar names to be found in early rolls. Of many forms those of ‘Falconer,’ ‘Falconar,’ ‘Faulkner,’ ‘Falkner,’[233]‘Faulconer,’ and ‘Faukener,’ seem to be the commonest. The last form is found in the ‘Boke of Curtasye’—

The chaunceler answeres for their clothyng,For yomen, faukeners, and their horsyng,For their wardrop and wages also.

The chaunceler answeres for their clothyng,

For yomen, faukeners, and their horsyng,

For their wardrop and wages also.

In our former ‘Idonea or Walter le Oyseler’ we recognise but another French term for the same. A special keeper of the goshawk, or ‘oster,’ got into mediæval records in the shape of ‘William le Astrier,’ or ‘Robert le Ostricer,’ or ‘Richard le Hostriciere,’ or ‘Godfrey Ostriciarius.’ The Latin ‘accipiter’ is believed to be the root of the term, which with such other perverted forms as ‘Ostregier,’ ‘Ostringer,’ ‘Astringer,’ and ‘Austringer,’ lingered on the common tongue till so late as the seventeenth century.[234]A curious proof of the prevailing passion is found in the name of ‘Robert le Jessmaker,’ set down in the Hundred Rolls. The ‘jess’ was the leathern or silken strap fastened closely round the foot of the hawk, from which the line depended and was held by the falconer. That the demand for these should be so great as to cause a man to give himself up entirely to their manufacture, will be the best evidence of the ardour with which our forefathers entered into this pastime. The end of falconry was, however, sudden as it was complete. The introduction of the musket at one fell swoop did away with office, pursuit, with, in fact, the whole paraphernalia of the amusement, and now it is without a relic, save in so far as these names abide with us.

In concluding this part of our subject it is pleasant to remind ourselves that, however strong might be the antagonism which this chapter displays between Norman and Saxon, the pride of the one, the oppression of the other, that antagonism is now overpast and gone. We well know that a revolution was at work,sometimes showing itself violently, but generally silent in its progress, by which happier circumstances arrived, happier at any rate for the country at large. We well know how this consummation came, how these several races became afterwards one by the suppression of that power the more independent of these barons had wielded, by confusion of blood, by the acquisition of more general liberty, by mutuality of interests, by the contagious influences of commerce, and, above all, by the kindly and prejudice-weakening force of lapsing time. All this we know, and, as it is in a sense foreign to our present purpose, I pass over it now. I trust that I have already shown that there is something, after all, in a name; at any rate in a surname, for that in it is supplied a link between the past and the present, for that in the utterance of one of these may be recalled not merely the lineaments of some face of to-day, but the dimmer outline of an age which is past beyond recall for ever. Viewed in a light so broad as this, the country churchyard, with each mossy stone, is, apart from the diviner lessons it teaches, a living page of history; and even the parish register, instead of being a mere record of dry and uninteresting facts, becomes instinct with the lives and surroundings of our English forefathers.

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